The safe house in Latvia is a quiet contrast to the chaos we left behind. It's quiet, almost too quiet, the kind that makes your skin crawl, and questions the calm before the storm. Zemo is sprawled out on the couch, a damp cloth covering his eyes, nursing the spot where Walker hit him with the shield. A drink in his hand, the ice clinking softly as he shift to a more comfortable position. In this state, I almost feel for the guy, but we all know that something is up with Walker, even if we don't have any evidence to prove it.

Sam sits at the table, tapping away on his computer, the soft glow of the screen illuminating his focused expression. I stand by the window, my eyes scanning the streets below. The civilians move about their daily lives, unaware of the danger that may be lurking within these streets. My gaze sweeps over them, searching for any sign of Blake. My heart races at the thought of him being out there, watching, waiting. But the feeling is also exhilarating–it's like a game of cat and mouse, silently parading around each other until we come face to face.

The silence is broken by Zemo's voice, a calm, almost contemplative tone. "Sam, have you ever been offered it? The serum?"

Sam doesn't look up from his screen, but he stops typing. His answer is immediate. "No, I haven't. And I wouldn't take it."

"No hesitation. That's impressive," Zemo says, taking the cloth off of his eyes. He is fascinated by Sam's quick response, but I believe it's actually due to Sam's own restraint. But Zemo isn't finished. He props himself up, catching my attention from the corner of my eye. "What about you, Avalon? If you had a choice back then, would you have taken it?"

I turn my attention away from the window, meeting Zemo's eyes with a cold, unflinching stare. "There was never a choice. It never would have been an option to not take it," my voice is strained, but it's the truth of the matter.

He raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "Do you regret it?"

My response is measured, the soldier in me battling with the remnants of the woman I once was, "Regret is a luxury I cannot afford. What's done is done."

Zemo nods, as if he understands. Perhaps he does, in his own twisted way. He looks at me, his curiosity not yet sated, "If things were different, if you had a real choice, would you take it?"

WIthout hesitation, I reply, "Yes. Either way, my circumstances would remain the same. I was made for war. The serum just...amplified what was already there."

He seems to ponder on my response, a faint smile playing on his lips, "Interesting."

Zemo and Sam begin to talk about Karli and Super Soldier. The very idea of having these kinds of humans exist is a threat to all humanity. Zemo has a convincing argument, and part of me can agree to a certain extent. However, not all of us are inherently bad. I was just created to do terrible things. As I listen, I can't help but think about Zemo's perspective. To him, the existence of super soldiers like Karli–and like me–is an abomination. But where does that leave Bucky? Where does that leave me? We didn't choose this path. We were forged in the fires of war, molded into weapons by hands more powerful and ruthless than our own. 

Sam's counterargument resonates with me. He speaks of the dangers of playing god, of the moral implications of eradicating those individuals from existence. His words stir something within me–a conflict I've wrestled with for as long as I can remember. If Zemo believes that all super soldiers are inherently evil, what does that mean for those of us who are trying to redeem ourselves?

Bucky is living proof that redemption is possible, that the soldier can be reclaimed by the human. And as much as I struggle with my own demons, I have to believe that there is hope for me, too. But hope is an elusive thing, and falling back into old habits is easier than following directions. The serum didn't only amplify my physical abilities; it amplified my capacity for both good and evil. But it is my decision to make.

As the door creaks open, I turn my gaze away from the window. Bucky walks in, shrugging off his jacket as he makes his way towards the kitchen. The room, which had been filled with the low murmur of Sam and Zemo's conversation, falls silent as we all look at him.

"Something's not right about Walkler," Bucky says, his voice carrying a hint of concern, but mostly frustration. He tosses his jacket onto a nearby chair.

Sam looks up, frowning. "You don't say"

Bucky's eyes narrow slightly, the fridge swinging shut as he prepares himself a drink. "Well, I know crazy when I see one," he says, taking a sip. He continues, "Because I am crazy"

"Ditto," I add dryly, unable to resist the urge to chime in. Crazy is a simple way to put it.

"Can't argue with that"

Bucky leans against the kitchen counter, crossing his arms over his chest. "Shouldn't have given him the shield," he says, proving the point that Sam shouldn't have handed the shield over to someone incapable of filling the role.

"I didn't give it to him," Sam shoots back, defensively.

"Well, Steve definitely didn't"

Before Sam can respond, the door bursts open again, and Waler storms in, Lamont closely trailing behind. Walker looks frustrated, angry even, and he carries an air to him that sets off my radar. The tension in the room escalated instantly, and I can feel my muscles tensing, ready for what's about to go down.

Walker strides into the room with an air of authorities, his gaze sweeping over all of us before he focuses on Sam. "All right. That's it. Let's go," his tone is commanding, leaving no room for negotiation. "I'm now ordering you to turn him over."

Sam raises his hands in a calming gestures. "Hey, slow your roll," he says, his voice steady but firm. "Shield or no shield, the only thing you're runnin' is your mouth. Now, I had Karli and you overstepped. He's actually proven himself useful today. We'll need all hands on deck for whatever's comin' next."

Walker's eyes narrow, and he takes a step closer. As he's almost chest to chest with Sam, he puts down the shield, "How do you want the rest of this conversation to go. Should I put down the shield? Make it fair?"

Before the tension can escalate further, the door swings open, and the Dora Milaje enter with swift silent steps. In a quick motion, a sleek, vibranium spear pierces the wood pole by Walker's head, catching all of us off guard. One of them speaks to Bucky in Wakandan, the language rilling off her tongue with ease–a language that I've come to understand during our two years there, "Even if he is a means to your end, time's up. Release him to us."

Walker, unfazed but briefly confused, steps towards them and introduces himself. " Hi. John Walker. Captain America. Well, let's uh, put down the pointy sticks and we can talk this through, huh?"

Sam, sensing their motive and imminent threat, tries to diffuse the situation. "Hey, John, take it easy. You might wanna fight Bucky before you tangle with the Dora Milaje"

Walker scoffs, dismissing the warning, "They don't have jurisdiction here."

One of the women speaks up, her expression stern, speaking closer to Walker, "Dora Milaje have jurisdiction wherever the Dora Milaje find themselves to be."

"Okay, I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot—," before Walker can finish his sentence, the leader of the Dora Milaje lunges forward, spear aimed directly at him. The room erupts in chaos. Walker tries to fight back, but he's quickly overwhelmed. The Dora Milaje move with deadly efficiency, their spears cutting through the air with practiced ease.

Sam, Bucky, and I stand back, watching the fight unfold. Walker is clearly outmatched, his attempts to retaliate only serving to highlight his ineptitude. Sam is the first one to speak up, "We should do something," he urges, his eyes darting between the combatants.

Bucky glances at Sam, before calling out to Walker. "Looking strong, John," he calls out, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. I have to suppress the laugh that threatens to escape me.

As Walker is knocked to the ground once more, Sam steps forward, unable to watch any longer. "Bucky, come on. We need to help."

Reluctantly, Bucky joins the fray, his movements fluid as he engages the Dora Milaje, in his attempt to stop them from causing any harm to John. Sam follows suit, trying to pull Walker out of the ring of fire. Meanwhile, I notice Zemo slowly backing towards the door. Our eyes meet, and I give him a small nod, silently urging him to escape. No one seems to notice, but

One of the women throws an electrical chip at Bucky, which latches onto his metal arm. Suddenly, his arm begins to malfunction, and with a jolt, it detaches from his body, falling to the ground. Bucky looks stunned, momentarily incapacitated.

Seeing the situation spiral out of control, I try to step in and descalate. "Enough! We don't need to do this!" I shout, but my words fall on deaf ears. Another Dora Milaje throws a similar chip at me. I brace myself, thinking it won't affect me, but the moment it hurts, electricity courses through my body. Pain explodes in my chest as the pulses disrupt the electrical components keeping me alive.

I stumble, gripping my chest, the agony unlike anything I've ever felt before. It's as if my heart is being torn to shreds from the inside. My vision blurs, and I drop to my knees, desperately trying to rip the chip that has embedded itself into my skin. Finally, I manage to dislodge the chip, gasping for breath as the electricity ceases to course through my body. My heart pounds erratically, and I feel a cold sweat break out across my skin. Is that what death feels like? I didn't enjoy that feeling. The room slowly comes back into focus, the pain receding but leaving me weak and shaken. Each heartbeat feels like I'm being stabbed a thousand times at once.

The leader moves to the door Zemo was supposed to be behind, only to find it ajar and the room empty. Zemo is gone, just as I had anticipated. They look around, confusion and frustration evident on their faces. I knew he'd be gone, and part of me is relieved he managed to escape. The tension in the room dissipates as everyone processes the aftermath of the fight. Walker is on the floor, trying to get the shield off of the spear that refuses to give way.

Walker, humiliated and seething with anger, struggles to his feet. The women remove the spear that keeps the shield pinned to the wall, leaving Walker be for now. Sam and Bucky stand by, ready to intervene if necessary, but for now, the immediate threat has passed.

The Dora Milaje, seeing that Zemo has escaped, begin to leave. "This isn't the end," their leader warns, casting one last glance around the room. 

As the reality of the situation sets in, I feel the sense of grim determination. This might is far from over, and we will need all our strength and perseverance to navigate the impending challenges ahead. As the door closes, leaving the three of us along once me, I let out a breath I've been holding in, knowing that this isn't the last of it. 

***

Zemo's disappearance hangs in the air like a faint relief. Though he's gone, the tension remains palpable as we prepare for the next steps. Bucky, Sam, and I regroup after the mess at the safehouse. But now , our mission is clear: find Karli and prevent further chaos. We move quickly into the city, our pace urgent but measured. Karli's threat to Sam's sister, Sarah, weighs heavily on his mind. Bucky and Sam share a knowing look, knowing exactly what's at stake here. The gravity of the situation is undeniable and leaves an uncomfortable feeling of nauseousness.

Bucky falls back back to walk beside me, his hand brushing against mine. It's a small gesture, but it speaks volume. We haven't had a moment to breathe–a moment to simply exist–to just be ourselves amidst the chaos that has erupted.

"You know, we haven't had a moment to ourselves since this whole mess started," Bucky says, his voice low but playful. 

I glance at him, a smirk forming on my lips. "Yeah, I've noticed. You miss me, Barnes?"

He chuckles, shaking his head. "Always. But seriously, we could use a distraction. You got any tricks up your sleeve?"

I think for a moment, considering the options. "Well, I could always light something on fire. That usually gets people's attention."

Bucky raises an eyebrow, a grin spreading across his face. Man, that never gets old. "That's one way to do it. But let's keep that as plan B, alright?"

"Fair enough," I reply, nudging him lightly, "but don't say I didn't offer."

We share a brief moment of levity, the tension easing just a bit. Enough to make the weight of the world feel lighter on my shoulders. But the eerie feeling of impending doom still lingers. But these small moments are a reminder that even in the havoc caused by others, we still have each other.

As we approach the old building, the moment ends, and reality comes crashing back in.

"You called my sister?" Sam's voice is sharp with disbelief and anger. That's how you want to play this?"

Karli's expression softens slightly, though her posture remains defensive. "I would never hurt her. I wanted to understand you better. I see you didn't come alone," she mentions, he gaze shifting to Bucky and then, to me.

"You have to end this now," Sam insists, his tone urgent.

Karli shakes her head, a look of resignation in her eyes. "I don't want to hurt you. You're just a tool in the regimes I want to destroy. You're not hiding behind a shield. If I were to kill you, it's be meaningless." She pauses, her gaze drawn back over towards us before she adds, "I was gonna ask you to join me. Or do the world a favor and let me go"

Suddenly, Sharon's voice crackles through the earpiece. "Hey, Sam, new Cap is moving. Looks like he's found them, or maybe they found him."

Bucky and I exchange a glance, our eyes scanning the area from our vantage point. Sam, still focused on Karli, glances over his shoulder, "It's Walker," he says, obviously frustrated in the turn of events. Sam quickly sends the location to Bucky and I. "Go. I'll send you the location. Find Walker before he does anything irrational."

In an instant, everything springs into motion. Karli tenses, and without warning, both her and Bucky jump off the balcony, colliding with one another Bucky goes flying into the wall, causing him to hit the ground with a loud bang. But he quickly recovers, and I jump down after him as Sam takes Karli off her feet.

"We've got to move," Bucky urges as we spring into action.

As we weave through the crowded street and tight alleyways, the sounds of the city blur into a distant symphony. I push myself to keep pace with Bucky, my mind racing with the urgency of the situation. Every step feels heavier, the weight of the impending confrontation pressing down on me.

We can hear the distant sounds of struggle, the clash or metal, and the grunts of combat. We burst through the entrance of the building, our footsteps echoing loudly in the stairwell. We begin our ascent, each step a testament to our unyielding determination. Suddenly, a Flag Smasher lunges at Bucky from within the shadows, and Bucky meets him head-on. The fight is quick, but intense, Bucky's enhanced strength and skill making it look almost effortless as he takes the attacker down with a series of powerful blows.

"Let's keep going!" Bucky shouts, not pausing for breath.

We continue moving upward, but another Flag Smasher ambushed us, targeting me this time. Bucky turns, worry etched on his face.

"Go find Walker!" I insist, my voice firm. "I'll handle this."

He hesitates for a split second, stopping at the top of the stairwell. Then, he nods, and continues up the stairs, disappearing around the corner.

In an instant, every instinct in my body kicks in and takes action. I react instinctively, spinning around and delivering a powerful kick to my assailant. The fight is swift and brutal, my training kicking into overdrive as I land blow after blow. My opponent is skilled, I'll give them that, but I am relentless, refusing to give an inch.

The struggle intensifies, our movements a blur of violence and precision. I manage to gain the upper hand, slamming my attacker against the stairwell railing. The confined space of the stairwell forces us into close-quarters combat, and I use it to my advantage, blocking and countering each of his attacks. We grapple fiercely, my back slamming against the cold metal of the railing. I twist and turn, using every ounce of strength to fend him off. 

Finally, with a well-placed kick, I send him flying backwards. But the momentum carries me too close to the edge. Before I can regain my balance, the Flag Smasher grabs my arm and yanks me over the railing.

Pain explodes in my skull, and my vision blurs. I try to get up, but my grip on consciousness slipping away. Time seems to slow as I fall, my body twisting in the air. I hit the opposite side of the staircase with a sickening thud, my head colliding with the cement wall. The world around me fades to black as I collapse to the floor, the sounds of the ongoing battle eching dimly in the ears. The sounds stretch farther than I can reach, and soon enough, there is just darkness.

Silent, inevitable darkness. 

***

          And I wake up in a field of wildflowers. The wind produces a gentle, dreamlike breeze. I don't feel alive, but I don't necessarily feel dead either. It's like I'm existing in the veil in between. I can hear voices calling out to me, but I don't know where they're coming from. I remember the strike, my head slamming against the cool, metallic surface, and the pain coursing through every vein in my body–until I was coldly gripped away by the darkness.

I begin wandering the fields aimlessly, trying to orient myself with the unfamiliar surroundings. The wildflowers say in the nonexistent wind, and a heavy fog rolls in, obscuring my vision. Every direction looks the same, and I have no idea where to go. Until I stumble across a door, sticking out like a sore thumb, ominous and out of place.

As I step through, it's like stepping back into time, thrusted back into my home as it was in 1949. The familiar scent of old wood and lavender fills the air I hear voices echoing across the walls, memories of my life then start filling every place I look. But they are the ghosts of my past. It's when I wander into the living room that my breathing hitches and I truly think that I'm hallucinating.

At this moment, I truly believe I'm dead. Just ahead, I see her–the woman I haven't seen since the day I went missing; my mother.

"Mom?" The word feels foreign on my tongue, and she turns around, her eyes wide like she's seeing a ghost. I can feel myself getting choked up. 

"I've missed you so much," I say, taking a tentative step forward, desperate for the warmth of her embrace. But she doesn't move, doesn't soften. Instead, she studies me with a detached curiosity.

"You shouldn't be here," she says flatly, her gaze piercing right through me. This isn't the woman I remember, but who knows, maybe my mind has always been trying to protect me. Or maybe it's always been Red protecting you from the truth. 

Confusion and hurt bubble up within me. Avalon, she's right. "What do you mean? I thought you'd be happy to see me."

Her lips curl into a faint, humorless smile. A smile I remember seeing time and time again after one of my father's outbursts. "Happiness is a luxury we were never afforded. You should know that by now," her voice is monotone, lacking the warmth I remember her by.

The coldness in her voice sends a chill down my spine "I don't understand. What's happened to you?'

Her expression hardens further, and the facade of motherly love shatters. The version of her I remembered never truly existed. "As I've stated before, you shouldn't be here," she says, dismissing my questions with a wave of her hand, "your presence only stirs up old wounds."

Her words cut deeper than any blade ever could. "Old wounds? I thought after seventy-six years, you'd feel differently," I say, questioning her lack of empathy.

"You never understood," she continues, her town growing harsher and more agitated every moment I'm here. "I thought you'd change, that you'd adapt to your father's wishes. But you never learned. Your defiance only brought misery. A misery that you brought upon yourself."

Emotions swell within me as her words sink in. "I tried to be what you wanted, but..."

Josephine's expression remains cold, unyielding. "You were always too sensitive, Avalon. You never understood the sacrifices we had to make," her response is surprising, yet deep down I knew this is how things have always been.

"Sacrifices?" I scoff, the anger bubbling up inside me, causing my fists to clench at my sides as I stare coldly at the woman standing in front of me. "You mean selling your own daughter to Hydra for power? How could you justify that?"

Hey eyes narrow, a flicker of something almost resembling guilt flashing through them. You weren't ever supposed to know, Lonnie. "It was for the greater good. Your father and I did what we had to do."

I shake my head, the disbelief mingling with my rage. "You ruined my life. You handed me over to monsters, and for what? So you could have a little more influence, a little more control? How'd that work out for you?"

"You were always a difficult child," she retorts, her voice laced with a bitterness. It's something in her tone that reminds me of a time I have yet to remember, but I have a feeling it'll come to me. "Always questioning, always defying. Hydra promised to shape you into something useful, something powerful."

"Useful?" I repeat, trying to keep my composure but my emotions threaten to get the best of me. "I was a child. I needed you, and you betrayed me."

Her face hardens again, the flicker of guilt slowly dissolves into an ominous smile. She begins to shake her head as she begins to pace back and forth. "You never belonged with us, Avalon Jane. You were always meant for greater things, even if you can't see it."

The weight of her words crashes down on me like a tidal wave. Betrayal seep sinto my bones, a cold, unforgiving ache. This isn't just anyone speaking–this is my mother, the once person who was supposed to protect me, to love me unconditionally, but the woman standing before me isn't the one I remember. The rage within me boils, fueled by years of abandonment and pain. I can feel the heat rising, my hands trembling with the force of my anger. How could she stand there, so callously, and justify the ruin of my life? Every sacrifice, every moment of torment, every shred of my life stolen by Hydra–all of it sanctioned by the man and woman who gave me life. Her dismissal cuts deeper than any weapon ever could, slicing through the fragile hope I once held that man, just maybe she had loved me. My vision blurs with tears but I refuse to let them fall. I won't give her the satisfaction. This rage, this burning hatred, is all I have left, and I cling to it with every fiber of my being.

My voice shakes with a barely contained fury and I demand, "Did you know what I had become? DId you know what they did to me?"

Josephine stops pacing, her eyes meeting with a chilling calm. "I never needed to know, Avalon," she replies, coldly. "Life went on as it always was meant to. Your sacrifice was just part of my plan." 

She knew. She knew, and she didn't care. My existence, my suffering, had been nothing more than a means to an end for her. I was a pawn in a game I never asked to play, a disposable asset in her pursuit of power. I was just a tool to be used and discarded. And now, standing before the woman who should have been my protector–even against my father–I know that any remnants of my past, any lingering questions of my life, are gone.

And the letter. The one I read over and over again during my days in Wakanda. I know now that it was a ploy to make sure I always went back to the hands of my maker. Her word, her false, beautiful words, were never hers. They were a fabricated story that would lead me back to the same fate.

The life of a soldier. Life as the Red Ghost. 

The realization seeps into my bones, cold and relentless. Every time I clung to those words, hoping for a semblance of warmth, of love, I was only tightening the chains that bound me to my fate. She never wanted me to be free, to find peace. Every word, every false promise, was a calculated move in her twisted game–a game I never knew I was playing. The memories of those days in Wakanda–when I believed I was healing, when I believed I could be something more than a soldier–are now tainted. They're stained by the truth that the peace I sought out was always out of reach, sabotaged from the start by the very person I thought wanted to find me until their last dying breath.

The rage bubbling beneath my surface intensifies, threatening to spill over. It's not just the anger at her deceit–it's the realization that every step I've taken, every moment I thought was my own, was never feasible. Avalon, I know that feeling. I know where this is going. If you're serious about this, I won't stop you this time.

I take a step closer, feeling the weight of every year that's passed, every lie that's been fed to me. My voice hardens, cutting through the silence like a knife. "I'm not the bad guy. I'm not the villain in our family's history. But do you know what I am, Josephine?" Saying her name catches her by surprise. But this is it. This is my arc. I don't care if I never see her again. "I'm the dead. I'm the one who was wronged. But I was never mourned. I was the forbidden secret, the mistake, and I suppose becoming the Red Ghost was the best thing that happened to me. And you know what?"

She's stunned, too afraid to speak, as if my words have finally hit their mark. As if she finally realized what you've truly become.

Tears sting my eyes, but I refuse to let her get the satisfaction of my pain. I swallow the lump in my throat, forcing the words out, each one heavy with the weight of seventy-six years of betrayal. "You made one mistake. You didn't finish the job."

Her face contorts with a sudden, desperate attempt to regain control. "Avalon, you don't understand–" she begins, her voice slightly trembling, trying to assert some semblance of authority over me.

But I've had enough. "NO, you don't get to interrupt me!" I roar, my voice echoing through the dreamlike space, fueled by a rage that's been buried for far too long. The fire within me ignites, scorching everything in its path. The tears finally fall, but they're no longer a sign of weakness–they're the fuel to my fury. She looks bewildered, caught off guard by the intensity of my wrath. This isn't the daughter she remembers. That girl is long gone, replaced by something far more dangerous. My heart pounds in my chest as I prepare to continue, "You spent your life trying to silence me, but not anymore. You don't get to justify your cowardice, you don't get to rewrite history to suit your image. You may have not been my abuser, but you enabled Lorenzo. You turned a blind eye because you didn't want to face his wrath. And for a long time, I couldn't blame you–I was just angry. But now, I resent you. For everything."

Instead of backing down, she takes another step closer, her piercing blue eyes straight directly into mine. Her expression begins to darken as she spits out words that cut deeper than any words from her mouth. "Finish the job? You were the job, Avalon. You were nothing but a means to an end, a pawn in a game far bigger than you. We made you into what you are because it was the only way to make something useful out of you. And look at you now–standing here, blaming me for your fate when you should be thanking me. You're nothing without Hydra. You're nothing without the monster we made you."

I don't say a word, my anger surging to the surface, threatening to consume everything in its path. There was never anyone on my side; I had all forces working tirelessly against me. No one was looking for me–my 'death' sealed my sentence. I was just another hopeless soul to be extinguished. The memories of my life seem vacant; I was a mistake, a lost cause, and I was only ever to be disposed of. But now, I regret ever running, of giving up my time with Hydra, because it was the only home I ever knew.

The realization is appalling, drowning out any remnants of doubt. My mother's words, as venomous as they are, solidify the truth I've been running from for far too long. I was never meant to be anything but the weapon Hydra forged. Every tear, every moment of despair, was fuel for the fire they lit inside of me. And now, that fire is an inferno, burning away any trace of the person I thought I was becoming.

A twisted sense of clarity washes over me. I'm not the victim of this story–I'm the monster they created, and maybe that's all I was ever meant to be. The assassin. The Red Ghost. The bringer of death. That's who I am, and maybe, just maybe, that's who I've always been.

As this truth solidifies within me, the world around us begins to blue, and I start hearing voices. They're distant at first, but they grow louder, more urgent, calling my name, begging me to come back. The echoes of their pleas swirl around me, pulling me back to the real world. But before I leave this place, before I abandon this twisted remnant of my past, I turn to face Josephine one last time.

"Thank you," I say, coldly, but feeling a sense of satisfaction at this moment.

She scoffs, bewildered at my graciousness as a bitter, mocking laugh escapes her lips. "For what? Having you was the biggest mistake of my life."

A small, cruel smile tugs at the corners of my mouth as I hold her gaze, unflinching. "For reminding me of my rage."

Without waiting for her to respond, I turn away, the voices around me growing louder, more insistent. I walk toward the door, leaving her and this ghost of my past behind, stepping into the dark unknown, ready to embrace the monster they made me once more.

Welcome home, soldier. 

a/n - I've been waiting a long time to bring this idea to life. and today is the day i share it all with you! updates will be sporadic as life has been a rollercoaster these past few months, but no need to worry! I have things planned out. as always, let me know what you think and I'll be back soon! :) -k