#win or lose prepare for loss someday

[chargetheintruder]

Things you need to know, before society ends.

I had originally planned something else for today.  A whole lot of it actually.  More tactics and the like to get my neighbors in the USA to actually care and VOTE this coming Tuesday.  Obviously I didn’t make it because my health has been disruptive--keeping me from getting proper sleep and interfering with other basics like keeping food in my body.  So be it, I will get to what I can tomorrow, or later today (Monday) actually.

Be that as it may . . . I’ve been watching some Emergency Alert Service fiction, analog horror things.  The “Alert World” channel is good for casuals on Youtube, and I found something called the Atlas Foundation, which is good too.  And something’s occurred to me.

Whether we win this particular Election Day or not, whether Democrats can hold on to Congress and/or Governor’s Offices or not, the truth of the matter is, good, decent people, even a majority, can only hold out against Everything for so long.  I’m not talking about the alt-right here.  I am talking about everything else: climate change, the possible end of technological advancement, the possible rise of A.I. and algorithms, overpopulation, Peak Water, the possibility of non-friendly alien contact (by extra-terrestrials, from outside of our solar system).  We have LOTS of problems here on Earth and politics as such can only address a few of them, and even then it can end up being in the lame, “too little too late” sense of the addressing of it.

What I’m saying is, nobody’s ever had to solve for everything ever, in human history.  It might not be possible.  We can do everything right and society as we know it might still collapse.  So here are five things to consider before society ends.

1--Make more than one plan.  It’s that simple, and that hard.  Some situations might want to make you check out and not live through them, but that doesn’t let you off the hook for everything.  Make a few specific plans for a) things you can handle, or survive, b) things you can overcome, or actually change for the better, and c) things that really are a “nope, I’m absolutely fucked, bye now” scenario.

2--Learn who your enemies really are, and get ready to KILL them as needed.  This should be a small and specific list, that you only have to use as a last resort.  If it’s your first option and the list is huge OR vague, consider that you might be the problem, or one of them.

3--Consider being absolutely and relentlessly KIND to everyone who is not a dedicated foe or enemy.  Not just polite or nice.  Be ready to show up and help others.  Be ready to care for others and to walk with, or if need be to walk under and CARRY others until they can stand on their own.  Understand that while some selfishness is needed for you to survive, pure selfishness alone is going to poison your mind.  Don’t bury more people than you need to.  Reach out to who you can, when you can.  When there is no society, BE social, and BE society.

4--Set aside time to be alive, while you can, while society persists still.  Get OFF the internet for a few hours.  Get out in some sunlight if you can.  Feel some rain or snow touch you if you can’t.  Pick a flower if you want to.  Call your friends or family--talk with your people.  Tell them you love them if you can.  If you can cook outdoors on a grill, do so.  If you can head to the beach, go for it.  Buy the little thing you’ve always put off getting, that you’ve wanted.  Finish reading, or writing, that book of yours.

Make some time to do things that feel GOOD while you can do that still.  There will always be plenty of time to suffer later once society isn’t a thing any more.

5--Not all endings happen instantly.  That needs to be said  How many people here actually HAVE resumed a) going to the library, b) going out to see a movie at a theater, c) going out to eat at a restaurant, dine-in, d) actually going out to a party with friends and crowds, and/or e) going out to a shopping mall (if you have access to one that’s still active and in business)?  Post-pandemic, how many social errands and outings have you lost?  If you still have family and/or children with you, how much of THEIR social life is either gone or not happening in the first place, thanks to pandemics?

Societies aren’t at risk of collapse, usually, over one big sudden thing.  Instead they die slowly as functions die and drop off, one by one as the places where you live and the places where you go become defunct and fade away and/or get outright taken away from you by so-called “progress” from out-of-state, corporate landlords newly come to town.  The death by a thousand cuts usually IS slow, always proceeds ONE loss at a time.

Prepare accordingly.  Note your losses and replace what you can.  Or you know, raise hell as you mourn the losses you can’t replace.

What I’m saying in all of this is: the end of society doesn’t change the fact that you’re a human being.  Sure, prepare and have food, water, shelter and weapons ready.  But beyond that, understand that you will need more as a thinking being.  Spending your whole life just surviving doesn’t make you the best--it just means you’re as good at being dirt-poor and miserable as everyone else surviving the shit-show.  Doing better means doing more than the least.

And if nothing else?  Thank you kindly for your time and patience.

[fukurodaze]

you!

pairing: miya atsumu x fem!reader genre: fluff, an atsumu and reader meet cute!! word count: 2.1k warnings: light cursing synopsis: atsumu may or may not have developed a tiny crush on karasuno’s substitute manager.

requested by anon <3 aah i’m so sorry i kind of changed the plot slightly :))

special thanks to maddie @prettysetterakaashi​ for the beta <3

LISTEN TO: all about you - nct u

the first time you meet miya atsumu, he is seventeen, wearing his number seven jersey, and so ready to whoop your team’s (and, really, anyone else’s) ass.

the arena is much bigger than you had dreamed - much like the ones you’d seen on television - like the sendai gymnasium, but multiply it by four. it’s loud, overwhelming, and teeming of air-tight pressure. you swear you could almost hear it: the wavering heartbeats, the rolling cameras, the competitive atmosphere.

maybe you had overdressed just a little bit. turned your tracksuit into a stylish oversized-padded-jacket-baggy-pants-tight-shirt situation. (you absolutely blushed when kiyoko said you were pretty today.)

out of the crowd of volleyball players gathered before the opening ceremony, you spot a faux blonde tuft of hair and a loud voice accompanying it. he nags at one of his teammates as he stuffs his coat in his bag. 

broad back. sloped shoulders. the number seven.

“say, is that inarizaki’s setter you talked about from camp?” slightly motioning to the side, you ask your fellow first-year, kageyama tobio.

kageyama nods sharply, “yes. why?”

“yachi told me that if we win the first match, we’ll be up against them. i heard they were runner ups for the last interhigh,” you mutter, “whew, scary.”

and extremely handsome, you want to say.

there’s a pause, and you continue, “i mean, not that we’re guaranteed to win the first match anyways. it’s nationals...”

kageyama shrugs at your statement, “it’s nationals.”

you remember yachi had told you to have faith in the boys. 

so when you heard the whistle on game point announcing karasuno’s victory on the first round, you couldn’t help but mumble an ‘i knew it’ under your breath by the bleachers.

but as you cheered, yellow water bottles in hand, voice an octave higher, you swore you felt a pair of eyes that ogled at you from the second floor. 

your senses were correct - miya atsumu was wondering what kind of volleyball team had someone as cute as you in all of japan. 

“eyes on their plays, not the managers.” miya osamu’s hand lands square on his twin’s back, earning a surprise yelp in response.

“they’re not even playing anymore! they just won!” atsumu gestures dramatically, but he keeps looking your way. 

“well ya better keep yer eyes on the ball tomorrow-”

“-and YOU need ‘ta jump higher for our new quicks.”

osamu sighs, and as they hear their coach calling them down, the two leave the second floor balcony in rare silence. he figures his brother might have developed a little crush on karasuno’s substitute manager. it was always common for his brother to develop some kind of attraction to someone from somewhere far, yet the way atsumu’s staring so intently has him thinking he might actually want to do something about you. 

“you’re weird,” osamu snickers.

atsumu furrows his brows in joking offence. “-isn’t that, like, rude?”

atsumu wasn’t, isn’t, and will never be the kind of guy who loses sight of the ball. ever. 

he reckons his peripheral vision has widened for this match and this match only, seeing as he feels an extra pair of eyes on him.

for some reason, he feels the need to play around a bit more today.

his sets vary even more in tempo, he’s spiked more than usual, and he can’t stop moving. it doesn’t help either that inarizaki’s ten-point lead in the second set only fuels his playtime. anything to rack up some more points.

although he’s stuck with jump floaters, he thinks flipping off karasuno’s super libero is almost enough to make up for his lack of jump serves, so he savours every time he’s in the back right, ready to serve. 

he doesn’t mind the gasps that come out of your mouth when he lands a service ace, either.

and as the set point goes to inarizaki with a lead that just seemed so right, atsumu promises himself to come up to you once inarizaki wins. 

he knows he’s going to win. 

his shoes feel light on the rubber floor, like he could squat down and bend back and jump up all he wants. his muscles are working hard, and his senses are on point. 

when he looks around, seeing the teammates he knows can catch his sets and karasuno preparing their defense, his eyes instead flutter to you, in the corner on the benches, holding desperately onto two yellow water bottles. you’re wearing a normal tracksuit this time, but he still thinks it’s cute. 

he tries not to think of you between rallies. not about how he’d like to see you cheer for him when he crushes your team. not about how he’s found the perfect dinner spot near the gymnasium to take you out to after the win. not about the satisfaction he’ll feel after seeing little tobio’s defeat and your hand in his. (assuming that a first date involves holding hands - atsumu’s never been on one.)

so, with only the third set left to win, atsumu doesn’t bother asking what could go wrong. because he knows to make sure that nothing, nothing at all, will result in a loss for inarizaki. 

oh, how he was wrong. 

when karasuno’s frustratingly good first year duo blocks his ball and sends it plummeting to the edge of the court, atsumu knows that the whistle that follows means that this might even be the last time he sees you this year - and what if you’re not at nationals next year?

the sting of losing comes first as the usual shaking hands and lining up to bow commences after the game, and as he says some last words to his teammates and school, he catches sight of you hugging the team’s other beautiful manager. you have tears of joy threatening to fall out of the corners of your eyes, and he admits you look precious with the edges of your mouth upturned and your cheekbones raised in a victorious smile. 

he wants to see you like this with him. although he doesn’t know you at all, he doesn’t want to miss you; yet he can’t pinpoint why.

so after calling to hinata and telling him he’ll “set for him someday” (it was half-spite and half-promise, but it came out as a threat), atsumu’s gaze fixes on the back of the other side of the court at the benches where you are. 

“‘tsumu, let’s go,” osamu calls back at him, and it brings him back to reality.

except reality’s a loss where he doesn’t get to see you in his life ever again. and though he’ll accept the outcome of a national-level volleyball match, he knows he can do something to at least catch up with you - he’s still got a few days in tokyo, after all.

“ah screw it!” atsumu mumbles to himself, and begins to suck up his pride. what he’s about to do will be either extremely embarrassing or extremely endearing, he thinks.

he walks up to the karasuno bench where you’re at the side, packing up the water bottles in a duffle bag to carry. you’re squatting down, unseeing of him, until there are a few footsteps and the feeling of a person behind you. you turn around, and it makes you stand up quickly.

you look at the setter, bleached hair untoned and face oddly satisfying to look at. you had paid a little too much attention to him during the opening ceremony, and though you had suppressed the knowledge of his ogling at you from yesterday, you can’t help but feel your attraction to the setter worsen with him right in front of you.

“you. meet me at the entrance,” atsumu invites, and though his face is obviously burning red, something about his words make your heart pump a little too fast.

it doesn’t take much contemplation to figure out your answer is yes. yet, somehow, saying yes while your heart suddenly changes its pace takes a little bit more time than you thought.

you’re about to reply when you see osamu call his brother loudly, making atsumu’s eyes go wide in embarrassment. you stifle a laugh, and you give him a subtle nod, though judging by the way he runs like he’s chasing an out-of-bounds ball, you reckon he might not have seen you. 

again, you’re correct - atsumu thinks he’s just witnessed his own death, running fast at one of his only attempts at ever asking someone out. 

how does one ask someone out? is it, like, ‘hey, wanna go on a date’? or is it, like, ‘hey i like you and i think you’re pretty and i tried to find you on instagram but i don’t know your name’? he agrees with himself that it’s safer to say the former.

atsumu is pulled back to his team, embarrassment seeping through his senses from his asking out on top of that familiar sting of losing. he changes into his sweatpants and jacket in silence, backpack worn tightly around his shoulders as the rest of the team walks through the venue.

“'samu, have you ever been turned down by a girl?” atsumu tries his best not to sound like he’s sulking (he is).

osamu hums, “what did you do to karasuno’s manager?”

“ugh, not telling.”

meanwhile, burning excitement and far-fetched fantasies finally hit you. 

your heart now beats fast - maybe not as fast as when karasuno had anticipated atsumu’s serve, but still fast - and you’re not sure what kinds of chances you’ll get in the future. 

there is an internal debate: there’s no denying the mutual attraction, so why stop? you want to tell yourself that nationals is for volleyball and for you to fill in for your friend yachi, but his words repeat themselves in your head, and it’s only mere seconds that pass before you know exactly what to do.

you come up to kiyoko, and she replies with a kind hum. you ask, “can i go... uh, buy some souvenirs real quick? i’ll bring this bag with the water bottles with me.”

she looks around first, “ah, how long will you be gone?”

“not long.”

“well, the boys are going to change, so, alright. don’t get lost, okay?”

“okay!” your feet bring you out of the court area, and into the maze of the gymnasium. (you have no idea where you’re going.)

it makes you think; is this all worth it for the stranger miya atsumu? maybe. maybe not. but you’ve gotten the chance - might as well take it. 

there are things you whisper to yourself as you run around the foyer, unsure of which entrance he’d be most likely to meet you in, so you end up running to all of them. there are around five entrances total.

“this is so stupid,” is one of the things you whisper to yourself.

“he’s not even that cute,” is another.

“why couldn’t he just ask me out normally?” a sigh at the second entrance.

“ugh, but he’s... so good at volleyball,” a remark at the third entrance.

and finally, at the fifth entrance all the way at the back, “you!” 

that is when you spot that familiar tuft of untoned bleached hair, swept to the left, his maroon club jacket replacing his jersey. you hope you’re not seeing a mirage, seeing as he hadn’t looked back when you first exclaimed of your presence. 

your voice is louder and more embarrassing than his, “miya atsumu!”

now he looks. 

now he turns red.

you see his brother osamu with some kind of amused grin as you grab onto the setter’s club jacket, dragging him somewhere. you mumble an ‘excuse me’ to his brother, and he surprisingly nods.

when you drag atsumu into a secluded corner still inside the venue, his face is bright red like you remember it. you let go of his arm, and it makes you cringe to see how you had literally just pulled japan’s number one high school setter by his sleeve.

“what was that?” atsumu fixes his bag. he tries to hide his incoming grin.

“you- you told me to meet you at the entrance,” you fumble with the ends of your jacket, “so i did.”

“huh,” atsumu mutters, matter-of-factly. he sounds amused. he looks at you with a smile. “i’m glad.”

there’s a silence as he offers to carry your bag. you let him.

“i know this place near this venue, do you- do you want to go there sometime?”

your ears perk up - it’s exactly what you want to hear. now, there is no contemplation.

you inhale. “yeah. i would like that.”

atsumu takes a deep breath, and he smiles like a happy child. you tell him your full name, and he tells you his, even though he knows you already know it.

it turns out, the first time you really meet miya atsumu, he is seventeen, wearing his dishevelled maroon club jacket, and so not ready to miss you.

and thank god; he was definitely going to see you again.

[bunny-hoodlum]

Asynchronous With You: Chapter 1

ship: naruhina

rating: teen (maybe mature later)

tags:  Modern Day AU, Foster Siblings, Family, Angst, Unrequited Love, Poor Communication

summary: An awkward journey full of self-denial and missed moments between two foster siblings. Perhaps their love will find the right timing someday.

(The way overdue long-form version of the Foster Sib AU I wrote for @szajnie for Secret Santa 2020.)

music: Asynchronous With You by burokkurubeats & my playlist

He wasn't the first child.

Somehow he had expected to be.

A girl his age, age six, and her older cousin had already been living here for a year now.

They had family, they were just… deemed unfit.

Maybe they'll take them back, when they get their act together. He doesn't know. He only knows he doesn't have the luxury of hope that they do.

Nobody was coming back to get him.

And he had nowhere to go back to.

The foster lady with the ruby red eyes showed him his bedroom.

At first, Naruto thought Hinata and Neji were close, so much so that no one could ever be closer.

Then he thought it was their tactic to keep others out, self-preservation in blood.

Hinata was nice enough, but she never strayed far from Neji.

That was because he never let her.

She wasn't just fiercely loyal to him. She was scared of him.

He tried to get Neji in trouble. Kurenai-obachan needed to know. But Hinata stopped him. She told him not to split them apart. That she didn't mind Neji bossing her around. She would never be okay if she didn't know where her cousin was.

So he tried. But it was hard. He still picked fights with Neji.

That didn't make Hinata happier, either.

He still thinks it's Neji's fault when she finally breaks down, telling them both off before running to her room.

He runs after her, but she won't let him in.

He goes to his room and talks to her through his wall. He has to press himself flat against it, straining to hear any sound.

Could she hear him, too?

"I'll leave Neji alone, okay?" It's a bitter promise, because it makes him feel like he's surrendered when he did nothing wrong. But part of him also feels tired of this pattern day in and day out. He'd rather spend his time better.

The silence stretched passed the point of comfort, and he pictured tomorrow, a tomorrow where Hinata may hate him. Enough to shun him in his own home. And would he really do what he's always done to others to her? Would he really go that far for attention?

His unconscious concerns spilled out, running through his fingers before he could stuff the words back in and swallow them. "Hinata… can I bug you instead?" He flinches and freezes, and he waits.

It's faint, but he heard her.

"Sure," she said.

His shoulders lowered as he slouched down the wall, the tension leaking from his body and he smiled.

Their early years would be shaped by a secret language shared between the two of them from that moment on, where a pinch on the arm and a retaliatory swat was a polite exchange in the morning. Where a "missing" item from their bedrooms was an excuse to search the house together, and where a stolen item was an invitation to enter each other's bedrooms. Hinata really liked to show him her new collection of pressed flowers, and he really liked to show her his latest Gachapon figurine. Whenever that happened, it was usually one of those new things that went "missing" shortly after.

It wasn't that Kurenai-obasan didn't spoil him as much as them, he could have new things all the time, too. But she hadn't been planning on taking him, she hadn't been prepared for him. If he wanted more things, Hinata would have to have less.

And the time he could spend with her was more than enough for him.

____________________________

Halfway through their grade school years their secret games waned. Being in the same grade helped to keep them in touch throughout the day, but at lunch time she was Neji's, and after school she was Neji's. That's just how it was.

But they were maturing. Their experiences were expanding. They had so much to talk about.

But how could they? It had to be at bedtime. And because it had to be bedtime, they had to be quiet.

He got the idea to drill a hole into their bedroom wall so that way they could easily whisper and not get caught.

That was one of his first thrills: vandalism.

"I think you mean 'home improvement'," Hinata giggled.

He had to process that.

He never realized until then that he still hadn't considered this his home.

Thanks to Kurenai-obasan, he had food in his belly and a roof over his head. He had a bed, some video games, and a safe route to school.

Thanks to Neji, he had a model of masculinity. Not a role model, mind you, but a model nonetheless. Some things about Neji were cool, even admirable. And other things he would never do in his life. They were both abandoned, confused and alone, sure. But it was always annoying how Neji couldn't help but look back. Naruto always had to look forward.

Maybe the way they both did things was equally imperfect.

He smiled to himself, as this is where he had to thank Hinata, for she kept them both grounded and present. Because that's how she lives her life, like each day is a gift not to be squandered.

Who cares about being hurt yesterday? Who cares about what hasn't happened yet?

Right now, at this moment, he was home.

This was his home.

____________________________

Girls at school always cupped their ears when they were eavesdropping. They cup their mouths when they're telling secrets or bad-mouthing others.

Hinata cups her ear around the hole in their wall when he's telling her stories. And she cups her mouth when she's telling him hers.

Her ears are sensitive, so he tries to watch his volume. He forgets himself when he gets excitable.

Her breath tickles and teases a memory from his brain, one that fills him with both sadness and relief.

When he tries to sleep, he searches for the root of this feeling.

The next day on television, there's a mother murmuring her baby to sleep.

He adopts that image as his own forgotten memory.

And the following night, Hinata's soothing whispers confirm that he had a mother once, and she used to sing him to sleep.

____________________________

Hinata's a wimp.

He loves the girl, but at school she is a gosh damn trouble magnet.

He jumps in front of her bullies, fists blazing, and he loses.

A lot.

But he gets to pick fights again. He gets to be cool from time to time. And when he gets better, he becomes the best. He gets a reputation!

By the time they reach fifth grade, he doesn't even have to raise a fist.

A well-aimed death glare is enough.

When Neji's graduation forces the two cousins apart for the first time in their lives, the older Hyuuga undergoes a personality shift.

He expresses legitimate concern for Hinata.

Maybe it's been there all along.

They're both standing on the empty landing just outside of their elementary's gymnasium where the remainder of the proceedings were taking place. Neji's stare, heavy with expectations and ultimatum, bore down on his little shoulders.

"You're the only one I can ask."

"Yeah, don't worry. I got this!" Naruto flashed his patent overconfident grin, and this time not a hint of condescension passed across Neji's face.

His heart thumped wildly when he and Neji returned to the gymnasium, with Neji returning to his position amongst the other students in the center of the room. Family members lined up against the walls in foldable metal chairs, a spattering of pride and loss playing out across their faces; Their children were growing up.

When Naruto took his seat, he stole a glance at Hinata on the other side of Kurenai-obasan. Her gentle profile seemed to unlock something inside of him. Waves upon waves of warmth filled his body, pulling him in deeper into a languid pool of contentment.

He would be her protector from now on.

He would be her brother.

____________________________

He never noticed how their paths lead each other further and further apart.

Their daily routines had remained the same.

Aside from a few exciting developments.

Like Kurenai reconnecting with a childhood friend. The man was a Marine and a chainsmoker, but he seemed cool.

Or how Naruto happened to find a collection of discarded skin mags behind the pool storage room at school. They now safely occupied the space beneath his bed.

There was also the neighborhood shrimp squad of grade-schoolers who loved to call him 'Boss' whenever he came over to play.

Or that time he was hanging out with Sasuke, and unusually the stoic lad had insulted a group of delinquents before he did at the local arcade.

Sasuke may have taken out four guys by the time Naruto took out one, but he still got the win.

But way, way before all of that something had really surprised him: Hinata becoming Deputy Class Rep to their own Haruno Sakura.

She was volunteered for the position based on her equally outstanding grades. Or, at least that's what they had believed.

Over time, it became apparent that they had volunteered Hinata to be Sakura's foil. Hinata was considerate and much more approachable. If the students wanted something, they went straight to Hinata first.

But then her unchanged nature became more detectable.

Like he's said before, Hinata's a wimp.

She crumbles at the slightest disapproval.

She implodes when she's convinced she could do better. When she thinks she's failing.

So halfway through their first year, she started to get abused. Girls and boys alike tried to strongarm her into making their lives 'better'. Making her fetch their lunches and dumping cleaning duty on her every day, then throwing her words back at her when she tried to complain. They'd say, 'But it's what you signed up for', and 'Isn't this your job? Don't you care about your classmates?'.

Somehow Sakura never noticed. He tried to tell her, but she didn't take him seriously. He tried to tell the teachers, but they acted like he had no evidence.

Liars! They just didn't want to get involved! What good are teachers if they don't help their students?!

Some weeks later, the following exams were posted outside the classroom.

Sakura was number two, just below Ino. They were always competing for the top, always unevenly dethroning the other.

Hinata was number three. Always suspiciously number three. And he was dead last.

Hinata could rise to the top, but she never tries.

He always tries, but he can never seem to rise.

He realized then that he hasn't been doing enough as her brother.

Compared to her, he has no future, no potential. It wouldn't be a waste if he took on her burdens.

He can take abuse, because during those first six years at a state-run orphanage, abuse was all he knew.

He realized what he had to do. Resiliency was one of his best traits, after all.

The following day, he took Hinata's place as the class slave. He fetched their lunches, got them drinks whenever they asked. The only thing they never asked him to do was their homework. Because… yeah.

Nobody knew they lived together.

If they did, well, he might've been forced to copy Hinata's assignments all the same.

He never noticed how their paths lead them apart, how their daily routines boxed them into two different social spheres never to overlap.

He was still her brother. Her protector.

But by high school, he'd also become the embodiment of trouble itself.

And he couldn't let that stuff disrupt her life.

____________________________

Naruto’s sprawled belly-down on the sofa playing on his Vita handheld when Kurenai-obasan calls out to him as she’s emerging from the laundry room.

“Naruto, I’ve stared at this hamper for three weeks,” She drops the hamper at her feet with a weighty thump for emphasis. “Are you going to do it or not?”

“I just forgot.” He surreptitiously powers off his game and abandons his handheld on the sofa as he ambles off the couch.

He’s dramatic when he slouches his shoulders and drags his feet, head lolling backwards in anguish. He hauls the hamper back inside the laundry room. He doesn’t look when he opens the washing machine and dumps his clothes into the drum. But the pile is sticking up. He tries to smash it all down, but he can’t. It’s already full.

“Crap.” He scoops out his month-old laundry in four armfuls and disposes them at his feet. He reaches in to grab the damp garments sticking to the sides of the drum, then begins to throw them into the dryer. At least that’s empty.

He doesn’t notice the butter yellow hoodie with white polka dots on the kangaroo pocket. Or the frilly linen top that needs to be dried on the line. Or the no-show socks with rabbits on them.

Once the drum was cleared out, he hurled his fermented clothes into the washer and started up both machines.

He went back to his game for several hours. Kurenai had to remind him to dry his clothes as she delivered the dryer’s contents to Hinata’s room. This was because Hinata was at cram school.

As he moved his items to the dryer, he recalled how Neji had done cram school too before moving onto a prestigious high school deep in the city center.

Naruto never knew whether to be jealous or not. School work was utterly useless and he didn’t envy the workload of overachievers, but maybe that was only because he couldn’t handle it. Maybe if he were smarter, he’d appreciate it better. Or maybe he’d figure out more ingenious ways to skip it all.

He played his game in the laundry room, waiting for the final ding to go off. He used the same dirty hamper to gather up his clean clothes and dragged it inside his room, where he promptly dumped it all out on his bed. Fresh laundry was intoxicating and he didn’t fight the urge to belly flop into the softener-drenched warmth.

He deeply inhaled as he sank into the heat. His cheek felt particularly nice against this satin material.

His left eye opened a peek. Vanilla and lavender stripes met his eye, with a rose lace and ribbon trim along the waistband.

He shot upright, his face no longer hot from the laundry, but hot with horrified embarrassment. He stared at the garment like it might come to life, jump on him and eat his face. It hadn’t so far.

‘It should be fine to pick them up, right?’ He thought with his frozen hand stretched out.

Why was he acting weird about this? They used to mix their laundry up all the time when they were younger. It’s actually how Hinata acquired a love of hoodies in the first place, because she loved to wear the beige one Obasan got him. She can pull off softer colors, but he can’t, so it was easily hers from that moment on.

He plucked up her panties by their corners and held it away, like it were an envelope full of Ricin, and he gazed at it mindlessly. Somehow they were exactly what he expected Hinata to wear, they were girly and cute.

Pale skin flashed before his eyes, a taboo image of Hinata in these panties, lifting her pleated uniform skirt up had startled him and he dropped the undergarments with a yelp.

Did he really just imagine her that way?

Naruto tried to smack the stupid from his mind until his cheeks burned with physical pain, then with everything he could muster, he snatched up the pair and ran for her bedroom, adding it unceremoniously to her hamper of clean clothes.

He pretended to be asleep by the time she got home.

He ignored the sweet voice that slid through the hole in the wall until she gave up and stopped calling him.

There was simply no way he could hold a conversation with her after that experience.

And to think he had to rely on his skin mags to purge him of his sin.

____________________________

Weightlifting was doing wonders for him.

For starters, it was taking his mind off of his libido.

For another, his physique was changing. He was starting to sprout up, too. Hinata’s former bullies were starting to learn some new feelings, like reluctance and fear. They eventually moved onto the freshman to enslave, leaving him alone to finally live his final year of middle school the way he always wanted.

The more he did weights, the more girls started to look his way, not just at Sasuke-teme.

Life was looking good!

Is what he thought when he was hanging out on the roof with Sasuke and two Ojou-gyaru types. One girl was straddling Sasuke while Naruto spooned the other girl from behind.

A dire thought hit him when he realized only six months remained until graduation. A choice he had been overlooking was rapping its knuckles against his temple, and he could hardly shoo it away.

“Hey.” Naruto turned his head towards Sasuke.

“Hn?”

“Where are you going for High School?”

Sasuke turned his head up towards the sky. He was pensively silent. Then he shrugged. “I’m going to stay here.”

“So you’re going to Konoha Normal High?”

“Just like everyone else.” Sasuke said.

‘Everyone else’ didn’t include Hinata, and he was supposed to stick close to her.

How suspicious would it be if he chose to follow her to her high school?

What if he couldn’t? What if she was following the same path as Neji?

Neji would be there until her senior year. Was his responsibility to the both of them over already?

Naruto would later get a text from Obasan that she would be spending the night with Asuma.

K-Obasan: There’s curry udon in the fridge.

He narrowed his eyes at the text.

Just because you add noodles to leftover curry doesn’t make it a Naruto-approved dinner!

“Udon’s not even the same thing!”

His steps slowed in the school corridor. It was enough for his rooftop date to catch up with him.

“Your face looks weird when you’re glum.” She giggled as she poked his cheeks.

“Yeah, well, I just realized I’m about to go home and no one’s going to be waiting for me.”

“Oh?” She circled her arms around his own and leaned in close. “Good for us, huh?”

His eyes widened with realization. A goofy grin stretched across his face, the corners curling lasciviously.

‘Yeah,’ he thought, ‘I’m owed this.’

____________________________

Author Note: I'm forgoing the one-shot because I still don't have that kind of discipline. ;D I'll definitely try to finish this short story to the end. I had received some good title suggestions for this story, but I ended up going with another song name because I can't seem to do anything else. ¯\_༼ ಥ ‿ ಥ ༽_/¯

I'm still going to try to adhere to the canon of the original fic to the best of my ability. I would totally declare this new canon, honestly, but then it'd be a Secret Dating fic with smut and it would never line up with what I already wrote. 😓

Anyways, I hope you liked this so far!

[iwanthermidnightz]

When she was 18, Taylor Swift wrote a song called “Fifteen.” “Back then I swore I was going to marry him someday, but I realized some bigger dreams of mine,” she sang, sounding more like a wizened great-grandmother than a rising senior.

“Fifteen” is evocative, if a little sanitized: Nimble mandolin strums mimic the nervous-excited butterflies of the first day of high school, as Swift sings of wide-eyed hope that “one of those senior boys will wink at you and say, ‘You know I haven’t seen you around before.’”

There was a certain emotional truth to the lyrics — do several years’ age difference ever seem more consequential than when you’re a teenager? — but some older listeners were skeptical. “You applaud her skill,” wrote a critic for the Guardian in a mixed review of Swift’s second album, “Fearless,” “while feeling slightly unsettled by the thought of a teenager pontificating away like Yoda.”

Swift, now 31, sings, “When you are young they assume you know nothing,” on “Folklore,” an LP that is both compositionally mature and braided throughout with references to the specific, oft-denigrated wisdom of teenagers. By the end of that song, “Cardigan,” the narrator has excavated such a heap of florid but emotionally lucid memories that she must conclude, with the force of a sudden revelation, “I knew everything when I was young.”

Though it’s not as flashy a topic as exes, fame or A-list celebrity feuds, age has long been a recurring theme in Swift’s work. A numerology enthusiast with a particular attachment to 13, Swift has also released a handful of songs whose titles refer to specific ages: “Seven,” “Fifteen,” and, of course, “22,” the chatty “Red” hit on which she summed up that particular junction of emerging adulthood as feeling “happy, free, confused and lonely at the same time.” Like her contemporary Adele, Swift seems to enjoy time-stamping her music, sometimes presenting it like a public-facing scrapbook that will always remind her what it felt like to be a certain age — even if, with their millions of fans and armfuls of Grammys, neither of these women is exactly typical.

Swift’s critics have often seemed even more hyper attuned to her age. Perhaps because precocity played such a role in her story from the beginning — at 14, she became the youngest artist to sign a publishing deal with Sony/ATV; at 20, she became the youngest to win the album of the year Grammy — many listeners have been fascinated with how her evolution into adulthood has, or hasn’t, played out in her songs. People comb Swift’s lyrics for allusions to sex, alcohol and profanity as meticulously as MPAA representatives do a borderline-PG movie. Particular attention was paid to her 2017 album “Reputation” and its several mentions of drunkenness and dive bars — even though Swift was 27 when it came out.

The relative puritanism of Swift’s music up until “Reputation” did feel like an intentional decision: Unlike the female pop stars who broadcast their “loss of innocence” as a sudden and irrevocable transformation, Swift seemed acutely conscious that she did not want to repel younger listeners — or lose the approval of their parents. At best, it felt like an acceptance of her status as a role model; at worst, it had the whiff of a marketing strategy.

But the mounting obsession with whether Swift was “acting her age” also reflected a larger societal double standard. Famous or not, women face much more intense scrutiny around age, whether it’s those constant cultural reminders of the biological clock’s supposed ticking or the imperative that women of all ages stay “fresh-faced” or risk their own obsolescence. (“People say I’m controversial,” Madonna said in 2016. “But I think the most controversial thing I have ever done is to stick around.”) And while girlish youth and ingenuity are rewarded in some contexts, they’re also easily dismissed as silly and frivolous as soon as that girl strays too close to the sun — as Swift has experienced time and again.

Despite having once been a teenage girl myself (unlike a lot of music critics), I confess that I am not completely free of these internalized biases. I was initially dismissive of “Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince,” a song that appeared on Swift’s 2019 album “Lover.” The first few times I heard it, I wondered what a grown woman on the cusp of 30 was doing still writing about homecoming queens and teenage gossip.

But over time, I’ve come to appreciate the song and its dark vision, which acknowledges cruelty, depression and the threat of sexual violence (“Boys will be boys then, where are the wise men?”) more directly than any of the songs Swift wrote when she was an actual teenager. The senior boys in this song are not the sort who wink and say to freshman girls wholesome things like, “Haven’t seen you around before” — which, unfortunately, makes them feel more authentic. Even the title “Miss Americana” alludes to a larger world outside the high school walls, and the greater systemic forces that keep such patterns repeating well into adulthood.

“Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince” now feels like a precursor to some of the richest songs on “Folklore,” which finds Swift returning once again to her school days with the keen, selectively observant eye of an adult. Consider “Seven,” an impressionistic recreation of her perspective at that age. The second verse, charmingly, plays like a first-grader’s breathless sequence of unguarded observations:

“And I’ve been meaning to tell you, I think your house is haunted, your dad is always mad and that must be why/And I think you should come live with me and we can be pirates, then you won’t have to cry.”

But “Seven” is not cutesy so much as poignant, because of the tensions that result when Swift’s adult perspective interjects. “Please, picture me in the trees, before I learned civility,” she sings in a yearning soprano, prompting the listener to wonder what sorts of feral pleasure she — and all of us — have exchanged for the supposed “civility” of adulthood.

Quite a few songs on “Evermore,” Swift’s second release of 2020, also toggle between past and present, conscious of what is lost and gained by the passage of time. The playful “Long Story Short” passes a note to Swift’s younger self (“Past me, I wanna tell you not to get lost in these petty things”), while “Dorothea,” like “Seven,” revisits a fevered childhood friendship from the cool perspective of adulthood.

Most striking is the bonus track “Right Where You Left Me,” a twangy tale of a “girl who got frozen” (“Time went on for everybody else, she won’t know it/She’s still 23, inside her fantasy”). That language echoes something Swift admits in the 2020 Netflix documentary “Miss Americana”: “There’s this thing people say about celebrities, that they’re frozen at the age they got famous. And that’s kind of what happened to me. I had a lot of growing up to do just trying to catch up to 29.”

But Swift’s recent songs, at their best, understand that “growing up” isn’t always a linear progression in the direction of something more valuable. Take the “Folklore” songs “Cardigan” and “Betty,” which use an interconnected set of characters to chronicle teenage drama and celebrate the heightened emotional knowledge of youth. “I’m only 17, I don’t know anything, but I know I miss you,” Swift sings in the voice of James, a high schooler who broke Betty’s heart and has shown up on her doorstep to ask forgiveness. Maybe that is a melodramatic thing to do; maybe it is the sort of thing adults could stand to do more often. Swift’s music helps us to remember that growing up doesn’t automatically mean growing wiser — it can just as easily mean compromise, self-denial and growing numb to emotions we once felt with bracing intensity.

In a gesture to regain control of her songs, Swift is currently rerecording her first six albums (her master recordings were recently sold by Scooter Braun’s Ithaca Holdings to the investment firm Shamrock Capital). Last month she released a note-for-note update of her early hit “Love Story,” and has promised to release an entire new-old version of “Fearless (Taylor’s Version)” later this year. It has been amusing to think of Swift going back and inhabiting the voice of her teenage self: On the face of it, “Fifteen” is particularly surreal to imagine her singing as an adult.

In another way, though, “Fifteen” — with its distant reflections on the youthful folly of expectations — makes more sense and carries more emotional weight being sung by a 30-something than it does an 18-year-old. Perhaps Swift was preparing for such an exercise when she made “Folklore,” an album that shakes off years of scrutiny and finds her reveling in the creative freedom to be as young or as old as she wants to be.

[knifetoxgunfight]

Mr. Perfectly Fine

Word Count: 1133 Requested: No Genre: Angst Pairing: Stucky (Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes) Warnings: Heartbreak

Song 

Part of the Song Fic series 

Main Masterlist

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Mr. "Perfect face"

Mr. "Here to stay"

Mr. "Looked me in the eye and told me you would never go away"

Steve was perfect. Bucky thought so, at least. Steve was his best friend, though Bucky had always felt more. He always wanted more. He knew, deep down, that he couldn't have more, but he never let go of the hope of it all. He thought that at the very least, he'd always have his best friend. "Till the end of the line," they had promised. A promise Bucky never intended to have broken.

Everything was right

Mr. "I've been waiting for you all my life"

Mr. "Every single day until the end, I will be by your side"

The words haunted him. "Till the end of the line." It was a promise, an agreement they made. Bucky didn't make promises lightly, and he didn't think Steve did either. Everything had been perfect. Finally, they had the chance to live in peace. They could escape constant war and live the life they had always intended to in the 40s. They were going to stay with each other, and fight for one another until the end of their days. Steve didn't uphold his end of the bargain.

But that was when I got to know Mr. "Change of heart"

Mr. "Leaves me all alone, " I fall apart

It takes everything in me just to get up each day

But it's wonderful to see that you're okay

Steve broke his promise. He spent most of his life fighting to get Bucky back, then left him. Bucky was all alone, he was heartbroken. The hope he had been holding on to for decades had been shattered abruptly. The promise they made was broken far before Bucky could prepare. Bucky struggled, trying to find purpose in his life after being left alone in a world he wasn't raised for. He felt so isolated, the pain almost too much to bear. Sure, he had a friend, but there was nobody who understood him. Not the serum, not what it was like to wake up with no idea what had happened to the world, not the overwhelming amount of new information. It was far worse when he found Steve had not wrestled with the choice to leave at all.

Hello Mr. "Perfectly fine"

How's your heart after breaking mine?

Mr. "Always at the right place at the right time, " baby

Hello Mr. "Casually cruel"

Mr. "Everything revolves around you"

I've been Miss "Misery" since your goodbye

And you're Mr. "Perfectly fine"

Bucky had been absolutely miserable since losing Steve. It was getting harder and harder to live through each day. He decided he'd never find love, after all, he wasted all his life in love with someone who had never loved him back. He was in pain, an unbearable amount of it. How was Steve so okay while he was so alone? He was struggling every day. It gets harder and harder the more he thought about it; The more he realized Steve was fine, the less fine he was himself.

Mr. "Never told me why"

Mr. "Never had to see me cry"

Mr. "Insincere apology so he doesn't look like the bad guy"

He goes about his day

Forgets he ever even heard my name

Well, I thought you might be different than the rest

I guess you're all the same

Steve never had to deal with the consequences. He never knew how much he had hurt Bucky, how broken he left the already fragile man. He didn't give Bucky any reason for leaving, leaving him to wonder if it was his fault. Bucky blamed himself for a long time, probably far too long. Bucky had always seen something in Steve. He thought Steve was different from every other man in his life. Everyone else had either left him or died. Steve almost managed to do both at once. Steve became just like everyone else in Bucky's life.

'Cause I hear he's got his arm 'round a brand-new girl

I've been pickin' up my heart, he's been pickin' up her

And I never got past what you put me through

But it's wonderful to see that it never phased you

Steve chose Peggy. Bucky was never even on his radar. He met Peggy long after he met Bucky, and lost her long before, yet she was still his first choice. As Bucky worked to fix his broken pieces, Steve was having the time of his life with the woman. He left Bucky to clean up a mess he hadn't planned on making. It had been months, and Bucky was still hurt every time Steve was mentioned. It was as if he would never move on.

So dignified in your well-pressed suit

So strategized, all the eyes on you

Sashay away to your seat

It's the best seat, in the best room

Bucky knew Steve never wanted the glory. Even so, he had it. Bucky was a footnote in the great story of "Captain America." He was placed on a pedestal Bucky could never dream of seeing. Maybe it was inevitable that he'd be forgotten. Bucky never knew what it was like to be celebrated. He was drafted into war, presumed dead, and returned as a villain. He would never be as celebrated as Steve was.

Oh, he's so smug, Mr. "Always wins"

So far above me in every sense

So far above feeling anything

Steve never backed down from a fight. He rarely ever lost. Bucky had known loss far more than he knew wins. He caused harm, hurt people, and lost his mind. Bucky always knew Steve was better than him, or he always considered him such. He knew that everyone would rather have Steve still around than Bucky. Steve left him, his reputation and redeeming qualities taken with him. His heart was broken, he didn't trust himself anymore. He wishes he didn't feel this, he wishes he was more like the man he fell in love with. He wishes he went numb.

And it's really such a shame

It's such a shame

'Cause I was Miss "Here to stay"

Now I'm Miss "Gonna be alright someday"

And someday maybe you'll miss me

But by then, you'll be Mr. "Too late"

Bucky was willing to keep his promise. He was going to stay by Steve's side to the end. He knew he had to move on, and he was going to. Someday. He would be alright. The hopelessness and the heartbreak will dissipate into something real. Maybe by then, Steve would've come back. But Bucky will have moved on; Bucky will live his life for himself. He hadn't gotten to do that since he was a child. It was about time.

Goodbye Mr. "Perfectly Fine."

[ireadyabooks]

Books to Read in 2021

It’s a NEW YEAR, everyone! 

We made it through 2020, and whether or not you hit your reading goal this past year, don’t worry! 2021 is a new year for your TBR, and we have an AMAZING line-up of books you should add to your reading list ASAP.

THE LIFE I’M IN 

This story of the power of forgiveness and second chances presents the unflinching story of a young woman trapped in the underworld of human trafficking. In Sharon G. Flake's latest and unflinching novel, we follow Charlese Jones, who, with her raw, blistering voice speaks the truths many girls face, offering insight to some of the causes and conditions that make a bully. Turned out of the only home she has known, Char boards a bus to nowhere where she is lured into the dangerous web of human trafficking.

HOLD BACK THE TIDE

A darkly seductive story of murder, betrayal, love, and family secrets in a small town in the Scottish Highlands. Alva knows that her father killed her mother, but she can’t prove it. The more she investigates though, the more she realizes that the truth can be more monstrous than lies/ And while you might be able to outrun anything that emerges from the dark water, you can never escape your past . . .

MUTED 

Denver is more than ready on the day she and her best friends Dali and Shak sing their way into the orbit of the biggest R&B star in the world, Sean "Mercury" Ellis. Merc gives them everything: parties, perks, wild nights -- plus hours and hours in the recording studio. Even the painful sacrifices and the lies the girls have to tell are all worth it. Until they're not. Denver begins to realize that she's trapped in Merc's world, struggling to hold on to her own voice. As the dream turns into a nightmare, she must make a choice: lose her big break, or get broken.

THE POETRY OF SECRETS

A lyrical portrait of hidden identities and forbidden love set against the harrowing backdrop of the Spanish Inquisition. Isabel’s dreams to pursue poetry and a partner of her own choosing are thrown into jeopardy when the Spanish Inquisition reaches her small town. 

SHURI #2: THE VANISHED 

Shuri, the Princess of Wakanda (and sister to the Black Panther), sets out to save a group of kidnapped girls in this all-new, original novel by New York Times bestselling author Nic Stone!

BRIDGE OF SOULS

Where there are ghosts, Cassidy Blake follows . . .unless it's the other way around? Cass thinks she might have this ghost-hunting thing down. But nothing can prepare Cass for New Orleans, which wears all of its hauntings on its sleeve. And the city's biggest surprise is a foe Cass never expected to face: a servant of Death itself.

FOLLOW YOUR ARROW

When bisexual influencer CeCe breaks up with her girlfriend, Silvie, she’s devastated. But then she starts falling for a new guy who has no idea she’s internet famous...and CeCe wants to keep it that way. But as her secrets catch up to her, she finds herself in the middle of an online storm, where she'll have to confront the blurriness of public vs. private life, and figure out what it really means to speak her truth.   

MIRROR’S EDGE

The danger rises and the deception grows in the heart-stopping third book in the New York Times bestselling Impostors series! Are twins Frey and Rafi on the same side . . . or are they playing to their own agendas? If their father is deposed from Shreve, who will take control? And what other forces may be waiting in the wings?

ZARA HOSSAIN IS HERE

Zara's family has waited years for their visa process to be finalized so that they can officially become US citizens. While dealing with the Islamophobia that she faces at school, Zara has to lay low. But when her tormentor vandalizes her house with racist graffiti, a violent crime puts Zara’s entire future at risk. Now she must pay the ultimate price and choose between fighting to stay in the only place she's ever called home or losing the life she loves and everyone in it.

REMEDY

It's a mystery - why is Cara so sick? It feels like she's been sick all her life . . . but she and her mom have never stayed in one place long enough for doctors to really understand what's happening to her. Now, at fourteen, Cara is tired of being tired, and sick of being sick. Unable to afford the care she needs, Cara's mom starts a Caring for Cara campaign online. The money starts pouring in. But something's not right to Cara. And the harder she looks, the less she understands.

HEARTSTOPPER VOLUME 3

The third volume in the poignant and sweet Heartstopper series, featuring beautiful two-color artwork! Charlie didn't think Nick could ever like him back, but now they're officially boyfriends. Nick has even found the courage to come out to his mom. But coming out isn't something that happens just once, and Nick and Charlie try to figure out when to tell their friends that they're dating. Not being out to their classmates gets even harder during a school trip to Paris. As Nick and Charlie's feelings get more serious, they'll need each other more than ever.

THE BLOCK

In the second book of The Loop trilogy, Luka is trapped in a fate worse than death. But now that he knows the truth about what he and his fellow inmates are being used for, it's more important than ever that he not only escapes, but that he builds an army.

ON THE HOOK

Hector has always minded his own business while he works towards a better life. Until Joey, whose older brother, Chavo, is head of the Discípulos gang, tells Hector that he's going to kill him: maybe not today, or tomorrow, but someday. And Hector, frozen with fear, does nothing. From that day forward, Hector's death is hanging over his head every time he leaves the house. But when a fight between Chavo and Hector's brother escalates, Hector is left with no choice but to take a stand. It's up to Hector to choose whether he's going to lose himself to revenge or get back to the hard work of living.

MISTER IMPOSSIBLE

Do the dreamers need the ley lines to save the world . . . or will their actions end up dooming the world? As Ronan, Hennessy, and Bryde try to make dreamers more powerful, the Moderators are closing in, sure that this power will bring about disaster. In the remarkable second book of The Dreamer Trilogy, Maggie Stiefvater pushes her characters to their limits – and shows what happens to them and others when they start to break.

THE GHOSTS WE KEEP 

Everything happens for a reason.At least that's what everyone keeps telling Liam Cooper after his older brother Ethan is killed suddenly in a hit-and-run. Feeling more alone and isolated than ever, Liam has to not only learn to face the world without one of the people he loved the most, but also face the fading relationships of his two best friends in the process. Soon, Liam finds themself spending time with Ethan's best friend, Marcus, who might just be the only person that seems to know exactly what they're going through - for better and for worse.

SIMONE BREAKS ALL THE RULES

Simone is shaking things up by making a bucket list of everything she hasn’t been able to do thanks to her strict Haitian immigrant parents. But as the list takes on a life of its own, things get much more complicated than Simone expected. She'll have to discover which rules are worth breaking, and which might save her from heartbreak.

SPEAK FOR YOURSELF

Skylar is ready to show everyone that her latest app is brilliant by winning an academic competition. To do that, she's going to use it to win State at the Scholastic Exposition, the nerdiest academic competition around. But when she falls for one of her team members and things get complicated, is her path to greatness over before it begins?

THE GIRL FROM THE SEA

A graphic novel about family, romance, and first love! Morgan's biggest secret is that she has a lot of secrets, including the one about wanting to kiss another girl. Then one night, Morgan is saved from drowning by a mysterious girl named Keltie. The two become friends and suddenly life on the island doesn't seem so stifling anymore. But Keltie has some secrets of her own. And as the girls start to fall in love, everything they're each trying to hide will find its way to the surface...whether Morgan is ready or not.

RISE TO THE SUN

Three days. Two girls. One life-changing music festival. Toni is reeling in the wake of the loss of her roadie father and desperate to figure out where her life will go from here. Olivia is a hopeless romantic whose heart has just taken a beating (again). When the two collide at the Farmland Music and Arts Festival, it feels like kismet. But when something goes wrong and the festival is sent into a panic, Toni and Olivia find that they need each other, and the music, more than they ever imagined.

YOU & ME AT THE END OF THE WORLD

Hannah Ashton wakes up to silence. The entire city around her is empty, except for one other person: Leo Sterling. Leo might be the hottest boy ever (and not just because he's the only one left), but he's also too charming, too selfish, and too devastating for his own good, let alone Hannah's. Together, they search for answers amid crushing isolation. But while their empty world may appear harmless . . . it's not. Because nothing is quite as it seems, and if Hannah and Leo don't figure out what's going on, they might just be torn apart forever.

IN THE SAME BOAT 

Sadie is ready for the race of a lifetime: The Texas River Odyssey. But then her brother ditches her and she has to pair up with her former best friend, Cully. It's irritating enough that he grew up to be so attractive, but once they're on the river it turns out he's ill-prepared for such a dangerous race. But as the miles pass, the pain of the race builds, they uncover the truth about their feuding families, and Sadie's feelings for Cully begin to shift. Could this race change her life more than she ever could have imagined?

THE GREAT DESTROYERS 

In this alternate-history novel, Jo joins the Pax Games: an Olympics-style competition that pits pilots of mechas against each other. But when fighters start dying in the arena, Jo is drawn into a deadly political plot. In a global arms race between superpowers, playing out in violent games that only humanity could create, comes a chilling story of clashing titans, ruthless competition, freedom, and the girl caught in the middle of it all.

[the-badger-mole]

Traditional Part 3

   Zuko woke first the next morning. He stirred the banked fire and set about making breakfast. As he was setting on a pot for tea, he heard someone else emerge from the tent. A moment later, Chief Hakoda settled beside him and yawned. 

“You’re up pretty early,” Hakoda observed. “We have another hour before we needed to get up.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you, sir,” Zuko apologized. Hakoda waved him off. 

“Not your fault,” he said. “I’m a light sleeper is all. Kya used to complain that she had to tie herself down when she slept so she wouldn’t accidentally wake me. She was a really heavy sleeper. I once got out of bed, tripped into a pile of pots and ripped one of the rushes off the wall, and she barely moved.” Hakoda let out a chuckle, but Zuko could see a flash of sadness in his eyes. “The kids take after with that, you know.”

Zuko did know. After he had joined the Gaang, Zuko began observing how the group operated with a growing sense of horror and confusion. How had they managed to evade capture for so long? And how would Zuko keep them safe? He was grateful for Toph’s presence. Her sensitivity to vibrations in the earth made it unnecessary for him to try to implement night watches. Still, Zuko was glad for the guards who stood by Katara’s bedroom door at the palace. If someone attacked her while she was sleeping, she’d never know about it. In the Fire Nation, it was traditional for the Fire Lady to sleep in her own room. Zuko wasn’t sure if all royal couples followed that archaic rule, but once they were married, Zuko was determined never to let Katara sleep on her own if he had a choice. She could sleep as heavily as she pleased as long as he was around to protect her.

“I’m a pretty light sleeper, too,” he told Hakoda. A shadow of a smile passed over the older man’s face. Silence fell over the pair, and Zuko would have liked to imagine it was the sort of comfortable, companionable silence he’d enjoyed with Iroh, but the truth was his mind was racing for something, anything to say to Hakoda that would raise his esteem in his future father-in-law’s eyes. 

“I heard a bit of your conversation with Sokka last night,” Hakoda confessed, startling Zuko from his thoughts. 

“Y-you did?” Zuko went over the conversation in his head. He hadn’t noticed Hakoda or Bato paying any special attention to them. He didn’t think he had said anything that could be interpreted as an insult. He glanced at Hakoda nervously and found the man smiling slightly, but warmly. 

“I know I shouldn’t eavesdrop,” he said. “But honestly, I didn’t have much of a choice. The wind was blowing in my direction.”

“It’s...fine,” Zuko shrugged, unsure of what else to say. If nothing else, at least Hakoda had heard that he loved Katara and wouldn’t force her into marrying him if she didn’t want. He cleared his throat nervously and waited for Hakoda to say something. 

“You know, I wasn’t as surprised as I should have been when you and Katara started dating,” Hakoda tilted his head back and looked up at the stars in the still dark sky. “When I found out, I suppose I should have felt something like anger or fear. And I did, but mostly I felt strangely like I was expecting it.” Hakoda shrugged with a thoughtful hum. “Maybe in a way I was.” 

“You don’t want her to marry me?” Zuko asked. Hakoda was confusing him. 

“It’s not that,” Hakoda said. “I have a lot of the same concerns as Sokka. You have proven yourself to be a fine young man. I think under different circumstances, you would be just the sort of man I always hoped Katara would find. Supportive, but not overbearing. Kind and compassionate. You’re a bit awkward and withdrawn,but no one’s perfect.” Zuko felt his face heat up and he ducked his head. 

“Um...”

“I didn’t mean to insult you,” Hakoda assured him gently. “I only meant that Katara has always been outgoing and forthright. And a bit awkward in her own way.” Hakoda smiled fondly. “I do understand why she chose you. You two suit each other. Maybe that’s why I wasn’t surprised. I suppose all of this has been a very long time coming.” 

The pair lapsed into silence once again. The water Zuko had put on the fire had started to boil. He took the pot from the flame and added the dark, pungent tea leaves  to steep. 

“I think I knew where things were heading at your coronation,” Hakoda continued. Zuko looked up in surprise at that.

“What do you mean?” he asked. Hakoda gestured at him vaguely. 

“I mean I think I knew you two would end up here eventually,” he said. “The day of your coronation, during the celebration banquet afterwards. You two kept finding reasons to be near each other. She wanted to make sure you weren’t in pain, or you wanted to introduce her to some advisor or general. She had accidentally gotten two cups of punch and thought you’d like the other. You wanted her to try some Fire Nation delicacy.” Hakoda shot Zuko an amused look. “I didn’t admit it to myself just then, but it was a bigger shock for me that Katara ended up with Aang and you ended up with...er...the young woman with the knives?”

“Mai,” Zuko supplied.  Hakoda nodded his head, accepting the answer. 

“Well, I was surprised at the way things shook out. Looking back, I think I would have been more unhappy if Katara had married Aang. I’m worried for her now, but she was never truly happy with him. You make her happy.” Hakoda said the words as if it were the first time he’d understood them. He smiled at Zuko again, warm and full. “I know you’ll look out for her, just like I know she’ll look out for you. Still, I worry about this arrangement.”

“Sir, I would die for your daughter,” Zuko said fervently. Hakoda chuckled and motioned for Zuko to settle down.

“Easy on the sir stuff,” he said. “Hakoda is fine. I know you would die for Katara. You proved that already. But I hope that you remember to live for her, too.”

“...sir?” Zuko blinked in surprise. Hakoda sighed and sat a bit straighter.

“Zuko, I know you are the Fire Lord, and that comes with a lot of responsibility. Katara understands that probably better than almost any woman you could have married. She grew up with me for a father, after all. But love is...love is like a flower. If you don't nurture it, it'll die. You make my daughter happy, and, under the circumstances, I couldn't ask for more.”

“I...” Zuko swallowed hard, feeling overwhelmed, confused, and touched at the same time. He was at a loss for words. Hakoda’s smile turned a bit melancholy. 

“Katara is a leader in her own right,” he said. “She puts everyone before herself. She did it for us. She did it for Aang. And, I suspect she does it for you and your people.” Zuko remembered walking into her office late at night to find her poring over proposals for justice reforms and public social programs. There were times she went whole days without sleep. Hakoda was right. Katara did put everyone else first. 

“One leader to another,” Hakoda interrupted Zuko’s thoughts. “One husband to another, I’d like to give you a piece of advice.”

“Please.”

“Even though you have a duty to your country, you will also have a duty to your wife and family. Sometimes those duties come in conflict with each other. When it is your choice- and it will be your choice more often than you think- you should put them first.” Zuko swallowed hard suddenly imagining the family he and Katara would make someday. Someday soon. 

“I will,” he swore. Hakoda clasped his shoulder.

“Good man.” He nodded towards the steaming teapot sitting by the fire. “Now, I think we could both use a bit of a warm up.” Zuko poured them both a cup of the strong brew. Hakoda took a sip and sputtered. 

“That is...bracing!” he declared, coughing a bit. A warm blush spread over Zuko’s face as he murmured an apology. No matter how many times his uncle tried to teach him, he could never get the knack of brewing tea. 

.*.*.*.*.*.

By Bato’s reckoning, they were about a day behind whatever had left the drag marks that Zuko had found. Once everyone was up and dressed, they broke down camp and prepared to continue the hunt. Sokka took folded the blankets and furs, and then he and Zuko broke down the tent while Hakoda and Bato plotted their course for the day. The older man made their way back as they were securing the tent in a pack. 

“You two work quick,” Bato said. “I’ll give you that. Well, that’s camp maintenance. I guess this means you both get a point.” Sokka pumped a fist in the air, until Bato continued, “That still puts Zuko in the lead.” 

“Aw, come on!” Sokka protested. “I did way more than he did! I sharpened all of our weapons.” 

“I made the fire,” Zuko pointed out, more invested in messing with his friend than in winning the point.

“I broke down the tent.”

“I helped,” Zuko said. “I also made breakfast.”

“You should lose points for that tea!” Sokka refused to be outdone. “You could use that to peel paint!” Hakoda and Bato laughed at the pair. The scoring was left  as was, to Sokka’s chagrin. But it didn’t matter. Soon they found fresher tracks and Sokka identified the animal they were after, earning him another point and tying him with Zuko.

Part 1, Part 2,   Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

[iturbide]

HOWDY BE PREPARED FOR THE SEVERAL ASKS COMING YOUR WAY Okay so as a precursor the basic premise is Byleth (who is male here bc male Byleth needs more love) jumps ship upon realizing that by protecting Edelgard, he somehow got drafted into a war he wanted 0 part in, any attachment to his students be damned (1/9)

(dropping the rest under a Read More because it’s a lot but it’s great and also major kudos for giving M!Byleth the love he deserves because I, too, and exceedingly fond of him and sad that I almost never see content of him)

Okay so first off: I don’t blame you for not playing CF.  It’s not worth it.  I regret playing CF, personally.  I’m sure there are people out there who enjoy CF, but I am not one of them.  But having played CF, I can tell you that Edelgard doesn’t actually take Byleth back to Enbarr after the incident at the Holy Tomb, everybody heads to a small imperial outpost to prepare for the next battle.  Unlike the other routes, you don’t get two extra weeks to prepare for the final battle -- you get one window of exploration to talk to all of your allies at this small holdover base, and then it’s straight into combat. 

So the fact that Byleth sneaks out in the dead of night?  That actually works perfectly with the set-up in the game, because it’s just a little outpost: all Byleth really has to do is get out through the gates and disappear.  Doing so with a gaggle of students would be difficult, and hopefully he didn’t recruit many (if any?) students from other routes to leave behind, because there’s pretty much no way Edelgard would turn on her main housemates, but the others...yeah, there’s less of a guarantee there.

I’m fascinated by the idea of an outcome where Edelgard doesn’t manage to take the monastery.  This perfect storm of circumstances -- Edelgard allying with Byleth and getting overconfident in their chances only to lose him, Rhea not having him as either a distraction or a target on the battlefield...sure, the damage to the monastery and surrounding areas would be significant, not to mention the losses on both sides, but having the Knights truly hold Garreg Mach has some fascinating implications, even if Rhea does end up retiring temporarily from her public role or hibernating for a period afterward and leaving things in Seteth’s charge. 

Speaking of, actually, If Rhea is still awake, would Seteth still be consulting with her on handling of the situation with the Empire, or would all decisions relating to the war be in his hands?  And if she has entered a hibernative state the way Byleth did in the game, how would Seteth be approaching things without Rhea’s direction?  He’s generally a pretty reasonable man, but I can’t imagine he’d take well to the threat that Edelgard poses to them; at the same time, though, the risks involved in meeting the Empire directly might well outweigh the benefits if Edelgard’s numbers outmatch the Knights.  Would he choose instead to fortify the monastery to weather further attacks, or would he attempt diplomacy with their northern and eastern neighbors?

I love the rhyme by the way that made me smile All of that seems very in-character for both Byleth and Edelgard, especially considering how Edelgard parceled out information to try and get Byleth on her side during the academy phase: she tried to only share enough to win her professor’s favor, but never enough to really confide in him as an equal.  It’s reasonable that she’d think she didn’t share enough, but perhaps a bit more would make them realize that she’s right and this is the only way -- meanwhile Byleth, who lived most of his life on the move with Jeralt’s mercenaries, would be an old hand at evasion, survival, and combat all.  Love the idea of him using hair dye to better disguise himself, too, especially since I’d imagine Edelgard has put out a bounty on information related to her teacher in a concerted effort to reclaim him.

...also I’ll be honest I completely forgot that “hook up” can have romantic connotations I totally meant join forces with someone else (but also you are my hero for providing gen content there’s not enough of it out there and I Need More Always).  I...also may have forgotten that the Abyss exists haha someday I’ll play that DLC maybe when I go back to another Golden Deer run.  But it makes sense that Byleth would lay low and avoid getting too involved with anyone, considering the risks involved.

But oh oh I can answer the VW question it’s partly because the general structure follows AM in regards to Faerghus’ fate more closely than it does anything else, but I think the big thing is really Rhea’s capture.  CF is the only route where Rhea’s not captured, and she goes with Dimitri directly to Faerghus where he’s crowned king.  The protection of their worst enemy prevents Cornelia from acting as she would have otherwise, which is why he ends up getting crowned and Cornelia bides her time in Arianrhod.  In every other route, with Rhea in their clutches the Twisted get much bolder and start acting to speed up the conquest of Fodlan, which includes Cornelia murdering Dimitri’s uncle before he can be crowned, framing the prince for the crime, and intending to execute him.  So with Rhea still free, the Twisted have a bit of a dilemma on their hands.  On the one hand, leaving Dimitri to inherit power in Faerghus means that the Empire has two forces to deal with (the Knights based out of Garreg Mach and the Kingdom forces to the north in Faerghus); however, if they do take Dimitri out of the running and gut the taking out the existing power structure in Faerghus, they run the risk of overextending their forces trying to keep the Kingdom under control while the Knights of Seiros remain united with the Immaculate One in the wings.  It’s a tough call, honestly, and either one has really interesting implications.

Claude remains a brilliant strategist and I deeply appreciate that.  Having control of Myrrdin as a safety measure is a very smart move, even if they are maintaining their neutrality; if Edelgard ever does get around to advancing on them, they might even have the option of approaching the Knights of Seiros with the promise of an alliance in request for aid, effectively turning every corner of Fodlan against the Empire.  It might well be that Hubert realizes that targeting the Alliance would prove dangerous to Adrestia, and chooses to plan his strategies on other fronts.

(Not gonna lie, though, I hope Claude does get to reconnect with Byleth at some point, even if Byleth doesn’t end up joining him in any official capacity.  Put at least some minds at ease.)

I am absolutely fascinated by this whole concept okay and I’m deeply curious how it would all proceed after the five year mark.  Would the stalemate hold?  Would things start to shift?  Would it be because of Byleth, or would it be the bigger forces like Adrestia, the Kingdom, the Knights, or even the Twisted finally making their move?  How does it all end up does Edelgard make any progress or is she pushed back and does she suffer consequences for this I am at the edge of my seat dying to know

[crunchyroll-official]

Thinking about how haikyuu opens with Hinata losing his very first official volleyball match to Kageyama and swearing someday he would meet Kageyama on court again as equals and win against him. I’m thinking about how Haikyuu then goes on to be a story—not about winning and losing in a formulaic, objective way—but about growing and connecting as Hinata and Kageyama play together and are teammates. And then, after they graduate, Haikyuu is about these characters getting prepared to meet one another in a new dynamic—not the insecure, jealous origins of their initial meeting, not the uncertain skillsets molding into tacit trust in gameplay—but they each form a chrysalis, their evolved forms ready to emerge due to these perfect conditions. I’m thinking about how, finally, we reach this point where it is Hinata’s very first match as a professional volleyball player and he and Kageyama meet again to play against one another and this time, Hinata is victorious. So the story has answered itself. Hinata won against Kagayama, like he proclaimed he was going to before they found themselves needing to work together. But it’s Haikyuu, so this “win” isn’t what the story makes into a bit deal. Instead, we learn about the absurd tally system of personal wins and losses Kageyama and Hinata keep track of that includes practice matches with as much significant as televised arena games. We learn about the lives of people who no longer play volleyball. It’s all fun! It’s all meaningful because everyone has decided for themselves what is meaningful! And the match between Hinata’s and Kageyama’s teams isn’t even the final concluding beat! No! The final arc is Hinata and Kagayama joining together once again to play as teammates on the Olympic team because Haikyuu is about people who play volleyball and make possible any and all types of victories.

[bookandcranny]

Rely On The Lighthouse Keeper

So once upon a time, the icebergs melted and the sea levels rose and people died and people lived and now there’s a lighthouse standing half-submerged a half mile or so off the shoreline. Charlotte dreams about the lighthouse every night. Not so unusual, since she thinks about it every day.

Every morning she runs the length of the docks where the fishermen call her Lottie. Her legs are long and lean and her sandals go thwap thwap thwap against the saturated wood two planks at a time. She cuts her hands climbing the tide-battered cliffside and eats clams with every meal for want of pearls. Boiled, steamed, fried. She’s trying to turn salt into diamonds between her chipped teeth and so far? Not much luck.

After her morning run, she works the floor of her uncle’s dive shop, pandering to wannabe treasure hunters. 

“All kinds of hidden beauties in the sunken cities, ripe for the picking,” he tells them.

“Whatever hasn’t already been picked dry years ago, or eaten by fish. Treasure hunting is a sucker’s game,” he tells her.

He’s not really her uncle, except in the ways that count. They sell thermo-control, pressure-control wetsuits that only sometimes tear at inopportune moments and gadgets to evade sensors in the places where such activity isn’t strictly legal. Mostly their customers come back with satchels full of scrap, green with age and algae- worthless except to be melted down for raw material. Her uncle drops a few coins into their open palms, subtracting a generous finder’s fee for the equipment, and sends them on their grumbling way. They’ll be back though, because it’s a bad gamble but it’s one they don’t know how to live without, and one big win is all they need to change their lives for good

Suckers though they may be, Charlotte can’t help but feel for them. Something about the way they cycle through fervent hope and resignation in tight circles like a dog chasing its tail, she’d be blind not to see the resemblance. Every kid in this town has the exact same haunted look in their eyes, tailed by the loss of something that died long before they were born. 

For dinner Charlotte boils rice in a thin salinous bone broth until it becomes pale, barely palatable mush that her uncle can press comfortably into the space of his missing teeth. She eats two boiled clams and her own porridge, marginally thicker and with some actual meat in it to make it more resemblant of a meal. They don’t speak very much as they eat, outside of the same old discussions about Charlotte’s education or the future of the shop which resolve without conclusion and will be forgotten by the next time it comes up. Neither one is much for conversation.

Afterwards the girl pours a bath as cold as she can stand and sits and scrubs and fills her lungs. Hold, hold. She can keep in her breath for over two full minutes on a good day, but it’s not good enough. She needs more practice.

Outside her bedroom window the lighthouse beacon blinks in and out of sight as it turns, winking at her where she sits wide awake in bed. She dips into sleep only long enough to get what she needs, and it comes to her in a pool of golden light and promises. Her and those suckers at the shop, they’re just the same, except where they cast about blindly in the ruins she’ll never lose sight.

In the other room she can hear her uncle groaning as he works the heel of his hand against his bad leg, trying to exorcise a memory. For people who live seaside ghosts are as common a problem as bedbugs or radiation poisoning. Everyone has a story, from so-and-so’s brother’s neighbor’s cousin who had a grandfather who died in the first tidal wave that took Long Island and so on and so forth. In most of the stories though, or at least the good ones, it’s women they see. Ghost women bobbing in the surf and dressed only in moonlight. Always naked. Sailors are so predictable.

So the story goes: “The widow of a navy marine. She went half mad when the call came in and fully mad by the time the war was over. When the waves went up she refused to retreat to higher ground, still waiting for her husband to come home. They say she waits to this day.”

So the story goes: “She loved to dance on the beach even though she knew it was forbidden. A healthy young woman in her prime, but died suddenly of a vicious pneumonia. At her autopsy they found a tiny ocean in her lungs, coral reefs growing all up the sides and freckled with starfish. Real coral, can you imagine?”

So the story goes: “Their daughters were possessed by a longing for the world that was. When at last it was more than they could take, they met under a red moon one night and threw themselves from the cliffs in despair.”

So it goes. In another month Charlotte can hold her breath for almost three minutes. Soon it’ll be four. The rising bubbles tickle her cheeks as she breathes out. Clams every day, still no pearls. Her hair is growing long now and on rainy days it slaps her back and shoulders as she runs. 

A season of fishermen return to the docks while another sets sail and they don’t recognize her there anymore. She’s not Lottie to them but “that girl”. They make jokes to mask their unease. They say she runs like she has the devil on her heels. She knows though, she knows the devil doesn’t chase. He waits.

He waits for her to get slow, to take her eyes off the horizon. She’s seen it happen. As she gets older it’ll get harder to dream except for of her next spot of luck, a good business quarter or a diver with a rare bounty, and her treasure will slip away from her. The devil is a man o’ war, the devil is the scar that streaks diagonal down an old man’s calf as he tells tales of days when sharks swam the seas in great numbers, the devil is a lazy trawling net caught in a propeller. If she waits, someday she won’t wonder who lights the abandoned lighthouse at night. Someday she might not notice it at all. Just another part of the scenery like craggy cliffs and sunken skylines and the gates. 

“The devil is a tall iron gate,” she mutters, disinfecting her scraped palms.

“That’s a new one,” her uncle says. “And I’m pretty sure those gates aren’t made of iron. Would rust, wouldn’t it?”

“Iron sounds more,” She casts about for the right word. “Epic.”

He laughs and his laugh is the only thing still completely dry in this shop. Then he says, “You could be a real writer if you put in the time. Didja give anymore thought to going back to school?” And the conversation is over.

The devil is the slow broadening of her hips. Three minutes and forty six seconds until she can’t take the burn anymore, but instead of resurfacing she sucks in an involuntary lungful and comes up retching. More clams come up, and a yellow starfish smaller than her pinky nail. 

There’s a medicine woman in a shop a few doors down who claims a paste made from dry-earth roots will expand the chest and bellows. It can’t be any worse than pinching crawlies from the bait-box. What she really needs though is a remedy no one’s given her yet. She needs a cure for time.

Another few months and she can run from one end of the docks to the other in sixty six identical strides. Before she so much as hits the docks her legs are shooting out to the bow and stem of her like a dancer. Meanwhile her uncle can barely walk anymore. She isn’t ready to go.

The fog is so constant, so oppressive now that the lighthouse shines not just at night but throughout the day. From sat upon the cliffs she times her blinks in rhythm with the beacon and looks out on the waves, for ghosts, or just for a sign. 

For five minutes this time she quiets the hurting part, the signal that burns bright and angry, and focuses on the chill of the water engulfing her. 

In a year not quite to the day, while preparing dinner, she cracks open a particularly stubborn shell to find a lumpy pearl bigger than her goddamn knuckle. She leaves the pearl at her uncle’s bedside while he’s sleeping, paralleling nicely the way her mother left her once upon his doorstep, though she can’t know this. In the morning the dockworkers see a girl- a young woman they used to call Lottie, sprinting along the boardwalk so fast that she seems not to touch the ground. It’s another gray day, misty and magical, and when they tell this story to their mothers’ good friends’ nephews she will be naked with skin made of gold and ambergris.

She dances the length of the boardwalk and down to the wire fence surrounding the bivalvarium and without breaking stride she begins to climb. Right up and over, planting herself in the sand with a muddy thunk, one foot sailing in front of the other over rocks and ridges and into the chaste waters where fishermen and treasure seekers alike are forbidden. The oysters buried in the earth are singing, chattering their shells like castanets. The coastguard siren sings its angry song too. With no time to spend languishing on the beach, she wades on and begins to swim.

The current doesn’t welcome her, but she wouldn’t expect anything less. The state tried to make her go to a nice inland school once and it felt a little like this. The resistance isn’t anything personal, it’s just how it is. 

“Go back where you belong, land-walker,” it says. “There’s nothing here for you but heartache.” But stroke by stroke she insists herself upon it. Somewhere someone is screaming from the shore. Whether in excitement or recrimination, Charlotte can’t hear any of them now.

Hand over hand, out of the surf and then in again. As she approaches her destination, squinting against the salt in her eyes, she breaches a final time and then nosedives to the bottom. Five minutes. The tide and the air trapped in her ballooned lungs try to buoy her back to the surface so she activates the weighted bracelets filched from the shop. They’re tricky little trinkets, only used by the more experienced or reckless divers. Once they’re cracked a chemical reaction within the donut-shaped shell makes them heavy as anchors, giving the wearer an extra bit of depth but also limiting their movement. Charlotte had her reservations about them, and still does, but right now they get her just where she needs to be.

At the base of the sunken lighthouse there’s a crack. An ordinary crack, worked open naturally by the years and the pressure. It’s down deep though and the point of entry is small. An adult burdened with lots of heavy diving equipment couldn’t fit. She squeezes in, scraped raw on all sides, struggling to release the clasps on the weights when they get her stuck in the gap. 

She’s all through but her ankle now. Two minutes of air left by her rough estimation and she still needs to make it back to the surface. Panic will eat up her air faster. She knows this, she knows. She grabs one of the bracelets and hammers it against the stone until she breaks free. A small burst of blood halos her ankle as she races for the faint light above her, winking at her in a rhythm she knows so well.

There is movement in the ocean around her. Big flat-bodied fish? Monstrous mutant eels perhaps? Or ghosts. So the story goes.

She swims up and breaks through and her ears are ringing. Only now does she let herself feel the cold and the ache in her lungs and the throbbing of her muscles, and she wails like a newborn, her cries echoing to the heavens. She’s survived, and the surviving is an agony unlike anything she’s ever known, ever could have anticipated. The collision of the dream and the reality is less breaking a fever and more hurtling through a pane of glass.

“Well that was dramatic,” say the ghosts. They do indeed look like women, although they have clothes fashioned from layers of seaweed and rubbery fish skins so thick Charlotte can’t tell where it ends and they begin. Their bodies are thin but only in the way flounders are. They twist and writhe like a child’s lost ribbon floating in the tide. One sniffs and touches her wounded ankle curiously as she floats, and she doesn’t feel much like a ghost at all. She feels as plain to her as fish porridge.

So the ghosts who are not ghosts swim her over to a ledge, where the water laps upon the stair. Their ribbon tails shimmy back and forth in hypnotic rhythm and when the pale light shines upon them they glisten like jelly. Charlotte doesn’t know it but sailors didn’t always just tell stories about ghosts. It’s just that tall tales lose some of their zest once they come true.

“Since you’re here I guess you’ll be staying,” says one gilly girl, not cruelly but not kindly either. “You might as well get comfy.”

Another, smaller than the first with a bob of inky hair matted to her cheeks, tugs shyly at the hem of her top. “Did you bring anything fun with you? Oh, do you have any movies? We found a VCR the other day in the old houses.”

“It won’t work.”

“You don’t know that. I want to watch movies again. I miss having new stories.”

“Do you know my brother? He’s a bivalve farmer back on the cape. Unless he isn’t anymore. It has been a while since I saw him.”

“Is the president still a prick? I promised myself I wouldn’t be coming back until there was someone with half a brain in office. Oh hey remind me, what year is it now?”

“I have a blockbuster card in my purse! You can use it if you bring back some movies.”

Two of the girls begin to drum up a chant of, “Moo-vies! Moo-vies!” Charlotte just sits and stares.

A different one swims up to her, shooing away the clinging creatures who poke and prod and inspect her person. Her features are long and angular, more mature to Charlotte’s reckoning, not knowing how meaningless the term is here. Like describing the maturity of a fossil or an insect petrified in amber.

“Ignore them, they’re just excited,” she says. There is something moving behind her dark eyes, flitting about like a school of minnows, yet her expression is peaceful. 

Charlotte, finding her voice, asks, “Are you the guardians of the treasure?”

She cocks her head. “Treasure?”

“Yes, the- the treasure!” she struggles to explain. “I dream about it every night. Treasure from the old world, a golden light, guarded by the lighthouse keeper…”

“You’re in shock, dear. You look pale. When’s the last time you ate?”

“Who’s in charge here?”

“No one is. We’re a self governing body of-”

”Who lights the lighthouse?” she demands, ignoring the fish-woman’s protests. She braces her hands on the slick stone wall and pulls herself up. “Someone must light the lighthouse, but none of you have legs. None of you can climb the stairs. So who lights the lighthouse?”

“Oh, silly girl,” the not-ghosts not-fish not-women fawn. “You do.”

So much love in their eyes. So much love living behind them, wriggling in the shiny shells of their bodies like happy mollusks.

Charlotte’s legs feel weak. The elder mermaid touches the back of her knee gently, comfortingly. When, she wondered, had anyone last touched the back of her knee, of all places. She nods up towards the stairs which spiral skywards in the shape of a conch’s crown.

“Would you like to see?"

So once upon a time, a girl chased a dream to the edge of her world and in consequence fell off of it. Not the worst outcome. Not for Charlotte, who was just one girl against a great big ocean of trouble after all. And still the sea levels rise, and still the lighthouse lantern turns around and around, reliably guiding home ships full of sailors who tell all sorts of old stories and know well enough not to try and see them through to their ends.

[brandtmax]

welcome back to gallagher academy, soo-yun ‘maxine’ brandt ! according to their records, they’re a first year, specializing in research & development; and they did not go to a spy prep high school. when i see them walking around in the halls, i usually see a flash of ( sugar-free mints, a messy low bun, wisps of hair alongside her face, the end of a pen between her teeth, the patek philippe calatrava 4897r-010 in rose gold, off-white pants in every fabric ). when it’s the ( virgo ) ’s birthday on 08/23/1997, they always request their japchae from the school’s chefs. looks like they’re well on their way to graduation. 

henlo it me again i hope u guys aren’t sick of me yet bc i have a new bby named max! i’ve written a lot™️ so brace urself but it’s worth it ( i think ) + trigger warnings: death and alcohol dependency under the cut xxx

the basics

full name: soo-yun ‘ maxine ’ brandt

nicknames: max — just max

age: twenty-two years old

birthday: august 23rd, 1997

gender: cis female

preferred pronouns: she / her

sexuality: bisexual

major: research & development (  formerly a b.a. political science degree from yale university )

known languages: english ( native ) / german ( native ) / korean ( native )

background

nationality: american

birthplace: new haven, connecticut, new hampshire

current location: gallagher academy, roseville, virginia

financial status: upper class

religion: non-theistic

appearance

eye color: brown

hair color: black

height: 5′8.5″

notable features: curly hair on lazy days, rosy cheeks

usual mood and expression: calm, furrowed eyebrows whenever her eyes are on work; lethargic and irritable when she’s overworked ( or without alcohol )

family

birth order: second born

parents: soon-bok ‘ vivian ’ jang and stephen brandt ( d. 2018 )

siblings: min-jun ‘ parker ’ brandt ( b. 1995 ) & georgia ‘ gigi ’ brandt ( b. 2001 )

significant others: chris harmon ( 2013-2015 ) / ava carrillo ( 2015-2016 )

her story so far (this is so long n serious lol)

soo-yun 'maxine' brandt was born and raised in new haven, connecticut, to jang soon-bok ( vivian ), a surgeon, and stephen brandt, a ( n allegedly shady ) criminal justice lawyer.

the brandt siblings were raised like any other blue-blooded, very strict but loving household ( strict = mom / loving = dad )

brandt house rules: get straight a’s, follow the 12 am curfew and don't bring anyone home that you know you’d get disowned for. follow those three rules, and you can do whatever you want.

there was pressure for the brandt siblings to be academically accomplished, but it wasn't anything they couldn't handle. they were well-tutored, semi-popular, attractive teenagers, which were common in new haven, and everyone knew they were destined for ivy league.

in high school, she dated chris harmon, and it was the kind of relationship that could only be described as the personification of a kinder egg. sweet on the outside, a waste of time and money on the inside.

which is fine; it took max about 2 months to get over it when they broke up halfway through senior year, because neither of them thought of their relationship going far. the joy of getting into yale ( already expected ) trumped the feeling of losing a boyfriend. she even bet parker $5,000 she'd get early admission. she won.

during college, she had an on-off relationship with ava carrillo for a year, which inevitably became a permanent off. it turned out that it wasn't a good idea to throw herself into a committed relationship the minute she stepped foot into yale. max never had the time, and ava didn't have the patience. at least she tried it tho !

things seemed to be on the up and up for their family, and the worst thing max has ever been through is being awake for 24 straight hours to prepare for a final presentation. but ! you know what they say about the calm before the storm.

( tw: death ) on december 18, 2018, their father unexpectedly passed away from a heart attack during a layover flight in new york. the brandt family was at home when they heard the news. needless to say, they had a quiet christmas and new year.

the family tried to move on as best they could, but the siblings knew their dad's death irreversibly changed their mom. they have a rocky relationship to begin with, the siblings always feeling like vivian never wanted to become a parent and only did so for their father. they have absolutely no mother-children bond, and it got worse when stephen died. being the older brother, parker took it upon himself to take care of vivian, balancing that with running the home stretch with his undergrad degree.

on the other hand, maxine still had a few years left at yale. no amount of therapy helped her cope with the loss of her father, the way her mother seemed to become a shell of herself, how parker had to break the momentum of his career to be there for their mom, and the constant pressure to do good academically.

( tw: alcohol dependency ) it started with buying bottled moscow mules because she didn't like how beer tasted, and she wasn't dumb enough to go straight to hard liquor. just one to take the edge off whenever stacks of coursework became too much, or when her mother would send her an email talking about her day, and she didn't have the courage to read it. then it went from a one, two, three-time thing to a whenever-i'm-upset thing, which slid into a whenever-i-feel-like-it thing. after a while, it became a daylight thing where she would add a splash of soju ( or whatever ) to her lunchtime drinks, and she genuinely thought it was just a funny idea at first. max wasn't the only day drinker in her social group, anyway. she found it acceptable, no different than how other people would pound red bull every 6 hours like it's their life force. it was manageable for her since she was able to schedule when she'd be indisposed, and she still can.

parker had ( and still has ) no clue. despite the two being close, max spared him the burden of having another thing to worry about. as long as she can control it ( or she thinks she can ) then nobody had anything to worry about.

eventually, both maxine and parker were offered the opportunity to join gallagher academy, with parker in line to graduate with honors in global affairs and maxine, not far behind with her own impressive academic portfolio in political science.

though really, her acceptance into gallagher has less to do with her published papers ( still impressive, tho ) and more to do with her covertly helping her father win cases by doing some expert sleuthing, strategizing, witness dispatching + discrediting, sexc breaking and entering, and good, old-fashioned manipulation !

it was something they both wanted; to be a part of the bigger picture in the world, but they knew they couldn't leave their mother alone. parker, who chose to make the sacrifice, let maxine go and stayed behind to take care of vivian.

( but if we’re honest, maxine would’ve left for gallagher regardless if parker was coming with her, but she’ll never tell him that )

despite the guilt and telling parker she wasn't going anywhere ( cough ), he insisted on her taking the once-in-a-lifetime chance to be a part of something they never knew existed. he knew they were going to end up resenting each other if they both stayed. at least one person in the family should be doing something that made them happy.

and so max dropped out of yale and left for roseville, even though she hadn't thoroughly planned out her career trajectory.

she’s eager not just because of the school, obviously. she can't handle going back to their childhood home and seeing how hollow everything is. plus, the immense anger and denial she feels over her dad’s untimely death has no place in new haven anymore.

she promised parker she'd make it up to him, though. somehow, someday.

who is this b*nch

max is relatively easy to get along with, tbh !

she’s a mood matcher; meaning if you’re nice to her, then she’s nice to you ( and if you’re gonna be a punk bitch, then she’ll be a punk bitch right back )

she’s a lil spoiled, lil sheltered, and lil ignorant but her general friendliness makes up for it, she’s the type to be friends with ( almost ) everyone

internally: perfectionist to the point of being ruthless, first place is the only acceptable place, meticulous, neurotic, workaholic, overachiever, if you’re not useful then what’s your purpose?, slightly egotistical, etc etc

externally: caring, protective, and supportive mom friend who just wants people to get their shit together because inadequacy is unacceptable, fixer, likes to dip into different social circles, consciously makes the effort to be more patient with people

she’s incredibly ambitious ? morally ambiguous ? slightly self-serving and self-involved ? her father’s a criminal “justice” lawyer whose clientele doesn’t exactly consist of the beacons of society so... she learned a lot of lessons about how you can win any case in the courtroom if you’re smart enough to a ) make a good story, b ) get the fitting evidence by any means necessary, c ) discredit and discard the necessary people, and d ) be charming and persuasive enough to rock the jury

she’s actively trying to be more open-minded and assimilate to a diverse group of people because back in yale she was definitely in a wasp bubble, and admittedly there are times where she will come off as super snobby without meaning to and tbh sorry about it

she’s still an extremely sociable person because yale also taught her how to network like a motherfucker, and how it’s important to know / be friends with everyone

honestly, intense people turn her off ( both positive and negative ) a little because she can't handle concentrated personalities in one sitting

even though she’s a little intense herself sometimes but it’s fine, we love hypocrites in this house !

neat freak ? but honestly who doesn’t like a friend who squeegees the shower every day and has a tiny can of lysol in their bag and an aroma diffuser with three ( 3 ) oil blends

she’s like... weirdly aggressive sometimes and most definitely has anger issues ( still in denial over her father unexpectedly passing away and getting stuck with a mom who doesn’t like her own children very much )

but also, she’s just agro in general and has a number of physical hobbies. she’s an ice skater, equestrian, a soulcyclist, and a kickboxer. she can fite.

she’s not the type to make fun of herself because she's not at a point where she sees qualities in her that are okay to laugh at ( unless you’re tight )

keeps her negative juju to herself because she’s a very private person

will prioritize work over play because she'd hardwired like that, but that doesn't mean she's anti-fun ( clearly )

definitely needs to loosen up a little that doesn't involve alcohol... jenga perhaps ? or actually try therapy again ?

very effectively sneaky about her growing alcohol dependency ( sugar-free breath mints, brushes her teeth + uses mouthwash after every meal )

dry sense of humor

at all times: wears a 1-carat, emerald cut, pavé diamond ring ( family heirloom ) + carries her trusty black hydro flask with her ( 24 oz. ) and no one is allowed to drink from it !

her signature scent is le labo bergamote 22 🤍

hmu on my discord @ tin#0697 for plottage !

[evilmorticiadraws]

Cyran’s Advisory or An Ill Omen

Cyran cracked his knuckles and looked at his friends around the Hexes Over Hoaxes table in their meeting room. Losana met his gaze evenly as he dealt the cards, placed markers on the board. Everyone whistled and clapped in anticipation. He was acting as dealer for the first round, but he would become a player on the second round.

This was the Rainglen Certification College tournament. Winner would actually win a scholarship to the college and a free seat on the highly-venerated debate club. Cyran aimed to win today. A queue of participants had formed around the table, but the existing members were selected first since they had the experience and had won the qualifying round.

To win Hexes Over Hoaxes, you had to play with precision. Sometimes, it was even expedient to aim to lose... loss wasn't confirmed until everyone was dead in a geopolitical landgrab game. It was even possible for characters to come back from the dead, using necromancy. Never say die until the final dice is cast. And he always aimed to win.

With his quick wits and sharp thinking, he was a shoe-in to win. Everyone took their starting positions and discussed invasion and trade strategies. They took the obvious spots. Where could he go, second, that was less obvious? How could he make his play?

Surprisingly, he chose a less-used position in the north, on an island. From this point, he would have to draft many trade treaties and start an armada of boats to get those goods to other countries and players and also start construction a navy.

Games could last hours. Some of the early attendant players left. Only the current boardgamers and judges remained, close friends, families, and fans of the tournament. It was always like this. Popular at first, then whittled down to the hardcore enthusiasts or those that had real reason to be here and participate.

It wasn't about pride. It was about power. It was about control of the board, even when you were at a disadvantage.

Cyran's mind was whirling, calculating the wins and losses he had sustained in battle. It was close. In fact, his closest competition was his girlfriend, Losana. God, he loved her sharp mind. Everything he loved about that woman and in playing this game was the reason why he wanted to marry her someday. Maybe even start a family. No, stop, Cyran! You're getting distracted...

He had a boat send a peace treaty offer with a white flag.

She shot it down before it even got to shore. So much for that.

With his last remaining forces, he made a suicidal charge for her borders. Through careful play and use of his remaining units, he whittled down her military. She might have a fortress, but he would starve her out and he did. Cyran was frequently known for his ruthless final plays.

This time, it won him the game.

Losana cried tears of both happiness and anger that he won and not her. He hugged her, crying, promising to make her proud. When they got outside for a picture to be painted, he erupted his breath of fire into the air to make a column of smoke, he was so happy. The wyvern finally made the dragon proud. So much for not being a "real dragon."

They handed him his plaque for winning the tournament, which he took beaming. A full year of college and he owed nothing, all thanks to what his mother once called "a huge waste of time." The next week, he was on the debate team. By the end of the year, he was the advisor to the debate team.

Cyran thought of all this as he prepared to kill one of his subordinates in the Artifact Guild for thievery. The man had already lost a hand and this was the final cost for disobeying Cyran's directives here. Even the tighter regulations and rules hadn't stopped some from stealing what has rightfully his.

Every dragon has a right to his hoard. No one wants to lose what they've worked for, what they've earned, no matter what the cost or means to get it.

And Losana was dead now. He had only Omen to look after and he was determined to completely own Mistseek by the time she came of age. Here, baby, an entire city just for you. Just like in Hexes Over Hoaxes.

All those lessons served him well now.

Cyran Moonsplit lowered his trident as the handless guild member quivered and cried. His name was pointless. Cyran didn't even remember it. He just remembered the twisting feeling of betrayal in his gut, the darkness. Just like the night he found out Losana died of Devilstongue. Finding out it was possibly genetic in origin. Just like her own father had died of it, so too, she had gone.

The guild member was trying to crawl away. Cyran made a motion and the bodyguards kicked and punched him into submission. Cyran raised the trident and pushed the sharp ends directly into his heart. The guy screamed and cried more, wailing. Musical, almost.

This was what thieves deserved. This was what all thieves deserved.

Cyran made this guild into what it was based on order and clarity: we regulate the unsafe curses. We protect this town. We sell what we make, we buy more supplies, we expand and we keep everything running. Without order, what did you get? Chaos. And he hated disorder and chaos.

Cyran burned the poor stallion alive and ground him beneath his claws. He was nothing but charred embers by the time he was done. Then he pumped his fist over his head, still clutching his trident. It wasn't about just pride... it was about power.

It was about control.

"Clean up this mess!" he told his underlings and they obeyed. He went to the washroom to clean his suit until it was immaculate again and then washed his trident under the taps. Here, the water was filtered from safe groundwell sources and water-trees. By Losus, someday, he would have this town curse free again. Then no one would have to suffer like he had.

Maybe, if they hadn't all been beset by the curse, Losana might still be alive and Omen might still have a mother. Now, he was the mother. He was the mom. It was a heavy burden for him.

Mocha took his coat as he left. The loyal boar was always at his side with a quick quip or funny joke. Today, no joke. He looked extremely serious and coughed.

"Sir, your tie too? Now that we're done?"

"We're never done," Cyran growled. "There's always another traitor out there coming to get what I've build and they'll all get what's coming to them. I hate thieves. I hate thieves more than anything else in the world. They're cowardly and they're scared. They don't want to earn what they have, they just want to take."

Mocha just nodded, a little pale. His older brother was one of Cyran's best fighters in a pinch. Everything here, he made! Not without help, certainly, but he deserved this. He deserved to enjoy the fruits of his labors. He came from nothing and he gave Omen a home, a future.

He still had Losana's boat in the harbor. All that work to become a certified captain and she never really got to sell her own vessel unattended. He hoped someday soon, Omen would show interest in sailing again and she would take the rudder just like Losana had wanted her to someday.

In fact, he let his feet take him outside the Artifact Guild building (a massive white square edifice dominating the center of the city.) His wings took him further, out to the harbor beside the hollow burned-out church to Losus. Against the pier, it bobbed quietly. It was a massive craft and would have made any dragon proud. Harmonywood, still polished. He kept it painted. About once a week, he would take it on the sea and fish and look for fresh sources of new cursewater for the deadglass artifactory. Her name was Losana now.

Once, Losana had named her boat after him.

Now, he had named in after her, in memory of her. The years weighed down on him, like a stone. Times like this, facing the salty air and the open skies, he wondered if it was worth it. His daughter was showing a worrying interest in thievery and had taken to common burglery herself in the guild. He was trying to crack down on it, restricting her hobby time, increasing chore time, giving her time-outs and restricted quarters to her room but it just didn't seem to be working.

She was smart and resourceful, just like him. His favorite artifacts kept going missing and he pretended not to notice, but he knew. In his own way, he was proud of her. She was fighting what she saw as an unfair system and taking what belonged to her. In her own way, just like him. Truly his daughter.

Everything he did, he did for her. His precious Omen.

He still remembered picking out a name for her. His precious blue hatchling in his arms, with her big red eyes looking up at her. He picked out Omen... a religious name that Losana had suggested. In Losan literature, there would be an omen of hope born that meant that the tree would eternally return, over and over, to the coast of Pendalosa and always grow anew every year.

Even though they lost their Losan god, people still believed in their hearts that the stump would begin growing again, when faith was strong enough.

In his heart, Cyran believed it too. And that's why she was called Omen.

He paced up and down the pier for close to an hour, just thinking. How to handle his unruly child? The thieves, the traitors, the spies? They all wanted to bring down what he built but he couldn't allow that, obviously.

At that time, he began work on the Tear.

It started as a coin with a single frozen curse imbued in it: the power to see and hear for long distances. Then a quadruplicate curse was overlain.

In time, the coin would carry seven curses in all and become The Tear In Reality. It would never leave Cyran’s side.

Omen always was a word with more than one meaning.

[roaminginspiration]

Can you write something about Romanogers' life after he rescued her? An outsiders take on their relationship. A new recruit gets intrigued with the couple one day when they were sparring. He couldn't believe that His Mentor, Steve, went to the ends of the Universe to save her. -xoxo

Hi! So sorry for the long wait, anon! It took me ages to write something that is decent and I’m not even sure it is. I really hope you’ll like it.

Just a quick note — to the other anon who dropped this beautiful GoT related prompt for Romanogers: I’m working on it! 

Hot Gossip 

Two yearshad passed since Thanos (Post-Thanos year2 as some called it). The world had slowly stood up on its feet again andgotten back on track. They wouldn’t go as far as saying that everything was backto normal — because it wasn’t. Five years had been lost. Some were stillaccommodating to the change, some pretended not to be held back by it, and somewould simply not wipe away what would forever be known as the darkest time inall of the Universe.

There wasone thing all agreed on, though. No one could ever forget what the Avengers —all of the extended Avengers community — had done to bring the dusted onesback. They had been elevated to a whole new level of heroism. And all feltgrateful for their incommensurable devotion and their sacrifice.

Despite theloss of the world’s first defender — Tony Stark — the Avengers remained. Grew.Until it became an institution.

AfterThanos, the world had understood they needed as many heroes as they could get.The facility became a training center for any person ready and willing to makea difference. It was an honor to be accepted and be taken under the wing of theoriginal Avengers: Captain America, Professor Hulk, Hawkeye, Scarlet Witch,War Machine, Falcon, James Barnes, Ant-Man, The Wasp, and Black Widow. BlackWidow who had miraculously returned after the Great Battle without anyexplanation was ever given.

Ethan,almost 19, was one of the privileged trainees who had gotten in.

First, tohis surprise, the training consisted of a lot of theoretical lessons — usuallyin the morning — then followed with physical preparation in the afternoon.

Ethan wasnot allowed to go on missions yet until the completion of his training in acouple of years’ time, but he counted the days to it. A calendar hung on thewall in the dormitory served as a daily reminder.

Unlike theother students in the facility, Ethan had been the very first to join the facility, making him the Avengers’ favorite (or so he liked to think).

He hadeverything to become someday an Avenger. He had the drive, the resilience, andthe courage. But he was also a little too enthusiastic. This was how he calledit. His mentors on the other hand.

Barnescalled it adventurous.

War Machine called it brazen.

ProfessorHulk called it bold.

CaptainAmerica called it reckless.

Falconcalled it stupid.

Black Widowcalled it cocky.

“You’re waytoo curious,” Hawkeye once called it during breakfast.

Ethanquickly swallowed down his toast.

“I was onlyasking,” he defended.

“Well youshouldn’t ask anything. Steve and Natasha’s private life is none of a student’sconcern.”

Ethansmiled triumphantly.

“So you doadmit they have a private life together?” he commented. Barton furrowed hisbrows. “Gotcha.”

“I have notconfirmed anything. All I’m saying is mind your business.”

Hawkeyegrabbed his empty mug and took it to the dishwasher. He then pointed hisforefinger at him. “I mean it, Ethan!”

Ethan noddedcoyly but smiled internally realizing his guts hadn’t lied to him. He knewthere was something going on between his two teachers.

It hadnothing to do with the fact that they spent all their time together, and evendelivered some classes together.

It hadnothing to do with the fact there was an organic closeness between them whichshowed in every interaction and non-interaction.

It wassomething deeper, something that went beyond obvious signs.

He oncewalked by the main gym and found them sparring. The eagerness to learn some newfighting techniques took over and he watched for a while.

Theysparred like two ballet dancers would move: at the same pace, and mirroringeach other’s motions. One always anticipated the other’s next move.

Despite the fact they were practicing combat skills, no anger, ruthlessness or evencompetition every transpired. On the contrary, quite a noticeable intimacy andgentleness which puzzled him.

Natasha puta stop to it as she reached for her shoulder and winced a little. Steve frownedwith concern and walked over to her. He pressed his palm on her painfulshoulder and stretched her arm softly.

“I’m okay,Steve. I guess I didn’t warm up enough, that’s all.”

“Or yousimply didn’t want to lose this one,” he answered with a smirk as he lifted herarm and stretched it in a different direction.

“Please,”she smiled. “You know I never lose.”

Steve letgo of her arm but his other hand remained on her shoulder.

“Maybe youshould have it checked out in the infirmary.”

Natashadove her eyes into his and simply smiled. It seemed it wasn’t the first timeshe had heard this.

“Sure,” shesaid.

Natashastepped out of the ring and made her way to the bathroom and Ethan couldn’thelp but notice that Steve’s eyes followed her until she went through the door,then lingered on a moment longer after she had disappeared before he finallylooked away and left the gym.

After this, Ethan couldn’t stop thinking about their interaction. He died to knowif there was a little fling between his two mentors. Curiosity was one thingof course, but part of him had made it an exciting challenge. If could indeedget confirmation that Capwidow was athing then that would be hot gossip to share with his friends.

He went toWilson next. Sam was undoubtedly the one he could get information from.

He jumpednext to him in the couch of the lounge.

“Do youknow you’re the coolest teacher?”

Wilsonprobed him. “Of course I know I am. And here’s some other flash news for you:I’m the strongest Avenger.”

“Strongerthan Thor,” Ethan asked.

“Thor isnow a Guardian of the galaxy. But even if he weren’t, he’d still come second.”

“Ok sosince we’re between cool guys here…,” the teenager swiftly changed topics. “I thought maybe youcould tell me what happened between Captain America and Black Widow.”

Sam laughed.

“You’reeven stupider than I think if you believe I’ll say something just because youcalled me cool.”

Ethanfeigned to pout. “Ah, shame. I mean Hawkeye trusted me enough to tell me they are an item.”

Sam gave hima reprobative look. “Nah. He wouldn’t tell you that.”

Ethansmiled. “He did. Just this morning.”

Sam put onhis best poker face.

“Why do youcare anyway?” he asked, confirming his theory in the process.

“I don’t. Ireally don’t,” he defended. “I was just wondering how it had happened. I mean, we’retalking about the Black Widow. How does one win her heart? Did Cap woo her — orcourt her, whichever it was called in the 40s.”

Wilsonsnorted. “First of all, you need to drop all those clichés…”

“About who?”Ethan asked, raising an eyebrow.

“About both.”

Ethanrolled his eyes. “So you’re telling me he just asked her on a date and that wasit?”

Sam had asad smile. “Not that easy, kid. What Cap did, it’s out of our league.”

“What’d hedo?” the boy asked eagerly.

“He savedher soul,” Wilson said.

Ethanfrowned. “Like figuratively speaking?”

“Literallyspeaking,” he answered. “You know Natasha sacrificed herself to get the SoulStone.”

He nodded.

Everybodyknew. That’s why she wasn’t present for the final battle against Thanos. Butshe had come back, although the circumstances around her return had never beenmade public. She had simply reappeared a few weeks later during a mission.

Sam cleared his throat and looked blankly at the wall. “Cap had one last mission after Thanos: bringall the Stones back. At least that was the official mission. He did itdifferently. He went to Vormir and came back with Nat.”

Ethanstared numbly. “How?”, he asked.

“Only them twoknow. But it was supposed to be irreversible.” Sam snorted lightly. “I guessnothing is when Cap decides so. He fought to have her soul back, and he won.”

For thefirst time, Ethan was speechless. What had started as a search for hot gossiphad turned out to be so much more. He couldn’t believe that his mentor, Steve, went tothe ends of the Universe to save her.

The puzzle became complete and as he saw the bigger picture, he began tounderstand many things about the two heroes and the way they acted around eachother.

They shared a secret that bound them in the most intimate way.

Ethan suddenly felt the need to protect it, too. That invaluable secrethe had been lucky to be told was too precious to be spread.  

Captain America had stood square face to Thanos and his army with abroken shield.

But Steve Rogers had fought Death itself and come out victorious for thewoman he loved.

And his favorite Avenger grew even more worthy.

[cutecutebibaforever]

A Memoir to an Old Friend

Disclaimer: The Tim Paolo F. Manabat's Eulogy

(I hope I didn't disappoint you with this.)

Growing apart doesn’t change the fact that for a quite a time, we grew side by side; our roots will always be tangled. I’m glad for that.

I met Tim through Paolo, one of my high school buddy who pursued studying in MAPUA in 2010. I never knew that Tim will change me. To be a much better person the world needs.

"Cute, depress ako kasi.."

And then the beginning of endless talks..

He was someone who knows how to suffer in silence and showing that brave front to everyone. We instantly became very close not just from the fact that he loves Britney Spears, but because I admire his audacity of telling people how much he has been suffering for the loss of his father in November 2009. I can say, he was one of my soulmates.

Tim is the kind of person who is really choosy and "maarti" (if you read my blogs, you could read that he wanted me to mention this). OCD. But not with people. He sees the goodness of everyone. Most of my incredible experiences in Manila was because of him. Late night travels to Laguna and Tagaytay, eat out anywhere. Chickboi Timog because he had this massive crush towards Cathy Go! Long night walks and rants.. Tim taught me that time is of the essence, you should always go out and meet your appointments on time.

Even if we don't talk that much, he secured me that he will always be there for me even after I relocated back to Cebu. We never ran out of things to talk about since he was intelligent, a wide reader and a connoisseur of foods. He make sure to accommodate everyone regardless of achievements, titles and rules.  He was the kind of friend who is supportive to your decisions no matter how foolish it may seem but he always had good advises for you to think it over. He always speak his mind and I have adopted this attitude. Letting you weigh things in every situation and speaking up your mind no matter how people interpret 

Further, he taught me to be confident, the kind that you have to be yourself even if society hates you for who you are. You should never be put inside a box. He was always the spoiled yet reasonable brute, everything he wanted, he can get it, not because he will asked for it but because he will work hard for it. He was a very family-oriented person. He valued his family, his barkadas and treated everyone with utmost respect.

He is expressive, and shallow of his happiness. I meant, he has this simple happiness that is very contagious. We could have karaoke even until morning, icecreams, pizzas, unpredictable road trips and all. Someone who was crazy enough to love Britney Spears? And expressive enough to like  A1, Westlife and Backstreet Boys. He was the shoulder to cry on type, the one-of-a-kind friend who never fail to keep in touch. With him, its always a love-hate friendship because he was never scared of being hated for his honesty and the next minute is pure compassion and matured talks.

What I really admired about him was his simple demeanor of his total fondess to his family circle. That no matter how much a member or members hurt him, he will always love them back. And he always believed in the cliche "time heals all wounds."

Life is never fair, and perhaps it is a good thing for most of us that it is not. I can say you busted on me when you never mentioned anything, not a trace that you were suffering, I just woke up from Jazel’s call from California that you were gone and that it’s so hard to think about the possibilities of losing you, of trying to figure out my life without you in it since you have always been there for me even though we were distance apart. You left me per-hapless stucked in your goddamn labyrinth and I won’t even know if you chose the fast straight out. You were so strong that I never knew you were suffering and I totally hated you for that. I could have done something for you, especially saying goodbye and just soothing words to alleviate your pain even if we were apart. You are unfair. You broke my heart. It would take me some time to reconcile with my guilt  at night of not being able to reciprocate the love that you have given to me including your family.

Tim, wherever you are, I am sorry for always cancelling our meet-ups, for not showing up on time properly. For being so insensitive not to notice your suffering. You knew this hurt me the most. I could have prepared myself for this painful moment that you will leave us hanging. You left me perhapless in your goddamn labyrinth and I don't know if you chose the fast straight out. I will never know because you left us!

I was mean to you but you never gave up on me. You are the only person who truly believed in me that I am a good writer. That even if I was writing nonsense, you still see it as an art and cheered me up. I couldn't thank u enough for those times that I needed someone like you. For cheering me up and constantly reminding me that haters are those who wanted to be on my place. I have learned so many things from you, It pains me thinking that you wouldn't see me become a hot mother and a successful wife someday. You would never get to see me get married, my travels and the battles that I will win but you will always be a part of those. You won't be the ninong to my soon-to-be children. It pains me for you never told me how much you are in pain, you never wanted us to worry! Why? For some time, I asked myself, "What was your mission to me? What is it that I haven't learned from you?" Because it seems that I do, really have learned a lot.

Tim, ang Sid Lucero nang buhay ko, I am so blessed that God gifted me you. I would never forget someone who is a paradox of kindness and frankness. It may take a while for us to heal but we can heal and recover fast because of all the memories you filled us with. And I know, only a few people has been blessed because of you. Thank you for your unending care. I am just so glad that I am one of your elite circle of friends. I am glad I got to tell you how much I appreciate and love you for always being there for me for the last 8 incredible years friendship.

Rest now, the world will never forget you. We love you and thank you for touching our lives!

so Tim welcomed me in Manila, this was the night we met after my transfer in Manila.

[lalalarisssaaa]

The Truth About Losing Your Mom At a Young Age.

Lately I’ve ignored friends who needed me, friends who were there for me and friends who I never wanted to hurt. 

But the thing is, lately I’m not the person who I was before October 16th, 2017. Before that day I was a dedicated graduate trying to save money for college, make my parents proud and a backbone for a lot of people. Today, and everyday since I’ve been a shell of a person you once knew. 

A mother carries you inside of her body for 9 months and then dedicates her soul to raising you, caring for you and loving you no matter what it takes. And my mom? She was one who would kill anyone who hurt the people she loved. 

She’d sing to me when I was little. 

She’d hold me when I cried.

She would do anything for me. 

When you’re 18 you don’t think about when the last time you’ll talk to one of your parents, when you’ll last see them. But nothings promised and the big guy doesn’t plan around your needs. 

People say it gets easier with time and that you’ll be okay again, but how would they know if they didn’t plan their Mothers funeral at 18? When you lose your mother, you don’t just lose another person. You lose the woman who gave you life, the woman who was there for everything and the women who is supposed to guide you through life. You stop being mothered. For me, a 18 year old female I lost the woman I’d tell first if I ever got pregnant, I lost the woman I’d call when I didn’t know how much flower to put in a batch of cookies. 

Losing your Mother is like losing a piece of your soul that you can never replace or let alone get back. 

It’s not having anyone you’d want to talk to when you go through a break up. 

It’s not having someone comfortable to talk to about changes to your body. 

It’s about losing your support system, well at least a giant part of it. 

it’s calling her phone at 4am just to hear her voice for a few seconds because it’s the only thing that allows you to remember.

It’s losing sight of the good memories, the ones where she was alive and happy.

It’s about being angry at your dead mother for leaving you. 

It’s not remembering what her voice sounds like, what her face looks like because all that’s left in your brain is what she looked like when you lost her.

It’s not showering for a week and sleeping till 4 or 5 in the afternoon because without her there's no reason to get out of bed even though you know she’d want you to continue living your life. 

It’s spending countless nights thinking of a way to kill yourself without it being suicide so your family doesn’t think they missed something.

It’s having everything under the sun to talk about and less than a handful of people who’d understand.

It’s walking into grocery stores and hearing how sorry someone is for you loss 6 months down the road and revisiting the exact moment you lost her. 

It’s taking this piece of paper that declares her dead around to banks, companies and lawyers to figure out her financials.

It’s not knowing how to plan a funeral because you’re not even old enough to drink yet.

It’s holidays without your moms home cooked meal.

It’s watching her Birthday pass and not being able to celebrate because she’s not here and it’s not right without her. 

it’s never eating her secret recipes that are your favorite because she didn’t get to teach you them yet. 

It’s calling her dad to tell him that she’s gone. It’s calling every family member to let them know. 

It’s writing a news paper article for your mom and not knowing what to say because even though you got 18 years together you don’t know everything you want to write about her. 

For me I watched my mother die, slowly and over the course of months without even knowing what was about to come.

For me it’s your brain replaying the moments leading up to, and every decision you made in those moments that lead to her dying. It’s regretting every angry teenager blow out of “ I hate you!” and the little arguments about something that didn't matter five minutes later. It’s blaming yourself for the death of your mother. It’s laying in bed until you no longer can because you just don’t feel like living. It’s avoiding her gravesite because something inside you says that it’s just a bad dream and tomorrow morning she’ll call you. It’s drinking so much alcohol you’re covered in your own vomit while telling your friends you want to drive your car into a tree so you can see your mom again. It’s smoking a pack a day because if they played a role in her death, I could just smoke until I drop dead myself. It’s almost giving up 5 years self harm free because although you are feeling empty, sad, tired and confused you’re completely numb to your own emotions and the only thing you can feel is pain. It’s finally admitting to your doctors that you need help and being put on medications for depression, anxiety and insomnia just to stare at those bottles every night and wonder what would happen if you took all 48 pills at once.

It’s losing the 2 weeks of coping skills / ways to deal with Depression and Anxiety that you knew so well when you were released from the hospital at 13.

It’s falling back into that dark hole you thought you escaped. 

It’s also everything you are used to doing reminding you of her which leads to a mental breakdown. It’s not being able to listen to any type of music without crying. It’s shutting out all of your friends with moms because you just cant stand to hear about their fights with their mom, what they did with their mom that day or the word mom at all. It’s canceling plans and taking your sleeping meds at 7am so you can just ignore the world for one more day. It’s losing your job because you’re so distracted with pain and grief that you just cant stand at a register and watch all the little kids shop with their mommas. It’s listening to people tell you how much you look like her and that it’s tragic she wont be there for your wedding or kids. It’s not wanting kids or a marriage because how do you do those things without your mom? 

It’s starring into a mirror and noticing little things about yourself that are like her and hating it because it’s just another reminder that she’s gone.

It’s waking up everyday, getting out of bed and still feeling like you’re standing in place at the end of that hospital bed and watching everyone else around you move on while you’re stuck with an image of your dead mother.

It’s breaking down into tears at random moments through out the day and not knowing way. 

It’s seeing a mom die on a TV show or Movie and laying there, hugging yourself while you try to hold it together. 

And when your mother was the only parent who truly supported your decisions, goals and dreams it’s like losing both parents. 

It’s your father not asking if you’re okay.

It’s feeling like your entire world has fallen apart and there is no one left to save you.

It’s constantly feeling like you’re chained to the bottom of the ocean and unable to breathe, and just when it can’t get worse it does, and sometimes you get a gasp of air but it doesn’t ever last.

It’s wanting to die, but not being able to do anything about it or anything to ease the pain in a way your brain wants to because you cant disappoint her. You’re better than that. 

It’s a never ending battle.

But,

Don’t get me wrong, there a good days in between stretches of bad days, but those good days bring guilt because how am I happy knowing that my mother is dead and I'm down here living? It’s hating people because they are alive and she’s not. The good days are there, but the bad days out weigh them.

Losing a parent is something that you just don’t expect and there is nothing that can prepare you for the pain and suffering that comes along with it. But if there is one thing you can do about it, is take in every waking moment you have with them and enjoy it. Enjoy the fights, enjoy the annoying over protective parenting skills and enjoy the fact that you still have them. Tell them you love them, that you care about them and celebrate them giving you the ability to do that, the ability to live. Because there will come a day where every single thing that ever happened between you and your parents will be a memory and you wont get the chance to create another. And when that day comes, you’ll regret not doing those things enough. 

It is a constant battle that I am still learning how to fight and one I’m still learning to want to win. 

So to the friends I’ve mistreated since, to the friends who feel forgotten and unappreciated, it’s not true. I think about you everyday, I miss you all everyday, but lately I barley have the energy to care for myself. I barley have the energy to keep myself alive. And I hope you understand that it’s not something you did and it’s not that I’m not here, I just need to be here for me, find who I am and get back on my feet before I take care of you. I’m not trying to be selfish, I just can not juggle your needs and my needs. Someday it might be easier, but I will never breathe without thinking about the death of my person. and please understand that my anger and jealousy that you still have your moms isn’t personal, I just wish I still had mine. So I’m sorry I’m so lost. I’m sorry I cant be the friend you need me to be, just know that if you’re ever in my shoes I will fight this battle with you because this is one of the hardest things I’ve ever gone through in my life.

[lawonderlandwriter]

After the Battle

So this is another attempt of mine at GoT fan fiction. This is based on the upcoming episode, 7x05, and takes place after Dany and Drogon have returned from the Lannister battle. Hope people enjoy!

“So how did it go?” Jon asked her knowing full well that if she and Drogon had made it back, the battle must have been successful.

“More or less the way you told me it would.”

“So a few kneelers but the majority not.” He had expected that. But at the same time, he couldn’t blame her. How many men had he killed and had been killed on his command when he fought to take back his home, not a year ago? “What about Lord Tarly?” Jon asked on a whim, thinking of Sam.

“Tarly?” Daenerys asked uncertain. She knew full well who Jon was referring to but by the way he asked the question, he sounded like he had some sort of connection to the family. It was the first time Dany had felt the tiniest bit of regret for what she had done in the aftermath of the battle and she couldn’t figure out why.

“Lord Randyll Tarly. Of Hornhill. I heard Jamie Lannister made him his ranking general so I assume he was at the battle.”

Daenerys took a deep breath before answering him, and when she did, she spoke slowly. “Lord Tarly...refused to bend the knee.”

“So you executed him,” Jon said simply, not as a question because he already knew the truth. Daenerys looked into Jon’s eyes and she wanted to take it back. Burning the Tarly’s alive. She could have held them prisoner, taken them back to Dragonstone and used them for negotiations. Anything, so that Jon wouldn’t think her a monster.

“His was a quick death,” she whispered looking away from Jon. She couldn’t stare him in the eyes as she said it. Jon nodded, silent for a moment. He turned and watched Drogon and the other two dragons flying in the distance, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Samwell Tarly, Lord Tarly’s eldest son, was my brother in the Night’s Watch. He’s one of my best friends.” Dany took in a deep, steadying breath, still not able to meet Jon’s gaze so she stared at a point somewhere slightly beyond his left shoulder. Her heart pounded painfully. “And if what Sam’s told me about his father is true, then Randyll Tarly deserved much worse than the quick death you gave him.”

Their eyes met, Dany’s frustratingly, involuntarily, filling with tears, but they did not spill. Jon didn’t smile at her, but he wasn’t angry. No, the look he gave her was something...something like pride. He was proud of her.

“You made the right choice your grace,” Jon said, stepping into her. Dany wasn’t expecting such a familiar move and she took a slight step back to catch her breath. “I know you didn’t like my answer, when you asked me about attacking King’s Landing. But this was a smart move. A necessary one. Cersei doesn’t deserve to sit on the Iron Throne. You do.”

“But you still won’t bend the knee.” Jon stared at her a moment and she wondered if he was actually contemplating it. In truth, he was. But every bit of his northern bones told him not to, though his heart felt otherwise.

“When my sister Sansa and I decided to take back Winterfell, we didn’t have much support. The North had been given to the Boltons by the king and many of the lords in the North supported their claim. We were the outsiders; the invaders. It seemed like everyone we asked to help us, turned us away. They heard the bulk of our army was to be made of wildlings and thought me a madman. A traitor, they called me. So I know how you feel. I do. If anyone knows what you’re going through, it’s me.”

Dany hadn’t realized how hard she was breathing until Jon took another step towards her, slowly closing the gap between them, inch by inch. This time though, she didn’t take a step back.

“I’ll deny it if you repeat this to anyone, but I do want to see you on the Iron Throne someday. I think you would make a good queen. But right now, none of that matters because winter is here and the dead are coming. If I bend the knee to you, I lose all respect and trust of the northmen. And the alliance of the north, the whole north, is the only thing that’s keeping it safe. That’s keeping the realm safe. Because when the dead march south, we’ll be the first ones hit by their army.”

Daenerys stared at Jon hard. She needed allies so badly with all her recent losses but he just wouldn’t do it. And what was worse, there was no way she could argue with him about it. His reasoning was so sound, she couldn’t come up with a single piece of evidence as to why he should swear fealty to her and help her win the throne he supposedly wanted to see her on.

“So I suppose we agree to disagree,” she sighed. “Another bit of my kingdom that refuses to support me.” She added the last bit, repeating his words back to him, to sting him, just a little bit. Though she knew they’d have little effect. She walked past him, frustrated, though she’d just come home from a huge victory, her only victory so far in this war. Yet it was Jon Snow’s refusal to join her side that hurt the most.

“For what it’s worth, your grace,” Jon began and Daenerys turned back to find him smiling slightly. She wondered why. “I do want to thank you for not burning me and Davos alive.” His smile widened and Dany couldn’t help but shake her head and smile with him.  

“Your welcome,” she told him, her smile fading.

“And thank you, for allowing us to mine the dragonglass. When the Night’s King and his army come for us, we’ll be more prepared. And it’ll be because of you.” Daenerys felt her heart swell from his gratefulness. And just for a moment, she wondered to herself why she hadn’t, in fact, executed him when he first refused to bend the knee...and every time after. Looking at him and hearing his story, she knew he never would. So was she just giving up this part of her kingdom to this northerner who hadn’t asked for it, hadn’t fought her for it, and hadn’t fought for her? But even as she thought about it, the idea to kill Jon Snow had never crossed her mind and she knew she would never be able to. Because the idea of him not being near her pained her greatly.

“When will you leave with the dragonglass back up to the North?” she asked wildly. Jon was surprised by her question as well.

“I’m not sure. Not until we’ve mined it all, at least. A few weeks? A month, maybe two?” Just a few weeks left with him. As Jon said the words, he was saddened to deliver the news, just as sad as Daenerys looked hearing it.

“Alright then,” Daenerys said quietly, not wanting to cry in front of him. But as she turned to walk back up to the castle, ship bells rang and the two of them looked to the open sea to see a single ship coming their way.

“Expecting someone?” she turned asking him.

“No,” Jon said puzzled. “You?”

“No.”

“Well, let’s go see who it is, shall we?”

Just a little snippet of how I picture next episode going!