#I just need a weeklong nap at least

[bokzumi]

desperately begging, pleading, hoping for any or all of my FO's to just make me their sugar baby and fuck me dumb.

[sahsoosahku]

FanFic - Chaos Commencing at Konoha's Korean BBQ

On their night off the Konoha gang get back together for some Korean BBQ! But knowing these ninja's - something is bound to go seriously wrong. Poor Ino and Tenten, their organised night was ruined by Soju Sasuke and Drunk Lee.

Characters: Naruto, Sasuke, Sakura, Shikamaru, Choji, Ino, Sai, Lee, Tenten, Hinata, Kiba, Akamaru, Shino, Drunk Lee, Charasuke

Pairings: Sasusaku / SaiIno / Naruhina

______________________________________________

This only happens once in a blue moon!

The gang is back together!

Somehow all of Team 7s classmates aren't on any missions or busy for just one night. Naruto, Sasuke, Kiba and Shikamaru just returning from their weeklong mission, and late tomorrow Hinata, Sakura and Sai leave for 2 days.

Tonight, they reunite for some babbling, eating, and of course drinking.

Ino and Tenten organised for this rowdy bunch to relax in front of an open flame for some Korean BBQ at Konoha's finest. Ensuring there were 12 seats ready to go, Tenten smiled at the display before her.

One by one familiar faces rolled in. Sai, greeting Ino with a peck, Choji appearing from the corner as if he was already in the restaurant. Hinata, Shino, Shikamaru and Kiba with Akamaru soon followed, bowing their heads and thanking the ladies for their thoughtfulness and hard work.

"HEY!" Kiba yelled soon after "Where is Akamaru going to sit?"

"You know dogs can't be here!" Retorted Ino.

Kiba responded with a puppy dog frown then winked over at Akamaru who burst into smoke becoming a carbon copy of Kiba. "Sit! Sit here Akamaru!" He leaped into a seat Shino was just about to take.

And then finally, team 7 (who are always late), burst in with Naruto's "WOW! THIS IS GREAT! The Genin's are back together!"

"Speak for yourself, Naruto" laughed Shikamaru.

"Oh yeah" frowned Naruto, looking over at Sasuke, knowing at least he wasn't the last Genin there.

"Wait a minute-" Sakura searched "Where's Lee?"

"He is somewhere training" brushed off Tenten "He always adds another thousand something finger push ups before a big meal, don't worry, he'll be here soon!"

Sasuke and Sakura took the last paired spots beside Ino and Sai, Naruto trying to squish into the booth with them.

"HEY! NARUTO! Just what are you doing!" Yelled Sakura, who was sitting on the edge trying to push him off. "But I want to sit with you guyssss!" he sulked leaning on Sakura.

"We were just on a mission together Usuratoncachi-" scowled Sasuke, pushing Naruto's face off of Sakura "Go sit with your wife!"

"But she let me!" He pouted looking at her for confirmation, Hinata nodding with a smile and polite wave.

"NOW!" Kicked Sakura.

And with a frown he leapt to Hinata and whinged "NOW THAT THEY ARE TOGETHER, THEY DON'T WANT TO HANG OUT WITH ME ANYMOREEEEE!"

"It's ok Naruto-kun" patted Hinata, "I can feed you some pork belly!"

"Did someone say Pork belly?" Interjected Choji, munching on the sides.

And with a smile Naruto hugged Hinata tightly and filled her face with kisses repeating "Ah I missed you!" "You're the best Hinata!" "I love you so much!" Then blowing a raspberry at Sakura and Sasuke.

They looked on with blank faces, embarrassed for their irritating teammate.

"Can I sit here? Thanks Shino!" Naruto rushed - half his butt cheek already shoving Shino off - forcing everyone to shuffle around. "How troublesome" sighed Shikamaru and everyone laughed.

"Let's order!" Smiled Tenten and Choji cheered along. "Let's also make it 10 bottles of Soju and a beer for everyone, does that sound good?"

______________________________________________

The sizzling kobe beef and pork belly were barely heard over the sound of laughter and chatter. Sasuke, mainly silent, munched away at his Kimchi and seafood pancake.

"Sasuke-kun! You barely touched your beer" smiled Ino, already a few shots of soju in. "Here let me pour you some soju, it's grape flavoured!"

"He is a light drinker!" Insisted Sakura, also a few drinks in "He can stick to his beer"

"Wow Sasuke! I see who wears the pants in this relationship" Ino teased, embarrassing a somewhat intoxicated Sakura.

"I-" Sasuke began.

"HEY, WATCH IT! Before I fry you on this grill myself INOPIG" Jumped up Sakura with a fist ready to go.

"I'm just saying! C'mon I know he has never tried soju before, isn't that right Sasuke?" Ino purred grabbing a shot glass to make him a drink.

"I haven't-" Again Sasuke said trying to get a word in.

"HEY! If anyone is going to be pouring him a drink, IT'S ME" scowled Sakura.

"OI! I am the one who offered" growled Ino back.

"Go make your own boyfriend a drink!" Jumped Sakura over Sasuke, trying to grab the shot glass and bottle from Ino's hands.

"Sai- doesn't- mind-!" she said fighting Sakura for grip.

"I don't mind sharing my girlfriend!" smiled Sai from behind Ino.

"See! Now- let- me- pour-!"

As the girls where wrestling each other over an irritated Sasuke, he tsked and snatched the soju bottle from their hands and quickly shot up.

To everyone's amazement he threw beck 6 long gulps, finishing the bottle. And with a scrunched face he smacked his lips and frowned "it's sweet"

Shocked, everyone looked over. Sakura, frightened by the amount of alcohol a cheap drunk like Sasuke just drank, she carefully whispered to him "Sasuke… Soju is not like beer… it's a lot stronger…"

Sasuke sat down slowly and burped "I feel fine"

The onlookers giggled and whispered, "I wonder which drunk Sasuke we are going to see tonight" "Happy again?" "Sad?" "Angry" "Oo- I hope is dancy" "No- no- SINGY! Then we can go to karaoke!"

"Hey, Akamaru eat up" smiled Kiba, feeding his twin. Then..

BANG!

Sasuke's face slammed down into his food.

"I guess it's a passed out Sasuke" sighed Shikamaru. A tipsy Naruto burst out laughing, followed by a howling from the other boys.

"Oh no" sighed Sakura, trying to pull Sasuke up "I told you he can't hold his liquor"

Ino apologised grabbing tissues and moving his plates aside to make room for a sleeping Sasuke. "Is he going to be alright?"

"His vitals feel fine, but he usually blacks out after 2 or 3 beers… Maybe I should take him home?"

Nooo! Everyone replied urging her to stay. It was too rare to have everyone together again.

She wiped his face and slowly put him back down on the table for a nap.

______________________________________________

The night carried on, bringing laughing tears into the eyes of anyone who remembered that Sasuke was there.

"Just like back in the day I suppose" Chuckled Kiba, "Not hearing a word from Sasuke!"

"HEY!" Naruto responded and Sakura giggled. "Just like the old days" she recalled. Oh, the silly antics Team 7 and the others used to get into.

Almost done with their meals an excited Lee blazed in with his legs up and hands to the floor. With a flip he announced "HELLO MY FELLOW BRETHREN'S LIVING IN THE SPRINGTIME OF THEIR YOUTHS! I, ROCK LEE, AM READY TO ENJOY A HEARTY MEAL WITH PALS!"

"Lee!" The drunken crowd cheered, for once meeting his enthusiasm.

"Where were you, Lee? We are almost done!" Asked Tenten, blinking slowly.

"My apologies Tenten! I just finished training; I lost my count 3 times at around 700 so I started again! And with every time I miscounted, I added another 1000!" He beamed too proudly.

"Seems a bit excessive" she sighed making the others laugh.

"Ah I am famished! I do desperately need a glass of water!" And with the slip of a hand Lee grabbed the bottle of soju rather than the jug of water right beside it.

NooooOooOooO

Everyone yelled in slow motion jumping for Lee, but no one could match his incredulous speed. By the time Naruto, Choji, Kiba and Shikamaru were pulling back his arms and hands, the empty bottle shattered to the ground.

"Oh no-" said Tenten

"Fuck" muttered Shikamaru as Lee slipped out of their hands.

He reappeared beside an unsuspecting Sakura, wobbling beside her and with a drunken smile. He blabbered "Hey, girl, wasssuppppp"

Freaked out Sakura wailed "Eeehh?! Knock it off Lee!" trying to push him off.

Shikamaru tried the Shadow Imitation Technique but somehow Lee's speedy feet just kept missing him.

"C'mon give me a little sugar" he mused to Sakura sending her air kisses while easily dodging her punches.

...

..

.

There was a shift in mood.

Suddenly the air turned sinister.

"HEY! WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT?!" Grumbled Lee.

Behind Sakura was a dark shadow looming over them. "Back off" growled Sasuke, preparing his Chakra.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the guy who copied my Taijutsu!" Spat Lee, almost tripping over his own feet.

"And I was better at it" slurred Sasuke.

"Now, now, calm down!" Sakura pleaded standing between them.

"I CHALLENGE YOU!" Pointed Lee.

"YEAH, WELL TRY ME BROWS!" Pointed Sasuke back.

"OH YEAH"

"YEAH"

Lee grabbed another bottle of soju from the poor people behind him to arm himself. Sasuke did the same snatching another bottle from Sai's hand.

Sasuke activated his Sharingan ready to copy, ready for battle.

And Lee with a smile prepared his greatest weapon –

- guzzling the soju.

Sasuke mirrored his actions, trying to beat the speed of the other. Finishing at the same time they extravagantly threw their bottles on the table smashing and spraying it onto a grill, causing a minor flame.

Everyone was mortified, and in shock Hinata and Ino quickly threw water on the grills to extinguish the fire.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooo"

Cried Choji, watching the meat bubble and sear in the coals.

"Haha a worthy opponent!" cackled Lee.

"Let's take this outside!" Hiccuped Sasuke.

"I guess Sasuke is an angry drunk on soju" Naruto commented following the crowd outside.

.

..

...

"…And on my birthday" sighed a wet Shino, covered in spilled water from the glass attack. Hinata still by his side smiled and said, "I didn't forget your birthday Shino."

*Poof* They turned to Akamaru reappearing beside a wailing Choji crying over ruined beef. "WHYYY!"

"HEY" screamed the shocked hostess "NO DOGS!"

______________________________________________

Lee and Sasuke stood before each other on the open street. Civilians passed by whispering and watching the ensuing mayhem.

"WE WILL FIGHT FOR SAKURA'S LOVE!" Exclaimed Lee.

"Ew" Sakura loudly thought.

"FOR SAKURA'S LOVE!" yelled Sasuke, confident in reply.

"Not you too... Sasuke" everyone sighed.

Everyone pleaded for them to stop but a powerful Lee interjected "This is between me and Sasuke!"

Both men began to prepare to fight. Lee unlocking his third gate yelling "DRUNKEN FISTS" and Sasuke replying with "MANGEKYO SHARINGAN"

"WHICH ONE OF YOU IDIOTS DESTROYED OUR GRILLS!?" Yelled the hostess with a swinging ladle in one hand and dragging Akamaru out with the other. Shino, Hinata, and Choji appeared behind her.

As everyone pointed towards Sasuke and Lee, the two drunkards used it as a signal to start charging towards one another.

AHHHHH

AHHHHHHHHHHHH

they both yelled and bracing themselves.

AHHHHHHHH-

AHHHHHH-

THUD.

CRASH.

SPLAT.

EEEHHHHHH!? Reacted everyone seeing both Lee and Sasuke trip over themselves.

"CHOJI NOW! SHADOW IMITATION TECHNIQUE" prepared Shikamaru, strapping Lee down at any chance he could get. "EXPANSION JUSTSU" Choji formed and rolled onto Lee.

"Sakura!" Ino yelled "RUN!"

Sakura quickly pulled a passed out Sasuke over her shoulders and began to sprint home hearing the echo "YOU TWO ARE BANNED FOR LIFE...!" follow her down the road.

"HEY WHATS THE BIG IDEA!" Cried Lee.

Amongst the current chaos Sai turned to Ino smiling "What a fun night!" You did a great job!" he said earnestly. Ino groaned into her palm.

"Oh Yeah!" Blurted Kiba, "Happy Birthday Shino!"

_____________________________________________________

I love the silly antics the gang gets into. I hope you enjoyed my story, if you did please leave a review on:

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13943114/1/Chaos-Commencing-at-Konoha-s-Korean-BBQ

Drunk Lee is the best and always has me dying from laughter. I found most of my inspiration from this episode of "Rock Lee and his Ninja Pals"(Drunk Lee Ruins Tsunade's Picnic: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jqnz3v_vsRY).

I wanted to start a series of Sakura dealing with drunk Sasuke and was inspired by this comic strip: ( https://www.instagram.com/p/CFcE6NcFvX6/ ) I really wanted to showcase the multiple personalities Sasuke has depending on the amount and type of alcohol he drinks. In a later SASUSAKU smut chapter, soju Sasuke becomes Charasuke which I was trying to allude in the line "Fight for Sakura's love." I just thought it would be hilarious to combine Drunk Lee and Charasuke in a fight.

Also third wheel Naruto get me going as well. In my mind, he instantly reacquainted himself with Hinata after the mission (if you know what I mean) and being Shino's birthday, Hinata wanted to spend the night with her team mates, encouraging him to third wheel the two love birds.

I hope you guys enjoyed my story! Stay tuned for part 2.

[aliciameade]

“The Great Indoors”

Author: aliciameade Rating: G Pairing: Beca/Chloe Summary: Beca and Chloe accidentally get locked inside an R.E.I. (An outdoor activities supply store, for those unfamiliar.) Hijinks ensue.

This one goes out to @beyond-bechloe for their generous donation to the @ppfandomdrive​! Thank you for your support!

Also on AO3

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Beca didn’t consider herself particularly outdoorsy (she could get sunburned at night and she was allergic to every type of stinging insect, among other inconveniences), but she enjoyed fewer shopping excursions than those to R.E.I. to be Chloe’s helper whenever she had an upcoming trip. Beca was in charge of the shopping cart and telling Chloe whether or not the gear she was trying on looked cute while still being functional.

And Beca liked the gear and supplies. It was cool how there were so many specialized shoes and backpacks and jackets for all manner of activities. She wouldn’t mind being less prone to emergencies to be able to try something new once in a while.

Plus, she kind of liked Chloe’s dedication to always trying to convince Beca to join her on her next adventure.

She also liked Chloe pouting until Beca admitted whatever she was trying on was indeed cute. Beca always thinks Chloe’s cute but it’s not like she can tell her that all the time. That would be weird. Friends don’t do that.

“Who are you going with?” she asks as Chloe stands in front of a display of kayaking gear.

“The same crew I went out to Zion with. They’re always encouraging everyone to bring a friend. You should totes come with me.”

Beca surveys the kayaks leaning against the wall and visions of flipping over, getting stuck, and drowning flash through her mind. “Pass,” she says quickly. “Maybe something more...terrestrial.”

“Okay,” Chloe says with a shrug. She never argues with Beca over it, but she does always re-extend the invitation. “What do you think: black or pink?” she continues as she plucks two helmets off the display to turn and hold them up for Beca’s opinion.

“Let’s see ‘em in action,” she answers, gesturing for Chloe to try them on.

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

“What kind of adventure would you be down for?” Chloe asks, somewhat unexpectedly, as they meander through displays and racks of camping gear. They’ve already picked out everything on her list but still find themselves browsing. “When you said ‘more terrestrial,’” she adds. “Camping?”

Beca’s about to answer when the PA system interrupts, informing shoppers the store will be closing in 15 minutes. She waits until they’re finished.

“Yeah, camping, I guess,” she says with a vague wave of her hand toward the staged campground the store has set up to display their wide variety of tents, coolers, chairs, and portable grills. “Just maybe not in the middle of nowhere like you do.”

She knows her answer excites Chloe by the way her eyes light up and her back straightens. “I don’t even own a tent because I’m always sharing with someone else on the trip.” She’s already on her hands and knees crawling through the entrance of a small tent before Beca can argue.

Not that she has a point to argue.

Chloe’s kneeling inside and looking out at Beca expectantly. “Come on! Let’s try this one.”

Beca just gives a shake of her head and kneels down to crawl into the tent, too. She hears Chloe zip the flap behind her and then she’s being dragged down until they’re lying side by side.

“We fit!” Chloe declares as she makes it a point to spread out and take up space until she’s crowding Beca.

“Obviously we fit,” she says, trying not to laugh as Chloe’s elbow digs into her ribs until she’s forced to roll onto her side to escape it. “It’s a two-person tent. We are two people.” She should have known better to turn, though, because the second she does, Chloe’s on her like a magnet, making Beca her little spoon as she does so often.

Not that she minds Chloe’s propensity to be close to Beca.

She kind of loves it, in fact.

“See, and we can cuddle for body heat if it gets chilly overnight.”

“Right,” Beca says, letting herself smile when she feels the way Chloe’s almost nuzzling her. It drives her crazy, too. Chloe is so physically affectionate with Beca, more so than anyone Beca’s ever dated, and she and Chloe are definitively not dating. It feels like they are, though, from the way they check in with one another throughout the day if they’re apart and how they download their days when they’re together to their Co-Captain Conferences which is just a serious-sounding name that allows them to lock themselves in Chloe’s room under the guise of working on the Bellas’ next set when they’re actually watching movies or talking or napping and not getting interrupted.

The way Beca’s heart aches when Chloe does go on her weeklong excursions...that, too, makes it feel a lot like they’re dating.

But...they’re not.

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

It’s the last thought that floats through her mind before her eyes are fluttering open to near darkness.

She’s disoriented and her shoulder and hip ache from whatever hard surface she’s lying on. The only thing she does recognize is the scent, sound, and feel of Chloe asleep behind her and she jostles her until she’s startling awake, too.

“Hmm, what?” Chloe says, voice gravelly with sleep.

“We fell asleep in the tent,” Beca says once her brain stitches the events together. Once she sits up and glances out of the tent’s mesh window and is met with the dimly lit retail floor, her heart stops. “Chloe?”

“Hmm?” she says through a yawn as she sits up, too.

“What time is it?”

She watches Chloe pull her phone out of her back pocket—Beca’s own phone is in her purse which...she realizes with additional terror...was left in the cart before they decided to try the tent—and check it. “10:34.”

Beca inhales at that and holds her breath, waiting for Chloe to connect the dots, too.

“Oh, my gosh, it’s 10:34!”

“And it’s dark in here.” Beca leans forward to unzip the tent’s flap and crawl out, relieved to find her purse in the cart, everything right where they left it by some miracle. “Chlo, the store’s closed.”

She watches Chloe crawl out, too, and stand to survey everything, just like Beca’s doing. “There must be a security guard or something,” Chloe says confidently as she starts walking toward the entrance.

There is no security guard, they find. They also decide to not try the doors because setting off an alarm might be really bad. A phone call to the company’s customer support number instructs them to call back during the hours of 7:00 AM and 6:00 PM.

“Okay, we don’t need to panic,” Beca says when she watches Chloe start to do her panic-pacing. “We’re fine. We’re safe.”

“We’re trapped in here!” Chloe screeches.

It makes Beca flinch and she grabs Chloe by the forearms when she paces past again. “Chloe, chill out!”

Chloe gulps and Beca can see the fear in her eyes.

“Chill, okay?” she says, lowering her voice. “They’ll open in the morning and we can leave. They have bathrooms and water, and I know you have at least one granola bar in your purse, right?”

Chloe nods and her eyes start to look a bit less wild.

“Good.” Beca smiles, and then lets herself smile bigger. “We’re locked in a store.”

Chloe whines. “I know, Beca!” 

“No, Chloe. We’re locked in a store!” she turns them so Chloe’s facing toward the sporting goods supplier’s floor, devoid of other shoppers and employees. “Didn’t you ever dream about this as a kid?”

She can tell Chloe’s considering it, thinking about it, until a smile starts to tug at her lips. “Okay, yeah.”

“Then, come on!” Beca grabs her hand to run—not out of necessity but out of excitement—back into the depths of the store. “I want to play with everything. What first?”

“Bikes! Let’s get bikes,” Chloe says pointing off to their left. “This place is huge; we can get around faster!”

“Yes, yes—I love the way you think.”

Armed with speedy transportation, they make it a point to visit every department, trying on hiking boots and life jackets and snowboards. Chloe decides to document the adventure on her Instagram so every department needs to have its own photoshoot.

Eventually, they end up back in the paddling department and Beca’s helping Chloe maneuver a massive tandem kayak down from where it’s leaning against the wall.

“Get in,” Chloe says, gesturing at the front seat while she lowers herself into the back after grabbing a couple of paddles. “I’ll show you how easy it is.”

“I don’t know how to tell you this,” Beca says as she takes the offered paddle and sits down, “but we’re not in the water right now.”

“Shush, I know. But I can show you the stroke.”

Beca can’t help the amused snort that escapes her.

“You just made that dirty.”

“Did not.”

“Yes, you did.” Chloe sounds amused. “Okay, put your hands where the grippy parts are on the paddle.”

Beca does as she’s told and then jumps a little when Chloe’s voice is suddenly close.

“Good.” Chloe’s arms suddenly frame Beca’s, her hands just outside of each of her own. “It’s just this motion.” Then they’re moving, Chloe’s push and pull directing Beca. “See how easy?”

Something about the moment makes Beca’s voice catch for a second and she has to swallow. “Yeah. Something tells me it’s not as easy in a river.”

“It’s really not difficult. Would I lie to you?”

“No, I guess not.”

Chloe hums, happy with Beca’s answer, and then her presence retreats. “Keep going; I need to take a picture. Actually, I’m going to do a video!”

“Of course you are,” Beca laughs but carries on for Chloe’s entertainment.

It’s around 2:00 AM when they’re both yawning, having eaten Chloe’s emergency stash of granola bars and a bag of gummy bears Beca swiped from the checkout area, promising Chloe she’d pay for them tomorrow with the rest of their items. They return the bicycles to their display and wander back to the camping section.

“You know, if there was ever a store to get locked in, this was a pretty good option,” Chloe says as she sits down on the edge of a fully inflated air mattress. It’s the floor’s display model, but it’s a bed nonetheless.

“So true.” Beca follows, settling on the slightly wobbly mattress next to Chloe.

Usually, like in the tent, she would flip onto her side, her back to Chloe to settle in for sleep.

For some reason, this time she turned the other way to face Chloe. Maybe because they weren’t finished talking—they didn’t yet have a plan for the morning, aka what to tell the first person who discovers them—or maybe Beca just wanted to look at Chloe for a few more seconds before going to sleep.  

“I can’t believe this happened,” Chloe says with a giggle once they’re both settled.

“I know, right? So cool.”

Chloe’s quiet for what feels like a second too long before she says, “Thank you for calming me down. You know how I can get worked up about stuff.”

Beca smiles gently. “Yeah, of course, dude. You know I got your back.”

“I know you do.”

Chloe’s eyes are on Beca’s and the silence between them is suddenly heavy. Something about it makes Beca’s heart start to race. Chloe’s just looking at her not saying anything and Beca’s about to ask why she’s staring when Chloe interrupts her.

“Can I kiss you?”

Beca’s not sure she heard correctly. It’s hard to hear over the sound of the blood rushing in her ears. She debates asking Chloe to repeat herself, but she doesn’t want her to backpedal if she thinks Beca’s response means she wasn’t okay with it. Because she is so, soooo okay with it.

And if Beca did mishear, then she’ll deal with whatever she’s about to agree to.

“Yes.”

She didn’t mishear.

She can’t help the gasp that comes when Chloe’s lips are suddenly on hers. They’re soft and gentle but confident in their purpose and Beca is sure to kiss her back once her mind catches up with it.

Chloe pulls back after a few seconds and even in the dim lighting, she can tell Chloe’s blushing. She knows she is, too. “Was that okay?” Chloe asks, eyes wide and teeth tugging nervously at the lip that was just pressed against Beca’s.

Beca lets herself start to smile; the shock is subsiding and happiness is starting to rush into its place. “Why did you stop?” she asks, bringing her hand up between them to tug on Chloe’s shirt.

It’s not hard enough to actually pull Chloe in but it gets her point across and she’s still smiling when Chloe’s gleeful laugh gets muffled between their second kiss, one that is less about determining if it’s okay and a lot more about how their tongues move together.

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

They’re roused by blinding fluorescent lights a few hours later and share the story of their accidental lock-in with the very confused and highly suspicious morning shift. Chloe begs the manager-on-duty to not reprimand whoever was responsible for ensuring all guests were out of the store before locking up, blaming themselves for not paying attention to the time.

Eventually, they’re allowed to leave and pay for what they’d been shopping for yesterday, plus the two-person tent (which Chloe had run back to grab off the shelf and returned with a wink).

“Okay, what’s with the tent?” Beca asks once they’ve loaded up the back of Chloe’s car in the completely empty parking lot and sat down.

“We are totes going camping and making out under the stars.”

“Oh, are we?” Beca asks with amusement as she buckles her seatbelt.

“Yep,” Chloe says, taking advantage of Beca’s proximity to direct her right up and into a kiss. “If that’s okay with you?” she asks, eyes a little softer so Beca knows she’s being earnest.

“Yeah, okay,” she nods. “But I’m not sure it’s fair for you to ask me after you kiss me.”

“So I should withhold kisses until you answer?” Chloe says with a grin as she starts the car and drives toward the exit and street that will lead them back to the house.

“That doesn’t seem fair either,” Beca says with a thoughtful pout.

“Kinda sounds like I get my way if kisses are involved.”

Beca starts to object but instead, just smiles and looks out the passenger side window. “Yeah, it kinda does sound that way.

The End  

[queeenpersephone]

For @littlemsstark3000 : hi love!! I’m so sorry to hear things aren’t great right now - hopefully this brightens up your day a little. I don’t really think jealousy is one of Tony’s serious flaws, but I think I can dream up a quick scenario for It anyway. (i literally edited none of this and i’m about to pass out from exhaustion so i’ll made sure it makes coherent sense in the morning lol

(background: Tony and Nat are on the verge of starting something. While visiting an old anthropologist friend of Bruce’s, Natasha and Bruce save an island from a genetically engineered sea monster. After, the indigenous people honor them through a ceremony that looks a lot like a wedding. Bruce’s friend tweets a picture, the media goes crazy, and when Bruce and Nat return to the Tower, they have a lot of explaining to do.)

Steve’s Disappointed Dad Face is the first hint that Natasha gets that something is very wrong.

“Congratulations,” he greets evenly when she walks into the kitchen to grab a snack before she goes to catch up with Tony. Bruce has gone back to his rooms for a nap; this weeklong excursion without technology to work on their friendship had gone perfectly, and they had saved a village. That must be what Steve’s taking about, though his expression does not match his praise.

“Thanks - it was an easy decision,” Natasha replies, watching her friend’s face carefully. After all, it was. They are heroes - they’ll always help people in need.

He clearly winces. “I guess I just always thought - well, doesn’t matter. As long as you and Banner are happy.”

Natasha fights to keep a neutral expression on her face. Is he really suggesting that Bruce and she don’t have the same commitment to the safety of others that he does? “I don’t usually like to speak for others, but Bruce was thrilled,” she tells him, letting a little bit of smugness seep into her tone. “The Hulk was on his best behavior, too.”

Steve coughs, turning a little red. “I’m sure - I mean - I have to - mission plans, I’ll talk to you later.” He practically runs out of the room, ignoring the way that Natasha stares after him.

She spends about thirty seconds dissecting their conversation before shrugging. She’ll talk to Tony, then she’ll figure out Steve. As much as she doesn’t want to admit it, she’s missed him. A lot.

-

When she walks into the lab, Tony does not turn to greet her. He’s not dealing with any loud machinery, so she knows he heard her enter. There is a tightness to his posture and a droop to his shoulders that tells her more than words ever could.

Something’s not just wrong à la Steve. Something is very, very wrong.

“Hey,” she ventures, approaching him with a confidence to her stride that she does not feel. He still doesn’t turn, and her casual approach falters. “Tony-“

“I’m happy for you.”

It’s barely a mumble, with anything but happiness oozing from his tone. It’s not his ordinary kind of lie - with false bravado and carefully concealed panic. No, there’s a helplessness to this lie - a grief that makes her heart skip a beat.

“You don’t sound very happy,” she observes. “If there’s anything we need to clarify, I-“

Tony’s breath hitches, and his hands move to grip the edge of the table. He still doesn’t look in her direction. “No - no, no, no - you don’t owe me a - I mean, there was never really anything,” he sighs, looking like he wants to drop his head and bang it against the table. “I’m happy for you,” he repeats robotically, knuckles turning white. She can tell his fingers are probably numb.

She exhales, narrowing her eyes. There’s a game going on here, and she doesn’t even know the name of it. Time to stop playing. “Listen,” she tells him, reaching out for his hand. “You need to tell me exactly what you think-“

The moment her fingers brush over his, his body lurches into action. He turns to her, eyes dark and pained and angry. It’s an unfamiliar look, and it pins her briefly in place. His hand darts out, grasping her wrist, and she lets him. Any other man would have already lost all his fingers, but this is Tony. She’ll allow him this if he needs it to speak.

“What I think?” He repeats, beginning quietly. A shifting rage hovers underneath, and Natasha instinctively catalogues all the weapons on her person before discarding the premise. He would never hurt her. “What I think?” He half-shouts this time. “I’ll tell you what I think: there is no universe that supports this conclusion. You two. It makes no sense! It’s the opposite of sense! It’s - it’s non-sense,” he concludes, and if his anger wasn’t so serious and real, his fluster would be adorable.

“Tony-“ she begins, low and soothing.

“See?” He interrupts, gesturing to her with his free hand. “It’s even - in that. In the way you say my name. I thought it was only a matter of time for you and me. I thought we were a law of motion - that we were frictionless.”

Her eyes soften. She might not understand the context, but she knows a confession when she hears one. She’s been waiting for this for weeks. “Tony, we are-“ she says, pressing her free hand over his against her wrist.

“Then choose me,” he replies, gravelly and earnest and heartbreakingly pleading. “He’s not right for you - I know that you two are close - hell, I love him like a brother - but I’m going to fight for you,” he swears, twisting out of her grip to take both her hands in his. “It might be selfish, but I don’t care. I love you, Natasha Romanoff, and I won’t let you go without a fight.” Natasha, for the first time in a very long time, is in shock; she can’t do anything but listen for some clue as to what the hell is going on. “He can’t possibly love you like I do - it’s not possible.”

“Who?” She manages, shaking her head wordlessly. She knew that Tony liked her, that a relationship was imminent, but in love? It altogether feels to soon and perfectly timed.

He scoffs. “Your husband? Giant green rage monster slash genius biochemist? You’re not even wearing a ring, Nat - what kind of half-baked proposal did he-“

Nat pulls back with an efficient twist that leaves Tony grasping at nothing but air. “You think Bruce and I are married?” She realizes, her voice going higher than she intended.

Tony shrugs. “The tabloids caught your private island ceremony,” he spits. “What, were you ashamed?”

Natasha freezes, and all the pieces fall into place.

She can’t help the smile that fights to spread across her face, even though Tony still looks half angry, half desolate. “Tony, Bruce and I are friends. We are not and have never been married.”

Her certainty makes Tony pause. “I - you had a wedding,” he says, but it comes out more like a question.

She shakes her head, chuckles finally breaking through. “There was a ceremony - we saved the village, they wanted to thank us.” She pauses, remembering. “I can see where the confusion might have come from,” she admits, “but it’s a little bit of a stretch.” Her tone turns teasing, and she steps up to meet him toe to toe. “I thought my feelings were clear to you - at least they were a week ago.”

Tony searches her expression for half a minute before he evidently finds what he is looking for. His whole body relaxes, and his frown molds into a smirk. “They were,” he replies, cupping her face in his hands. “You just make me crazy,” he admits. “Bruce is one of my best friends, but the thought of you and him…” he trails off, a brief darkness crossing his expression.

“Hey,” Natasha says. “None of that.” She slides her hands over his shoulders and around his neck. “I’m not a fan of jealousy,” she warns. “I’ll give you a pass here, because the situation is extreme, and I’m sure you’ve been… overwhelmed with how in love you are with me…”

Tony chuckles. “I have no problems admitting that - my ego is already fit to burst.” He turns serious for a moment. “And you’re right - not cool. I’m sorry.”

“You’re forgiven,” she says slowly, “on two conditions.”

Tony brushes his thumb against her jaw. “Name them,” he says, low and throaty.

Natasha tilts their forehands together. “One, you take me out tonight and we set the world straight. I would like a bit of privacy at first, but I don’t think Bruce could take the media attention,” she says wryly.

“Done,” Tony agrees. “And?”

She pulls him so close that their lips brush. “Kiss me,” she requests, scratching her fingernails through his hair.

“Gladly,” he murmurs, kissing her hard and deep, the way he’s been wanting to kiss her for much longer than he’d care to admit.

Suffice to say, they barely make it to dinner that night.

[jumarit38]

THROUGH TIME - CHAPTER 19

[kdinthecity]

Unexpected

OK, I did not expect this one to come out so angsty! This is for Day 7: Unexpected Visits, and it’s super sad! I’m just warning you. I promise I will follow with Day 8: Spice where Katara visits a sex shop... ooh fun!

I’m actually writing this one in another author’s universe. So, if you don’t like mine, go read hers because it’s way better. So @until-my-last, I hope this is worthy of your awesome Zutara fic, Time Heals Wounds.

Did I warn you that it’s sad? Also, it’s Kataang. I know! So sad! And no cheating, only bonding between Katara and Zuko. Like serious bonding. Oh, and Ume is Zuko’s wife, an OC from Time Heals Wounds.

There were lots of things about turning thirty-five that Katara hadn’t expected.

 First, the recovery after her last pregnancy. It had been hard. Harder than she expected. Harder than the other two. It took much longer for her to feel normal again. And she was unexpectedly relieved when Tenzin weaned. Like this whole baby thing was just so taxing on her—physically and emotionally—and she would be juuuuuuust fine to be done with it.

 But she knew Aang would want more.

 She didn’t expect to get pregnant again so soon, though.

 Her hormones were such a mess, but she really did want to hit him when he said, “That’s great news, Katara! Another chance for an airbender!” It didn’t help that he said it in front of Bumi. Who by now had passed the age where bending ability was typically revealed—or not.

 Tenzin had been such a fitful baby that she was almost certain he’d turn out to be an airbender. The same week she found out she was pregnant, he learned to walk—no, wander. Her little nomad child, she’d come to think of him. Except that she was so very tired in these early stages of pregnancy that she didn’t want to chase a toddler. Surely this had been easier with Bumi and Kya, hadn’t it?

 It was also the same week that Aang was called away to weeklong peace proceedings in Ba Sing Se. The Earth Kingdom was worse than the Fire Nation at maintaining the peace, she decided. They always needed Aang’s help. Then again, King Kuei was no Fire Lord Zuko. And Zuko would probably not ask for help even if he needed it.

 But then her dear friend did ask for help—when she least expected it. And he was there to offer help—when she unexpectedly needed it.

Aang’s one-week trip turned into three weeks which wasn’t altogether unexpected. She would’ve graciously accepted this as typical Avatar duty, if only she hadn’t been so tired—and hot. Did she have these hot flashes last time? It wasn’t even summer, yet. At some point, bending away her own sweat wasn’t worth the energy or the effort.

 Thankfully an air acolyte took a break from her ceaseless praying to lend a hand with the kids. Katara knew she would never have that kind of devotion. Aang probably deserved someone who did. And someone who didn’t resent the idea of having another baby.

 Surely these thoughts were just the hormones talking. She loved her children. And she loved this new life inside her just the same. Didn’t she?

 “Uncle used to say that if you frown too much, your face will stick that way.”

 Katara nearly fainted. But not from hormones. From the sound of his voice.

 “Zuko! What are you doing here?”

 “Well, I realized that I’ve never met Tenzin. So it’s been over a year. And Izumi wanted to see Bumi and Kya. It’s dreadfully boring at the palace.” His tone was uncharacteristically upbeat. The crease in his brow gave him away.

 “No siblings, yet?” It was a personal question that she disliked when people asked her. Especially since she heard no airbenders, yet, instead. But this was Zuko, her best friend. Surely he wouldn’t take it personally.

 Except that unexpectedly, he did, thus confirming her suspicions. “Ahhh, no—um…”

 “Zuko, what is it? Is Ume OK?”

 “She’s uhh—well, we’ve tried, of course. But I think something’s wrong. Not with that. I don’t care about that. She’s just tired all the time. And short of breath. Do you think you could…?”

 “Of course, Zuko. I’d be glad to take a look. Is she here?”

 “No. She didn’t feel up to the journey. I—of course, we have plenty of room for your family at the palace. Come whenever is convenient. Stay as long as you like.”

 “Aang is in Ba Sing Se right now, but when he gets back…”

 A flurry of activity interrupted their conversation. Bumi practically tackled Zuko with a laughing Kya trailing him. Ten-year-old Izumi then appeared with a drooly Tenzin perched on her hip. Katara marveled at how much the young firebender had grown, her childlike features fading into a womanly beauty. There were definite traces of Zuko in her appearance, but glimpses of Ume, too.

 “I heard you’ve been training with the sword, Master Bumi.” Zuko ruffled the seven-year-old’s crazy crop of hair.

 “Yes sir, but I’m hardly a master. I sometimes train with Uncle Sokka… when he’s not busy.”

 “Hmm, you need a master, don’t you?” Zuko’s eyes flickered to Katara, but she didn’t have a good answer to his unspoken question. She taught Kya waterbending, but it was true that Bumi’s own training had been neglected.

 “Yes sir.” The disappointment in the child’s voice was answer enough, though.

 “Tell me, Bumi, have you ever fought with two swords?” Zuko redirected.

 The boy’s chin lifted, and his eyes sparkled. “Like at the same time? That’s impossible!”

 “Well, you have two hands, don’t you?”

 Katara fought the urge to say that her son might not have two hands after swordfighting lessons with Zuko. She could tell, though, by the way his eyes lit up and how Izumi rolled hers that he didn’t get to do this often, if ever.

 So Zuko went off with Bumi, Izumi and Kya practiced their bending moves together, and Katara put Tenzin down for a nap. Suddenly it was very quiet, and she had time for herself. It was most unexpected, and she honestly didn’t know what to do with herself. She decided to prepare the guest room for their unexpected visitors in hopes that they would stay awhile.

 Later that evening, a giddy, sweaty Zuko shooed her out of the kitchen and offered to make dinner. It was such an unusual gesture. Aang never made dinner. She didn’t even expect Zuko to know how to cook. He was royalty, after all. The bigger surprise, though, was that he cooked them meat. She didn’t realize how much she’d missed it—how much it reminded her of home. She didn’t dare ask where it came from, although Bumi answered soon enough.

 “Mom, Fire Lord Zuko took me hunting!”

 “Oh, he did, did he?” She shot her friend a look of warning. It was one thing to teach Bumi the swords, but hunting encroached on their family values.

 Zuko just shrugged. “It wasn’t really hunting. The animal was already hurt, so we kinda… put it out of its misery? I’m a terrible hunter anyway. I couldn’t hit a moving target if I tried.”

 Somehow Katara doubted that. She was about to expound on her reprimand, but Izumi spoke first.

 “Ew, Dad. Can we not talk about our food like that?” She made a fake choking sound. “I think I’m going to become a vegetarian.”

 “Cool. Can we trade families then? Because I want to eat meat everyday!” Bumi popped another bite into his mouth, beaming proudly as he did.

 It was a most unfortunate time for “morning” sickness to hit. Katara quickly excused herself from the table. She didn’t expect Zuko to follow her.

 “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—“ He held back her hair. He actually held back her hair. She held back her tears.

 After she had recovered, both from the retching and repressing, he continued in a calm and soothing voice, “I didn’t mean to make you sick. I didn’t think… of course, if you never eat meat—“

 “No, Zuko, it’s not your fault. I-I’m pregnant.”

 “Oh.”

 She couldn’t read his expression much like she could read her own emotions in that moment, either. She wondered why he had to be so nice, so helpful, so… perfect. Scarred, yet flawless.

 That was ridiculous, though. Nobody was perfect. The only reason people would overlook each other’s imperfections was if love had made them blind.

 Suddenly, Katara saw the situation all too clearly.

 “I’m tired. I’m going to bed. You and Izumi are welcome to stay, of course. Just make yourself at home.”

 “I’d prefer not to travel at night if that’s alright. We’ll head back first thing in the morning. I appreciate your hospitality.”

 His tone was so formal and his expression so stiff, it was like she was talking to the Fire Lord and not a dear friend. Had he also noticed the shift that had occurred between them, albeit subtle? She couldn’t very well sort through these muddled thoughts and emotions, not in her current state. Perhaps it would be best if she slept through his departure the next day.

 Little did she know what darkness lie ahead in the night and what new light would be cast on their relationship by morning.

 She expected to drift right to sleep, but a slight cramping sensation kept her awake. She blamed it on the meat… at first. Then the pain intensified. Then there was blood. Then water—her hands coated in it, glowing, healing. Then stillness. Then screaming.

 She almost felt like she was outside of herself watching the scene unfold. This couldn’t be happening. No. This wasn’t happening.

 She must have fallen asleep at some point because she woke up the next morning in his arms. She remembered what had happened, but she didn’t remember him.

 “Zuko, wha—“

 “Shhhhhh. It’s OK.”

 Her throat felt raw, so she knew she had been crying—a lot. Still, she managed, “I k-k-killed my baby.”

 Zuko tightened his grip on her shoulders. “What!? Of course you didn’t! These things… just happen. It’s nobody’s fault. You even tried to save your baby. I saw your healing water.”

 She sighed deeply and buried her face in his chest. “But I d-d-didn’t want to be pregnant again. Not so soon. Not when Aang—“ She couldn’t finish. It sounded too selfish to say out loud. But the pressure had become so overwhelming. She couldn’t promise airbending heirs to her Avatar husband no matter how much she wanted to—no matter how hard she tried. She felt like a failure of a wife—and a mother.

 She saw Zuko’s jaw clinch, and she knew what he must be thinking. She didn’t want to portray Aang in a bad light. It certainly wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t even here.

 That’s right. He wasn’t here.

 But Zuko was.

 She nestled deeper into his warmth, his comfort. It was what she needed, and she admitted to herself that she needed it from him. Somehow she knew that Aang would grieve the loss of their child, the chance at another airbender. He would grieve for her. But Zuko—he would grieve with her.

 I’m sorry. That’s something we have in common. It seemed like only yesterday that he’d spoken those words in a cave full of glowing green crystals.

 “It gets easier,” Zuko said suddenly.

 “What?” His words shook her from her reverie.

 “S-s-sorry. That’s not very comforting, I know. I shouldn’t have—“

 “Ume,” she whispered before she realized the name had escaped her lips. The same thing must’ve happened to her—to them. Guilt overtook her. She shouldn’t be here clinging to Zuko when he had a sick wife back at home. She quickly released him and moved away from the bed.

 “Katara, I’m sorry if I did something wrong, I—“ There was pain in his voice and sadness in his eyes, like he was still very much the boy in the cave. But he wasn’t, and they had come so far since then. They were closer than she’d ever expected to become with someone from the Fire Nation, a former enemy, the Fire Lord, even.

 “No, Zuko, it’s fine. You’re… I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’ve been… perfect.”

 She reached out to take his hand and gave it a small squeeze. Her gaze then drifted to the stained bedsheets, and her vision blurred with tears. A warm hand cupped her face, and a calloused thumb swiped across her wet cheek. His touch felt nice, but as she leaned into it, confusion and clarity struck her once again.

 “Zuko, why are you here?”

 “Because I heard you screaming in the night.”

 “No, I mean, why are you here?”

 “Oh. I came to ask you for help.”

 Yes, of course. She sighed and pulled away.

 “And because I wanted to see you.”

 His statement and his smile were so genuine that her tears flowed freely now. There was something so painfully beautiful about this moment they shared together. She would never want to relive it, but she would cherish it all the same. She shuddered at the calm comfort of his next words.

 “Hey. You go get yourself cleaned up. I’ll take care of cleaning up in here. OK? Then, you get some rest, and I’ll get some breakfast ready for when the kids wake up.”

 Yet again, unexpectedly perfect. Or perhaps perfectly unexpected?

 With Zuko, it was always a little unclear.

[deniscollins]

Crazy Work Hours and Lots of Cameras: Silicon Valley Goes to China

Chinese start-up technology companies abide by concept of 996: Work from 9 a.m. to 9 p.m., six days a week. If you were a multinational executive funding companies in both the U.S. and China, would you: (1) recommend Chinese work less hours due to social impacts on the lack of balance between work and family, (2) recommend Americans adopt 996 to keep pace with China, or (3) neither? Why? What are the ethics underlying your decision?

One Chinese technology executive said he worked 14 to 15 hours a day at least six days a week. Another said he worked every waking hour and forced himself to watch movies to relax.

The reaction from a group of Silicon Valley executives: Wow.

“We’re so lazy in the U.S.!” blurted Wesley Chan, a venture capital investor, on the first day of what would be a weeklong journey into the Chinese technology scene.

Work habits weren’t the only sharp difference between the Valley and China. By the end of the week, a group of American executives and investors found an alternate tech universe. It resembles Silicon Valley superficially. Look closer, and it becomes a futuristic yet closed-off world that can be equally impressive, alienating and dystopian.

Chinese technology executives, they found, were even more driven and more willing to do whatever it takes to win. But that comes with major trade-offs, and punishing work schedules are only the beginning. They found Chinese tech executives to be less reflective about the social impact and potential misuse of their technologies, a potentially worrisome quality in a country with loosely enforced privacy laws, strict government censorship and a powerful domestic surveillance apparatus.

“It was impressive to see the pace of innovation in China,” said Mark Goldberg, a partner at Index Ventures, a venture capital firm. “Some of the newer technologies, like facial recognition software, can be very powerful, and will need to be deployed thoughtfully — not just in China, but also in the West.”

In August, Mr. Chan, Mr. Goldberg and 11 other Silicon Valley investors and start-up founders took a trip to Beijing and Shenzhen, two cities that are competing for the title of the Silicon Valley of China. Organized by the venture capital firms Basis Set Ventures, Index Ventures and Silicon Valley Bank, it was intended to help them understand how China has become a tech rival to the United States in barely two decades.

Silicon Valley once saw China as a copycat, but it now has some of the world’s biggest and most powerful internet companies. It has more unicorns, or privately held companies with valuations of over $1 billion, than the United States. The China offices of venture capital firms like Sequoia Capital now manage bigger funds than their American headquarters. Silicon Valley luminaries like Michael Moritzof Sequoia Capital have been urging American entrepreneurs and investors to learn from China’s work ethic, ambition and technological advances.

The Americans got upfront lessons on how quickly China embraced mobile phones, electronic payments and video streaming, and how intensely it has pursued artificial intelligence.

“I live in San Francisco, but I find it helpful to visit the other parallel universe from time to time,” said Lan Xuezhao, founding partner of Basis Set Ventures, who was born in China and visits the country every year. “To some degree, it’s like looking into the future.”

It started the moment the group members entered their rooms at the Park Hyatt Hotel in Beijing’s central business district, where a notice listed some of the websites they would be unable to call up “due to Chinese internet regulations”: Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, YouTube, Google, Bloomberg and The New York Times.

Online payments represented another telling metaphor. Mobile payments are almost ubiquitous in the biggest Chinese cities, but setting up an account requires a local mobile number and a Chinese bank account.

One afternoon they were desperate for caffeine and spotted a Luckin Coffee outlet, an up-and-coming Chinese brand, in the canteen of Bytedance, the A.I. information and entertainment powerhouse. But Luckin takes orders only on its mobile app. At the cashier-less convenience store at the headquarters of JD.com, the online retailer, an employee paid for their snacks with his own phone.

“China’s internet is a walled garden,” Mr. Chan said. “No one can break in unless you’re from here.”

Within that walled garden, everything seemed to be moving at an extraordinary speed. While Silicon Valley start-ups raise funding every 18 to 24 months on average, the group was told that the most successful Chinese companies do it every six months. It isn’t unusual for a hot start-up to raise funding three to four times a year.

“Every time I go to the U.S., I feel that I’ll need to grow 10 times faster,” said Alexander Weidauer, a founder of the Berlin-based A.I. chatbot developer Rasa and the only member of the group not from Silicon Valley. “Now I feel I’ll need to grow 100 times faster. The pace in China is crazy.”

Their hosts kept reminding them of the advantages China had over the United States in A.I. development. China’s vast population and loose privacy laws give them access to much more data. A.I. companies also have considerable government support and are willing to pay more for top talent.

“The U.S. competitive edge over China may not be long,” Kai-Fu Lee, chief executive of Sinovation Ventures and former head of Google China, told them. “In fact,” he added, “the Americans now have the information disadvantage.”

But it was also obvious to the group what China was missing. For starters, everybody is Chinese. Even in its early days, Google had employees from 39 nationalities speaking 40-plus languages.

“China is a bit homogeneous,” said Mr. Chan, an early Google employee. “You don’t find as much the perspectives of the world here compared to Silicon Valley.”

Then there are the work schedules. The Silicon Valley natives were introduced to the Chinese start-up concept of 996: Work from 9 a.m. to 9 p.m., six days a week. Once they got over their shock, they had to ask: Does that punishing schedule make sense?

“I’m not worried so much about my portfolio companies not working as hard as the Chinese companies,” said Mr. Chan, now a partner at Felicis Ventures. “I’ll worry when they’re less creative and less efficient.”

While China is becoming more innovative, many members of the group said they believed — and some of their Chinese counterparts agreed — that the United States still led in some areas.

Although some Chinese tech companies can look very Silicon Valley-esque — with sprawling campuses that include dining halls, gyms and nap rooms — their preferred management style is still top down and results driven. Unlike Silicon Valley, smart underlings have less freedom to start something new.

Underscoring their admiration for strong leaders, the Chinese technology figures told the Silicon Valley group that many in China idolized the Uber founder Travis Kalanick, who resigned as chief executive last year after the company was embroiled in various scandals. The reason: In his battles with a bigger local rival, Mr. Kalanick could be as aggressive and scrappy as a Chinese boss.

There was very little discussion about the consequences of Chinese companies’ ruthless focus on growth and the social impact of the technologies they develop — criticism Silicon Valley now faces. The visitors asked how Chinese companies dealt with the issues of censorship and algorithm-driven social media, but their hosts either seemed puzzled by the questions or brushed them off.

Technology itself is neutral, some of the Chinese executives said. It depends on how people use it — an argument that Silicon Valley companies used to make.

And then there was the surveillance. Chinese companies have little choice but to cooperate with Beijing’s growing efforts to track the daily lives of its own people. Some, in fact, make money off it.

Still, the Silicon Valley delegation did not expect facial recognition technology to be so widespread in Chinese life. Companies they visited used it at office entrances and at retail kiosks inside their facilities. They also saw demo videos of how the Chinese police could use the technology to monitor potential crimes in crowded public spaces and learn how many suspects had been arrested.

After grasping how prevalent the cameras were, they started counting them. Even the van they rented from the hotel in Shenzhen had a handful of cameras installed, blinking from time to time to signal that they were on.

Then, like many people in China, they got used to it, as if the cameras weren’t even there.

[mredwinsmith]

Universe Point After Afterword: Part 2

Looking for Part 1? It’s over here.

I got back to Pittsburgh knowing that I had a month or so to improve my wind and endurance, which I thought were fine going into regionals but obviously needed some work. So I obsessively sprinted the hill in the alley behind my house, 70 yards up, 70 yards back down – every day. Get home from a rough day hauling lumber and drywall up three flights of stairs? Run the hill. Exhausted from chasing around a three year old all day? Run the hill. 95 degrees out? Run the hill. I knew it might be my only shot to play at nationals and I wasn’t going to waste it by being unprepared.

As for my family, we used nationals as an excuse to go visit Jessi’s parents up in Wyoming, which meant that my little boy Henry would be able to see daddy play. We flew into Denver two days early, visited friends and went to dinosaur museums – all awesome, totally fun stuff that I nervously fretted through waiting for Friday morning to arrive.

And then finally, graciously, Friday morning did arrive. We got to the Aurora Sports Complex to see by far the largest collection of ultimate fields and ultimate players the world may have ever witnessed. All seven divisions of open, women’s, mixed, grandmasters and great grandmasters were spread out over an area so large the place needed giant towers marking each compass direction. There were over 2,000 players on 79 teams from all over the country. It was massive. So massive in fact, I immediately regretted telling Jessi it was cool to just drop me off at the entrance and that I’d “wander around to find my team.” I’m relatively certain that if she hadn’t shown back up with the car fifteen minutes later, they’d have eventually found my skeleton along the road with my cell phone pressed to where my ear used to be and Black Tide Matt still attempting to give me directions….

“We’re over by the merchandise tent and…..I mean you should see….ok, there’s a green team playing a white team next to us. Do you see that? Cramer? Are you still there? Cramer? Do you see the green versus white game?”

“We’re sorry, the Verizon customer you’re attempting to reach is no longer available….”

“It’s field twenty-two. I think. Twenty uh…..just look for the green vs. white game. Cramer? Cramer?”

Eventually I got there alive, received my uniform, (#95 for the first year I started playing ultimate), warmed up, and in a blur, the game started.

After all the planning, all the hoping, all the dreaming about first setting foot on the fields at nationals, I don’t really remember lining up for my first point. I really thought I’d go out there and suck it all in for about thirty seconds, looking around at the mountains and the blue sky and having a quiet introspective inner monologue like, “You did it. You’re here. You’re on the field at nationals. All the hard work has paid off. Suck it in. Remember this moment forev….”

“Cramer, you have number seven. Force flick. Let’s go.”

And I was running.

Our first game was against a Boston team called Critical Mass. On my first point, they turned it and a 5’6” guy rotated to cover me so I shot deep. I was twenty yards behind him streaking for the end zone when we decided to throw away a swing pass.

“Oh, goddammit.”

Now I had to decelerate and chase him from a 20-yard disadvantage. I didn’t know it at the time, but it would become a microcosm of my entire weekend.

On my next point, we were coming out of our own end zone when I lost the 6’4” guy that was on me on an in cut. Our handler spotted me but the throw went sailing way up to the left. I had to slow down and jump, but probably would’ve caught it if the big dude didn’t go straight through my back to get the D. I really don’t like to make calls so I talked myself into shrugging it off – which even the dude who’d hacked me found quite surprising.

I’d describe my teammates as “quite baffled” by the non-call. Luckily we forced turn in the end zone and marched down to score. As I came off the field, Brody put his arm around my shoulder.

“You didn’t get fouled on that catch down there?”

“Nah, I definitely got wrecked. I just didn’t want to be a dick.”

“Cramer. This is nationals, man,” he said with a wry smile that replaced the flick to the forehead he obviously wanted to give me. “Not summer league.”

I nodded. It was a great point. “Not summer league. Got it.”

As for Brody, he was a bit jetlagged after arriving from Israel the day before. He’d participated as a counselor and photographer at a camp called Ultimate Peace, which brings together Arab, Palestinian, and Israeli children for a weeklong ultimate and friendship spectacular. Kids who are often raised to be enemies are put on the field in mixed-culture teams and have to practice, play, cooperate, and jointly work out their differences. In the first nearly fifty years of ultimate, it might be the singular best thing that the game has brought to the world. Some day the Israeli Prime Minister and the Palestinian President could sit down and hammer out a long lasting peace because of a friendship that Brody helped foster that week. I mean, he could’ve legitimately helped usher in centuries of worldwide prosperity never before seen on Earth.

And yet it still wouldn’t excuse his first pull of the tournament, which went 60 yards straight sideways out of bounds into the parking lot, hitting a minivan and giving Boston the disc two yards from our goal line. In fact, as I imagine the 2057 Israeli Palestinian Peace Accords, I believe there’s a good chance they begin as such:

Israeli PM: “I’m not sure my country is going to like this.”

Palestinian Prez: “I don’t think mine will either. We’re going to get a lot of heat. A lot of heat.”

Israeli PM: “Well, nothing can be as bad as Brody’s pull against Boston. If he can rebound from that and still have a spectacular tournament, we too can forge ahead no matter what the circumstances.”

Palestinian Prez: “We can indeed. Hand me the pen old friend.”

BAM – Age of Aquarius.

Despite virtually spotting them that goal early on, we cruised and won pretty handily 15-5. My favorite moment of the tournament actually came in the 2nd half when I got a fingernail on the tall guy’s throw for what I’d hesitate to call a point block – more like a point skim. Either way it forced the disc into the ground and off the turnover I ended up with a hockey assist as we went up 10-3. As I came off the field, Henry comes sprinting down the hill with his hand raised in the air.

“Good job, daddy! Great playing! High five!”

And I high fived him – and picked him up and spun him around there at nationals, an old guy playing the sport I’ve loved for over two decades, there at its highest old guy pinnacle – and my boy was there to see it. Whether he remembers it or not is somewhat irrelevant. He was there. And that is the top moment of my entire ultimate career to this point.

As it turned out, I desperately needed that moment the rest of the day. Flying high off our ten point opening game victory, we mentally lollygagged through our next game against Chicago’s Old Man Winter. Nothing went right. We couldn’t complete wide-open dumps. I swear we had double digit uncontested drops. Unforced error after unforced error and we fell 14-10. All you need to know about that game is from a picture an Ultiphotos photographer captured of Black Tide Matt standing on the sidelines with a look on his face as if trying to pass a kidney stone just moments after learning his kid totaled his car. It pretty much sums up that game.

We were 1-1 and now had to match up with the best team in the pool, a bunch of monsters out of Minneapolis named Surly. All through our second round game, dark clouds were creeping in from the south as everyone kept an eye on the skies and hoped their approach would be slow enough to get in our third round games – which turned out to be a tad optimistic.

Surly was up 2-0 when a flash of lightning hit close enough for everyone to sigh, look at each other, and reluctantly begin trudging to our cars. USA Ultimate had mini tornado sirens that started going off and (to use my favorite British slang) everybody just sort of cocked about. I don’t believe it ever actually rained. Me, Surfer Bryan and Defensive Dennis all tried to go take naps in my rented Kia Soul before realizing how hard it is to nap in a fucking Kia Soul and giving up entirely.

Unlike the east coast where trees block your view of damn near everything, in Aurora, Colorado, you can see for sixty miles in each direction. Which is awesome until you’re trying not to see lightning. For ninety-four minutes every player there went, “Ok, it’s been at least ten minutes since the last bolt. They’ve got to be starting the games here pretty (flash)…..damn it.”

It was an odd break that nobody seemed to know what to do with. Do we crack open the beer we brought or not? Should I stretch? I should stretch, right? Fuck, I really want a beer but I also really want to win this game if we play it. But do I want to win as much as I want a beer right NOW? Hmmmm.

Anyway, after a long delay that took everyone’s heads right out of the game, we resumed play against Surly in what amounted to a wind tunnel. I was guarding this big dude with glasses not long after the lightning delay mercifully ended. During a stoppage of play, we both noticed the sky light up off in the distance. I glanced at him. He glanced at me.

“We didn’t see that,” he said.

“See what? I was looking at the clear blue sky over to the east. We’re all old. If you saw a flash, it could’ve just been your vision going. Cataract maybe.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Totally possible. I really oughta get that checked out.”

Having been placed on the 2nd defensive line, I wasn’t getting to play much. In critical situations the captains simply put guys on the field they knew and trusted more. And my mind was honestly starting to drift. Through the Chicago game and later into the Minneapolis game, I just didn’t feel part of it all. Then on my third point of the Surly game, our zone forced a turn in the gale force winds. Brody was tired from running around in the cup, so he asked me to switch to popper from my normal deep receiver position. One of our handlers, a dude with a bright red hat named Jessup who somehow could huck right through the wind had it on the goal line. I shook one of their wings and got open. Jessup spun a brilliant little backhand through the cup that was right at my knees.

And I dropped it. Hit my hands. Didn’t stick. Broken finger or not, I let the team down. When you’re not playing much, you want to stand out when you get on the field. Dropping a wide open catch on your own goal line is not how you want to do it.

We actually gave eventual champion Surly a good game losing just 10-7 but after the game I felt empty. Like I didn’t belong. Three games and somehow I didn’t end up with a single stat. No goals, no assists, no D’s. It wasn’t what I’d hoped for by a long shot. I just….didn’t fit.

Weirdly the thing that helped regain my confidence was that goddamned Kia Soul. Captain Ryan and Black Tide Matt had reserved a couple tables for the team at a pizza place in what I believe was western Kansas. I’d planned on just taking a shower and hanging out in our room at the Embassy Suites to sulk and mournfully shake my head all night, but because the restaurant was so far away nobody wanted to get a taxi or ride share. So I was damn near forced to drive people there. As the miles stacked up, my teammates got more and more thankful for the ride. And suddenly, oddly, I had a purpose. Even if it wasn’t for something on the field, my teammates were glad I was there. I got them to and from the pizza place. And that was something at least. I wasn’t totally useless.

The next morning was our critical crossover game. We finished #3 in Pool B and Kalakala out of Seattle finished #2 in pool C. Winner would finish in the top eight. Loser couldn’t finish higher than ninth. In a lot of ways, the whole tournament rested on what we did in that first game of Saturday morning.

Now I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention some of the awesomely creative team names there that weekend. Great grandmasters led the way for the men with teams like Boulder “Old and in the Way,” San Francisco Relics, and Cincinnati “Age Against the Machine.” But personally I’d give the top three to the women’s division for Seattle iRot (a fantastic play on Seattle Riot), Atlanta Atlantiques, and the hands down winner New York “I Thought This Was a Wine Tasting” who lands the top spot and it’s not particularly close.

But the one name that confused damn near everybody was the team we were about to play. So before the game I approached one of their guys.

“Hey man, so I gotta know…..”

He chuckled. “What’s Kalakala?”

“I imagine you guys are getting that a lot.”

“Yeah,” he answered. “It was this ferry boat that was sleek and luxurious back in the 40’s. And then some guy towed it down to Seattle from Alaska but couldn’t get the money to fix it up so it just sat there in the water slowly falling apart.”

“Ah,” I said, the light going off in my brain. “Just like us. Where once we were young and sleek, we’re now just rusting hulks of our former glory doing all we can not to sink.”

He smiled. “And we’re all in the same boat.”

I laughed. “I like you guys.”

In what would be one of the most exciting games I’ve ever played in, we came storming out of the gate and surprised them. On the second point, we made a D and on the resulting break out, Guillermo threw an around backhand way out in front of me. I laid out, tipped the disc up to myself and caught it as I flipped over, wasting three seconds of my stall count searching for my glasses and hurriedly jamming them back on my face. Guillermo cut out then shot back in and was the first thing I saw when clarity returned. I flicked one to him and took off up the sideline as he put up a huge hanging huck for one of our bigger guys, a wide-bodied defender named Dan. Dan was one-on-one with a guy about his size but I’d seen him play enough to know he was coming down with it – which he did just in front of the goal line.  I hadn’t slowed down since I flipped the disc to Guillermo and was wide open in the center of the end zone. Dan turned and saw me, letting go a soft backhand.

As the disc was in the air my only thought was if you drop this one, just keep going up the hill and straight to the airport. But I didn’t. I pancaked it in front of my stomach. We were up 2-0 and at long last by the grace of the lord had a stat at nationals. An important goal in an important game no less. I could finally, finally relax.

We were up 4-0 when I went back into the game. Halfway up the field, my tight mark forced a bad throw that got undercut by funny, happy dude named Dom who like a lot of guys at the tournament looked as if he used to be all muscle….before he had kids. His abs were still there, just buried under a layer of dad.

Anyway, when Dom undercut the disc, he immediately flipped a five-yard backhand up to me. Seeing he was going to be wide open for a power position huck, I put a little lob on a platter for him up the sideline. With a receiver streaking wide open deep for the 5-0 lead, he wound up a mega-backhand and…..for some reason thought better of it, awkwardly jerking the disc across his waist and letting go a flick completely against his momentum. The resulting throw had the flight properties of a bad hairpiece – a floppy blade straight out of bounds that didn’t even give the receiver a chance.

Dom stopped and watched the disc sail off toward the water coolers with his mouth wide open. He turned to me, his hands pulling his eyelids down his cheeks as a Kalakala guy went to retrieve it.

“Why the hell did I do that?”

“I don’t….uh, know,” I said, still squinting toward the end zone. I knew he felt awful. It was exactly how I felt at the end of the Surly game. I just patted him on the back and turned to play defense. It sounds shitty but I was sort of glad to have a kindred spirit who was having just as lousy a tournament as I was. Although I’d have traded it for a 5-0 lead in a heartbeat. “Let’s get the D.”

Even at the time, it felt like a turning point. Soon afterward they started to score. And we got nervous. We flubbed a catch at the front cone that would’ve put us up 6-2. Next thing we know it’s tied 7-7.

My favorite two moments of the game came in the 2nd half. Tied 8-8, Seattle put a curving backhand up the line in front of our tents. One of our best players, a lanky yoga freak (and former club champion with the Santa Barbara Condors) named Gav tracked it down and extended to tip it away just in front of the Seattle receiver. While the disc was in the air, another Sunset guy, a short, stocky handler in a backwards Kansas Jayhawks hat named Katz raced over from the center of the end zone and laid out as well. The three of them, all coming to the disc from different directions had a demolition derby in the air, Katz undercutting the Seattle dude, Gav’s ribs landing on the Seattle guy’s head and the Seattle guy’s knee somehow nailing Katz in the groin. When it was all over they looked like extras in a movie about Omaha Beach, squirming, rolling, limping, and crawling away.

From the center of the end zone, Dom looked at me and pointed to Katz, who was rolling on the ground in pain.

“What happened to him?”

For some reason instead of answering him in English, I decided to play charades and lightly cup then punch an imaginary set of balls.

“What the hell was that?” Dom laughed. “That gives me no information!”

“I don’t know. I didn’t want to yell across the field that he got hit in the junk! That was the first thing that popped into my head!”

In the end zone, Dom mimed what I’d done. “I’d have never got ‘hit in the balls’ out of that!”

Katz grunted and crawled to the sideline tent. “I’m fine by the way guys. Thanks for the concern.”

I turned to him. “How’s your (miming cupping and punching testicles)?”

“I have no idea what that means.”

“He’s totally ok!” I yelled out to Dom.

There was a rather lengthy discussion about whether the play was dangerous and constituted a foul, but the Seattle dude after his initial irritation at having his head landed on was really spirited and said no foul. Gav had made a spectacular play to get the disc and all contact happened afterward. So all seemed well. Although we’d learn later that Gav had cracked a rib, thus seriously limiting one of our better players – which really didn’t help our cause the rest of the way.

I didn’t find out about my other favorite moment in the game until the party later that night as I chilled with one of our best cutters, a bull of a dude named Adam who at 48 was somehow always open.

“Sometime during that game against Seattle there was a point with like four straight turns,” Adam laughed. “I was dead. The guy guarding me was obviously dead too. We’re both there with our hands tugging at our shorts so I just looked at him and said ‘hey man you wanna just…..pretend for a while?’”

“What like a truce? You don’t run too hard, I don’t run too hard?”

“Yeah,” Adam heaved.

“I’m fine with that.”

So they pretended. Ladies and gentlemen, I present grandmasters ultimate.

Anyway, the soft cap went on with the game tied 11-11. Game to 13. Seattle scored. Then our offense came back and tied it on a beautiful stall nine backhand from Brody to a tall receiver named Doug. Our sideline went berzerk. I sprinted onto the field with high fives at the ready hoping to be called in for the resulting defensive universe point. I was fired up. But all our screaming and hollering had drowned out the fact that back near the throw a stall had been called. Brody swore he got it off but the defender swore he hadn’t. Goal came off the board. If we wanted to tie the game, we’d have to do it again.

Off the reset, Brody managed to get a dump off but three passes later one of our most sure handed guys dropped a wide open pass with nobody around him. Seattle took the gift and scored to go into the top eight and send us into the “ninals” bracket. It was a disappointing result but after such a fantastic game against such a great bunch of dudes, it was really tough to fly off the handle afterwards. All we could do was regroup and play on.

Our next game was against the #16 seed, a team called Team Helm out of Columbus, Ohio. We won a fun, somewhat lighthearted game 15-9. But the very best part of the experience came in the spirit circle after the game when their captain explained the reason they were named Team Helm.

“For those of you that don’t know, we’re named for Paul Helm, our teammate, friend, and…..in a sport filled with good people, one of the best. We um, lost him earlier this year. He battled and battled and battled but the cancer eventually….” he trailed off and choked up a bit. “This game today was competitive but also spirited and fun. A lot of laughs out on the field and even more on the sidelines. And it’s just a beautiful day and…..this was his type of game. He’d have loved this. He’d have loved this.”

Standing there in the circle with my arms around two of his teammates who were nodding and biting their lips trying not to break down, I went to a place that’s so rare to go, to a moment of full and complete clarity – a pure, deeper understanding of my own mortality and just how lucky I was to be standing in that spot with those people. To be there, win or lose, to compete, to smile, to shake hands, to fist bump, to dive, to jump, to run – to still be able to do what we do. I’m sure everyone in the circle felt it. A connection. A shared sense of purpose and community as if for ten or fifteen seconds there was not only a single team comprised of players in different jerseys, but in many ways a single player. Maybe I’m nuts. Maybe I’m the only one whose very existence, whose very atoms briefly touched another plane just out of our reach, but I doubt it. It was a very moving experience.

When their captain was done with his tribute, Captain Ryan brought us all in together. After every game so far at both regionals and nationals, we’d crunched in tight with the other team and yelled in one voice “Ultimate Forever!” And I occasionally jokingly yelled “Ultimate until entropy completes its inevitable march toward the nothing from which we came!” But this time instead of shouting “Ultimate Forever” to the sky, San Diego and Columbus came together to yell….

“Paul Helm forever!”

I raised my hat to the clear blue sky in tribute. I didn’t know the guy. But I knew the guy. We all know a Paul Helm. Rest in peace, buddy, wherever you are. Thanks for helping me to see and appreciate the bigger picture.

After that, our final game of the day was a 15-10 loss to Raleigh Hootenanny just before I lugged my gear back to the Kia Soul to find the rear passenger’s side tire completely flat. So after sprinting all day I got to lug the spare out of the back, change the damn thing on a sweltering blacktop parking lot, and drive to the Denver Airport – where everyone in line at Avis curiously avoided the dude in the white #95 jersey who smelled like sweat, sunscreen, and more sweat. Like ten people made eye contact as if to ask, “So what’s your deal,” before catching a whiff of my jersey and quickly realizing how little they truly cared.

Anyway, because of the flat tire I got locked out of my suite. On the way to the fields I’d forgotten my key and by the time I got back, everyone was already at the tournament party and thus not there to open the door. So I got to show up at Dry Dock Brewing smelling just as wonderful as I did in line at Avis. I planned on staying about twenty minutes tops, just long enough to use my meal and beer tickets before bumming a key and heading back to shower. That was before I sat down.

The back patio at Dry Dock was moderately populated when I arrived and I immediately spotted Guillermo and some of our great grandmasters guys because you can see our jerseys from the space station. So I hit up the food trucks, got myself an Apricot Blonde and chilled. And of course about ten of us start swapping stories about Poultry Days in 1988 and Mardis Gras in 1999 the Kalakala game earlier in the day and next thing I knew I’d been there for two hours. So Guillermo buys a round of beers. And we finish them and I buy a round of beers. And the party is slowly filling up. I look around and it’s all so damned familiar. Scruffy dudes with long hair and visors and hippie women with dreds and sarongs, slowly tamed by fatherhood and motherhood, work, and family, but still with that familiar ultimate party twinkle in their eyes. The music was loud, the beer was flowing, and the laughter was constant. Though everyone there was over thirty and we may have collectively traded in our pure youthful wildness for something a bit more subdued, it was still an ultimate party. Which meant anything could happen.

To demonstrate my point, Dom, Guillermo, and I were swapping stories with one of our great grandmasters players, this gray-haired dude named Al when a younger woman in a pink tank top came over and tapped him on the shoulder. She pointed at a few empty chairs next to him and asked….

“Are you using these chairs? Ok if we take them?”

Al, being an old guy of course says, “Well that depends. What do we get in return?”

And I swear to you the girl looks him dead in the eye and with the face of a lawyer negotiating property rights goes, “I’ll suck your (nickname for Richard).”

Of course Al, being in his 50’s doesn’t get even remotely flustered. He just chuckles and says, “Go ahead and take them. We’ve got plenty.”

And the girl walked off with the chairs.

After witnessing the exchange, it took me and Dom a second or two to regain our faculties. Finally Dom threw up his hands in exasperation. “Al, what the fuck was that answer?”

“Eh, what was I supposed to say?”

“You say deal, Al!” I shouted, palm to my forehead. “You have yourself a deal! That’s what you say!”

And what made this party different than all the others came via his reply. “Eh, I’ve been married to the same woman for thirty-three years now. My sense of fantasy died a long time ago.”

And Dom, Guillermo, and I banged on the table in solidarity, toasted Al’s marriage and drank well into the night.

The next day brought our final game for 11th place against a team called Sick Hammers out of Texas. And it ended up being a great game – back and forth the whole way. Throughout the first half they were scoring on us easily because well, for some reason we couldn’t figure out that a team named Sick Hammers might ya know….constantly look to throw a bunch of fucking hammers.

“Guys, seriously, they’re not called Sick Backhands or Sick Push Passes,” Black Tide Matt said. “There’s a clue about how to defend them literally right in their name! C’mon!”

My final point came halfway through the second half when I burnt my guy to the end zone, didn’t get the disc and cut in toward the goal line. I was wide the hell open – and the thrower put it almost straight into the grass. I laid out anyway, hitting awkwardly on my ribs and my hip. As I stood up and prepared to play defense, it was like someone jabbed a fire poker into the middle of my back. I went down to a knee.

“Ooooh, shit. Hold up, guys.”

I’d tweaked my back and bruised the living hell out of my ribs, something that made me grimace for going on two weeks. And it was a fitting bookend to the weekend. I swear that out of the twenty or so passes thrown to me in those seven games, I had to lay out for fifteen of them. I started to seriously wonder if somehow I was an optical illusion, appearing like I was always seven yards away from where I actually was. It was the only thing that made sense.

That aside, the weekend was amazing. Frustrating or not, I can’t look back on it with anything but absolute joy. All my years dreaming of playing at nationals and I got to do it. And when Captain Ryan caught a four-yard flick to the corner on universe point to beat Sick Hammers 16-15, suddenly it was all over. Just like that my first nationals was no longer in the future or the present. It was part of the past. It was something I’d done. One bucket list item completed.

We took team pictures, checked out of the hotels, and came back to the fields to watch Surly beat Boulder’s Johnny Walker in the grandmasters final at almost the exact same time Minneapolis Surly COUGARS won the women’s championship on the adjacent field. So that was cool to see. And one field over from that, my old friend Barefoot Ben (who’d had to completely relearn how to throw after shattering his right elbow in 2014) was helping his Washington DC team finish second in the masters division – ensuring that he’d get to play at the World Championships in Winnipeg in 2018. All his hard work and painful rehab had paid off. I couldn’t have been happier for him.

As for me, I wandered around, talked with a couple old friends from Pittsburgh who were playing for various teams around the country, said goodbye to my Endless Sunset teammates and just like that I was on I-25 headed north to Wyoming.

I finished the tournament with one goal – and that was it. We came in a disappointing 11th. And like I imagine happens with just about all Grandmasters players, my mental state fluctuated wildly between, “Ya know, I’m still pretty damn good. I could play this sport another fifteen years, easy,” and “That’s it, I just don’t have it anymore. Maybe it’s time to give this shit up.”

Often those thoughts occurred on consecutive points.

But I can honestly say that now I can hobble away from this sport without any regrets or what ifs. I have plenty of friends who had to give it all up at 28 because of work, kids, or injuries without ever getting to nationals. So I truly am lucky to have lasted this long.

At 40, I now wake up in the morning and my back hurts no matter what I did the day before. My ankles, my right elbow, and my neck pop like firecrackers at random times throughout the day. Where once I could easily touch the top of the square on a basketball backboard, I can now barely scrape the underside of the rim. After all this time, I can honestly envision a future not so far away where I put my cleats away for good. And I’m ok with it. I’ve done enough. Soon it’ll be time for someone else to take my spot in this wonderful game.

But who am I kidding. In 2027 when I get an email from Black Tide Matt that says, “Cramer, we need a guy for our Great Grandmasters team. Are you 50 yet?”

I’ll sigh, smile, and answer, “Yeah. Yeah I am. See you at regionals.”

Photo by Dominic Scarfe

Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed this final chapter, please consider purchasing Universe Point by Skyd Press, available now on Amazon. And a special thanks to everyone who has bought the book, enjoyed it, and reached out. As any writer or artist will tell you, it means more than you know to realize that all the work (in this case six years) you put into a project has been worth it. And if you think a friend or fellow ultimate player would enjoy it, please let them know! If we’re being honest here, that’s 99% of our marketing campaign. So far it’s been successful beyond my wildest dreams so a heartfelt thank you to anyone who has contributed to the success of the book by recommending it to others.

Thanks and see you on the fields – uh, if my body holds up. – Cramer

Universe Point is available now on Amazon!

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