#debating who is better on the bad people show is just as fruitless as saying u shouldnt root for them lmao

[shivology]

is Roman a better person than Kendall

roman the fascist fucker who sexually harassed an employee and made someone spy on his niece and nephew and terrorized a poor kid for the fuck of it ... that roman?

[drawing-way-outside-the-lines]

Indefinite Hiatus.

To anyone reading this, I ask that you respectfully do not reblog this post, as it is very personal, thank you. That being said, the post is long, I’m a writer, what do you expect? But there were so many things I needed to get of my chest, whether anyone reads it all or not, simply doesn’t matter. I had to speak it all out, in order to move on. I will as such hide it under a cut, in case anyone should be curious why I am going on hiatus. Which I don’t usually do, I tend to just take off for a couple of days when things bother me enough to leave. But I thought this time I had to make an announcement, as it is quite possible I am simply just done with this place, and wont be returning. I simply don’t know at the moment, and none of what I write in this post, is written as a form of attention seeking, nor a way for me to get people to show me attention or beg me to stay. If I’m going, I’m going, and there’s nothing anyone can say that would make me stay. I simply make the announcement out of the respect for the few followers I still have some respect for. I wont just up and leave with no word when there’s people on here I still care about. So to be abundantly clear. This is a hiatus. I might be back. I might not be back. Only time will tell. I may some days hang around to check up on cc, you may even see me reply a person here and there, and not reply others. This isn’t anything personal towards anyone. I am simply a person who constantly bend over backwards for everyone else, then push myself repeatedly aside. And I am officially done with it. From now on if you see me online, on any sort of platform, I will not feel bad in any sort of way for not being available, simply because I am online. From now on I will only engage in things that resonate with me, when they resonate with me. Anything else steals my peace. And I no longer want to allow that. I might be gone a couple days, I might be gone a month. Maybe you wont ever see me return, and that’s that. I will take the time I need, even if that means for good. I will no longer put others before my own well being. I might even come by to reblog this post a few times, simply for the fact that I spent many hours, weighing my words, trying to make them as polite, yet clear as possible. I spent lots of time and energy on this, so if I during my hiatus come by to reblog it, it’s not a way to seek attention, or more likes/comments. It’s simply that I made a large effort, and I want as many of my followers to read this, so there’s no confusion as to why I am suddenly gone. If you want me to clarify further than that/you’re curious what finally made a “kind” person give up, it’s all below the cut:

I’ve been sitting on this for a couple days. Debating on whether I should say something or not. But I’ve come to the conclusion that I want to be as transparent as possible, in hopes that, it may, help someone else avoid being in a similar situation. Maybe someone will learn something along these lines of words I so carefully have put together. Preventing someone else from getting hurt. One can hope. And I also hope by speaking up, I can release the negativity I have been carrying, and set it free. Preventing it from weighing me further down. A few days ago, I entered one of my oldest characters, Odette, into a model casting, for Billsims. An experience that should have been fun and enjoyable, but instead resulted in making the decision to pull Odette out of the casting, to avoid Billsims potentially getting in trouble. You see, on the application info post, Billsims mentioned that it would be nice if a bit of info would be written about the sim we would enter, but it wasn’t a must. I decided, as a writer, to write a bit about my character, cause you betcha, as soon as someone mentions they might want a few words about a character of mine, -and my words start spilling like iced tea on a hot summers day! So I added the basic info I thought Odette herself would find important. Among that, I mentioned she’s a ‘Romanian Gypsy’. I did this to best clarify what Ethnicity she has, and what she classifies herself as. If I had simply written ‘Roma/Romani’, many people might not have understood what was meant. And I wanted to be as clear as possible about her, plus the word Gypsy, is simply what she has chosen for herself. I furthermore added she’s a proud woman, and a Pagan. Surprise surprise, someone didn’t like this info, and decided it was okay to point that out on my application post.  I still don’t understand some people’s need to constantly nitpick at anything they see online, specially in public, and specially when it comes to people simply having a hobby, enjoying said hobby peacefully, without harming anyone. Now, the post is still up on my blog, the comments are still there. Anyone is free to go have a look if they wish to know exactly what was said. But that being said, I hope and would like to think my followers are old enough to not attack anyone. Please. It wont solve anything. I also ask that no one bother Billsims about the matter, he was perfectly wonderful about it all, and had no issue with neither me, nor Odette. I was the one who decided to pull her out of the casting, in order to protect him, he even told me I was more than welcome to enter someone else. I decided against that however, to protect my peace. Something a very wise person told me to do. Thank you. I stopped replying to the person after my first reply, simply cause I saw no reason to engage in a debate that would lead nowhere. It seemed as if they already had a rather twisted view of me or my character or what was going on, quite possible a mix of it all? So I let them stay in their belief. Trying to convince them otherwise seemed like a tedious task, I had no energy to take on. And I instead went for advice from a trusted person, and enjoyed a long peaceful and uplifting conversation, rather than a fruitless quarrel with someone that was already so sure I was out there doing all sorts of harmful things through my character. I suppose the person commenting wasn’t a follower of mine, and if they were, I cannot imagine them to be a longtime follower. You see, I am aware Gypsy by now is often seen as a ‘slur word’, as this person was trying to educate me. I do not write something into my characters without making at least some sort of research first. Had this person been a long term follower, they would have known, I rarely ever use that word. As a matter of fact, not so long ago, I posted the bio of another character, Gabriella, she was also listed as ‘Romanian Gypsy’. So is the rest of the Lupei clan that both Odette and Gabriella belong to. They have always been listed as such. Ever since I started on Simblr 5 years ago. No one has ever commented on it before. And when I posted Gabriella’s bio earlier this Autumn, I was even met with surprise that I have Roma characters. So it seems, even long term followers hadn’t noticed. Which must mean, I am certainly not a person spreading the word around. It’s not the first time, I have had to get ‘whipped over the back of my head with a wet newspaper,’ by someone who thought I needed some schooling. I have had that experience twice before. So 3 times in total the 5 years I’ve been here. What a rebel I must be, since I have had to be corrected so many times. Once for having many gay characters in Polyamorous relationships. Once for having twins/blood related characters dating each other, and was as result accused of saying incest is right and spreading it as if everyone should be doing it. Which I never did, and never would. We have Game Of Thrones doing that already. First of, I simply don’t agree with that. I don’t think incest is right. However, I also don’t think it is wrong, if the people involved love each other and can make it work. And yes, that is possible. The person getting their panties in a twist over River and Jackall being a couple, did mention they had experienced incest close hand, so I do wanna defend them, and give them their space to be outraged, since I could understand it was a trigger for them. However, I cannot prevent everyone’s triggers, nor is it my job to do so. It is up to you to avoid your triggers, and to find a way to deal with them, so when someone does trigger you, you can handle yourself the best way possible. The whole world is never gonna wrap you in cotton. You need to wrap yourself. It took me no more than 2 minutes to find a very informative Wiki article about how incest IN FACT can be between two consensual adults, which the individual claimed could NEVER exist. Furthermore it can happen between two consensual adults whom happen to love each other just as dearly as two people in a completely “normal” relationship can. Two minutes research was all it took. Imagine if people would do just a minimum effort of research BEFORE they start attacking other people. Imagine a world like that. By all means, if I were out there on the street corners of the world, with pamphlets promoting incest, drag me to a side and slap me. That aint cool. But I am just over here, in my quiet little corner, doing my own thing, which btw you are more than allowed to disagree with, but don’t come knocking on my door with your disagreement. The very few posts I have ever shown of my incestuous couples, have all been very tasteful. And although it is mentioned on each characters bio, whom they are in a relationship with, I think it’s been years since I last even posted a pic of any of said people. I have posted far worse things, and no one ever mate as much as a squeak about it. Still, you are allowed to disagree, I just wish you would handle it in a better way than schooling everyone who does something you mildly (or even strongly) disagree with, and save the schooling for the real issues such as child pornography, Nazi’s, global warming, racism, whether people should wear a mask or not, and any sort of abuse/bullying. Here’s three alternatives I welcome on the other hand: 1. Scroll on. (I have talked with several of my long term followers, and they have confirmed they don’t always agree with the things I post, but they follow anyway, because they enjoy the majority of what I post, and the rest they simply scroll past. It doesn’t ruin their day, or their enjoyment of following my blog in general.) 2. Unfollow. You are always more than welcome to unfollow A-NY-THING on social media, if you do not like what you are seeing. When you subscribe to something/someone, the moment you no longer enjoy what you are seeing, you always have the chance of unfollowing. It’s not a permanent subscription for the rest of your life. Nor a chance for you to try to change what others are posting about. Specially as long as it isn’t harming anyone. 3. Block. The button exist on the vast majority of social media for a reason. Use it if you believe something or someone is so bad that it/they steal your sunshine. Block block block, and move away from it. If you keep hanging onto something you have blocked, what’s the point really? You’re still allowing it to affect you. Move on. And for the umpteenth time, even if my characters does something/say something/engage in something, doesn’t necessarily have to mean I agree with them/their choices/their lifestyle. With some things I do, others I don’t. I’m a writer. I enjoy writing things that challenges me, and challenges the reader. I simply don’t find joy in writing the typical white picket fence story where everyone fits into society, and everything is butterflies and Dandelions. But at the same time, I also don’t run around nitpicking at the people who do enjoy writing or reading these types of stories. The thing is, it’s fiction, right? I’m not writing about real life characters. So I ask you, do you believe every piece of fiction you have ever read? Does Lord Of The Rings or Harry Potter align with real life? If you can say no to that, then why on earth are you so dead sure that the fiction I write align with reality? For the last time, I do NOT agree with incest. For my characters, which btw doesn’t end at just River and Jackall, I do believe in it, simply for the circumstances of how the relationships happened. But you would have to read my whole story to finally understand it all. But I am not cramming it down your throat, specially if you have already made it clear you disagree. To that I once again want to add, my story is nowhere public, so I am really not in any way educating anyone on incest or ‘Gypsies’ or polyamory or anything else. I think polyamory is cool for the people who enjoy it. Have I personally ever been in a poly relationship? No. But I am at the belief people can do with their private life what they wish, as long as they aren’t harming anyone and everyone involved agrees. And to get back to what this post originally was intended to be about, the matter on Odette’s post, I have a few last things I need to say before I put the matter to rest: I'm not representing all of Romani, when I speak for my character(s). I never once mentioned this is how all Romani is. So if that’s what you read, that is on you and the words you add to mine, not my actual words or intention. I'm simply allowing my character and her family to be whatever they want to be, and call themselves however they see fit. As long as they are good kind people, it shouldn't matter much what they call themselves, as long as they don't use slur words for others. I never once claimed that all Romani is Pagan. Odette is. Her father or twin brother, isn't. Odette comes from a mixed background, and is as such a mix herself. And how beautiful is that? Wouldn't it be a shame, if we were only ever allowed to be just one thing in this life? I am not out here educating people on Romani culture, I am not calling people Gypsy in real life, nor do I do it online. In fact I don't call anyone anything in real life, cause people's skin tones simply doesn't matter that much to me. We are all just shades. No shade is more important than the other. We are all decaying plant food. Really. Odette has proudly chosen this word for herself, just as her family before her has been proud to do so. I have in no way portrayed my characters in the meaning of any sort of slur word. They are all highly intelligent well educated people. Odette is under education as a nurse. Her father is a well known and well respected doctor. Furthermore, they are all shape-shifters, whom can shift into very large wolves. Odette’s father being the Alpha. Wait, does that mean I am calling all Romani werewolves? It’s fiction. I am not standing on some stool somewhere preaching to anyone. I’m just me and my characters. I keep it between them and I 99% of the time. My roomie has a friend whom proudly calls herself a Gypsy. She has family whom proudly call themselves Gypsies. So not everyone views this word as bad. And yes there are real life people out there, who sees the word as positive and call themselves by it. Are you going to run after them too, and dictate what they are allowed to call themselves? Or is that only reserved for Simblr’s you disagree with? You simply can’t box up a whole minority like that and claim the word is always offensive and no one is allowed to use a specific word to describe themselves. Furthermore: Mixed background/ethnicity/religious beliefs/spiritual beliefs is a thing in the real world too, not something I made up over night to harm anyone. 'Gypsy' has never been said as a slur word coming from me, it was never ill-intended, and never will be, just like gay never will be said as a slur or ill-intention coming from me. Yet gay is also a word that has quite often been used as a slur. And still is. So, should we stop using it all together? No. It can be said in good intention, and in bad, it all depends on the person using the word. And people should surely be allowed to call themselves gay, shouldn’t they? Never have any of my Romani characters been portrayed in a bad light. (Or gay characters for that matter, but that's not what the subject is about)   And if they ever would be portrayed in a bad light, it would certainly have nothing to do with them being Romani. I personally see no point in that. My story and my characters are a source of joy for me, I have no intention of bringing racism into it. Now, we can agree that the word Gypsy is by now used as a slur, but it wasn't originally a slur, and once again, I do believe a person is allowed to call themselves whatever they may wish. Odette and her family wouldn't call other people Gypsies, unless they knew they were okay with it, and proud. Added to that, I do not believe a word can be racist or a slur in itself. A word is just a word. A string of consonants and vowels tied together to create a sound. It's the person using the word, who gives it ill-intentions, not the word itself, unless it was deliberately created with the only intention of hurting. Which as far as I am aware, wasn't the origin of the word Gypsy. 'Roma (Gypsies) originated in the Punjab region of northern India as a nomadic people and entered Europe between the eighth and tenth centuries C.E. They were called "Gypsies" because Europeans mistakenly believed they came from Egypt. This minority is made up of distinct groups called "tribes" or "nations." Most of the Roma in Germany and the countries occupied by Germany during World War II belonged to the Sinti and Roma family groupings. Both groups spoke dialects of a common language called Romani, based on Sanskrit (the classical language of India). The term "Roma" has come to include both the Sinti and Roma groupings, though some Roma prefer being known as "Gypsies." ' - Source: https://encyclopedia.ushmm.org/content/en/article/roma-gypsies-in-prewar-europe So to really boil this whole thing down to the bone, so hopefully this wont ever be an issue again: I do not use the word Gypsy in my day to day life. By creating a character who addresses herself as Gypsy AND also happens to be a Pagan, I do NOT in any way indicate that all ‘Gypsies’ are Pagans. I simply state that my character is. Nothing more, nothing less. I do not agree with incest in real life, though I do believe people are allowed to do with their private life as they see fit, as long as they aren’t harming others, and everyone involved is agreeing. I do not promote Poly relationships. Although once again, I’m a firm believer that people are allowed to do with their private life as they see fit yadda yadda... I do not promote being gay or any other sort of sexuality for that matter. Not that I have ever been accused of that, but I wanted to cover it anyway, cause who knows, it might be the next one I should get corrected for. I have a few times mentioned being trans, that was also not in any way a promotion. I do not promote Necrophilia. And here I really must snort. Some years ago (on an old blog, not this one) some very dear followers of mine, gently persuaded me to make some rather graphic pictures of my character Raven, literally f*ck*ng some corpses. It was posted in October as some satirical Halloween-ish post, as far as I remember, and was started from a simple question of, IF, it could be done in ts3? I was then challenged to do it. I did. People clapped. I’m sure others cried. But to my surprise my follower numbers didn’t drop, they increased? No one came running to ‘teach me a lesson’. No one came around to tell me what my demon was allowed to do or not. He was free to do whatever/whomever he wanted. And that’s the thing. There’s so many things in my story, and about my characters, that you don’t know. Cause I don’t post it out there for everyone to see. Cause I am not trying to promote a thing. I am simply here to challenge myself, and along that line challenge the few people I ever trusted to be my readers. You see, I don’t write for the numbers, meaning I don’t write a story that is meant to have a large following. I write for me, cause it is one of the only things that has ever helped me get through life, and fight some of my inner demons, to fight complications, to fight grief, to cope with all sorts of personal things I’m going through, and to have a place to escape to when life is too scary. I write for the content, the depth, for me, not for the fame, not for likes, not for anyone else. This is mine, and I don’t promote it on any scale, I keep 99% of it in private, and the rest I do air in public I air on a very minimal scale. If you decide to get offended about the fact that I drizzled a specific word once on a post, and a handful of times on my personal bios, well, that’s on you. It’s not a word I am out there spreading like a wildfire. People that has followed me for years never saw it till recently. Which should really speak loud of how little that word has ever come from me. I’m a respectable person. I do my best to respect everyone around me. At any time. Even when people don’t deserve an ounce of my respect. But that does not mean I should be weighed down with the burden of never offending anyone, cause then I might as well never speak again. Fact is, now more than ever, people are so offended by almost anything they can come across on social media. Jumping to conclusions here and there, when all they could do is simply ask, before getting offended and as a result decide to school or attack everyone around them. For no one to ever get offended again, we should all log out, and never sign in again. Why does it have to go to these extremes where no one can speak a word any longer, cause everything is an offense, a trigger, a slur? So I stay here in my little corner, doing me, doing my characters the way I like them. It is up to you to agree or disagree. You are free. But don’t come at me expecting I’ll change a thing for you. Cause you will only get disappointed. These people and their story is my way to cope with life, and as long as I am not out there shouting slur words at people or promoting certain ways of lifestyle, or deliberately harming anyone in any form of way, I cannot see why I shouldn’t be allowed. Just as you are allowed to do your own coping. Just as you are always allowed to scroll on, unfollow or even block things/people, you disagree with. Odette stays the way she is. So does the rest of my characters. It wont ever change because someone disagrees. The only way my characters change, is by character development, which mostly they decide for themselves. And I simply don’t see it in the cards that Odette will wake up and not feel Gypsy or stop using that word to describe herself, cause she personally sees nothing negative in it. Nor will she stop being Pagan because her mixed religion/background is making you uncomfortable. There’s plenty Christians out there, with Jesus or Bible quotes tattooed on them, yet Leviticus 19:28 say: Ye shall not make any cuttings in your flesh for the dead, nor print any marks upon you: I am the Lord. Interpret that the way you want it. But allow my character to do her religion the way SHE sees fit, simply for the fact that I am sure you want the same respect. I will not ever change my characters or my story for anyone but myself. You can express your dislike from here and until you get tired of repeating yourself, you can unfollow, you can block, you can even report me and get my posts taken down. You can even take it as far as getting my blog shut down. It wont make a difference. My story has been written for 6 years, some characters was written even longer than that. The story is over 200 book-length-chapters, close to 300 as a matter of fact. If I should change anything for a person I don’t even know, it would be almost 300 chapters I would have to reread and rewrite. Would you do that for some person that came by a post of yours, disagreeing with the way you portrait your own original character? If your answer is yes, I truly feel sorry for you. Lastly I want to say, try to be kind. Try to breath before you go and attack someones way of doing their own thing. Before you accuse someone of portraying something a certain way, maybe take a look at the persons previous work. Is it a one time thing, or is it a reoccurring matter? It may just be an itsy bitsy thing that you are blowing out of proportions, sorta like entering a conversation you know nothing about and then start correcting people left and right. It makes little to no sense, and in most cases, even if you might be meaning well, you end up doing more harm than good. Like in this case. You didn’t get to teach someone something they didn’t already know. You didn’t stop someones inappropriate behavior. What you did on the other hand, was extinguishing someones last spark. Their last will to keep going. You take that to the bank now, and be proud of yourself. Was it worth it? You can always accuse and assume. You’re free to do just that. But maybe in the future, try to replace accuse and assume with politely asking if your ‘concern’ is valid or not. Try to be mindful, try to be kind, try to consider that maybe the person you are about to put on the school bench/attack/bully or whatever you are about to do, is fighting an invisible battle you know nothing about. Maybe you are going to be the last straw for them. So try to weigh it all, is your righteous crusade worth it? Is it worth it to spill your two cents on a possible harmless matter, just so you can feel you fought a righteous battle and took someone ‘evil’ down, whom in fact were just trying their best to survive, by doing the one thing that helps them through it all, in their own little corner, harming no one. You know, there are tons of people like that out there. Making someone online feel so absolutely useless/worthless that they end up taking their own lives. Then blame the victims for it. Now, I might be a pretty strong person, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be at the end of my rope, and you simply don’t know. Do you? Thank you for taking your time to extinguish my last spark.

[squeeneyart]

Breathe in the Salt - Chapter 11

AO3

Beta read by @thesnadger​!

Martin wants to do the right thing.

It's time to make some phone calls.

Martin resigned himself to a day of catch up. The recent circumstances hadn’t been the most conducive to completing his work tasks, but he was employed for the time being. He would wait for the right time to reopen the can of worms upstairs and in the meantime double down on the figures in front of him. The others went to work as well, going through the records they recovered from the library and verifying some information from the storage house.

After some time, he heard Sasha ask, “Martin? This place used to be a bigger fishing town, right? Before the Lukases showed up.”

Martin thought for a moment. “I don’t think it was that great to begin with? I’m sure they didn’t help, but the problem started long before I was born. There may be some people old enough to remember when things were a bit better, but it’s always been a shaky business despite the proximity to the sea.” He paused, then asked, “Is there a reason you’re looking into this? Doesn’t sound very ghost-related.”

Sasha tapped her pen on the table. “It helps to get a timeline of major events. Even if there are coincidences, a broader historical picture often helps with places where the phenomena are… far reaching.”

“What, did the lighthouse eat all the fish?” Martin laughed, but it quickly died as he continued to think about it. “...Could it do that?”

“Doubtful,” Jon said, keeping his eyes glued to his laptop. “It’s possible the family saw an existing, natural decline in job prospects and swooped in to create an even bigger vacuum they could then fill. Nothing supernatural, just horrid people finding a  good opportunity.”

Tim snorted. “While they just so happened to buy and operate a possessed lighthouse?”

Jon looked over his screen. “People can have multiple motivations. For example, Peter Lukas apparently enjoys boating and taking the possessions of others for the fun of it. The two aren’t necessarily related.” His eyes dropped back to his task.

“Fair enough. Maybe someone in the family won it in a bet, then? Swiped it from some evil lighthouse keeper.” Tim wiggled his fingers.

Martin laughed silently through his nose and went back to work, assuming his part of the conversation was completed. If he’d learned anything from the situation earlier that morning, it was to quit before weird personal details about his deadbeat fisherman dad came out and ruined the mood.

The three continued to debate possible motivations and causes, eventually trailing off and lapsing into a focused silence. The scratches of pen on paper mingled with the tapping of the keyboard. It created an arrangement that echoed over itself in a round, filling the space and tunneling upward along the staircase. Despite himself, Martin strained to hear anything that felt out of place, but he could feel no intent in the repetition. It was loud, but it was the normal, unnerving loud he’d become accustomed to over the last few months.

There wouldn’t be anything, as long as he kept the dial in the correct position. Not anything he could perceive, anyway. Were they listening, even if they couldn’t stockpile his words? Were they seething at his decision? Were they-

Martin gritted his teeth, willing himself to focus on the page in front of him. The group would call Naomi soon, and if she responded they would be one step closer to confirming his suspicions. For the time being, he would sit with his churning insides and wait.

Relief came at eleven with his lunch hour, which the others were considerate enough to wait for. He barely tasted the sandwich he’d thrown together that morning. There was a heightened atmosphere spread across him and the others, a buzz of excitement. After hours of necessary but tedious paperwork and discussion, it was time again for action.

Sasha dialed the number and waited, drumming her fingers on a pad of paper in front of her. “Available number,” she mouthed, giving a thumbs up. A few seconds passed, and she frowned and ended the call. “But, of course, it is no longer her number. I would change mine too, if people were tailing me.”

They all slumped in their chairs and braced themselves for a long, slow afternoon as Sasha looked at her pad of paper and dialed the first number on the list of many, many Naomi Hernes.

Some answered with varying levels of politeness, mostly responding with “never heard of the place” or “the name doesn’t ring any bells”. Otherwise, she left a short, scripted voicemail giving little information other than Evan’s name in hopes that Naomi would take the bait. She kept their institute out of it entirely.

When asked why, Sasha explained that this part of the investigation would have to be off record. Evidently, the Magnus Institute encouraged thorough research until it involved digging into its own benefactors. Unless they discovered a lead that didn’t implicate the Lukas family, they would be on their own.

The minutes ticked on, dragging more and more with the lack of success. After thirty minutes of fruitless calls, Sasha said, “It may take a while. We don’t know her schedule or if she’s even on this list. I was able to go off her last recorded location, but that’s about it.” Sasha leaned back in her chair, stretching her shoulders.

Jon pulled his laptop back in front of him. “We’ll need to give her time. If she’s aware of the Lukases keeping tabs on her, she’ll probably be wary of us. Keep going through the list. Tim and I will continue with the rest.”

Martin sat around for the rest of his lunch hour, losing hope with each passing call. He ought to have considered how long it could take to reach her, or that she might not answer at all. Why would she? What reason did she really have to trust a bunch of strangers?

He looked down at his phone, mindlessly flipping between apps before settling on his notes. Under Naomi’s old number was the one for Evan’s mobile, locked safely away in the storage house. Running his thumb up and down the side of his phone, he peeked up at the others through his bangs.

“I know we’re waiting to hear back from Naomi, but-” They looked at him, and he swallowed hard. “We know who it probably is, right? We have something he would know, and we could even-”

“Sorry, Martin, but that’s a big ‘no’ from me,” Tim said, crossing his arms. “If it’s him, he can wait a bit longer. If it’s not, then there could be something bad on the other side that we’re not ready to deal with, something that might even pretend to be him given the opportunity.”

There was an edge to his voice that made Martin shrink sheepishly in his seat. Tim’s face grew soft. “You want to help. I get it, but we should play it safe for now. Once we’re certain of the situation, we’ll do the heroic thing and release his trapped soul or get him out of the sound booth he’s locked himself in or whatever it is that needs to be done.”

Martin nodded glumly and looked back at his phone. After a moment, a notification popped up on the screen.

Tim: and if we get him out and hes as hot as they say he was, then who knows ;)

All the tension in Martin’s shoulders was released with a high-pitched snicker that his hand failed to stifle. The other two turned their gazes on him. Martin’s ears turned beet red at the attention he’d brought upon himself. Jon shot a suspicious glance at Tim, whose broad smile denied nothing.

--

By twenty minutes to four, there had been no sign of the person they were hoping for, ignoring  one response by someone who thought they were being hilarious. Martin had only one task remaining before it was time to leave, and once his things were carefully packed away he walked over to the stairs and placed a hand on the rail. From behind him came the sound of chairs squeaking against hard tile.

Looking over his shoulder, he saw the three had all risen from their seats and were shooting surprised looks at each other.

Martin sighed. “I’m just going up for my normal work stuff. I won’t be touching anything I’m not supposed to.” Not that the thought hadn’t crossed his mind, but if he’d wanted to do anything there in secret, which he didn’t, there was no point in doing so when other people in the building could hear every amplified word.

“Well, I’ll be coming up anyway. Might as well get a better look at what buttons you’re pressing.” Tim jogged over, waving a hand at the other two dismissively and calling over his shoulder, “Don’t worry, I’ve got this. Keep an ear on the phone and text us if something comes up.” Jon and Sasha, who’d clearly been about to walk over and join them, sat down despite their visible apprehension. Tim started up the stairs, leaving Martin to trail behind.

Before long, Tim began to rely more and more on the handrail to keep his balance. About halfway up the stairs, he held up a hand for Martin to stop and dropped his head.

“Okay,” he said, flexing his grip on the rail. He took a moment to breath. “Okay, I’m good. Damn this place, though.”

When they reached the top, Tim faced the stairs and, at a regular speaking volume, said, “Hello? Tim Stoker to Boss Man.” He waited, then checked his phone. “Huh. Guess sound does have limits in this place. Good to know.” Tim smiled at Martin. “Let’s see those switches, then.”

Martin could see that Tim’s eye was just as drawn to the dial as Martin’s as they approached the panel. Martin slowed down his process, taking care to show Tim what he was doing with the different buttons and knobs, and Tim seemed to be taking notes on his phone.

“If it would help, I have a list of everything I do up here on my desk. My handwriting isn’t the best, but it’s legible.” Martin continued to complete the steps without thinking, allowing muscle memory to take over. “Not that I’ve looked at it super recently. I also have the version in my work contract? But that would have to wait ‘til tomorrow.”

Tim nodded, shoving his phone in his pocket. “Sounds like a plan. Who knows, maybe there’s a hidden ‘I cede my right to file a claim against any injury due to imprisoned spirits’ clause or something in the fine print.” Martin laughed weakly but said nothing. Leaning on the side of the panel, Tim looked at him. “You really think it’s the guy? Evan?”

Martin’s finger slipped, missing a button entirely. “...Yeah. I can’t think of anything else it could be? And I get it, there are some things I don’t know about-”

“Lots of things, actually. Look,” Tim stood up straight, crossing his arms. “I’m not usually the lecturing type, but you seem like a well-meaning guy, and this thing could very well be taking that from your voice and turning it back on you.” There was an unmistakable discomfort, though Tim was doing his best to look authoritative. “You’re not used to this stuff, but most of it ends up being not so nice.”

Resuming his task, Martin looked down and asked, “Have you ever… studied something like that?”

From the corner of Martin’s eye, he could see Tim shift a bit and lean against the panel again. “They’re something I’ve worked on, yeah.”

After a final flip of a switch, Martin looked back at Tim whose gaze was firmly centered on the window. Martin rolled his fingertips on the surface of the panel. “Any personal experiences or advice? For my benefit?”

Tim took some time to think, and without taking his eyes from the window responded, “If you can shut them up, make sure they stay that way.” Tim let out a breath through his nose. “And if someone’s got by one, chances are they won’t be kept alive. Once a copy is made, there’s no reason to keep the original.”

The bitter twinge in Tim’s voice warned against the questions forming on the tip of Martin’s tongue. If Tim was talking from experience, the specifics were none of Martin’s business.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Tim shook his head. “So, since I was the one who turned the dial, do me a favor and keep away from it?” When Martin nodded in agreement, Tim uncrossed his arms and pushed himself off the panel. “Good. It’s a deal then. Now, when we get back down, we can pretend to have had a riveting talk about how fish hate your town.”

--

Once they were back on the main floor, disappointment washed over Martin. “Was it too much to expect anything back so soon?” He looked through his bag, making sure he hadn’t forgotten anything.

“You get used to it.” Sasha paused from collecting some papers to watch him sulk in his corner. “Can’t tell you how many follow-up calls I’ve made that led to nothing.”

“Or all the numbers we’ve gotten that were for takeout places,” Jon grumbled.

“I dunno, I’ve been pretty lucky with numbers.” Tim winked at Sasha, who shoved some of the papers into his arms.

Martin smiled, though Tim’s comment reeked of forced levity. He zipped up his bag and walked to the door. “Let me know if anything comes up?”

“Of course.” Jon pushed himself out of his chair and walked at a brisk pace to meet him. “Could I have a word with you, before you head home?” He opened the door and gestured outside.

“Oh. Sure?” He avoided Tim’s very pointed eye contact and walked through the door. Jon followed behind with his arms wrapped around himself, his thin, long-sleeved shirt doing nothing for him in the cold. “Do you need to-”

“I’ll be back inside in a moment.” His stubbornness did nothing to protect him from the shivers. “About tonight.”

With all excitement and distraction gone, the weight that had been balancing precariously in Martin’s chest dropped to his stomach like a lead ball. “Is there a way to make this not horrible?”

Jon frowned. “I don’t know the full circumstances, but ultimately, I believe you’ll be doing the right thing.” He placed a tentative hand on Martin’s shoulder and gave it a stiff pat. He immediately retracted his hand and wrapped it back around himself, keeping his eyes on anything but Martin. “You know her better than I do. I’m sure you’ll be able to handle it.”

Martin clung to that confidence and the feeling of pressure from Jon’s hand. “Okay...” He took a large breath. “Okay. I should get going then. No point in putting it off.”

Jon nodded his head and hurried back inside, leaving Martin to walk home with more courage than he’d managed to gather for himself. As the sun drifted closer to its exit, Martin latched onto that little encouragement and thought of what to say.

“Hi, Mum. I found your skin? No, that sounds weird-”

“I know there are things I don’t understand, but-”

“Mum, I found this in the attic. I know it’s yours. Do you want to-”

“A guy from work said to give you this? Wait, no-”

And so he continued, muttering under his breath all the ways he could broach the subject without it being a complete disaster.

This could change things.

Would she scream? He’d never heard her truly scream. It wasn’t her way, but this could unlock something so much worse than he’d known. How dare he bring this to her if she’d hidden it for a good reason? That seemed a likely reaction.

Would she talk to him about her time in the water? Would she reminisce about a time before things went wrong, when he would watch her from the porch? Too hopeful to consider, but nice to think about.

Perhaps she would tell him to return it to the attic, and it would never be spoken of again. Things would be as they always were, just with a new secret to hang over them both. Another weight on their shoulders, another little barrier keeping them from being anything but what they had been for decades now.

Jon had said it would be the right thing to do. He would know about these things more than Martin, right? His word had to be worth something. No matter how she might react, this had to happen sooner or later.

The walk home sped past like nothing. The front door was before him, and then closed behind, and he felt more than ever like he was on a track, being moved from place to place without any consultation of his will. The night proceeded like clockwork, dinner prepared and completed with only his voice and the occasional terse response from his mother for filler noise. It wasn’t yet time.

The fog had rolled in thick as evening turned to night, and they looked out into it from the front porch, her breaths steady and bracing. Through his barely open eyes, Martin saw a hint of rolling waves before the salt brought out the tears and washed away his vision.

He walked his mother back inside and helped her prepare for bed. Once she was settled against the headboard, Martin coughed and began in a low, gentle tone. “Mum. Can I talk to you about something?”

She frowned, tired contempt rippling across her face. “Must you now? You’ve had all night to talk.”

Martin clenched and unclenched his teeth. “It’s important. Please, it’s...it’s about something I found in the attic.”

His mother froze, her hand gripping the quilt on her lap. Annoyance gave way to a wide, blank stare that brushed just over his shoulder. “I did not ask you to retrieve anything from there.”

Martin shrank back. “Yes, I know. I just went up to make sure there hadn’t been a-any issues with the roof after some of the rain recently since we keep some things in storage up there, and I wanted t-”

“Bring it to me. Now.” Her voice was quiet, almost too quiet for him to hear.

“Oh. Right. Of course.” Martin stood too quickly, grabbing the rickety bedside table for balance and causing a loud thump as one of its legs slammed into the ground. The dim lamp on top of it wobbled, creating unnerving shadows on the walls. He winced. “Sorry. I’ll be right back.”

He left the room and let himself breathe. Okay, he thought, this was a good thing. He walked up the stairs two at a time with his long legs, speeding down the hall while keeping his footsteps as quiet as possible. She wanted him to bring it to her. He would do as she ordered. Everything would be okay, he told himself, ignoring the strange sinking feeling in his gut.

It was where he’d left it, folded loosely in the corner to avoid any possible creasing. It pressed heavily into his hands, and he brushed off a little more dust as he walked back down the stairs. At his mother’s door, he paused and adjusted it one more time to a position he felt was the most dignified. Then, he entered the room.

She was looking out her window, through the misted glass and into the fog that surrounded their home. Her hands were limp over the quilt, one placed gently on top of the other. When the door clicked shut behind him, there was an almost imperceptible turn of her head, though he couldn’t see anything but her clenched jaw.

“Mum? I’ve brought it. Do you want me to place it on the bed? I-”

His mother turned to face him fully, and as her eyes locked onto him a torrent of pure fury slammed into his chest. He stumbled, the selkie skin almost escaping his large, clumsy hands.

“Give it to me.” Her rasping voice made Martin’s throat hurt, and her neck seemed to throb with effort. When he failed to move his legs, she forced out, “now, you stupid man!”

He tripped forward, and when he was within reach she snatched the skin from him. She clasped it to her chest just as Jon had that morning, with the same smoothing motion over its surface. Unsure of what to say, he became a statue. Every muffled intake of air burned down into his chest.

Taking in a shuddering breath, his mother whispered, “Leave.”

“What?” There was a painful crack in his voice.

“Leave me alone.”

--

The only thing he could see were his own near-faded footsteps as he climbed up the cliff side, the fog doing well to obscure the surrounding foliage.

He needed to be out of the damned fog. That’s why he’d fled the house, and the beach, and the crashing waves. That’s all it was down there, a house adrift in grey nothing, and he was too loud of a presence to truly give her solitude with his tramping feet on the floorboards upstairs.

It was past sundown when he reached the end of his climb, and the corner lights looked as much as they had the night before. As they had on any other night he’d spent wandering the dark, emptying streets. Pulling his coat more tightly around himself, Martin marched forward, drawn to the only other place to which he had a key.

He looked up before he could think too hard about it, and the sky bore down on him until all he could do was fall back into the gaping pit waiting just behind his heel. Had it felt like this before? Yes, it had, hadn’t it? A giant emptiness in the ground waiting to swallow him whole, and as he had seen it, so from it the vertigo had come. Only now it was polite enough to slow down and let him see the horror below.

He woke up on the ground with a groan, just outside of the florist shop. It was closed for the night, and there was no one inside or out to stare as he lifted himself out of a puddle, the arm of his coat soaked through with water. He was halfway through trying to regain some semblance of focus when he realized his glasses had fallen from his nose and were now lying on the ground beside him.

Relieved that his impaired vision was no worse than usual, he reached over to pick up his glasses. As he did so, he glimpsed at the water’s surface, and for just a moment the blurry vision of his face looked just enough like someone else. He gasped, snatching his glasses and scrambling to sit on the curb.

She’d never called Martin that. She’d had other ways of showing her frustration with him, but that… that had been for someone else. Of course. He hadn’t even thought to warn her of his re-entry, so he had gone into her room and with just that lamp by her bed the doorway must’ve been so dark-

The pounding in his head grew more fervent, and he curled into himself until he faced the ground, head between his knees. As the minutes crawled by, the pain began to subside, and eventually he was able to stand, even if there was a slight shake to his legs.

“Twenty years and still you don’t learn.”

He continued without reason, thankful for the empty road ahead, his arm going cold in its dripping sleeve.

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Michael in the Mainstream - Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom Pain

Metal Gear games are some of the only video games I really feel like I can talk about in my review style, because these games are about 85% story and 15% gameplay, and even that might be a generous estimate. But what about a Metal Gear game that is infamously criticized for a lack of a story? Or, well, I should say an incomplete story. Metal Gear Solid V is a game composed of the somewhat short epilogue Ground Zeroes and the sprawling main game The Phantom Pain, and together they combine to make quite a divisive package, with many citing the absolutely stellar gameplay as a selling point while condemning the supposedly sloppy and incomplete story as a major downgrade. Some have seen this game as a step down from the lofty heights of Kojima’s previous four games, while others are just as likely to embrace it. I suppose that is the nature of Kojima’s work; it always sparks discussion and debate.

I’m certainly not going to debate on the gameplay here; it’s a very fantastic open world sandbox that gives you a lot to do, from capturing animals to spiriting away guards with the Fulton system to finding the oodles of cassette tapes so that you can blast “Take On Me” while you ride a horse guns blazing into a fortress full of armed Russian soldiers. You can play stealthy or straightforward, pacifist or violent, and you can do it all while Joy Division and Spandau Ballet blare over the speakers of your helicopter. This is easily some of the best gameplay the series has ever had, and there are plenty of little missions and side objectives to do while you scour the maps for things to do. But I’m not here to sell you this game based on its gameplay; any game reviewer worth their salt has done that already. No, I’m  going to make a case for the story and characters, and hopefully convince someone that they’re not nearly as bad as some have claimed.

The centerpiece of this game is Venom Snake. Venom might actually be my favorite Snake of them all; this sounds blasphemous, but his character arc is just so beautifully tragic to me, and how he compares to Big Boss, it just really makes me love him. Venom is a man who was never given much of a choice; it was decided he should be Big Boss’ “Phantom” while he was in a coma. And when he wakes up, while he looks the part and can act the part, he just doesn’t have the wit or talkativeness that Big Boss does, leading to Venom being a bit more quiet than most of the other protagonists in the series. But his silence masks that, unlike Big Boss, to the very end Venom was a truly noble man, never mind he believed himself a demon. Unlike Big Boss, who may or may not have outright brainwashed people into joining his cause and who didn’t break a sweat at training children for war, it never even crosses my mind that Venom used torture and brainwashing, and he never fights to have child soldiers after Kaz tells him no – he drops it without much of an argument. Venom is a good man, one who does some dark things in the name of keeping the world safe, but he never truly sinks into anti-villainy the way the man he’s doubling for does, at least not in this game. Any man who would spare Huey rather than execute him immediately has a bottomless well of compassion in their soul and higher moral fiber than most of us.

Of course, the real reason I love Venom is the two most meaningful arcs: his coming to terms with Paz, and his relationship with Quiet. The former is a hauntingly tragic look at Venom’s psyche, something that shows that even though he doesn’t remember who he was, the memory of his failure to save Paz still follows him like a shadow, and the moment when Paz leaves the phantom tape telling him to let go and live – a sentiment Big Boss himself would eventually echo at the end of his life – is poignant and beautiful. As for his relationship with Quiet… everything about it just really gets to me. It’s such a beautiful friendship they form, from enemies to partners with a mutual respect, one that works even better as both are characters who speak very little or not at all. It gets to the point where, yes, the two seem like they do love each other, with culminates in the most adorable scene in the entire franchise as they splash each other in the rain… but it’s a love that can never be, as despite her respect and admiration of Venom, Quiet has a desire for vengeance that she lets consume her… and it leads to her a demise, though it is a demise of her own choosing that she brings about in a final effort to save Venom. That moment that ends their story together, which has Venom running through the desert only to find the tape with Quiet’s first, last, and only words to the man she loved, is just utterly heartbreaking and the perfect depressing capstone to their partnership.

Venom is not a character that gets happy endings. In fact, after it’s revealed he was turned into the body double of Big Boss, it’s shown that ultimately he would go on to die in Big Boss’ place during the Outer Heaven uprising depicted in the original Metal Gear. The ultimate tragedy and heartbreak that Venom goes through in this story and the others is ultimately what draws me to him and adore him; unlike Solid Snake, he never gets to earn his happy ending, dying for the cause of his commander, loyal to the bitter end, having lost almost everyone he loved and cared for along the way. Unlike Big Boss, he never gets to ultimately realize the fruitlessness of his actions and truly come to terms with the fact that all he lost just wasn’t worth it in the end. He’s just so fascinatingly sad, and it’s a sort of sadness that really draws me in. I wouldn’t say he’s a better protagonist than Solid Snake is, and he lacks some of the finesse and charm that Big Boss does, but there’s just a lot to Venom that makes him an incredibly compelling character in his own right, and all with only the bare minimum of a vocal performance.

Speaking of minimal vocal performances, there is Quiet. Quiet is such an odd character, even for this series; she is blatantly designed to be an over-the-top fanservice character in a series that has tons of gratuitous fanservice in the first place, to the point where it’s kind of weird and uncomfortable. Of course, thankfully, as Kojima is incapable of just leaving a character as one-note and superfluous, he gives Quiet the standard bonkers backstory nearly every character in the franchise gets, and as mentioned before gives her wonderful chemistry with Venom. It’s to the point where I seriously can’t imagine anyone wouldn’t feel a bit misty-eyed at her death scene, or the beautiful song her actress Stefanie Joosten sings over the credits of the episode Quiet dies in. She’s a bit much even for this series, but I think her relationship with Venom and her impact on him as well as how she fits thematically into the story more than makes up for any shortcomings she may have.

One of the MVPs of the game is undoubtedly Kaz, who got ridiculous amounts of characterization and some of the most iconic lines (“They played us like a damn FIDDLE!!!!”). He went from being something of a background character to almost the moral core of the game, the shoulder angel to Venom in contrast to Ocelot’s shoulder devil. Of course, much as everyone else, Kaz is consumed by revenge, which leads to him taking the final reveal of who Venom is and Big Boss’ betrayal of him rather badly, and any fan of the franchise knows how his desire to take down Big Boss goes. Still, his presence goes a long way towards making up for Ocelot’s shocking lack of presence; frankly, Ocelot in this game is a bit of a minor character, which on one hand is understandable as he’s only here to keep up appearances while the real Big Boss kickstarts Outer Heaven, but it’s kind of sad to see the guy who is perhaps the franchise’s greatest character take a backseat for vast chunks of the game, only chiming in now and again to give Venom some info or record a tape.

And then we come to the villains. Skull Face is a rather intriguing villain, who lives up to the hammy nature of past villains in the franchise; just see where he howls as Sahelanthropus is taken control of by Eli’s sheer hatred and, ahem, lust for revenge. Skull Face is just a wonderfully thematic villain, and while he is tragically cut down a bit earlier in the game than he should have been, his impact is still felt, as in a manner of speaking he is the reason for the events that plagued Solid Snake’s life due to his crippling of Zero with parasites. We also have some more minor villains, such as Eli (AKA Liquid Snake), Psycho Mantis as a kid, and the Man on Fire (which is actually the reanimated corpse of Colonel Volgin from Snake Eater. Sort of. It’s complicated). The more minor villains seem a bit excessive, especially seeing as the former two don’t actually get to have their arc in this game pay off in a meaningful way due to the Kingdom of the Flies portion unfortunately being cut, but they still lead to some entertaining and exciting moments, particularly young Mantis. Eli is really the only minor villain who feels like a missed opportunity, since all he really does is act like a haughty little brat and adds very little to the overall story, which is a shame considering who he grows up to become.

Of course, no discussion of evil in Metal Gear Solid V would be complete without mention of Huey, the father of Otacon. Huey is the complete and total antithesis to his son. Where his son took responsibility for things that were not even his fault up to and including his own rape, Huey deflects all blame and throws it onto others to make himself seem an innocent victim; where Otacon had the courage to face up to the horrors of the world, Huey chose to be a sniveling coward who hid behind anyone who offered him some semblance of safety; and where Otacon and Solid Snake were true companions and friends to the end who managed to raise a wonderful child together, Huey was an utter bastard who backstabbed his friends repeatedly and killed his own wife via inaction because she dared to stand up to him and not allow her child to be a battery for a Metal Gear. Huey is one of the most detestable, loathsome, and pathetic characters ever conceived in all of fiction… and I love him for it. He is just so void of any sort of redeeming quality that he becomes the poster child for “love to hate.” There is a beauty to a character like this, and it helps that he does get his comeuppance and he’s never shilled by other characters; in fact, not one of his so-called “friends” likes or even trusts him, and all of them think he’s a pathetic, delusional liar. He’s a nasty, spiteful, egomaniacal hypocrite, and I wouldn’t want him any other way.

Now I saved the story for last, mostly because the story is infamously a bit short and incomplete. Still, I feel a lot of the hate for the story is a bit unjustified; while it is true and incredibly frustrating that nothing involving Eli gets any payoff outside of descriptions of what would have happened, all of the story with Skull Face, Quiet, the parasites, Huey, and the side quest involving Paz are all rather engaging in that crazy Metal Gear way, and the prologue Ground Zeroes definitely helps to round things out. If we’re only counting the Solid games, I’d say this is at least as good story-wise as 2 in its own way; where that one is a much more cerebral story involving metatextual elements and deconstructs a lot of concepts, this game’s story is more of a showcase of the toxicity of revenge. Almost every character in the story – Venom, Kaz, Skull Face, Quiet, Eli, the Man on Fire, and Huey – has some desire for vengeance against those who have wronged them, some need to bring some semblance of closure… but it never comes. As is demonstrated in the scene where Skull Face dies, Kaz and Venom both realize that even if they killed Skull Face then and there, it wouldn’t bring back their dead comrades, it wouldn’t return the time they lost, it wouldn’t bring back their missing limbs. Ultimately, revenge is a bitter, futile waste that will only end up consuming and destroying, as it did to Skull Face, as it did to Huey, as it did to Quiet, and as it would do eventually to Kaz and Big Boss. In the end, all that has been done is that a cycle of violence has been perpetuated, and no one is better off for it.

While it’s obviously not the first story to use these concepts, I do like how it ties into the series. It all feels like it fits. Add in the fact that this game finally resolves some long-standing plot holes, such as how Big Boss survived Outer Heaven to end up in Zanzibar Land and how Kaz went from singing the praises of Big Boss to saying he was a monster who deserved death in Metal Gear 2, and while it is a technically incomplete story, it is most certainly a solid one that gives you just enough to think about that I can’t really see calling it “bad” as a logical statement. Could it have been better? Oh, absolutely. But is it still good on its own merits with a lot of standout moments due to the themes and the wonderful cast of characters? Absolutely.

I think the game’s true strength lies in its moments. This game contains some of the most powerful emotional beats in the entire series, hands down. The conclusion of Paz’s side quest, Quiet’s exit, Venom having to deal with a breakout of the parasite among his own soldiers… even if the overall narrative isn’t as cohesive as the four previous games, it still manages to pack so much emotion and power into some of its scenarios that you will feel something. The tapes too manage to be powerful and emotional, from Paz’s final “phantom” tape to Strangelove’s final moments recorded to Zero’s lament that he couldn’t ever apologize to Big Boss, there’s just so much to love here in terms of writing and emotion that I really don’t care about the main story being cut short a bit. It does suck, but I’m too busy sobbing over Quiet and Paz’s fates to really care about the fact I didn’t get to smack Eli upside the head one last time.

The Phantom Pain and Ground Zeroes are not perfect games, far from it. But they are good games, end even if a small part of the overarching story doesn’t get a satisfying conclusion, Most of the rest does, and there are so many powerful moments in here that it reminds you this series with its roid-raging nanomachine senators and gay vampires who can run on water and giant volcaloid AI robots can actually be poignant, heartfelt, and heartbreaking. It’s a fantastic game, and if you love the series you’ve likely already played it, but I definitely recommend it to anyone who hasn’t, though play through Snake Eater and Peace Walker first. It’s definitely worth your time, and far more rewarding than some have made it out to be.

[measurelessdreamer]

New Olivarry fic!

The impossible happened and I managed to write (probably) my last Olivarry fic and I’m actually proud of myself XD If you want, feel free to read it here or down below! <3

Coffee Beans And Cakes, It's You For Whom My Heart Aches

Summary:  Barry Allen thought he was done with love. He had missed out all his chances and if love was supposed to be only unrequited in his case, then what the hell was the point? So he filled his life with routines and small pleasures to keep himself going and convince himself he was okay. He hadn't anticipated one of those routines would eventually sabotage him and turn his whole life around, but sometimes you just need to live in a lie for a while to be able to see the truth. Barry learned that the hard way.

Relationships: Barry Allen/Oliver Queen

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, First Meetings, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Slow Burn

Words: 13268

It was three o'clock in the afternoon when Barry finally turned off his computer and hurried out of his lab, waving both Joe and Eddie with a smile, silently dodging their offers to accompany him which they both knew were fruitless to ask. It was his habit to stop by Jitters for his favorite kind of coffee and spend a few minutes in solitude just sipping and relishing the bittersweet taste he knew so well and today was no different. Being already twenty-nine, it was only normal to have his life filled with small routines like this that ultimately were the sole reason why he was able to be himself and not just some kind of zombie, struggling to see the point in waking up in the morning. Don't get him wrong. Sometimes, days got rough and he was on the zombie spectrum more than he would actually like, but when that happened, it was small pleasures like this that got him back to smiling and simply enjoying what he was supposed to no matter how much other people considered it crucial.

Nothing new ever happened during his afternoon visits to Jitters. He just loved that where people were usually swarming inside like bees in their hives he could have a peaceful time and think. It was liberating in ways not many people would understand but he didn't care. He just knew he wouldn't change this routine for anything. As hectic as his life sometimes was, this was something he wanted to keep intact no matter what. Too bad destiny had other ideas.

As expected, there were only a few people inside. One man was standing by the cash register, strikingly aggravated by the debate he was having with the barista, which Barry supposed looked more like an argument despite how the man, probably in his thirties, was trying to stay calm. Barry moved to stand a few feet next to him in a queue he just created, patiently waiting for his turn. He absolutely didn't mean to eavesdrop, his parents and Joe had raised him better than that, but he was standing right there and it wasn't his fault the man was apparently losing his patience and raising his voice as the result. Besides, he couldn't simply leave his spot unless he decided to skip the coffee and go home, which in his mind was not an option. Not even some uptight customer would change that, thank you very much.

So he just stood there and listened because what else was really there to do?

"Sir, I apologize, but I've already told you that this cake is reserved for the couple’s menu only. Feel free to choose any other, though. Surely we can come to an agreement we'll both like," the female barista said, doing her utmost best to remain as polite as possible even though Barry could see her resolve was on the brink of despair.

"I don't want any other cake," the man stated. "It's my son's favorite, always has been. We have it every time we're here. It never was 'reserved for a couple’s menu only' before so why now?"

"It's our policy to include some desserts for only specific types of menus and I'm sorry, but I don't make these rules."

"I understand, but can't you make an exception just this once? You'll get your money either way. Besides, it's not like this place is filled with people fighting for this particular cake and you're gonna close soon anyway."

"I'm afraid there's nothing I can do, sir," the barista sighed and looked genuinely sorry and annoyed by this stupid policy too, but her hands were tied. Her boss probably wasn't one of the kindest people on this planet.

"Of course," the man scoffed. "It's funny, though. Not sure when exactly love of couples started being more important than love for your own damn child." The venom behind those words was borderline outrageous, even more, when Barry noticed how it made the barista slump her shoulders in defeat and shame, but it was probably the thing that caused Barry's life to change so radically that day. While everyone else would most likely judge the man for being too harsh on the woman, Barry focused on this customer's reasoning and intentions that were definitely meant to be good and decided to help out. That was how he'd been raised after all.

"Actually," he spoke, causing the barista to look at him, "he's here with me." What happened next was downright comical as the man literally froze mere inches before the exit door and spun around to gape, unabashed, at this man he'd never seen before, claiming they were a couple.

As tempted as Barry was to burst out laughing on spot, he formed a smile and turned to the barista that was staring him down skeptically. She wasn't stupid. Of course it was obvious he didn't know the man that just made his way back to them, still gaping at him, but then again, it wasn't like they needed some license or document to show they were dating. They just needed to convince her to either believe them or take pity on them. Whichever came first.

"I'm sorry about him," he started again, motioning to the man next to him. "He's not much of a people person, but he means well."

"And he's your boyfriend," the woman summarized, not buying a single word, and glanced at the other man. "Why didn't you say so before? You must have noticed him coming here."

"We usually keep it quiet. He's a bit shy, you know?" Barry clarified, letting his eyes fall on the man and locking them with his on instinct, suddenly finding it nearly impossible to look anywhere else besides the magnificent shade of blue boring into his. He almost forgot he was supposed to make sure the barista bought his little act. "Darling, I told you, you should've waited for me. We would've solved this together and spared your nerves. As much as I like the grey strands in your hair, smiling suits you better."

At this comment, the man openly glared at him, but his eyes, those incredibly pretty eyes, were glinting with amusement that kept Barry's smile intact without him even putting real effort in it.

"I was waiting for you," the man joined in. "for full ten minutes even. It's not my fault you're always late, honey."

"Seems that supertardiness is one of my powers. Glad it didn't stop you from falling in love with me."

"Believe me, I'm questioning myself about this all the time," the man teased and smirked.

Barry couldn't contain the small chuckle escaping his lips and the absolute wonder that this whole charade was going so well despite them having no clue who the other person was. Barry was too old to believe in fairytales, but part of him never stopped being a dreamer. It was probably why this connection between him and the blue-eyed stranger seemed to be almost magical like it wasn't just random luck but a plan in the grand scheme of things. But that was just silly and he was the fool for imagining otherwise when he was probably the only one feeling this.

Once he couldn't face these thoughts without breaking off his act of a loving boyfriend, he glanced at the barista and found her looking at them with an odd expression. Some sort of mixture of amusement and intrigue, probably, but then again he was only skilled in reading criminals per se, so he could be wrong. He put the question of figuring it out later to the back of his mind before he broke the silence that was on the brink of becoming awkward. "Could we have the couple’s menu, please?"

The woman snapped out of whatever trance she was in and beamed at them without any trace of her previous embarrassment intact, taking in their coffee orders and asking for their names, for which Barry was more grateful than ever since it was the most subtle way of finding out who the man was he could hope for.

"Barry." "Oliver." They both said at the exact same time, momentarily stunning the whole party. Barry's eyes once again met Oliver's, already getting lost in them and their spellbinding glimmer as if he had nothing better to do that day than openly stare.

"You seemed to be in real sync," the woman pointed out as she was writing the names right into the huge red hearts decorating the cups that were most definitely ordered for the sole purpose of labeling everyone who proved to be worthy of getting the couple's menu. It was sweet, but all Barry could do was inwardly laugh about it when he noticed how Oliver glared at the cups. "Does this happen a lot?"

"Oh, yeah, all the time. We're practically the same person," Barry answered and saw the tiny smile playing on Oliver's lips from the corner of his eyes for what it was, ignoring how elevated it instantly made him.

"You're really lucky, then," the woman said and smiled so warmly Barry almost started regretting they were so openly lying to her. But only almost.

"Hear that, Ollie? You're lucky to have me," he teased and, for reasons he probably won't ever be able to grasp, bumped his shoulder against Oliver's. He had no idea where this boldness came from, but the man next to him didn't recoil or stiffen and he decided to take that as a good sign.

"You shouldn't encourage him," Oliver said to the barista, shaking his head. "He's insufferable enough as he is."

"Says the guy who wanted to burn this whole place down minutes ago," Barry countered. "Don't you think an apology is in order? You're the one that keeps telling me agreements and rules are here to be followed not broken every time I'm late."

This time it was Oliver who moved closer, not out of fake affection like Barry had, though. Not that it really mattered to Barry's hammering heart once he felt a strong arm hooking around his shoulders and spreading warmth through his whole body as he heard the blue-eyed stranger whisper: "You're playing with fire."

However bewildered Barry was from the whole situation, he didn't let this intimidate him. "Do you want me to tell certain someone we both know that it's okay not to apologize for being a bit of a jerk?"

"I was not-" Oliver began but his words came up short when Barry just arched one of his eyebrows at him. He was probably having too much fun with this, but after having such a boring day at work, this was exhilarating to the bone and he couldn't get enough of it. "Fine," Oliver sighed in defeat and aimed his next words at the barista, who was once again dedicating them that same odd look like before. She smiled after hearing Oliver's apology and waved with her hand, saying she understood Oliver's outrage at the policy she didn't see the point of either.

"See?" Barry remarked and smiled. "Wasn't so hard now, was it?"

Oliver merely chuckled and only then let go of Barry's shoulders, making him involuntarily wonder why it caused a small downfall to his mood not to be so close to the older man anymore.

The barista once again saved him from any more uncomfortable questions his brain was so fond of sending his way when she asked whether they wanted to have the cake packed or not. When Oliver confirmed the former option, she sheepishly asked for the name of his son and wrote down "William" on the pink box covered in numerous hearts of various sizes, which once again didn't fail to make Barry chuckle. He got a glare aimed at him in return, but something was telling him every time Oliver did that, the venom behind it got less and less serious.

Once they had the cake safely in the box and their coffees in their hands, Oliver proceeded to pay before Barry could even get his wallet out. Had things been any different, he would have argued about this, but he figured it made sense that only one of them would pay since they were "together" and besides, he understood it for Oliver's way of saying thank you since Barry was the sole reason he got the cake for his son in the first place.

Barry anticipated they would exchange vague goodbyes after that since the barista was already too busy with another customer to pay them any mind and be on their way back to their lives as if nothing like this happened with the only difference that they now had a hell of a story to tell, but no such thing happened. Barry proceeded to go sit down to his usual spot and Oliver followed, awkwardly asking whether Barry would mind him sitting there with him, to which Barry merely smiled and nodded.

"It's nice to meet you by the way," he said, not raising his hand for a handshake and risking the barista would see. "Circumstances could've been better, but it was fun."

"You made that abundantly clear," Oliver deadpanned.

"Hey, you got your cake, didn't you? So if anything you should be grateful."

Oliver shook his head but smiled at his strained tantrum and Barry felt warm all over because he knew that meant the man was as grateful as he should be and Barry didn't need to hear the words to know that. Somehow just seeing was enough in this case and send his heart skyrocketing for no valid reason yet again.

"Why did you do it, though?" Oliver eventually asked.

Barry could reply with another teasing remark, but he decided to go with the truth instead. "Because you were right. When you said that love between two people who are a couple shouldn't mean more than the love parents have for their child. I'm pretty sure they have a suggestion box here somewhere. We might let them know what we think."

"And see them ignore it and keep doing whatever the hell they want? No thank you."

"Are you always this optimistic or should I just consider myself lucky?"

"It's just been a hectic week for me."

"Central isn't to your taste?"

"Is it that obvious that I'm not from here?"

"Only to people who you're fake-dating," Barry teased. "You're visiting or?"

"I've recently moved in, actually. To stay close to my son."

Weirdly enough, only then did some trivial realizations dawn on Barry. After all, he knew from Iris that a certain person of her interest had moved from Star City to Central recently. "You're Oliver Queen, right?"

"We're already on the full name basis? Here I thought you were one of those people that would take things slow in a relationship."

Barry's eyes widened in amusement after hearing an honest-to-god joke from the man who seemed anything but carefree not so long ago. "I consider our relationship too special for that."

"In that case, you should know it's not fair I don't know your full name."

"Barry Allen," Barry replied, unable to fight off his smile. Exchanging names like this had to mean something, right? If Oliver planned to forget this day even happened, that they met in such a crazy way, he surely wouldn't go through the trouble of staying there, talking with Barry and possibly finding out more, would he? More importantly, what was Barry promising himself to get out of this? What was he hoping all this meant?

"I bet your son is gonna love the box once he sees it," he changed the subject to keep his mind in here and now. "Horrid pink with hearts all over. Who wouldn't love such a creative design?"

Oliver openly laughed at the comment which Barry stored in his brain for safekeeping on instinct. "He's gonna love the story behind it even more."

The conversation didn't cease any time soon after that. Sure, there were moments of silence between them, but they all felt as natural as the times their mouths were overloaded with words. Whoever walked past them, there was no way they suspected Oliver and Barry had just met. It was like the barista said, they were awfully in sync to be mere strangers to each other. Barry could muse about it in his head, but he knew that wouldn't get him anywhere he liked and so he just kept the conversation flowing as effortlessly as before.

They left the coffee shop together. Oliver thanked him again, with words this time, and after they exchanged goodbyes and smiles, that was it. Barry was on his way home, feeling like the world could collapse and he wouldn't notice because while his legs were moving, his mind had failed to leave Oliver's side just yet. Once he realized it, he chastised himself for keeping his hopes up when the odds of him seeing Oliver again were so close to zero it hurt. Not in a way how hearing Iris and Eddie were getting married did, of course, but it still hurt more than it probably should have considering everything. So he decided to stop thinking about it once and for all and just get on with his life, back to his routines and stability.

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To his utter surprise, he found out that it wasn't even remotely that simple when he walked into Jitters the next day and noticed Oliver waiting for his turn. He politely said hi as he passed by and was stunned to the bone when Oliver not only said it back but engaged him in the conversation before he could get too far. Just like that, they fell right back in whatever force was making sure they felt good in each other's company. And once it was their turn to order, somehow, without either of them confident enough to explain it, they just knew they were gonna drink from the cups covered in love again. It was a silent agreement between them. That day and every one that followed until it became another routine bringing joy to Barry's life.

Oliver rarely decided to take the cake currently on the offer with him home. Instead, he ordered just one piece which they both shared as they were sipping on their coffees and talking. Neither of them minded the charade they had to keep going in order to convince every barista that they were indeed a couple. It wasn't a matter of not wanting to risk someone calling them on their bullshit one day or not being able to live without having their coffees served in the horrid looking colors. The couple's menu was cheaper than getting all of it separate and while that shouldn't matter since the cheapest approach would be paying solely for their own coffees by themselves and not getting any cake, it made perfect sense to both of them when the possibility to spend the time together was on the table. Most of the baristas didn't care about whether they were telling the truth or not either. Only the woman from the first day did even though Barry was pretty sure she was fully aware they were only faking and just kept her mouth shut to keep the game going.

That was probably why Barry was doing it too. It was fun, exhilarating and yet so natural he didn't feel nervous or under any kind of pressure even when he forgot to watch himself and leaned maybe just too close to Oliver's personal zone. Then he remembered that he was supposed to fake they were in love after all and he leaned all the way in, using Oliver's biceps as a pillow or squeezing his shoulder and relishing in how it felt when Oliver returned the gesture.

It didn't take long before these moments in Jitters started being his favorite part of the day. He was no longer questioning the magical vibe between them. It was just warming him to the core that he had a friend who was so easy to talk to. With Iris being busy planning her own wedding, he had every right to miss such simple interactions that were about serious talk as much as it was about merely messing around. Two months of these regular meetings passed and he felt like Oliver could safely compete with both Joe and Iris about who knew him best and possibly come of it as the winner and from what he learned from Oliver, the feeling had to be somewhat mutual.

One day, however, turned out to be different after all when Barry entered Jitters and couldn't see Oliver anywhere inside the coffee shop. His face fell down for a split second before he realized he was being ridiculous, relying on a deal they never had in the first place. Oliver was his own person after all. He couldn't expect the billionaire to come there every day for the rest of their lives. Besides, it was probably a sign that Oliver had grown tired of their silly charade and this was his way of showing they needed to stop. Barry could understand that although he was definitely going to miss the cups where Oliver's name would occasionally be written with a small heart above the letter "i" instead of a dot. Even the mere thought made him smile despite how bitter he was still feeling.

But then the door to the coffee shop opened and there was Oliver with his blue eyes so bright Barry supposed all those magazines were rightfully going mad over them. Not that he'd read any of them, but he knew from all those times Iris' celebrity crush would be showing just a tiny bit too much.

Their eyes fell on each other, making Barry's heart leap in his chest when Oliver dedicated him one of his rare but immensely warm smiles. It was as if this one moment, however brief, was straight out of a romance novel, ending in the most horrid way ever when Barry noticed Oliver didn't come alone that day.

As soon as the blonde woman with glasses and a smile so charming Barry felt his stomach drop, leaving him utterly confused because what the hell, Oliver looked at her and Barry supposed that was that. He watched them interact, witnessing Oliver dedicate her the same smile, and fighting not to visibly squirm. She was really pretty and they looked good together. Barry should be happy for his friend because that was what they were. Friends. They were not together. Never would be. Not because Oliver wouldn't handle being in a serious relationship, Barry knew him well enough to know that was just bullshit the tabloids kept feeding to maintain interest among their readers, but because they were just pretending and that was okay. It was what they both wanted.

But then why did he suddenly feel so hollow?

He didn't get a chance to find out that day when he noticed both Oliver and the woman with him were making his way to him. Shit, shit, shit, what was he supposed to do? To say? What if they noticed him staring and thought he was weird? What if this woman was going to scold him for making the whole coffee shop believe he was dating her boyfriend? What if Oliver no longer wanted anything to do with him?

"No supertardiness today?" Oliver quipped. "Some special occasion?"

"If by special you mean Captain Singh was again in one of his moods, which was worse than usual and made me pretty much run away from there, then yeah," Barry replied, trying to be as nonchalant as possible and hoping to God it was playing off.

"Captain Singh from the CCPD?" the woman asked. "You work there?"

"As a forensic scientist," Barry confirmed and frowned. "And you are?"

"Oh, I'm Felicity. Smoak," the woman beamed and extended her hand. "I'm only asking because I'm applying for a job there."

"Barry Allen. And really? What kind?"

"Hacking. Not the bad kind, like stealing people's money or anything! Although I could do that, but only if it was meant to do good. Not that I think people should steal. They definitely shouldn't do that. Especially not when there could possibly be another way how to solve their situation."

"I think he gets it, Felicity," Oliver gently pitched in.

"Right, sorry! I'm just... I'm supposed to have my interview tomorrow and I thought I was fine, but now after hearing you talk about Captain Singh I feel like applying was the worst idea I ever had."

"Hey, it's okay," Barry said. "I'm sure it'll go fine. Besides, he's a lot nicer to newcomers even potential ones. Just convince him he needs you and you'll get the job."

"Wow," Felicity gasped and looked at Oliver, "you were right. He really does know what to say to make people feel better."

"I didn't say that," Oliver denied and if Barry didn't know him any better he would think he was blushing, but that was just a silly thought, wasn't it?

"Oh yeah, just like you don't come here every day at the exact say time, right? I wonder, is it because of the coffee or something else?"

"Actually, it's for the cakes," Barry joined and earned himself another glare that made him feel warm all over.

"Of course! I knew I wasn't imagining that there was something different about you. Now I know why," Felicity said, glancing briefly at Oliver's abdomen. But there was no harsh truth behind her words and they all knew it. She and Barry were just messing around. Oliver's torso, chest, basically everything definitely couldn't have been considered to be anything but dreamy not that Barry was picturing it or anything, but he had eyes and it was clear that Oliver was in good shape and that was that. It didn't have to go anywhere else.

"Well, I'm definitely not paying for either of you today, that's for sure," Oliver grumbled and turned to face the barista to order now that it was their turn.

"You're lucky we don't put up with you for your money, then," Felicity remarked, Oliver pretended he didn't hear it even though it was obvious he did and Barry could only stare at how carefree the whole situation was despite him almost bolting out of there mere minutes ago. Felicity's natural light just made it that easy to stay and have a good time. Oliver was really lucky to have her.

The billionaire didn't plan to order the couple’s menu that day, but before Barry could compose himself enough to make it seem like he didn't mind, which he really shouldn't anyway so what the hell, brain, yet again, Felicity cut the billionaire off and asked the barista to give him and Barry the couple’s menu, vouching for them that the man wouldn't find two people more in love in the whole city. Oliver rolled her eyes but let her have it her way, ignoring her every teasing remark about the romance-themed cups coming their way. Barry was too stunned to really pay them any mind as they were making a beeline for one of the tables.

Before they sat down, Oliver's phone suddenly buzzed, making him curse under his breath as he fished it out of his pocket. Barry figured it must be something related to his work when the billionaire just apologized to them, claiming he had to take it and marched outside with his coffee.

"Must be important," Barry pointed out sadly, remembering this wasn't the first time their afternoon got a bit ruined by Oliver's phone.

"He takes his job seriously. It wasn't always like that, but since he's had William, he's a changed man."

"You must be proud of him."

"More than anything."

"How long have you been together, by the way?"

Felicity almost chocked on her coffee. "Come again? Together as in being an item? Because we're not that. We might have been something before, but now we're just friends."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought-"

"I guess that makes sense. He's the guy everyone has a crush on and once you get to know him, it's even worse. I fell hard far too quickly and it was working for a while, but eventually, we both figured we were better off as friends. It wasn't meant to be for us."

"I'm really sorry to hear that." And he really was despite how his heart skipped a beat upon hearing the information.

"Don't be," Felicity shrugged. "It's better now. Really. He needs someone he has no problem to talk to. I wasn’t it for him, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have a place in his life. And what about you? Do you have someone like that?”

He should've known this topic would turn against him and he had no reason to be upset since his feelings had never passed the “unrequited love” stage. Felicity's obviously had. She'd gotten a chance with Oliver, they'd been happy for some time and then life had decided to take it from them. He'd had numerous opportunities to do something about his feelings and he hadn't. He had no one else to blame but himself. But maybe that was why it hurt so much even after such a long time.

"Nope, it's just me. I mean, I have family and friends, they are everything to me, but I don't have anyone... like that. There was this one person, but I... I never said how I felt and they're getting married next week so... it's just me."

"Oh, Barry, I'm so sorry," Felicity consoled.

"It's fine," he waved off and for the first time ever felt like these words represented the truth in his heart. Even if it was only remotely, he couldn't dwell on this for the rest of his life. He needed to move on sooner or later and it seemed like subconsciously, he'd already begun. "Just wasn't meant to be, but it's better to know that now than find out years later, right?"

"Yeah, it might not mean much right now, but I believe things like this don't work out for a reason. One day we'll both be grateful for it."

He smiled and nodded. "I think you might be onto something, Miss Smoak." His eyes then fell on Oliver who was still outside, talking relentlessly to whoever was on the other side of that call. In the chilly day of November, the billionaire looked barely as if he'd even registered the cold despite the visible puffs of air coming out of his mouth and reddened cheeks. He looked like he belonged there and Barry found it impossible to look away.

"What about Oliver?" he cleared his throat and looked at Felicity who was watching him with an expression he didn't dare to figure out. "Does he have anyone like that?"

Felicity glanced at her friend with a smile. "I don't think so. Not officially at least, but he's been different these past few weeks so I'd say someone has appeared in his life even though it's likely he hasn't realized it yet."

Barry wasn't sure how he felt about that. He considered Oliver a friend, one of the special ones even, so, of course, he wished to see him happy, but just imagining that one day the billionaire would come here to drink from love-themed cups and share one piece of cake with someone else, some beautiful woman probably, it... didn't sit right with him.

He probably got too used to having these meetings in Jitters as a constant in his life. With Oliver being the fundamental part of it. After Iris and Eddie got busy preparing their wedding and he found it goddamn hard to be in their presence, it really made sense that he would need someone new in his life. He had Cisco, Caitlin, Wally and Ralph he was thankful for it every day, but sometimes, you just need something new or to do things differently than you normally would to see everything from a new perspective and ultimately appreciate what you had all along.

His life just seemed so much easier with a cup decorated with hearts in his hands, an indicator that it's essential to find the time to mess around sometimes and to forget about everything else. It reminded him of the times he'd spent with Iris, those little moments when they would just put their feet up and talk about whatever till it was too late to even hope they would get enough sleep that night. And for the first time, he felt determined to reach out to her.

"You look like you just figured out something," Felicity pointed out. "Something good, I hope."

"Remains to be seen, I guess," Barry said but smiled with all sincerity within him.

"That actually reminds me... Are you by any chance free this Friday night?"

"Uh, yes? If this is about Captain Singh again, then I assure you that while he has bad days, he never made me work on Friday night."

"That's... good to know, sure, but it's not why I'm asking. It just so happens that I was supposed to go with Oliver and William to the movies this Friday, but something came up and I don't want the ticket to go to waste. You and Oliver really seem like you hit it off so the ticket is yours if you want it."

"Um, I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"Why not? You're Oliver's friend like me and if you're worried about William, he's thirteen and so basically, all he cares about is seeing that movie. He won't pay you that much attention and even if he did, just remember that he puts up with Oliver so you'll definitely be fine."

Barry wanted to say yes. It wasn't even his anxiety caused by meeting William for the first time holding him back from voicing out that one damn word. Oliver had talked about his son enough times for Barry to know William wasn't anyone to be wary of. He was into comics, movies, tv shows, and video games and Oliver was proud of him. It was apparent from every single word the billionaire uttered about his son. That counted for something. Had William been a spoiled brat, there would never be this spellbinding glint of content in Oliver's eyes.

So really, William was not the problem. But then what was?

He eventually settled for "I'll think about it," and maybe got a bit more relieved than he should have when Felicity flashed him a smile and nodded. They both noticed Oliver finally hung up and was now making his way back to them.

"Sorry about that," the billionaire said as he took his seat. "What did I miss?"

"Barry is going with you and William to the movies!" Felicity announced and watched both men gawp at her.

"That's not-" Barry started, but Felicity shushed him with a wave of her hand. "Oh come on, you were gonna say yes. You won’t regret it, I swear. Besides, it will make Oliver immensely happy if you come. Isn't that right, Oliver?"

Oliver stared at her hard, but seeing she wouldn't relent, he sighed and looked at Barry. "Yeah, what she said. But only if it's no trouble for you."

Barry didn't have any other choice than to cave in. Oh, what the hell, he thought, it was ridiculous that they hadn't met one single time outside Jitters anyway. "What movie are we seeing?"

"Ready Player One. Have you seen it already?" Felicity asked.

Barry had actually. The other day he went with Cisco, but it also didn't go unnoticed by him how the corners of Oliver's lips quirked into a tiny a smile as he agreed to go and he found himself ecstatic to see that movie again even though he was fully aware the motion picture itself had very little to do with it.

"No, but I always wanted to. I never pictured you to be into this kind of movies, though," he said to Oliver.

"You're implying I'm getting old?"

"N-no! Of course not! It's just that-"

"Relax, Barry," Felicity chuckled, "that's just your fake boyfriend making fun of you. There's no need to get all flustered for him. It doesn't do his ego any good."

Oliver narrowed his eyes at her and for a few seconds, Barry had the time to look away and at least try to figure out why today everything was so different. Why he was so flabbergasted when he should be just having a good time with Oliver like he always would. Felicity was nice and kind so there was no reason to even consider she had something to do with this, but something did. And why the hell couldn't he get to the bottom of it?

When Felicity and Oliver turned their attention back to him, he formed a smile, hoping neither of them could see how strained it was. It wore off quickly and soon he was back to talking with them like it was that easy. But then they were parting ways and Barry saw Felicity hug Oliver and he felt his insides churning and the bitterness was back. He needed to get his shit together before Friday would come. Leaving the impression he was weird shouldn't be the first thing he does in front of William, especially now when he really wanted to come and spend his Friday this way. So he told himself to suck it up and try to see the bigger picture here. It probably wasn't as big of a problem as he was making it out to be anyway.

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They had agreed to meet outside the movie theater and Barry was actually on time or at least that was what he first thought, but then the main entrance came to his sight and he stopped dead on his tracks. Because there Oliver and William were and he couldn't hear them. They were too far and the streets of Central were as alive as ever, but to him, there was no noise because the whole world fell silent. He just watched, surrounded by the imaginary tranquility, Oliver and William talking.

It looked like William was trying to explain something he considered amazing and Oliver was giving him his utmost attention. The billionaire must have understood something wrong, though, or at least pretended to because the next thing that happened was William shaking his head incredulously and soon falling into a round of laughter, which Oliver mirrored. He had definitely faked it, then, just to get his son to laugh like this. Before Barry knew it, he smiled at the scene before him almost feeling sorry he had to break it with his appearance, but after witnessing this little and yet meaningful interaction between the two, he felt much more relaxed than when he'd left his apartment that night.

"You're late," Oliver told him once he noticed him.

Barry innocently shrugged, not regretting his reasons for violating his punctuality that night. "I didn't want you to feel special, thinking I was trying for you. Your ego is already big enough as it is."

Before Oliver could counter the snarky comment, William snorted and all attention fell on him. "So this is the Barry you've been talking about?"

"He talks about me?" Barry asked, amused.

"Oh yeah, like all the time."

"He doesn't mean that. He's just trying to be funny," Oliver said and Barry smiled as their eyes locked for a brief moment. "I figured. Wonder who he got it from, though."

"Hear that, Dad? I'm just learning from the best like you taught me."

"Just get inside before I change my mind and we go home," Oliver replied, but the way he shook his head with an amused smile he couldn't fight was the only indicator they needed to know his threat wasn't meant to be serious at all. William looked like he wanted to say one more thing but chose to rather stay silent and go inside anyway with Oliver and Barry following behind. Once inside, he sent them to buy some snacks and drinks while he went to the washroom. Barry just found it endearing how Oliver rolled his eyes at his son being so bossy. Still having the moment between Oliver and William that was the reason he'd come late freshly on his mind, he was more than thrilled that he had come here in the end. Hearing Oliver talk about William was something he always enjoyed, it would always uncover this side of Oliver he doubted many people could see. But actually seeing them interact pushed it into a completely new level and he knew he would regret it if he didn't get to find out about that.

"He's cute," he said as they were waiting in the line.

"Don't let him hear you. He would never forget that."

"But it's true."

"He's thirteen. Saying he's 'cute' might as well be an insult to him."

"Oh yeah? And what’s your excuse? Because I remember you being bothered every time I called you cute in front of the baristas.”

“I wasn’t... bothered.”

“You calling me a liar, darling?”

“Nope, just delusional,” Oliver deadpanned and got away with it only because it was their turn to order. Once that was done the man behind the cash register looked at them and asked: “I don’t mean to intrude, but are you, guys, a couple?” Before they could answer he went on. “Because we have this offer going for tonight. We’ll give you a small bucket of chocolate covered cinnamon bears for half the price if you’re a couple.”

Barry had to chuckle at that because really what were the odds of two establishments having such a similar offer, but then another thing shocked him. Both he and Oliver remained silent, no longer trying to say that they were just friends hanging out even though that was the truth. Instead, they looked at each other, reading where they stood from each other's faces without any difficulty. What the hell, William was definitely going to be ecstatic about the extra snack anyway.

"Yeah, we're together and we'd love to have that bucket," Barry said, but there was something different about saying those words even though he had said similar ones so many times he'd already lost count. He saw Oliver smiling at him and that somehow caused the whole world to freeze and mute again, overwhelming him with an unfamiliar feeling of warmth. The next thing he remembered was Oliver handing him the said bucket with numerous brown bears inside and the two of them making their way to William who was already waiting for them in front of the entrance to the auditorium.

"You took your time," William concluded, clearly more intrigued than mad when he lifted his eyebrows questioningly.

"Yeah, that's on me," Barry said. "But we got you this, so all forgiven?"

William took the small bucket and beamed for a split second before he looked back at Barry, all serious again. "You're all good. This time. But I'll be watching you so you don't teach my dad your habit of always coming late. Like I said, he talks about you a lot."

"I believe what William meant to say was 'thank you', right, buddy?" Oliver mildly chastised his son.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," William said and rolled his eyes when Oliver arched his eyebrows at him expectantly. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Barry and Oliver said in unison, which made William snort before he took his drink from Oliver's hands and motioned for them to follow him. "We should get inside. It's gonna start soon."

Both men followed him and sat down at their rightful place with William sitting between them, exchanging the bucket with cinnamon bears for the one filled with popcorn with his dad, obviously saving that for later, which made Barry smile for probably the hundredth time that night. It wasn't like he minded, though, when it was making him feel warmer than he ever had. Even when the movie started, his mind didn't completely get the hint it was time to focus on the screen instead of the two people beside him. He was actually glad he had already seen the picture. That way it didn't matter how many times his eyes flew over to Oliver and William to watch them for a few minutes instead because he would still be up to date. He just couldn't help it.

It was clear the screening of Ready Player One was going to end for good soon. Most people had already seen it and thanks to that the auditorium was almost completely empty. Barry had never witnessed anything like it since he'd always been into movies and wanted to see them as soon as possible, but this solitude was really... nice. It gave Oliver and William the room to comment on what was happening on the screen without needing to worry they were disturbing someone else.

William would occasionally brag about how much more pop culture references he could spot than Oliver and no matter what, the billionaire didn't attempt to silence him, to put him down. He didn't get bored, he listened to all his son said and even looked truly immersed by the movie. The sight made Barry so spellbound he couldn't stop staring for several minutes and even when he eventually forced himself to watch the screen and not look away again, his mind stayed there in that magical moment. Everything he'd seen that night convinced him that Oliver was a good father, which was another thing tabloids never got right. Their loss, he thought and kept smiling till the end of the movie.

After they left the movie theater, William excused himself again when he spotted one of his friends from school to go say hi.

"I'm really glad I came with you, guys," Barry said once he was alone with Oliver.

"Even though you've already seen the movie before tonight?" the billionaire asked and chuckled when Barry's eyes widened. "Yeah, I knew the whole time. You might be an amazing forensic scientist, but that doesn't mean you can lie."

"I don't know if I should take this as a compliment or an insult."

"Take it as me showing my gratitude you came anyway, then. I keep hearing it's not one of my stronger suits."

"Oliver Queen is actually bad at something and openly admitting it? Has the world started ending while I wasn't watching or what?" Barry teased and chuckled when the billionaire rolled his eyes at him in that affectionate way he did with William. Then, however, Barry’s phone buzzed, alerting him of a message from Iris. Being reminded he had to attend her wedding and that he still wasn't completely okay with it, his mood fell down so radically Oliver would have to be blind not to notice.

"Hey, you okay?" he gently asked with nothing else but clear concern written all over his face.

"It's nothing," Barry lied, all too aware Oliver could tell and expecting to be questioned about this further, but the billionaire didn't say anything. He just nodded, seemingly content to let the silence stretch out and let this be the way of how this amazing night was supposed to end. Barry should've been grateful that his friend wasn't prying, but for some reason, he decided to clarify regardless.

"You remember how I mentioned two of my friends getting married?"

"Iris and Eddie, right?"

"That's them. And it's happening next Tuesday and I just...," he trailed off, not even knowing where he was going with this.

"You don't feel like you're ready yet," Oliver finished for him, obviously remembering all that Barry had willingly shared with him about his bitter experience with love. If the circumstances were any different, Barry would be touched that Oliver cared so much he listened and remembered all that had been said between them. But like this, he just felt embarrassed to the bone.

"Barry, there's nothing wrong with taking your time," the billionaire said and although Barry believed his words, there was just something odd about the way he said them. Or maybe it was about the special kind of sadness he could see in these piercing blue eyes before him. He couldn't decipher what it meant for anything and it was driving him mad because here he was, bothering Oliver with his problems when the latter could be possibly dealing with something much worse and just keeping it to himself to have this weight solely on his shoulders. Now that was pathetic and for a while, Barry felt speechless until he remembered what amazing time he'd been having every time he'd met with Oliver and an idea popped up in his head.

"Come with me," he said before he could think better on it.

"What?"

"To the wedding. As my plus one."

Oliver stared him down, obviously not buying he was being serious. "You want me to go to a wedding and pretend we're together in front of dozens of people?"

"Why not? We're already pretending and obviously doing a good job."

"You call fooling a bunch of baristas, people we don't know, a good job?"

Barry slumped his shoulders and let his head fall when it occurred to him how ridiculous he was being. Of course pretending in front of his friends and family would be different and honestly, he had no right to ask that of Oliver so what the hell was wrong with him? Was he really so scared of facing Iris and Eddie that he forgot he and Oliver were in this together as equals? Since when was he so selfish?

"You're right. I'm sorry. I don't know why I even suggested it. Just forget it happened," Barry pleaded and looked up only after he heard William making their way to them.

They said their goodbyes quickly after that, which made Barry hate himself immensely more. He just had to ruin a perfect evening like that, didn't he? He wondered what that meant for him and Oliver. Whether the billionaire was upset and would ditch their regular meetings in Jitters or worse, ditch him completely. He got his answer at least partly the next Monday when he went to Jitters and Oliver wasn't there. But honestly, he had no one else to blame but himself so he took the coffee with him outside, feeling the breath of winter embracing him mercilessly and taking it as the punishment for being such a fool as it was and he went home, already trying to prepare himself for tomorrow.

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Surprisingly, interacting with both Iris and Eddie wasn't as hard as he thought it would be. Somehow the bond he had with them found its way to work again despite his disbelief and talking with them felt easy. Even seeing them together, stealing glances, smiling and just being happy gave him this vibe that it was how it was supposed to be. They belonged together. It was as clear as a day when they were both glowing in the most beautiful way there was.

Barry felt happy for them as sincerely as he should have right from the start. It made him realize he had been even more of a fool all this time. He could have honestly enjoyed this wedding, but the way he'd parted ways with Oliver last Friday was all he could think of. He could deny it all he wanted every time someone asked him if he was okay, but it didn't make his pain disappear or him forget about it. The ceremony hadn't even started yet, but he already knew he had to fix this somehow or at least try. He would call Oliver after the wedding or maybe come to his apartment. What if Oliver wasn't home or refused to let him in? What if he didn't want to have anything to do with him ever again?

He was so immersed with what-ifs and maybes that he failed to realize everyone around him turned their attention away from wherever it was to openly stare at something. He got out of his trance only after the voice he knew all too well found its way to his ears.

"Seems that you're already rubbing off me," Oliver said with a smile. "But unlike you, I have a valid excuse for being late. I had to find out which wedding was the right one. Did you know there are two other weddings happening today? It's November. Who gets married in a goddamn November?"

"That'd be us," Eddie said cheerily as he and Iris appeared beside them. "You have to forgive us. We just couldn't wait any longer to make this official. Besides, we had no idea Oliver Queen himself would come by."

"It's such an honor to meet you, Mr. Queen," Iris babbled out and punched Barry on his arm, which finally made him overcome his shock of seeing Oliver there. "Why didn't you tell me you were bringing someone with you when I asked?"

"Actually, that's on me," Oliver claimed. "It wasn't the plan. I just changed my mind in the last second."

"You did?" Barry blurted out as the fool he was, still unable to believe this was really happening.

Oliver looked at him and smiled so warmly Barry thought his heart was going to burst and that was no longer normal. Even in his standards. He knew he was missing something, but figuring it out seemed still so out of reach. "You're gonna introduce me to your friends or not?"

"Right, sorry. Iris and Eddie, this is Oliver," he said, suspecting Oliver was daring him to introduce him as his boyfriend. Barry, however, said or implied no such thing and just left the introduction as it was. With a single look at both Iris and Eddie he could tell they saw them as the couple they weren't. He had no idea why he refused to tell them they were wrong, though.

"How long have you known each other?" Iris asked.

"Just a few months," he replied and somehow the conversation kept going until Iris and Eddie excused themselves to get ready and Barry finally had time to talk to Oliver alone.

"Why did you come? Not that I'm not happy to see you, but... when I didn't see in you in Jitters yesterday, I thought..."

"I'm not so easy to get rid of, Barry, don't worry. Besides, there's booze and cake for free. You know me, how could I say no to that?"

Barry laughed at that and squeezed Oliver's arm in the affectionate way they were both used to by now. "Thank you, Ollie."

Oliver dedicated him another smile and that was that. The two of them never left each other's side for too long during the whole event. They fell into a conversation with numerous people Barry knew, Joe, Cisco, Caitlin, Wally, Dr. Wells, Ralph, all of them obviously suspecting he and Oliver weren't just friends and yet Barry didn't correct any of them because he was having such an amazing time that he thought this would totally ruin it and he didn't want to do that the way he had the last time.

Being with Oliver just felt so refreshing and easy, he didn't feel like the stranger he'd been worried he would be all this time. He was bursting with gratitude and he wanted Oliver to know that because he was all too aware the billionaire had helped him to heal from his unrequited feelings and how they'd broken him. He thought the damage couldn't be erased or conquered, but thanks to Oliver that was exactly what had happened without him knowing all along.

This was what kept him smiling during the whole ceremony as he watched Iris and Eddie exchange their vows. His eyes fell on Oliver's hand right next to his and he had no idea what possessed him right at that moment, but the next thing he knew, he lightly stroked the back of Oliver's hand with the tips of his fingers and before he could freak out, Oliver turned his hand with his palm up and stopped his own hand from retracting. Barry relaxed and entangled his fingers with Oliver's, letting the all too familiar feeling of warmth by now spread and his heart go skyrocketing at the contact.

They didn't let go for the rest of the ceremony and Barry was pretty sure no one was watching them, trying to determine if they were together or not. This right there was just for them and only after they had to stand up and let go, it occurred to Barry to actually wonder whether he knew the answer to the one question of all those people staring at them. He'd been pretending all this time to be in love with his friend. Had it really gotten so out of hand that he failed to notice he stopped faking it somewhere along the way without taking any hint?

Suddenly, he felt like the whole world was going to collapse on him. Remembering all those times his knees went weak upon seeing Oliver smile or when a shiver ran down his spine upon standing so close to the billionaire their bodies were almost touching. Back then, he was too exhilarated that he could still make friends, that he had made a friend as amazing as Oliver and that after all this time he finally felt normal and content and... happy. He'd been healing all this time and he just didn't know, but now it all made sense and the realization was more than just dreadful.

Because how could he expect Oliver to ever feel the same? Oliver Queen whom every girl wanted, who was funny and much more thoughtful than anyone would expect him to be, who was an amazing father who cared about small things and would always do anything to make his loved ones happy. And who, most importantly, was straight. Barry inwardly cursed. He was so screwed he wanted to cry. How had he let this happen? Why couldn't he just stay out of the quarrel the day he'd met Oliver? Why couldn't he just stop going with this play of pretending they were in love so willingly?

Everything was caving in. The world suddenly felt too loud and his head hurt. He desperately needed to get out for at least a minute, so he marched towards the nearest exit, not giving even a tiny bit of damn that it was too cold to stand outside only in his suit. All he wanted was to think in silence and peace, but even that seemed to be too much to ask when he noticed Oliver came after him, all perfect and dashing, making Barry's body wanting to react despite him being all too aware Oliver was the last person he wanted to see right at that moment.

"Hey," the billionaire said with concern written all over his face yet again and Barry wanted to laugh at the irony that Oliver himself was partly the reason for it and just didn’t know about it. "Is everything alright? If it's too much for you to be here, we can leave. Just say the word."

"No, it's not that," Barry sighed, unable to look at him. "Everything's fine. I just needed to get some air and think."

"Alright. Then I leave you to it. Just don't stay here too long. I have a feeling Joe would blame me if you froze to death."

Barry didn't laugh as he was supposed to. He didn't even smile or look at Oliver who turned away to leave. But that was the thing, deep inside Barry didn't want him to leave. Not like he had last Friday and not like he was leaving now, which was why he uttered that question he couldn't let go no matter what. "Why did you come, Oliver? The real reason this time."

The billionaire came closer and spoke after letting out a huge exhale. "Just wanted to make sure you'd be okay."

Barry knew Oliver well enough to know it was true, but he also knew him enough to figure out it wasn't all Oliver had to say. "I was doing okay. You saw that so you could leave any time you wanted, but you stayed anyway. Why?"

"If you wanted me to leave, Barry, you should've said so."

"That's not what I meant."

"Then tell me what's wrong."

Barry took a deep breath, trying to make sense of the mess his thoughts were in and failing to find the right words, growing more agitated with every passing second because Oliver was waiting for him to explain what was going on with him and he so desperately wanted to but found it too hard to even say anything at that point.

"Everyone inside thinks we're together," he finally said.

"So? I thought that was the plan. The two of us, pretending and lying to your family and friends, or did I get it wrong?" Oliver said and Barry knew that was meant to hurt.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Oliver denied but sighed when it was obvious Barry wouldn't let go. "I just find it interesting that lying to those you love is comes easy for you. You could've introduced me as your friend and denied there was more between us, but you didn't."

"From what I gathered you didn't deny anything either."

"Well, maybe because I didn't want to deny whatever they were thinking in the first place. Ever thought of that?" Oliver almost growled or maybe that was what Barry's messed up brain was telling him it was because at this point he really wasn't sure anymore. It felt like the world was trying to fool him, daring him to fall for its tricks just one more time and come of it finally broken for good because there was no way he had just heard that right. Oliver couldn't have said any of that because it just didn't make any sense. Not that it mattered because Barry's brain completely shut down once he finally noticed how close they were standing, looking directly into each other's eyes, unable to look anywhere else.

Barry's heart was hammering against his ribcage, deafening any other sound and most importantly all his common sense from trying to bring him back to reality. He didn't know how to respond, what to say, he just wanted to know what it felt for at least one fucking second and so in a flash, he connected their lips in the most horrible angle he could have and let it all crumble on him, ceasing to care completely whether Oliver would rebuff him, shove him away and never speak to him again. He just needed to know it was real. That he hadn't imagined ever falling for his best friend again and that he didn't wish more than anything to stop pretending.

He got much more, though, because Oliver didn't break away from him at all. Against all Barry's expectations, Oliver fixed their angle like it was the easiest thing on this world and kissed him back as zealously as possible, making Barry feel he could burst any second with pushing it even further and biting on Barry's nether lip, requesting an entrance Barry granted on instinct and moaned at the sensation, feeling his pants rapidly getting too tight to his liking, but he wasn't ready to let it end just yet. It was a dream coming true for him. Who would want something like that to end?

"I knew it! I knew I wasn't hallucinating it," Cisco's voice suddenly came to the surface and broke the trance he and Oliver were in, causing them to jump from the embrace and Barry wanting to die right on spot.

"Cisco, what hell, man? What are you doing here?"

"I was looking for you two. It's time to cut the cake and Iris wants you there. Although I'm pretty sure she'd be willing to let it slide if she knew you were this... busy. I mean, Oliver Queen? Common mortals like us weren't enough for you or what?"

"You do realize I'm right here and I can hear you just fine?" Oliver asked, openly glaring at Cisco who backed away immediately. "Right, sorry. I'm just gonna run from this not at all awkward moment and say you're both alright."

"We'll be right behind you," Barry promised and tried to pull off a smile which was probably more strained than ever before he turned to face Oliver with an unreadable expression on his face. "That was..."

"Close," the billionaire finished for him. "It's a good thing he caught us like this instead of us arguing. I can imagine you being questioned about having troubles in paradise is the last thing you want."

"Wait, what?"

Oliver let out a deep exhale and finally forced himself to meet Barry's eyes. "You should go inside before they get too worried. Tell them I'm sorry, but I had to leave early."

"Leave? What are you talking about?" Barry said and grabbed Oliver's hand before the man could get too far.

Oliver glanced at their joined hands and lifted his free hand to gently separate them. "You got what you wanted. They're not gonna doubt anything now. But I'm done." He briefly looked at the ground, clenching his teeth, before looking at Barry again. "This would be so much easier if it just stayed in that stupid coffee shop." And without any more words, the billionaire walked away, not stopping or looking back and making Barry hate himself for failing to prevent this from happening. He watched Oliver leave again and although it didn't make any sense to him at first, after a few more seconds of silence, he realized he was the only one to blame for this. Because Oliver thought Barry had seen Cisco coming and kissed him only to make sure everyone believed they were together and honestly, could he really blame him for it? When he was too chickenshit to say anything to prove him wrong?

He did go back inside after that, but feeling more hollow than ever before, he wasn't a joy to be around anymore and eventually ended up leaving early too, thinking of everything he felt during that make-out session and coming to the most dreadful realization there was. He was in love with Oliver Queen and he just let that man walk away.

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Oliver knew both Felicity and William were trying to make him talk about it, but it was pointless. He was already getting over it, he just needed more time. It wasn't like Barry had ever tried to fool him into thinking it was more than just pretense on his part. Oliver had only himself to blame for suspecting this and now he had to pay the price. It was fine, though. He knew how to handle rejection or... heartbreak even. It wasn't anything new to him despite everyone assuming otherwise considering who he was.

Several days passed since the wedding. Oliver hadn't gone to Jitters at all as the coward he was, knowing all too well the building alone would remind him of Barry enough to make the pain raw again and ruin his whole facade and that wouldn’t help him with getting over this, which was why he turned away the offer of the owner of Jitters himself after he got a phone call from him that night, finding out he had supposedly won some price even though he was one hundred percent certain he hadn't taken part in any competition in the first place.

The man eventually admitted he just made that up to make him come because he had a daughter who, again supposedly, was a huge admirer of Oliver Queen and would die for a photo with him. Feeling too tempted to tell the man to shove it and go to hell, it took Oliver several seconds of silence to overcome the overload of emotions inside and say he'd be right there, already regretting ever going with it the second he hung up, but there was no coming back from it. Besides, there was a chance the man was being honest and in that case, his visit to Jitters would be a good thing, but for some reason, he couldn't help but doubt the man's words. It didn't stop him from leaving his apartment in the end, though.

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It was way past the closing hours, but the coffee shop was still all lit up, leaving an odd impression with how empty it was. There were no... there was no Barry and that was the whole problem. And it hurt just like Oliver suspected it would. But he told himself to shove it and finally pushed the entrance door and stepped inside.

"Hello? Anyone here?" he asked, getting no answer, which was weird because he was expected after all, so what was happening? Was this some kind of prank or a crazy way to rob him?

"You're here," he suddenly heard and witnessed his heart skipping a beat as Barry appeared behind the cash register. He spun around, marching to leave on instinct because this was just too much to take for him, but froze on spot when Barry shouted: "No, wait! Please stay. I just want to talk."

They couldn't talk. They'd lost that ability after the kiss and just being in the same room felt too suffocating, but somehow despite that, the idea of him walking away after hearing Barry beg him to stay without holding anything back seemed... wrong to him. So he stayed and turned around to face the other man, folding his arms and looking anywhere else. "Then talk."

Barry slowly made his way to him, stopping soon enough to leave several feet separating them. "Remember how we were making fun of the owner for coming with the whole menu for couples in the first place? It turned out he's actually a really nice guy. Maybe a bit too trusting since I convinced him to lend me the keys for tonight so quickly, though."

"Where are you going with this, Barry?"

"Just wanted to tell you how much this place means to me. It's not about good coffee or cakes or the whole vibe I get from it, although I love all those things too, don't get me wrong. But there's more to it."

Everything was screaming at Oliver to put an end to whatever this whole thing was and leave this part of his life finally behind, but then there was this small voice nagging at him to stay and listen. Barry was his friend first after all. He owed him to be there and listen when it was required.

"Every time I hang out with friends, we end up going here and we look forward to it. We don’t find it weird at all," Barry went on and took one step forward. "I met you here." Another step. "Out of all the places, this was the one where I felt like I could relax no matter what." And another. "After the whole thing with Iris and Eddie, I thought I would never be the same again. That I was broken and there was no way to fix it. And it took time, but eventually, I healed and let go. Partly thanks to this place too." He took the last step, locking their eyes and smiling before he uttered his next words."And I've fallen in love under this very roof and I was more late than I've ever been to realize it. But I know now and I'm sorry I couldn't say something sooner."

Oliver wanted to believe it. It pained him how much he wanted to believe it, but what if Barry was just taking pity on him? What if he was meant to have his heart broken countlessly worse than he already had?

"You once said," Barry broke his train of thought, knowing him perfectly enough to suspect what was going on in his mind, "that I was a terrible liar and you were right. Then you told me that you couldn't understand why I found it so easy to lie to my friends and family. And, Ollie, you were right about that too because it's one of the hardest things anyone could ask of me. The reason why I made it look so easy is that I wasn't lying in the first place. I wasn't pretending anymore. The truth is I've probably stopped a long time ago and I'm pretty sure so have you."

"But what if it's not real? What if we're just fooling ourselves like we've been fooling others?"

Barry slowly placed both his hands on Oliver's cheeks. "I think it's been real the whole time. We were doomed right from the start. We just didn't know about it. I'm a terrible liar and you could've told me to go to hell the second you got that cake for William the day we met, but you didn't. You just went along with it like I did. All I'm asking is for you to go with it now too if it's what you want. Because it is what I want and I'm sick of getting everything in the way of me saying it."

Oliver smiled before he could stop it and he knew right there on the spot that there was no reason to question what this was between them anymore. He knew what he was feeling, what he had been feeling for a long time now, and he wasn't going to fight it when Barry was right there, promising happiness Oliver was certain he would deliver when he had been doing it the whole time they'd known each other. It was time to stop refusing it. It was time to embrace it instead. And so he did just that when he wrapped his arms around Barry's waist and sealed the deal with a kiss, letting it serve as his yes to the other man's question. Now and every time anyone would ask him again. Because it felt real. Getting another taste of Barry's lips, he couldn't be more certain he was right where he belonged and it no longer mattered to him it had taken him so long to realize it and accept it. He was now convinced he wouldn't let Barry go for anything and that was what was mattered.

"I take that's a yes, then?" Barry asked once their lips parted and they could catch their breaths again.

"What, you didn't find that convincing enough?"

"I'm not sure," Barry replied and smirked. "You're much better at lying than me after all. You might as well keep trying harder to make me fully convinced."

"You're lucky I have no problem with that," Oliver finished and connected their lips yet again, already sure he would never get tired of this sensation because it was tangible. It was real and most importantly it was theirs.

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It was a regular day the next time they decided to meet in Jitters again. Barry still couldn't get over the fact this was officially his life. He'd never been this happy and sometimes there were still days he thought life would decide to take that away from him in the most horrible way possible, but Oliver never left again and that had to count for something, right?

They were waiting in the line as they had been numerous times before and yet something felt different this time. Their eyes were locked, hands always busy with finding countless ways how to stay in direct contact. They were in their own world, immersed and happy beyond belief it was something only the two of them shared. No one could take that away from them because they would be foolish to ever let it go.

"Welcome to Jitters," a barista they didn't recognize brought them back to reality. "What can I get you?"

Barry ordered for both of them and then finished with "By the way, we're together, so we'll go with the couple’s menu if that's okay" and feeling utterly joyful that this was official and as true as it could be.

The cashier, however, apologized instead and said they were no longer serving the couple’s menus because it was stupid to begin with according to their owner and someone had complained the policy implied one kind of love meant more than any other. Barry didn’t appreciate the irony of this at all, but he tried to wave it off even though part of him felt sad that he would never get to drink from the horrendous looking cups again especially now that he was so blessed with love and aware of it. Oliver must have read it somehow from his face as the know-it-all he was because once the barista wrote their names on the regular cups the billionaire asked: "Can I borrow your pen for a second?"

"Yeah, sure," the barista replied and handed him the object in question.

Oliver thanked him and reached for one cup, either writing or drawing something on it and then doing the same thing on the other cup. Barry couldn't tell what it was, though, because Oliver made sure it was indecipherable from the movements of his hand as the smartass he was, handing the cups back to the barista so Barry couldn't see why he needed the pen for as long as possible. Even once their coffees were ready, Oliver took them both and left Barry to pay for it which had been the plan anyway so Barry decided to let it slide and followed his boyfriend, relishing was he could call him that now, to their table. Only then Oliver handed him his steaming coffee with a smile. "I'm gonna miss the cakes."

"We can buy a cake next time we're here and share it like we used to. We don't need some special menu to be able to do that."

Oliver softly chuckled with so much affection Barry had to mirror it. "I guess you're right."

Barry finally turned the cup around in his hands so he could see Oliver's creation and stopped breathing for several seconds in shock and so much love he swore it had to be illegal because there was no way people could feel this good and get away with it. In the end, he decided to be immersed in it instead because that was what it was supposed to be about anyway.

He didn't throw away his cup that day. He took it home with him and for the rest of his life, he would wake up with it in his eyesight, reminding him that dreams could come true after all. He had never imagined a used coffee cup, although he did try to clean it as much as possible without damaging it, with his name in the center of a huge heart struck with an arrow to be the sign of something like that, but then again, he hadn't anticipated having someone like Oliver in his life either and here he was. And here he would always be. No matter what.

[thelawyerthatwaspromised]

Jon Studied Jorah to Learn How to Deal with Daenerys

Jon’s eyes were a grey so dark they seemed almost black, but there was little they did not see.

- Bran I, A Game of Thrones

Jon Snow went to Dragonstone to convince Daenerys Targaryen to join the North in fighting the Night King. That was his stated goal. Everything about Political Jon is built upon that one single purpose.

His process changed along the way but Jon learned and adapted his approach based on what others around him were doing when it came to interacting with Daenerys. Oddly, after encountering Jorah, Jon Snow copied his approach the most obviously. Jon learned that in order to win her affection, he had to go to the greatest extremes.

But Jon’s trip came in stages. The first meeting? Did not go as planned.

This is contemptuous Jon, one of the greatest Jons.

THIS NEXT SCENE WITH JON AND TYRION IS KEY

Tyrion unwittingly sows the seeds of Political Jon. He also left himself at a political disadvantage in dealing with Jon and Daenerys’ dynamic due to misreading Jon.

Jon is brooding on the cliffs of Dragonstone. Utterly disgusted with himself for not listening to Sansa. He doesn’t know what to do next. 

Tyrion also uses some words that Jon will later echo to Daenerys. About Daenerys protecting people.

Tyrion also makes it very obvious that Jon will not be able to “reason” Daenerys into supporting the North. Talking King to Queen as reasonable people will be fruitless if the objective is to get Daenerys and her dragons North.

Tyrion actually is probably the character that gave Jon the thought of changing his approach with Daenerys. And Tyrion even told him HOW.

You might consider asking some of the people here what they think of the Mad King’s daughter.

After Tyrion says what he says, Jon begins to leave. Tyrion acts confused. He thought this was Jon giving up. I contend this was Jon leaving with a purpose. Tyrion quizzes him when he begins to leave about what he wants...so you’re led to believe Jon was leaving aimlessly. But why would he leave? That is the spot he purposefully picked to THINK ABOUT NOTHING. Tyrion misread Jon dramatically.

Jon begins prodding people close to Daenerys, like Missandei. He thinks about the terms Daenerys used in describing herself like in her infamous “Faith in Daenerys Targaryen” scene. The scenes after this are Jon trying these different angles.

JON ON THE BEACH AT DRAGONSTONE

I actually think the cave scene was important in that Jon stepped up his “game” the first notch but it didn’t work. For the sake of relative brevity, I’m skipping to the beach when Daenerys is deciding whether to kill everybody in King’s Landing. Something you don’t really want to have to debate with someone who fancies themselves a Queen. But I digress.

Over time, Jon learns the key: Daenerys absolutely has to think of herself as extraordinary and can’t stand the thought of being like everybody else.

As a result, she listens ONLY to those that dress up their advice as “you’re special and not like the Mad King - you see the Mad King would burn castles and people but you’re wonderful and nothing like that!”

It’s absolutely a tactic that Jon identified and adopted. Here are multiple examples of his applications.

Almost all of these gifs are focusing on Jon and Jon’s reactions:

Jon just heard Daenerys berating Tyrion for not wanting to hurt his family. Besides thinking “dafuq?” Jon is then put on the spot by Daenerys asking for war advice. JON GIVES HER NO WAR ADVICE. HE ONLY TELLS HER NOT TO COMMIT ATROCITIES AND DRESSES IT UP IN GENTLE LANGUAGE.

Daenerys herself touted her achievements to Jon. They didn’t impress him then. All of the sudden he seems so impressed. Why? Is he speaking only to express his admiration? C’mon, you know better than that. He is attempting to keep her from burning a city of a million (give or take) people to the ground. But Jon knows that Tyrion and Missandei both go on about her accomplishing things no one else ever has. So he uses that. He knows only a few people have influence with her...so he tries to act like those people in dealing with her.

Then he uses a phrase that visibly hurts Daenerys. He didn’t say she’d be evil. He didn’t say she’d be the Mad Queen. As far as insults go, on a scale of 1 to 10 this is about a 0.001. And seems to have wounded her pretty deeply, the insinuation that if she’s willing to use her dragons, then she’s not different. Not special. Not unique. I actually believe this had the opposite effect Jon intended. He doesn’t yet know that she feels like she can ONLY be different if she uses her dragons.

This part really did stun me. You know what it reminded me of most?

Loki being faced with the prospect that strength alone does not make him special.

Jon is beginning to learn what Daenerys cares about. She cares about being special. About glory. About being revered. That makes sense. She was used as a pawn, she was traded multiple times, she was abused. She told Jon all of these things personally. Proving her strength to spite those that wronged her. That’s what moves her. 

But guess what? That type of motivation as makes her a terrible ruler. What happens when there is no more to conquer? She is motivated essentially to prove people wrong. She is motivated to show the world it was wrong to make her feel small and weak. She’s there to fight “bad guys”. That’s the easy part. What happens when there are no more obvious “bad guys”? It’s why she can identify with a slave that wishes to break free from their master. But it’s also why she CAN’T identify with a former slave that still wants to work for their former master. Or why she CAN’T identify with a person who doesn’t take joy in killing...because everyone she kills, she views as an easy necessary decision against a “bad guy”. 

That isn’t her experience so how can it be anyone else’s?

She is completely internally focused on her quest to be extraordinary.

So Jon knows what “moves” Daenerys. He’s already started to alter how he chooses his words. He still screws up though.

He smirks when she uses ‘beautiful’ to describe her dragons. He accidentally lets Real!Jon appear for a bit but very quickly tries to correct himself.

Then, Poor Jon makes it even worse. Calls the dragons beasts. You know how Daenerys views her dragons as her children? How they’re the only thing that make her special?

But this is how Jon really feels about the dragons. They’re dangerous beasts to him. He already told her using the dragons made her like everyone else. HER STRENGTH DOES NOT MAKE HER SPECIAL TO HIM.

So Jon still doesn’t really have a great example of how to interact with Daenerys. I think it was very purposefully done that in the very scene that shows how incompatible Jon and Daenerys are, Jon gets to observe someone who HAS shown he knows how to “get through” to Daenerys:

Jorah Mormont

Jon is initially confused when he hears Jorah’s name. 

“That’s the guy who sold people into slavery, isn’t it? Now he’s with the ‘Breaker of Chains’, huh? The one that confiscated my ship and is holding me prisoner? Neat.”

-Jon, internally, probably

But then Jon starts watching how they interact. He sees how Jorah is 1000000% subservient to Daenerys. How he always addresses her formally and with admiration. Jorah and Missandei put Daenerys on a pedestal more than any other characters - and she treats them better than she treats any other characters. 

Some people theorized Jon was jealous of Jorah here. No, he was observing.

If the explanation for why Jon fell for Daenerys is that he saw her courage when she saved everyone beyond the Wall, then there is not yet any jealousy on Jon’s part. If there is jealousy on Jon’s part, why did he never show it towards Jorah when they went beyond the Wall? Jorah sees Jon as an immediate romantic threat. Jorah is also wrong about Jon. Jon simply is trying to learn how to deal with Daenerys.

What’s my evidence?

Jorah sees Jon approaching as they are preparing to depart from Dragonstone.

He makes a deliberate show of affection for Daenerys.

If Jon sees a romantic counterpart...surely he comes up with some grand gesture as he has the last shot at a “goodbye” before they leave.

Except...

“I wish you good fortune in the wars to come. Peace.”

So Now Jon’s Learned

He’s gotten everything he needs to deal with Daenerys. He knows what motivates her. He knows what language pleases her. He knows that she enjoys assertive physical contact.

How non-specific is his justification when she asks him why he’s now willing to bend the knee? This is so value-neutral that if he actually is not attempting to manipulate her without feeling like human garbage, I can’t believe the writers would use such couched terms. He’s telling her absolutely nothing actually positive here. 

D: Why did you pick chocolate ice cream over vanilla ice cream, Jon?

J: Because chocolate ice cream certainly is ice cream, my Queen.

-Jon and Daenerys, deleted scene, Beyond the Wall

Here’s the thing: he still actually does feel like garbage about this.

“Ok, I’ve bent the knee. It’s starting to work now, but gahhhh I wish I didn’t have to do this. But just maybe I’ve gotten her to forget about the Throne for a bit.”

The Dragonpit or the Crescendo of Political Jon

There is where Jon realizes he MUST initiate a physical relationship.

I see someone utterly unenthused about what he’s had to do so far. But in his mind, if he gains Daenerys as an ally, it’s what he must do. 

Here’s Daenerys lamenting the fact that the dragons were locked in the dragonpit and lose their power. She sees this as tragic. Not because she cares about the dragons. She doesn’t say “poor babies suffered” or anything like that. No, something else makes her sad thinking about chained dragons...

- Here’s why -

Her greatest fear. Being ordinary. Being average. Not being special.

Sidebar time - There are two really good parallels / reveals about this little speech by Daenerys.

1.) What did Jon just get done hearing while on the way to the Dragonpit?

From the mouth of Jorah Mormont. Do you think Jon thinks unchained dragons are a good idea?

They are just beasts to Jon. Tools. Weapons of mass destruction.

2.) How antithetical can Jon be from Daenerys?

He needs to be told he’s a good ruler.

He doesn’t care how he’s addressed.

He is visibly uncomfortable with the thought of people calling him a god.

END OF SIDEBAR

So we pick back up...Daenerys just reinforced her fear of normalcy with Captain Normal whom we are supposed to believe is in love with Ms. HasToFeelSpecial.

You’re so special, babe. You’re different. I’m not going to go into detail on exactly how because there’s just SO MUCH. Just understand that you’re definitely extraordinary.

- Jon Snow, deleted scene, The Dragon and the Wolf

This is not language coming from Jon. These are words spoken by other characters being plagiarized by Jon.

And STILL...

Holy shit, Dany. You are so dense. You are going to get everybody killed over a chair. You have no business calling yourself a Queen, let alone my Queen. This sucks that I have to play this stupid game with you. Do you not learn!?!? Seriously, did they replace your brain with napalm? Why are you so obsessed with dragons and your terribly uncomfortable chair?

-Jon, internally, probably

Of course Jon sleeps with Daenerys after this. Jon knows Cersei is untrustworthy. He knows he’s tried literally everything except sex with Daenerys leading up to this. And STILL, Daenerys is one betrayal (by a person who can literally not help but betray) from getting every person on Westeros killed.

HE HAS TO HAVE HER AS A RELIABLE ALLY.

The tragedy yet to come is that his own identity as someone with an extraordinary name is going to cause his entire plan to collapse.

[shewhowantsmouseears]

The Last Straw, 1

Notes: As always, thanks to my awesome editors, Drucilla and BlueShifted!

This isn't exactly one of the stories I've desired to do forever or had locked up in my head for ages - this is more of a challenge to see if I could do it. I plan for it to be a short tale like The Nutcracker Prince (although I did intend that to be shorter than it turned out to be, so who knows?) But no matter what, I hope you enjoy the ride.

Summary: An AU Disney Fanfic inspired by the legendary fairy-tale, Rumpelstiltskin. In a kingdom ruled by a narcissistic soul, two siblings try to survive with every coin they have. But a well-meaning lie from Donald puts his sister Minnie into unthinkable danger. Can they achieve the king's impossible task? Can they remember all they've forgotten? Only a man with no name has the key.

Waking up from deep, long dreams can often be an exhausting experience, as the young woman laying in her bed was learning. The sun was poking in through ratty curtains, casting a simple yet unwelcome glow on her face. With a tiny grunt, she turned over, trying to hold what remained of a blanket close to her chest. The remains of the dream were already beginning to scatter, and reminders of what the real world was like crawled in to take their place. Within seconds she had forgotten what the dream was about, and could only be sure that she had dreamed. The memories of it slipped through her fingers, and she grunted again, disappointed, though she didn't know why.

But morning was here, and that meant it was time to get up and face the day. She gave up on trying to remember what she'd forgotten, and sat up in bed, yawning quietly as she stretched her small arms. She doubted that even if her yawn was loud and bellowing it'd wake up her brother, but she preferred to make as little noise as possible. She never liked loud things, and often her brother would tease her that the reason was because of her large, black ears. She'd counter that at least she had ears, as his were incredibly small and hidden behind his white feathers. It was a ridiculous argument that usually wound up in silly laughter, but these days the funny exchanges were harder to find. Life was getting difficult.

With one more yawn, she crawled out of bed, no longer wincing when her bare feet touched the cold floor. She shuffled over to her small dresser drawer, deciding that today she could forgo a bath – water had to be carefully saved, now that King Mortimer had declared a tax on using the local wells. Everything had a tax nowadays, and many depressingly mused that one day the King would issue a tax on complaining about the taxes. If that joke ever became reality, her brother would be in the poorhouse within minutes. Then again, as she glanced at their cold, dirty, moth-eaten surroundings, was there a house poorer than this? But thinking on such a glum matter this early wouldn't get anything done, and she tried to shake the sad thoughts from her mind.

She tried thinking about the positives, like how her favorite pink frilly socks didn't have any holes and that there was less straw on the floor than usual. Her older brother worked with animals - horses were his personal favorite - and often he'd come home covered in straw. She made a mental note to sweep the floor later, although it would only stay clean for a couple of hours. With her outfit for the day chosen, she walked to her brother's room, not bothering to knock. Many years ago, this large house had been filled with happy relatives, until each one married or left to pursue their own adventurous life. Now it was just the two of them.

Her brother was laying on his stomach, snoring obnoxiously and drooling on his pillow. He shivered occasionally from the cold – there had been only one blanket left after selling most of their possessions, and after a long, heated debate, her brother ranted that if she didn't take it, he'd throw it out. Such angry stubbornness was often the way he showed how much he loved her, and she did appreciate it, although it also made her feel guilty, as it did now. She sighed heavily, and then began to shake his shoulder. “Donald, it's time to get up! We have to get to the market before everything is sold out!”

Donald had probably been awake for some time now, but unlike his sister who could easily roll out of bed, he needed additional assistance. “Don't wanna,” he mumbled into the bed. “Go away.”

“We have to buy eggs, and milk, and bread! And we have to get that hole in the roof fixed! And you have to go to work, and I have to fix Clarabelle's dress, and...”

“Don't wanna,” he repeated in the same tired tone, having not listened to a word she said.

She rolled her eyes, but knew exactly what to say to get his attention. “Okay, go back to sleep. Daisy had stopped by to visit, but I guess I'll just tell her to leave-”

The moment Daisy's name was mentioned, Donald bolted upright, scrambling so fast to get out of bed that he tripped over his own feet and landed on the floor face first. He dizzily slid the rest of his body onto the floor, and once he'd regained his senses, cast a small glare at his little sister. “Daisy's not here, is she?”

“Good morning, Donald.” She smiled sweetly.

“...Good morning, Minnie.” One day he wasn't going to fall for that trick, but it certainly wasn't going to be anytime soon. He rolled onto his back and managed to find his feet, standing up and smoothing down his white feathers. His stomach rumbled and the siblings did their best to pretend they hadn't heard it. Breakfast was sometimes a luxury, but if everything went right at the market, they might be able to have it for a few days. Donald dragged himself to his own drawer, merely choosing to slap a coat over his pajamas, mumbling that he didn't care as to what other people saw – which was a lie, he cared far too much, but he didn't want to make his sister worry that he was running out of clothing. “Eggs, milk, and... what was the last one?”

“Bread,” Minnie reminded him, waiting patiently for him to finish. “I can take care of the eggs, and talk to Clarabelle about her dress at the same time. Once you get the milk and bread, you can head straight to work.” She felt it necessary to add, “And I do mean straight to work.”

Donald tugged on his coat. He knew full well what his sister meant, but pride controlled his beak. “What's that supposed to mean? I always go right to work.” He headed for the hall, hoping that it would end the conversation, but Minnie tailed him.

“I mean, don't get into any fights, and don't start lying again.” She stayed right at his side, giving him a knowing look while he refused to meet her eyes.

“Name one time I have ever lied,” Donald replied, trying to dodge at least one complaint.

“You told Horace you could lift a wagon with one arm. You told Miss Cluck we were descendants of pirate vikings. You told Mister Jones we had a secret supply of expensive talking silk-worms hidden in the basement. You told the blacksmith-”

“I SAID NAME ONE TIME!”

Minnie was unfazed by her brother's yell as they made it to the front door, and Donald hemmed and hawed, trying to calm down before they were in public. “So maybe, on occasion, I exaggerate a smidgen.”

Arguing semantics would take all day, so Minnie skipped ahead. “I just don't understand why you do it. You know everyone is going to call you out on it, and then you look worse than before.” She grabbed a small wicker basket that sat by the door, lightly swinging it by its worn-out handle.

They stepped into the gentle, dim sunlight which was now beginning to loom over the small kingdom. Their home was the furthest away from the castle, and often had the most travelers roll by their door. When Minnie was younger, she was always happy to see a carriage slow down to a stop, as it meant a potential customer had come by with clothes that needed patching or sewing. Travelers were seen less and less now, as nobody wanted to come visit their land, the once beautiful Kingdom of Haulm.

Donald stuck his hands in his pockets as they walked. “Is it so wrong that I wish we were better than what we are? A down-on-their luck family that's struggling to get by, in a miserable kingdom with a rotten king...”

“That sounds like everyone here,” Minnie replied, glancing around to make sure the captain of the guards wasn't around. He was the only man who cared when someone bad-mouthed the King, and even then it was only because he was rewarded when pointing out 'traitors to the crown'. “But I like who we are!”

“But I don't want to be like everyone else.” Donald snorted hard. “I wish we were special in some way! Something that makes us stand out, something that says we're worth being alive, something like... I don't know, just a purpose.” He kicked a pebble out of his way, knowing that explaining this was fruitless. “Every day we do the same things, and nothing ever changes.”

They were getting closer to the marketplace, with people loudly shouting their wares and the sounds of chickens clucking mixed with mooing cows. Minnie spotted a familiar, welcome face in the early crowd. “Well...things don't always have to be that way. I know someone who would like a big change only you can provide.”

Donald had a fair guess as to what Minnie was referring to, and he glanced to where she was looking. A young lady duck was carefully setting out displays of freshly picked flowers, tied up neatly in elaborate ribbons. While everyone in the village had meager means, some were less meager than others. It would only be a matter of time before she was in the same boat as everyone else, but for now she could afford dresses with extra length and extra decorations. She was beautiful, and she knew it, often using a flirtatious wink or tilt of her hips to guarantee a sale. But once money had been exchanged, she made it clear that she herself was not for sale, and was quite happily taken – by Donald.

Donald made a long, uncomfortable noise in his throat before speaking. “Not yet. Just... not yet.” He knew Minnie was going to launch into a full tirade and tried to cut her off. “Look, I'm not going to marry her until I know you'll be okay!” With Daisy's extra riches, Donald would have lived with her instead of the other way around, but that was not a choice he could live with just yet, despite his sister's insistence.

“Oh, for goodness' sake!” Minnie put her hands on her hips, her pale cheeks puffing out. “I don't need to wait for a man to sweep me off my feet and protect me forever! I can do just fine without anyone! You can go live with Daisy and live happily ever after without me.”

“It's not a happily ever after until I know my sister is happy.” Donald lightly poked Minnie on the nose, but it failed to elicit a giggle like when she was younger. “I know you can live well enough on your own, it's not like that. It's not about you being protected or taken care of or anything like that.” For all his faults, ill assumptions about the other sex wasn't one of them. “I just don't want you to be alone.”

Minnie's lips pressed together and she didn't say anything right away. The big problem was that Minnie didn't want to live alone either. She was a social creature by nature, and dreaded the thought of being in that big house all by herself, of days without happy conversations and affectionate embraces. Ever since Donald and Daisy had started their courtship over a year ago, an ugly jealousy had grown in her big heart – not just for “losing” her beloved brother, but longing deeply for something similar. Yet she pressed down on these unpleasant emotions and suddenly shoved Donald on the back. “Well, I'm fine to go shopping alone so keep that in mind!” It took another shove for Donald to give up on talking and head towards Daisy, offering a tired wave. Daisy perked up to see him, and once he was close, kissed him on the cheek. He blushed, smiling as he tucked an arm around her shoulders, asking about her day and her plans.

Minnie watched them for a moment longer, each beat of her heart like a ferocious wasp stinging her flesh. Donald deserved to be happy with his beloved, and Minnie was the one obstacle preventing that. Daisy spotted Minnie out of the corner of her eye, and she began to wave, trying to invite her over. Daisy was sometimes curt and a little too honest, but she was a good woman, and perfect for Minnie's brother. It wouldn't have surprised Minnie if Daisy would have also welcomed her into her home once the knot was tied, yet Minnie couldn't see herself accepting the generous offer. Perhaps stubbornness was a family trait. Minnie wouldn't let herself be a burden on Donald's shoulders for the rest of his life.

She waved back but was quick to walk off, suppressing her sadness once again. What about the rest of her life? Minnie would be happy to continue fixing people's clothes, as it gave her great joy to restore life to everyone's favorite pieces of fabric. The look of a man's face as he saw his old trousers ready for farm-work again, the giddy laughter of children showing off their born-again socks, the eager gratitude of old women feeling young again in their restored lace...These were worth far more than any coin. Helping others was the best kind of feeling – so knowing that she couldn't help Donald was in turn the worst feeling.

The easiest solution would be if she got married, and while hardly narcissistic, Minnie knew she wasn't unattractive. Even with bags under her eyes and her stomach caving in, she still got interested glances from many men, such as today as she headed for Clarabelle's booth. There had been a number of times when, upon fixing a stranger's ripped pants she could clearly tell the tear was hand-made and not an accident so they had claimed. It'd merely been a way to try to offer a date as a payment. It had been cute the first time, suspicious the second, and by the fifth time someone had done it she'd up and thrown her sewing needle at his head. If she was going to date anyone, she wanted them to be honest, not skip out on giving her hard-earned money.

Then there was that last thing that she wouldn't tell anyone – not Donald, not Daisy, not Clarabelle, she wouldn't even speak it outside of her own mind. It was just... a feeling. A feeling that being with someone wasn't right. It was stronger than distaste or revulsion – it was if someone in the back of her mind wouldn't let her date anyone, screaming at her the moment she even dared to think of it, her entire body refusing to accept anyone. No matter how handsome or nice they were, this unnamed feeling sat in the back of her eye like a watchful stranger. She knew if she ever told someone, she'd sound insane, and had to wonder sometimes if she actually was insane since she couldn't understand this feeling. A sensation that something was missing. A pause in the great plan of life. She walked on.

Clarabelle was cuddling one of her favorite chickens, believing that if her beloved birds saw how well their eggs sold, it would encourage them to lay more. When Minnie approached, the old cow smiled, and bent over to kiss Minnie's cheek. “Good morning, Minnie! It is a deee-light to see you, it truly is.”

Minnie easily wore her smile like make-up, forgoing all her bad thoughts. “Good morning, Clarabelle. Do you know you say that every morning?”

“Because it's true every morning!” Clarabelle grinned, and Minnie let out a little laugh. “How are you, my dear? Keeping Donald out of trouble?” “Trying to, at the very least,” Minnie quipped, putting her basket on the table. “I just started work on your dress. It should be finished by Friday...but I wanted to ask you about the seams. You see, if I do it a certain way, it-”

Clarabelle held up a hand. “Tut-tut-tut!” and her chicken copied with a cluck-cluck-cluck. “Minnie, you've been fixing my clothes for ages, I trust you way more than I trust myself! Whatever you do is the right decision, it always has been and it always will be. Why, sometimes I trust you more than my own husband.”

There came that sting again, and Minnie fought it valiantly. Wasn't there an old saying that when you were unlucky in love, you saw nothing but couples around you? “And how is Horace? Is his back any better?”

Clarabelle clicked her tongue. “He still needs a few more days...the doctor said he can wait on payment, but you know how men can be. He refuses to get himself checked out until he can properly pay for it, but he can't pay for it unless he works, and we don't know when he can work until a doctor can check him out...” She rolled her hand, showing the ridiculous loop that her husband insisted upon. “Oh, but I can't blame the doctor for his prices. Everyone has to make a living.” It was here that Clarabelle paused and glanced down at her chicken sadly, as if dreading the moment to come.

“I'm sure things will work out.” Minnie tried for an air of positivity, pulling coins from her pocket and counting them over. “If you can wake up and see tomorrow, then you're already better off... eight, nine, ten... All right! I'll have our usual dozen.”

Clarabelle sighed so heavily that Minnie thought she was deflating. “That'll be... twenty silver.”

Minnie nodded once before actually hearing the amount, and she almost dropped all her coins in shock. “Twenty?!” she repeated so loudly that a few heads around began to swivel. “But... but that's twice as much as usual! I can't afford that!” She doubted most people could.

Clarabelle's shoulders dropped, and she hugged her chicken protectively. “I'm so sorry, Minnie, but... what with all of King Mortimer's new taxes, I have to raise my prices just to keep the farm running! He put a new tax on chicken feed, on our coops, on our seeds... At this rate, I might need to up it to thirty if he keeps adding more charges.”

“But that's...” 'not fair', Minnie wanted to say, but what would be the point? She looked down at the coins in her hands, fighting off a wave of tears. How could things get worse in such a short amount of time? “Things didn't always use to be this way,” she said softly.

“No they weren't, I tell you what,” Clarabelle agreed, easing her hold on her chicken. “His father, now that was a righteous man! He cared for the people, he listened, and this whole kingdom used to a beautiful place! And then along comes his son...” She glanced around for any sign of the captain, and not seeing a trace of him, ranted louder than before, with a few grumbles of agreement echoing off in the distance. “Here's what I don't get – how does such a good man raise such a horrid brat? Didn't he teach Mortimer anything? How could he have let his son take the crown before he kicked the bucket? Shoot, I think Donald would've made a better king than Mortimer! It's like one day, everything's sunshine, and then,” a snap of her fingers, “nothing but storm clouds for the rest of our lives!”

Minnie could do nothing but nod along. It really didn't make sense when it was said out loud. Mortimer's father had been a loving man, a wise man, one who actually knew how a decent economy worked. Then there was the lovely queen, although Minnie hadn't known her, since she had died before Minnie was even born, due to....

Due to...

Huh. There was that funny feeling again, like a roadblock that wouldn't budge between her lobes. She lifted her head. “Say, Clarabelle, how did the Queen die?”

Clarabelle blinked rapidly, surprised at the change in topic, and then more so when she couldn't give a proper answer. She scratched her head, trying to sort through a fog. “Well, hm. Hmmm. If I remember correctly...some kind of... I think it was...Oh, yes, there was something wrong with her body, she was a weak woman.”

“What was wrong with her?”

“She was just weak. That's all.” Clarabelle seemed to be in a hurry to dismiss the subject, perhaps embarrassed that she wasn't entirely sure. Minnie couldn't blame her – being unable to answer a question was often fraught with humiliation.

While the subject still lingered in her mind, Minnie knew she couldn't spend all day sitting on it, and fished out what coins she could spare. “I can only afford six, in any case.” She began to slip the coins onto the table, and Clarabelle popped the eggs into her basket.

“Oooh, deary me,” an old, weary voice suddenly broke through, haggard and ghastly. “Are you taking them all?”

Both women turned to look at what appeared to be a very old man, although this was mostly a guess because the stranger was covered in a dark black hood from head to toe. The only hints of his appearance was a scraggly white beard that trailed endlessly from the hood, and a wrinkled, gray furred hand clutching a walking stick that had seen better days. Broken yellow nails clutched the decorated top of the stick that had once held an elaborate jewel but now was a broken mess of splinters. There was a hunch in his back, and as he breathed, exhaustion was obvious in each snort of his nostrils. He wouldn't lift his head, so it was impossible to see his face.

Neither woman recognized him, which was an oddity in and of itself. The Kingdom wasn't large by any means, and almost everyone knew everyone else. Of course, meeting someone new wasn't impossible, but for reasons they couldn't pinpoint the two women automatically knew this was an outsider. Clarabelle took to this stranger with distrust, not saying anything just yet, but Minnie's consistent kindness shined. “Oh no, not at all,” Minnie replied, smiling sweetly, always happy to make a new friend. “Just six!”

“But the price has gone up,” Clarabelle reminded them both.

“Gone up, has it?” the man asked, his head lowering even further. “This is a true tragedy... I only had enough for one, but if that's the case, I can't have any at all.” He opened his other hand, showing a singular dirty coin. “Ma'am, can you not spare even one egg for this poor soul? I can't even recall the last time I've eaten,” ee lamented with a sad sigh, his hand dropping.

“If I do, then I become the next poor soul,” Clarabelle replied, even though there was a guilty tone in her voice. “Look, mister, I'm sorry that you have a sob story, but I have to make a choice between feeding my family and feeding strangers...”

“Yes, yes, I understand.” The old man drew a deep breath, trying to turn back around. “This is a time to eat or be eaten...”

Minnie looked down at the remaining coins in her hand, the ones she couldn't afford to needlessly give away, and then to the basket full of eggs. Her hesitation only lasted two seconds more before she snatched the basket and quickly strode up to the stranger. “Here, you can have mine!”

Clarabelle groaned Minnie's name, not deeply surprised, and it was the only warning she could think to give. The old man lifted his head, and while Minnie still couldn't make out where his mouth or nose was, she thought she saw a hint of dazzling blue eyes. But when she blinked it was gone, and the old man was speaking. “All of them? Are you sure?”

“Of course I am.” Minnie smiled as she spoke, the same smile that endeared the kingdom and made hearts melt. “I already paid, and I don't need them. My brother Donald will be getting us bread and milk, that'll be enough for us! You need them more than I do anyway. Here, please.” Donald would be upset, as would her empty stomach, but her heart would be full knowing that this man wouldn't starve.  She held out the basket, waiting.

Though she couldn't see his eyes, she felt them staring at her, gazing intently. A strange thing happened when he talked again. “You haven't changed at all.” His voice sounded younger in that sentence, softer too, yet also agonized in ways that were beyond Minnie's comprehension.

She tilted her head. “I'm sorry, have we met before?” She was quite sure she hadn't, but she'd hardly call her memory perfect.

The old man's hands flinched as if the words had drove a knife right into his chest. He cleared his throat, the age in his voice once more, and he took the basket. “Thank you,” he said, completely ignoring her question. “You are a very generous young lady.”

“Too generous, if you ask me,” said Clarabelle, even though no one had asked her.

“I try,” Minnie replied, never one to fully accept a compliment. “Do you need any more help? The market can really busy this time of morning, I can show you around!” The idea was a little exciting, as even though the kingdom was dark and depressing, it was still her home and thus still a place she loved dearly. She would have been happy to introduce whoever this was to her brother and all her friends. “And if your clothes ever need fixing, you can always come to me, Minnie!” She pointed at herself, hoping to put a smile on the man's face even if she couldn't see it.

“No, this is where we will part,” the old man said, and he reached out to take Minnie's hand. Clarabelle had half a mind to climb over the table and slap it off, but Minnie didn't look distressed. His wrinkled flesh held Minnie's hand gently, a thumb pressing into Minnie's palm. On sudden instinct Minnie found her fingers wrapping around it, and she looked down at their joined hands, befuddled. “I will repay your kindness,” he said in that low, soft tone again. “I promise.”

He took his time pulling his hand back, and then he walked away with the basket and his stick, shuffling along with his head down, ignored by all the other villagers.

Once the old man was far enough away, Clarabelle huffed. “Donald's going to tan your hide for that, Minnie.” She waited for a retort that didn't come, and when she looked at her small friend, found Minnie's cheek had a tear rolling down. “Minnie!” She tossed her chicken onto the ground, where it rolled around until it dizzily landed on its rump. Clarabelle was in front of Minnie in seconds, grasping her hand. “Oh, I knew it, I knew he was trouble, where did he hurt you?”

“Huh?” Minnie blinked at Clarabelle's over the top of the reaction. She didn't realize anything was odd until she felt a cold sensation on her cheek. How odd. “Oh, Clarabelle, it's nothing! You worry too much.” Yet she welcomed the worry, as it was a clear sign of friendship, and hoped a hug would settle the problem. She was disappointed that she couldn't help the old man any further, but it was no reason to cry. So why had her eyes disobeyed her mind?

Minnie felt it, and so did Clarabelle, and a great number of villagers felt it too, that sensation in their minds that something... that someone had...

… And then it was gone. The day was normal. Minnie went home, hoping her brother had better luck.

~*~

Amazingly enough, Donald's luck was not only better, it was actually spectacular. After a loving encounter with Daisy, he had found someone's dropped coin, finders keepers. The baker had made a miscalculation with the loaves, which meant Donald got an extra one for his troubles. The milk was fresh, and it came with a jovial conversation about their mutual friends, that perhaps things weren't as bad as all that. To top it off, Mister Jones, who Donald typically tended to argue with, actually needed help with his horses, which not only meant more money in Donald's pocket but a boost to his ego as well. Not a single lie had been spoken.

Much like Minnie had magic with clothes, Donald was a wizard when it came to animals. They adored him and would listen to anything he said, and he in turn loved them just as deeply. Animals didn't care about your social status or your place in the world. His official job was working in the royal stables, but more often than not he wound up doing odd jobs for all the various farmers. He was the one who could convince shy lambs that it was time to get a cut, the pigs that they needed medicine, the horses that they'd look better with new shoes. Naturally this came with manual labor, cleaning and brushing and clipping, but that also pleased him, since physical work made him feel like a stronger person.

With his mood high in the clouds, he even began to whistle as he headed towards the looming castle after dropping off the milk and bread at home. What a swell day! Daisy gave him a kiss, they'd have eggs, milk and bread to last them a while, people were happy, he made more income, there was absolutely nothing that could ruin – oh, he'd just doomed himself, didn't he?

“Enough with the noise, quackers!”

Yep, Donald should have known better than to think he'd have a good day. Donald had made it to the stables and pushed open the door, but there had come that grating voice right behind him, a shadow towering over and demanding attention. Donald wanted to launch a tirade, but Minnie's words hovered around him, and he swallowed it down. “Pete.”

“That's Captain Pete to you!” Once upon a time Pete's armor fit him perfectly, as he'd once been a fit, muscular man. But now he was a sagging, fleshy monstrosity, his gut peeking out under silver armor and his sleeves struggling to stay in place. A wise man would have simply gotten new armor, but this wasn't a wise man. Pete was Captain of the Guard, the man who gave out orders to all guardsmen that protected the castle. During the former King's reign, this protection extended to all the citizens, but Mortimer had decreed his life was far more valuable and this needed far more protection. More than anything, Pete was a middleman between the two, and it might have explained his frequent bullying. Donald was his favorite target. “You gotta learn some respect towards your superiors!”

Donald visibly shook from the effort not to rise to the challenge. “Yes, sir,” he hissed through his teeth, placing his sack down in a corner. “I've got to get to work.”

Pete frowned. It was no fun picking on someone when they refused to acknowledge it, and if Pete couldn't make people feel they were less than him, he would feel lesser himself. “You better not start anything today, duck. One wrong word and I could tell the King to kick you out!”

Donald glanced over, pondering if Pete actually had that power, but he doubted it. “I'm not going to start a thing,” he replied as calmly as he could make it, picking up a rake and using it to push hay around. The day started with clean-up, and would end with clean-up. A few nearby horses whinnied in their stalls, pleased to see their friend. “I'm just here to work. Same as you.”

“Same as me?” This caused Pete to laugh. “You're nothin' like me! I've got a real job, with real power, and real authority! And what're you? A pooper scooper!”

Don't get into any fights. Don't start lying again. Minnie's voice rang in his ears. If he did either one, they'd get into trouble, and they didn't need trouble, so Donald raked harder. “There's nothing wrong with what I do. I like my work.”

“Of course you do, 'cause it suits you!” Pete sneered, apparently having nothing better to do with his time than antagonize Donald. This was not hyperbole – rotten as Mortimer was, there hadn't been any attempts on his life or mass criminal conspiracies. It was as if once Mortimer had taken the crown, everyone had effectively given up. Strangely enough this also included Pete. “A low job for a low person!”

Donald sucked the inside of his cheek, but he could only hold back so much. “Can you answer me one question?” he asked without turning around.

“I can answer any question about anything!” Pete boasted, sticking out his gut.

The stable hand looked over his shoulder. “What did I ever do to you?”

Turns out Pete couldn't answer any question about anything because he was completely thrown off. His big eyes widened, and he scratched his fuzzy cheek. “Huh?”

“I mean it. What did I do?” Now Donald did turn around, the rake still in his hand, straw already beginning to cling to his clothes. “When I first started working here, you didn't pick on me at all. We didn't talk much, but at least you weren't constantly trying to ruffle my feathers! I could've even called you nice once. So, just tell me... what did I do?”

“What did you do?” Pete repeated the question, as if accusing Donald of forgetting – but Pete didn't have the answer. Donald wasn't wrong, and his own memories of those first days were as clear as glass. He was in better shape then, commanded respect, and on that day when Donald was assigned to work at the stables, he'd been told to show Donald around, be cordial, be nice. The people of the castle should all be like one big happy family. Back then he had no reason to want to make Donald miserable, or anyone miserable, because Pete hadn't felt miserable. The decision to hire Donald had come from...

… well, well it must have come from Mortimer. Of course it did, who else would it have been? The King had been older by then, and such little choices could be left up to his son. Mortimer must have hired Donald. Yet – yet when Pete really tried to visualize the memory, of Donald on day one, smiling brightly at the man who hired him – it wasn't Mortimer, but – but it must have been – a throbbing headache began to build up in Pete's head. “What does it matter?!” Pete suddenly yelled, almost knocking Donald over with the force of his shout. “Get to work and stop bothering me with stupid questions!”

“I was trying to work, you keep interrupting me!” So much for not fighting. Donald would have to apologize to his little sister later.

“I can interrupt you whenever I want, I've got the power!” Pete stuck a thumb to his chest. “And you? You're nothing! You and your whole family is nothing!”

Now Pete had struck a nerve. Insulting Donald was bad enough, but daring to imply anything bad about his family was enough to make Donald see red. “My family is amazing, you gigantic tin can!”

Pete leaned in dangerously close. “They are not! You and your whole bunch are useless good-for-nothings! There's nothing amazing about any of you!”

“Yes there is!” Donald shouted back, although he could not think of anything absolutely amazing off the top of his head. Straw had begun to itch his neck and he pulled a strand out of his collar. “Minnie can do really amazing things!”

“Oh yeah?” Pete scoffed. “What amazing things can she do?”

“She can...she can...” Donald looked at the strand of straw in his hand, and came up with the absolute worst, silliest, outlandish lie he had ever told in his entire life. “She can spin straw into gold!”

Silence fell on the stable, with even the horses going quiet, as if in awe of how ridiculousness that fib sounded. Pete stood up straight, his face pulling all sorts of confused expressions. “She can...what?”

The real problem with Donald's lies weren't that he told them, but that once he'd said them, he refused to back down until evidence proved him false. “She can turn straw into gold,” Donald said again, weaving an elaborate tale in his head. “How else do you think we can survive under all these harsh conditions? Night after night, she weaves all the straw I bring home into pure gold. She's got a rare talent, only one in a million has it. You've seen the way she fixes clothes like new, it's the same deal! That's how amazing she is.” Minnie was going to have his tail for this – if she found out, and that was a pretty big if. Donald knew what he was saying was pure nonsense, and Pete wouldn't actually believe him, thus he wouldn't ask for proof, thus nobody got hurt.

Indeed, Pete seemed stupefied by the sheer leaps in logic Donald was making. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. “If that is true,” without sounding like he thought it was, “then you ought to be richer than the king right now.”

“Maybe I am,” Donald said, the rake feeling like a shovel he was digging his grave with.

Pete inhaled deeply through his nostrils. You really couldn't insult someone who had clearly lost their marbles. Angered, he stormed out of the stable, slamming the door hard behind him. Donald smirked, and twirled the rake around in victory. Okay, so he'd broke his word to Minnie, but what was the harm?  He began whistling again, and resumed his work, ignoring the disapproving looks of the horses.

Every now and then he wondered about his unanswered question – about the Pete that had once smiled without a trace of malice – but it was swept away with the hay.

~*~

Pete had additional duties that came with being the Captain, and that meant having his meals with the King. It wasn't exactly a rule, but Mortimer had made it clear that skipping it would mean he could “find another captain with more time on their hands.” Pete didn't understand it the first couple of days, but the more time he spent in the castle, the more he understood. The first reason was that castle itself was creepy, and not a place you wanted to stay in alone.

After the King's death, several rooms had been locked up, with Mortimer forbidding anyone to enter them without giving them a solid reason. It gave the feeling that the castle was haunted by unseen ghosts, empty hallways echoing loudly with each step. There had also been paintings, tapestries, all kinds of decorative and functional works thrown into a fire, also with Mortimer's sole explanation being “because I said so”. So in addition to the spooky silence, the castle looked unfurnished, half-done, as if entire chunks of life were missing.

The second reason was far more pathetic.

“So,” Mortimer started, propping his legs on the table as his large, buck teeth ripped apart cow meat from bone. “Tell me, Captain, what loving praise have my people given me today?”

In contrast to Pete's stout girth, Mortimer was lean and tall, never really fitting into any chairs without obvious discomfort. A mouse like his father, his fur was black and his eyes were dark, with big round ears that only wanted to hear love and compliments. The table was covered in massive amounts of food that the two couldn't possibly finish, not for lack of trying. Pete was taking his time as he slowly munched on an apple. Unlike Donald, lies didn't come to him so easily as they required some level of creativity. “Well, um,” he started. “I might have heard your name out there once or twice.”

“Beautiful!” Mortimer clapped his hands together. “No doubt they're telling each other how much they adore their king! Come on, don't be shy, I want every last word!” He then paused. “Are you just having one apple?”

Pete swallowed. “Gee, Mortimer, I... I was thinkin' maybe I could go on a diet, or try to eat less.” Donald's words had a ring that wouldn't leave, an image of when Pete didn't run out of breath when he walked.

Mortimer stared, and then howled with laughter, standing up to slap Pete on the back. “You? Eat less? Hey, we can't be what we're not, and you're a fat tub of lard! And you always will be! So eat up! A diet, that's rich...” Pete looked down at his plate sadly, and reached for a lone chicken breast. “Now then, back to the important stuff – me! What did they say about me?”

Therein came the second reason – Mortimer had no friends, and Pete was the closest one he could order to be one. He was of the belief that being a ruler meant instant love, no matter what he did. Pete decided that he was just delaying the inevitable. “They were complaining about the chicken feed tax.” Clarabelle hadn't looked clearly enough when she was ranting about Mortimer's unfairness, unfortunately.

Mortimer's jovial expression turned sour, and the bone in his hand snapped. “They dared to complain about me? Those ingrates! If they worked harder, they could be rich! What do they expect me to do, live like them? Like a commoner?” He spat every question out and Pete knew well enough not to answer. “I'm the King! I'm supposed to have the riches! I give them inspiration so they can be more like me! They should grovel at my feet and apologize! Who was it? Who dared?!”

Pete slurped green pea soup. “Aw, it was just some stupid farm maid and the stable hand's sister.”

“The stable hand's sister?” Mortimer repeated, aghast that someone working for him would be related to someone so disrespectful – but then the gears in his head turned. “The stable hand's sister?” he said once more, now thoughtful and introspective. “I've seen that girl come by to give him lunch...” And on other occasions – he thought – he wasn't clear on it, yet he knew he had seen her before. “She's a pretty thing, isn't she?”

“I guess.” Pete shrugged. He preferred taller woman, ones with more punch. “But man, you should've heard the stable hand talk about her today! He said...” Remembering it now made him guffaw, his belly bouncing. “He said the girl can spin straw into gold! Can you believe it?” He laughed louder, pounding a fist on the table.

But Mortimer didn't laugh, walking to a nearby window and looking down at the filthy, grimy peasants that were lucky to have him as a ruler. They should've been happy to do whatever he wanted. He was the King, he inherited love. He inherited many things – including some dirty tricks he had locked away in his mind. This wasn't his father's kingdom, it was Mortimer's, all Mortimer's, and they needed to learn a lesson. Right on time, Minnie was heading to the stables to deliver lunch and reluctantly give the bad news about the missing eggs. She was indeed a pretty thing.

And something about her prettiness made him angry. Made him yearn. Made him want revenge.

Mortimer smiled. “Stranger things have happened, Pete.”

And stranger things would keep happening.

[randomreviews719-blog]

Review: Arguing Online

We’ve all done it. We’ve all thought that our opinion was far more superior than someone else’s. We’ve all been put in our place after disputing something stupid on Facebook, sometimes to the point of thinking “Shit, I can’t even delete it now or I’ll look like a pansy”. Arguing on social media is fucking dumb. But it’s such a necessary thing in our day and age to peacock online, trying to show how head strong and knowledgeable we are on matters that we briefly read about in a fucking Buzzfeed article. “Wow Sebastian, you seem a little irritated”. It’s only because I am terrible at arguing on social media. I’ve always been terrible at comebacks, which is essentially something you need to be pretty skilled at when arguing on the internet. You could be arguing with a world-renowned astrophysicist, and eventually he’ll throw out an insult. It may be as simple as “That’s what your mom said last night” to something devastating like “*they’re”. If you’ve sent a typo out into the world, prepare to get digitally smacked silly by your opponent. If you used the wrong (to, too, two), you need to accept the fact that the argument has been forfeited, and you are about to receive the most petty response known to man- The Grammar Correction. It makes you look inferior to those that can articulate a sentence better than you, and that’s simply because you are inferior. Arguments online expose all of your weaknesses. Even ones that you may think were hidden from the world. Make one grammar error, and prepare to have your love of My Little Pony exposed to those who are sick enough to enjoy watching others fight over whether 9/11 was an inside job or not. For the record, I love lurking on these types of posts. Nothing makes me feel better than knowing that other people suck just as bad as I do at coming up with comebacks. It does make me wonder, if your opponent is stooping low enough to throw an insult at you, is it acceptable to respond with something just as disappointing? “Your IQ must be the same number as your age” Quick… think of something to respond with. …….

“Bitch” Nailed it.

For those of you that are the great debaters of our generation, I applaud you with a million clapping emojis. You are far more superior than I am when it comes to being a major piece of shit.

That’s not a bad thing! Look at how rich the pieces of shit that were the 2016 presidential candidates are! You have so much to look forward to, ya big ol’ turds. The only reason why you are huge douchebags is that the keyboard is the only thing you have to stand behind. What’s the difference between honesty and telling the truth? Compassion. And the keyboard takes all compassion out of a person.

It may sound hypocritical coming from a 23 year old typing away on this subject, but it’s absolutely true that a keyboard takes away a person’s compassion. All the “Get Well Soon” and “We’re Praying For You” posts are really just people saying “Don’t forget about me!”. They want people to know that they give a shit. They want people to see them and think “Oh, what a kind soul”.

Arguing with someone in person is a much more difficult thing to do. You hear the tone in their voice, you see their expression, body language, you see them. And that inflicts feelings that may sway your argument, or may even stun you and make you step back a bit.

Arguing online gets 0 out of 10. No one really wins. It’s like a game of fucking Monopoly- it lasts much too long and by the end of it you just want to take a nap. It’s a fruitless pass-time that is unfortunately a staple of the Millennial generation.

You hear that guys? You’re making us all look fucking stupid. Thanks.

-Sebastian Schielie

[marvelsmostwanted]

What are your opinions on messaging in the Democratic party? I'm actually curious

Thanks for asking! I have so many opinions and I’m so glad someone finally asked for them! I always want to ramble about politics these days

p.s. I’m not going to really get into it in this post, but I am the first to admit that Democratic messaging has been flawed, Hillary was flawed as a candidate (she is, after all, a human being), and the Democratic brand did not look good coming out of 2016. So all of this post is over-simplified. Just putting that out there.

More below the cut to save people not interested in my rambling.

1. There are a lot of people who seem to feel that our message needs to be policy-based, not just anti-Trump (that is, Democrats should stand for something tangible, like single-payer healthcare, rather than just oppose Republicans). While I agree with this sentiment, I think it’s difficult to (a) apply this to the 2016 election cycle in retrospect, because while we were trying to hold our heads high, Trump coined the term “crooked Hillary,” chanted “lock her up,” and all the while was being supported by fake news stories like pizzagate. So not only was he running on a purely anti-Hillary/anti-Obama platform, it would have been near impossible for Hillary to go the whole election cycle without fighting back a little bit. I know it may seem petty to some, but anti-Trump is actually a pretty powerful message at this point: it’s synonymous anti-misogyny, anti-bigotry, anti-alternative facts. I don’t think we should underestimate the power of those statements. (b) It’s going to be extraordinarily difficult, if not impossible, to run a 2020 candidate on a policy-based platform that doesn’t directly respond to some of Trump’s actions (Paris Agreement, travel ban, transgender military ban, etc.) which could result in it being viewed as inherently “anti-Trump.” And © The media was literally showing footage of an empty podium while Hillary was giving speeches on what Democrats stand for (because contrary to popular belief, we do like, have a platform). So it’s also very difficult to promote your policy-based message when the media doesn’t broadcast it. Democrats might have had great messaging in 2016, and half the country would never have known it because CNN was showing them yet another Trump rally.

2. Yes, we need new party leadership. Nancy Pelosi is 77. I learned that this year. I didn’t even know she was that old because she look younger (you go girl) but I have to ask why we have someone who, although she has represented Democrats well and served as a role model for many, is nearly 80 years old and should probably, like, retire. Chuck Schumer is 66. These people are at retirement age for normal people. This isn’t to say that they can’t continue serving in Congress; it’s just that it has been proven time and time again in recent history, and not just in this country, that young, new faces will do well in national elections (see: Barack Obama, Justin Trudeau, Emmanuel Macron). Hint: Bernie Sanders is not the young, new leadership I am looking for here.

3. There is a strange, persistent idea that the Republican Party is more in touch with every day Americans than Democrats, and it’s simply not true. Democratic policies are more popular than Republican policies pretty much across the board - on healthcare, climate change, you name it. (This is where the idea emerged that “messaging” is the problem.) I think we need to focus less on perception and more on outcomes, and I think we’re seeing that with the healthcare fight. People wanted to say they were against Obamacare (because they perceived it as a bad thing) but when Republicans tried to take it away, they found out that they were strongly against the outcome, which would be losing their healthcare. This is why I think it’s pointless to debate about “The Better Deal” and other slogans. A good catchphrase may be helpful, but it ultimately isn’t going to be what changes minds. People may not remember slogans; they will remember stories about actions and outcomes.

4. I’ll just say it because Democratic Party messaging is now intrinsically linked with Bernie Sanders: Bernie is not the savior people want him to be. I’m genuinely not sure where this idea that Bernie was more popular than Hillary came from. I’m not sure why Bernie’s campaign is seen as a success while Hillary’s is largely seen as a failure: they both lost, and he lost first. Additionally, there is a divide within the Democratic Party, a complicated one (although I don’t believe it’s as deep a divide as some people do), and I see them working to fix that with a populist economic message. That’s cool. And I realize that “Bernie isn’t a Democrat” is a fruitless argument at this point, but I still worry about depending on Bernie-type leftists who are not truly on board with the whole Democratic platform to be the ones to bridge that divide.

TL;DR, I agree that Democrats need to unite behind a bold, simple message. I don’t necessarily think it’s a bad thing if that message is anti-Trump.

[pennstateuniversitypress]

Three Strategies for Better Conversations About Gun Violence

by Craig Rood, author of After Gun Violence: Deliberation and Memory in an Age of Political Gridlock, now available.

Move beyond the question of “why?”

After mass shootings and other high-profile acts of gun violence, the recurring question that gets asked is: “Why?” Typically, this leads us to focus on the shooter: His neighbors are interviewed, his mental state is evaluated, his online history is examined (and, I should note, it is nearly always a “he”). Asking “why?” can be valuable. But it can also be fruitless: There might be nothing more illuminating than the brutal fact that he wanted to kill a lot of people and had the means for doing so.

I think our conversations can be more productive if we respond with a different question: What makes violent acts such as this one possible? Questions like this get us out of the shooter’s head and history and help us focus on the broader problem of gun violence. And the larger context is important because the rate of mass shootings and gun violence more generally are so much higher in the United States than they are in other high-income countries. To put the question directly: What is it about American life that enables—and perhaps encourages—this sort of gun violence? Recognize that there might be more than one accurate answer, though some answers have more evidence than others.

Search for common ground

When I started After Gun Violence, I signed up to receive emails from the National Rifle Association and the Brady Campaign to Prevent Gun Violence. Both organizations suggest that “we” are good and “they” are bad; “we” are honest Americans who are actually concerned about safety whereas “they” are out of touch and reckless. To be clear, I do not mean to suggest that the NRA and Brady Campaign are equally accurate or sincere—that’s a separate question. My point is that if you only hear from one group, you are likely to develop a very distorted view of your “side” and of your “opponents.” Neither side says of its own members: ‘Yes, we hate America and want everyone to be harmed!’

In addition to humanizing one another, searching for common ground can clarify the points at which we agree and disagree. Both sides, it seems, are deeply committed to “protection,” and so it might be helpful to begin conversations there. When engaging with others who have different views—whether to persuade them or to learn from them—we might benefit from starting with basic questions to establish common ground (e.g., Can we at least agree that gun violence happens frequently and that it is a problem worth our attention and action?). From there, we can collaboratively work toward more advanced questions to discover the point at which we start to disagree. If we disagree about the cause of gun violence, for instance, then we should pause there. Why do we disagree? Can we resolve our disagreement—or at least understand it? If so, how? If not, can we still find proposals that can address gun violence (even with different understandings of its causes)?

Resist false choices

Debates about gun violence are marked by a series of false choices. For instance: Is the shooter or the gun to blame? The question forces a false choice because these are not the only two options; moreover, it ignores the relationship between people and guns. Obviously, guns do not go around by themselves killing people. But it also seems obvious that guns confer an enormous amount of power. After all, that’s why gun control advocates want further restrictions and why gun rights advocates want guns for hunting and self-defense. A more productive starting place is to recognize that both have power and to ask: What, if anything, should we do about the fact that guns give people such enormous power to undertake deadly violence?

Gun control versus gun rights is another false choice, among several others. You can resist false choices by asking whether the answer to an “either a or b” choice is actually “both a and b.”

Craig Rood is Assistant Professor of Rhetoric at Iowa State University.

The newest addition to our Rhetoric and Democratic Deliberation series, After Gun Violence advances our understanding of public discourse in an age in which mass shootings have become the “new normal” in American life. Rood reveals how the gun debate is about far more than just guns by exploring the ways advocacy groups, community leaders, politicians, and everyday citizens talk about gun violence. He details the role of public memory in shaping the discourse, showing how memories of the victims of gun violence, the Second Amendment, and race relations influence how gun policy is discussed. In doing so, Rood argues that forgetting and misremembering this history leads interest groups and public officials to entrenched positions and political failure and drives the public further apart. After Gun Violence is now available for purchase on our website. Use code NR18 to receive a 30% discount.

[aion-rsa]

Is Star Trek: Lower Decks Canon? Here’s How to Settle the Debate

https://ift.tt/2EK6v8s

Spoilers ahead for Star Trek: Lower Decks episodes 1-4.

When it comes to heated fandom discussions about what counts and what doesn’t count, relative to “canon,” the only thing more hotly debated than Star Wars canon, is easily, Star Trek canon. Back in the ‘70s, if you dipped into the letters sections of certain fanzines, you’d find people who argued that the third season of The Original Series wasn’t canon because some of the episodes didn’t make sense or were just outright bad. (We’re looking at you, “Spock’s Brain.”)

The point is, debating specific aspects of Star Trek as non-canon is a pretty old argument. The direct answer to the question “Is Star Trek: Lower Decks canon?” is yes. And that’s because the creator — Mike McMahan — has said its canon, and the show actually bends over backwards to make canonical references. 

That said, if you still think Star Trek: Lower Decks can’t be canon, for a variety of reasons, there is one simple way you can reconcile the antics of Mariner and her buddies with the rest of Trek canon. And it’s all about point-of-view, and the unreliability of Star Trek narrators in general.

So, briefly, here are the reasons why some might say Star Trek: Lower Decks isn’t canon.

The characters are too flippant about new alien lifeforms and break protocol too often.

Some of the senior staff could be perceived as amoral and/or self-serving egotists.

The uniform style and new combadges don’t seem to correspond to this moment in Trek history. (2380)

Now, it’s pretty easy to knock down each of those arguments with other canonical examples, from pre- 21st century Trek. For example…

TOS is replete with examples of junior officers not following protocol and putting the entire ship in danger. Case-in-point: Lt. (junior grade) Joe Tormolen took off his protective gloves in “The Naked Time,” and as a result, caused the entire ship to be contaminated with the Psi 2000 virus. Joe is the original Lower Decker. Just rewatch the scene in the mess hall where he freaks out. You can totally imagine a comedic version of this in Lower Decks.

TOS also has plenty of examples of Starfleet Captains who not only break the rules, but are total assholes. From Commodore Decker (“The Doomsday Machine”) to Captain Tracey (“The Omega Glory,”) and well into the classic films, it was difficult to find competent senior Starfleet officers on non-Enterprise ships who were as awesome as the Enterprise crew. 

Relatively speaking, characters like Captain Tracey, or Captain Esteban (from Star Trek III: The Search for Spock) make Captain Freeman and Commander Ransom look like model officers.

Debating uniform canon is fun, but ultimately fruitless. Also, there’s wiggle room here for the uniforms to have changed. There’s also every reason to believe that Lower Decks will acknowledge the uniform changes in some future episode. (The show jokes about everything else!)

Okay. So, that wasn’t so hard. Still, maybe you’re still not convinced. Maybe you still think that the overall vibe and tone of the show doesn’t work within canon, and therefore, it just isn’t canon because it doesn’t feel like canon. But, there’s a way around that, too. You just have to think slightly harder about how this story is being told. 

Who are the point-of-view characters in most Star Trek shows? That’s right, the characters who run the starship. Star Trek: Discovery changed this a little bit, by having the main character not be the Captain, but in Lower Decks, the tone clearly comes from the point-of-view of the Lower Decker characters. Sure, we have scenes in which none of them appear, but for the most part, we are meant to see this series through their eyes. And that means, it’s okay for them to be unreliable narrators. 

Read more

TV

Star Trek: Lower Decks Timeline Explained

By Ryan Britt

In Peter David’s New Frontier novels (which are not canon, and I’m not trying to say they are) he asserts the premise that some people at Starfleet command didn’t actually believe half of the shit Kirk reported in his logs. The idea was that some of the missions of the starship Enterprise (think: Space Lincoln in “The Savage Curtain”) were too outlandish to be true, and that Kirk embellished his logs. 

Now, based on onscreen evidence, we know that Kirk embellished his Captain’s logs; he frequently did it when totally incredible things happened to specific crew members. In Star Trek: The Motion Picture he reports Ilia and Decker as “missing” and in “Where No Man Has Gone Before,” he mentions that Gary Mitchell and Dr. Dehner “died in the line of duty.” If there is an objective viewpoint in Star Trek (which is really debatable) then Kirk’s actual Captain’s Logs are unreliable.

Lower Decks has already sort of gestured at this idea. In the very first episode Boimler is recording a fake Captain’s Log, and in the same episode, Marnier quizzes him about Gary Mitchell, a long-dead officer she probably thinks was “killed in action,” since we’re aware that the official record is false. 

Metafictionally, Star Trek does not have a “narrator,” in the same way the Sherlock Holmes stories are (mostly) narrated by Watson. But, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t have a loose “point of view.” In the original Star Trek: The Next Generation episode, “Lower Decks,” our perceptions of the senior staff of the Enterprise were briefly warped when we see everything from the point-of-view of the junior officers. In the series Lower Decks, everything about the show is arguably, from that viewpoint, which includes details that may or may not be “true.”

At the end of Lower Decks’ second episode, “Envoys,” Boimler retells the story of how he and Mariner encountered a Ferengi who Mariner was not aware was a Ferengi. However, by the end of the episode, we know Mariner was pretending not to know in order to make Boimler feel better. If you take that philosophy, and apply it to the rest of the show, it’s pretty easy to make any canon issues evaporate. This story is being told by the Lower Deckers as much it is being told for them. If you have any issues with that, well, then you’re not giving enough credit to the power of narrative voice. The people in a given piece of fiction shape the “truth” of that fiction, just as much as what happens to them. 

And, if you still don’t think Lower Decks is canon, I’m just gonna say it again:  “Spock’s Brain.” Oh, and Giant Green Space Hand, too. 

The post Is Star Trek: Lower Decks Canon? Here’s How to Settle the Debate appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/2DjOkWH

[heartfeltheart]

Alchemy: Little Brother’s Turn

Chapters: 5/? Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist/Harry Potter Rating: T Relationships: Edward/Winry, Lan Fan/Ling, May/Alphonse, Severus/Charity Series: Part 3 of 9. Summary: Part 3 of the Alchemy Series. Now it is Alphonse's turn to taking over his brother's position at Hogwarts. He quickly began to realize how much...stuff... Edward left behind to figure out on his own. Like, The Boy Who Lived, Sirius Black... and a Philosopher's Stone you say? D/C: I do not own Harry Potter or Fullmetal Alchemist. Discord: La Red(Mesh Mash of… stuff.): https://discord.gg/KYjmVAb Alchemy Series: https://discord.gg/DejEYNJ

"Who should we invite to the wedding?"

"…We should invite our allies, our friends, family?"

"I know, I know. If I invite some and it will cause some complications with others."

"We have to choose the most diplomatic approach."

"Screw it, and do what we want?"

"Alright… let's do that." Lan Fan let out a sigh of defeat as she watched Ling write down the guest list for their invitation list. She stood up from her spot to stretch her legs. Since it has been announced she was to wed the Emperor, Lan Fan has been put into training to be a proper future Empress, and she's been mainly sitting around and it's starting to show. "I need to continue with my training… I'm starting to feel the after effects of not training for so long…"

"You have been gaining weight…"

From somewhere inside the room, someone groaned at the Emperor's words. Those groans became stifled giggles when the future Empress stormed out of the room and ignoring her fiancé's pleas to return back to him.

-.-

"Do you suspect it has to do with You-Know-Who?"

"Possibly?"

"Possibly? It has to be the reason for it!"

"…" Alphonse rubbed his forehead as he overs Sirius and Arty go back and forth on how Harry could speak to snakes. Parseltongue. The ability to talk to snakes. Apparently, it is something you are born with, or something of that manner. The issue with this is that, no one in the Potter or Evans' family line has there been someone else that spoke that language. That only means he supposedly got it from… Voldemort. Ugh… the name leaves a bad taste in Alphonse mouth. It wasn't for the fact the guy was a horrible monster, it's just the name in general.

Voldemort?

There are so many things that could be said to mock 'Voldemort.' Now Alphonse just needs to say the supposed Dark Lord to just add to the mockery of said name. It sounds like an angst filled teen came up with that name by using random letters together and got that. Hm…

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Alphonse pulled out a package of cookies and placed it on the counter before picking up his cup of tea. He walked towards the entrance of the Place to see who was knocking as everyone else is currently still debating on some random crap. Opening the door to reveal a man that looked to be around Sirius's age but looked like he's been through a lot more crap than the average person. Then there was someone else, a young woman that seemed to be around his own age and kept looking around as if expecting they are going to be seen by the wrong people at any minute. "Can I help you?"

"Er… I am looking for Sirius Black? He lives here. Who are you?"

"Where I am from, it's impolite to ask for someone's name before giving your own first." Alphonse stated before taking a sip of his tea.

"My apologies, Remus Lupin and this is my assistant, Nymphdora Tonks. She mainly goes by her surname." Remus introduced himself and his assistant.

"Alphonse Elric. You must be the young woman that broke the case." Alphonse didn't make any motion he recognized the names. He already read and heard of the names from files sent to him and hearing his brother talk about the Sirius Black Case.

"Wotcher, you're Mr. Elric's brother! You're… taller than him."

"So, I've been told…" Alphonse looked over his shoulder and was about to announce the arrival of Remus and Tonks, a loud screech interrupted him. "Truth, what is that?"

-.-

"…. HOW DID YOU DO THAT!"

"If you can't take down the painting, then remove the entire wall."

"Would the young sir mind if I take my mistress's painting?"

"If you can make her stay quiet… do what you wish with it." Alphonse handed Kreacher the late Mrs. Blacks screeching portrait along with a huge chunk of the wall. The Elric had questioned the sanity of the screaming portrait and his mind went momentarily blank when he heard the portrait was magically stuck to the wall. After asking and promising Kreacher to make his room bigger, the house elf managed to mute the portrait. After that was done, Alphonse used his alchemy to remove the wall around the painting. When he did so, Alphonse sensed a very old energy emitting around the painting. He kept quiet about it as he used several materials he found around the home to replace the giant hole he created. "There… Now I can think in peace…"

Alphonse turned his attention to Sirius and Arty, a false smile plastered on his face. "Now… tell me again about Voldemort how he connects to Harry Potter in full detail."

-.-

"This… is very light, durable and… is that a hidden blade?"

"And a cannon. Paninya insisted we put that in."

"…was it necessary?"

"Yes."

-.-

Some time went by since Harry's misadventure at the Zoo. His aunt and uncle suspect he is the main reason Dudley had ended up trap in the snake exhibit and said snake escaping… Anyway, Harry was surprised at the fact there wasn't any from of punishment for his supposed transgressions. The soon to be eleven-year-old suspects his god-father, social worker, Mr. Elric, Professor Elric, and Professor Snape, are the reason for that and know more about him than they let on.

Those thoughts only double whenever something unnormal happens and they quickly dismiss it as nothing out of the norm. OR! Even just act as if it never occurred. No explanation whatsoever.

Hm… maybe at the next visit Harry will ask them more about it… if there's a next visit…

Peck. Peck. Peck.

Harry turned to face his window to see an owl pecking at the glass. He looked over at the primary entrance of the room to the door closed. Gulping, Harry slowly edged towards the window and opened it. The owl flew through the window and landed on the desk to drop a letter before flying off again.

Once more, Harry looked over at the door before going over to see what was left on his desk. Before he could do so, his uncle boomed throughout the house someone had arrived for him. Quickly grabbing the letter and stuffing it in his pockets, Harry ran out of the room to see who arrived.

-.-

To say it was a tight squeeze was an understatement.

Arty Fuchs had to rent out a bigger vehicle so that he, Harry, Hagrid, Remus and Tonks were able to fit in. After a quick introduction, everyone had to squeeze into the cramp van and drive off to London. To be more precise, to Harry's god-father's home where a big surprise is waiting for him. Apparently, the kid forgot his birthday due to the fact his life has been getting better and better.

It doesn't help how the Dursley's don't even bother to remember the date…

"I mainly attempted to keep your father and Sirius in line, but that proved to be fruitless. I mainly kept my nose in a book and studied along side with your mother."

"Ha! You had your moments, Remus. You were the one that turned my cousin's clothes pink along with his precious hair."

"I simply did it for you, Tonks. How did you expect me to not get back him at him after making you cry?"

"How did you turn his hair pink?"

"Magic."

Harry face scrunched up at see Mr. Lupin's serious expression when he said the word magic. He doesn't know if he's trying to pull his leg or if it's actually ma… nope. Not magic. Magic does not exist. Not even a possibility. Is it?

"Whe' are we goin to tell 'em?"

"When we get to the Place. We'll tell him everything, Hagrid."

"Tell me what?"

"Can' I say it? Please?"

"Fine."

"You're a wizard, Harry."

"I-I'm a what?"

"A wizard! And a thumpin' good 'un, I'll wager, once you've been trained up a bit. Merlin's knows we've be' waning to tell ya."

"…"

"The kid looks like he's going to-"

Plonk.

"Pass out…Wotcher, that went better than planned."

[ionecoffman]

Is Fat Bad?

Is being a little bit overweight bad for you? Could it lead to an untimely death?

It’s a question with real consequences. Many overweight people feel locked in a fruitless battle with their size. If they do slim down, the process might distort their metabolisms forever. But if they remain overweight, non-thin people may face intense prejudice and stigma, as the writer Taffy Brodesser-Akner poignantly described in The New York Times Magazine recently:

I was in Iceland, for a story assignment, and the man who owned my hotel took me fishing and said, ‘‘I’m not going to insist you wear a life jacket, since I think you’d float, if you know what I mean.’’ I ignored him, and then afterward, back on land, after I fished cod like a Viking, he said, ‘‘I call that survival of the fattest.’’

The “health at every size” movement, though, has its own pitfalls, and not just because it can come off as oddly objectifying. American life expectancy recently dipped slightly, and obesity might be part of the cause. Telling people it’s perfectly fine to be dozens of pounds overweight would be terrible advice—if it’s wrong.

Most researchers agree that it’s unhealthy for the average person to be, say, 300 pounds. They don’t really know why being very overweight is bad for you, but the thinking is that all those fat cells disrupt how the body produces and uses insulin, leading to elevated glucose in the blood and, eventually, diabetes. Extra weight also increases blood pressure, which can ultimately damage the heart.

But whether just a few extra pounds raise the risk of death is a surprisingly controversial and polarizing issue. Usually, nutrition scientists tell journalists hedgy things like, “this is just what my study shows,” followed by the dreaded disclaimer: “Further research is needed.” But on this question, the researchers involved are entrenched, having reached opposite conclusions and not budging an inch. Like many internecine wars, the dispute mostly comes down to one small thing: how you define the “overweight” population in the study.

Over the years, myriad side controversies—personal attacks, money from the Coca-Cola Company, and a debate over who is truly “overweight”—have deepened the divide. But they haven’t clarified things.

* * *

It all started in 2004, when the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention scientists published a study suggesting obesity was responsible for 400,000 deaths a year, making it almost as deadly as smoking. It turned out to be a false alarm: The authors made methodological errors that skewed their number too high.

But a CDC senior scientist named Katherine Flegal was already working with a small group of her colleagues to write a different obesity paper using better data and better methods. In 2005, they published their results, and their estimate was substantially lower: Obesity was only responsible for about 112,000 excess deaths. They also found something peculiar. Being “overweight,” but not obese, was not associated with an increased risk of death at all.

Millions of despairing dieters likely sighed with relief, perhaps celebratorily pouring a SlimFast down the drain. But while Flegal’s study was praised by some researchers, others were skeptical, saying past research had already shown that the heavier you are, the greater your risk of dying. "We can't afford to be complacent about the epidemic of obesity," JoAnn Manson, the chief of preventive medicine at Brigham and Women's Hospital in Boston, told The New York Times after Flegal’s study came out.

Flegal pressed on, and in 2013 she and colleagues published a meta-analysis—a study of studies—that replicated her earlier findings. Even when adjusting for smoking, age, and sex, overweight people—those with a body mass index of between 25 and 30—had a 6 percent lower risk of dying than normal-weight individuals. Body mass index, or BMI, is a measure of a person’s weight divided by their height. Her paper found that in terms of mortality, it’s better for this number to be slightly elevated than to be normal. A 5-foot-6-inch woman, in other words, would be better off weighing 180 pounds than 120.

A “pile of rubbish” is what Walter Willett, a Harvard University professor of epidemiology and nutrition, deemed that paper. Willett has co-authored studies finding the opposite effect. He and Andrew Stokes, a demographer at Boston University, say Flegal’s work suffers from a problem they call “reverse causality.” They think that because she didn’t examine her subjects’ entire weight history, her study didn’t control for people who used to be overweight, but became normal-weight because they got sick before they died. They argue her study conflates normal-weight, healthy people with formerly overweight people who lost weight due to liver disease, cancer, or some other illness. Having those individuals in the pool of normal-weight people makes the normal-weight people seem sicker, and the overweight people seem healthier, than they actually are.

“I think Kathy Flegal just doesn’t get it that people often lose weight before they die,” Willett told me.

In 2016, Willett and dozens of other researchers from around the world published a paper in The Lancet analyzing 239 studies and millions of study subjects. Their takeaway was clear: Above the normal weight range, the fatter you are, the higher your risk of premature death. “On average, overweight people lose about one year of life expectancy, and moderately obese people lose about three years of life expectancy,” the paper’s lead author, Emanuele Di Angelantonio, told The Guardian.

Flegal takes issue with how Willett and his colleagues selected the studies for their review. “It seems like they took studies they already knew about and that gave the answers that they preferred,” said Flegal, who is now a consulting professor at Stanford.

Besides, other studies have since implied there’s a health benefit to heaviness. Last year researchers in Copenhagen looked at three cohorts of Danes during the 1970s, ’90s, and between 2003 and 2013. In the 1970s, the BMI that was associated with the lowest risk of death was 23.7—so-called normal weight. Surprisingly, by the 2000s, the “healthiest” BMI had shifted up to 27, or technically overweight.

Børge G. Nordestgaard, a clinical professor at the University of Copenhagen and an author of that study, speculated that this could be because over time, doctors have gotten better at treating some of the side effects of excess weight, like high blood pressure and high triglycerides.

Or, “it could just be that as the population has become more overweight and obese, the people who are in the middle of the BMI distribution, these are the most ‘normal’ people, they are the ones who do all the most normal things,” Nordestgaard said. “They are the ones who survive the best.”

What’s more, in 2014, New Orleans cardiologist Carl Lavie published the book The Obesity Paradox: When Thinner Means Sicker and Heavier Means Healthier, based in part on his research showing that overweight and mildly obese patients with cardiovascular disease have a better prognosis than their leaner counterparts.

But when reporters found that Lavie had received money from the Coca-Cola Company for speaking and consulting on obesity, it fueled speculation that junk-food companies are promoting the supposed benefits of obesity in order to evade blame for causing it. (In an email, Lavie said Coca-Cola only funded a few of his lectures, of which he gives more than 100 a year.)

Andrew Stokes, the demographer at Boston University, says some of most vocal supporters of the “obesity paradox” are activists and people with vested interests. He’s found that the paradox disappears when “normal weight” is defined as only those people who have remained thin over time, as opposed to those who entered the normal-weight category after losing weight due to an illness. In a paper published this April, Stokes, Willett, and others found being overweight was associated with mortality—but only if you looked at a person’s maximum weight over the past 16 years. According to their findings, it’s having ever been overweight that’s risky.

* * *

That’s not the end of the methodological gripes, though. Flegal and others say the self-report data that Willett and Stokes use in some of their studies is not reliable. “It is well-known that underreporting of body weight along with underreporting for females and overreporting for males of height can result in biased BMI’s,” said Barry Graubard, a senior investigator with the National Cancer Institute, which is part of the National Institutes of Health.

Stokes counters that not only has self-report data been found to correspond closely with measured weight, not all of the data refuting the obesity paradox is self-reported. Flegal, meanwhile, thinks Stokes and others haven’t demonstrated that the weight loss was the result of a sickness, or that the sickness-induced weight loss is a big enough problem to taint an entire study. She also thinks his results are consistent with her 2013 meta-analysis, falling “pretty much in the middle of the other studies that we found.” Stokes disputes this. He also began one of our phone calls by asking me if I was regretting doing this story yet.

If a little extra pudge is somehow good for you, it’s not clear why. Some researchers suggest overweight people might be better equipped to fight off certain diseases, with fat serving as a last-ditch fuel for the ailing body. And they point to studies that failed to show that losing weight led to less heart disease in overweight people. Stokes, meanwhile, thinks that explanation is speculative, and it pales compared to the many ways obesity harms health. Even a BMI of 25, for example—just barely “overweight”—has been associated with an increased risk of diabetes.

There’s also the idea that some people we now consider “overweight”—say, a 6-foot, 1-inch man who weighs 200 pounds—don’t actually have too much fat. For one thing, athletes and other very muscular people might be wrongly categorized as overweight, and some scientists now think it’s stomach fat, not hip fat, that’s the dangerous kind. What’s more, in 1998 the NIH revised down its BMI threshold for “overweight” to 25, from 27.8 for men and 27.3 for women, in order to better align with the rest of the world.

“I think it was the French who pushed [the lower cutoff],” said Judy Stern, an emeritus professor of nutrition at the University of California, Davis, and a member of the advisory panel that worked on the new guidelines. “The French always push.” She thinks it might have had something to do with different standards of beauty around the world. “In general, in Europe, it’s better to weigh less. When Americans go to Europe and we weigh more, we’re viewed as not as beautiful.” (She voted against the new guidelines.)

The new standard means that “if you showed someone with a 26 [BMI] had no excess mortality in 1996—there would be no question,” Flegal said. She speculates the change was made to emphasize the seriousness of the obesity epidemic, and she notes that her critics have expressed fears her results might lull the public into complacency around obesity. “The problem with my research is apparently just that I did it,” she said. “That’s not science.”

But there’s a big caveat to this theory. Medical advice urging heavy people to lose weight is based on the premise that being overweight is unhealthy. If Flegal and Nordestgaard are right, and being overweight is linked to less mortality, then should people whose BMIs fall in the normal range gain weight? Should they be guzzling milkshakes in hopes of staving off death? Both Flegal and Nordestgaard said “no.”

“Weight is just one risk factor for most of these conditions, it’s not the risk factor,” Flegal said. She points out that some studies show people with doctorate degrees live longer than those with bachelor’s degrees. “If someone tells me, ‘I have a bachelor’s degree, but I know the risk is lower if I have a doctoral degree,’ should I tell them they should go get a Ph.D.?”

She reiterated something—perhaps the only thing—that epidemiologists who work on this issue can still agree on: “It’s associated. The causality is unclear.”

Article source here:The Atlantic

[nancygduarteus]

Is Fat Bad?

Is being a little bit overweight bad for you? Could it lead to an untimely death?

It’s a question with real consequences. Many overweight people feel locked in a fruitless battle with their size. If they do slim down, the process might distort their metabolisms forever. But if they remain overweight, non-thin people may face intense prejudice and stigma, as the writer Taffy Brodesser-Akner poignantly described in The New York Times Magazine recently:

I was in Iceland, for a story assignment, and the man who owned my hotel took me fishing and said, ‘‘I’m not going to insist you wear a life jacket, since I think you’d float, if you know what I mean.’’ I ignored him, and then afterward, back on land, after I fished cod like a Viking, he said, ‘‘I call that survival of the fattest.’’

The “health at every size” movement, though, has its own pitfalls, and not just because it can come off as oddly objectifying. American life expectancy recently dipped slightly, and obesity might be part of the cause. Telling people it’s perfectly fine to be dozens of pounds overweight would be terrible advice—if it’s wrong.

Most researchers agree that it’s unhealthy for the average person to be, say, 300 pounds. They don’t really know why being very overweight is bad for you, but the thinking is that all those fat cells disrupt how the body produces and uses insulin, leading to elevated glucose in the blood and, eventually, diabetes. Extra weight also increases blood pressure, which can ultimately damage the heart.

But whether just a few extra pounds raise the risk of death is a surprisingly controversial and polarizing issue. Usually, nutrition scientists tell journalists hedgy things like, “this is just what my study shows,” followed by the dreaded disclaimer: “Further research is needed.” But on this question, the researchers involved are entrenched, having reached opposite conclusions and not budging an inch. Like many internecine wars, the dispute mostly comes down to one small thing: how you define the “overweight” population in the study.

Over the years, myriad side controversies—personal attacks, money from the Coca-Cola Company, and a debate over who is truly “overweight”—have deepened the divide. But they haven’t clarified things.

* * *

It all started in 2004, when the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention scientists published a study suggesting obesity was responsible for 400,000 deaths a year, making it almost as deadly as smoking. It turned out to be a false alarm: The authors made methodological errors that skewed their number too high.

But a CDC senior scientist named Katherine Flegal was already working with a small group of her colleagues to write a different obesity paper using better data and better methods. In 2005, they published their results, and their estimate was substantially lower: Obesity was only responsible for about 112,000 excess deaths. They also found something peculiar. Being “overweight,” but not obese, was not associated with an increased risk of death at all.

Millions of despairing dieters likely sighed with relief, perhaps celebratorily pouring a SlimFast down the drain. But while Flegal’s study was praised by some researchers, others were skeptical, saying past research had already shown that the heavier you are, the greater your risk of dying. "We can't afford to be complacent about the epidemic of obesity," JoAnn Manson, the chief of preventive medicine at Brigham and Women's Hospital in Boston, told The New York Times after Flegal’s study came out.

Flegal pressed on, and in 2013 she and colleagues published a meta-analysis—a study of studies—that replicated her earlier findings. Even when adjusting for smoking, age, and sex, overweight people—those with a body mass index of between 25 and 30—had a 6 percent lower risk of dying than normal-weight individuals. Body mass index, or BMI, is a measure of a person’s weight divided by their height. Her paper found that in terms of mortality, it’s better for this number to be slightly elevated than to be normal. A 5-foot-6-inch woman, in other words, would be better off weighing 180 pounds than 120.

A “pile of rubbish” is what Walter Willett, a Harvard University professor of epidemiology and nutrition, deemed that paper. Willett has co-authored studies finding the opposite effect. He and Andrew Stokes, a demographer at Boston University, say Flegal’s work suffers from a problem they call “reverse causality.” They think that because she didn’t examine her subjects’ entire weight history, her study didn’t control for people who used to be overweight, but became normal-weight because they got sick before they died. They argue her study conflates normal-weight, healthy people with formerly overweight people who lost weight due to liver disease, cancer, or some other illness. Having those individuals in the pool of normal-weight people makes the normal-weight people seem sicker, and the overweight people seem healthier, than they actually are.

“I think Kathy Flegal just doesn’t get it that people often lose weight before they die,” Willett told me.

In 2016, Willett and dozens of other researchers from around the world published a paper in The Lancet analyzing 239 studies and millions of study subjects. Their takeaway was clear: Above the normal weight range, the fatter you are, the higher your risk of premature death. “On average, overweight people lose about one year of life expectancy, and moderately obese people lose about three years of life expectancy,” the paper’s lead author, Emanuele Di Angelantonio, told The Guardian.

Flegal takes issue with how Willett and his colleagues selected the studies for their review. “It seems like they took studies they already knew about and that gave the answers that they preferred,” said Flegal, who is now a consulting professor at Stanford.

Besides, other studies have since implied there’s a health benefit to heaviness. Last year researchers in Copenhagen looked at three cohorts of Danes during the 1970s, ’90s, and between 2003 and 2013. In the 1970s, the BMI that was associated with the lowest risk of death was 23.7—so-called normal weight. Surprisingly, by the 2000s, the “healthiest” BMI had shifted up to 27, or technically overweight.

Børge G. Nordestgaard, a clinical professor at the University of Copenhagen and an author of that study, speculated that this could be because over time, doctors have gotten better at treating some of the side effects of excess weight, like high blood pressure and high triglycerides.

Or, “it could just be that as the population has become more overweight and obese, the people who are in the middle of the BMI distribution, these are the most ‘normal’ people, they are the ones who do all the most normal things,” Nordestgaard said. “They are the ones who survive the best.”

What’s more, in 2014, New Orleans cardiologist Carl Lavie published the book The Obesity Paradox: When Thinner Means Sicker and Heavier Means Healthier, based in part on his research showing that overweight and mildly obese patients with cardiovascular disease have a better prognosis than their leaner counterparts.

But when reporters found that Lavie had received money from the Coca-Cola Company for speaking and consulting on obesity, it fueled speculation that junk-food companies are promoting the supposed benefits of obesity in order to evade blame for causing it. (In an email, Lavie said Coca-Cola only funded a few of his lectures, of which he gives more than 100 a year.)

Andrew Stokes, the demographer at Boston University, says some of most vocal supporters of the “obesity paradox” are activists and people with vested interests. He’s found that the paradox disappears when “normal weight” is defined as only those people who have remained thin over time, as opposed to those who entered the normal-weight category after losing weight due to an illness. In a paper published this April, Stokes, Willett, and others found being overweight was associated with mortality—but only if you looked at a person’s maximum weight over the past 16 years. According to their findings, it’s having ever been overweight that’s risky.

* * *

That’s not the end of the methodological gripes, though. Flegal and others say the self-report data that Willett and Stokes use in some of their studies is not reliable. “It is well-known that underreporting of body weight along with underreporting for females and overreporting for males of height can result in biased BMI’s,” said Barry Graubard, a senior investigator with the National Cancer Institute, which is part of the National Institutes of Health.

Stokes counters that not only has self-report data been found to correspond closely with measured weight, not all of the data refuting the obesity paradox is self-reported. Flegal, meanwhile, thinks Stokes and others haven’t demonstrated that the weight loss was the result of a sickness, or that the sickness-induced weight loss is a big enough problem to taint an entire study. She also thinks his results are consistent with her 2013 meta-analysis, falling “pretty much in the middle of the other studies that we found.” Stokes disputes this. He also began one of our phone calls by asking me if I was regretting doing this story yet.

If a little extra pudge is somehow good for you, it’s not clear why. Some researchers suggest overweight people might be better equipped to fight off certain diseases, with fat serving as a last-ditch fuel for the ailing body. And they point to studies that failed to show that losing weight led to less heart disease in overweight people. Stokes, meanwhile, thinks that explanation is speculative, and it pales compared to the many ways obesity harms health. Even a BMI of 25, for example—just barely “overweight”—has been associated with an increased risk of diabetes.

There’s also the idea that some people we now consider “overweight”—say, a 6-foot, 1-inch man who weighs 200 pounds—don’t actually have too much fat. For one thing, athletes and other very muscular people might be wrongly categorized as overweight, and some scientists now think it’s stomach fat, not hip fat, that’s the dangerous kind. What’s more, in 1998 the NIH revised down its BMI threshold for “overweight” to 25, from 27.8 for men and 27.3 for women, in order to better align with the rest of the world.

“I think it was the French who pushed [the lower cutoff],” said Judy Stern, an emeritus professor of nutrition at the University of California, Davis, and a member of the advisory panel that worked on the new guidelines. “The French always push.” She thinks it might have had something to do with different standards of beauty around the world. “In general, in Europe, it’s better to weigh less. When Americans go to Europe and we weigh more, we’re viewed as not as beautiful.” (She voted against the new guidelines.)

The new standard means that “if you showed someone with a 26 [BMI] had no excess mortality in 1996—there would be no question,” Flegal said. She speculates the change was made to emphasize the seriousness of the obesity epidemic, and she notes that her critics have expressed fears her results might lull the public into complacency around obesity. “The problem with my research is apparently just that I did it,” she said. “That’s not science.”

But there’s a big caveat to this theory. Medical advice urging heavy people to lose weight is based on the premise that being overweight is unhealthy. If Flegal and Nordestgaard are right, and being overweight is linked to less mortality, then should people whose BMIs fall in the normal range gain weight? Should they be guzzling milkshakes in hopes of staving off death? Both Flegal and Nordestgaard said “no.”

“Weight is just one risk factor for most of these conditions, it’s not the risk factor,” Flegal said. She points out that some studies show people with doctorate degrees live longer than those with bachelor’s degrees. “If someone tells me, ‘I have a bachelor’s degree, but I know the risk is lower if I have a doctoral degree,’ should I tell them they should go get a Ph.D.?”

She reiterated something—perhaps the only thing—that epidemiologists who work on this issue can still agree on: “It’s associated. The causality is unclear.”

from Health News And Updates https://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2017/08/is-fat-bad/536652/?utm_source=feed