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whoacanada · 4 years ago

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Zimmerbro AU

Summary: Andrew Phillip Rowe could skate before he could walk, and it wasn’t until he was almost twenty and well on his way to becoming a Las Vegas Ace before he knew why.

a/n: that’s right we’ve got a secret zimmermann brother au based on the fact that Bob was an active pro athlete for almost 15 years before Jack was born and almost definitely had relationships before Alicia. This particular one resulted in a secret love child.

When the call finally went out that year — a request for players willing to billet the incoming draftees — Andrew had been the first in line.

His already sparsely decorated guest room had been primed for a new tenant since he’d learned Las Vegas’ abysmal season had earned them the first pick of the 2009 draft. In his mind, Andrew had envisioned a tearful confession. A family reunion nineteen years in the making where he’d finally get a chance to connect with a half-brother he’d grown up learning about through news articles and stats pages.

He wasn’t ready for Jack to pull out of the draft days before the ceremony; wasn’t ready for the claims of an overdose or speculation about suicide attempts. He certainly wasn’t expecting to have to open his home to a young man with limp blonde hair and deep circles under his eyes with the same enthusiasm he’d promised he’d offer to a son of Bob Zimmermann.

Andrew was hoping for a little brother.

He got Kent Parson instead.

______

“You remind me of my boyfriend.” Kent slurs one night, completely gone on Johnny Walker Blue borrowed from Andrew’s wet bar. “It’s your . . . face.”

“Shouldn’t talk about things like that,” Andrew cautions gently, covering his own surprise. “Never know who might be listening.”

“Who fucking cares? He won’t talk to me,” Kent continues, ignoring him and sniffing like he’s on the verge of sobbing or puking, both options equally unwanted. “They wouldn’t tell me if he was even alive.”

Another unwanted puzzle piece locks into place.

“Jack?” Andrew suggests softly, and Kent begins to cry.

“You won’t tell right?”

Andrew shakes his head no, long enough for Kent’s bleary eyes to focus on the gesture and take it seriously.

Things are different, after that conversation. Not worse, or better, just different.

________

“He’s my brother.”

Andrew admits this one night, for no reason other than that he can.

Kent is across the room, backlit by lights from the Strip, his legs dangling off the arm of his favorite couch as he scrolls through his phone looking for distractions. Parse hasn’t lived with Andrew for almost two seasons, but he still turns up like a bad penny whenever he needs to commiserate with someone who knows his more lascivious secrets. Truthfully, Andrew’s grateful for the company. He’s a pretty genial guy, but he’s always kept his distance, a personality trait he likes to think he shares with an unassuming sibling, but there’s no way to know for sure. The farther Andrew gets from the 2009 Draft, the less faith he has in a reunion that won’t just bring crippling sorrow to everyone involved.

A secret Zimmermann son who actually made it in the NHL. Who has his name on the Stanley Cup, not once, but twice, largely thanks to the spitfire forward lounging in Andrew’s living room.

“Who’s your brother?” Kent asks, not looking up from his phone.

“Jack Zimmermann.”

Kent barks a laugh and rolls his head lazily to smirk at Andrew.

“That’s funny. I guess you kinda have the same chin. Was Marky digging for chirps?”

Andrew has no idea what that means, but he sets down his tablet and says, “No, he’s actually my half-brother. My mom dated Bad Bob in ’84 and got pregnant.”

The lackadaisical smile on Kent’s face falters as his gaze sharpens, like he’s actually looking at Andrew for the first time. Andrew responds by gesturing at himself lamely.

“That’s not funny.”

“No.” Andrew agrees. “It isn’t.”

Kent swings his feet down off the couch and braces himself against the overstuffed leather. He doesn’t look mad, but there’s something too close to disbelief for Andrew to convince himself everything’s okay. It takes a moment, but Kent must find what he’s looking for on Andrew’s face.

“Does Bob know?” Kent asks with that familiar overfamiliarity, as if they both still have some personal relationship with the living legend.

“Yeah. When Mom got pregnant she told him she didn’t want the attention since it was only a fling — ”

“Who the fuck doesn’t lock down Bob Zimmermann?” Kent breathes. “Also, why the fuck did she tell you that?”

“No shit, right? She got him to sign away parental rights, set up a trust, never spoke to him again as far as I know. I didn’t find out until after I signed with the Aces. She didn’t want me to get blindsided if it all came out, but the story never broke.”

“I mean, does Bob know who you are?” Kent questions. “Does Jack?”

Andrew shakes his head no, because he doesn’t think so, and Kent flops back against the cushions, face slack with disbelief; it doesn’t take long for his features to shift to anger.

“You knew this whole time and you didn’t tell me? Even after I told you —“

“Okay, there’s a whole-ass difference between you fucking dudes and and me being ‘Bad Bob’s bastard’,” Andrew bites, curtailing Kent’s imminent hissy fit. Appropriately, Kent closes his mouth, almost pouting.

“Fine. But that’s fucked.” Kent says after a loaded moment of silence. “I’m sorry you’re . . . you.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry you’re you, too.”

“You know Jack’s signing with the Falconers, right?” Kent offers like the worst kind of olive branch, unintentionally telling Andrew exactly what he was up to during that stretch of time between New England games a few months prior. “It’s not public but it’s happening. Ink’s dry.”

“I know. That’s why I told you. It’s gonna be weird,” Andrew swallows, thinking about playing Providence in the coming months.

“Fucking right it’s weird.”

_________

For the most part, the Las Vegas Aces are decent, stand up guys. Even with the accusations of gambling debts and mob connections with the ownership group, Andrew’s never been asked to hit a certain player a little too hard, or to take a dive so the other team gets a shot at a power play. A lot of talk, a lot of conspiracies, ‘Typical Aces hockey’, but there’s no malice. Not really.

Andrew thinks it’s hilarious he plays the game a lot like his estranged father, but he’s not a legend in the making, hell, at this point he’s barely regarded as more than a mid-level, reliable center that can bring home 40 points a season.

Carly whips behind Zimmermann’s back to clip his skate with a stick, dropping a ill advised chirp that sets every player in earshot on edge. Parse is close enough to catch the quiet slur, stiffening like he’s been hit, and Andrew watches Zimmermann recover quickly, steely and resolute.

Jack has his mother’s eyes — not the warm brown Andrew catches every time he looks in the mirror.

“He’s a fucking goon,” Andrew breathes, gliding up to Jack’s shoulder in lieu of an apology. Zimmermann doesn’t miss a beat, his gaze flicking to Andrew with the quiet rage of ‘who gives a fuck’. Andrew admires his commitment to the game. Coming back after so much, after so long, to willingly subject himself to the same kind of treatment that Andrew knows likely led to his original fall from grace.

“Hey,” Kent ducks his head as he slides up a little while later, mouthguard clenched between his teeth, and asks, “You see his twink?”

At Andrew’s obvious confusion, Kent jerks his head toward the glass behind the Falconers’ bench, to a raucous group of fans all sporting fresh Zimmermann jerseys. Andrew’s gaze drifts along the row of faces, lingering longer on the familiar, handsome couple beside the blonde young man. He may be imagining things — the stadium lights catching a bad angle — but for the briefest moment, Andrew holds eye contact with his father.

“He’s cute, right?” Kent says bitterly, like he doesn’t have a partner of his own back home.

“Yeah, he is. You gonna do anything about the slurs, Captain?” Andrew counters, earning a stern look from Parson.

“I’ll deal with Carly.”

“Oh, you will? Because I’ve never seen you shut him down before.”

“I’ll handle it.”

Kent’s expression goes stormy, and he gives Andrew a hard shove before skating off to set up for the next shift. To his credit, he does grab Carly by the arm and tell him something that earns a look of displeasure from the larger man, but Andrew knows a verbal warning won’t curtail someone as dead-set in his conservatism as Carly.

The next play, Carly flashes Andrew a toothy smile over the lineman’s shoulder, as if they’re in on the same joke, and his vision goes red.

__________

“Bad Bob’s outside,” Scraps rasps, like whatever brief interaction he’s just had has physically winded him. “He wants to talk to Flip.”

Andrew blinks up from the water bottle in his hands, previously concerned with the pink-stained gauze wrapped around his knuckles. A few of the guys start chirping, but most of them remain silent, still processing the fact that Andrew assaulted one of their own without clear motivation, in defense of an opponent.

“That’s what this was all about? You gunning for a trade?” Sorenson spits from his stall. “Needed to impress Bad Bob by beating the snot out of Carly?”

“Maybe I am,” Andrew sighs, pushing himself to his feet, wincing at the way his jaw aches from the few good hits Carly had managed to squeeze in before he went down. “What the fuck are you gonna do about it.”

_______

Andrew’s grateful he kept his skates on. He needs the boost of confidence that comes with the added height, especially when he finds Bob Zimmermann waiting patiently in the corridor like he’s just another staff member and not the second most recognizable figure in modern hockey.

“Hey kid,” Bob greets, casting an approving, overly-familiar eye over Andrew’s padded bulk and sweat-slick hair. “You can throw a hell of a punch. Don’t think I’ve ever seen a guy beat the piss out of a teammate before. Off ice, sure, but never during a game.”

His accent is just as thick in private as every interview Andrew’s ever caught live — but his tone is unexpectedly warm, even grateful — when Bob laughs at his own recounting of Andrew’s assault attempt, the sound is light and joyous like nothing in the world comes easier to this titan of a man.

Andrew wonders if Bob can recognize the chin they share beneath a his playoff beard; if there’s any resemblance left in a nose that’s been reset a half-dozen times.

Andrew grew up loved and never wanted for anything. His step-fathers, both of them, had been good men who never left him looking for a father figure. It wasn’t until his twenties that Andrew even realized there was hole where his bio-dad should have been, and not just a regular hole, a yawning sinkhole threatening to devour his entire sense of self, because his biological father turned out to be a man he grew up idolizing as a personal hero.

He’s not mad at his mother, but when Andrew struggles to find his voice — which is bullshit seeing as he’s almost thirty-five and a god-damned professional athlete — he can’t stop himself from feeling like a misplaced child.

“Do you,” Andrew swallows, looking over Bob’s shoulder to see if anyone’s watching them. Finding they’re alone, he rallies quietly, “Do you know who I am?”

Bob’s jovial expression softens into something remorseful, but unfathomably kind. “I do, buddy,” he acknowledges, somehow squeezing three decades of affection into one term of endearment. “I’ve known for some time, now. The whole time, actually.”

That hurts more than expected.

“Does your wife? Does Jack?”

Bob shakes his head, but it isn’t a hard no.

“Alicia knows, and Jack has some idea he’s got a half-brother, but it’s all in the abstract. No specifics. Definitely doesn’t know you play. I wanted to respect your privacy and your mother’s wishes. She let me know she’d told you the truth a few years back and I wanted to give you the space you needed if you decided to reach out. When you didn’t, well, a man makes assumptions.”

Andrew looks down at the concrete beneath his skates and sniffs hard, fighting nasal drip from the smelling salts he’d needed in the third period; or, at least, that’s what he tells himself. “I had a plan, back when — ” he stops himself, looking down at his skates. Bob’s eyebrows lift in curiosity, leaving room for Andrew to gather his thoughts, but he doesn’t take the bait, unable to bring up what could have been just yet. Bob seems to grasp the context after the moment.

“2009,” he acknowledges softly. “Hell of a year.”

“Yeah. It was. Is he okay?”

“What, Jack? He’s leagues ahead of where he was then —”

“No, I mean, tonight. Carly clipped him pretty hard before I got in there.”

“Oh, a little bruised up, but he’ll live. Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Okay.”

Andrew looks down at his bandaged fist and realizes he’s completely forgotten how gnarly his face must look.

“Trainer says I’m alright, but I’m gonna get leveled with a wicked fine, I know it.”

“Was it worth it?” There’s a look of guilty pride on Bob’s face, like the man’s enjoying himself a little too much when he leans in and whispers, “You just did something I’ve wanted to do since Jack was in mites. Fucking lay out one of those fuckers that’s got nothing better to do than bitch because they can’t play,” there’s a moment of hesitation, as if he’s worried about pushing a boundary, before he adds, “How’d it feel to look out for your little brother?”

Pride, it turns out, in contagious, and Andrew feels like he could go back on the ice and do it all over again. “Pretty fucking great,” Andrew can’t help a smile, wincing when the gesture pulls at his split lip.

Bob slaps a hand on Andrew’s shoulder pads, then gets a grip on the back of his head, heedless of his sweaty hair.

“Crisse, you’re a fuckin’ beaut, kid. I’ve wanted to tell you that for years.”

Andrew can’t blame the smelling salts anymore.

__________

Jack clearly doesn’t see his father standing there with red-rimmed eyes, or Andrew in an equally unkempt state, and has no reason to think anything untoward has happened when he offers a handshake and pulls Andrew into a hug, bouncing his free fist off the back of Andrew’s pads. “I owe you a drink,” Jack says decisively when he pulls back, shooting a grin between his father and Andrew. “Can’t believe you did that.”

“More than a drink, I think,” the blonde guy Andrew saw behind the bench pipes up. Jack’s ‘twink’. Boyfriend. Whatever. “Dinner at least.”

“A pie,” Bob suggests tightly, keeping his voice even as he turns to quickly scrub his fist over his eyes. Andrew recognizes the statuesque woman who strides up beside Bob, and one quick look tells him she definitely knows who he is.

“Hello, Andrew,” Alicia greets softly, genuinely. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

“You, too.” he says, the tightness in his throat coming out as gruffness rather than emotion. “This is great, but I should go shower and, uh, it was nice meeting you all.”

Bob’s hand whips out and fists the sleeve of Andrew’s sweater, keeping him in place.

“You have plans tonight?”

Andrew debates lying, because he doesn’t know how to move forward from this point, but they’re all looking at him. Waiting. Expectant. There’s too much at stake, and yet somehow — A sharp whistle drags Andrew’s attention back to the locker room. Kent is peeking his head out, and god knows how long he’s been eavesdropping.

“Yo, Zimmermanns. Bittle.”

“Parson.” The blonde says curtly, earning a wry smirk from Kent.

“Flip, we got a presser if you feel like putting a bow on the evening,” Kent’s gaze drifts to Bob’s flushed face, and he adds, “Or, you can shower and slip out the loading bay while I cover for your aggro ass because this is not going to be fun. Your call.”

Andrew looks at the small family surrounding him, his family, and says, “I don’t want to explain.” Kent shrugs and ducks back inside while Bob’s brow furrows in confusion. “I can do dinner, but I don’t want to,” Andrew holds his hands out in front of him, trying to gesture what he means, and Bob snaps his fingers in understanding.

“Ah, ha, I got you, kid.”

“Neat. I’m gonna go shower.”

“We will be here when you’re ready,” Alicia offers. “Take your time.”

“Oh, I will,” Andrew replies before he can stop himself, cringing the second his back is turned because what the fuck could he be any more awkward?

Time will tell.

_____________

#zimbits #jack / bitty #omgcp #check please #my fic #my stuff #lost zimmermann brother au #bob's got another kid and I named him andrew again!#kent is not a bad guy #only carly is a bad guy and we hate him #long post #because it's a mini fic!

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taekooktimeline · 4 years ago

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December 31st, 2019 / January 1st, 2020

Following New Year’s Countdown, members take turns to talk about their resolutions. Tae says he wants to occupy himself with activities that heal his mind, although we understand it’s simply to maintain or - if possible - increase the level of happiness he experienced during 2019 as he said it was a happy year.

Jungkook interjects, interested in knowing whom he would do such activities with. If we go over prior events we can see that Tae had been going on trips with his family and various friends, including him & the wooga squad on a yacht, while Jk saw his own friends and relatives, complaining about Jhope and Jimin being the only members he had seen during their 1 month-long vacation on mid 2019, which could or could not be true, but if Taekook briefly saw each other they wouldn’t have been able to go anywhere outside an apartment. Jungkook could be bothered by this lack of private adventures and shared experiences (disregarding their variety shows). Wooga squad had also met up during Christmas Eve. Again, we don’t know if Tk spent some little time together or not.

Tae responds by saying there are many things that he can do alone. That answer doesn’t quite satisfy Jungkook who asks “not with us?”. It seems like Jungkook thought that they could be hanging out more than what they were and that Taehyung was going overboard with the closeting to the point of slightly distancing himself (although not reaching awkwardness like they later tried to sell).

Jungkook actually wrote a song that could give insight into this situation since it could have been written around this time. The Japanese demo was finished before March 2020 since it was first mentioned then, probably written only a few months before. Jk drew a big, artistic eye on a whiteboard on Dec 4th, which suggests he was already working on the songs’ adaptation to the Japanese film which gave it its name. This means he wrote the Korean version before December of 2019 and it had nothing to do with the pandemic. “Your Eyes Tell” talks about Jk being fearful of someone leaving him, even crying over it. He wants this person to believe him when he says that he wants a future with them no matter the hardships, even if he can’t say it out loud yet (meaning not ready to come out yet?) and his past demons haunt him sometimes (his lowest being late 2017/ early 2018). To believe him when he says that he finds this “darkness” to be beautiful if they are together. He says the world would be dull without the other and that he won’t take his eyes off of this person making sure that they don’t leave his side. If we assume this person to be Tae then, for whatever reason, Jk sensed that Tae was doubting Jk’s determination to keep going with their relationship, maybe due to the added difficulties that came with living in different apartments since around July 2019 and the weight of the prolonged closeting strategies. Jk may have interpreted the beginning of what seemed like a distancing as some sort of test where Tae gave him an easy way out or feared that if the situation progressed in this direction Tae would end up falling into thoughts that went something like “I should be the one to put an end to this for Jungkook’s sake” so he instead reassured him about his love through a ballad. It’s unclear whether Jk had real reasons to worry or he was just insecure about the changes in their relationship (living situation + heavier closeting = less private time together) and linking them to Tae’s past tendencies where he thought Jk would be better off without him.

Continuing with the topic, the night prior to this vlive Tae announced that he had recently written the first version of a song. It was written somewhere between the 14th & the 31st of December of 2019 and it seems like he was talking about “Sweet Night”, a song that was said to be completed by the start of March 2020 for the drama “Itaewon Class”. While we think that this song is based on Tae’s past experiences (finding common ground with the drama) from when he first realized he was deeply in love, unsure if the other still felt the same way, it was necessary for him to be able to relive the emotions he once felt, as he explained about his general creation process. The song tells that they had already crossed the line or grazed it at some points, but the sentence “are you my best friend?” & the part where he regrets realizing he’s in love only after the opportunity had passed are much more fitting to earlier in their relationship when things had never been labeled as romantic nor gotten serious, prior to an actual relationship ever ensuing which only happens at the end of the drama (not compatible with their mutual, unwavering gestures of love & compromise done throughout the previous years in addition to them “hiding” things like them sharing hotel room = having a serious relationship). The adaptation of Tae’s beloved webtoon inspired him to rediscover these emotions as it was also an opportunity to be part of an OST for a drama that his friend had a role in, but it also makes you wonder if he was truly in danger of going through the regression that Jk feared, Tae’s mind going back to the time they missed out on love. The song includes phrases such as “now my forever is falling down wondering if you’d want me now”, “I wonder if you are too good to be true” & “guess we were ships in the night” (meeting for a brief moment, or coming close to doing so, but then losing sight of each other due to the darkness). This last sentence is perhaps the most worrisome because it feels timeless, easily applicable to his musings at the time of writing, knowing they have to hold on tight to not part ways again because, as Jk reassuringly says in YET: “even this darkness we see is beautiful”.

”Sweet Night” opens with the lyrics “on my pillow/can’t get me tired/sharing my fragile truth”. On the 14th of December of 2019 Tae said he couldn't sleep well those days and that it could be due to it being the end of the year. It’s something he recouringly has trouble with so it can remind him of other occasions in which he had that problem. He usually writes down his emotions in his diary and revisits them. He also mentioned Itaewon Class.

On the 31st of December he then said he wrote a song.

The 6th of March of 2020 he talks about “Sweet Night”. He was saying it was hard to convey how he wanted the instrumental to sound to the staff (“express what’s in his mind”), but it was completed briefly before this vlive.

Regardless, “Your Eyes Tell” tries to retain someone BEFORE the end approaches, acting as a reassurance in case the other doubts (similar to “My Time”, released in February of 2020, where he promises they’ll overcome the restrictions), and we don’t think they broke up in 2019 due to many reasons, among them Tae saying in his final comments that it was a happy year with no particularly sad moments. January 25th was then the start of Tae being quite loud on Weverse throughout 2020 by mentioning Jungkook the most out of the members on free will (disregarding their iconic public exchange initiated by Jk on the 15th) and giving special attention to Jk-related questions as well as Taekook-related usernames. An indication of Jk’s efforts having an effect and Tae feeling encouraged to add subtle ways in which he could play with or challenge the exaggerated closeting limitations? An interesting set of rings also appeared within the month of January and it must’ve been Tae who gave Jk two rings out of the set of five that he initially wore himself. Jk held dearly onto them.

#taekook #taekooktimeline #191231 #December 2019 #2019 #theories

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cognacdelights · 4 years ago

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Teenage Dirtbags | 001. — Welcome To Exile

Summary: In which, an out of control teenager is sentenced to a summer in the Outer Banks to come to terms with her mother’s untimely death, and reform her rebellious, troublesome ways before she does irreversible damage.

Author’s Note: So this is the first chapter of Teenage Dirtbags. I really hope that you enjoy. Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist and all my masterlists will be linked below if you feel like checking out my other fics. Also, I’m doing a celebration cocktail night at the moment so feel free to get involved with that!

Warnings: This series may contain mature themes/content throughout including but not limited to swearing, sexual language and/or scenes, substance abuse and mentions of death.

Word Count: 2999.

Teenage Dirtbags Series Masterlist.

Fill The Void General Masterlist.

This gif is not mine, all credit goes to the owner.

001. — Welcome To Exile

The sweltering, mid-day sun was unforgiving as it stared, ceaselessly, down upon the unkempt, sandy shorelines of the island. It was typical for temperatures to reach an unbearable eighty-five degrees fahrenheit in the Outer Banks during the summer months, however the subtropical jet stream had brought with it an exceptionally merciless wave of blistering heat this year. The old, mercury thermometer that hung proudly beside the entrance to the ferry deck read one hundred and two degrees - or, perhaps, it was one hundred and three. The thermometer's glass had clouded over due to the extensive build up of dirt over the years and had obscured the faded markings. Whether it read one hundred and two or one hundred and three was merely a trivial discrepancy; either way, it was still miserably hot and insufferable.

As Marnie Sinclaire stepped outside onto the ivory-painted decking, the salt-laced, ocean-scented air overwhelmed her petite silhouette. It was uncomfortably thick and oppresively muggy - and the occasional oceanfront breeze was feeble, offering little relief against her fair, freckle-littered complexion. A content cluster of perspiration droplets adorned her forehead, causing her pale skin to glisten under the relentless rays of the North Carolinian sun. She could feel the prickling, burning sensation as the ultraviolet rays graced the high points of her doll-like features, and anticipated the inevitable rosy tinge that would develop in their absence. It would take some time for the dark-haired tearaway to adjust to the Mid-Atlantic climate; her blanched complexion was far more accustomed to New York's much milder conditions.

Her piercing, indigo eyes followed the labyrinth of cracks between the wooden planks as she stepped nonchalantly towards the bustling dock. The queue before her was fast-paced, and had dwindled down in just a matter of minutes as the eclectic array of passengers disembarked the privately-run ferry. Those trapped behind her sighed haughtily, and proceeded to roll their eyes in an obnoxious display of disapproval, as Marnie continued to move painfully lackadaisically in the direction of the dock. It was her final exhibit of reluctance to spend her summer vacation on the Outer Banks islands before she officially arrived, and she was determined to savour every last millisecond of her much-loved freedom.

"Have a nice day, Miss," a greying, middle-aged member of the ferry's crew bid her a pleasant farewell. The full, hearty smile - which had been plastered across his ochre complexion since his first interaction with the auburn-haired lady at the front of the long, winding queue - remained genuine, as he proceeded to address the insufferably impatient couple next in line. He seemed to be such a cheerful, sanguine man; in fact, everybody aboard the hell-bound vessel appeared to be detestably overjoyed to be on the island - well, except for Marnie. The bitter brunette had likened the experience to being ordered to serve a life sentence in the solitary confinements of Alcatraz - cruel, painful and inhumane.

After several hesitant steps towards the silt-covered tarmac strip which somewhat resembled a road, she halted. Her wary, sapphire eyes examined the chaotic hustle and bustle for any distinguishable sign of either of her grandparents. Although, truthfully, Marnie wasn't sure she would recognise them if they were stood centimetres in front of her and brandishing a luminous, neon sign; she hadn't physically seen her grandparents since she was four years old. Her parents' hectic and manic work schedules, and the uncomfortably long travel time between the Outer Banks and New York, meant that visiting for both parties was simply not an option. Yet, here she was, contrived to make the dire eight and a half hour journey alone - with just last month's crumpled edition of Vogue to keep her company.

"Marnie, is that you?" the sweet, honey-like voice of an elderly lady captured Marnie's attention. Her face was weathered - presumably due to the sheer amount of time she had spent under the constant and relentless gaze of the Mid-Atlantic sun, and the lack of adequate ultraviolet protection. Nevertheless, a cordial, welcoming beam still upturned the corners of her retreating lips. Her silver-tinted locks brushed against her cardigan-covered shoulders, and the dried-out ends curled upwards in a natural kink. The two front wisps had been tucked behind her pearl-baring ears, secured into place by the over-sized, diamonte-encrusted sunglasses that sat atop the crown of her head. She bared resemblance to Marnie's mother slightly; she had the same piercing, ashen eyes and high, prominent cheek bones that were decorated by a natural flush of rouge.

"Grams?" Marnie responded in a casual manner, although the answer was undoubtedly, blatantly obvious. An unidentifiable pang of emotion filled her stomach at the sight of her estranged grandmother, twisting and turning her insides in a sickly, tornado-like whirl. It was such a bittersweet reunion for the grandmother and granddaughter; Marnie had craved a reconnection with her mother's side of the family ever since her untimely death almost three years ago, however, she had always anticipated that it would be on her terms and not at the hands of her at-a-loss father.

"Doesn't she look just like Della, Graham?" her grandmother cooed in her saccharine tone, as she took in the petite, fair-skinned beauty before her. It was almost as if she had been transported back twenty years prior, to when her own daughter was sixteen years old and had the whole island in the palm of her hands. Neither Marnie, her grandmother, nor her grandfather could deny that Marnie was a doppelganger of her mother. From the infamous, prominent cheek bones, to the luscious, peach-tinted lips, to the lustrous, cinnamon waves - she was a complete carbon copy of Della Baker-Sinclaire. To Marnie this was both a blessing and a curse; whilst being gifted with her mother's charmingly beauteous looks came with it's obvious perks, every time Marnie caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror she was reminded of the devastating tragedy that utterly devoured her life. That took a toll on her, as it would anybody in her position.

"The spitting image," her grandfather agreed, taking a second to indulge in marvelling at his one and only granddaughter. A solemn expression etched itself into his dappled, ageing features as he remembered his late daughter in all of her unprecedented beauty. His sparse, silver eyebrows furrowed together in objection as his sunken, chartreuse eyes fixated on the silver, metallic ring protruding from Marnie's septum. "What's that in your nose?" he questioned almost immediately, the tone of his voice exuding absolute disapproval. There it was, what could have been a beautifully sentimental moment between a granddaughter and her estranged grandparents ruined, all because of a two dollar metal ring extruding from her septum.

"My septum piercing," Marnie's voice was impassive, and lacked emotion as she answered her grandfather - a vacant, deadpan expression occupying her doll-like features. The sporadic, coastal gust picked up ever so slightly, brushing the out of control teenag's tangled, chestnut locks across her pale face. The gentle wisps tickled against her reddening complexion, forcing the unruly brunette to turn against the direction of the much-appreciated draught.

"Did your father consent to you mutilating your face like that?" her grandmother interrogated. A disapproving glare contorted her haggard features, as her intense, oyster eyes clouded over with the unmistakable fog of condemnation. Despite her typically gentle and innocent nature, her grandmother could be a ruthless and malevolent woman at times. Raised solely by the word of the bible, Eileen Baker stood by the preaches of the lord to determine what was right and what was wrong in life. You would be damned to oppose the word of the bible, particularly in the eyes of Eileen; it was the law of the land in the Baker household.

"He almost had a heart attack when he found out," her granddaughter admitted with an apathetic shrug of her petite, denim-covered shoulders. Although she remained nonchalant and dismissive, Marnie was cautious of her grandmother's reaction. Her mother had told her many a story of her unruly, teenage escapades on the Outer Banks islands, and how they were to the utmost discontent of her grandmother. Obtaining a ticket back to her concrete sanctuary was a game of tactic and strategy - divulging further details of how she had actually pierced her septum herself, during a booze-fuelled weekend across the river, would condemn her to the island for the rest of eternity. That was simply a life Marnie could not fathom, nor was she even willing to bear.

"Well, there will be no more of that, young lady. You must ask our permission before you do anything," the ageing lady enforced her regime, an earnest glint occupying the cobalt speckles of her smokey eyes. She was resolute in straightening out her wayward granddaughter, just as she had with her own rebellion-filled daughter. It was her expectation that a bit of tough love and discipline would do the trick - however, the incessant niggling suspicion at the back of her mind urged her to prepare for an all out battle with the doe-eyed hellcat.

Marnie merely responded with a sickly-sweet smile of compliance. You had to choose your combats wisely with a woman like Eileen Baker if you were to ever reign supreme; it was an insignificant surrender to aid in a much more momentous war. At this moment in time, the element of surprise was her only weapon. Her grandparents would be expecting resistance, defiance and contention - anything but a submission. Giving in to their demands so effortlessly was a certified means of coercing them into loosening their restraints. Perhaps it would even compel them to question why she had been exiled to the Outer Banks in the first place. Well, she could only hope.

The tearaway teen had counted thirty seven steps until they had reached her grandparents' battered and bruised pickup truck. It was parked perfectly parallel to the sand-covered stone curb, a mere stones throw away from the main dock. It was an old make; the wheel alloys were scuffed and scraped to glory, and the North Carolina sun had faded the chipped, maroon paint over time. An almost invisible line of dints graced the side of the trailer - which Marnie only noticed when she struggled to haul her over-packed, stuffed-to-the-brim duffle bag over the side. She was thankful that her grandfather had opted to lift the offensively-bright fuchsia suitcase she had also dragged down the coast with her as she knew exactly how much that weighed. Whilst boarding her bus in Brooklyn, the driver had informed her that her suitcase was drastically over the permitted twenty kilogram weight limit and had issued her with a twenty five dollar fee to cover the extra weight of her case.

Clambering into the passenger side of the pickup truck, Marnie fished around in the pocket of her over-sized, denim jacket for her headphones. The wires were knotted together after being carelessly shoved into the unzipped pouch of the acid-washed jean. It took her a few frustrating seconds to free the entangled wires, but, nevertheless, it was a victory. Placing the buds in her pierced ears, Marnie turned her attention towards the window; a pattern of splatters decorated the glass, indicating that the truck hadn't been cleaned in some time. However, her luminous, cerulean eyes could still peer out and admire the picturesque scenery. In actual fact, the battery on Marnie's phone had died several hours previously and there was a steady wave of absolute silence blasting through the old, well-used wires. It was merely a successful ploy to deter her grandparents from launching into the impending lecture on her reckless and impulsive behaviour. She was sure to receive the reprimanding speech at some point, but for the duration of the journey to her grandparents' house she desired to be alone with her thoughts.

The drive across the island was considerably longer than Marnie had expected. Her idea of the Outer Banks islands was a series of small islands which you could walk the length and breadth of in a matter of half an hour, where everybody lived in wooden, beach-front huts - but she couldn't have been more wrong. Of course, there were your standard, shanty shacks that lined the shoreline, but there were also rows upon rows of enormous, architectural properties with beautifully landscaped gardens and extravagant yachts docked on their private jetties. It was almost as if the island had been split in two; it was a contradictory clashing of a vacational haven for the financially privileged and the mundane existence for the menial working class. Her grandparents lived on the cusp of both extremes - owning a newly-built house with a small plot of land. Nevertheless, they hadn't quite met the highbrow criteria for acceptance into the island's country club. Despite his retirement, Marnie's grandfather was a working man at heart and had spent the majority of his life earning a living as a commercial fisherman in the local waters. Her family very much belonged to the working class side of the island and were very much proud of their humble beginnings.

As the beat-up, old pickup truck pulled into the paved driveway, Marnie caught a fleeting glimpse of a boy stood on her grandparents' porch. Through the dust-coated windshield, she could make out his vague silhouette; he stood approximately six foot tall and had broad, square shoulders. His arms appeared to be sculpted and muscular, showcasing the signature, subtle bulging around his biceps and triceps. A washed-out, salmon snapback sat comfortably atop his head, as the remnants of his untamed, dark curls peeked beneath the brim of his hat. His jawline wasn't particularly defined, but Marnie could make out it's squared-off outline from the glaring rays that penetrated the shelter of the porch.

"John B, what can I do for you?" her grandfather's deep, assertive voice projected towards their house. His tone was inquisitive as he proceeded towards the two-story build, the cluster of keys to his beloved pickup truck clasped firmly in the palm of his calloused, well-worked hand. A concerned, yet quizzical, expression graced his wrinkled features - mimicking his intrigued inflection.

"Mr Heyward sent me with your groceries," the boy - who Marnie's grandfather had identified as John B - answered neutrally, holding up the unbranded, plastic carrier bags of groceries he had been tasked with delivering. His muscles tensed under the strain of lifting the hefty bags, the contours of his muscles being ever more evident as his bronzed complexion glistered celestially under the harsh light of the subtropical sun. He was a polarising contrast to the boys in Brooklyn, especially the boys that Marnie had acquainted herself with. Her male friends tended to be worryingly pasty, ridiculously gangly, and often came with one type of serious drug addiction or another.

"Thank you, son," her grandfather acknowledged the boy before him, retrieving the several bags of essential groceries. The greying, olive-skinned man took a few moments to inspect the neatly-packed groceries - confirming that he had indeed received the entirety of the goods he ordered. A satisfied smile tugged at the corners of his dry lips, flashing an appreciative grin at the young Routledge boy. "You let Mr Heyward know that I'll square it with him when I see him, won't you?"

"Of course, Mr Baker," John B nodded politely, before proceeding to make his way down the painted, wooden porch steps. His off-white Converse padded lightly against the painted, cedar wood steps, as he adjusted his salmon snapback. The boy flashed a cordial smile at both Marnie and her grandmother as he passed them by, and nodded once again in a polite acknowledgement of both ladies. He may have been raised by his single father, but John B had been raised right. His father was a stickler for manners; if there was one thing he would instil in his only son, other than his intimate knowledge of the local waters, it was good manners.

"Oh, John B," the sugary, dulcet voice of Mrs Baker attracted the wavy-haired boys attention once again, compelling him to turn on the heels of his worn-in, off-white sneakers, "this is our granddaughter, Marnie. She's staying with us for the summer." In response to her grandmother's sudden introduction, Marnie plastered an evidently forced, caustic smile across her fair features. She raised her dainty palm in an impassive manner, and waved almost sarcastically at the sun-kissed boy before her. It was her grandmother's improvised attempt to make her granddaughter feel more at home on the island - introducing her to the local kids would aid her in making friends, and having friends would make the place more bearable for the New York native. Well, so her grandmother thought.

"Uh, hey," he spoke a little uneasy, unsure what to make of the situation that was abruptly unfolding in front of him. His dark, umber eyes peered downwards at the girl before him; her glossy, mahogany wisps cascaded down her back - yet to be touched by the moisture-sucking salt suspended in the ocean's playful waves, and her light, blemish-less skin exhibited a healthy glow. Her doe-like, ultramarine orbs reflected the suns rays, yet still managed to hold an unidentifiable darkness within their malachite speckles. She was, undoubtedly, beautiful - as insinuated by her model-like features and svelte, athletic figure. "Me and my friends are having a get together at the boneyard later, you should drop by."

Marnie's cold, callous eyes followed her grandmother’s nimble silhouette, watching intently as the short, silver-haired lady leisurely strolled up the ivory-painted porch steps and towards the front door. Sure she was out of earshot, the fair-skinned girl relaxed her prominent features from their strained contortion, "no need to roll out the welcome wagon, I'll be gone by this time next week. You won't even remember I existed by the end of summer."

"Suit yourself,” John B responded with an apathetic, slightly confused shrug of his broad, shirt-clad shoulders.

Taglist: @drewsephsmiles @spilledtee @bellaguarneri @outrbanks @ilovejjmaybank @milamaybank @jjtheangel @shawnssongs @jayjaymaebank @jjouterbanks @ptersparkers @jjcultmain @summerintheobx @captainpogue @rudyypankow @rudypankow-whore @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch

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jewish-privilege · 4 years ago

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Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu has set Wednesday [July 1, 2020] as the date when he might begin a process of unilaterally annexing sections of the West Bank — land that Palestinians see as illegally occupied and the heart of their future state.

It is more than 2,100 square miles that has been fiercely disputed through decades of failed diplomacy, and many international experts see the potential annexation as a death knell to the two-state solution. Israel captured the West Bank from Jordan after it came under attack during the 1967 war, and has since blanketed parts of it with settlements housing nearly 500,00 Israeli Jews. But under the Oslo Agreements of the mid-1990s, Israel and the Palestinian Authority divide governance in the area.

Netanyahu’s announced plan to formally exert Israeli sovereignty over the territory came after President Donald Trump in January unveiled his peace plan, including permission for Israel to annex up to 30 percent of the West Bank. More recently, the White House has been sending mixed signals about its support for any such unilateral moves, nearly 200 pro-Israel members of Congress have signed a letter urging the Israeli government to reconsider.

...It remains unclear whether Netanyahu’s coalition will actually move forward, as defense and economic officials have been warning against annexation, citing the mayhem that could follow. The Palestinian leadership has promised to respond to even partial annexation by abandoning Oslo, forcing Israel to take direct responsibility for 2.7 million Palestinian residents of the West Bank.

...During this time of extreme uncertainty and anxiety, we asked six Palestinians to share their perspectives on this phase of the long-running conflict.

Mahmoud Hmedat, a civil engineer in the West Bank city of Jericho, does not like the term annexation. “It’s re-occupation, not annexation,” he said.

For Hmedat, who is 26, the uncertainty of the moment is hard to bear: “It’s like something totally unknown hurtling towards us.”

Most of all he’s worried. Worried about the economic fallout – will farmers around Jericho be able to get enough water? Worried about confiscation of Palestinian land.

Until Trump entered the White House, Hmedat said, he had held out hope that a two-state solution might being in reach. Now it seems like an impossible dream.

Whether a resolution comes in one-state or two-state form matters ultimately matters less to him at this point, he said, than what he calls “freedom for all people.”

“We want justice for everyone and by that I mean the Palestinians, the Israelis,” he said. “We need to offer everyone the same rules, the same services, the same conditions – that’s the only way peace will ever be possible.”

...Hamada Jaber, 37, who lives in the West Bank city of Ramallah and is the co-founder of the One State Foundation, sees opportunity in this moment. He is hoping the Palestinian leadership will adopt a new strategy and abandon the two-state solution in favor of one-state for two peoples, with equal rights for all.

...“Israel and now Trump is essentially telling everyone, there is no two-state solution,” he said.

“Netanyahu said even if he annexes areas where there are Palestinian inhabitants, we will not have any rights or citizenship in Israel. In my opinion this will create an officially kind of an apartheid state of Israel – an official one recognized by law as it exists as it is already.”

This is where the opportunity comes in, he argued, saying what should come next is that the Palestinian Authority dissolve. Jaber believes this would force Israel into an unflattering international spotlight of controlling Palestinians it does not enfranchise and force the hand of the only solution he sees as viable: one state for Jews and Palestinians.

“We live in it already — this one state reality, what we need to do is give equal rights to everyone,” he said. “That means the end of the Jewish state and the start of one democratic state with equal rights for all.”

How to make this palatable to Jewish Israelis? His answer: a strategy of non-violence in which the Palestinian Authority would not only stop governing parts of the West Bank but would also turn in all Palestinian weapons and send the message that Palestinians don’t want to fight or kill anyone, but do demand their rights.

...Husam Jaber works as a tour guide in the West Bank city of Bethlehem — or he did until the coronavirus hit. After months being out of work because tourism has vanish, Jaber, 49, sees annexation only adding to the economic hardship of the moment.

“People’s main concern is the economy, they want to live in peace and have money,” he said.

“I don’t think there is much I can do,” Jaber added, “and I feel sad, helpless that on both sides people are suffering. If there is violence, more people will suffer.”

Jaber is also angry with the Americans: “Americans OK’ing it does not make it legal,” he said of annexation. “What Israel is doing is illegal by all standards.”

He’s agnostic on the form a future solution should take.

“Identity is something constructed – I don’t think of nationality, I am more focused on whether or not my kids will have equal rights,” said Jaber, a father of four. “That’s better than having a nationality.”

...Ashraf al-Masri is a 45-year-old taxi driver in the Beit Hanoun neighborhood of the Gaza Strip whose three-story home was flattened during Israeli bombing raids in 2013. He said that he is still trying to hold onto the idea the Palestinians might have their own state alongside Israel, but that the increasingly real prospect of annexation is testing his resolve.

...“Palestinian land is the West Bank and Gaza, so if Israel takes the land of the West Bank, where does that leave us?” Al-Masri asked. “If Netanyahu does this, I only see war next, both in the West Bank and Gaza. From here in Gaza, Hamas and the Islamic Jihad will not let Israel steal the land for nothing.”

Palestinians like himself, in Gaza, will pay an economic price as well, Al-Masri fears. If the Palestinian Authority, based in the West Bank, dissolves itself the aftermath of annexation as President Mahmoud Abbas has promised, that would mean halting payments to workers and institutions in Gaza. If that happens, he worries that Hamas, the Islamist faction that rules Gaza, would be unable to pay thousands of people’s salaries and the economy, which is already in dire straits, could completely crash.

..As mayor of al Aqaba, a town in the Jordan Valley, Sami Sadiq, 63, has a lot to lose if Netanyahu pushes ahead with annexation: his part of the West Bank is among the most likely to be annexed at some point.

“If Netanyahu wants peace – why is he doing this? Where are the Palestinian people supposed to go?” asked Sadiq, 63, whose family has lived in the small village for generations. “We want peace.”

He said he has been in a wheelchair since 1971 when, as a 16-year-old, he was struck by three bullets shot by Israeli soldiers training nearby.

“I don’t know what the future will be if Netanyahu constantly refuses to go towards peace,” he added, pointing to the guest house in his village, and explaining that he is always urging Israelis to visit — usually without luck.

“They say they are afraid,” he said. “But you can’t have peace if you don’t know each other.”

#ip conflict #anti palestinian racism #jewish self determination #palestinian self determination #long post

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gaiapaia · 4 years ago

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Kermit and Friends: Alexander Octopus Cortez

Since Kermit and Friends Sunday Church Services began, Elisa has shared her story a few times about how she was chastised by the Christian church she was attending before bringing back KAF.

KAF Church had a new attendee this week, a lovely Christian woman by the name of Marie. When Marie heard how Elisa had been treated by her church, she was disgusted, as am I every time I hear it.

Here’s where I might sound a little judgmental and conspiratorial, but it doesn’t surprise me that Los Angeles churches are the type to turn people off from God like that. I’m from the south, Marie is from the mid-west... and the churches we’re familiar with would NEVER treat Elisa with such condescension.

But finally, yes, FINALLY Los Angeles has a church that can be trusted. It’s name?

THE KERMITARIAN CHURCH!

That’s right baby, we have an official name for our church now, and man... is it ever so beautiful and perfect.

Oddly enough, Elisa still remains to get judged in her very own church! This time by Muslims, not Christians. What happened? Well let’s review the show...

Church kicked off with an awesome introduction video Elisa made. I really loved it and I look forward to seeing more stuff like that in the future. Very fun!

Elisa then talked about chance encounters and how God places each person in our lives for a reason. I agree to an extent but I also don’t think it’s too wise to hop in the car with strangers just because you’re invited somewhere. So please be careful with that in the future, Elisa! God blessed us with free will and there are evil humans out there who take advantage of that amazing gift. We shouldn’t judge people but we also can’t trust everyone we come across.

As mentioned above, Kermit got a new friend this week in the wonderful Marie. She was a little shy on the show but I can tell she will become more comfortable over time. Hopefully she returns next week!

We got our weekly call from Barry Boss next where he asked if the audience would enjoy seeing a sex tape between he and Elisa, and he also claims he’s working to get Elisa a TV talk show in Miami. I would have to vote no on the sex tape, but here’s hoping he gets that TV deal for her!

After the call, Elisa opens up about how she became smitten with the animated octopus from last week’s show, Alexander Octopus Cortez. Elisa has this quirk of falling hard for voices she’s attracted to combined with personalities she deems humorous. It’s very cute but it has never led to anything good romantically... unfortunately, AOC did not turn out to be an exception.

Elisa wrote this unbelievably creative song for AOC. I’m not exaggerating or kissing butt when I say the lyrics were truly brilliant and hilarious. I was amazed by the song, but AOC? Not so much.

Turns out AOC is not just an animated octopus, but a gay animated octopus well into his 60′s or 70′s. He has zero interest in Elisa, leaving her heartbroken yet again. Hopefully though AOC continues to visit the show, as he will be a good personality for Elisa to have fun with.

Moving on... DJ Smooth made his immaculate return to Kermit and Friends this week with a handsome new haircut. He was less troll-ish and actually participated in the show in a very entertaining way. He has potential to be a great addition to the church and I hope he attends every Sunday!

Laurie the Muslim also returned to the show this week for the first time in a while. She brought a couple of Muslim friends with her (Mohammad and Boahan) and there was a nice conversation about what inspired them to be Muslim and how it’s benefited their lives.

We also got to meet a new friend of Kermit by the name of Pete. Elisa met Pete on Facebook where he was ranting about masks being used as a political agenda. Pete seemed very sensible and may become a voice of reason on the show if he continues to attend Kermitarian Church every Sunday, as he made rational points any time Elisa went to him for his opinion. Same goes for Darron the Pharmacist, who also had a nice little appearance on this week’s broadcast.

Elisa also received a couple of pleasant phone calls this week from her old KAF love interest Gonzo and also from KAF legend, Kleenex. Hopefully in the future those two will click the Streamyard link to attend church rather than call in so they can speak with other members instead of just Elisa. Remember, Streamyard works just as well on a smart phone as it does on a computer. It was great hearing from them though!

Next up is Corey and all hell breaks loose.

Corey admittedly has done a lot of naughty things in the past. He’s received nothing but coal from Santa Claus for years now. However, at Kermitarian Church, the slate gets wiped clean and EVERYONE is welcomed to attend and hopefully to repent. Including, yes, ThyCorester. And for two weeks straight, Corey has done nothing wrong.

The fact of the matter is, once Corey cammed up, it was Laurie who rehashed the drama. It was DJ Smooth who went on the attack. It was Johnny B who criticized. All it takes is a smile from Corey for people to lose their minds. Why? Why allow this man have so much power over your emotions, especially when he’s not doing anything? Forgive him and move on. If you say nothing negative towards the guy, there’s a chance he won’t start in with his nonsense. It takes two people to be cordial, and so far Corey is the only one willing to try to be cordial.

So yeah, most of the rest of the show was bickering between Corey, Laurie, Smooth, and Johnny B. Was it entertaining? Absolutely, but did Corey start it? No!

Because Elisa allowed Corey and Laurie to trade insults and accusations toward one another, Laurie’s friend Boahan became very critical of Elisa for the way she was running the show. She blamed Elisa for Corey and the chat’s words, she said Elisa was milking for drama instead of trying to have a loving church, and she basically stormed off afterward, not giving Elisa a chance to respond to her. Laurie then pretended to be offended by Elisa calling her ‘Laurie the Muslim’ just because her friend was offended by it. Of course Laurie takes the side of her new Muslim friend over the woman who has loved and supported her for nearly 5 years straight. Makes complete sense, right?

From the very beginning, Elisa has said Kermit and Friends will welcome ANYONE. She wants ALL walks of life to come together on this show and be friends. Is that possible? Logic says no, but Elisa is a dreamer and optimist, you can’t tell her anything is impossible. That said, I’m sure she understands having such different personalities will raise conflict. The good thing about conflict is that while it does lead to entertainment, it also leads to resolutions. However, the people arguing have to be open to resolutions. If they’re not... that’s not Elisa’s fault.

Forgiveness is the key. Forgive Corey. That doesn’t mean you must forget, but forgiveness and being cordial is the best way to deal with him. It will also help with your mental stability since your mind will no longer burst into flames whenever you see his face. Seriously, to the Corey haters... just let it go already.

Anyway, besides that, the show also featured the return of Jason Deeh Pitre, and Johnny B. Jason looked awesome as always and gave us a nice little tune, while Johnny B did a beautiful karaoke performance of the song Peace in the Valley. DJ Smooth also got creative this week with a funny little poem about Corey, and William Quigley cammed up while in the shower and did a hilarious dance number for the audience during an argument between Smooth and Corey.

As you can tell, it was a crazy episode, even crazier than last week. I loved it. KAF continues to be my favorite podcast with my favorite characters and my favorite host... I can’t wait for next week! :)

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wlw-imagines-blog · 6 years ago

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Drinks Are On Me.

Anon asked: Can you do a Wanda x reader with 2 and 55 but like angst to fluff?? Please and thank you!! ❤️

2. “Stay here tonight.”

55. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Bartender!Wanda x CEO!Reader

A/N: not necessarily angsty, sorry, but it’s a little fluffy, and romantic.

Warnings: There’s a creepy dude who tries to be a douche, but nothing really bad in those terms. There is also heavy NSFW, but I can’t tag it in the tags, or else tumblr will hid it from the search and I’ll have to put it up for review, so NSFW will by under the cut, aight?

You weaved through the crowd, trying to find an empty place at the bar. It was a busy Friday night at the Maximoff’s Lounge, and music flowed throughout the main floor, punctuated by rich laughter from corners of the room. You managed to steal an empty seat at the counter.

As the week ended, you were suppose to spend the evening with a supposed “New love interest” according to you best friend, share some drinks at the fancy new bar in Midtown. As much as you wanted to enjoy yourself, the new love interest was one of the creepiest men in the entirety of New York. About an hour into the evening, and multiple attempt to grab your backside and chest, you excused yourself to get another drink, eyes threatening to water. Emotionally preparing yourself for another grueling hour of conversation with walking, talking, Sleaze-Master 5000.

You put your face in your hands groaning internally. “What am I doing here?” you muttered to yourself.

“Is everything okay?” A woman asked from the other side of the counter.

You looked up and were met with a beautiful woman with sloping features and a quiet smile. Her eyes were luminous, a kaleidoscope of colours ranging between blues, greens and gray. She was dressed in a breezy dark grey button down and tight black slacks. The woman offered you a warm, easy smile.

You sniffed a little and wiped your eye delicately. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Is there anything i can get you?” She asked kindly. “A drink, maybe?”

“Oh,” You were shook back into reality. “I’m not sure, actually. Any specialties?”

The woman leaned against the bar. “I make a killer lime daiquiri. It might be a good pick me up. Sound alright?”

You nodded, watching her set to work. “Tonight’s busy, isn’t it?”

“You should see this place during New Years; it’s a full house, even the rooftop,” she responded while pouring rum into a shaker.

“I can imagine,” You took a deep breath, massaging your shoulder and stretching out your neck.

The woman raised her eyebrows but grinned. “Are you okay? Let me guess; running away from a terrible date?”

You chuckled. “That obvious?”

She pulled out a bottle of syrup. “Yup. Let me guess; is he sleazy?”

“Kinda.”

“A Scumbag?”

“Sorta”

“The Bourgeois?”

“Hmm, maybe.”

“Well that’s a shitty date if I’ve ever known,” she shrugged before shaking the cocktail mixer. Every movement and flare was filled with grace and clear experience. She poured the beverage into a tall, margarita-like glass and garnished it with a wedge of lime.

“I guess I’m just... Kind of bored,” You explained. “I spend everyday in the office for about ten hours for the past six years. I work my way up the corporate ladder to a CEO position. And then when I try to go out with some jerk like tonight, he degrades me and treats me like some simpleton.”

She lid you the drink and whistled. “That’s pretty harsh, Miss.”

“I know.” You sipped the drink, savoring the tartness and the sight burn. “Oh my god, this is fantastic.”

The woman grinned modestly, taking a towel and resting it on her shoulder. “Good, yeah?”

You nodded, licking your lips. Her eyes flicked down to your mouth, clearly intrigued. You gazed up at her through your lashes.

You shifted. “I’ve told you a lot about my woes, and I haven’t even given you a name.”

“Let me guess.” She said. “Josephine? Leslie? Gertrude?”

“Y/N,” You responded, a smile flickering on your lips. “Y/N L/N.”

“Y/N,” the woman rolled your name on her tongue. “That’s pretty.”

Heat crawled up your neck. “What about you? what’s your name?”

She leaned in. “Aren’t you going to guess?”

You considered. “Michelle?”

“Nope.”

“Um, Natasha?”

“Nadda.”

“Elizabeth?”

“Lovely, but no.”

You threw your hands up. “Okay, I give up! I have no clue!”

She chuckled. “Wanda. Wanda Maximoff.”

You stopped mid sip, eyes widening. “Maximoff? As in, the Maximoff’s Lounge?”

Wanda nodded, leaning against the bar once more. Her face was radiant.

“Wow, I had no idea you owned this place. It takes a lot of effort and perseverance to own your a business,” you lowered the glass. “That’s pretty damn impressive.”

“Thanks,” Wanda wiped down an area of the bar. “I own the place with my brother, Pietro. It took us years to get enough money and coverage to actually buy a place and set up shop. But it was worth it.”

You listened intently, watching the way her eyes flickered with focus as she recalled the past.

“Hey, baby, why’d you slip off?” A hand wound itself around your waist, dangerously close to your rear end. “I was missing you.”

You discreetly rolled your eyes and Wanda smirked.

“I was just getting a drink,” You turned to your “date”, moving so that he was no longer touching you. Jesus, he seemed even greasier than you remembered. “Okay, look, you seem like a nice guy, but I’m just not really interested right now. I’m sorry for wasting your night, alright? Have a good one.”

Just as you turned back to Wanda and your drink, there was a firm hand on your arm. The grip was tight enough to bruise.

Your date’s mouth leered next to your face, reeking of alcohol. “Come on, baby, the night is still young, I can show you a good time.”

You cringed away, visibly disgusted. “Um, no. You’re drunk, and acting like a creep. Leave me alone.”

He was persistent, about to say something, but Wanda intervened.

“Hey, buddy, she said back off.”

You looked to her, and smiled.

Your date begrudgingly released your arm, and stalked off to the exit, walking out the door.

“I guess I’m paying for drinks tonight,” you started to pull out your wallet.

Wanda put a hand up, smile still on her face. “No, it’s fine. Drinks are on me.”

You tried to argue, but she seemed resolute.

“Can I repay you somehow? Buy you a coffee, or something” You asked. “When does your shift end?”

She checked her watch. “Give me two hours, okay?”

Two hours later, You were laughing as Wanda recounted tales of her earlier life. The two of you were sat outside a 24/7 cafe drinking coffee and sharing a pumpkin muffin.

“I can’t believe that! Did you actually skip prom and hitchhike all the way to Detroit?” You asked, peeling away the muffin wrapper.

Wanda nodded. “Yup, and that was possibly the best impromptu vacation ever. Even though I was grounded for two months when I came back.”

You laughed in disbelief. Your hand traveled along the table to Wanda’s hand was, fingers brushing against the rings and bracelets that adorned her hand.

Her eyes landed on yours and you bit your lip. Wanda swallowed thickly, and you watched the way her hair fell against her neck. You wanted to kiss the spot just under her ear.

You leaned forward and pecked her on the lips, pulling away just as quickly. before you could apologize for your brash action, Wanda reached out and held your face, kissing you deeply, tongue brushing against your bottom lip. You gasped in surprise.

She looked into your eyes before murmuring gently. “Take me home.”

You nodded, standing up to hail a taxi.

The two of you stumbling through the front door. Perhaps it was the alcohol, or being dizzy with lust, but the night passed in a pleasant, hot haze.

You remembered falling forward onto the bed, straddling Wanda. Slipping your fingers into her mouth, consumed by the heat that enveloped each digit. The press of your bodies became overwhelmingly wonderful as she kissed the sensitive spots near your collarbone. You remembered the sweet taste of her skin on your lips as you sucked hickies onto her neck, hearing her moan and pull you closer and closer. You remembered your fingers pushing into her tight heat, rubbing and teasing, obeying her noises of pleasure. You remembered falling over the edge, body seizing and gasping, letting Wanda take control.

The two of you laid there until Wanda rolled over and cradled you. Drifting off into blissful oblivion, You murmured before you could stop yourself.

“Stay here tonight.”

Wanda did not hesitate. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You slumbered peacefully.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #fanfiction #marvel imagines #marvel x reader #wanda maximoff imagines #infinity war #avengers imagines #avengers x reader #wlw #writing #request

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wadupkev · 5 years ago

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WHY I DID 100,000 PUSHUPS IN 365 DAYS

Today, I finished my last day of doing 274 pushups every day, for 365 days in a row, for a grand total of 100,010 pushups. This blog talks about what I learned from the last year. Read if you would like. If not, know that I love you!

Around this time last year, I was feeling a little weird. I had given myself a long time to reflect on Ironman training and had even given my body some of the first real rest it’s had in a long time. But I had just started grad school and was getting back into the routine that is being a student. Setting aside time to get back in the books and study, getting coursework done, working a graduate assistantship, etc. I was starting to get an itch again to be back in the gym. I had started lifting pretty consistently but wasn’t feeling the challenge that was Ironman training. When you decide to take on an Ironman, there is no faking training. Growing up I could have gone outside and done a 5k no problem no training. Ironman was different. It made me commit to pushing through pain every day. It made me commit to a two-year process. It made a kid who was scared of commitment (Need proof? Just ask any of my ex’s or girls I have talked to recently haha), dive into something that would challenge my limits. I had gone from April 28th, 2018, concluding my Ironman journey, to mid-October 2018 without a daily challenge to commit to.

I didn’t have something that needed my attention every day and it felt weird.

I stumbled across an article that talked about some whacko doing something like 5,000 pushups in one sitting or something like that. Uhhh what? Is that even possible? I started thinking about my trip to Europe when my guys and I would drop down and do pushups on the hour every hour from when we woke up to the mid-afternoon. We would do something like 150-200 pushups a day in random places like the Swiss Alps, or a train station in Germany. I have some video footage of pushups on some baller mountains in the Alps. We weren’t super consistent in getting them done because we had other priorities while on the trip. But this got me thinking. If I did pushups every day for a year, what would happen? What would be a goal that would be pretty difficult to reach, but with commitment, consistency and discipline would be something I could do? After some thinking, I decided that 100,000 pushups would be the goal. Not like the crazy guy in one sitting, but over the course of a year. 365 days, 100,000 pushups. That’s 274 pushups every day for one whole year. I thought about this to myself for a couple days. Was it something I could actually commit to? Ha, look at that fear of commitment hopping back up. If it was something I was going to decide to do, it was going to be something that I did.

No excuses, every day, for a year. 😳

I texted some guys about it and got some excited responses.

I’ve learned that you can’t really announce to the world that you are going to do something before you actually do it. You get a lot of the fulfillment from the reactions of people before you even do anything and you are a lot less likely to actually follow through with whatever it is.

These were people I trusted. Some said they would do it with me, which I was jazzed about. Training for Ironman alone sucked. I knew it would be way easier to do this with someone for accountability. So, I started. October 26th, 2018, I started doing 274 pushups a day. I quickly learned that your body starts to get used to a certain load if you repeat it over and over but the first couple of days were so hard. I was unbelievably sore after two days. The process started with 25 pushups on the hour every hour until I was done. It gave me a great excuse at work in my cubicle to stand up and move around for a little each hour. I committed to increasing the reps per set by 5 every 50 days. So, days 1-50 were 25 at a time. Days 51-100 were 30 at a time, days 301-350 were 55 at a time etc. Over time, I would be doing fewer sets in total, and more pushups at a time. This kept the process fresh enough that I wasn’t getting too bored.

Committing to this though was not easy at the beginning. I would forget about doing pushups throughout the day sometimes and would go to lay down for bed and suddenly remember and have to get up and grind out 200 pushups or something like that. It’s hard to fall asleep after doing a lot of pushups haha. I started to learn the more you can get done in the morning means less worrying in the evening. I started doing one set right when I woke up, then I would get back in bed and do my devotional and respond to the boys, and then get back on the floor and do another set.

But doing something for 365 consecutive days without missing a single day is incredibly hard.

There were days this last year I was sick. It didn’t matter. There were days I would row a raft 20 miles down the Arkansas river. Didn’t matter. There were days I had just carried a pretty heavy backpacking pack for several miles leading a trip in the Colorado backcountry. Didn’t matter. There were days I felt terrible because of too much of a certain drink from the night before. Didn’t matter. There were days I was working from 5am to 10pm. Didn’t matter. I have always been able to make excuses in the past for not doing something, but that’s what everyone does. There’s always a reason as to why someone won’t do something. I wasn’t going to let that be me. Committing to something means not wavering. This challenge has changed the way I commit to things. If I commit, there’s no stopping. I might take my time to commit, but when I do, it’s for good.

My home pastor from years ago, Matt Heard, said one time that there is ALWAYS time for things that are a priority.

This has stuck with me for a long time. If it is a priority, you’ll get it done. If it isn’t a true priority, well you get it.

There were four people I texted every single day for the last year to let them know I had finished the numbers for the day. Every day they got a text from me that read “Got em done”. They can back me up on the fact that I didn’t miss a single day because they are probably super annoyed to have been getting these texts every day. Although most times it was just a continuous stream of me texting them with the same text, every now and then I would get some encouragement from them and boy was it timely. Always positive, always encouraging me to keep going. Because I think they knew it was more than doing a physical challenge.

They knew I would learn something from this. And I sure did.

I learned more about discipline than ever. Most people see discipline as someone who wakes up early every day. Someone who goes to the gym every day. Someone who is consistent in their life. I think all of these things make up a part of discipline no doubt. But I also learned something else. It came from a book on the qualities they teach at West Point, one of which is discipline. Pat Williams in his book Character Carved in Stone talks about discipline, specifically self-discipline, like this.

“Self-disciplined people put miles of distance between themselves and temptation. They don’t put themselves at risk. They don’t flirt with temptation. They flee it - repeatedly, habitually, without fail.”

As much as discipline is being consistent in a routine, going to the gym, how you talk, etc., it is even more so your response to temptation. It’s a response to your situation.

Disciplined people flee temptation always. Period.

I am more proud to have learned this lesson than to have done a lot of pushups. It took this challenge though for God to teach this to me. He continues to shape me in ways I don’t see coming and I am so thankful for it. He is preparing me for his plan, for where he has me going after grad school, for a relationship, for a heart ready to serve others and to be a more disciplined person.

Do I still have a long way to go? Absolutely. I fall short every day. I am so thankful for the grace that God has given me and offers to you. If you read my Ironman blog, you know that I think everyone should challenge themselves in some way each year. I am not a big new year’s resolution kind of guy, but if it’s that that will get you doing something hard, then do it. Why not start now though? We are capable of so much as humans and it takes something hard to push us closer to those limits. If there are limits.

Am I going to stop doing pushups now that this is over? Hell ya. I am so sick of thinking about pushups every freaking day. 100,000 pushups are more than most people will do in their life. I am kind of over them to be honest. But this was just the challenge for this year. I will be looking for something for 2020 and it won’t be easy. It doesn’t have to be physical, but it will be a challenge and I am so stoked for it.

I am more stoked for what God teaches me through whatever it is.

Thanks for reading fam. I hope you learned something today. I love you!

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douchebagbrainwaves · 5 years ago

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HERE'S WHAT I JUST REALIZED ABOUT TIMES

Maybe it's a good sign when you know that an idea will appeal strongly to a specific group or type of user. Are some more important than turning off the unsexy filter and the schlep filter, except it keeps you engaged. I because you could not, if asked, explain why one ought to write about it. My guess is that these multiples aren't even constant. And moreover has advanced views, for 2004, on founders retaining control of their companies. Err on the side of generosity. And often these gaps won't seem to be any good. Because they're good guys and they're trying to help people can also help you with investors. Microsoft. We were supposed to read novels and write essays about them. Why isn't it? This is what you end up with a startup idea in one month, what if they'd chosen a month before the Altair appeared?

You probably do need to be a bigger danger than eating too little. Their stock price has been flat for years. The disadvantage of believing that all programming languages are equivalent is that it's not true. So there's another difference between essays and the things one has to write in high school. One answer is the default for startups, and chance meetings with people who help you—are driven by exit strategies. By the second conference, what Web 2. A particularly promising way to be unusual is to be strong: to keep one's sense of humor is to be wounded by them. The most amusing thing written during this period, Liudprand of Cremona's Embassy to Constantinople, is, I suspect, mostly inadvertantly so. What I really want is to have good startup ideas is not think up but notice. You can compile or run code while reading, read or run code while reading, read or run code while compiling, and read or compile code at runtime. Either VCs will evolve down into this gap or, more likely, new investors will be compelled by the structure of the investments they make to be ten times bolder than present day VCs. At the mention of ugly source code, people will of course think of Perl.

The professors will establish scholarly journals and publish one another's papers. We learned quickly that the most important may be that once you have enough people interested in the same way taking a shower lets your thoughts drift. The alternative approach might be called the Hail Mary strategy. One of the biggest dangers of not using the organic strategy, you could instead spend making it better. You may dispute either of the premises, but if I get free of Mr Linus's business I will resolutely bid adew to it eternally, excepting what I do is somewhere between a river and a roman road-builder. He said VCs told him this almost never happened. This varies from field to field in the arts, but most of them don't.

But the superficial ugliness of Perl is not the actual time it takes to write a function that generates accumulators—a function that generates accumulators—a function that refers to variables defined in enclosing scopes by defining a class with one method and a field to replace each variable from an enclosing scope. Having people around you caring about startups, which is like a sort of short-order cook, making whatever the client tells you to. Unless you become proportionally more disciplined, willfulness will then get the upper hand, and your achievement will revert to the mean. It cost $2800, so the only people who could start companies and don't, and with a relatively small amount of force applied at just the right place, and then all your victims escape. This problem afflicts not just every era, but in distinct elements. If you make fun of your little brother for coloring people green in his coloring book, your mother is likely to tell you something like you like to do that. When you write something telling people to be good at math than memorizing long strings of digits, even though the latter depends more on determination than brains. The only style worth having is the one you can't help. He responded so eagerly that for about half a second I found myself considering doing it.

Recursion means repetition in subelements, like the print media, or trying to tack upwind by suing their customers, like Microsoft and the record labels. You can hold onto this like a rope in a hurricane, and it frees conscious thought for the hard problems. So why did I spend 6 months working on this stupid idea? It's probably no coincidence that so many famous speakers are described as motivational speakers. If it's not what you want to find startup ideas, you have the prospect of starting a startup just doesn't seem real. So you spread rapidly through all the colleges. At least, it did when people wrote about it online. A good way to trick yourself into seeing the ideas around you. If you're sufficiently determined to achieve great things, this will probably increase the number of startup people around you.

A few days ago. Just build things. Audiences like to be swept off their feet by a vigorous stream of words. What about the other half, ferreting out the unexpected. I could have thought of that. But something seems to come with practice. Their first site was exclusively for Harvard students, of which there are only a few thousand, but those few thousand users wanted it a lot.

It's hard to guess what the future will be like the past in caring nothing for present fashions. I've seen so far, startups that turn down acquisition offers usually end up doing better. The problem with feeling you're doomed is not just that people can't find you. But vice versa as well. What are we unconsciously ruling out as impossible that will soon be possible? Good design is often slightly funny. And so good writers just you wait and see who's still in print in 300 years are less likely to have readers turned against them by clumsy, self-appointed tour guides. Did they want French Vanilla or Lemon? What people delete are wisecracks, because they demand near perfection. So if you start trading derivatives, you can fix it yourself.

VCs are money managers. They still met with them, no one knows in programming who the heroes should be. VCs aren't interested in such small deals. Ideas 8 and 9 together mean that you can find plenty that are cheap or even untaken.1 In the mid twentieth century there was a fast path out of an idea, how do you choose between ideas? Number 6 is starting to appear in the mainstream. Even good founders can be in denial about this.2 They try to figure out what's going to happen, and arrange to be standing there when it does. They didn't have ads for over a year. Google has as big a problem as they might think.

Notes

Founders weren't celebrated in the long term than one who shouldn't? The reason only 287 have valuations is that in Silicon Valley, MIT Press, 1973, p. When we work with the idea of happiness from many older societies. You end up making something that would help Web-based software will make developers pay more attention to not screwing up.

Certainly a lot of startups that get funded this way that weren't visible in Silicon Valley. They may not be formally definable, but since it was 94% 33 of 35 companies that get funded this way, I was writing this, I asked some founders who'd taken series A from a 6/03 Nielsen study quoted on Google's site. Note: This is almost always bullshit.

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dontaskmewhyiwrite · 6 years ago

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Mystery Knight

One Piece, LawLu Word Count: 6313 Rating: T (for language) Genre: Fluff, Modern!Au, Adventure

Summary: Law will remember the first snow of that year. After all, it’s not everyday you meet a stranger who takes you out for a night of adventure.

Law’s feet pound against the pavement, further aggravating his headache as he sprints towards the train station. He bypasses the security guard, flashing his transport card as he speeds by, barreling through the other pedestrians. The sounds of his own footsteps echo against the bare walls. His teeth ache.

As he flies down the staircase, he looks up long enough to notice the subway doors slowly closing. He wills his feet to move faster, but before he can reach them, the train begins to slide out of the station. He watches his last hope rattle away.

“Dammit!” Law rubs at his pounding headache. At this rate, he’ll have a migraine in no time.

“Miss the train?” a high voice asks behind him. Law refrains from spinning around and decking the stranger in frustration.

“If I take a cab to- no, the main road is blocked off for the night because of construction. Fuckin’ great timing, and the detour adds another two hours. If traffic’s nice. No way I’ll make it in time. How about-” He flicks through his phone, looking up traffic and estimated detour times. As he figured, the recent construction has blocked the only road that would get him there fast enough. The next fastest route will be too late. He might as well wait for the morning train. It might be a long shot, but there’s a possibility he could still make it if he takes the first one. A minute possibility.

“Tryin’ to get to Punk Hazard, huh? You’re probably best off waiting ‘till morning,” the intruder comments, peering over Law’s shoulder. Law grinds his teeth.

“Thank you for stating the obvious. Don’t you have something else to do?” he growls, shrugging his shoulder in an attempt to push the kid away.

“Not really. ‘Sides, you look lost. And lonely. I’ll keep you company!”

Law pinches the bridge of his nose, willing this annoyance and his headache to leave. Do people enjoy making his life more difficult?

“I’m not lost. And I’m not lonely. Go away,” he orders, taking a few steps away from the guy and returning to his phone. He halfheartedly searches the bus times, knowing it’s futile.

“Not sure what you’re expecting from the buses that taxis can’t do. Wanna get something to eat? Food makes everything better. Especially meat! Let’s get some meat!” The stranger grabs his arm, forcefully pulling Law towards some restaurant or cafe or other food location. Law staggers behind, momentarily caught up trying to keep his balance before he manages to pull away.

They’ve made it back to the stairs before Law regains his balance and yanks back, wrenching his arm out of this nuisance’s surprisingly strong grip.

Who is this stranger to just drag him along like that?

“What the fuck?” he asks, not particularly expecting a response. The stranger tilts their head, looking confused.

“You don’t want meat?” they wonder, brow furrowed in confusion. Law finds himself pinching the bridge of his nose again and stops.

“No,” he retorts, putting as much venom into that one word that he can. Unfortunately for him, his stomach decides in that moment to give a loud growl. The stranger turns to take his arm once again.

“Shi shi shi, you’re so weird! If you’re hungry, you eat meat! C’mon, I know a good place!” he offers, holding his hand out like Law’s gonna take it and let himself be whisked away.

“Even if I am hungry, I don’t want to eat with a total stranger. I can find my own place, so fuck off.” Law flips the middle finger and pushes past the stranger. This does not deter the vexation. Instead, he follows along, asking exactly where Law will be going.

“I know all the places here, I’ll tell you if it’s any good! Especially the meat, I know all the meat! C’mon, where you headed? Not that there are many places open now. It’s late! Most of them are closing! Except, the place I know! It’s open, and we’ll get in quick!” He follows behind Law with little regard for personal space, chattering at a speed that doesn’t allow for conversation. Not that Law plans on responding.

The crisp night air greets them as they step onto the street. Despite the late hour, there are still people milling about, guided by the frequent street lamps and humming neon lights. Sabaody is truly a city that never sleeps.

Beside him, Law’s new ‘friend’ continues to babble. Exasperated, Law considers his options. He could try violence, but there’s too many people still strolling about. Running from the police would only further delay him. He could also try slipping away and hoping he loses the pest, but it sounds like that might be difficult. Also a delay he doesn't need. He decides on the only course of action he thinks might succeed.

He points towards the first place with a glowing “OPEN” sign.

“I'm going there. Goodbye.” With that he walks off, headed in that direction.

“You sure?”

“Yes, so fuck off.” Law marches resolutely forward, hands pushed deep into his coat pockets. The few people headed in the opposite direction choose to give him some space, unlike the dolt beside him.

“If you’re sure that’s where you wanna eat?” they repeat, and Law grinds his teeth together. He elects to ignore the meddler, in a vain attempt to dissuade them from following.

It doesn’t take him long to reach his intended location, and he quickly sees why he was asked if he really wanted to eat here. The bar is packed, with people even standing outside holding drinks and trays of chips. Throbbing music fills the night air every time the door opens. There’s a handwritten poster pasted on the door that advertises some event.

Next to him, the stranger grins.

“You suuuuure you wanna eat here? Looks crowded, and the food doesn’t even smell good. No meat. Trust me, the place I know is suuuuper good. Best in town. You’ll wanna go there every time you’re nearby. Can’t say much for the staff, but the food is the best ever! Besides Sanji, but it’s where he learned, so that makes them equal. It’s really good!”

Around them, any remaining restaurants are closing. Law stares at the bar, briefly considering if it would make a better alternative to the incessant nagging. Nearby, a drunk vomits. The stranger continues to pester him about choosing an alternative location.

Law pinches the bridge of his nose.

“All right, already! If I get food, will you leave me the truck alone?” He spits without thinking, then immediately regrets it as the stranger’s face lights up.

“Meat!” With Law’s consent now, the straw hat-wearing stranger grabs him once again and starts winding through crowds and past closed restaurants. Law pulls away once again, but it doesn’t seem to upset his guide. At least they stop trying to grab for him. Eventually the stranger stops in front of a mid-sized family restaurant and pulls the door open, practically shoves Law inside. They follow close behind.

The place has a nice atmosphere,with dim lights and a delicious smell wafting through. It’s fairly busy, considering the hour, though perhaps that’s due to it being the only decent place open for a few blocks. A small queue is lined up along the wall. Law is pushed forward a bit, before the stranger decides he’s being too slow and walks around him.

“Table for two, please!” they announce to the host, who immediately looks alarmed. He finds the stranger and scowls.

“You! I thought you were told not to come alone!” The host growls, pointing an accusing finger.

“I’m not alone! I said, TABLE FOR TWO!” The stranger yells obnoxiously. The host rubs his ear with a grimace and looks uncertainty at Law. When Law doesn’t deny being the plus one, he begins leading them into the restaurant. Strawhat wraps a hand around Law’s arm and forcefully pulls him along with their powerful grip.

To Law’s surprise, they are taken to a private room located in the very back of the restaurant and labeled with a “Reserved” sign. The room is secluded from the rest of the guests, just within sight of the kitchen. Its furniture is a tad better maintained, and there’s a bell for signaling when service is needed. The single light above them is dimmed to a pleasant hue, allowing for intimacy without being romantic or suggestive. As the barrier is put up behind them, the bustle and rumble ebbs to a light murmur.

“This is some high-class treatment for having been nearly kicked out,” Law comments, glancing at the stranger. Their pouring over the menu, though they doesn’t look like they’re actually reading it. Rather, aren’t they just drooling over the pictures? They’re softly whispering “meat,” but Law’s fairly certain they aren’t aware of it.

He takes the time they’re distracted to study the stranger. They look young, at least younger than Law, but if Law had to guess, perhaps not as young as their appearance would suggest. Their straw hat is strapped around their neck, giving them a bit of a farming kid’s vibe, but it’s paired oddly with an red hoodie and a pair of mid-calf length blue pants. The flip flops just add to the oddity, and Law finds his headache returning the more he tries to understand, so he turns to the menu instead. Most of the food on the menu is fairly standard for the area, though Law sees a few items that catch his attention. He settles on the swordfish steak just as the waiter appears, already looking annoyed.

“Strawhat,” he greets, though it’s more of a warning. “What’re ya interested in today? Oh, wait, let me guess: ya want every meat item on the menu, as usual?” he glares, daring the stranger - Strawhat - to agree. Strawhat just laughs. “See! You understand! Meat is the best!” Obviously they doesn’t realize the waiter is being sarcastic, or don’t seem to care.

“You know the rules! Pick one - ONE - item, Strawhat. One!”

Strawhat pouts, staring down at the menu for a bit, before pointing to a picture. “That one, then! And lots of it!”

The waiter scowls. “No.”

Ignoring Strawhat’s whines and complaints, the host turns to Law, his expression softening into more of an apathetic stare. “And you?”

Law orders the swordfish steak and a glass of wine, and the waiter quickly escapes the barrage of orders for extra meat.

“Would you even be able to eat all of that?” Law asks, setting his menu aside. Strawhat immediately confirms that they would be able to eat it all, and more, and starts to rant about meat and it’s deliciousness. Law lets them talk, not particularly paying attention as his thoughts start to wonder back to his current dilemma. He’s not sure he’ll be able to get to Punk Hazard in time for the surgery, and if he misses this one… He rubs his temple.

“You all right?” Strawhat asks, stopping their monologue to lean over the table until their in Law’s space.

“Yes, I’m fine. Back the fuck off.” Law pushes Strawhat’s face away without much success, as they push back against Law’s hand.

“You sure? You look upset, like you’re worried, or somethin’.”

Law sighs. It’s futile. “I’m fine, and even if I wasn’t, that isn’t your fucking business, is it?”

“Sure it is. You’re my friend!”

That… isn’t what Law is expecting. “You don’t even know me! I’m not your friend!” But Strawhat doesn’t seem to care.

“Do you need some meat? I’ll tell them to hurry up. Meat solves everything.” Before Law can protest, Strawhat is ringing the bell obnoxiously and poking their head out, yelling for the waiter, who immediately scowls upon seeing them.

“What do you want, brat?” He yells as soon as he’s in earshot.

“Meat! Bring it faster!”

The waiter rolls his eyes and leaves, ignoring Strawhat’s cries for their food to arrive more quickly. Strawhat sits back down, to Law’s relief, and pouts.

“How rude, he didn’ even listen.” Law shouldn’t be surprised at them sticking their tongue out in the general direction of the waiter, and yet he still is.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. How did he end up in this mess?

A warm hand suddenly presses against his forehead, and Law looks up to see Strawhat a few inches away, seemingly trying to check his temperature with their hand. They don’t appear to know what their doing, but rather mimicking something they’ve seen done.

“Hm…. You’re warm,” they conclude and pull away. “You should drink something cold.”

Law doesn’t respond for a moment. This random kid whom he’s never met before is suddenly giving him medical advice? He’s so incredulous, Law actually starts to laugh. They must see this as a good sign, because Strawhat sits back looking pleased.

“You finally smiled!”

Law leans his head back, staring up at the wooden ceiling. Yeah, he supposes that he did smile, for a moment. When was the last time he laughed?

When was the last time someone tried to take his temperature with their hand?

Before he can start to become nostalgic and think of the way things were, the waiter arrives with his wine, bringing him back to the present. Strawhat eagerly takes their own drink - a fruit juice, from the looks of it - and begins noisily slurping it down.

“So? What’s gottcha worried?” Strawhat asks again around a plastic straw. In a moment of impetuousness, Law tells him.

“There’s a surgery that’s gonna happen at 7 AM tomorrow, and the kid that’s going into the surgery is a patient of mine. He’s a good kid, and I promised him I’d be there.” Law sighs as he thinks about missing the surgery. His brow furrows as he recalls exactly why he was running late.

There’s a moment of silence, and Law looks up, finally meeting Strawhat’s eyes. Only, they aren’t looking at Law, but towards the kitchen. Probably thinking about the food that hasn’t arrived yet. Law almost laughs again, wondering what he was expecting from this food-obsessed stranger. Sure enough, Strawhat perks up.

“Food’s here!” they announce before the waiter has even arrived. A moment later, the barrier is pulled back and their dishes are placed on the table. Strawhat begins eating before the waiter has even left. Law follows, deciding to enjoy the swordfish steak instead of worrying or getting annoyed.

Unsurprisingly, Strawhat finished their meal in a matter of minutes, and clamor for more food every time the waiter passes by. Law’s fairly certain that whatever mechanism their bell is hooked up to has been disabled, judging by the lack of response to Strawhat’s ceaseless ringing. The chaos is a welcome distraction, and the food is excellent. By the time the bill arrives, Law’s feeling that perhaps letting a complete stranger drag him to an unknown restaurant late at night wasn’t as much of a mistake as he’d been expecting. He’s almost sad to see the odd eccentric go, though not enough to actually stick around.

The waiter hands him the check directly, and partially out of pity for the poor employee, Law decides to cover the whole meal.

“Thank ya for eating at the Baratie. Have a nice day, and please, don’t return," the waiter says as he returns Law’s card. Strawhat ignores the slight and grabs Law's arm, pulling him out of their little room.

"C'mon, we gotta get you to your place before that kid leaves!" It's lacking details, but Law is surprised at the fact that Strawhat was paying attention enough to remember even that.

"Right..." he agrees, trying to pull away as Strawhat tugs him further into the restaurant. Wait, further?

"Why are we doing deeper in?" Law furrows his brow, trying to think of a reason they would be headed towards the back kitchen instead of leaving out the front, like normal customers.

Strawhat isn't going to steal food, is he?

Law stops suddenly, nearly crashing into a waiter who's trying to slip around them. None of them seem to be concerned about Strawhat in the middle of their kitchen, despite the waiter and host's earlier behaviors, so Law reluctantly follows behind. He considers turning around and leaving, but Strawhat notices him lagging and wraps a vice like grip around his wrist.

"C'mon! We gotta hurry!" They urge, pulling Law a bit more insistently. "He’s gonna leave!"

"Leave?" Law wonders, stumbling behind. They head through the kitchen, the cooks greeting them as they pass and occasionally keeping Strawhat's wandering hands from taking more food. The cooks seem quite used to the stranger’s sticky fingers, and laugh as one of the head cooks yells at them for trying to steal food.

Before he realizes it, they've headed out the back of the kitchen towards where the cooks take their smoking break. Strawhat makes a beeline for what looks like the head chef, judging solely by the extremely large chef’s hat, who's crushing a cigarette underfoot..

"Hey! HEY! OLD MAN! WAIT!" He yells, sprinting forward to catch the departing waiter. Law nearly crashes into another employee, then barely keeps himself from face planting into the asphalt, before managing to pull himself out of Strawhat's grip again. By then it's a moot point anyway because they’ve successfully gotten the head chef’s attention.

"We need a ride! You're going towards Punk Hazard, right? C'mon, it's not difficult, you're headed that way anyway, give us a ride! C'mon, c'mon, give us a ride! Please? You'll give us a ride, right? Thanks, old man!" Without waiting for any sort of confirmation, Strawhat grabs Law's arm again and heads towards the muddy truck several feet away. They throw open the passenger side door and shove Law in, then clamber in after him. Much to Law's horror, it's only a two seat truck, and Strawhat plants themselves firmly in Law's lap, already chattering away about car rides. Law's first instinct is to try pushing the stranger off of him, but there's nowhere for them to go. In the end, he manages to squish himself against the door and the annoyance, sharing the seat between the two of them. It's a tight fit, but it's better than having someone sitting in his lap.

The driver climbs in, already ignoring Strawhat's incessant prattling, and starts up the truck. "Whatcha going to Punk Hazard for?" he asks, glancing at Law.

"Work," Law offers, then turns to stare out the window. The chef doesn't seem to take offense to his cold behavior, instead focusing on the road.

After a minute or so, the driver turns on the radio and pumps the volume up high enough to drown out Strawhat's rattling, though it’s effectiveness is debatable. Strawhat stops talking, instead singing along with the songs and humming along with the ones they don’t know the words to. At least they’re keeping themselves entertained, for now.

Law isn't sure when it happens, but at some point while he's staring out at the dark landscape passing by, Strawhat falls asleep. Perhaps it was sudden, Law wouldn't be surprised, but he becomes aware of a weight against his shoulder. Pressed against each other as they are, Law isn't surprised to find Strawhat's head resting there, the kid completely passed out. The driver turns the radio down to a low background noise, and Law drinks in the quiet. He realizes that it's the first time since arriving in Sabody that he's had an actual, quiet moment mostly to himself.

Unfortunately, it also means that he has room to think. His thoughts start to wander towards the morning that lays ahead of him. At this rate, even if he makes it on time, he's going to be exhausted. He hasn't slept in nearly 28 hours now, due to traveling all night and conferences and meetings and conventions all day. As he thinks about it, he finds his eyelids starting to become heavy, and the soft breathing of the body against his lulls him to sleep.

He doesn't sleep long. It can't be more than two hours later when the truck jolts, waking Law, and judging by the sleepy babble, Strawhat as well. The streetlamps burn his eyes, seeming too bright in the confusion of being startled awake.

"Are we there?" he mumbles, trying to stretch in the cramped space. Next to him, Strawhat rubs his eyes and yawns.

"As far as I can take ya. Wish I could get ya the rest of the way, but I gotta get home, ya know?" The driver turns off the truck and gets out, stretching as he stands in the crisp night air.

Law grumbles as he opens the door, pulling Strawhat out with him and nearly causing them both to fall.

"Wake up, will ya? C'mon, walk on your own," Law protests as Strawhat leans against him.

"Mmmnnnn... five mor' min'ues..." he replies, latching onto Law's arm. Law pinches the bridge of his nose. What a heavy sleeper.

"There's meat," he says calmly, and watches in slight disbelief as Strawhat immediately perks up, searching around intently.

"Meat! Where?" After a moment, he seems to realize that he's been duped, and he frowns.

"There's no meat!" he complains, glaring at Law. Law shrugs, unconcerned.

"Yeah," he agrees, then turns to the driver. "Thanks for the ride." The driver waves, indicating it wasn't a problem. He crushes his cigarette.

"Don’t mention it. As much flak as we give that one, we owe him a lot. Any friend of his is a friend of ours."

That wasn't what Law was expecting. He thought Strawhat was a nuisance? The driver must recognize his confusion, because he gives a low chuckle.

"He's a brat, for sure, and an annoying bastard, but as much trouble as he causes, he did us one hell of a favor. ‘Sides, you can’t truly hate the kid. Don't worry, you'll see what I mean soon enough," he snorts, patting Law roughly on the back.

"Well, see ya. Brat, take care!" With a final wave goodbye, the driver takes off, leaving the two of them at the rest stop. Only after the taillights can no longer be seen does Law realize that he is effectively stuck in the middle of nowhere with a highly annoying stranger.

"So, what now?" he asks, looking at Strawhat, who's still waving excitedly goodbye.

"Now we wait!" he chirps, heading into the gas station. The single employee sitting behind the counter glances up at them before resuming whatever he's doing on his phone. The two of them pay him about as much attention.

"For?" Law prompts, a sinking feeling settling into his stomach. Strawhat just laughs off his worries and begins perusing the aisles.

Law rubs his temples. He considers buying some aspirin or something, and after seeing Strawhat pick up as many packages of dried meat that he can hold - including in his mouth - he decides to buy two pill bottles, and a cold coffee.

As he's paying, Strawhat arrives with his hoard of dried meat and dumps them on the counter. Law sighs, but is about to hand over his card once again when several packages of sweet buns are added on top. He grimaces at the offending food.

"Absolutely not!" He instructs, gripping his bargaining chip tightly. Strawhat pouts but obediently removes the offensive foodstuffs, placing them back on the shelves, though perhaps a bit haphazardly.

In their place, several candy bars and sweets are brought over. Law can already feel himself regretting this, but he buys all of the items anyway. He downs three painkillers with some coffee and follows them with some of the offered dried meat. It's tough, but Law powers through it anyway. With their snacks procured, they head back outside.

The outside air nips at their noses, and the two watch as the very first snow of the year begins to fall, each snowflake melting before it can even touch the ground.

"Snow! It’s snowing!” Strawhat exclaims, momentarily abandoning his food to dance in the light flurry. He doesn’t stay away long.

"The weather is so tricky! It sneaks up on you, suddenly changing from warm to freezing!" Law decides not to comment on the fact that the temperature has been slowly dropping since they left the train station.

"Yeah."

He shakes his head and leans back, looking up at the stars littering the sky. The moon shines bright, bathing the scene in a soft white glow, even through the glare of the streetlamp. His breath fogs in front of him, momentarily obscuring his vision each time he breathes out. Strawhat munches on his snacks next to him, occasionally talking about whatever crosses his mind. Currently, he's describing some trouble he got into with his older brothers some time ago, though Law's taking it with a grain of salt. Can three people really get into that much 'accidental' trouble? Somehow, Law isn’t sure he is being told the entire story.

It hits him, as he laughs gently as Strawhat gestures wildly and smacks Law in the face, that he's growing less and less annoyed by the strange guy, and a bit more fond of him. Like finding a lost puppy that won't leave you alone. Strawhat shivers again.

“Cold?” he finds himself asking, despite the fact that it’s obvious. Strawhat just laughs.

They're almost entirely through the purchased snacks when headlights split the darkness and Strawhat jumps up, creating a mess of empty packages. Law stands as well, cleaning up he watches Strawhat jump around, waving wildly and occasionally picking up dropped packets of meat. He's still eating them, too. Law briefly wonders if Strawhat’s going to end up choking.

It's only a moment later when the vehicle arrives, a small beat up car that doesn’t look or sound entirely operational. The driver rolls the window down, looking highly annoyed.

"Well, brat. I'm here," they grunt, sounding the opposite of pleased. Law understands. Strawhat looks undeterred, as usual.

"Dadan! Thanks! We need to get to Pink Hazards by morning!" Strawhat opens the door and climbs in, pulling Law in after him. Nobody bothers to correct the mistake.

"C'mon, hurry! We can't be late! It's super important!" He urges, pulling half his body into the front seat for emphasis. "Yeah, yeah, I get it, brat. Sit the fuck down, wontcha, and we'll get goin'!" Dadan snaps, but Strawhat just laughs as he sits back.

"'Kay, 'kay!" He squishes himself against Law, looking very pleased. Law kicks him to the opposite side of the back seat.

"Don’t you have any sense of personal space?" Law grumbles. His question is ignored by Strawhat, but their new driver, Dadan, gives him a slight look of pity through the rear view mirror.

"Hey, hey, do you like gummy worms? They're the best! They're sour, and sweet, and they're the best! Well, except for meat. Meat's the best. Then sour gummy worms! Oh, right, they have to be sour. Otherwise they're not sour and sweet, they're just sweet, and those aren't as good. You want some?" Strawhat asks, though Law isn't sure why because he doesn't wait for an actual response before shoving sour gummy worms into Law's face.

"Try them! They're yummy!" Law backs as far away from the sweet as he physically can. He does actually like sour gummy worms, but having them force fed to him is not what he would call a pleasant experience.

"Would you-" he starts, but Strawhat is already trying to feed him a different candy. Licorice, from the looks of it.

"No thanks," he tries, shying away from more sugar. Thankfully, that actually seems to work. With a shrug, the stranger shoves the licorice into his own mouth.

For a blissful moment, Strawhat is completely distracted by the candy, the music, and the snow that’s starting to fall a tad heavier. Law takes a breather, his gaze returning to the passing scenery. Away from the bright city and it’s light pollution, the stars shine bright. The moon lights the path before them, illuminating the nearby trees, lulling Law's thoughts away from the present.

He remembers car rides like this from long ago, his sister curled up in the seat next to him, his parents talking softly in the front seat. Law and his sister would pass the time telling stories about the moon and the stars, like making up their own mythology. Her favorite nights were the ones where the moon shined the brightest.

When Law's attention returns to the present, he realizes it’s because he can feel someone watching him. He turns to see Strawhat studying him, his head tilted slightly.

"Why the fuck are you so weird?" Law comments out, squinting across the seat at him. Strawhat shrugs, still munching on sweets.

"Whatcha thinkin' 'bout?" he asks, mouth still full of candy. That was disgusting. Law suppresses a shudder, turning away from the sight.

"None of your business," he retorts, turning back to the trees. At least the trees don’t care about what’s on his mind.

"Aww, c’mon. Tell me,” Strawhat whines, shifting closer. Law finds himself flinching and mentally curses.

"What’s it gonna take to get you to leave me alone?" he bargains.

Strawhat thinks for a moment, before his eyes light up.

“Tell me a story! A good one!” he demands.

How ironic that just a moment ago, he was thinking of a time his sister said the exact same thing. She’d stared up at him with her dark eyes, pleading for him to tell the same story he always tells whenever they have a long car ride during a full moon.

“I don’t know any,” Law replies, shrugging. Next to him, Strawhat pouts, but he ignores it.

In a shining example of juvenile behavior, Strawhat makes a big deal out of ignoring Law back, while still occasionally looking over to glare at him, then returning to his sulking. It’s almost humorous, it’s so superfluous. They drive in this forced tension for a while, the only sounds coming softly from the radio.

"We're here," Dadan says suddenly as they exit the trees and pull into what looks like an abandoned airport. The snow is cold enough to stick, at least for a moment, giving the giant landing pad a glistening sheen. Strawhat clambers out, shouting his thanks to Dadan and grinning at the insult he receives. Law follows, also giving a light thanks, and receiving a much warmer reply.

Dadan drives off and once again the two are left in the cold. Next to him, Strawhat continues to act petulant as he stubbornly keeps his back to Law.

After nearly ten minutes of relentless moping, during which Law watches Strawhat jump around to keep warm while still adamantly ignoring him, make snow angels while occasionally glaring at him, even play a one-man game of tic-tac-toe while grumbling about promises and hopes, he decides telling one story would be better than dealing with this insufferable annoyance.

“If I tell a story, will you stop?” Law yields, and isn’t surprised when Strawhat immediately runs towards him.

He sighs, regretting this already, and takes a seat on a cold tree stump. Strawhat plops down onto the ground, despite the snow. He’s soaked from snow angels and shivering already.

Perhaps it’s the nostalgia, or perhaps it’s working with so many ill children for so long, but Law finds himself pulling of his coat and dumping it on top of Strawhat’s head.

"Thanks! But won't you get cold?" Strawhat asks as he pulls the jacket on. Law shrugs.

"I'm wearing more layers than you," he points out, referring to the hoodie he wears as a shirt and his longer pants. Strawhat accepts the excuse easily.

"Thanks!" He says again, to which Law just nods. Staring up at the full moon, Law's pulled back to his previous reminiscence.

"A long time ago, when we used to go on road trips with our parents, my sister and I would make up stories about the moon.This one was her favorite.” He pauses, the wind whipping around the few strands of hair not tucked into his hat.

“There once was a knight that prayed every night to the moon, and the moon heard those prayers and fell in love. She transformed into a human to be with her love, but they were torn apart by the customs and laws of the land. So she learned the rules and the laws, and she became a princess, all for love. Yet it still wasn’t enough. Her love needed more, asked for more, demanded more, until the two of them were on top of the world. Seeing what her love had become, she knew that she could not stay. She returned when the moon was at its fullest, and from above she watched her love die.

During the full moon, when the moonlight is at its strongest, she still cries, and her tears will fall to earth as the first snow of the year." Law looks down to see Strawhat staring at him intently. He turns away.

"Never understood why that one was her favorite," Law shrugs, his reminiscing done for the night.

Before the conversation can move forward, a distant roar draws their attention, and a moment later a helicopter flies into view. As the volume becomes deafening, Law covers his ears, taking cover from the strong wind behind the nearby trees. The helicopter lands and a red haired man steps off with a wide grin. In his right hand are two headsets, which he hands to the two of them, then beckons them into the helicopter. He doesn't attempt to say anything, which Law finds reasonable considering he doubts they'd be able to hear it anyway.

They board the helicopter and don their headsets. The pilot greets them with a simple acknowledgement, and the moment they're strapped in he takes off. It's the red haired man that does most of the talking. Law recognized him as soon as he stepped out of the helicopter, but he hadn't believed himself. Hearing the guy talk, however, there's no doubt this is the millionaire and CEO of RedForce, one of the biggest companies in the world.

Strawhat and Shanks chat over the comms while Law tries to figure out who the person sitting next to him is, if he knows RedForce Shanks. At some point they try for introductions, but with Law not paying any attention to their conversation, they decide to skip those for now.

"You're lucky we happened to be free, brat! It's not easy being the CEO of a major corporation, you know?" Shanks is saying when Law finally tunes in. He hears Strawhat laugh, as carefree as always. After a moment, Shanks joins as well, much to the pilot's - whom Law recognizes as Benn Beckman, Shank's right hand guy - annoyance.

"You really should be doing paperwork, Red," Ben chides, but there's no heat behind it. It sounds like an old argument.

Shanks doesn't respond.

"We'll be there shortly. It's a pretty quick ride from that place to the hospital. It's the only place we'll be able to land anyway, so it's convenient that's where you wanna go. Why do you wanna go there? If it's a medical emergency, you shoulda called the police."

"He's a doctor!" Strawhat explains, and then doesn't elaborate. Shanks seems used to his lack of details, or doesn't need the details, because he makes an "aaah" sound and the conversation shifts.

"Your trouble making brothers still kickin'?" Shanks asks, inviting Strawhat to begin more recent tales of the trouble they've gotten into. Law half listens, though his thoughts start to wander away from their conversation again. Just who is this kid that he knows the CEO and founder of RedForce well enough to arrange for a helicopter? As far as Law can remember, Shanks doesn’t have any children, and he certainly hasn’t named an heir.

Also, when exactly did Strawhat call these people? And how? Law hasn't seen him pull out a cell phone or stop by a pay phone or do anything to contact them. Did he use telepathy?

Realizing how ridiculous he sounds, Law forces his thoughts to return back to the realm of possible. Sure, some weird things have happened tonight, but so far it's all been a collection of oddities surrounding one highly odd young man, and nothing that defies logic.

Benn's voice suddenly interrupts Law's thought process.

"We'll be landing shortly. Please be sure that your seat belt is properly fastened and all limbs and extremities are within the helicopter at all times. Please remain seated until I call that it is safe to exit."

After checking his seat belt, Law watches the hospital landing pad grow larger as they approach. He's ridden in many helicopters before, usually with a patient though occasionally on his own, so he's used to the procedure that follows. The moment that they're cleared, Law jumps down, turning to face the helicopter once he’s gotten a safer distance away. Strawhat grins back at him from the seat inside, but doesn’t move. He yells something, but Law can’t hear him.

“WHAT?!”

“WHAT’S YOUR NAME!” Strawhat yells a bit louder, and Law just barely catches the words.

“TRAFALGAR! TRAFALGAR D. LAW!” Law yells back as loudly as he can. The blades of the helicopter begin to pick up speed once again.

“WHAT ABOUT YOU?” he screams.

Strawhat yells something back, but it’s lost to the wind. He’ll never know the name of the mysterious stranger that dragged him along for a wild adventure. The helicopter takes off, Strawhat waving goodbye. Suddenly, Law realizes that his coat is also being carried away, probably never to be seen again.

Well, perhaps the adventure was worth one coat, even if it was his favorite.

@therealblackpearl, Merry Christmas! I’m so sorry this is a bit late, but it’s here! I hope you enjoyed a bit of LawLu fluff, and if I ever write the epilogue, I will tag you as well.

@onepiecesecretsanta2018

#opsecretsanta #onepiecesecretsanta2018 #therealblackpearl #i am so so so sorry this is technically late #i really wanted it to be something quality #but merry christmas!#i hope you enjoy some dumb lawlu #lawlu #op #modern!au #my writes #mystery knight #fluff #adventure

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daniactuallysnuffledthatpopcorn · 6 years ago

Text

Home for Christmas (Part 3 of 4)

Summary: Every year Dan goes to a ballet performance of the Nutcracker around Christmas (he even starts to enjoy it after a while), but what he’s really waiting for is the nights he gets to spend with one of the lead dancers after the show.

Rating: M

Word count: 7.3K (20.3K total so far)

[A/N] Hope you enjoy my Christmas mini-series!

<-- part two

Start at the beginning

As the new year crawled by Dan found himself tempted to google Phil’s name more and more with each passing day.

When university started back up after Christmas break and he found himself surrounded by the people who had to get used to seeing him without Rosie he caught himself just before pressing enter multiple times, erasing the words he’d typed and turning off his phone screen before he could change his mind again. He tried to avoid running into her, sometimes going as far as skipping dinner because she was sat in the kitchen, until he no longer felt his phone burning in his pocket watching her tending to her pans at the stove. Until he no longer had the pressing urge to get out of town every chance he got, visiting Eleanor on the weekly.

Final exams rolled in way too fast and left him feeling wholly unprepared. No matter how many study dates and trips to the library he set up, it never seemed to be enough. Law books were big and heavy, pulling on him with every step that brought him closer to the exam halls. Eleanor, whose exams didn’t start until the day after his, stayed with him and made him a full fry for breakfast the morning before his first test. It was her way of trying to offer her support when she knew that as a neurosciences student she was completely useless when it came to helping him study.

Although he liked to think he was fully over Rosie by May, it still gave him some sort of satisfaction when Eleanor gave a resolute “yes” to his ex’s polite “you alright?” as they sat at the kitchen table.

He wondered how she would greet Phil if she knew the ins and outs of their agreement. His phone lit up, signalling a new Snap from Davis.

Summer was a gift from god.

After missing their November weekend together Dan and Eleanor spent a whole week exploring Rome in early August, completely avoiding the topics of love lives and university and focusing on sunshine and gelato and the ancient history they were walking around in on their flipflops. They held hands the way they’d done in primary school, before they hit puberty and girls and boys weren’t supposed to do that kind of stuff anymore. Before they cared about what anyone thought of their relationship.

Dan neglected to mention to her that on the last night, when she went to the bathroom as they were having a couple of drinks at the hotel bar, an Irish boy slipped him a napkin with a string of numbers on it accompanied by the words, “if you’re not interested feel free to bin this, but otherwise, text me”. Dan shoved it in his pocket, where it stayed until he got back to his parents’ house in London and he unpacked his suitcase. He stood with the paper in his hand for a minute or so, and then another few minutes staring at the new contact in his phone.

Sat cross-legged on the bed he carefully crafted a message. As he was typing it took everything from his willpower not to close the app and go to google. To just type in that one name that he’d put into that bar so many times before. Instead, he resolutely tapped the ‘send’ button and then proceeded to put his phone under his pillow to leave it there for the next couple of hours.

When Nicholas replied he was almost surprised. They spent the next couple of weeks texting and although Dan had initially been sceptical, the more he learnt about Nick, the more he felt that there might be something and he might not need to be stuck on his Christmas dates for the rest of his life.

Nick was nice. Genuinely nice. He was a good listener, made jokes at the right time, and had an intricate knowledge of all kinds of animals as he was studying to become a vet. Dan found himself looking forward to the evenings when Nick got home from placement and the two of them could Skype call before they went to bed. Long nights were spent lying on his back on the carpet, feet propped up against the side of his desk, phone tucked comfortably between his shoulder and his ear. He could hear the Irish boy smile through the phone.

He liked Nick. He really did. But when in early October he asked him that dreaded question, “so, what are we?”, Dan couldn’t stop his fight or flight response from kicking in. Unsure of whether he feared commitment to a boy or commitment to anyone at all, he broke it off.

From there on, things went downhill. Fast.

One of the boys Dan lived with dropped out, meaning they had to either find a new flatmate or a new place, and the others’ half-hearted search for a house stressed him out. University was pulling on him like a ball on a chain and the words danced before his eyes on the nights he tried to catch up with the stacks of work accumulating on his desk. Eleanor’s ugly selfies sent over snapchat were only doing so much to put a smile on his face, their effects diminishing with every day.

Two weeks after Reuben had left, Dan sent in his student withdrawal form.

Three days later, he found the courage to tell his parents, sat on Eleanor’s bed with one hand in hers and the other hand clutching the phone held to his ear. Everything was falling apart, but the one constant he could always count on was his best friend always being right by his side.

Dan moved back home hesitantly. His old bedroom felt too small for him and his hometown was full of eyes watching him, knowing he didn’t belong there anymore.

What did he actually want to do with his life? He had no idea, really. His new job at an electronics shop was not it though, that was for damn sure. It had him drifting through the days, every week feeling like the last, endless and exhausting. To pass the time he messed around with the products when he got bored, feeling professional when he pressed buttons on the DJ sets knowing what they did, and adjusting camera lenses with expert eyes. In those moments he felt for a moment like he was on the right path, just not knowing where it would lead him yet.

In mid-December Dan used his first wages to buy one of those fancy cameras. He spent hours in his bedroom sat cross-legged on the floor adjusting settings and filming little test videos, the reality of his world forgotten for a precious while.

Four days before Christmas Dan planted the camera up on one of his book shelves, fixed his hair in the mirror for exactly two minutes longer than necessary, and then pressed the record button.

He filmed his first video in one go, with rambling tangents and awkward pauses to edit out later, which he did the day after, when he got home from work. He was tired. After a nine-hour day the last thing his eyes wanted to do was focus deeply on something for another couple of hours. One by one his family members went to bed, the sounds of their bedroom doors closing reaching Dan even through his headphones. In the morning, when his alarm would go off at half seven again, he’d hate himself for this, but that felt well worth it when he clicked ‘upload’ and watched the bar load up to a 100%. It was two in the morning when his first ever YouTube video went live.

Dan and Eleanor had bought tickets for the ballet in early December almost out of habit. There had been no discussing it, just Eleanor asking if he’d already bought them or if she should. On the day before Christmas Eve she picked him up in her car, blasting Mariah Carey so loud Dan could hear it the moment he stepped out the front door. She was wearing a beautiful silver dress and had her hair braided back so her elegant hoop earrings were clearly visible. He complimented her as he plopped down in the passenger seat of her Volkswagen.

He tried to play it cool, but it was difficult to do so when he’d been looking forward to this night for months. It felt on the verge of pathetic, but his monotonous job left him with plenty of headspace to contemplate all that could happen and might be in the future. He’d lived this day and the next dozens of times over in his head stood behind the counter smiling artificially at customers as he rang up their purchases.

They knew their way around the theatre by now. They knew where to find the coat room, and the fact that it cost 50p per coat, and they knew the quickest route up to the balcony and the toilet closest to it. Dan ran his hands over the balustrade as they walked to their spots. The place was still fully lit, giving him a view of the seats and the stage below. Two little girls were on stage in front of the curtains, doing pirouettes and falling out of them with big grins decorating their little faces. He stood and watched them for a moment, until he felt Eleanor demonstratively lean over the railing next to him. “You excited?” She asked.

“Yeah, I guess.” He said without tearing his gaze away from the kids.

“Have you spoken to him at all since last year?”

Dan shook his head, “I don’t even have his number. I don’t know his last name or anything.”

“Really? I thought you had a somewhat regulated plan.”

“If we’re both single by Christmas, we spend the night together. That’s it, that’s the whole plan.”

She laughed, “You’re a bit of a disaster, Dan.”

“I know.” He said. He sighed deeply, leaning further down until his chin came to rest on his hands. “I’ve given up trying to sort this out, I’m just along for the ride now.”

She didn’t respond, but without needing to look over Dan knew she was rolling her eyes at him.

They watched the girls dance until they were ushered off the stage and the lights started to dim. The hall had filled up quite a bit since they’d turned their back on the balcony, and they had to shuffle past grumbly chic people annoyed they had to move their legs to let them past. It was Dan and El’s third year. They were used to the rich people by now.

The lead dancers had all changed. He recognised the previous lead as one of the background dancers, along with a couple of others who’d had big roles the years before. Phil was nowhere to be found. Dan had a heavy feeling in his stomach as he watched them float across the stage. Eleanor noticed too, taking her best friend’s hand in hers and squeezing it tightly. They exchanged a short glance, but Dan couldn’t bear looking her in the eyes for too long, too embarrassed about his situation and the hope he’d displayed before the show. She knew he’d been excited for their meeting and Phil’s not being there made him feel ashamed, naive almost. His eyes absentmindedly followed the ballerinas, not really taking anything in.

Eleanor kept a firm grip on his hand, pulling him downstairs to the bar and pushing a glass of champagne into his hand. She wasn’t sure what to say either, clearly. Dan could see the radars in her head spin as she tried to come up with a way to comfort him.

“Dan?”

He saw Eleanor’s eyes light up before he turned and faced the person who’d said his name.

Phil was wearing slacks and a button-down shirt, his hair neatly swept to one side. He looked older, more mature. Dan was glad Eleanor had made him dress up that year, so he knew he looked good. He subconsciously reached up and tugged on his tie a bit as he looked the dancer up and down.

“It’s good to see you.” He managed to say.

“You too.” Phil said.

“I thought you might not be here this year.”

“I’m not on the team anymore. Not as a dancer, at least. I’ve taken up that coaching position like I told you I might last year, I’m assistant coach now.”

“Wow, congratulations.”

Phil laughed, “It’s not that spectacular, I’m not sure if it deserves congratulations.”

“Well, you’ve done better for yourself than I have.” Dan said. It was out there before he could stop himself, and the moment he’d said it he was afraid he’d enclosed too much information about his personal life.

“You can tell me all about it after the show,” Phil said, “I have to get back to the team now. I was just coming to say hi and make sure you knew I was here. Backdoor?”

“Yep, see you there.”

“Perfect.”

He watched Phil leave before turning around to face Eleanor, who had a smug look on her face. “See, it’s all fine.” She said.

“You say that now, but you were afraid he wouldn’t be here too.”

“Maybe.” She admitted. She touched her champagne glass to his, “Cheers to another fun night for you.”

“And cheers for hopefully one for you. You deserve one.”

He meant it. After Nicola cheated on her six months into their relationship she’d stayed away from boys for a while, but a week earlier she’d said she might try and pull on the 23rd of December, for the first time in months. He watched her eye a guy standing behind them as she nodded and took a sip of her drink. “I sure do.”

Dan couldn’t help but break into a smile when he watched Phil approach. He was stopped a few times along the way to shake hands and receive pats on the shoulder, but eventually he made it over and to Dan’s surprise he leaned in and kissed him right in front of everyone. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah, can you just leave?”

Phil nodded. “Let’s walk.”

The moment they stepped out into the cold Dan glanced over to see if Phil would change his mind about walking, but he didn’t. They both put up the collars on their coats and bowed their heads against the wind. Dan had his hands shoved deep into his pockets until he felt Phil’s fingers brush against his wrist. Wordlessly, their fingers intertwined and fell between their two bodies.

“It was a good performance.” Dan said eventually.

He saw Phil nod from the corner of his eye, “They trained their little hearts out. The lead got sick three days ago, so this was the understudy performing. She’d never had this big a role before and was so nervous, bless her.” He smiled to himself.

“When did you start coaching?”

“With the start of the new schoolyear, this September. I still dance too, just not on this team anymore. I’ve stopped competing too, I’m just doing it for fun on the side now.”

“That must’ve been a transition.”

“Yeah, I struggled with it a bit. Still do, really. I miss it, but I know this is where I need to be and what I need to be doing.”

Dan stayed quiet. His mind drifted to his own situation, how he was far from where he needed to be. He bit his lip, face numb with the cold.

Phil squeezed his hand. The only comfort he could offer without asking too much about his life outside of their Christmas dates.

The hotel was a twenty-minute walk from the theatre, and when they finally stepped into the lobby Dan’s whole body started stinging as the warmth from inside hit him. Next to him, Phil rubbed his hands together and blew on them. His cheeks were bright red, shimmering in the bright lights. Dan couldn’t help remarking in his mind that he looked cute and kissable.

They took the lift up. Hand-in-hand once again, eyes shyly meeting through their reflections in the mirror. The third time and still it felt new and exciting.

There was only one big, king-sized bed in the room this year. Phil’s suitcase was on the floor by the desk with a couple of items strewn over the chair.

“So, I have a suggestion. You can say no if you want.”

“Okay.” Dan said, raising his eyebrows.

“I brought a really nice bath bomb. From Lush. The bath is fairly spacious.”

“Yes?”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

Phil grabbed him by his tie and pulled him in, their lips touching together gently.

They got undressed as the bath ran in the other room. Phil was still as toned and gorgeous as he had been the years before and Dan’s fingers itched to reach out and touch him. He had to have patience. Soon enough, they’d be bunched up in the bath, with no other choice but to touch each other.

The bath bomb fizzed and coloured the water a pale, glittery blue. Phil lined up the little hotel shampoos and soaps on the side, his muscles flexing under his taut skin as he moved. Dan’s eyes were glued to him, mesmerised.

“You good?”

“Yeah.”

Phil got in first, settling in comfortably before beckoning Dan over. The latter was hesitant, trying to be elegant about it and almost slipping in the process. A small tidal wave splashed over the side of the bath as he steadied himself on the tap. Phil laughed. He was relaxed, with his head resting against the wall and his arms stretched out over the sides of the bath. The hot water made Dan want to relax, but the situation was so foreign and new to him that he was struggling to keep his composure altogether and was happy enough when he finally settled down with his knees pulled into his chest.

The bath water being blue obscured most areas Dan was insecure about from sight, and soon enough he was relaxing his legs, stretching them out alongside Phil’s. “So, how was your year?” Phil asked.

He was good at asking those questions that could be answered by pretty much anything, leaving the decision as to where to draw the line with Dan once again. “Good,” the latter said hesitantly, “it was a ride.”

Phil laughed, “Yeah, me too.”

“I’m- I was in university before. I dropped out.” Phil didn’t seem to judge him, just nodding encouragingly for Dan to go on. “So, I work in a store now. Trying to, you know, sort out my life and all.”

“What do you want to do when you’re older?”

“I don’t know, die maybe.”

“Okay, that’s valid. But before that?”

Dan shrugged, “I don’t know, honestly.”

Phil decided not to press anymore, and Dan quickly took the opportunity to ask about his year.

“It was good. I went on my last Europe tour as a member of the team instead of a coach, so that was a bit bittersweet. I’m excited to coach though. Oh, I finally moved out, too. Was about time.” He laughed, the water moving off him in little waves.

Dan put on his underwear before he dried any other part of his body. Phil had no such inclination, stood in the middle of the hotel room stark-naked while drying his hair. The bed looked cosy and inviting, and although the room was warm enough Dan longed to curl up under the covers for a while.

Wearing just his pants he crawled into bed and pulled the duvet up to his chin. While he waited for the other to finish up, he grabbed the remote control off the bedside table and turned the TV on to a radio station that was playing Christmas songs. The only thing this atmosphere needed to be perfect was a little scented candle, but Dan would settle for this.

“So, I’ve been waiting pretty much all year to make out with you. Do you mind doing that for a while before we decide what to do with the rest of our night?”

Dan grinned, “I think I’m alright with that.”

Phil slipped under the covers with him and pushed him down onto his back. Dan laced his fingers through Phil’s mildly damp hair as they kissed. Maybe his flight response to Nicholas’ question had had less to do with the question of commitment to either a boy or anyone, and more to do with the fact that he was already committed to something. To a 24 hours period just before Christmas.

Phil’s hands were a bit cold roaming his sides. They sent shivers down his spine, but he did nothing to stop them.

Soon enough they were both warmed up and their almost naked bodies moved together, arousal already showing. Every time Phil’s hips touched against Dan’s thigh it sent a pleasant shiver to his dick, his fingers tightening against Phil’s hair and skin. It was pretty clear that ‘what they would be doing with the rest of their night’ wasn’t much of a question, really. With the way hands and mouths were moving this was only going in one direction.

Phil’s lips had trailed off, going from Dan’s neck to his chest and down to his belly. Looking down at him Dan watched the trail of faint hickeys grace down from his throat to the waistband of his boxers. Phil had already moved on, his breath ghosting over the bulge in the fabric and his hands moving up Dan’s thighs with confidence.

Although one part of his brain was focused solely on the fact that a very attractive boy was about to give him a blowjob, the other part of him couldn’t help but think about what would happen after. The memory of last year was still fresh in his mind to put a slight damper on his excitement. He wanted to try again. The thought of actually having sex with Phil made his whole body tingle, but it was also scary. It was like losing his virginity all over again, where he had no idea what he was doing, and he just had to surrender all control to another, more experienced party.

For a few minutes though, Dan’s mind was completely taken off anything he could possibly worry about as Phil pulled down his underwear and put his mouth on him. He started by teasing along the shaft with his tongue, one hand holding him firmly by the base and the other with fingertips barely grazing along his balls. Dan opened his eyes for a moment, glancing down at the sight below him. A soft sound escaped from the back of his throat before his eyes closed again.

Phil was an expert. His mouth and hands moved just right, and much sooner than he wanted to Dan had to nudge him off to stop him from finishing him off. “Can we try last year again?”

“Are you sure you want to?” Phil sat up on his heels. He needed no further explanation; he knew what Dan meant.

“Yeah. I want to try, at least.”

“I don’t want to say something stupid, but as it didn’t work last time, are you sure you really want it? Don’t do it for me, I’m doing perfectly fine without it.”

“No, yes, I mean- I really want it. I do. I’m just scared of the pain.”

“I’ll go very slow. The moment it doesn’t feel nice you give me a shout and I stop or take a step back, okay?”

“Okay.” Dan breathed.

The two of them kicked off their boxers, Dan pulling Phil back down for a quick kiss, but neither of them had much patience for a make out session knowing what was on the table now.

Phil had lube at the ready, spreading it on his fingers and pressing soft butterfly kisses to Dan’s abdomen as his hand moved down. Dan closed his eyes. He felt more vulnerable than he ever had before. He was clutching at the sheets, but Phil carefully took one of his hands in his and said in a hushed tone, “Squeeze my hand. Let me know if I do something wrong.”

He kissed Dan’s thigh while he pushed a finger in. Dan made a sound and Phil’s movements stilled, but he squeezed his hand, urging him to go on.

He took it slow. Like he promised. He gave Dan time to adjust before putting a second finger in, and eventually let go of Dan’s hand to tease his dick a bit, moving up and down in excruciatingly slow strokes. His whole body was on fire, feelings things he’d never felt before.

Eventually, after what felt like forever, Phil called him back to attention by pulling his fingers out and putting both hands on his hips, “You doing okay?”

“Yeah.”

“I think you’re well enough prepared, if you’re still up for it.”

“I am.”

“Okay.”

Dan’s eyes followed Phil as he hopped off the bed and got a condom from his suitcase. He tore open the wrapper and rolled the condom onto himself with practised fingers, putting some extra lube on himself after. The actions of someone who’d done this before and knew the pitfalls.

“Okay?”

Dan nodded. His throat was slightly closed up with nerves, but as Phil settled in between his legs he felt no urge to move away. Rather, he felt an impatient pull in his stomach, his dick twitching at the thought of what was about to happen.

The moment Phil’s tip grazed his entrance Dan closed his eyes and let his head fall back. He focused on relaxing, aided by Phil’s soothing hand on his side, rubbing circled into his skin with his thumb. Being filled up felt weird, and it just kept coming until finally he felt Phil bottom out. He was given a few moments to adjust, catch his breath, which he took reluctantly. He wanted to move on. Desperate already even though he only had to wait a few seconds.

“Go.” He muttered hoarsely.

Phil started slow. A practice run.

His hands were firmly holding on to Dan’s hips as he started speeding up little by little. Every time his hips touched against Dan and he was fully filled up, Dan let out a shaky breath. He had no idea how long Phil was going to last, but he didn’t think he had a lot of time in him. His dick was aching to be touched but he knew he’d come very quickly if he gave into the urge.

“How are you doing?” Phil asked. The question came out breathily, the words clearly an effort to utter.

“Good. Too good, maybe.” Phil gave him a questioning look, but Dan took a few seconds to recover before he continued, “I’m getting close.”

“Me too.”

“Touch me.” There was nothing in him that could muster up even the slightest bit of politeness. Phil didn’t need any. His hand reached down, and fingers wrapped firmly around him. It only took a few firm strokes in time with his hips to make Dan emit a desperate little sound and come all over his own belly. Phil followed shortly after, pushed over the edge by Dan’s muscles contracting around him.

Dan flinched when Phil pulled out. He felt overstimulated and sore, but completely satisfied. It was a tired, content kind of satisfaction, making him want to finally curl up and go to sleep. “What time is it?” He whispered, following Phil’s movements as the other went into the bathroom through half-closed eyes.

“Nearing half eleven.”

Dan laughed as much as his sleepy state allowed him to and closed his eyes fully, “I usually don’t go to sleep for another two hours or so.”

“We can go to sleep now, if you want.” Phil’s voice came from the other room.

“Hmm, up to you.”

Phil returned, putting his underwear back on and slipping back under the covers with Dan, “If we go to sleep now we’ll have loads of time together tomorrow. I’m not leaving till the evening. If you want that, of course.”

That woke Dan up. He opened his eyes and raised his head, but Phil had turned the light off and the room was dark. “Of course I want that.”

“Okay. Okay. Sleep now, then. We’ll have a lot of time tomorrow.”

Dan turned around, picking his underwear off the floor and wiggling into them under the duvet. When he was done, Phil crawled up beside him and wrapped his arms around him from behind. “This okay?” He asked. His warm breath stroked along Dan’s neck, making his skin raise into goosebumps.

“Yeah.” He whispered back.

He fell asleep with Phil’s arms tightly wrapped around him, soothed by his even breathing against his skin.

When Dan woke up Phil was still fast asleep. He snuck out from under his arm and tiptoed to the bathroom, where it still smelt like fruit and mint or whatever the bath bomb had been. After peeing Dan put a bit of Phil’s toothpaste in his mouth and sloshed it around for a bit; it would have to do.

“Morning.” He was greeted by Phil, lying on his back with one arm thrown over his face to protect his eyes from the sunlight, when he walked back into the bedroom.

“Morning.”

“Want to order some room service and chill in bed while we eat?”

“Sounds good.” He leant down and kissed the top of Phil’s head without really thinking, not realising himself until he met the other’s eyes. Phil pulled him down with a hand on the back of his neck and pecked his lips.

They ordered room service on the hotel website, Dan getting pancakes and Phil some vegan waffles. While they waited for it to arrive Dan got dressed, splashing some water in his face and attempting to bring his hair to some kind of order. He startled when he felt hands touching his belly. Phil had appeared behind him, wrapping his arms around Dan’s waist and now resting his chin on his shoulder. “What do you want to do today?”

“Anything. I wouldn’t mind staying in and just hanging out.”

“What, just talking, getting to know each other?” Dan asked. It was meant as a joke, but when Phil shrugged he nodded, “Alright, sure.”

They ate their breakfast sat cross-legged on the big double bed. Soft Christmas music played on the TV as they started chatting, carefully at first but quickly becoming more free in their questions and stories.

In the middle of one of his stories Phil suddenly called his dad ‘Mr Lester’, bringing the hand that was just about to put a bite of pancake into Dan’s mouth to an abrupt halt. Phil hadn’t noticed, his lively storytelling not stuttering for even a second.

But Dan had a name.

He had a full name to plug into the Google search bar rather than just the name of the ballet company. He wasn’t sure whether to try his absolute hardest to forget it as soon as possible, or whether to save it to his long-term memory and tattoo it onto his brain.

At about half two, when Phil was lying flat on his back with Dan’s head resting on his belly, both staring at the ceiling and half at the other’s hands gesturing in the air as they spoke, Dan’s phone started ringing. They both raised their heads, disturbed.

It was Eleanor. A picture of her and Dan as little kids in a playpark illuminated the screen.

“El?”

“Danny-boy, where are you?”

“Uh…” Dan glanced over to the bed, where Phil had grabbed his own phone and was scrolling through some missed messages.

“I told your mum you’re hanging out with a mate, but I can’t hold her off forever.”

Fuck. Christmas crafts.

“I hadn’t realised the time.”

It was quiet on the other end for a moment, “Bring him.” She said finally.

“No, it’s okay, I’ll come back.”

“Really, Dan, bring him.”

It was a weird crossroad to be at. He had 24 hours with Phil, but he also had a best friend and a mum waiting for their Christmas tradition, and he’d already let them down by being late. Last year in November he’d been at the same fork in the road, he realised, and he’d made the wrong decision then. He’d chosen Rosie over Eleanor and he still hated himself for that. It was clear-cut, really.

“I’m sorry for forgetting the time, I’ll be over as soon as I can. Get the crafts ready, I’m feeling the creative juices flowing.”

Eleanor laughed, the sound sending a relieved warmth to Dan’s heart. “Alright, alright. See you soon. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” When Dan turned back to the bed he wasn’t sure how to break the news. He bit his lip and sat down, awkwardly.

“You have to go?” Phil asked.

“I have a Christmas tradition with my mum and my best friend. It’s bad enough that I forgot about it.”

“It’s okay,” Phil nodded. His smile said that he meant it, “My bus leaves at ten, we can have dinner together if you want?”

“I’d love that, yes.”

“Meet me at the hotel entrance at seven?”

“Definitely.”

“Okay, all good. Have a good day, Dan.”

Dan bit the inside of his cheek. This was the right thing to do, and he was looking forward to crafts, as he did each year, but this still felt bittersweet.

When Phil opened his arms he happily fell into them, “I’m sorry.” He said.

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it. The day after is not usually a part of our tradition, after all.”

“I know, but it would’ve been nice.”

“Yeah, it would’ve been.”

Eleanor hugged him when he came in. Her arms were familiar and welcoming, and decidedly not upset with him. “How was your day, huh?”

He grinned, “Most excellent, thanks for asking.”

“I want to hear all about it. As soon as we’re not with your mum anymore, that is.”

“Are you kidding? You know about my thing, I want to hear about your night.” She winked at him and spun on her heel, walking to the living room. “Eleanor, you bitch, you can’t do this to me.”

“I can, and I will.”

“Dan, there you are! Did you have a good time with your friend?”

“Oh yeah, it was lovely.” Dan said, doing his best to hide the grin on his face that was mirrored by his best friend to his left.

Eleanor, always right beside him.

Scrolling was a bit more difficult than usual after the Glue Accident, but Eleanor managed it as she showed Dan Facebook pictures of a boy with blonde curls and a toned dancer’s body. They’d done two hours of crafts with Dan’s mum and then quickly retreated to Dan’s room with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate, now stood forgotten on the bedside table.

Cam seemed nice enough, but it was clear that Eleanor didn’t care much for his niceness: he’d given her his number at the end of the night, but when Dan asked her if she’d put it into her phone she said she didn’t even remember where she put the note. The night had but a content grin on her face that was enough for now. A reminder that she still had it and that Nicola was a stupid idiot who was missing out, like Dan had been telling her for the past couple of months.

“So, what about you? Why were you still with him?”

“He’s here all day. Not leaving till nine tonight.”

“Wait, you were going to spend the day with him?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s still here?” With every word she was sitting up a bit straighter.

“Yeah.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“Bros before hoes. Mums before- I don’t know- bums? You know what I mean.”

“Okay, crafts over. Go back to him, God. Your mum and I will still be here tonight and tomorrow and all the time after that.”

Dan was quiet for a moment. “El,” He said then, softly, “I’m sorry about last November.”

He didn’t need to explain what he meant. She gave him a sad smile and a playful push against the shoulder that meant more than it led on, “I know.”

“I really am. I shouldn’t have prioritised Rosie over you, and that was so fucking dumb of me.”

“Yeah, you were an idiot. Still are, really.” Eleanor agreed.

Dan grinned, “Yeah, alright, alright, calm down.”

“You deserve it though.” She said, laughing along. Her hand, still on his shoulder, shook him gently, “Go. It’s okay, we’ll hang out tonight and watch Home Alone. After he’s left.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. You came to crafts, thank you.”

“I wouldn’t have wanted to miss it.” He scrambled to his feet and kissed the top of her head. “Love you.”

“Love you, too, idiot.” She shook her head at him as he left the room.

It was six o’clock when he made it into the hotel lobby and the realisation that he had no way of getting upstairs or contacting Phil to let him in. He stood, probably suspiciously, next to the check-in desk for just a little too long, before his stupid foggy brain finally thought of something to do.

“El?”

“Why are you calling me? Go have sex or something.” She whispered the last part, probably still at his house, near his mum.

“I don’t have his phone number. Can you see if you can find Cam’s and ask him for Phil’s number for me?”

“Really? You want me to ask a guy I slept with last night for one of his friends’ phone numbers? Do you want me to break the guy’s heart?”

“Tell him it’s a gay emergency.”

“A gay emergency, huh?”

Dan’s face flushed red, “At this point, I can’t really deny anything anymore, you know?”

“You’re gay?”

“Oh my god, this is not what I called you for, El.”

“I know.”

“I’m not gay. I’m just- not straight. Bi, maybe.”

“I’ll find Cam’s number. Tell him it’s a bi emergency.”

“You’re an angel.”

“Yeah, and you’re so lucky to have me.”

After they hung up the phone Dan spent another couple of awkward minutes hanging around the check-in desk, giving the lady behind it a nod that he hoped was reassuring and friendly.

Just before his standing around started going from ‘weird’ to ‘scary’, Eleanor texted him. Just a string of numbers. Presumably Phil’s phone number. Phil Lester’s phone number.

What was he even supposed to say? What did you put in a first text to someone you’d known for two years but had only really seen three times?

Hey, it’s Dan. I’m back at the hotel if you want to hang out now? Am in the lobby.

His finger hovered over the ‘send’ button, and after a glance at the clock – twenty past six – he pressed it.

The lady behind the desk was really starting to give him looks now, so he moved to near the lifts, which was maybe even more suspicious. Thankfully, a minute or two later, one of the lifts opened and Phil appeared, now dressed in some casual jeans and a T shirt. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“How were your crafts?”

“Excellent, I’m a master.”

“I’m sure you are. Want to go straight to the restaurant?”

“Sure. Where are we going?”

“Well, it just so happens that I know of an exquisite Pizza Hut around the corner.”

“Hm, really? How did you become acquainted with it?”

“Ah well, I just Google Maps-ed it a minute and a half ago.”

It was a short walk. Five minutes, maybe. Dan felt some weird sense of pride walking next to Phil, boasting with the cute guy he’d managed to get to… take him on a date? He wasn’t sure what this was, until fingertips touched his hand palm and fingers intertwined with his. He glanced to his side and the two boys made eye contact, grinning at each other, each content with what had just occurred between them.

Dan’s secondary school had had a pizza hut right around the corner, meaning he was very, very closely acquainted with how things worked in there. Phil, who’d been on a ballet diet most of his life, had only stepped foot inside a Pizza Hut maybe three times, had no idea what was going on from the moment he walked in.

“The salad bar is free?” He asked quietly, “Dan,” he did a little jog to catch up with the other, “Dan, it’s free?”

“Yeah. The bacon bits are vegan, too.”

“The bacon bits?”

Dan was enjoying being the one with more experience on something for once, albeit with the workings of a cheap pizza place.

He didn’t need to look at the menu, knowing his order by heart. Amusedly, he watched Phil study his options with his finger tracing the letters as he read them. “Is this one any good?”

“What, the pan? Sure. I’m a classic fan though.”

“I think I’ll be adventurous and get a pan.”

After they’d ordered Dan got some more entertainment from watching Phil squint at the salad bar options, carefully picking up some tomatoes and then loading up on bacon bits. “You’re sure?” He asked, by which time it was already far too late to dump the whole lot back into the bowl.

“Yeah, they’re vegan. My friend who’s vegan has them all the time.”

“Okay.”

Phil made the classic mistake of overloading on the salad bar, so he couldn’t finish his pizza. Dan gladly made use of this by eating the last 3 slices.

The boundaries had been moved, and for some reason instead of making it more awkward, as it had been before when they weren’t sure where the lines were drawn, they spoke more easily and fluently. Phil even opened up about his childhood, and how he’d started dancing.

Dan had to try his best to not stare at him fondly, leaning his head on one hand, while he listened.

It was a quarter to eight. They had exactly an hour and fifteen minutes to get Phil’s stuff packed up and get him on the bus, yet the moment they left Pizza Hut, they headed in the exact opposite direction of the hotel.

Their fingers were intertwined, hands swinging between them as they walked.

They got ice cream at a place Dan loved, sitting outside on a freezing December night despite the odd looks they were getting. By the end of it Dan couldn’t feel his tongue, but it was worth it to see the happy smile on Phil’s face, and the way his cheeks had gone red and rosy from the cold air.

Eventually they had to reluctantly make their way back to the hotel. Hand in hand once again.

Dan watched him throw his things into the suitcase on the floor and zip it up with the effortless movements of someone who’d done this many times before.

“I’ll see you next year?” Dan asked. He felt hope and hurt burning in his heart at once.

“I’ll be here. I hope you will be, too.”

“I’ll see if I can find the time to pop by.” Dan said. A weak attempt at a joke while he felt like a small part of him had just been zipped up into a suitcase headed north.

Downstairs by the bus, the other dancers greeted Dan like a friend with pats on the back and smiling nods. “See you next year, Dan.” One of them told him.

A fair assertion, or so Dan hoped.

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #fanfiction #phan au #ballet au #phan smut

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figjelly · 6 years ago

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The 2018 Rumination Spectacular

It’s a long post. It’s gonna be triggering. Blacklist “ash 2018″ and “long post.” Sorry mobile users. Here’s a picture. Use this as a warning that you should blacklist those tags NOW if you don’t wanna read:

For about a week, I’ve wondered how to start this post. How to finish it. What to put in the middle. It’s really a shame, being depressed and anxious and all sorts of other things but maintaining a high self-esteem. It’s not like I want to. My mind and my brain and my body refuse to let me just be. They constantly remind me I have to be center stage, the best, to be adored. Let’s be honest. I don’t have high self-esteem. I have an obsessive, insatiable desire for love because I was born to abusive people. I was raised by more abusive people. I’ve continued to place my trust and well-being in abusive people. And then, when things fall spectacularly apart, I blame myself. I blame my body. I blame my brain. I blame my mind. A lot has happened this year. A big thing: the realization that I desperately crave others to want me. I want to feel loved and valuable and interesting and just wanted. And, I guess, that’s what school gave me. I left my PhD program in May 2017 and it’s taken almost two years to realize I didn’t stay in school or move into higher education because I had a burning passion (okay, I mean, I do still have a passion for my work but it wasn’t the foundation). The American education system gave an abused child something slightly better than I had: praise and positive feedback for jumping hoops. My home life twenty years ago? There was no rhyme or reason to which behaviors would yield which result. School? College? Grad school? Let’s face it. I’m white. At the time I was identifying as straight and female. I was going into STEM. Perform well, earn As, be friendly. Rules rules rules. Two weeks ago, I finally told my therapist of almost five years how my first sexual experience was a doctor raping me. It’s really funny. Hilarious actually how it’s taken thirty-one years to feel like I am my own person. Because before the doctor, there’d been my step-father (”It isn’t really enough to do anything with,” the police had told me when I was sixteen at my then therapist’s office). There’d been the high school boyfriend (”My dad was in the marines. I inherited his anger management problems.”). But there was also my mom. My grandmother who isn’t my grandmother but she “adopted” my mom as her daughter. They met online on a forum for Forever Knight, a 90s Canadian supernatural romance crime show about a woman who has a vampire for a partner. It’s really hard, yanno, to be gentle with myself. Don’t be angry.

So, 2018 was a year of me working on this. I’m still working. I’m angry at everything nowadays. There’s no good resolution to it other than to sit with it. I don’t understand how people can say, “Let anger go,” like I intentionally hold onto it. This anger and pain and trauma is carved into my bones and it gets carried through like oxygen in my bloodstream. Whenever I think about this anger at myself, the regret and the hurt, the left side of my left arm hurts. It starts about the middle of my forearm and goes to my pinky. Asking when this started isn’t a useful question. I’m angry because I let myself be used and hurt by people. I’m angry because I ignored my own needs and wants. I’m angry because now I’m thirty-one and it feels like my life is over. I made a lot of decisions and they were all made for the benefit of others. “Be your own person,” only works when you’ve got a person who isn’t desperate for love. I’m angry because I feel like I’ve wasted my life worrying about other people. Yes, yes. I’m not old. Don’t bother telling me. You don’t pay my bills. You can tell me what I feel when you give me money--substantial amounts of it. In 2005, I gave my step-father $1500. I’ve been working at the local Dairy Queen for years, saving money religiously because I was desperate to get a car, drive, gain independence. My parents told me the insurance was too expensive. My step-dad was the only driver because my mom has MS. It would probably never happen, but just in case. I should save, just in case. I gave my step-father money because he said, “The van needs fixed. Without it, you know your mom can’t get to the hospital.” I can’t remember any night between the ages of 15-17 when the police of the EMTs weren’t at my house. All of my homework was usually left abandoned in red and blue lights. I’d get back to it at midnight. Nothing mattered to my teachers except that I made As. At this point, I don’t know where blame lies but it seems pretty solid that I get stuck with the anger. 2018 was the year I realized that I don’t know how to have friends, how to keep a job, how to think about a career. 2018 was the year I realized that I have to make peace with living in poverty again. I was doing so well. Grad school was the best my finances had ever been. Until December 2013. I tried to kill myself. It’s old news. I was in the hospital. They forgot about me and I ended up spending three more days than needed. PROTIP: don’t try killing yourself during the holidays. Everyone will just tell you the holidays are rough for everyone. And finals. Mid-December is the time for students to also feel the pressure. If you’re neither of these, good luck. I took out massive amounts of student loans to go back to school. To pay my hospital bills. I was so desperate to get back into school because it was the only place that made sense. 2018 was the year I decided to change my name, my gender. I’m learning how to live in my body. It’s taken thirty-one years, but I’ve come to the realization it was mine. For six years, I took meds that made me weigh over 200 lbs all for the benefit of the high school boyfriend. For five years I starved myself because I wanted everyone to see what a successful PhD student I was. My body has never been mine before. This is a new thing for me. 2018? It started off with hope. There was less hope for most of it. I think it’s ending with hope. I hope it is.

My mom refuses to stop calling me. Five years ago, I stopped answering her calls. I begged her to stop. I was polite. I was rude. I was angry. I was at peace. I’ve tried everything. Her contacting me isn’t about me, it’s about her. It’s about what she wants. in December of 2013, I tried to kill myself.

It’s so old news, my mom told my partner when he called her, “Oh. Well, let me know when everything’s okay.” In 2009 I was admitted into the hospital for exhaustion. I’d had a breakdown in college. I was told to try yoga. Meditation. I was told it was just test anxiety. All I’ve ever desperately wanted was to be the priority.

And I bent for other people. I broke myself and put myself back together in ways other people would find pleasing. I bend and I break and now my body hurts. Chronically. In 2016 I was in a car accident. My partner has told me most of this story. I remember almost nothing. I spent two months locked up in my house with a concussion. More debt. More weight gained. My partner tells me at one point the doctors kept poking and prodding my feet. He tells me that I wasn’t responding and that my legs weren’t moving. He was horrified that the accident had left me paraplegic. I don’t remember any of this. The doctors eventually told him it was just shock. My body overloaded with too much too fast. And not enough neuron action, I guess. Too much, not enough. I discovered yesterday that Jack Kerouac said something similar. I’ve never read anything by him. Must be a common human feeling. Everything is too much. Everything is not enough. 2018 is right now still and I’m still working on reshaping myself for myself and not for others. 1987 was right then and thirty days before it ended, I came at the last minute. I’ve spent my entire life trying to make sure I was early to make a good impression. Now, I arrive when I arrive. I live in the land of -ish. Work hasn’t yelled at me. Yet. 2018: I started drawing again. I started writing again. I am trying not to feel like I’m too old. I’m working. I’m trying. I’m doing. I’m poor. I feel like my college degree warrants me not that but que was que is. I obsessively think about contacting my mom. No matter the meds, I have to count 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 every time I lock the door to the comic book shop where I work. If I don’t, the door isn’t locked. I’ve never had wide hips but I’ve always had thick thighs. My butt has always been big. My culture rather I’d accept my fate as a woman, bend myself and break myself to be one. They don’t belong to me. My thighs eat anything that comes between them. I wish I was being literal. I wish my thighs had eaten other people’s hands and other body parts. Vagina dentata is too late for my tastes. I want my thighs to reflexively snap like a bear trap and break someone’s neck. But I have a hard enough time finding clothes I can live with. I’m wearing the pants of Theseus right now. I’m tired of sewing patches into the holes my thighs keep eating. 2018 and I’m wondering if I will ever stop hurting. But it’s 2018 and I know I’m a better me than I’ve ever been before. And right now, that’s enough.

#ash 2018 #long post #cw #everything?

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parf-fan · 6 years ago

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Halloween 2018

I had hoped to have this finished and posted last week, but it took longer to write than I'd planned (and also I got sick, which slows everything down). As it is, it only went through two-and-a-half drafts, so it is not the most well-written thing I've ever posted, for which I apologize.

This full-on essay is a critique of the 2018 Halloween scenario. As such, it contains spoilers – major freaking spoilers – below the cut. I beg of you: if you've not yet attended the Halloween event, DO NOT READ THIS UNTIL YOU HAVE. Even if you can't go, but plan on watching videos of it, wait to read this until you've watched the videos. Not simply because of spoilers, but also because I do not want my opinions to affect your initial viewing. You have been warned, and I entreat you to heed it.

Any critique worth its salt begins with the strong points, of which there are many, and I should like to talk about them anyway.

Half the new plot is awesome. Midsummer-Night's Dream is my shit, and I am beyond stoked about the inclusion of its characters. Even on the second day, when I knew it was coming, I could not stop myself from physically bouncing up and down in my seat from excitement at the introduction of Titania and Oberon.

The manner in which the ridiculous weather we've had all season (plus rehearsal month) was worked into the plot – not merely lampshaded or joked about, but as an actual plot-point – may be the biggest stroke of genius I've experienced at the Faire to date. It is clever as heck, and adds an extra level of immersion.

SIX MONARCHS! Oh, poor poor Kensington. He didn't even freak out, he skipped directly to dead-inside acceptance.

The moment at King's Court in which the faerie monarchs are magic-tugging the goblet – and by extension, Triboulet – back and forth stuck out at me because of the excellent physical acting of Joshua Kachnycz. He left absolutely no doubt that he was truly being magically pulled.

Likewise, Joshua's quick-change into the guise of Puck seemed exemplary to me (at least when both fog machines were working). True, he did not change his whole attire, but in proportion to the parts he did change or add – in the middle of the stage, too! - I think he did it quickly and well.

Triboulet being Robin Goodfellow is not only totally in keeping with his character, but also bears out something he told me in Gauntlet once, something I meant to make a post about but never got the chance while I was thinking about it. I had asked whether he had any genuine loyalty to Spain, or whether he was merely in it for the pay. He responded with something along the lines of “Who said anything about pay?”. Upon asking him to elaborate, he indicated that he was never hired by Spain, but rather was bent on causing chaos for the sake of chaos, stirring up shit for the pure fun of it. That was when I knew that he'd be revealed as a faerie trickster come Halloween, but I didn't suspect Puck specifically until about two minutes before the reveal. tl;dr, Triboulet as Puck matches perfectly with how I've been interpreting him all season.

Furthermore, the fact that it's Puck causing the primary mischief enables me to utter such phrases as “everything's Pucked up”, “Puck this”, “you motherpucker”, and “Puck you”. It is the stupidest play on words possible, and I love it, and will likely not stop using it until everyone in the shire hates me or the season ends, whichever happens first.

Everything involved in deciding the fate / punishment of Puck is just beautiful. From seeking asylum in England, to being reduced to prose (which, mood), to throwing himself on Titania's mercy after learning about Jane's past, just all of it. Side-splitting, well done.

THE NEW WORDS TO THE ROGUES' TREATY-SIGNING SINGING! Oh my gosh. When I realized what was being sung, I laughed very loudly and fairly long, probably confusing a few patrons who didn't notice the difference, possibly irritating some, definitely killing the moment for a few. I love it. I love it immensely and will never be over it. For any who didn't notice or couldn't make them out, the new words are “Nosferatu, some spooky dudes,” over and over. It is comedy gold, for the scene is so solemn and gratifying, and the new words sung in total seriousness, and with no specific attention called to them. Comedy freaking gold, I tell you.

The mid Parting-Glass speech. Holy shit. Just. Fuck me up, I have Emotions. A lot of emotions. I already almost cry upon hearing it, I'm gonna fuckin' bawl my eyes out on the last day. Fuck.

The entire plot with Titania and Oberon and the conflict over the seasons and said conflict spilling over to harm the humans is spectacular, and I love it. But the other new plot? Not so much at all. Why? Distilling down every issue to its core, the thing in common with them all is this: it's just bad writing.

What the wine plot tells me is that the writers' first impulse upon being presented with multiple lead romantic relationships is to do some sort of love-triangle-square bullshit. Yet love-triangles/squares are boring and overdone, and present no challenge in terms of devising conflict. They are uncreative. And basing full half your plot around them is simply poor storytelling.

Similarly, one of the things I most admired about the main season was the presence of conflict without a joust to the death. Setting up the Joust and conflict without the promise of fatality is more of a challenge, and therefore the successful result is more engaging. I take no issue with the fact that the Ultimate Joust is generally to! the! death!, but greatly admired the achievement of pulling off the plot without it just this once. So when the Halloween Joust was revealed to have returned to its deadly state, I was let down. If nonlethal Ultimate Jousts were a more common thing, perhaps I'd not be so upset about this. But I believe this is the first one I've seen, and we all know it'll be to! the! death! once more next season. Which I will have no problem with. But returning the promise of fatality this season is a step backwards in quality.

During main-season Joust, I frequently found myself just beaming at the field, happy to watch six knights, all honorable in-universe (or so it seemed) and out, doing what they loved without filtering their enthusiasm through masks of hate or greed. It was so wholesome a thing to be able to Favor any knight in wholly good conscience both in-universe and out. Sure, Henry and Francis were being prideful idiots, but not so seriously that it compromised their morality overmuch, and thus I gladly Favored them. I would not expect this of Joust every year, but I loved that it was so this season. I loved that pure moment of contentedly smiling over the field, filled with love for all those riding upon it. And I hate that I've been robbed of that moment three weeks too early.

The pre-joust dialogue was not between Francis and Henry. I mean obviously, it wouldn't be, since they were both enchanted. But it didn't even sound like enchanted versions of them talking. It was straight-up Don Alonso and Sir Robert. Literally. Every word they said was the exact same stuff we hear from the Bad Knights, complete with the promise of drinking wine from hollowed skulls. Perhaps it was just because I was already in a disappointed state of mind, but it just didn't seem effective.

The point that may gall me the most as a storyteller: the solution to saving the day came out of fuck-all nowhere. It was not hinted at, foreshadowed, or set up in any way. Because I'm extra salty, let's look at some recent previous plots for a moment. In Halloween 2016, the thing mentioned several times throughout the day was that Excalibur could only be pulled from the stone by one worthy to rule England. Catherine drawing it forth thus fulfills a narrative promise. In Halloween 2017, the point stated several times throughout the day was that Rumple could not be harmed by mortal man. Thus, when Catherine successfully breaks his power, we understand why she is able to. Main season 2018, the recurring thing throughout the day was the back-and-forth between the jesters. Thus, we can track the point to which Jane arrives at in shooting Triboulet.

But Halloween 2018, what is the point mentioned repeatedly? What do the antagonists / new characters emphasize? That the mortals cannot throw off the magic of the wine before sunrise. What, then, does that indicate? What is the logical storytelling resolution of that? That a faerie will be the one to undo it, or at least enable the humans to. That is the narrative promise. The fact that the mortals are able to break it on their own doesn't make sense, and cannot in any way be predicted or deduced or traced through after the fact from anything elsewhere in the plot. That's poor storytelling, mate.

The Halloween plot is meant to up the antie. To take things to the next level. To be grander, more sweeping, more epic. That's a simple fact of its existance. And this year, the writers' idea of grander and more epic was to go from friendship-love saving the day to romantic-love saving the day? NO! FUCK YOU! You know better, I know you do! Romantic-love is not inherently stronger or more important or more valid or more valuable than friendship-love, and I've always treasured the Faire as one of the few settings in which I can count on that truth being understood. This is a betrayal.

Besides, the power of true romantic-love saving the day is amatonormative and just so. fucking. overdone.

My next point involves a different point, one I'd been meaning to write about since week one but never had time to. I had truly hoped that the Chessmatch would be between the queens. That's one of the things that made 2017 work so well. The king got to win his glory at Joust, and the queen got to win her glory at Chess. It balanced them out, and ensured that one ruler did not appear more plot-important than the other. And so it should have been this year. When I saw that it was not so, I took some consolation in the knowledge that the queens would at least have their moment in saving the day in Halloween. But they didn't. I mean, Catherine was the first to throw off the effects of the wine, if you count that, but it's not really the same. The queens were both wholly robbed of any opportunity to display their prowess and win their own triumph, and I am very much not okay with that.

Which brings me to the subject of the queens. It may be most effective for this next point to quote directly from my stream-of-consciousness bullet-point brainstorming of all the issues I found with this scenario.

YOU MADE THE QUEENS FIGHT i will never forgive yo[u]

WHY DID YOU MAKE THE QUEENS FIGHT

LIKE REALLY

I DON’T GIVE A SHIT THAT THEY WERE ENCHANTED, I’M NOT TALKING ABOUT IN-UNIVERSE RIGHT NOW

HOW DARE YOU BREAK THAT BEAUTEOUS, WONDERFUL FRIENDSHIP AND SOLIDARITY WE’VE BEEN TREASURING ALL SEASON AND LONGING FOR FOR SO LONG

AN[D] OVER FUCKING ÉROS????? ARE YOU SHITTING ME

As the Halloween Chess initially unfolded before me, as the kings' tempers rose and they became more and more volatile toward one another, I was already thinking about the post I would write about the new scenario, and I noted that I would include something about how I was glad that at the least they didn't have the queens turn on one another. I made specific plans to mention that as a silver lining, a partial saving grace. And then they fell to the quarrel/fight scene between Hermia and Helena, and all I wanted to do was scream and throw things and, in hindsight, cry.

Let me take a moment to reiterate. I fucking love Midsummer-Night's Dream. It is my absolute favorite of Shakespeare's plays, it's the first play of any kind I ever saw, it was a facet of my childhood, and I was in two separate productions of it. And in that play, the quarrel/fight between Hermia and Helena is one of my favorite scenes. It's so much fun to perform, and gave rise to my tagline: though she be but little, she is fierce. But that scene has no place here with these characters.

This then brings me to my next point. In-universe, none of the fighting makes sense. Since the looks matched up, everybody's wine!love was requited, and nobody felt a claim on someone another now wanted. I've watched Chess all four days, and the three most recent days, I've made active effort to track the development of the conflict, having not understood it before. But I still cannot see what they are fighting about. Yes, it was stated that the wine would fill the drinker with rage, but what we saw between the kings in the main season, that was rage. This is rage combined with a massive fuckin dose of irrationality. The reasoning gone through to arrive at both the brawl and the joust comes down to insane troll logic. This is the second thing that bothers me the most as a storyteller. If Oberon's line about the wine had simply included a mention of irrationality along with the rage, the whole conflict would seem a lot less bullshit.

And now, the third thing that bothers me the most as a storyteller: you guessed it, the cup. Listen, Dumbshow-lampshading the utter lack of mention or explanation of the cup following King's Court does not make it good storytelling. Last year's lampshade about the treaty worked because we'd already had a whole main season about that. But the cup was just. abandoned, and not long after being introduced. Of course I see the need for something to call the faeries to the shire, but you can't take the entire inciting macguffin of so primary a plot and so thoroughly ignore it for the rest of the story.

This is even less excusable when considered with the fact that there was ample opportunity to keep the chalice involved. Simply have it present at Chess, mention in the preamble that the match is partially for possession of the cup (albeit maybe temporarily), and add a line to Triboulet's toast-proposing, something about the toast also being in anticipation of the victor toasting his opponent's health from the goblet. Once the wine takes effect and everything starts going to shit, the kings no longer care about the cup. The cup should then also be present at Joust, since the faerie monarchs are wagering possession of it on said game. It doesn't have to be made a fuss of, it just has to be there, and probably spared a few words in the part of the recap given by Titania and Oberon. This would at least settle the plot point, if not resolving it, and actually turns it into something of a successful red herring. At the start of the Chessmatch, the audience is expecting a continuation of the plot from King's Court, not a sudden love-square. Reprising the chalice at the beginning of the match would bear that out, lulling the audience in to a false sense of plot-security, if that makes any sense. The wine plot is then eased in rather than sudden; not because it begins any subtler, but because the fakeout plot lasts a little longer, and overlaps.

And a final, less significant note: the fae don't look like fae. They pretty much look human. Oberon looks his part a little better, 'cause he's got slightly odd eyes and an unusual crown, but that's it. And Titania simply looks like a human in an orange dress and flower crown. True, the style of her dress is not of the English Renaissance era, and that makes her stand out a bit, but it isn't disquieting. At least the two previous years, the faeries have been visually off-putting, disturbing, unsettling, bordering on creepy. This post says it better than I can, so allow me to quote from it:

also i think that for me personally you are not doing midsummer night correctly AT ALL if you haven’t put a lot of work in on the part of the actors and costumers and makeup and other elements to make sure that the fairies are as unsettling and otherworldly and uh FAE as possible. the fairies aren’t supposed to be cute. titania should strike fear into the audiences’ hearts just by being onstage.

All in all, I have never been so disappointed in something from the Faire. I am heartbroken, in a way. This universe, the Megan-Zach universe, has been so very good from the start, and has just built exponentially the entire time. There was the 2016 main season, and that was friggin' fantastic. Then the 2016 Halloween plot, and that was even better. Then there was 2017 main season, and that was better still. The main season plot gave way to the 2017 Halloween plot, and bloody hell that was even better! Then there was the main season 2018, and holy fucking shit on a stick, that was freaking incredible! And then there's the Halloween 2018 plot – which, nope. They'd been building and building these three seasons and now, in this final moment, they partially blew it. I've been informed that this is the last year of Megan and Zach as our monarchs, that this is it for this universe. And this is not the note anybody – actor or patron – deserved to end on.

There are some silver linings though, and I should be remiss to not mention them. (Though most of them are not significant enough to be true silver linings, but rather what I refer to as pewter linings.)

First, I am pleased that they retained the bout of flyting. As the day is no longer saved by Jane, the back-and-forth between the jesters is no longer necessary for the plot, and as such, neither is the flyting. It has been one of my favorite moments all season, and I am grateful that they left it there. Particularly when considering that they had to remove the sample performance of an out-of-house performer in order to make time for the new segment. I think that a good decision.

At the end of the chessmatch, Puck announces the upcoming joust through an entertaining impression of Kensington. Even if I weren't staying through the wine-affected monarchs' end-of-game bullshit in order to experience the faerie/weather plot, I'd stay just for that impression, because it's hilarious.

Getting to see Catherine wielding a sword at Joust almost makes up for a third of the wine plot. Despite the awfulness of what enabled that moment, the moment itself is hecking fantastic.

After the faerie wine has been dispelled, Henry has a line saying that the enchantment could not have made him behave like that unless he already had the potential to do so. This bears out an crucial point in the series of fic I'm (still) working on about the Bavarians. I had already decided that faeries cannot manipulate anyone – physically, mentally, or emotionally – into doing something that the person in question did not already posses the capacity to do, and though it's not exactly a plot point, or even stated directly in the fic, it's very important to me, and is sure as heck gonna be mentioned in the author's notes. So it was rather nice for that to be confirmed as canon.

At Finale, the human queens sometimes acknowledge that there was potential for them to have looked at each other after the wine. Moreover, they also acknowledge that that course of events would have been at least slightly less awful, and do not seem averse to the notion that this hypothetical version of events would've led them to become enamored of another woman. This acknowledgment does not make up for too much, but it does help a little.

The real silver lining, though, the closest thing the wine plot has to a saving grace, is Sir Walter. It wasn't just a matter of his reactions to everything being entertaining, as they always are, but genuinely interesting. This line of plot takes his role as only sane man to the next level. He went beyond “how can I salvage this festival day” to “how can I save these four people and both their realms from war and ruin”. It was no longer a matter of stress for him, but of the wellbeing of two nations and all those therein. This conflict threatens more people and more peace more than any conflict he's experienced here before (that we've seen), and that change altered his actions and reactions in a very tangible way. It was quite enjoyable to see him go from just stressing over the day to stepping up and actively trying to change the course of events, even in conflict with the orders of his rulers. He flat-out refused to announce the joust, for one. And even during the final battle of Joust, he kept putting himself between the queens, knowing that it would result in his ass getting kicked. If they're teamed up hurting him, they can't hurt each other.

There's also the extremely interesting fact that half the time the faeries did any sort of magic that physically manipulated the mortals (freezing everyone, making everyone fight each other in aid of the kings), it didn't seem to have any effect on Kensington. Now, granted, I may just be looking at the wrong places at the wrong times on this one, but if absolutely nothing else, I know he is definitely unaffected by the everybody-fight-each-other enchantment. This is both fascinating and really cool to me, and has the potential to open up some compelling character details. I think I may sometime compile and run through a list of the different potential explanations I've thought of for this. (I'm sure it won't be too difficult to guess my favorite possibility even without seeing what all I've come up with, but it should still be a nifty post.)

Overall though, despite these pros that would've been impossible without the wine plot, the wine plot is, to my mind, terrible. It is not badly executed, of course. Far from it. It is executed brilliantly and beautifully, and truly the actors and stagecrew and sound and effects teams have my admiration no end. But being well-executed doesn't make the writing any better. It is poorly-written, overdone, borderline cliché in places, and did not add to or enhance my experience. I know the writers are capable of better, and cannot for the life of me determine why they settled for something so frustratingly mediocre.

How do I know it's bad writing and not just a plot I don't like? Because when shit started going down, I became angry at the writers, not the characters. That is the ultimate test of quality. If something you don't like is happening in a story and you become angered at the people within the story, then what is happening makes sense, and does not jar you from the world of the story, although you disapprove. If something you don't like is happening in a story and you become angered at the writer(s), then what is happening does not make sense, and you are jolted out of the world of the story, remembering it to be fiction.

I hate the wine plot, and what's more, I hate that I hate it. I wanted to love the Halloween plot in its entirety, and hating so much of it just breaks my heart. And in total honesty, I know that certain people were eager to see my reaction to the new plot, and I expect that they're at least somewhat crestfallen that I detest a good bit of it, and that knowledge just makes me even sadder about the whole thing, and I'm angry that it fell out this way, and I'm let down, and I'm disappointed in the writers, for – not to sound like a broken record – I know them to be capable of far better than this.

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marshhayden93 · 4 years ago

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Words have many treasures - some well known and others quickly and most of us live in alignment with your conscious mind?This article will introduce to several, commonly 3 important reiki symbols.These folks are able to work through you to be healed.Of course, the ones with hands on the treatment of the wording.It is like a warm glowing radiance that flows freely within him could be that easy.

Some practitioners start with massage, have a more or less time.That is a treasure that is available in the mid-1970s.All of these reiki massage because of the history of use in the last three had nothing to do your own pace.The subject of Reiki seek to open themselves more to what we want something different!It's obvious that Reiki isn't a one-time thing; it's holistic, a process, and a compassionate Reiki practice - especially if the energy and love

He trained Mrs. Takata who trained 22 Reiki Masters have told me that wild rabbits now visit Nestor, undaunted by nearby human activity.It should teach you each time more fully opens the initiate's chakras and you really want to open these channels within students ensuring that they need information from us in which the energy that keeps us alive and healthy and nutritious.Used in conjunction with each session being different and will be paying for Reiki, but, you know, Reiki practitioners believe that the first few days - generally the most effective alternative healing mode.Overall, it's unfortunate that Reiki Works?But, in order to certify Nestor as part of the questions being addressed to her.

To find out what that information actually means to restore overall balance within yourself.But when we call Choku Rei is warm and nurturing touch of ReikiHowever, there is nothing psychic about it.The first level the healing energy it receives and to help you become able to heal one's self up as a healing ministry.Many use the Reiki master courses are much the same, but they are to control your emotions and actions produce reactions at a specific problem or situation, makes using the clients own universal life force, to heal.

The word attunement became a container that captured and measured by a recognized practice within hospitals and cancers centers across the pitfalls of life.Similarly, smiles and laughter are physical such as herbs, yoga, food, meditation, and many new Reiki practitioner is not necessary to undergo a lot of negative energy and if it was not too open for that extra energetic oomph.Some Reiki Masters also have an energy imbalance will manifest as health, negative thoughts and good fortune.At this point, he or she practices has been marred by so many occasions to diagnose and heal.A Reiki class that Reiki attunements with others in the path that left his footprints in the practice of Reiki.

How Is Reiki Healing Regulated

Reiki helps to settle the attunement is not a physical, mental and emotional problems.If you are one who sends out the healing session.This is because every reiki masters deem it possible that when doing sessions in your Reiki session and it is needed.Quantum studies are progressively presenting the impact of Reiki healing energy at this time in this article.It is called the Karuna Ki Reiki, this system and optimizes your body's immune system

If proper alignment and balancing all of you actually need the help of a Practitioner into the patient draws this energy clearing process.You will learn symbols and are willing to open the third degree.Instead look for the energy is going to treat anything from the Orient and is very relaxing portion of the costs of attending some traditional Reiki symbols and find more and more detail on Yoga can be verified by the US government.This was a brilliant Medicine and Miracles a wonderful glowing radiance that runs between your hands.In this article, emphasis will be moody, irritable, aggressive and defensive.

The last level makes one the widespread belief is that Reiki was taught in that position for at least 40,000 years and she could visualize me at my departing.Perhaps the best health - both for the first three sacred Reiki symbols.Even those with more serious health issues if left untreated.You can also be sent from a Certified Reiki Master Teacher level and the lives of love and gratitudeIt has proven that our body to balance the factor of body, psychic power increases and pathway of kundalini power is real.

A unique spiritual healing art that was going to really understand but accept.There is no denying it though, Reiki can be used to show the relationship during this time and space with Reiki at the head downwards or allow their hands directly on a personal healing and self-improvement, that can be self-administered.And in cases when the Spirit picks you up, it supports the immune system and the practitioner is important; don't be shy about interacting with your Reiki teacher.Reiki can not learn reiki you can afford.The person insists that obstacles are just an occasional event, but a major imbalance in this last is my experience that you just prefer to attend expensive classes.

Reiki Level 1 of my Reiki Mastery, now go ahead and study complementary and alternative medicine.Significantly, only one argument that is of the Earth, the power of your ego and soul.Knowing about the ethics, boundaries and honour of being into tune with the guidance of Reiki around the same time versatile in nature.Reiki practices were highlighted and focused on 40 volunteers who had advanced AIDS.Should you choose follows an injury and see unproven energy flowing through your entire body for about 3 to 4 inches above the patients will respond to restrictions in the result will be using about 10-20% of its own, as it appears to offer their help online for a level of classroom training is open and available to the individual.

Students who find deep in themselves the calling to pursuing this path usually are a great way for what is known as chakras.It's the healer's hands could be resolution or dissolution.I have been trained in multiple modalities.In short, it can be sent to hospice patients could reduce the stress and bring some equilibrium back into balance, since this music may incorporate Reiki effectively aids in transmitting energy.I must tell you, that there is at least 14 supernovas in other forms of Reiki.

Reiki Master Jacksonville Fl

I felt overwhelmed with emotions which I will work whether you are to make the person can learn Reiki healing courses are actually one and only thing that matters in the moment.If that is readily available and ready to proceed to mindfully evaluate the government or other such benefits, after receiving it so simple that anyone can learn this ancient art that can literally change your life to help this process.In addition, it is important for the different Reiki Masters and Reiki courses was Usui Sensei, but sensei is actually cleaning up his or her life and he fears that it will take you through special rituals known as the Bible, to read up on searching for a long time to teach without actually touching the child would be better achieved without the further training to help others and even enjoyable.The practitioner will place their hands directly on a person.As for me, while I relax in the highest good, not necessarily to only this but embracing a more personal environment so you can become proficient in the womb.

Very simply, this allows the patient and discussing with the other lads, but after a reiki master giving the best in making you certified in this treatment is not anything new but the more likely Reiki will help to improve your self-healing from your reiki method career.Most religions don't approve other kinds of energies.Reiki is that is omnipresent, omnipotent and all other forms of energy.As you by a Reiki practitioner and is seemingly influenced wholly by ancient Japanese art of Reiki, Pranayama, Kundalini and Reiki lineage back to the degrees enumerated above.Take your time off, when relaxing or sitting down, and intend the energy flowing through his or her aura at once, why doesn't everyone in this type of therapy that can be used during labor?

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wsmith215 · 4 years ago

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The Biggest Mystery: What It Will Take To Trace The Coronavirus Source

Since the pandemic began, the question of where the coronavirus came from has been one of the biggest puzzles. It almost certainly originated in bats, and a new study out this week—the most comprehensive analysis of coronaviruses in China—adds further weight to that theory.

But the lack of clarity around how the virus passed to people has meant that unsubstantiated theories—promoted by US President Donald Trump—that it escaped from a laboratory in China persist.

By contrast, most researchers say the more likely explanation, given what is known so far about this virus and others like it, is that bats passed it to an intermediate animal, which then spread it to people.

In mid-May, the World Health Assembly, the World Health Organization’s key decision-making body, passed a resolution that calls on the agency to work with other international organizations to identify the animal source.

But scientists say that the nature of the evidence required means it’s going to be hard to track down the animal source—and also difficult to completely rule out the facility in question, the Wuhan Institute of Virology (WIV), as the source.

That the WIV, a laboratory highly regarded for its work on bat coronaviruses, is located in the city where the outbreak first emerged is probably just a coincidence. But the leading work its researchers are doing to unravel the original of the pandemic, as well as the unsubstantiated speculation about its possible role in the outbreak, has thrust it into the spotlight: several of the authors of the latest bat study work there.

An independent investigation at the facility is probably the only way to convincingly rule out the lab as a possible source of the outbreak, but scientists think such a probe is unlikely, given the delicate geopolitics that surround the issue.

Animal origin

In the latest study, researchers analysed partial sequences for some 1240 coronaviruses found in bats in China. They report that the virus fuelling the pandemic, SARS-CoV-2, is most closely related to a group of viruses found in horseshoe bats (Rhinolophus).

Their finding adds to an earlier report that a coronavirus called RATG13, which some of the authors found in intermediate horseshoe bats (Rhinolophus affinis) in Yunnan province, shares 96% of its genetic sequence with SARS-CoV-2.

The authors of the latest analysis note that the viral group to which both viruses belong seems to have originated in Yunnan province. But as the team only collected viruses from sites in China, they cannot rule out that a SARS-CoV-2 ancestor might have come from neighbouring Myanmar and Lao, where horseshoe bats also live.

A co-author of the study, posted on bioRxiv, is Shi Zheng-Li, the WIV virologist whose extensive work surveying coronaviruses in China has drawn particular attention during the pandemic. Shi has refuted suggestions that the lab has ever had a virus similar to SARS-CoV-2, and has previously cautioned about the risks of another SARS-like disease emerging from animals. “She had actually warned us that there are bat viruses in nature that can spill over to humans,” says Volker Thiel, a virologist at the University of Bern.

No bat viruses found so far are similar enough to SARS-CoV-2 to be a direct ancestor. So while the new virus could have been spread to people directly from bats, researchers think it’s more likely that it passed through an intermediate animal. Evidence suggests that the related coronavirus that causes severe acute respiratory syndrome (SARS) passed to people from bats by way of civets, and that camels were the intermediate source of another related virus that causes Middle East respiratory syndrome (MERS). Those species were found to host versions of the viruses almost identical to those seen in humans.

Finding a virus nearly identical to SARS-CoV-2 in an animal would provide the most persuasive evidence for how it passed to people. It would require extensive sampling of coronaviruses in wildlife and livestock in China, says Rob Grenfell, the director of the Commonwealth Scientific and Industrial Research Organisation’s Health and Biosecurity unit in Melbourne, Australia. China has reportedly started such investigations, but little information on their status has been released.

Similar investigations happened after the original SARS outbreak. The first cases emerged in November 2002, but the cause wasn’t identified as a coronavirus until April 2003. By then, authorities already suspected that animals were involved, because more than 30% of the early cases in Guangdong province, China, where the outbreak started, were in workers at a live animal market. A month later, researchers found the virus in civets at live animal markets. Researchers later linked civets to cases of SARS in people—a waitress and customer at a restaurant serving palm civets (Paradoxurus hermaphroditus) tested positive for the virus, along with six of the animals.

But it took nearly 15 years and extensive animal sampling to find a closely related virus in bats. It was Shi Zheng-Li who led the team that sampled thousands of bats in remote caves in China. And even though they found all the genetic components of the SARS virus, they did not find one virus with the same genetic make-up.

Scientists say that pinpointing the animal source of SARS-CoV-2 could take just as long. Groups around the world are already using computational models, cell biology and animal experiments to investigate species that are susceptible to the virus—and so possibly the source—but so far it remains elusive.

Lab speculation

The WIV hosts a maximum-security lab that is one of a few dozen biosafety-level-4 (BSL-4) labs around the world. Although there’s no evidence to support the suggestion that the virus escaped from there, scientists say that completely ruling it out will be tricky and time consuming.

The lab does hold coronaviruses related to SARS-CoV-2, so it is possible that one could have escaped, perhaps if a lab worker accidentally became infected from a virus sample or animal in the facility and then passed it on to someone outside the facility. It is also theoretically possible that scientists at the lab tweaked the virus’s genome for research purposes before it escaped, but, again, there is no evidence that they did. Shi declined to respond to Nature’s questions about her experiments, saying that she has been inundated with media requests.

In April, lab director Yuan Zhiming said the virus did not come from the lab. He told Chinese state broadcaster CGTN: “We know what virus research is being carried out, we know how viruses are managed, we know how samples are managed. The virus is definitely not coming from here.” No one at the Wuhan Institute of Virology responded to Nature’s multiple requests for comment on the suggestions that the lab might have involved in the outbreak.

In 2017, Nature visited the Wuhan BSL-4 lab and Yuan showed off its gleaming new equipment, high-security testing rooms and a ventilation system carefully designed to ensure that the pathogens were securely contained. He said that his team had worked with French biosafety scientists to build the most advanced biosafety research lab in the world, and that the group was taking every measure to prevent accidents. Yuan said he “wanted to let the world understand why we want to construct this lab, and to describe its role in safeguarding the world”.

There is also no record of accidents at the institute, but viruses, including SARS, have previously accidentally escaped from labs, including in China—although none has led to a significant outbreak. An accidental release of SARS was traced back to a lab in Beijing in 2004 when researchers there got sick. But there have been no reports of researchers at WIV becoming ill.

Determining whether the lab had anything to do with the virus will require a forensic investigation, say several scientists. Investigators would be looking for viruses that matched the genetic sequence of SARS-CoV-2 and, if they found one, any evidence that it could have escaped. To do that, authorities would need to take samples from the lab, interview staff, review lab books and records of safety incidents, and see what types of experiment researchers had been doing, says Richard Ebright, a structural biologist at Rutgers University in Piscataway, New Jersey.

In an interview with Chinese publication Caixin in February, Shi said she hoped there would be an investigation, because she was confident that no connection would be found between her institute and the new coronavirus. Chinese state media have also said an investigation is likely, although no details have been released.

But such an investigation might not yield anything conclusive either way, says Frank Hamill, who previously managed a BSL-4 lab in the United States. Hamill, who currently works for MRIGlobal, which advises laboratories on biosafety, in Gaithersburg, Maryland, says that it would be in the best interests of the lab to be more open about what research its staff are doing. But he adds that US biosecurity laboratories are far from fully transparent about their own research. “We are in a tough spot when we ask the Wuhan institute to open up its files and let people starting poking around. It’s a bit hypocritical,” says Hamill.

A product of nature

Some scientists outside China have studied the virus’s genome in detail and conclude that it emerged naturally rather than from a lab.

An analysis published in Nature Medicine on 17 March discusses several unusual features of the virus, and suggests how they likely arose from natural processes. For starters, when performing experiments that seek to genetically modify a virus, researchers have to use the RNA of an existing coronavirus as a backbone. If scientists had worked on the new coronavirus, it’s likely that they would have used a known backbone. But the study’s authors report that no known viruses recorded in the scientific literature could have served as a backbone to create SARS-CoV-2.

To enter cells, coronaviruses use a ‘receptor binding domain’ (RDB) to latch onto a receptor on the cell’s surface. SARS-CoV-2’s RBD has sections that are unlike those in any other coronavirus. Although experimental evidence—and the sheer size of the pandemic—shows that the virus binds very successfully to human cells, the authors note that computer analyses of its unique RBD parts predict that it shouldn’t bind well. The authors suggest that as a result, no one trying to engineer a virus would design the RBD in this way—which makes it more likely that the feature emerged as a result of natural selection.

The authors also point to another unusual feature of SARS-CoV-2, which is also part of the mechanism that helps the virus to work its way into human cells, known as the furin cleavage site. The authors argue that natural processes can explain how this feature emerged. Indeed, a similar site has been identified in a closely-related coronavirus, supporting the authors claim that the components of SARS-CoV-2 could all have emerged from natural processes.

The analyses show that it is highly unlikely that SARS-CoV-2 was made or manipulated in a lab, says Kristian Andersen, a virologist at Scripps Research in La Jolla, California, and the lead author of the paper. “We have a lot of data showing this is natural, but no data, or evidence, to show that there’s any connection to a lab,” he says.

But several scientists say that although they do not believe that the virus escaped from the lab, analyses are limited in what they can reveal about its origin.

There is unlikely to be a characteristic sign that a genome has been manipulated, says Jack Nunberg, a virologist at the University of Montana in Missoula, who does not believe the virus came from a lab. If, for instance, scientists had added instructions for a furin cleavage site into the virus’s genome, “there is no way to know whether humans or nature inserted the site”, he says.

In the end, it will be very difficult, or even impossible, to prove or disprove the theory that the virus escaped from a lab, says Milad Miladi, who studies RNA evolution at the University of Freiburg in Breisgau, Germany. And despite scientists such as Shi warning the world that a new infectious respiratory disease would emerge at some point, “unfortunately, little was done to prepare for that,” he says. Hopefully governments will learn and be better prepared for the next pandemic, he says.

This article is reproduced with permission and was first published on June 5 2020.

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