#Unlike certain search engines I know I apparently have a heart

[the-real-google]

important question anon wants to know how much you make every second

More money than you'll ever make in your miserable life

#google #google is the best search engine #google posting #asks #my big problem is that I feel bad being mean like this sometimes #Unlike certain search engines I know I apparently have a heart

[fluffyhare]

Like Real People Do, Part 2! ♡ (Casper x Avery)

☁️ Summary: Casper waits for Avery to make good on his promise to visit, and gets more than they bargained for!

☁️ Warnings: Suggestive language, mild tickling (please do not interact with this if you're a minor!)

This is a series now!

Part 1

Part 2 *you are here

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

If you just got here and want to know more about my characters, you can read my comic starting right here!

Everything that hurt, always hurt more the second day.

I sat up in bed, pain wrapping around my middle like a boa constrictor, squeezing agony into my bones. It was four a.m. again, but now it was Monday; a workday.

I grabbed my phone and opened my company's intranet page, hastily navigating to the HR section of the site and putting in for a sick day, followed by an email to my boss and coworkers.

Good morning,

I am not feeling well and will not be in today. All incidents assigned to me are up-to-date with notes. In case of emergency, please text me.

Thank you,

[deadname]

I stared at my reflection in the dirty bathroom mirror. My teal hair looked like the aftermath of a fork stuck into an electrical outlet, and there were pale violet circles under my eyes. While they were genetic, they had become even more visible since my insomnia started. Lifting my shirt, I looked at my stomach, where a bruise like an arm of the Milky Way bloomed in shades of blue and purple, fading to yellowish green at the frayed border. I clattered three Excedrin into my palm and swallowed them dry.

My apartment didn't have a dining area, so I sat on my green-corduroy couch as I peeled an orange. Aside from the hum of the air conditioning unit, it was quiet.

What the hell happened yesterday?

Given the shape and location of the bruise, I felt pretty certain that I had, indeed, crashed my skateboard into the pier's guardrail.

"Oh, shit! My skateboard!" I remembered dismally. It was probably at the bottom of the ocean by now, waterlogged and unsalvageable. Unlike most other skaters I knew, who often had a quiver of five or six boards, I only had one; a drop-through longboard that wasn't too long, which meant it was perfect for my short stance. It was the first board I'd learned to ride, and I'd saved up for months to afford it. My heart sank as I remembered how much research I had done to find the perfect beginner skateboard, and the graphic I had so carefully selected -- a stylized depiction of a person surfing beneath a cloudy, pastel sunrise.

Sunrise. Clouds.

The rest of my memories from the previous day surged back.

"Avery!"

I nearly choked on an orange slice as I glimpsed the microwave's digital clock. It was five a.m. now.

"Sunset time Port Oleander," I googled frantically, the search engine responding with cruel indifference, "seven-thirty p.m."

My fingers counted the hours: fourteen and a half. I collapsed back into the couch as impatience like a cartoon anvil fell on me. How could I possibly wait that long?

Memories of the lighthouse assailed me as I slumped, stunlocked, on the couch; wet brick, old paper, bergamot, sea spray. An embarrassment of books. Sunlight glinting off bits of ice in Avery's swirling, translucent head. His huge, sincere, almost goofy smile. His laugh.

My stomach twisted with a swell of emotion so strong it was almost painful as I recalled the sensation of Avery's warm, boisterous laugh vibrating my ribcage. I wanted - no, I needed - to hear it again and again and again. My fingernails dug into the couch cushion as I fought to gather myself.

"This is just infatuation... right?"

I wasn't exactly a stranger to romance. I'd had partners here and there, but admittedly, the termination of my previous relationship over two years ago had left me unsure that falling in love was, well. For me.

The initial "spark" that seemed a crucial part of attraction for other people, for me, was apparently defunct; attraction did not happen often, and when it did, it was more a slow and methodical building of a home, less a match igniting an all-consuming fire. Love, intimacy and trust were all building bricks, predicated upon a wrought-iron foundation of knowing a person well, forming a bond as friends over time.

Physical intimacy, itself, was a whole 'nother ballgame. As a solitary person, most physical touch -- even mundane -- carried a weight of closeness that was not always comfortable or welcome, but was embarrassingly out of my control. I recalled my recent visit to the doctor, cringing a bit. Though I was loath to admit it, even brushing hands with the grocery store clerk as they handed me my change left a lingering sensation that I had to fight to ignore. I wasn't the type to hug a stranger; I wasn't the type to even hug my friends unless we'd spent significant time together. I certainly didn't think about ti...

My ears suddenly grew hot.

Was I already thinking about... that? With Avery?

Avery's hand holding mine over his kitchen table, his palm cool and soft, the mysterious and silent storm rushing beneath his skin. His gentle gaze that, despite his obvious years, held an innocent curiosity. His playful-yet-shy bravado as he introduced himself with a flourish of his hand, the way he so effortlessly scooped me off the ground. I wondered if his skin felt the same everywhere else... on his body, and on mine.

"Oh, no. We just met, we are NOT doing this," I argued, trying to appeal to my own sense of reason,"you're just gonna have to tough this out, Casper. Don't rush into things and scare him off, this is probably just a crush you're going to get over once you get to know him."

"But I've never even had a crush before, I don't know what to do!"

"Dude, just be regular! Just hang out with him like normal and see what he's like! I don't know, take him to the fair or something!"

"Is that a good way to get to know someone you're attracted to?!"

"I don't know, I'm you!"

I lowered my reeling head into my hands, suddenly regretting eating that orange as my stomach churned. Things were happening so fast. I looked at the clock again -- agonizingly, only an hour had passed.

A horrible thought occured to me, then:

What if Avery didn't feel the same?

"Don't go down that road," my internal monologue chided, "you have no idea how he feels. Don't spiral out of control."

"Why would he even be interested in me? I'm weird! I spend all my time by myself, I'm chubby, I barely have any talent, I don't even have any friends since I moved here! Not to mention how much trauma and baggage I have-"

"See, this is exactly what I'm talking about! Stop it! Everyone has baggage, even Avery probably does. You don't have to earn other people's love! You're good enough just for being who you are, and if he would only love you for what you can do for him, he wouldn't be loving you for the right reasons, anyway. Now get up and channel this nervous energy into something productive for god's sake, before you burn a hole in the couch."

I stood.

I cleaned up the coffee table.

I vacuumed my carpet. I washed every thread of clothing I owned, and my bedding. I did the dishes, cleaned every window and mirror and dusted every surface. Raiding the fridge and freezer, I threw out everything that was expired, then I alphabetized my spice cabinet. I mopped, scrubbed, wiped, and folded until my apartment looked like it was straight out of an IKEA catalogue.

Then I left, and ran every errand I had been putting off. I finally emptied my mailbox, bursting with junkmail (I was sure that our postal worker just loved me). I got my car inspected and put air in my tires. I went to the grocery store and restocked my fridge.

All the while, my mind reeled like a YouTube video set to loop:

Avery, Avery, Avery.

+++

By the time I was done, it was six forty-five p.m. I sat on the couch in my favorite pair of jeans and my coolest short-sleeve button-down: a navy blue number with tiny koi fish print. My hair was perfectly quaffed, and I radiated a shower-fresh clean. My apartment was silent, my palms sweating as my hands rested on my thighs. Despite all my arguing and resistance, I was the very definition of down bad.

My incessant thoughts piped up.

"You're trying too hard. You realize that Avery saw you yesterday, unconscious, in a ratty t-shirt and cargo shorts, nasty and sweaty from skateboarding, right? You probably looked like shit, and he probably thinks that's how you normally look. You probably smelled bad, too. He's gonna know."

"He's not gonna know. How would he know?"

A soft knock on my door interrupted my internal warfare and made me jump out of my skin.

I put my hand on the cold doorknob. My heart beat so furiously I could feel the fuzzy edge of my consciousness, and I silently bargained with my hypotension that if it just left me alone for now, just for tonight, I would pass out all it wanted tomorrow. I turned the knob and opened the door.

"Hi!"

It was my neighbor. I experienced an emotion that could only be described as crushing relief.

"I found this outside my door, I think it's yours, isn't it?"

She was holding my skateboard. It was wet, but it didn't look to be soaked through. I gasped, taking it from her.

"Yes! You said it was outside your door?"

"Yeah, I don't know how long it was there, though. Probably since this morning. This is the first time I've gotten out today, so..." she trailed off. We'd spoken in passing, but we didn't really know each other.

"Well, thank you, I lost it yesterday. I think my friend found it and probably just forgot which apartment was mine."

"Hey, no problem. Have a good one," she said, smiling politely as she left.

When she was out of sight, I hastily looked around. The sun was just beginning to sink below the horizon, and as I looked up, I could see hard chips of stars starting to appear. Over my shoulder, I checked the microwave clock again. It was seven o'clock on the dot. How much longer? What would I say when he arrived? What would I even do when he did? My hands grew cold as I realized that, in all of my stress-cleaning, I hadn't planned anything for Avery and I to do together. Maybe I still had time?

"Good evening," a familiar, airy voice spoke from mere inches in front of me.

I jumped again, head snapping forward as my suddenly weak hands dropped my skateboard, which rolled lazily across my small patio.

Avery stood before me in the dying light. He wasn't completely transparent yet, and the fading sunlight behind him illuminated the delicate curves of his head, giving new meaning to the phrase "silver lining." He was grinning like a child who'd just had ice cream for the first time.

My words caught in my throat.

"I'm glad you found your skateboard! I fished it out of the water after I took you home, but I couldn't remember which apartment you lived in -- sorry about that. I hope it isn't ruined."

Across the courtyard, a man opened his door and stepped out, snapping me out of my besotted daze. My fight-or-flight engaged.

"Get in here!" I whispered urgently, grabbing his shirt sleeve, eliciting a surprised yelp as I pulled him into my apartment. He was lighter than I expected, and as the door swung closed, I tumbled backwards onto the floor.

"My goodness, Casper, are you okay?" He offered a hand to help me up. I scarcely had time to brace myself before taking it, and had no choice but to endure the overwhelming thrill of sensation as his cool palm pressed against mine, pulling me to my feet. He was light, but his strength was undeniable; he practically pulled me off my feet by my hand.

"Oh, yeah, fine... ah... I saw someone... out there, across the yard, and I was afraid they would see you," I hastily explained, avoiding his eyes as I tried to calm my palpitations.

"Well, that was kind of you! Believe it or not, though, humans do see me sometimes. Usually you just assume I am something else, like fog, or simply a trick of the light. Come to think of it, though... I suppose, technically, I am both of those things..." He put his fingers to his lips contemplatively. It was only then that I noticed a few things about him that were different from last time -- he was wearing square-framed glasses, and he seemed... shorter? The first time I saw him, he practically towered over me; now, though, he was only about a head taller.

"Did you get shorter?" I asked rudely, wincing before the words had even left my mouth. Mercifully, he didn't seem to mind.

"Oh, yes! It's a scorcher today, isn't it? I evaporate when I get too hot, or if I go too long without water, similar to how you run out of energy when you don't eat."

I realized that I hadn't offered him a seat or anything to drink since I abruptly yanked him into my apartment. I sensed my father rolling in his grave.

"I'm so sorry, can I get you something to drink? I have plain water, but I also have flavored sparkling water, you know, like La Croix? They aren't sweet, but, they're kinda fruit flavored. The kind I have is strawberry. I also have hot tea? I don't have any soda or anything, I don't really drink soda or alcohol, I also have m-"

Avery put his large hand on my shoulder, offering a reassuring smile. I flushed immediately, becoming aware that I had spoken in such a rush that I'd forgotten to breathe. I inhaled greedily, unable to meet Avery's eyes as I gestured to my small couch for him to sit.

"Sparkling water sounds lovely. I've never had that before, but I love strawberries!" he said, taking a seat.

I cracked open a can for each of us, then took a seat on a cushion across the coffee table from Avery. My couch was so small -- really more of a loveseat -- and I was afraid it was too soon to sit so close to him.

As Avery took a sip of the fizzy drink, his eyes lit up, like they did when he laughed. The liquid entered his mouth, and I watched the bubbles swirl like a hurricane just below the surface of his clear skin, before disappearing into the cloudy translucency of his body. Almost imperceptibly, such that I might not have noticed if I wasn't watching, he grew a bit taller.

"Hehe, that kinda tickles," he said, giggling, "it's not much of a flavor, is it? More like an idea of strawberries. Nonetheless, I like it! It reminds me of the flavor of tea."

"Oh, god. Oh, no."

My mind spun like a top flying off a ripcord. I felt my blush rise cartoonishly from my neck all the way to my hairline, like mercury in a glass thermometer being thrown through time, straight from winter into summer. Had I been a cartoon, I was sure that steam would be whistling out of my burning ears.

"The way that word sounds on his lips... oh, god, this is more than I can bear," I thought, watching him read the back of the La Croix can, his head tilted upward as he peered through his bifocals. There was no denying anything anymore; no bargaining, no holds barred. I was helplessly, hopelessly, powerlessly smitten. I had no choice but to admit it, now: all I could do was double-down.

"Hey Avery?"

"Yes?" He smiled again, and I realized with dizzying elation that he always smiled when he looked at me.

"Have you ever been to the fair?"

#tickle fic #tickle fluff #tickling community #casper and avery #like real people do #fluffylore #writing #my fic #romance #tickling #ocs #my ocs

[ibijau]

chap 3 of the modern xisangyao, also on AO3

Lan Xichen deals with emotions and regrets that aren't quite his own while trying to make sense of what's happening around him

Something about the young man in that chair strikes Lan Xichen, making his heart race in his chest the instant he sees him. He can’t explain it, that man is hardly older than Lan Xichen’s little brother, and looks like the sort of people said brother usually hangs out with, but there’s something about the stranger that speaks to Lan Xichen’s soul, making him ache with a sorrow that he isn’t sure is his own.

Puzzled by this alien pain, Lan Xichen is startled when his own shock becomes mirrored on the face of that young man.

"You!" the stranger gasps. "What are you doing here?" 

Fear is not an emotion Lan Xichen usually evokes. Even his students aren't afraid of him, unless they have anxieties of their own, and his insolent brother has never been so much as impressed by him a day in his life. And yet, there’s no mistake possible.

That young man is terrified to see him.

Meng Yao isn’t doing great either. He’s been nervous for a while, since they got into the car actually, but only now is Lan Xichen realising that perhaps Meng Yao lied and took him to that house without the permission of mister Shanzi, never expecting to be discovered. But if this intern denounces him…

He has to be an intern of some sort, or an assistant, or…

Meng Yao is shaking like a leave, he’s so pale, but that doesn’t mean this young man is… he can’t be, everyone knows mister Shanzi has been in the art business for decades, he can’t, not unless…

Not unless he, of all people, manages to reach immortality.

The thought, already odd on its own, feels like it doesn’t come from Lan Xichen’s own mind, and more from the memory of a mind that used to be his. It is a disconcerting feeling and Lan Xichen finds himself fighting against the intrusion until his vision sways. He takes a step forward, more to support himself against the wall than to enter the room, but the young man inside misreads his intentions and cries out. He motions toward the door which closes on its own, as if pushed by a gust of wind. 

There has to be a hidden mechanism, Lan Xichen tells himself, his disoriented mind clinging to this odd detail. Doors don’t move without being touched. He cannot question it or investigate it though, because Meng Yao grabs him by the elbow with unexpected strength. Lan Xichen is dragged away from the basement, back toward the kitchen. He stumbles onto a chair and falls onto it while Meng Yao, still trembling, starts pacing in front of him.

“I can’t believe I fell for your act!” Meng Yao hisses. “Oh, you’re good, you’re really good!” He spits, pointing an accusatory finger at Lan Xichen. “With your airs of innocence, your clumsy flirting… and how did you manage to insert yourself into so many publications? Or is that part real? Are you really a researcher?”

“Of course I am,” Lan Xichen says. He closes his eyes, overcome by an outrage that isn’t his, no more than the other emotions he seems to be feeling since entering this house. Last time, it was him making accusations, he thinks, and A-Yao wasn’t innocent in the least so what right does he have to treat Lan Xichen this way?

A wave of nausea hits Lan Xichen.

He’s never called Meng Yao A-Yao before. Never even thought of calling him that way. So why does this nickname come to him so easily now?

“What do you want from him?” Meng Yao insists, his earlier pallor disappearing as anger turns his face red. “Where did you meet mister Shanzi before?”

“I’ve never met mister Shanzi in my life,” Lan Xichen says.

“Well he’s met you!” Meng Yao retorts.

Lan Xichen feels another wave of nausea hit him. That man, that boy in the basement, that can’t have been mister Shanzi. Not only is the age wrong, his name isn’t… that’s not his name.

His name is…

His name…

But that can’t be his name.

“I’ve never met him,” Lan Xichen repeats. Not in this life, he’s certain of that. In another though…

A picture flickers through his mind. A young man in green and grey, crying and throwing himself at someone Lan Xichen held dear. He remembers affection for both people. Pity as well, and perhaps longing. Regret too, so much regret, though the regret, he thinks, isn’t something he felt when that scene happened, it is only something that came later to taint that memory, long after both these people had left.

He only caught a brief glimpse of mister Shanzi, and the memory of the man in green is fleeting at best, but there might be a family resemblance between them.

“You have to leave,” Meng Yao orders. “I’m taking you back to your place, and then I swear if you ever try to come in contact with me, I’ll…”

“I’m not leaving,” Lan Xichen snaps.

Meng Yao stops pacing to instead look at him as if he’s lost his mind. Perhaps he has.

“I don’t know what you want with mister Shanzi, but I’m not letting you hurt him,” Meng Yao threatens, darting toward the kitchen counter and opening a drawer in search of a weapon. All he finds is a silver knife, but he still waves it toward Lan Xichen. “I’m not betraying him?”

“Why not? You have already,” Lan Xichen hears himself say, which makes Meng Yao flinch.

He means that taking Lan Xichen here was a betrayal.

He means also something else, something older, so old neither of them can remember it.

This is when it hits Lan Xichen. Mister Shanzi isn’t the only one he’s met before. It’s harder to be sure because Meng Yao looks too different, because Lan Xichen’s mind is a mess right now and he probably wouldn’t recognise his own brother for sure, but he can feel something familiar about the soul waving that knife at him and…

And a part of him, ancient and broken, wants to laugh at the idea of Meng Yao so protective toward mister Shanzi. If he knew…

If he knew…

It ended in blood last time.

It might end in blood again, if they’re not careful.

“What’s so funny?” Meng Yao snaps, gripping his pathetic knife tighter.

Lan Xichen realises he’s laughing. Or something that is part of him does, anyway. A hysterical laugh that turns into heavy sobs he can’t control either.

“What’s wrong with you?” Meng Yao asks, just a hint of worry to his voice.

He always used to be so worried, something tells Lan Xichen.

Smiling but worried.

He doesn’t smile as much as he used to, does he? But neither does Lan Xichen.

“You can’t stay here,” Meng Yao repeats.

“I’m not leaving,” Lan Xichen retorts. “This is my home.”

It is, or it was. Past and present feel like odd concepts right now. But Lan Xichen knows he spent too long inside these walls. The place has been changed and redecorated, but it’s still the same, still his Hanshi, his home, the place he lived, the place he died, when old age crept on him in spite of his efforts.

Not that he really was trying anymore toward the end, was he?

Eternal life would only have brought eternal guilt. He remembered being relieved, every time he died, because his choices never seemed to be the right ones.

“I’m calling you a taxi,” Meng Yao insists, dashing out of the kitchen, knife still in hand. “Don’t try anything funny or you’ll regret it!”

Lan Xichen doesn’t try anything funny. He doesn’t try anything at all. Without Meng Yao’s presence, away from mister Shanzi, Lan Xichen’s agitated mind starts calming down somewhat. The ghostly feelings harassing him mellow out, enough for him to wonder what might have caused them. Unlike his uncle and some of his older relatives, he’s never had any strong religious feelings, and the idea of reincarnation isn’t one he’s ever been convinced by. It apparently doesn’t matter what he believes though, because aside from having met mister Shanzi and Meng Yao in another life, he can’t explain what just happened to him.

It should bother him more than it does. A day ago, he would have laughed at this sort of thing. Having lived through it, he just accepts it. His soul has lived other lives before, it is just a fact he cannot deny.

After a long while, Meng Yao returns. He still holds that knife in his hand, still looks agitated. Less than he did in that other life they shared, Lan Xichen distantly thinks. But then again, at that time, Meng Yao knew he had lost everything he had to lose, everything except his life… and even that he hadn’t kept for very long, had he?

“I’ve managed to find a taxi company that will come here,” Meng Yao announces, pointing his knife again at Lan Xichen. “I swear if you try anything…”

“I just want to speak with him,” Lan Xichen says. Or at least, some part of him says. He has nothing to say to mister Shanzi, but the man he once was, the one who died old and alone in this house, has plenty to talk about.

“About Nie Huaisang?” Meng Yao asks with a mocking grimace.

Lan Xichen startles, then nods. This will, indeed, concern Nie Huaisang. It cannot be a coincidence that mister Shanzi has such an interest in that obscure painter, much like Lan Xichen himself does. 

“I just want to speak with him,” Lan Xichen repeats, more firmly. “I think I’m here for a reason.”

“You’re here because I’m an idiot,” Meng Yao snaps. “If I’d been thinking with my brain instead of my…” He sighs. “Nevermind. It’s a lesson I won’t forget. I’ll be more careful on my next job… Fuck, but I’m so fired. Do you have any idea how good this job was? Why did you have to ruin this? You’re just…”

Meng Yao stops speaking and turns to look out the window, as does Lan Xichen. There is a noise coming from outside, like the rumbling of an engine going at great speed.

It’s too early to be the taxi, since the house is so isolated. A taxi wouldn’t be going at that sort of speed anyway. Pushed by curiosity, Lan Xichen rises from his chair and walks to the window. Meng Yao glares at him and points the knife at him, but for him too curiosity is too strong and he joins Lan Xichen at the window.

A sleek white car speeds toward the house. For a moment it looks as though it will crash into the Hanshi, but the driver slows down abruptly at the last possible moment in what Lan Xichen finds to be both a demonstration of great skill and complete recklessness. From where they are, Lan Xichen cannot see the driver, but he hears two car doors open and close.

“Did you call someone?” Meng Yao hisses, pointing the knife at Lan Xichen's throat.

“No. Do you think mister Shanzi was expecting someone?”

“He would have been dressed better than that,” Meng Yao says, lowering the knife already, which Lan Xichen finds oddly comforting. Their past life was a mess, he thinks, but he really does like Meng Yao as he is now. “Do you think we were followed?”

Lan Xichen considers the idea, but before he can answer, there’s a knock on the door, startling both of them. The knock is only for show though, because immediately the front door opens. The two of them exchange a look. Lan Xichen quickly grabs a knife of his own which he hides behind his arm as well as he can. Meng Yao and him nod at each other before exiting the kitchen for the main room where they find two men.

Lan Xichen drops his knife.

Although both men are familiar, although the man in red and black is probably the most striking of the two with his bold makeup and elaborate outfit, it is the other one who catches Lan Xichen’s attention. That tall man with cold eyes and long dark hair has, for some reason, a ribbon tied around his forehead. On anyone else, it would look somewhat ridiculous, Lan Xichen thinks, but on this man it looks elegant, dignified even.

“Well, that’s a surprise!” The man in red and black exclaims. “Hey Lan Zhan, look who it is!”

The man wearing a ribbon sports a shocked expression which mirrors Lan Xichen’s, and cannot seem to take his eyes away from him.

“Xiongzhang,” he says with emotion, stepping closer.

Lan Xichen, breathless, falls to his knees.

His brother.

Not the one he knows, not the one he grew up with, but his brother still, one he has missed more dearly than he could ever say. And now, after several lifetimes apart, his brother is returned to him.

Lan Xichen breaks into tears for the second time today, while next to him Meng Yao screams in terror and points his knife at the newcomers.

#xisangyao #xisang #xiyao #sangyao #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes #counterfeit au #I didn't do any beta-ing on this #I mean even less than usual #just needed to fucking write something already

[mychemicalficrecs]

Gerard Works in Comics

A New Design For X and Y by DeadFreddie, Frank/Gerard, 6k, Explicit. Frank Iero is the frontman in a successful band called Leathermouth, and Gerard Way is a comic writer working for DC. When they meet at one of Frank's shows, their mutual respect for the other's work becomes something a lot more personal. Oh and Frank's a trans guy and Gerard's nonbinary because I'm Trans And I Make The Rules.

Mixed Bathing at Home by Bexless, Frank/Gerard, 7k, Teen And Up Audiences. it is a pointless AU where gerard writes comics and frank is in leathermouth, but there is no mcr. gerard gets his toe stuck in a faucet and frank rescues him.

Transatlanticism by tabulaxrasa, Frank/Gerard, 21k, Explicit. Gerard's a comic book writer living in London. Frank works for a record label and has a band in New York. The problem with meeting in the middle is there's a whacking great ocean there.

They Came From Outer Jersey! by thatsfinewithus, Gen, Frank/Gerard, 25k, Rated R. New London Fire is an elite fringe government force assigned the task of protecting the earth from some of its more interesting threats: those from beyond the atmosphere or even the universe. They've handled dangerous cases before, but they've never seen anything like...ZOMBIES FROM SPACE. Vampires, long hunted in lore and legend, are now the earth's only saviors. There is little information as to who sent the creatures until Mikey Way, head of the NLF, finds out more by being abducted. Is it too late for him? Is it too late for the earth? Find out how six vampires, one government general, and one frustrated comic book artist save the earth in...THEY CAME FROM OUTER JERSEY!!

Still Crazy After All These Years by noxeir, Frank/Gerard, 822 words [WIP], Not Rated. Frank doesn’t think it’s crazy. He doesn't know. Maybe he’s crazy. Maybe he’s crazy to still love his English teacher. Former English teacher, he corrects himself. Frank has just resigned himself to the fact that he's hopelessly in love, but with the wrong person when then the local comic shop has a signing with Gerard Way, and Frank can’t not go.

Like sticking a fork in an electrical outlet by aliceboleyn, Frank/Gerard, 6k [WIP], Mature. Gerard is a successful comic writer in desperate search for inspiration and Frank is a dissatisfied 26 year old attempting to express what's inside him. A poem which sounds a lot like a cry for help will tie them together, for, after all, destiny does work in mysterious ways.

Don't Try (Please, please, please try) by semataryeyes, Frank/Gerard, 5k [WIP], Explicit. Gerard is living in New York City working for a company writing comics while nursing a drug habit on the side. He breaks up with his long term boyfriend, Bert, causing him to go to the only person he knows won't refuse him, his brother Mikey. Little does Gerard know that Mikey has a roommate, and he is everything pure in the world bundled up into the enigma that is Frank Iero.

A Pale Galaxy Colliding In Crystal Balls by theloudestgraves, Frank/Gerard, 11k [WIP], Teen And Up Audiences. Frank knew Mikey had an older brother. His name was Gerard, and apparently he was out of art college and working for a comic book company. Frank never expected to meet him, and he guessed he was alright with that. But one day, Mikey said, “I think it’s time you met Gee.”

Get up, get out and be social (Frerard) by Rachel_Carter, Frank/Gerard, 5k, Not Rated. Gerard is working on an art assignment in a coffee shop where he meets Frank, a pre-med student. When Frank gives Gerard his phone number, their relationship develops.

stitched up heart by 10rings, Frank/Gerard, 2k, Mature. Gerard was born unlike most, he doesn't feel entirely normal until he meets the short tattooed cashier at his local grocery store.

It's Raining Men (Hallelujah) by thisishowidisappear, Frank/Gerard, 849 words, General Audiences. Frank is getting sick of being single. Luckily for him, the perfect guy is just around the corner. Or, you know, up a tree

Hold On Tight and Don't Look Back by romanticizingchemicals, Frank/Gerard, 48k, Explicit. The whole concept of "love at first sight" is ridiculous. Absolutely untrue. Blasphemy, Okay, maybe not for Frank and Gerard. Gerard Way is an aspired comic artist, with a desire to do big things. Living with his brother, though, really prohibits him from making much of a change. Frank Iero is a man of many talents; from guitar to singing to working his several jobs, Frank really is a "Jack-of-all-trades". He's just recovered from a very abusive relationship, but hides its effects very well. When the two meet, you have your average love story. But soon enough, that relationship evolves into something more. Hopeless crushes and glimpses of each other turn into something both of them could have never imagined.

Cruise ships and comic books by Leah_Red, Frank/Gerard, 2k, Teen And Up Audiences. Hermit comic book artist Gerard Way decides to finally get away from home and go on a cruise, where he finds that one of the staff has a look that's too amazing to not draw.

Two Dreams Came True that Day and Gerard hadn't even Known about the Second One by wellthisisprettyrisque (collettephinz), Ryan/Brendon, Frank/Gerard, Ray/Mikey, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, 5k, Teen And Up Audiences. Gerard Way had been one of those types-- One of the few people who had been in complete and utter denial concerning the apparent “death” of Cpt. Steve Rogers, a.k.a. Captain America. Gerard Way had known, without a shadow of a fucking doubt, that Captain America was still (somehow) alive, and then, lo and behold, he was right. Now his brother, Mikey, was dating a robotics engineer that worked in Stark Tower and Mikey had invited Gerard to tag along in an official tour of the building and everything inside and rumor had it that Steve Rogers was actually living in Stark Tower and Gerard was absolutely fucking certain that his dream of meeting Captain America-- alive and in the flesh and not a museum exhibit-- was about to come true. (and let's be real, a celebrity-crush on Steve Rogers has to be the healthiest celebrity crush you could ever have on anyone)

The Hairdressers!AU by messitallup, Frank/Gerard, 11k, Explicit. Gerard really, really didn't need his hair cut okay, it was fine. In his opinion anyway.

Schizophrenia {A Frerard Story} by Shadow_Hunter_8, Frank/Gerard, 14k [WIP], Teen ANd Up Audiences. Gerard Way and Frank Iero have been dating since high school. Their lives seem perfect. Gerard is a comic book artist, while Frank works as a teacher. Their love for each other is so strong, they're sure that nothing can tear down their relationship. Then Gerard gets diagnosed with schizophrenia. Frank, having taken a psychology course in college, is determined to take care of Gerard instead of sending him to an institute. But as Gerard's condition worsens, will Frank be forced to admit that he isn't prepared to care for him?

Trying To Escape The Inevitable by Transboywitcher, Frank/Gerard, 60k [WIP], Mature. Gerard is an absent minded comic artist who looses his daughter in the supermarket. Frank is an over worked check out attendant with too many bands and too little sleep who helps him find her. Somehow idiots fall in love. ~“You know this happens all the time right?” Frank asked, ducking down to check under the produce bins, he’d found a whole group of kids eating a packet of skittles colour by colour under there once, like some kind of weird new age lord of the flies shit. Supermarkets man, you saw fucking everything.~

The one where Frank's a journalist and Gerard's an artist by theghostofvenom, Frank/Gerard, 6k, Teens And Up Audiences. Frank's a journalist and has to interview a Mr. Gerard Way; comic book artist. They fall in love over a cup of coffee.

Like a Fish Out of Water (You Drown in the Air) by art_brutal, 6k, Mature. Gerard's a washed-up comics writer more in thrall to the party circuit than creating art. It's going to take something or someone extraordinary to turn him around.

Half Of Something Else by fleurdeliser, tuesdaysgone, Frank/Grant/Gerard, 58k, Explicit. Frank left New Jersey for LA because of music, and staying was always just a means to an end. He never anticipated that the industry where he'd get his foot in the door would be comics, or that he'd be working as the one and only Grant Morrison's personal assistant. Comic artist Gerard Way is both a reminder of the place he left behind and a chance for something more. Problem is, Frank has started to see Grant as much more than just a boss…

The second one (or: Adventures at JerseyCon) by mwestbelle, Bob/Gerard, 20k, Explicit. Bob is a good personal assistant (the best) and he definitely knows better than to fall in love with his boss. But when your boss is the goth-pop comic master of our time, Gerard Way, there's more to the job than keeping a datebook. There are appearances to shepherd him to, showers to make him take, and deadlines to remind him to meet. And, really, he's so earnest, it's not that surprising that a crush might develop. Just at tiny one.

#frank/gerard #ray/mikey #frank/grant/gerard #bob/gerard #alternate universe #comics #fic rec list

[waterchestnut123]

CHAPTER 3 / The Peculiar Perils of Straw Hat Parties

Common commentary throughout the 5 seas held that Straw Hat parties were notoriously wild. This is something that Trafalgar Law, as well as the rest of his crew, are learning first hand. Not that Law particularly feels like partying; after Dressrosa, the Heart Pirates Captain has a little soul-searching he’d like to attend to. But one tends to become… drawn in, to certain things around Luffy—regardless of one’s plans or intentions. This is how Law finds himself developing an unlikely and unexpected friendship with his ally’s navigator—and how that friendship, much like Luffy’s parties, grows far beyond his intentions.

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-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Chapter 3: The Consequences of Poor Party Planning

Chapter Rating: T Warnings: References to gore, traumatic experiences, mild language.

“Hard to Port! HARD TO PORT!”

Nami clung to the bannister of the top deck as though her life depended on it (and realistically, it probably did) as she shouted instructions to Franky at the helm. Remaining upright was a struggle, the vicious rocking of the ship threatening to dissolve what tenuous equilibrium she had established in her inebriated state. Violent gusts whipped her hair in every direction, cold rain pelted her face, and as a massive wave came crashing down—just shy of where the ship had been moments ago—she debated just how hard she was going to pummel Luffy when all this was over.

The storm had hit fast and hard, but she’d been able to give enough forewarning to the two crews that they were, so far, successfully staying just ahead of the worst of it. How long that would continue to be the case, however, she wasn’t sure. They were in no shape to navigate the Sunny: Usopp was completely passed out after his game of sake-scotch—tucked away in the men’s quarters by Zoro before they set off; the usually unflappable Zoro was unsteady on his feet as the ship rolled violently with the tide—a sure sign of his extreme level of intoxication; Luffy was struggling to keep his meat down, and Brook couldn’t stop laughing at Zoro’s frequent stumbling and subsequent cursing. What little headway they had made was entirely attributable to her early detection. The storm was gaining—and their ability to outrun it was rapidly deteriorating.

“Franky—we need a coup de burst! We can’t keep this up!”

“The cola engine is empty—it needs a new barrel! You’ll have to do it, though, I’ve gotta stay on the wheel!” Franky shouted back, holding tight to the spokes as they pulled violently starboard.

Nami worried her lip. Traversing the ship in her current state and in the present conditions—with every wooden surface slick with rainwater, was firmly in the “bad idea” category; but she didn’t have much choice. She eyed Franky’s wrestling match with the wheel and took a deep breath to steady herself.

“Alright—be ready! We need to head directly east by southeast to outrun the storm!”

“You got it, sis!” He then turned his attention out to the deck. “Oi! Everyone! Raise the sails!”

Wiping sopping hair out of her eyes, she gripped the railing tightly, taking careful steps towards the deck stairs. It felt like an ageless journey to get to the rear of the ship—her progress slowed by the ship’s turbulent thrashing. She was forced onto all fours as she crossed the lawn deck due to a sudden bout of nausea; though she rather hoped at the least that lowering her profile would reduce the likelihood of being blown off the ship by a violent gust. After covering in almost five minutes a distance that should have taken less than thirty seconds to cross, she found her way aft. Sliding down the ladder into the bowels of the ship, she planted her feet carefully on the floor of the cola room, wiping water from her face and taking quick stock of her surroundings.

The cola engine was currently filled with empty barrels as Franky had said, and she quickly set about removing them. She struggled to place the full, fresh barrels in their place—heavy in their own right, made worse by the unsteady ship—but eventually managed to work all three into place with a final, frustrated kick. She breathed a sigh of relief as she heard Franky shouting instructions topside, then the whir of the engine coming to life.

She turned to make for the ladder again, grateful that it would soon all be over—however that was where she made her mistake. Grabbing hold of the rungs, she didn’t get more than four feet up before she heard a particularly strong wave violently crash against the side of the ship, and felt a sudden, sharp lurch. With her weary grip and wet shoes, she lost her footing and tumbled down the ladder, landing harshly on her ankle and feeling a resounding crack followed by a sharp, shooting pain in her ankle.

“AGHHH!”

Her vision went briefly white as she hurriedly pulled the injured leg out from beneath her, cradling it delicately between her palms. Eyes tightly shut and leaking tears, she grit her teeth against the searing ache, feeling her stomach turn in response to the pain. She had barely repositioned herself comfortably at the base of the ladder when she felt the force of the coup de burst push her against the rungs, briefly stealing her breath. The laughter of her crew above followed quickly after, echoing down the chute and signaling their escape from the storm’s clutches. She had that to be thankful for at least.

After a minute, as the ship began to slow, she let out a slow, shaky breath and turned her head up, eyes still leaking pained tears. Now she just needed one of those idiots to carry her to the infirmary.

“Oi! Luffy!” she shouted up the chute, voice pitchy with pain. “Get your rubber ass down here and give me a hand!”

—:—:—:—:—:—:—

“What did you do?”

Law stared down at the swollen mass that was now her ankle with an amused, if dumbfounded, expression, Chopper’s ice pack resting beside her calf atop the infirmary bed. They had managed to find an island nearby with a protected cove at which to make repairs; and it was good, too, as the ship had gotten quite a good trouncing in the storm. Or perhaps it had been their abysmal reaction time. Either way, they had a ship to fix.

And a navigator too, apparently.

Nami grit her teeth as Law gently turned her ankle to examine it, still a bit tender as the local anesthetic had yet to take full effect. A broken tibia was Chopper’s diagnosis—and quite bad, too. No sooner had they had docked than Chopper hailed down Law in his sub who, according to the tiny doctor, was far better equipped to mend such a break with his ope ope no mi than he was with only his hands. Er, hooves.

“I slipped and fell down the ladder in the energy room,” she ground out, attempting not to flinch at the gentle pressure of his fingers.

Law released her ankle, turning to her with a raised brow. “You know you really should have been more careful going up a wet ladder while drunk,” he commented mildly.

She glared at him, eyes narrowed and expression distinctly unamused. “Shut it, Doctor spots. Can you fix it or not?”

He repressed a bemused smirk as he stood, crossing his arms as he eyed her ankle thoughtfully, then turned to Chopper.

“Bring her to my operating room on the sub—I can reset the bone and mend the damage to the surrounding tissue, but it will require surgery. It shouldn’t take too long, but even if I speed up the healing process, the recovery will still be almost a week—and she’ll need to be careful for another month after that. We can go over follow-up care once I’m done.”

“Oh, good!” Chopper breathed a sigh of relief, tense shoulders relaxing. “Thank you so much!”

But Nami’s ears were still ringing with the word ‘surgery’. A wave of anxiety washed over her, momentary visions of an old memory—of bloody scalpels and chunks of flesh littering a concrete floor flashed through her mind; but just as quickly as they came she shut them out, closing her eyes and gritting her teeth until the images ceased their assault. As she opened them she forced the anxiety down, allowing the much more manageable emotion of anger to take its place. Grinding her teeth, she turned towards the open door, shouting with renewed irritation for the closest thing she had to a punching bag.

“Where is that rubber idiot?! I am going to give him such a beating!!”

—:—:—:—:—:—:—

Chopper, in heavy point, carried Nami onto Law’s sub, down an elevator and into the operating theater where he placed her gently onto the operating table. Once she was situated, Chopper wished her a speedy recovery and departed to tend to the rest of the crew’s numerous scrapes and bruises.

Law busied himself preparing additional anesthesia for injection, as well as pulling out the needed equipment. Nami eyed him warily as he worked, placing scalpels, cotton pads, and other supplies upon a metal tray.

Finally ready to begin he turned, activating his room to encompass the bed—only to notice his patient gripping the sheets beneath her in a white knuckled grip, her eyes periodically darting anxiously towards his tray despite the otherwise cool expression of her features. He paused before reaching for his scalpel, eying her thoughtfully. After the roughness of Punk Hazard and Dressrosa, he wouldn’t have thought she’d suffer from something like medical anxiety.

“The surgery shouldn’t take more than an hour,” he said carefully as he pulled the tray towards him, situating himself near the foot of the operating table. “You can stay conscious while I operate, or I can sedate you, if you’d prefer. You won’t feel anything either way.”

“Sedation,” she said without hesitation.

He nodded, reaching for a mask draped atop a metal canister beside the bed. As he approached, he noticed that her posture had not relaxed, and she eyed the mask apprehensively. Drawing upon his patience, he gently pushed her down flat onto the bed.

“It’ll  be over before you know it.”

She closed her eyes, fingers clenching and un-clenching as she took a calming breath, and Law seized the opportunity. Quickly raising his arm, he gently pressed the mask against her face and activated the flow of gas. Her eyes flew open and she attempted to sit up again; but his hand on her shoulder was steady, and though he was briefly subjected to her signature glare, her gaze quickly became unfocused and her eyelids fluttered shut.

Finally, he could begin.

The surgery went smoothly. Her fracture was, as he anticipated, quite bad, and the surrounding tissue severely irritated. Thankfully, though, it had suffered little actual damage. Copious evidence of a previous fracture in the same location suggested that to be the reason for the severity of the break; the bone structure was already quite weak.

In total it took no more than an hour, and by the time the sedative was due to wear off, he had finished the surgery and already started a healing acceleration treatment.

The sound of her groggy voice alerted him to her wakefulness, words faintly slurred.

“Mmmm… ’s nice,” she mumbled.

He lifted his head, glowing palm unmoving from its location atop her ankle. He’d been told by his patients before that the treatment felt vaguely like warm water gently flowing through the affected area—it seemed Nami agreed. Slowly, her eyelids struggled open and amber eyes turned to gaze blearily at him. He could tell from the slightly vacant look on her face that, though wakeful, the sedative was keeping her higher faculties from emerging.

She blinked slowly, repeatedly, gazing at him with her head cocked against the pillow in confusion, “Wha… Hi—hi Torao. Hi. Whas… whas’re you doin’?” she glanced from his face to where his hand rested atop her ankle, then back to his face, expression full of childlike curiosity.

“Healing your ankle,” he answered noncommittally.

She blinked at him, then shifted slightly on the operating table before her eyes widened and she attempted to sit up on her elbows

“Where did you put my foot?” She asked urgently.

Law repressed a snort. While the sedative had worn off enough for her to wake, the local anesthetic may not have, and it was likely sensation from the mid-calf down was, at the least, muted.

“Your foot is securely attached to your leg, Nami-ya. As you can see.” He gestured with his free hand towards the ankle he was working on. She followed his hand with her eyes, but didn’t look convinced.

“But I can’t feel it. You must have taken it off.”

“You can’t feel it because I numbed your ankle for the surgery. Your foot is still attached,” he reasserted firmly, if with a hint of annoyance.

She narrowed her eyes as she examined his face closely. “And what’d I need surgery for, hm? HM?”

He glanced up, feeling his eyebrow twitch with growing irritation as he answered, “Because you broke your ankle.”

At his words her eyes widened, and she nodded with sudden clarity. “Oh—OH! I broke my ankle!” Then, more softly, “I broke my ankle…”

He rolled his eyes, adjusting his hand with a quiet sigh. He never was a fan of dealing with sedative-induced delirium. He had hoped he might be done before she woke expressly so that he could avoid this, but luck was not on his side.

For several minutes she seemed content to watch him work, lying back against her pillow silently as she stared down at him. Then, suddenly, she grinned, sitting up on her elbows again as her gaze rose to his face with childlike enthusiasm.

“Hey—hey Torao… ask me if I’m orange.”

Law’s eyes rose to meet hers, and he felt that twitch in his brow return.

“No.”

She immediately frowned, looking thoroughly put out. “Oh, come on! Ask me! Pleeeeease?”

He sighed, drawing on his patience. He was almost done, he reminded himself—almost done.

“Are you orange, Nami-ya?”

She continued to smile at him, biting her lower lip to withhold her glee, before finally blurting out, “No!” and dissolving into giggles.

He stared at her flatly as her chest heaved with her laughter, feeling a distinct desire to put her under again. Thankfully it seemed her poor attempt at humor had, for the moment, satisfied her; for as her laughter died down she simply settled more comfortably on her elbows, eyes curiously watching his glowing hand slowly, carefully tracking over her ankle.

He was rewarded with another few moments of peace, before she broke the silence again.

“What’re you doing?”

He momentarily shut his eyes before forcing out an answer. “I’m healing your ankle. Like I told you.”

She frowned slightly, clarifying her question. “No, I mean… aspif—epsific—specifically.”

“I’m accelerating your body’s natural healing process by increasing blood flow and feeding your cells mitochondrial energy.”

He had hoped the specificity of his answer would disinterest her from further query; but no. Of course not. Instead, she raised her thoughtful gaze up to his face, blinking rapidly as she inquired further.

“How d’you do that?”

“By feeding you some of my life force,” he answered noncommittally, readjusting himself on his stool.

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, expression becoming sharp despite the bleariness still coloring her expression. “Is… that doesn’ seem like it would be very good for you.”

He shrugged. “By the time I’m done with your treatments, it will probably have taken a few days off my lifespan.”

With unexpected speed and strength she pulled herself upright and yanked his hand off her ankle, expression horrified.

“No!!”

He eyed her with a furrowed brow, crossing his arms over his chest in distinct irritation. “No?” he echoed incredulously, “You were the one who complained about the recovery time.”

She shifted in the bed, moving her arms to support her weight on her hands as she started to sway. The sudden move had clearly been an effort. “I was… I was just mad ‘cuz I didn’t want to have surgery! Don’t waste your life like that! You can’t!”

Once more Law rolled his eyes, moving his hand back to her ankle and re-activating the acceleration. “It’s just a few days, Nami-ya. I lost years on Doflamingo.”

Again she surprised him with her strength as she leaned forward in an attempt to shove his hand away—but this time he wouldn’t be deterred. He grabbed her with his free hand by the wrist to hold her at bay; but she just reached for him with her other hand to pull him off her ankle—and before he could understand how exactly it had happened, they were engaged in slap fight, with Nami managing to muster a shocking amount of speed and strength.

But that strength didn’t last long. Her precision and speed quickly faded and she began to sway in her upright position. Taking advantage, he grabbed both of her wrists, holding them away and her upright, exasperated and irritated in equal measure.

“Nami-ya!” he commanded sharply, “Would you stop.”

“No!” she asserted stubbornly, weakly struggling against his grip. “You just got your life back, and at a huge cost—I won’t let you be so quick to waste it—especially on me!”

That was… not an answer he was expecting. His surprise caused his grip to slacken and she used the opportunity to slip free of him, settling her arms across her chest with a frown. His eyes moved to meet with hers, and though her gaze was still a bit hazy, they were nonetheless resolute. His brow furrowed and he frowned, thinking. He had not anticipated she would be upset about this, nor that she would seem to carry such… strong opinions, as to how he spent his life force.

“This is the nature of the Ope Ope no Mi, Nami-ya,” he said carefully, “Certain abilities feed on the user—that’s just how it works.”

He allowed a moment for his words to sink in before placing his hand back on her ankle, re-activating the acceleration; and when she weakly reached to try and remove it again he grabbed her wrist with his free hand, eying her sharply.

“It’s a worthwhile use of my abilities, and a relatively small sacrifice I’m willing to make,” he said with finality, the glow under his palm igniting again. “If there is anyone between our two crews we need able-bodied, the navigators are at the top of that list. Stop fighting me or I’ll put you under again.”

She frowned at him, and as he released her wrist she thankfully settled back against the pillow instead of making for his hand again. She let out a frustrated breath, closing her eyes. Her posture seemed weary—the energy expended fighting him off had clearly taken it out of her. She remained still and silent for some time, and Law used that opportunity to examine his progress. The swelling had gone down significantly, and he could now feel the bone beneath her skin, smoother now at the break site as the bone began to knit neatly back together.

“Luffy said you made a room so large on Dressrosa he couldn’t even see it,” she said quietly, breaking the stillness. “Is that what cost years of your life?”

He raised his head, seeing her sitting up on her arms again as she eyed him.

“Mugiwara-ya didn’t regale you with the details?” he commented lightly before returning to his examination. She frowned.

“He’s not a complete idiot, you know. He does know when something’s personal and to keep his mouth shut. When I asked, he only told me the basics, and said I should ask you if I wanted to know the rest.”

Law turned to study her annoyed expression, surprised by her words—and Luffy’s. He had assumed that the whole of the battle would become common knowledge to Straw Hat’s crew, as much as he wouldn’t prefer it.

Luffy’s… unexpected tact—a concept he would never have ever thought could be associated with the lunatic captain, was… appreciated.

He turned his gaze back to her ankle, sliding his hand beneath it to examine the tendons. Given that he doubted she would remember much, if any of this conversation later, he decided to humor her.

“Yes,” he answered simply.

She stared at him wide-eyed, expression dumbfounded.

“Why?”

“…Why?”

“Yeah—why would you just… waste years of your life like that?”

“To maintain situational advantage,” he answered absently, carefully feeling along the achilles tendon. “And the years weren’t wasted—they ended up saving my life.”

She stared up at him with something suspiciously like concern, voice quiet. “What happened?”

He paused, eying her a moment, contemplating. It wasn’t something he particularly liked to dwell on, but…

“I was shot by Doflamingo. Twenty-two times, I believe. By keeping up my room too large to be seen, I was able to remove the bullets and heal myself while Doflamingo was busy with Luffy, thinking I was dead.”

She sat up fully, her eyes widening in alarm and a hand moving to cover her mouth. Silence, and the occasional metal creak of the Polar Tang as it shifted in the waves were the only sounds to fill the space between them. She said nothing for several moments, and he was content to leave it at that—but then she quietly spoke, voice soft and words unexpected.

“But… you were still shot, right? The Ope Ope no Mi can’t stop you from… feeling all those bullets—right?”

He held her gaze briefly before offering a small but clear nod.

Her eyes widened a moment before she let out a breath, turning towards the wall, eyes far away.

“I thought you seemed different when you came back to the Sunny with the others,” she said softly. “Luffy told me that you used to be a member of Doflamingo’s crew until he killed someone you cared about; that you had allied with us only because you wanted help getting revenge, and were willing to do anything to get it.” She lifted her head and her eyes met his—her gaze uncomfortably knowing.

“I get it—I do. An old captain you hated, who took someone you loved away from you…” She closed her eyes, one hand raising to unconsciously rub her tattooed shoulder. “I would understand more than anyone else. I’ve wanted to ask for a while, but… I wasn’t sure you’d want to talk about it.”

She opened her eyes and gazed at him with a small, sad smile.

“And why would you understand?” he asked coolly, though with the unexpected turn in conversation he felt suddenly anything but.

She turned her gaze down at the thin cotton blanket lying across her lap, thumb gently stroking her tattoo—though, in looking more closely, he could see her thumb was actually circling a scar hidden beneath the ink.

“When I was ten, the Arlong pirates invaded my village, taking over my island and demanding everyone pay tribute or be killed. We were poor, and my mother had only enough saved to pay for my sister and I. So… Arlong shot her, right in front of us. And when he found out I could make maps, he kidnapped me and forced me into his crew.”

Her voice had grown small, and Law could tell, recalling these events was difficult for her. He felt uncomfortably voyeuristic; as though he were becoming privy to something too intimate, too… familiar—things not meant for the ears of a rival. He was about to tell her she needn’t continue—he felt fairly confident she wouldn’t have were she not under the influence of a drug; but what she said next halted his words on the tip of his tongue, and curiosity overtook his better judgment.

“I hated him so much,” she said with a venom unbefitting the quiet atmosphere. “I spent eight years as one of his executives—robbing pirates to try and buy back mine and my village’s freedom. That was the deal I made with him. The villagers didn’t know why I joined, and they hated me for it—or at least, thats what they wanted me to think.” Her anger dissipated slightly, and she let out a sigh.

“When I had finally gotten almost all of the money, he sent his marine lackeys after me to confiscate it all. He never had any intention of honoring our agreement—never intended to let me go; just wanted to give me false hope.”

She closed her eyes and took a breath, then turned to him, a self-deprecating smile on her lips.

“I found out later that the villagers knew all along—they’d just been playing a role so that if I ever wanted to run away, I wouldn’t feel guilty for abandoning them and leaving them all to die. When they found out about Arlong’s duplicity, they finally decided to go after him. I gave up and went with them; I thought I had no other way out. I was going to kill him, or die trying.”

She stared at him pointedly, then—eyes both fierce and gentle. Her gaze felt strangely piercing for a woman only on the cusp of cogency; and yet he found himself unable to maintain her gaze. He turned his eyes back down to her ankle.

“What happened?” He asked quietly as he shifted his fingers over her ankle bone. She smiled fondly.

“Luffy.”

Ah. Figures.

Silence pervaded once more, and after a moment she settled back down onto the bed, closing her eyes with a quiet exhale.

He allowed himself a moment for his mind to drift back through her story. She was the one Straw Hat he’d gotten to know the least. Their interactions on Punk Hazard had been rushed and frenzied—as most of the endeavor had been, and they’d been separated throughout the events of Dressrosa. Yet it seemed they had more in common than he ever would have guessed.

“I think I would have missed you, y’know,” she said suddenly, unexpectedly, pulling his mind from his thoughts. He lifted his head to find her smiling softly, eyes still closed.

“If you’d died on Dressrosa,” she clarified. “You’re a good guy and a good captain. You’ve grown on me,” she added, her smile broadening just a bit.

Law’s brow furrowed as he gazed at her sincere smile, unsure how to take, let alone react, to the sentiment. He decided instead to deflect.

“Me, or my bear?” he inquired coolly, thinking back to the night before. Nami laughed.

“Okay,” she said with a yawn, “You and the bear.”

Silence stretched between them once more, and Nami hummed contentedly as he moved his hand back to the top of her ankle. He forced his attention away from her face and back to his work, fingers trailing over the the site of the break one last time.

“Thas’ nice…” she murmured, settling deeper into her pillow, “I take it back… you can spend your life force doing that any time.”

Law felt a small smile pull up the corners of his lips, but he didn’t respond, focusing instead on finishing his examination. It seemed just about where he wanted it to be for now—mended enough to get her through until tomorrow. With a flick of his wrist he stopped the acceleration, looking back up ready to pronounce her treatment finished for the day—but instead he found that she had fallen back asleep.

With a breath, he slumped back on his stool with a weary sigh. The acceleration always left him feeling drained, but her argumentativeness—and the unexpected conversation, had taken more of a toll on him than he’d anticipated.

Had he not spend so many years as a pirate, he might find it difficult to imagine she had ever struggled against such hardships. She certainly didn’t carry herself that way; she was clever and headstrong, at time ferocious and at others, playful. Though he hadn’t seen much of it for himself, he knew from the other members of her crew that she could be… tempestuous and domineering; though they remarked upon it with the utmost fondness.

She was flirtatious and often smiling; yet if her words were to be believed, she had suffered—isolated and alone, most of her life. But still she found a way to be cheerful, and to demonstrate seemingly genuine care about his own hardships, even though there was little reason to. He was a captain of a rival crew, in a temporary alliance with her own—beyond his abilities to fulfill their agreement to take down Kaido, there was nothing to be gained from deeply and truly caring. He was torn between thinking her abundantly kind or outright foolish.

But, then again, when had anyone on Mugiwara’s crew ever made much sense?

And though he was loath to admit it, she had struck a cord. Under the lingering influence of the sedative, she was just so damned sincere in her concern. He couldn’t even remember the last time a relative stranger gave two shits about the things he’d been through—maybe the nuns at the church in Flevance. He’d certainly never met anyone with a story like his before, either.

And though he was even more loath to admit it, he was also left feeling guilty. He shouldn’t have let her carry on the way she had. Even if he couldn’t have stopped her, he should have at least tried; but, perhaps selfishly, he’d found himself wanting to know what made her tick. He knew she wasn’t in her right mind, and if she remembered any of their conversation when she woke up, he suspected she would be cross at best, furious at worst.

Though, he couldn’t help the small smile which curved up his lips as he thought back to her final comment. He’d grown on her, huh?

A quiet, yet firm knock came at the door and he wearily stood from his stool. With a click he turned off the brighter overhead lights and opened the door, finding Penguin on the other side.

“Lunch is ready, captain,” he said, gesturing over his shoulder. “Do you want me to bring something for you and Miss Nami?”

Law glanced over his shoulder at her still and slumbering form. Turning back to Penguin, he shook his head. “No. I’m just about done here, and Nami-ya is asleep. I’ll meet you in the mess hall in a bit.”

“You got it, Captain,” Penguin smiled before turning and heading back down the hall.

Law shut the door quietly, turning back towards the operating table. He’d just have to deal with the consequences of their conversation later, when she woke up again. Hopefully she wouldn’t remember, and he’d have nothing to deal with at all.

He began cleaning up his tools and equipment, pausing briefly as Nami shifted in her sleep. He chanced a glance at her; the arm that had risen to her tattoo now rested loosely atop her waist, her head fallen slightly to the side. Orange curls framed her face like a strange halo, and her dark lashes lay peacefully closed.

His mind cast back to the night before—to Luffy’s party out in the middle of the ocean, and his and Nami’s conversation on the aquarium bar balcony. One moment in particular stood out to him—when she’d taken his hat. He could easily have taken it back using his ability just as he’d done with his wallet; but for some reason, he let himself get drawn into her game, just as he’d let himself get drawn into conversation with her not ten minutes ago. And when he had her cornered against the far wall, blinking up at him from beneath those lashes, he’d felt… drawn to her; caught in the orbit of her gravity and unable to pull out.

He could chalk it up to the alcohol. She was a beautiful woman, after all, and had been looking up at him with those impish eyes, face cast in the silvery light of the half moon. He was only human.

She hummed quietly in her sleep, and the sound jarred Law from his reverie. He forced his attention back to the task at hand, picking up the remains on his operating tray before sliding it back into its proper place. He needed to stay focused. Now that he had been reunited with his crew, taking down Kaido was next and that would be no easy task, requiring every ounce of his attention and focus especially with Luffy in the picture—and she was beginning to take up too much room in his head.

As he headed for the door, he quickly checked her IV and tossed the remaining refuse into the medical waste bin on the wall. Reaching for the handle, though, he paused, glancing over his shoulder at her. She still lay quietly on the bed, her chest rising slowly but steadily with her breathing.

Yes, she was taking up far too much room in his head.

He pulled the door open and stepped out into the hall, shutting it softly behind him—and with it, all wayward thoughts of the navigator asleep within.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

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#One Piece #FanFic #OP Fanfic #FanFiction #Nami #Trafalgar Law #One Piece Nami #T Law #Trafalgar D Water Law #LawNa #LawNami #Law/Nami #Nami/Law #Law x Nami #Nami x Law #Polar Tang #Law's Submarine #Tony Tony Chopper

[childofthemoon86]

@weekofhetalia Day 6: Mermaids/pirates

The Drowned Rose

Pairing: none Characters: America, China, Turkey, Estonia, Denmark, Prussia, England (mentioned). Rating: K+ Word count: 2445 Cross posted on FF.net Summary: A rumour of a lost pirate ship is all it takes to set a rag tag group of unlikely friends on the hunt for sunken treasure. But out in the deep blue sea, just what will they find? After all, no one really knows what just might live in the endless black…

“We’re close, I can feel it.” Alfred grins excitedly as he looks over the displays, watching the changing sonar graph for even the smallest object below. “You say that about every dive.” Spinning on his swivel stool, Al blinks up at the man leaning up against the cabin wall. Yao Wang, the supervisor and project manager for this little excursion, frowns down at him. “This time’s different,” Al insists, “it’s definitely here, it’s just gotta be.” “Humph, it better be, or this is coming out of your pay.” Yao huffs. This’ll be their sixth dive of the area, and Yao is far from pleased with their lack of progress. “Ah, lay off him.” Sadık calls as he comes in, “He’s got spirit, and out here that counts for more than you might think.” “Yeah!” Al proudly agrees, glad to have the backing of their lead historian. “None of that will matter if we don’t find anything.” Yao counters. “Just wait, you’ll see.” Al frowns, before the beep of the sonar grabs his attention. He spins his seat around, eagerly looking back to the graph. But, as a diver, Al’s no expert in reading the bright oranges and whites that form fuzzy shapes against the blue background, not that that stops him trying. Rather that job belongs to their navigator. “Is it the ship?!” Al cries at the strange block shape on the graph. Sitting at the other side of the console, Eduard leans over, only taking a second to scan the graph before deciding, “Could be a smaller wreck, but not the one we’re after. It’s far too small, and the depth is wrong.” Sagging at the false alarm, Al slumps a bit in his seat. “Chin up kid,” Sadık says, “if it’s out there, we’ll find it.” Turning to Eduard, he adds, “how much farther to our search zone?” “We should be entering it any minute now, right Mathias?” At hearing his name, the energetic blond up front gives a thumbs up, steering the boat out to the deep waters. “We should be over the drop riiiiight abouuuuut… now!” On cue, the sonar graph starts to change, showing the sudden increase in depth to the sea floor, and hopefully, the wreak they’re all looking for. “Look sharp boys, we’ll be heading down soon!” Gilbert shouts from the bow, getting the his and Al’s dive gear set up. “Now all we gotta do is cross our fingers.” Sadık grins, leaning over the controls to stare out at the open sea before them. X It all started with a rumour. As a salvage diver, Alfred makes his living recovering all sorts of lost or destroyed wreaks, but his favourites have always been sunken ships. There’s just something eerily beautiful about dropping down into waters so deep and dark, that only his flashlight can show him the way, to find the untouched remains of once grand seafarers. He’s been on hundreds of dives, and helped bring up everything from lost WW2 planes, to sea mines, to cargo containers. But ship wreaks have always had a special place in his heart. So when working on a dive in the Caribbean, and he over heard a rumour of a lost pirate ship, he just had to get in on it. Getting a team together was the easy part, he’s made more than a few crazy friends willing to go on a possible wild goose chase with him. Convincing Yao to dedicate the resources needed however, that was the hard part. He needed proof that this ship existed, and might still be out there. And who better to help him get it than his good friend Sadık? “A lost pirate ship huh?” The man parroted, quirking a brow at Al over his desk. “Yeah, you think it’s the real deal?” “Hmm, could be, plenty of pirates ran those parts in 15 to 1800’s. Know who’s it might be?” “Not a clue.” Al grins, “all I heard was it was an English ship, and apparently it had some sort of super important, stolen treasure on board when it sank.” Chuckling, Sadık shakes his head at the young man across from him, “Don’t they all?” But before Al can say anything more, he nods, “Alright, I’ll look into it.” And that was how Alfred and his rag tag team now find themselves searching the wide blue expanse far from the coast of the Caribbean. After several  weeks of research, and a few rough guesses on  location and time frame, Sadık came through, and with a bigger pitch to Yao than even Al could have hoped for. “I think we might be looking for the Blood Rose.” Sadık grins broadly, only to be met with blank stares from the rest of the group. “And what’s that?” Yao huffs. “Only the single most prolific pirate ship of the early 1600’s. Reported to have been responsible for sinking over 100 naval ships, both French and Spanish, committed upwards of 70 raids in more than 8 countries, and captained by one Arthur Ignatius Kirkland, a man arguably more blood thirsty than Red Beard himself.” Al, Gil and Mathias’s eyes all light up at the description, even Eduard seems intrigued, but Yao is a hard man to impress. “And?” He taps his foot impatiently, staring Sadık down. “Heh, always about the profit, right Yao?” Sadık smirks, “Well how’s this take your fancy?” Flipping open a rather old and tattered log book, he points to a page filled with writing. “This is a list of all the items stolen from a Spanish fleet transporting, among other things, silver and gold medallions from the New World back to Spain. And here we see it’s listed as having been attacked by an English ship. The date coincides with the last known sighting of the Blood Rose, before she mysteriously vanished eight days out to sea.” As Yao reads over the cursive script, the others can slowly see him being won over. “That’s a lot of gold.” He murmurs, blinking as he reads further down the page. He then frowns as something catches his eye. “Escalas de sirena? Mermaid scales, really?” he asks, pointing to the strangely circled item. Shrugging, Sadık gently closes the book. “All sailors believe at least some myths, why not Mermaids?” Choosing to ignore the strange item, Yao finally makes his decision. “Well what are you all just sanding around here for? Go pack, we’ve got a wreak to salvage.” X The beeping of the sonar brings Alfred out of his daydreaming to blink down at the screen. Lifting Al’s arm out the way, Eduard looks over the screen, before smiling. “Looks like we’re got a hit.” “Is it our ship?” Al asks, suddenly back to being full of energy. “Hmm, the size is right and it’s in the right place.” Eduard nods, adjusting the read out to get a better look, then turning to Al, “Only one way to find out.” “Sweet! Mathias, park us right here!” Al cries, jumping to his feet. “Way ahead of you!” The man laughs back, idling the engines. “Finally.” Yao sighs, finishing off his tea. Rushing to pull on his gear, Al hurries to join Gilbert on the stern. With oxygen tanks checked, wet suit snugly in place, and cameras at the ready, the pair waste no time in jumping in. Once off the boat, Gilbert leads the way down, following Eduard’s instructions to the suspected wreaks location. It’s an easy routine for both divers, but they also know they still have to be careful, anything could go wrong, and at these depths, pressure is their biggest danger. They continue on down, the dappled light from above quickly dying out as they encounter a shoal of fish being chased by dolphins. They both pause for a moment, Al turning his camera to the frenzy for a few shots of the rare sight, but time is against them here, so they carry on down, into the endless black below. A light mounted to their caps and one on their chest light the way, until finally, after a near twenty minute dive, they reach the seabed. All manner of fish and crustaceans scuttle away at their presence, Al even spots an octopus swim past, but none of that is what their here to find. Following the directions of the sonar, they swim onwards, keeping to the sea floor as they look for anything man-made to point them in the right direction. “You should be coming up on the structure now.” Eduard’s grainy voice crackles in Al’s ear, filling him with excitement as he hovers by Gil’s side. Then, finally, after weeks of searching, they find it. A huge man-of-war styled frigate sitting on it’s side, half resting upon a bed of rock and the centre of it’s large hull caved in. But they can’t be certain until they see the name. Not wasting a second, Al powers forward, heading for the broadside, where he know’s he’ll find what’s left of it’s name. While Al gets to work, Gil turns his camera to the wreak, transmitting the images back to their boat. “Holy shit.” He smirks, “Even if this isn’t our wreak, this is one hell of a find.” “It sure is.” Sadık’s voice crackles back in awe. “Gil!” Al shouts needlessly into his mask, “It’s her! It’s the Blood Rose, we found her!” Coming over to join Al, Gilbert dutifully films the uncovered name for the rest of the crew to see. In large fancy print, the mostly faded red letters spell out the ships name, even if it is half covered under coral and sea creatures. Though the ship has clearly seen better days, now mostly rotten at the bottom of the sea, it’s once grandeur is clear to imagine. But none of that interests Yao. “What are you two just floating about for?” The man snaps, crackling in their ears, “Get to work! I want to know everything this wreak has to offer.” Both divers roll their eyes at their boss’s demand, but they do as told anyway. This time it’s Al who takes the lead, carefully surveying the opening in the hull, before going in. Gilbert hovers close by, acting as Al’s early warning in case of danger. Who knows what’s made it’s home in here, sharks especially they have to watch out for. It takes some time, as they manoeuvre their way around broken beams and rotten floors, down to reach the cargo hold. It’s not like in the moves, where gold glints and shines back at them the second they’re in, rather they have to go looking if they want to find anything of value. In a wreak like this, the goods might not even be in the ship anymore, possibly having been lost in the sinking, now scattered across the seabed. If that’s the case, they’ll be lucky to find a single coin or two. Not to mention, Alfred’s least favourite part, all the skeletons. “Wah!” He jumps, flailing around as he comes face to face with a skull sitting beneath a beam. Laughing Gil swims past him, picking at the few remaining bits of cloth still covering the bones. “Kesesesese, never gets old.” “Oh shut up.” Al huffs, moving on. Seems they’ve found the crew, no doubt having been trying to save the ship from going down. But them all being in cargo hold is unusual. “Hey Gil, you see what I see?” “Hmm?” Looking over, Gil frowns at the sight before them. “If the ship had this much damage to it, why’d all the crew head here?” Dozens of skeletons clutter the very back of the hold, not where the damage is, but where a number of crates sit piled together. “If I had to guess,” Gil smirks, “I’d say they were trying to save whatever’s in those boxes.” Both divers know a jackpot when they see one, and, as much as Al hates skeletons, that doesn’t stop him from getting to work moving them out of the way. But unseen by the pair, a shadow watches from within the black, eyes trained on their every move. Tossing the bones to the side, they quickly uncover one of the crates, but it’s seized shut with years of rust and rot, making it impossible for the pair to open. Down here any way. Instead, testing the weight, and deeming it able to be moved, they make their decision. “Oxygen is getting low,” Gil sighs, “Mathias get ready for pick up, we’re coming back.” “And we got a present to boot!” Al laughs as the pair begin the long swim to the surface, crate carefully carried between them. “Good,” Yao crackles, “hurry back now.” “Will do.” Though they say that, surfacing is just as precarious as the rest of the dive, and both of them know they can’t rush it, not if they don’t want to get the bends. As they leave, the shadow trails after them from a safe distance, but it does not depart the ship, head tilting as it watches them take the box away, until both are nearly out of sight. Once gone, the shadow worms it’s way back through the ship, to bones scattered with little care. A strange whine escapes it at the sight, before gently reaching, it picks up a skull, holding it close in a strange hug as it moves to set it back atop one of the crates. By the time Al and Gil surface a short distance from the boat, both Sadık and Mathias are eagerly waiting at the stern for them. They swim over, lifting the box up to hand over first, before climbing on board. “Ahh…” Al sighs, flopping back across the floor the second he removes his tank. But he doesn’t lie about long, as Yao is quick to order everyone around. “Jones get up, your leaving a puddle. Beilschmidt I wan’t you ready to dive again as soon as possible. And Adnan, I-” “Want the crate open, yeah, yeah.” Sadık waves Yao off, doing his own inspection of the box first. “Aha!” He cries, “Look, there’s still a partial print of the Spanish navy on here. We’ve definitely found something stolen from them. While he gushes over the discovery, photographing the symbol for his records, Mathias returns from the cabin, looking a bit too happy to be wielding a crowbar. “Give me that.” Sadık laughs, “can’t have you destroying artefacts now.” Together the group gather around, all holding their breath as Sadık slips the bar in, and counts, “1, 2, 3!” Cracking the lid open, he hurriedly slides it back to reveal…

#hetalia #hetaliaextravaganza2k18 #day 6: Mermaids/pirates #day 6 #APH America #APH China #aph turkey #aph estonia #APH Denmark #APH Prussia #APH England #alfred f jones #wang yao #Sadık Adnan #Eduard #Mathias Køhler #gilbert beilschmidt #arthur kirkland #Mermaids #pirate ships #random unnecessary cliffhanger is random #more of my odd aus #This just sort of wrote itself #with bonus one hour speed paint cause why not #fan art #my art #fan fic #my work

[michaelandy101-blog]

Google Native Filler Content material Is not Good UX, and Wants Revisions

New Post has been published on http://tiptopreview.com/google-local-filler-content-isnt-good-ux-and-needs-revisions/

Google Native Filler Content material Is not Good UX, and Wants Revisions

The writer’s views are fully his or her personal (excluding the unlikely occasion of hypnosis) and should not at all times mirror the views of Moz.

Did you ever flip in a college paper stuffed with obscure ramblings, hoping your trainer wouldn’t discover that you just’d did not learn the assigned e book?

I admit, I as soon as helped my little sister fulfill a required phrase rely with analogies about “waves crashing against the rocks of adversity” when she, for some purpose, ignored studying The Communist Manifesto in highschool. She received an A on her paper, however that isn’t the mark I’d give Google when there isn’t sufficient content material to legitimately fill them native packs, Native Finders, and Maps.

The presence of irrelevant listings in response to necessary native queries:

Makes it unnecessarily tough for searchers to seek out what they want

Makes it more durable for related companies to compete

Creates a misunderstanding of bountiful native alternative of sources, leading to disappointing UX

In the present day, we’ll have a look at some unique knowledge in an try and quantify the extent of this drawback, and discover what Google and native companies can do about it.

What’s meant by “local filler” content material and why is it such an issue?

The above screenshot captures the native pack outcomes for a really particular search for a gastroenterologist in Angels Camp, California. In its effort to point out me a pack, Google has scrambled collectively outcomes which can be two-thirds irrelevant to the complete intent of my question, since I’m not searching for both an eye fixed care heart or a pediatrician. The third result’s higher, regardless that Google needed to journey about 15 miles from my specified search metropolis to get it, as a result of Dr. Eddi is, a minimum of, a gastroenterologist.

It’s relatively irritating to see Google permitting the one correct specialist to be outranked by two random native medical entities, maybe just because they’re nearer to house. It clearly received’t do to have an optometrist or kids’s physician seek the advice of with me on digestive well being, and sadly, the state of affairs turns into even odder once we click on by way of to the native finder:

Of the twenty outcomes Google has pulled collectively to make up the primary web page of the native finder, solely two are literally gastroenterologists, misplaced within the weeds of podiatrists, orthopedic surgeons, common MDs, and some clinics with no readability as as to if their presence within the outcomes pertains to having a digestive well being specialists on employees . Zero of the listed gastroenterologists are within the city I’ve specified. The relevance ratio is sort of poor for the person and shapes a frightening surroundings for applicable practitioners who must be present in all this mess.

You will have learn me writing earlier than about native search engine marketing looking for to construct the online mirror of real-world communities. That’s the perfect: making certain that cities and cities have a wonderful digital reference information to the native sources out there to them. But once I fact-checked with the true world (calling medical practices round this explicit city), I discovered that there really aren’t any gastroenterologists in Angels Camp, regardless that Google’s outcomes may make it appear to be there have to be. What I heard from locals is that you have to both take a 25 minute drive to Sonora to see a GI physician, or head west for an hour and fifteen minutes to Modesto for applicable care.

Google has yoked itself to AI, however the current state of search leaves it as much as my human intelligence to appreciate that the SERPs are making empty guarantees, and that there are, the truth is, no GI docs in Angels Camp. That is what a neighbor, main care physician, or native enterprise affiliation would inform me if I used to be contemplating transferring to this group and wanted to be near specialists. However Google tells me that there are greater than 23 million natural selections related to my necessities, and scores of native enterprise listings that so intently match my intent, they deserve satisfaction of place in Three-packs, Finders and Maps.

Essentially the most materials finish end result for the Google person is that they’ll seemingly expertise pointless fatigue losing time on the cellphone calling irrelevant docs at a second when they’re in severe want of assist from an applicable skilled. As a neighborhood search engine marketing, I’m conditioned to have a look at native enterprise classes and might weed out ineffective content material virtually robotically due to this, however is the common searcher noticing the truncated “eye care cent…” on the above itemizing? They’re virtually actually not utilizing a Chrome extension like GMB Spy to see all of the potential itemizing classes since Google determined to cover them years in the past.

On a extra philosophical notice, my concern with native SERPs made up of irrelevant filler content material is that they create a false image of native bounty. As I not too long ago talked about to Marie Haynes:

The work of native companies (and native SEOs!) derives its deepest which means from offering and selling important native sources. Google’s inaccurate depiction of abundance may, even when in a small manner, contribute to public apathy. The reality is that the US is dealing with a severe shortage of doctors, and something that doesn’t mirror this actuality may, probably, undermine public motion on points like why our nation, not like nearly all of nations, doesn’t make increased training free or reasonably priced in order that younger folks can turn out to be the medical professionals and different important providers suppliers we unquestionably must be a practical society. Public well-being is determined by full accuracy in such issues.

As a neighborhood search engine marketing, I desire a truthful depiction of how well-resourced every group actually is on the map, as a part of societal thought and decision-making. We’re all dealing with public well being and environmental emergencies now and know in our bones how important important native providers have turn out to be.

Simply how huge is the issue of native filler content material?

If the SERPs have been extra like people, my question for “gastroenterologist Angels Camp” would return one thing like a featured snippet stating, “Sorry, our index indicates there are no GI Docs in Angels Camp. You’ll need to look in Sonora or Modesto for nearest options.” It undoubtedly wouldn’t create the current state of affairs of, “Bad digestive system? See an eye doctor!” that’s being implied by the present outcomes. I needed to study simply how huge this drawback has turn out to be for Google.

I regarded on the native packs in 25 cities and cities throughout California of extensively various populations utilizing the search phrase “gastroenterologist” and every of the localities. I famous how most of the outcomes returned have been inside the metropolis laid out in my search and what number of used “gastroenterologist” as their main class. I even gave Google a bonus on this check by permitting entries that didn’t use gastroenterologist as their main class however that did have some model of that phrase of their enterprise title (making the specialty clearer to the person) to be included in Google’s wins column. Of the 150 whole knowledge factors I checked, here’s what I discovered:

42% of the content material Google offered in native packs had no apparent connection to gastroenterology. It’s a surprising quantity, truthfully. Think about the variety of wearying, irrelevant calls sufferers could also be making looking for digestive well being session if practically half of the practices listed aren’t on this area of drugs.

A sample I seen in my small pattern set is that bigger cities had essentially the most related outcomes. Smaller cities and rural areas had a lot poorer relevance ratios. In the meantime, Google is extra correct as to returning outcomes inside the question’s metropolis, as proven by these numbers:

The difficulty is, what appears like extra of a win for Google right here doesn’t really chalk up as a win for searchers. In my knowledge set, the place Google was correct in exhibiting outcomes from my specified metropolis, the entities have been usually merely not GI docs. There have been situations wherein all Three outcomes received the town proper, however zero of the outcomes received the specialty proper. In actual fact, in a single very weird case, Google confirmed me this:

Welders apart, it’s necessary to do not forget that our preliminary Angels Camp instance demonstrated how the searcher, encountering a pack with filler listings in it and drilling down additional into the Native Finder outcomes for assist may very well find yourself with even much less relevance. As an alternative of two-out-of-three native pack entries being ineffective to them, they could find yourself with two-out-of-twenty unhelpful listings, with relevance consigned to obscurity.

And, after all, filler listings aren’t confined to medical classes. I engaged on this little survey as a result of I’d seen how usually, in class after class, the person expertise is less-than-ideal.

What ought to Google do to reduce the poor UX of irrelevant listings?

Do not forget that we’re not speaking about spam right here. That’s a very completely different headache in Googleland. I noticed no situations of spam in my knowledge. The welder was not attempting to cross himself off as a health care provider. Relatively, what we have now right here seems to be a case of Google weighting location key phrases over items/providers key phrases, even when it is unnecessary to take action.

Google must develop logic that excludes extraordinarily irrelevant listings for particular head phrases to enhance UX. How may this logic work?

1. Google may rely extra on their very own classes. Going again to our unique instance wherein an eye fixed care heart is the #1 ranked end result for “gastroenterologist angels camp”, we will use GMB Spy to test if any of the classes chosen by the enterprise is “gastroenterologist”:

Google can, after all, see all of the classes, and this lack of “gastroenterologist” amongst them must be an enormous “no” vote on exhibiting the itemizing for our question.

2. Google may cross test the classes with the oft-disregarded enterprise description:

Once more, no point out of gastroenterological providers there. One other “no” vote.

Three. Google may run sentiment evaluation on the critiques for an entity, checking to see in the event that they include the search phrase:

Plenty of mentions of eye care right here, however the physique of critiques accommodates zero mentions of intestinal well being. One other “no” vote.

four. Google may cross test the required search phrases towards all of the information they’ve from their crawls of the entity’s web site:

This exercise ought to affirm that there is no such thing as a on-site reference to Dr. Haymond being something aside from an ophthalmologist . Then Google would wish to make a calculation to downgrade the importance of the placement (Angels Camp) primarily based on inside logic that specifies person searching for a gastroenterologist in a metropolis would like to see gastroenterologists a bit farther away than seeing eye docs (or welders) close by. So, this could be one other “no” vote for inclusion in consequence for our question.

5. Lastly, Google may cross reference this crawl of the web site towards their wider crawl of the online:

This could act as , ultimate affirmation that Dr. Haymond is an eye fixed physician relatively than a gastroenterologist, even when he’s in our desired metropolis, and provides us a fifth “no” vote for bringing his itemizing up in response to our question.

The online is huge, and so is Google’s job, however I imagine the important thing to resolving this explicit kind of filler content material is for Google to rely extra on the information they’ve of an entity’s vertical and fewer on their information of its location. A diner could also be keen to swap out tacos for pizza if there’s a Mexican restaurant a block away however no pizzerias on the town, however in these YMYL classes, the identical logic mustn’t apply.

It’s not unusual for Google to exclude native outcomes from showing in any respect when their current logic tells them there isn’t reply. It’s tempting to say that fixing the filler content material drawback is determined by Google increasing the variety of outcomes for which they don’t present native listings. However, I don’t suppose this can be a good resolution, as a result of the person then generally sees irrelevant natural entries, as an alternative of native ones. It appears to me that a greater path is for Google to increase the radius of native SERPs for a higher variety of queries so search like ours receives a map of the closest gastroenterologists, with nearer, superfluous companies filtered out.

What do you have to do if a neighborhood enterprise you’re selling is getting misplaced amid filler listings?

search engine marketing goes to be the quick reply to this drawback. It’s true you could click on the “send feedback” hyperlink on the backside of the native finder, Google Maps or an natural SERP, and fill out type like this, with a screenshot:

Nevertheless, my lone report of dissatisfaction with SERP high quality is unlikely to get Google to alter the outcomes. Maybe in the event that they acquired a number of reviews…

Extra practically-speaking, if a enterprise you’re selling is getting misplaced amid irrelevant listings, search engine optimization shall be your strongest device for convincing Google that you’re, the truth is, the higher reply. In our examine, we realized that there are, the truth is, no GI docs in Angels Camp, and that the closest one is about fifteen miles away. In case you have been answerable for marketing this explicit specialist, you possibly can take into account:

1. Gaining a foothold in close by cities and cities

Advocate that the physician develop real-world relationships with neighboring cities from which he want to obtain extra shoppers. Maybe, for instance, he has hospital privileges, or participates in clinics or seminars in these different locales.

2. Writing about locality relationships

Publish content material on the web site highlighting these relationships and actions to start associating the consumer’s identify with a wider radius of localities.

Three. Increasing the linktation radius

Search related hyperlinks and unstructured citations from the neighboring cities and cities, on the idea of those relationships and participation in a wide range of group actions.

four. Customizing overview requests primarily based on prospects’ addresses

If you realize your prospects effectively, take into account wording overview requests to immediate them to say why it’s value it to them to journey from X location for items/providers (nota bene: medical professionals, after all, must be extremely conversant with HIPPA compliance in terms of online fame administration).

5. Filling out your listings to the max

Undoubtedly do give Google and different native enterprise itemizing platforms the utmost quantity of details about the enterprise you’re marketing (Moz Native will help!) . Fill out all of the fields and provides a attempt to capabilities like Google Posts, product listings, and Q&A.

6. Sowing your seeds past the walled backyard

Pursue an lively social media, video, business, native information, print, radio, and tv presence to the extent that your time and finances permits. Google’s walled backyard, as outlined by my pal, Dr. Pete, just isn’t the one place to construct your model. And, if my different pal, Cyrus Shepard, is true, anti-trust litigation may even deliver us to a day when Google’s personal ramparts turn out to be much less impermeable. Within the meantime, work at being discovered past Google whilst you proceed to grapple with visibility inside their surroundings.

Examine habits

It’s one factor for a scholar to fudge a e book report, however squeaking by can turn out to be a unfavorable lifelong behavior if it isn’t caught early. I’m positive any Google staffer taking the time to really learn by way of the native packs in my survey would agree that they don’t price an A+.

I’ve been in native search engine marketing lengthy sufficient to recollect when Google first created their native index with filler content material pulled collectively from different sources, with out enterprise house owners having any concept they have been even being represented online, and these early examine habits appear to have caught with the corporate in terms of inside choice making that finally ends up having large real-world impacts. The latest title tag tweak that’s rewriting erroneous titles for vaccine landing pages is a regarding instance of this lack of foresight and meticulousness.

If I may create a syllabus for Google’s native division, it might start with separating out classes of the best significance to human health and safety and placing them by way of a rigorous, everlasting handbook overview course of to make sure that outcomes are as correct as potential, and as free from spam, scams, and ineffective filler content material because the reviewers could make them. Google has principally received all the money and expertise on the planet to place in the direction of high quality, and ethics would counsel they’re obliged to make the funding.

Society deserves correct search outcomes delivered by studious suppliers, and rural and concrete areas are worthy of equal high quality commitments and a extra nuanced method than one-size-fits all. Too usually, in Native, Google is flunking for need of respecting real-world realities. Let’s hope they begin making use of themselves to the fullest of their potential.

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#General

[kalbong-tiu]

Understanding a Pandemic

Writing anything about this pandemic is an ambiguously perplexing task for one simple reason which hopefully will remain impartial and subjective throughout this narrative. 'I am not a virologist and I have no idea what is this all about, other than knowing that a lot of people had already perished and our way of life has been altered drastically from what we were used to a couple of years ago. In this time of extreme contagion there is no room for half-baked pretension so let's try to be blunt with the facts.

Definitively it is a virus, any of a large group of submicroscopic infectious agent that are nonliving, extremely complex molecules, typically containing a protein coat sorrounding an RNA or DNA core of genetic material but no semi-permeable membrane. They are capable of growth and multiplication only in living cells, and that cause various important diseases in humans, animals and plants. Summarily, according to Mirriam, it is a causative agent of an infectious disease.

Coronavirus

Any of a family (Coronaviridae) of single-stranded RNA viruses that have a lipid envelope studded with club-shaped projections that infect birds and many mammals including humans, and include the causative agents of MERS and SARS.

Infectious Disease. Fatal.

Less than a fortnight. That's how long it will take for your body's immune system to decide whether you live and will continue watching Netflix day in and day out or you're helplessly doomed and may be dead due to complication. That is also the extent of everything I know about this pandemic and for a non-scientist like me, anything other than that is bullshit.

So, lets start with every bullshit that you may have probably learned and believed from social media while living in sedentary hiatus for a year and a half as to where this virus came from.

Wuhan, China.

A bustling large industrial metropolis in the heart of the old imperial China situated along the confluences of the Yangtze river and its largest tributary, the Han river. Chinawise, Wuhan is a class-A city in terms of wealth, development, social standards and the resultant corruption mentality with a categorically upscale maritime traffic, though landlocked, that served as a major transportation conduit and a hub for trade and commerce in the central China region. Without the extensive river and the webs of interconnecting channel and canal system in the region, Wuhan and the nearby cities within the river's reach is practically non-existent. This is also one of the places in China where research institutes can be found, 350 of them to be exact, one of which is the reputably infamous Wuhan Institute of Virology.

Wang Jian, a 3rd Engineer cadet on one of my prevous ship lives here along with his young capricious wife and her nagging mother who berates him constantly especially when he sends no money. Tradition dictates that if you hold a girl's hand her parents can demand marriage instantly to avoid familial indignity. Apparently, that is what happened in his case of which he openly loathed and forfeited to fate. I hope they're still alive by now.

Exotic Meat Market.

The first mention of the emergence of this virus strain was said to come from this place which I'm particularly confused of as all meat markets in China are deemed exotic even to Asians. Chinese markets always sell meat of any kind of animals because as Xiaopeng once said, Chinese eat everything that swims, everything that crawls, and everything that flies, except airplanes. Animals we oftentimes see in the zoo are butchered here for meat and traditional medicine including endangered species imported and smuggled from as far away as the African savannah and the Amazon rainforest. The more exotic the meat, the more commanding the price. Live frogs and dried insects are even normally displayed in most food section of large swanky supermarkets besides choice beef cuts and imported truffles from abroad. Bush meat swamped local markets. Apparently, this virus came from animals and was transmitted to us humans in an inconceivable and uncomprehending way other than consumption and infection albiet through unintentional contact or elective absurdity.

Bats and Other Exotic Animals.

The identification of a certain kind of bats allegedly found only in the caves of a particular region of China that hosted the deadly corona virus strain was discovered a few decades ago, extensively studied, scrutinized and genetically analyzed down to their sub-molecular composition by various researchers. Various entities, which in this case is not principally subjected only to the Chinese virologist who discovered it but by the entire scientific field of virology research all over the world. Bats fly but they are not airplanes so they are probably part of the menu.

The postulation of this virus coming from pangolins, another type of exotic zoo display animal of the anteater (Myrmecophagidae) specie, was also suspected although there were inconsistent research result to assume validity to the claim.

Laboratory Leak Theories

A lot of American media ballyhoos specifically pinpointed Chinese research laboratories as the primary source of this pandemic which I find very conflicting from the onset. For how could a seat of government justify the notion of intentionally culling half a million of its citizenry just to assess a virus effectivity? Apart from being too farfetched to be accepted, it does not logically imply that since the pandemic allegedly started in Wuhan, the laboratories within its vicinity are all deemed suspect as the source of its transmission. It is also widely established that there are a handful of laboratories specializing in virus research all over the world other than China. Why is it then that their existence were all discounted for considering it is general knowledge that most various research projects particularly in the field of science all over the world are openly tied up and shared research materials even to the extent of breaching national security, I have not the slightest idea. With this factual reasoning alone, the notion that some foreign agencies are covertly funding research in aiming to create advance viruses in Chinese laboratories could also be feasibly warranted. Inasmuch as an accidental release is concerned, as prattled to be one of the possible cause by most analyst in the western countries, that would be very unlikely considering foolproof measures are always a top priority in research facilities dealing with these kind of hypersensitive experiments. There are also international standard and practice commissions that certify and oversee the operation of this facilities to avoid any possible slip ups and unintentional circumstance that violates its operating protocols. However, there were verified reports of three researchers from WIV who became sick enough to require hospital care way back in November 2019 which substantiated the incipiency timeline of the pandemic and adding credence to lab-leak theorist proponents.

World Health Org.

A branch of the United Nation that specifically deals with and monitors the health of the entire world population may have dampened the spread of the disease through their information and rehabilitation programs but were unable to evade mounting criticism in its initial conduct in handling the pandemic. Their search for the source of the virus in China were also inconclusive as Chinese authorities were uncooperative and hesitant to divulge their own findings and statistics. However, there were circumstantial postulation regarding the agency's lackadaisical outlook during the onset of the pandemic that raised eyebrows among academics and other health monitoring agencies specifically in relation to their complicit reluctance in stamping China's outright culpability of the crisis. China’s refusal to cooperate in the investigation is also tantamount to admitting damaging lapses in containing the pandemic intrinsically. China's alledged funding contribution to the agency, according to unsupported assertion by some financial watchdog, is also suspect. Though blaming China for this crisis is tantamount to censuring westerners for introducing cancer catalyzing hotdogs and genetically modified foods to the world, the fact that the pandemic started in China eventually remains true in nature although the origin of the virus. Whether it was from animal spillover or laboratory leakage, still remains vague and debatable.

Conspiracy Theories

Two years ago, a symposium that chiefly addressed the virus strain was held somewhere in the North American continent. The Chinese scientist who was the leading authority on the subject mysteriously became infected and died along with a dozen investigative researchers who had audaciously delved into and exposed conspiracy theories regarding its origin and nature, including prominent WHO representatives. The death of the Chinese doctor who exposed through media the initial surge of patients and casualties and who nonetheless alerted the relevant authorities regarding the possible onset of a pandemic sadly also became a fodder for conspiracy theorist.

Black Ops

There would be no mystery casualties and conspiracy theories without black operations and this in itself is self explanatory. Most superpowered countries acknowledge their existence decades ago though initially intended as a deterrent to foreign intervention that could jeopardize national interest and security. It is however recently being expanded to covertly exercise and influence the psychological characteristic of the people within its contituency and beyond by using social media platforms as a tool. Whether this is a black ops gone haywire or an economy based deliberate strategy for world dominion, I would not know because I'm also not a political scientist nor a financial strategist.

Media Frenzy

The media and internet wars of today that is currently waged by competing superpower countries is a billion dollar industry. The corollary effect of mass communication brought about by the invention of the world wide web considerably became a lethal weapon considering it has the capability to act and produce an effect that could influence world politics and the economy. Media, as we all acknowledge, is also responsible in providing veracious reports and proliferating fake news that spread solicitude and panic other than public differential diagnostic attitude. Their actions further complicate the efforts of the relevant health agencies to combat the scourge. In as much as blaming the Chinese for the spread of the virus or creating racial tension to stave off the reproach, mass media became the focal point of interest in this war of words and the source of pointless namedropping allegation that instigated worldwide mass hysteria for reasons way beyond our already distressed comprehension.

History

There were countless pandemics and plagues that came to ravage the entire world ever since men started to record history and it is remarkably interesting to ponder the consistency of its recurrence. Though the discovery of vaccines may have saved countless lives in the past, nature has its way that we still can't figure out and relentlessly unleashes novel vaccine resistant virus strains we've never encountered previously. The progressing coronavirus epidemic at the onset of the 21st century that preceeded the lentivirus, filovirus and orthomyxovirus scare however is noteworthy. These viruses, notably MERs, SARs and the current SARs2 Covid-19, all of which are of the Coronaviridae family, came to emerge in Asia. HIV, Marburg, Yambuku or Ebola in the late 20th century all mysteriously came to manifest in Africa. Apparently, natures way of disseminating viruses is also peculiarly discrimatory.

The rapid spread of the disease however can also be summed up as the effect of inequality of living standards between rich and poor nation, the unintended result of globalization. People from poor nation immigrate to developed countries to seek affluent lifestyles as investor flocked to third world countries to extract their resources and cheap labor. With the prevalent ease of travel and border restrictions, the spread of the disease became inevitably uncontrolable. Complacency, which is a common human trait that transends all aspects of life's boundaries, may have also became the multiplying factor in the spread of infection and fatalities, a self assumption that was dispelled by the sudden shock of morbid reality. As it was before, people never learn.

Vaccine

Vaccines were available within six months since the outbreak which is quite unprecedented considering the novelty of the virus strain. This may be partly due to the alarming and rapid propagation of the disease that affected the whole world and the widespread economic downturn following the general lockdowns and quarantines imposed stringently by almost all countries. Although a host of speculation regarding the initial test phase of most vaccines were insidiously circulated through the media, the demand however validated their importance though their effectivity are still closely being monitored particularly on the emerging regionalized variants that are said to have an increased transmissibility rate. Most Covid-19 vaccine brands however have shown remarkable capability to neutralize the virus ranging from as low as J&J's 85 percent to Pfizers 97 percent effectivity particularly in combating B.1.351 strain, which is also known as the deadly South African variant, the fast spreading Indian variant and the latest dominant B.1.1.7 variant that is currently ravaging the US and Israel. Studies have shown that those who had received vaccination, especially the frontline health workers who are more prone to be infected, had a high percentage rate of immunity in staving off infection than those who shun the medication. Generally, vaccination is a must, whether the drug is made in China or anywhere else, and the only option to those who does not approve of it (e.g. gene therapy theorist) apparently is to live like a hermit inside a cave a thousand miles away from civilization for life. Eating those cave bats though will still probably end their lives in less than a fortnight.

These are some of the examples of misleading nonsense that were fed to us by the media lately. More is yet to come. But for all this hype, three things still remains essential for our survival in these pandemic and that would be by getting vaccinated, by not getting infected and by trying not to infect others. Generally, media these days are mostly for entertainment purposes only, so let's just keep it that way.

#kalbongtiu

[segadores-y-soldados]

Segador: It Is Not Him

A story about how the earliest picture of the original Overwatch Commander came out.

And how it is not him.

Not in the way he knew himself.

And not in the way he would become.

---

AKA, fuck vague half-answers on twitter.

Segador: It is Not Him

September 7, 2052: Overwatch’s New York Headquarters, United States - one year after the end of the Omnic Crisis

Gabriel’s pretty certain he’s never been so uncomfortable in his goddamn life.

The headgear pinches at his scalp, squeezing his cheekbones with unsettling pressure; he finds himself already missing his beanie, soft and warm and yielding.  The blue chestpiece doesn’t fit right - it’s too loose around his shoulders and too snug around his ribs; he finds himself already missing his black one, handcrafted by Torbjörn to fit perfectly.  The turtleneck - seriously, a fucking turtleneck?? It’s not even Kevlar! - scratches and is too warm for September; he finds himself missing his grey hoodie with gentle, flexible cotton.

But above all else -

Gabriel looks at the weird glowing rifle in his hands - sleek and black with orange lights, one of Ana’s “side arms,” because only a sniper would think of a standard assault rifle as a “side arm” - and hefts it with unnerving discomfort.

Above all else, he misses his shotguns.

With pounding frustration and an increasing headache (or was it increasing frustration and a pounding headache?), Gabriel steps out from behind the little partition where they had given him room to get changed.  He squares up before the small group of people in the room - his four closest companions, Ana’s seven-year-old daughter Fareeha (who’s looking rather bored as she smashes some buttons on her gamepad), and a bunch of the new recruits who are milling about awkwardly.

“I look ridiculous,” he growls.

The four heroes - Jack, Ana, Reinhardt, and Torbjörn - are lounging around the main room of the base, all of them also wearing these fucking weird ultra-blue “Overwatch” armor sets.  Reinhardt looks especially uncomfortable and especially blue - Torbjörn had barely managed to whip out the cobalt armor for him last-minute when Adawe had told them about the “Overwatch global reveal” photoshop to them last week.  The tiny engineer, meanwhile, looks completely out of place without his usual red armor, and he tugs at his beard nervously as he assesses the new recruits.  Jack and Ana seem to pull the look off well, as its basically the get up they’re already used to: Ana’s reading something on her datapad, adjusting the beret perched on her silky black hair.  Jack is leaning slack against the arm of a cheap couch, looking completely at ease with himself, tapping away at his datapad with a faint smirk as Fareeha next to him whines, “Jack, that’s not fair -”

“This is why I told you not to battle the Overwatch Pokemon Champion, Fareeha,” Jack grins to her before he and the others turn their attention to their commander -

There is stiff, awkward, uncomfortable, deadass silence in the room, broken only by the faint electronic chirping of some pocket monster passing the fuck out on Fareeha’s gamepad.

Torbjörn snorts as Fareeha’s tiny shoulders begin shaking.  Ana flashes a terrible, dry smile before covering her mouth and looking away.  Reinhardt squints at him with his good eye and Jack gives him the most awkward, fucking fake smile Gabriel has ever seen on him, muttering with some effort, “You - you look good, Gabe.”

“I look fucking ridiculous -” Gabriel starts with a scowl before Ana shouts, “LANGUAGE, GABRIEL.”  Her daughter doesn’t even seem to notice, however - Fareeha is giggling and chortling to herself as she shakes Jack’s arm with bubbling excitement and the blonde second-in-command is also starting to shiver with stifled laughter.

“What happened to yer beard?” Torbjörn asks with slight horror - because the beard enthusiast of Overwatch would be the first to notice that it was different.  Gabriel frowns, rubbing a gloved hand over his chin, muttering, “Well...Gabrielle said to look presentable so I tried to trim it down but I fucked it up -”

“GABRIEL REYES, I SWEAR TO GOD -” Ana yells, rising from the couch and whipping around to face him in one smooth motion.  Gabriel grits his teeth, grumbling, “SORRY, I screwed it up so it got this fuc- this fricking bald patch so then I had to make it even and now it looks like shit- turds and then I had to trim down all the rest of it and I look ridiculous -”

“You look fine, Gabriel.”

Gabriel glares viciously at the newcomer entering in from the hall by where the new recruits are milling about.  She’s a short, dark-skinned, dark-haired woman with bright eyes and wide lips that are quick to quirk into a smile, her short curls bouncing with every casually confident step of her heels.  Her fondness for bright textiles is not daunting even now in the dying days of summer in New York: she apparently felt whimsical as all fuck today because she’s wearing a bright blue dress - the same blue as their uniforms - with interwoven orange and silver-grey strands.  Her eyes light up as she assesses the Overwatch commander, looking him up and down with smug approval.  Gabriel snaps, “I look overdone, Gabrielle.”

The Security Council’s Under-Secretary-General gives him a vague wave of her hand, saying in her Nigerian-tipped accent, “You look professional, Gabriel.  You finally look like a leader.”

“So what, I was just chopped liver before?” Gabriel snaps, as the pressure in his head grows and he shifts the gun in his hand nervously.  It’s not live, obviously, and Gabriel’s trigger discipline is too good even with an empty rifle in his hands, but the thing still makes him uncomfortable, it still doesn’t feel right, he feels -

He doesn’t feel like himself.

Jack gives him a soft, playful, happy smile and Gabriel softens a little.

At least someone is finding the humor in it.

“A beanie and sweatshirt are not appropriate for the Commander of Overwatch when he makes his public debut,” Adawe reminds him, before giving him a matronly fingerwave, “You have been putting this off for nearly six months, Reyes, and the United Nations cannot delay this any longer.  Now, come with me - the photographers are waiting.  The rest of you wait until the set up people call you.”  Adawe turns as abruptly as she came in, and Gabriel gives one last glance at Jack, who nods at him affectionately.

Gabriel sighs -

He’s fucking weak to that look -

And then he sets off after his boss, striding past the four heroes and the little girl still giggling and the bewildered new recruits.

For a woman just under five feet tall and wearing three inch heels, Adawe is fucking fast.

Gabriel practically jogs up to her in the hallway to the main entrance, muttering, “Gabrielle…  Gabrielle… Adawe, fucking stop.”

That gets her attention, and she snaps around towards him with a fierce stare, squaring herself up to him rather impressively with her short stature as she whispers dangerously, “Do not take that tone of voice with me, Gabriel -”

“I can’t do this.”

Adawe pauses because -

There’s a cracking in his voice.

Gabriel knows he has problems conveying his emotions - Jack always jokes that Gabriel’s face could make a bed of nails look soft.  Gabriel knows he has problems expressing himself - he can never find the right words to say.  Gabriel knows he has problems opening up - his heart struggles behind the layers of steel and bravado and taunting sarcasm, barriers only a select few have managed to get past.

Gabriel knows he has problems taking pictures.

Gabriel locks onto her dark eyes and -

He wouldn’t call it begging, per se -

But he’s definitely pleading with her:

“Please… Please, Gabrielle - we need to talk about this,” he says softly and Adawe’s dark mood lightens a bit as she says to him gently, “...It is just a few pictures, Gabriel.”

“...It’s not the pictures, Gabrielle.”

Adawe’s eyes - normally so bright and lively, now turned solemn and serious - search his for an answer and Gabriel whispers, dangerously close to feeling vulnerable -

He feels uncomfortable.

He feels unlike himself.

“This isn’t me, Gabrielle,” Gabriel says, his voice breaking under the pressure of a too-tight headset and the pressure of a too-tight chestpiece and the weight of carrying an empty rifle that isn’t his, “The meetings, the Security Council, planning city reconstructions, balancing budgets - I’m a general, not a politician.”

“There are still many parts of the world under great violence, Gabriel,” she reminds him, with a gentle pressure but a pressure nonetheless, “The world still needs you as Commander.”

“Out there, on the battlefield, sure, yeah, fuck, I’ll fight, I’ll always fight, but this?” Gabriel says, gesturing to himself, to the ridiculous blue pieces of armor and the empty rifle, “This is playing fucking dress-up -”

“Funny,” Adawe smirks at him, “I thought you would have liked that, considering your fondness for that American costume holiday.”

“This isn’t fucking Halloween, Adawe,” he snaps, perhaps a touch more...violently than he should have, “This is not what I wore when I was ripping heads off Bastions or tripping up Spiders or even destroying Titans - and it won’t be what I wear when I put down terrorists or gangs or mercenaries.”

“It’s just a photoshoot, Reyes -”

“We need to talk about putting Jack or Ana in charge of Overwatch.”

Adawe stops, her mouth sealing into a tight line and Gabriel scowls at her, muttering in a low, dark, bittersweet growl, his words curling out of his lungs like black smoke, “I’ll fight whatever new battles this damn organization faces, I’ll do whatever needs to be done - whether that’s mercing a few bad guys or cleaning up the leftover Bastions or fucking balancing budgets - but you cannot keep putting this off on me. We both know that this is a fucking sham, my math skills aren’t fucking great, I can't persuade anyone anything for shit, and you need someone who will fight your political battles, who will balance your budgets, who will find great recruits, and who will actually take good photos when you pressure them into it -

“And we both know that is not me.”

Adawe gives him a long, intense stare before replying quietly, gently, “...The Council will be hard to convince, Gabriel.”

“I already know they don’t like me - trust me, it’ll be easier than you think,” he says dryly and she cracks a wry smile, “I see I cannot pull the sheep over your eyes.”

“That’s not… yeah, okay, yeah, you’re right, I see it all,” Gabriel sighs, realizing that there are some battles that just aren’t worth fighting and she chuckles brightly, all sunshine and smiles and warmth, “It may take some time - a year...perhaps two.  The Council is focused on a good many things and changing Overwatch’s Commander is not even near being a top priority, not when you are still perfectly capable of both killing Bastions and doing your finances.  ...But perhaps…” she adds slowly, a sly, crisp, mischievous smile on her face, “Perhaps you send Jack to fight your political battles with the Security Council instead, yes?  I do not believe any of us want to hear you give another speech like last week’s.”

Ah.

That fucking shitshow.

Gabriel is wrong.

THAT was the most uncomfortable he had ever been in his goddamn life.

“...Trust me, I’ll be more than happy to let Jack handle you ambassadors,” Gabriel mutters, feeling some of the pressure ease off of him, “He’s way better at this shit than me - shit, Adawe, he was telling me about this idea of making a medical sciences division to help deal with all the problems people are still having - he has this whole vision of having a huge team of doctors and scientists to work on giving out medical help and supplies and developing more efficient resource technologies - he wants to try and reestablish clean energies like Dorado and - what’s so funny?”

Adawe is laughing brightly to herself and Gabriel scowls as she reaches out and pats his arm, saying cheerfully, “I am glad to see you looking happier!  You have been frowning all day, my son.”

“Well, yeah,” Gabriel grins at her smugly, “You made me wear this shittyass costume - it’s not even good quality, Gabrielle.  I could fucking design a better Commander outfit myself.”

Her eyes flash widely at the challenge in his voice and she mocks him, “I would pay good money to see you wear something other than your sweatshirt on the battlefield.”

“I never said it would be for me,” he smirks and Gabrielle just pats his arm again, laughing, “You have too much time on your hands!  I should be giving you more responsibilities.  Perhaps you can take some of the pressure off of me.”  

They resume their walk down the hallway to the entrance of the Headquarters, and Gabriel rolls his eyes, muttering, “Jesus, first y’all need me to stop the robot apocalypse and save the world, next you need me to rebuild cities, and then you need me to file your damn taxes - just fucking ask me to wipe your asses, why don’t you?”

“Do not talk like that in front of the press,” Adawe chides him solemnly, “After five years I am used to your...unique way of speech, but please, mind your tongue for five minutes.”

“Be seen and not heard, huh?” Gabriel asks her wryly and she smirks at him, “It is only going to be a few photos, Reyes.”

“...One photo.”

“A few.”

“...One?”

“...How about a deal?” Adawe asks him as they pause before the large doors, “You give me five good photos, and I will let you leave early.”

“I won’t have to wear this piece of shit anymore?” Gabriel asks hesitantly and Adawe grins, “The others will still need pictures...and Jack has your beanie, I believe.”

“That motherfucker,” Gabriel mutters, but there’s no anger to his tone - just smug playfulness.  Jack would keep his beanie hostage just to tease Gabriel while the commander is forced to be dressed like a total tool.

“Do we have a deal?” Adawe asks, her eyes glittering brightly.

Gabriel grins at her.

He’s not comfortable right now.

He does not feel like himself.

Hell -

This is not him.

But he thinks of four heroes, waiting in another room, dressed in matching colors; he thinks of how the four of them - all dressed differently, all dressed in whatever they were comfortable in - rolled from battlefield to battlefield, felling potential apocalypse after potential apocalypse; he thinks of how Torbjörn’s turrets provided him cover-fire as he sprinted across rubble and concrete, he thinks of how collapsing behind Reinhardt’s shield provided him such relief, he thinks of how he heard Ana call into his comms about her position, about pushing them forward, about gaining ground -

He thinks about biotic fields and the smell of pulse munition and a tall figure dressed in blue armor who would probably look even better with a long, regal overcoat -

He thinks about the comforting warmth of a black cotton beanie, about the gentle embrace of a familiar grey sweatshirt, about the weight of a shotgun, one in each hand -

This is not him -

But for them,

It could be.

Gabriel grins at her vibrantly, vivaciously, viciously, “It’s just a costume, right?  Fuck yeah, let’s do it.”

This is not Gabriel Reyes.

But for a few minutes, and few quick photos -

He can pretend it is.

---------

Segador: It is Not Him

September 6, 2077: Cultural Heritage Museum, Numbani, Nigeria

“AY DIOS MIO,” Sombra wheezes at him in harsh, brittle, aching laughter as she points to some image on a holoprojector, “Is this you??”

Reaper glances her her sullenly - he feels bare without the mask, but there was no fucking way security was gonna let him in in his usual gear, so he’d donned a surgical face mask, only half-pretending to be sick when they had shuffled up to the ticket counter like good little spies trying to lay low.  Stuffed into a hoodie and a beanie, the majority of his face concealed by pastel green cotton, he’d actually somehow been able to maintain much of his mystique.

With a grumble, he stalks over to her, muttering lowly, “We’re supposed to be scouting this shit out, not playing around.”

“The Gauntlet’s not even here yet, Gabe,” she says to him lightly, rolling her eyes before pointing back to the screen, “Pero, verdad - is this you??”

Reaper looks at the image on the screen, and then a dark, bittersweet, smokey scowl consumes his face.

Oh.

This fucking picture.

The posed, statuesque image of a dark-skinned man with a too-tightly-trimmed beard and a too-tightly-set headpiece and a too-tightly-locked chestplate and a too-empty assault rifle, with a huge, majestic Overwatch flag fluttering in the background against a blue sky with fucking fighter jets in the background - as if early Overwatch had anything more powerful than used station wagons to fight Omnics with -

This fucking picture, which mocks him, which reminds him of the person he could have been, the commander he could have chosen to be -

The commander he never wanted to be.

God, he fucking hates this picture.

“...No,” Reaper growls as Sombra cackles, “It’s totally you - qué chingados, pinche mierda - I gotta send this to Arañita -”

“DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE -”

“Hey.”

The two of them glance at the newcomer - Reaper still glaring viciously and Sombra still sporting the widest, biggest shit-eating grin - and the grizzled, scarred old soldier looks at them with a confused scowl, muttering, “...The fuck you two up to?  Aren’t we supposed to be scouting this shit?”

“Uh -” Reaper says unhelpfully as Sombra snaps out a hand to 76, pulling him over to the holoprojector, saying eagerly, “Oye, oye, Jack - is this Gabe??”

Jack takes a second to process the image and then -

In the stiff, awkward, uncomfortable, deadass silence -

He fucking laughs.

The years and the stress and the explosion and his myriad of problems have tempered the sound, made it harsh and gravelly, filled it with the ashes of what they had once been, but there’s a light there, a brightness, as if someone is pulling the sun out of the depths of the oceans -

And then Sombra is laughing again too, and snapping a picture with her biosystem as Jack wheezes, “Can I get a copy?” and Gabriel growls, “Listen assholes -”

“What the shit is going on over here?” Ana asks as she joins them from her rounds about the museum hall and both Jack and Sombra pull her to the projector and suddenly all three of them are laughing and Gabriel -

“Fuck this shit, I’m gonna rejoin Talon,” Gabriel huffs but suddenly there’s a warm, gentle pressure of a hand on his arm and Jack is there, smiling brightly at him from underneath scars and a silver-white five-o’clock shadow.

“Don’t be mad, Gabe,” the ex-commander chuckles to him and Gabriel softens a little at the words.  Jack jerks a thumb to the statue of himself a little ways off to the side, asking playfully, “Wanna help me knock the head off that jackass?”

“Fuck yeah, let’s do it.”

#my writing #my fics #ficlet #segador #it is not him #reaper #gabriel reyes #alright #now back to my regularly-scheduled shitshow

[myaekingheart]

Even more weird dreams in the past two nights. I had one Friday night, too, but at this point I can't even remember it unfortunately, but I remember Saturday and Sunday nights' dreams as clear as day.

Saturday night started off with me being in this really weird school (another school dream, big shocker) that was like a combination my high school and my middle school. I remember something about having lost my backpack so I was running around searching for it everywhere, which proved to be way harder than expected considering my backpack is custom painted. Turns out I wasn't the only one with a painted backpack, though, as I remember running into oe person, a girl I actually went to high school with, who had the exact same backpack. I did end up finding my backpack, though, in some weird room in what I can only assume was the engineering building of the school just by the design of the interior itself. The scene then transformed from the school to this massive mansion that was perhaps the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in a dream before. Downstairs, there was a candy shop with assorted candy apples and gummy candies and the entire place was dark wood with nice ambient lighting. It kind of reminded me of the bakeries in Seaworld and the Norway pavilion at Epcot. The rest of the place, however, was fucking stunning. Everything was white marble and regal and elegant. It was like being in Cair Paravel itself. I distinctly remember, just before waking up, a scene where I was walking up this winding marble staircase in a flowing pink dress (or at least a pink skirt, I couldn't see the top portion though now I'm getting the feeling that maybe it was a dress? I recognized the skirt as this pink chiffon maxi skirt that I do, in fact, own in real life but then the more I think about it, the more I remember the top looking the bodice of this dress http://little-angel-secret.com/index.php?route=product/product&product_id=730&search=disneybound). But anyways, I remember walking up this winding marble staircase with that skirt and a pair of heels on (which I felt but couldn't see) and there were all the long tree branches with pink flowers hanging over top of the staircase so low that I had to either duck beneath them or part them to get past. And then when I reached the top of the staircase, I hesitated but dared to look up to the ceiling to find the most beautiful crystal chandelier hanging from it. And that's about the time that I woke up.

Unfortunately last night's dreams weren't nearly as beautiful as they were bizarre and discomforting. The first half had me and my boyfriend in a kitchen almost exactly like my parents' except the coloring was different, specifically the cabinets.  These were white and plain and kind of cheap compared to my parent's medium toned wood ones. The lighting was pretty shitty, too, like someone stuck an incandescent bulb from the 80's into the socket. But so my boyfriend and I were standing in this kitchen and we were meant to do something but then I don't know how she got there but my boyfriend's dead ex showed up and was standing at the counter doing something, but she kept sneaking sideways glances at us as if she was offended. And I don't know why but I remember her wearing a white hoodie and her hair was dyed a reddish light brown, straightened, a little past her shoulders, with her thick side bangs across her forehead like how I've seen in certain pictures. I remember feeling really competitive with her and frustrated that she was there, afraid my boyfriend was going to dump me for her. She kept shooting me near-offended sideways glances meanwhile I kept glaring back at her, mostly when she wasn't looking, and before this segment of the dream ended I remember standing up on tiptoes and wrapping my arms around my boyfriend's neck and being all cutesy flirty and bullshit and he wrapped his arms around my waist and seemed completely oblivious to the silent rivalry me and his ex were having and it was just fucking lovely. Guess I'm not as over it as I thought I was or something. Fuck. Anyways, the second half of the dream spared no expense in being bizarre as fuck. I was led to this massive room that kind of reminded me of the music room at my elementary school with high ceilings and white walls and dingy gray carpeting. Along the back wall were these tall rickety shelving units (if you can even call them that) where young men and women were hanging up and storing various costumes. I was apparently there to audition for a spot in Disney's theater group, even though it was like a combination of a theater group and a classroom, and the specifics of "theater group" were never clear. And the woman leading this whole production was none other than my US History teacher from last semester, who did recognize me. The only difference was that this time, she had a haircut. I don't know why I remember this, either, but she was wearing a coral blouse with short sleeves and a scalloped hem. But that's not relevant to anything. So anyways, she basically told me to gather up a costume or something and get changed and then everyone was forced out through these double doors onto a dance-floor-turned-ice-skating-rink in the middle of what I can only assume was some sort of hotel ballroom. There were countless chairs surrounding the entire thing with thousands of people watching. Many of the people on the rink were already seasoned performers and knew exactly what to do, unlike me who was basically floundering. I started panicking because I knew full well that I can't ice skate and I was terrified that was going to cost me my spot on the team. When I brought this up before going "on stage", however, Mrs. US History Teacher said it didn't matter if I couldn't skate or not, what mattered was my acting, that she apparently wanted to see personality despite a low skill level or whatever, so that's what I kept in mind stepping foot out on that rink. The way it went was that people were in full-on makeup and costume, some of which aboard large contraptions like I distinctly remember a Marie-Antoinette style Queen of Hearts type character on a massive chariot being pulled by other performers shouting at people to get out of the way, and the ice skating rink was treated like a cat walk of sorts. Everyone would skate down the length of it in a procession giving it their all and then skate back up the length to the double doors we came through doing the same. Everyone was wildly expressive and even acrobatic meanwhile I skated down that rink trying to be as extroverted as possible but feel I failed in really expressing that. I remember just skating down the rink trying not to lose my balance, being kind of straight-backed and blank expressioned even though I was trying my hardest to really do a good job. When we all got back to the big classroom, Mrs. US History teacher instructed us to change our costumes yet again for another round, this time it was just straight-up dancing, no ice involved. For some reason I remember what I wore this time as opposed to the first time around, and there were other girls wearing the same thing: hot pink high waisted shorts, a white t-shirt with some childish floral design (I'm pretty positive I had that exact same shirt when I was like, six? I think it was from Target) and plain white sneakers. I distinctly remember having a hard time finding the second half of my pair of shoes, like I had one that was the right size and style but every other shoe I grabbed either was too big, too small, or not even the same shoe. I don't remember what happened with that, I think I might've just resorted to grabbing a shoe that was a half size too small. The dancing portion of the audition thing was wild and definitely more overwhelming than the ice skating part, but I also think I certainly did better? I remember dancing down the dance floor with two other girls in the same outfit as me, and then one of them grabbed this table from seemingly out of nowhere and started scooting it all the way across the dance floor behind me, basically forcing me to go with it. It wasn't until we reached the end of the dance floor that I realized she was pushing the table too fast, though, and I had no choice but to somehow backwards jump on top of it. Even when we reached the edge of the dance floor, however, that wasn't stopping this chick. She pushed that table past the audience (who were all staring at the two of us in awe like we were fucking crazy) and all the way to the wall at the back of the room, where I remember she ended up backing it up against a door. I had no idea what to do then so I ended up doing perhaps the most terrifying thing ever: I pressed my back against that door, facing the audience and the dance floor, and started crunking hardcore. I don't even know why. I just...I don't even know why. I forget what really happened after that in regards to the dancing but I do remember that when it was all said and done, we went back into the classroom, putting our costumes back into our shelves/cubbies/whatever (for some reason my teacher gave me the short one at the end of some shoe rack that's far too short to hang anything up on??? Meanwhile everyone else had ones taller than themselves from which they hung a couple mermaid Ariel costumes and even a village Belle) and seating ourselves at these round and rectangular gray tables like the kind you'd find in an elementary school classroom or cafeteria, respectively. I remember sitting at the table with some purple notebook in front of me and the teacher going around and passing back graded papers, which I got mostly 100's on and some really positive marks about "super confident writing" or some shit. I don't know, I remember something written on paper about "super confident" something. As I started trying to file my papers into the folder pocket at the front of my notebook, however, I realized two things: 1) the folder pocket was only half the width of the notebook, meaning I'd have to hot dog fold all my papers in order to fit them in and 2) half of the stack of papers I got back weren't even mine, they belonged to other people. Once I separated mine from the others, I went up to the teacher's desk at the front of the room and told her what was up, asking her to take care of it, but then she seemed offended and almost like she didn't understand what I was telling her as she told me to just hold onto them and not worry about it or something. This caused a minor uproar from the other half of the room which was mainly filled with the owners of the papers I had accidentally received. I remember one girl, specifically, standing up in her seat and protesting that they worked hard on those papers but the teacher didn't really seem to care. It was all so strange and bizarre, and I don't really remember what happened after that except for just placing the papers on the corner of the teacher's desk and heading back to my seat, and then I vaguely remember something about packing my things as class was dismissed and thinking to myself about how it was super late and I'd need to either take the bus home or ask my boyfriend to pick me up if he was off work already or something, and questioning how this would work in the future if he can't leave work to pick me up or something. Or at least I'm pretty sure I remember thinking that, probably because my boyfriend mentioned something about me potentially having to take the bus to campus for orientation in a month. I don't know, either way, it was all really strange, both last night and the night before, and in certain regards I would've much rather preferred to just not have dreamed anything at all.

#ramblings #weird dreams