#or just do that thing china does with a single time zone | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

botanyshitposts · 4 years

Note

pls explain the news in laymans terms 😭

okay lads buckle up, this is gonna be a long one. the paper is “A phylogenomic analysis of Nepenthes (Nepenthaceae)” from Murphy et al. i’m gonna link it here, and i encourage anyone interested to read it for themselves and draw their own conclusions, but otherwise i’m gonna give an overview as i understand it.

if you do not want to see 394023 words of in-depth carnivorous plant genetics content you should start scrolling now.

so. Nepenthes is a carnivorous plant family colloquially known as ‘asian pitcher plants’ or ‘monkey cups’. it’s one of the largest carnivorous plant families in the world, and without a doubt one of the most diverse, but we’ll get to that in a minute. these plants have pitchers that fill with fluid and digest bugs alive (important note in terms of nep anatomy 101: unlike venus fly traps or sundews, Nepenthes are passive traps and don’t move or curl up or anything, just sit and watch it all unfold). their range has china and korea on the northern edge, the tip of australia on the southern edge, and most of indonesia, the philippines, and most associated landmasses encompassed between. there are a couple outliers, but for the most part these are jungle plants with a vining growth form that weaves through trees and just….eats.

now, putting aside the fact that they’re carnivorous, one of the biggest points of Nepenthes is their diversity as a family. if anyone out there remembers the term ‘adaptive radiation’ from an intro bio class, Nepenthes is THE family of adaptive radiation. in addition to common species that grow everywhere in their range, these lads can be so specialized that there are species you can only find on single specific ridges on single specific mountains on single specific islands; as you can imagine, this makes them especially vulnerable to climate change, habitat destruction, and poachers.

the most obvious point of diversity here is the pitcher traps themselves: there are hundreds of different pitcher morphologies, ranging from special peristome adaptations to bizzare patterns and colorations to the addition of fang-like structures and symbiosis with bats, ants, and rodents. the list goes on. these lads are so specialized it’s unbelievable. one might think that, in terms of figuring out how these different species are related to each other, that it would be pretty obvious, since everything is so distinctive.

but there is a problem.

they fuck.

Nepenthes as a family is established to be one of the oldest carnivorous plant families, but the 200+ species identified over the years are suspected to be the result of very recent (in evolutionary time) modern radiation. one of the most common definitions of what a ‘species’ is that i see circulated is the idea that something is a species when it can no longer breed with another species, but it’s important to realize that this is one definition of what a ‘species’ is. in the case of Nepenthes, the knowledge that a bunch of scientists have decided they are different does not stop them.

it was hoped, with the advent of DNA testing, that maybe we would be able to assemble a semi-full map of how all these species relate to one another and how they came to be (a phylogenetic tree), but as it turns out the lads fuck so much between themselves and other Nepenthes species that figuring out how they became the species they became, even with DNA, is extremely difficult. ‘breeding complexes’ not too different than what i wrote about in the fern sex triangle post a while back are a very nepenthes-esque thing to have happen.

a quote from the paper:

“These uncertainties are not unique to Nepenthes but various factors make them important in this group: the frequency of natural hybrids and apparent lack of intrinsic reproductive barriers between taxa, the extent of intraspecific morphological variation and the reliance by taxonomists on the pitchers.”

in short, these plants have no control. they are not practicing safe sex. they are living lavishly in their own tropical jungle paradise with as much hedonism as a plant can muster as botanists try to connect how one pitcher might be the evolutionary origin of another while somehow all the pitchers are either functionally the same or radically different.

which brings us to this study. when people compare DNA, they’re rarely comparing the entire genome (although that can be done), but rather they identify a set of consistently mutable genes that are present across an entire subsection of life, and look at just those genes at just their locations on various chromosomes. instead of trying to find a couple genes fit to compare plants across the Nepenthes genus, as past studies did, this study took and applied a set of DNA probes developed previously to compare 353 genes present across the entire subkingdom of flowering plants.

as you can imagine, this provides a significantly larger set of data to work with. sure, it’s not perfect and this take will need more research to confirm (basing the entire Nepenthes phylogenetic tree off of a single study is a dangerous game, especially when things are so saucy in the forest), but it’s significantly better than the results past Nepenthes phylogenetic analyses generated, where researchers were able to see some general outlines and attempted to sort the genus into a few groups, but were ultimately unable to see where species themselves split and what their relations to each other were (you know, because of all the sex).

so. this paper:

-obtained samples from 151 different Nepenthes species from different collectors, herbariums, and conservatories. for those familiar with Nepenthes as a hobby, Andreas Wistuba might ring a bell; he contributed some samples from his plants to this study. otherwise, the KEW botanical gardens is more ubiquitously recognized donor.

-for more common species, more samples were taken from different places to account for different populations.

-another quote from the paper that i think is interesting on multiple levels: “We also include two unpublished species, N. sp. Anipahan and N. sp. taminii. The former, from Palawan, is discussed by McPherson (2011) and may be a synonym of N. leonardoi. The latter is an undescribed species from Sumatra that has been circulating amongst Nepenthes growers and resembles N. rhombicaulis but is perhaps distinguished by its leaves. Also sampled here are N. echinostoma Hook. f., a commonly collected plant usually considered a variant of N. mirabilis, and a sample we liken to N. angustifolia Mast., a species usually considered synonymous with N. gracilis.”

i mentioned earlier that previous molecular analyses done by other people were able to see a general outline but weren’t able to see anything more distinct; the results of this paper for the most part confirm these general outlines, which means that if nothing else we have strong support for the relationship the entire Nepenthes family has to other, more closely related plant families, which the paper resolves in this tree:

note that the above tree describes the family’s relation to various other families, followed by ‘Nepenthes clade 1′ and ‘Nepenthes clade 2′. these two clades contain most of the Nepenthes genus sampled; the six species shown in red, according to the results, are considered sister species to the entire rest of the genus, separate from those two clades.

now, what personally gets me the most excited here is the plant they confirmed as being the sister species to that subsection of sister species, effectively making it the outgroup to like, literally everything else: Nepenthes pervillei, from the republic of seychelles.

yeah. you know back at the beginning of this response when i said there were some exceptions to the Nepenthes habitat range? this would be one of those exceptions. the republic of seychelles is off the coast of africa, closer to madagascar than indonesia. to be fair, there are also Nepenthes along the eastern coast of madagascar, but because Nepenthes is so strongly geographically coordinated (this paper goes on to describe clades literally just named after the countries they’re in) this is pretty goddamn cool. this species got cut off in the middle of the ocean and now looks…….like a Nepenthes, but just off enough to be kind of weird (the biggest thing i realized just…staring at pictures of it is that it doesn’t seem to have wings down the front, which to be fair isn’t required of neps but makes it look super naked as a result). forbidden uncanny valley Nepenthes cast from the fuck zone. i love it.

the other main outgroup species (the sister species to all the ‘typical’ asian species, specifically, aka clades 1 and 2) they identified was Nepenthes danseri, which is native to waigeo island in indonesia (that’s in the fuck zone, for those keeping score at home) and, i would argue, has the same kind of thin-peristomed, simple-ribbed kind of look to it that pervillei has, but it definitely looks more traditionally Nepenthes-like.

now, with that, we really get into the meat of their results here. this is the full phylogenetic tree with all tested species laid out according to their results:

i….have no idea if tumblr will let you zoom in on this pic so im just gonna write down some notes.

the color-coded names on the tree to the right match their respective habitats down in the map on the bottom left, which is neat, but it’s also interesting to see how some of these species have apparently been fucking between islands. i know this is gonna be low-res but look at this swath at the top, some of what they’ve identified as being ‘clade 1′ (mostly common, widespread lowland species):

- man………. i mean, first of all i wanna point out the lone bicalcarata branches at the top #representing, having somehow maintained their chastity despite being the sexiest of the Nepenthes.

- hookeriana being the outgroup for ampullaria seems to fit well by adorable chubbiness factor alone.

- one thing that seems weird but not totally out of character is that halfway down in yellow we see mirabilis in multiple populations in yellow, then down from there a little ways we see different mirabilis populations in green and purple and red, all but N. echinostoma and N. orbiculate, which are both outgroups. i knew it was a common species, but for some reason i wasn’t expecting it to be like………that (there’s an entire second section of them in red just below where this screenshot cuts off). like, good for them.

going down the main tree, we get into clade 2, the more specialized highland species, which are always very exciting.

there’s my personal favorite, N. villosa:

not surprised at N. edwardsiana’s relation, because how else would you be able to achieve such absolutely enormous teeth, but N. macrophylla surprises me. it’s got good teeth, but both edwardsiana and villosa are like, TEETH, you know? i guess it makes sense that it split from villosa, though.

moving from that, VERY glad that the littlest known lad, N. argentii, made it on here. i know i’ve talked about argentii on this blog before, as the Nepenthes species that was so tiny the paper describing it’s discovery warned that population counts could be skewed by the plants ‘hiding under bushes’. their tinyness, which kills me every time i look at an image of them, is somehow weird in terms of being related to N. graciliflora, which is…..pretty normal sized. same with N. armin. makes me wonder how the hell they got so tiny.

of course we can’t leave out the group with the largest currently known species, N. attenboroughii. the hilarity of the smallest and largest Nepenthes species being a single clade apart, if not very distantly diversified down their respective evolutionary lines, is not lost on me.

N. palawanensis is a chonker, but i gotta say i wasn’t expecting it to be the sister species to the one and only megachonker, the plant literally famous for its sheer chonk. imagine being that overshadowed by your sibling.

on a more general note– the paper noted this, too –it’s interesting to see how the lowland species seem to be happier about jumping islands and being promiscuous than the highland species, which seem to clump together by location. i guess it’s not surprising, knowing how specialized some of these highland species can be; villosa, for example, is native to a single side of a single mountain, and is positioned so that the populations are hit by cool wind coming up from the sea. still, lowland species need hot and humid environments, and can be just as picky. it’s gotta be a matter of isolation.

anyway, there’s probably more i could talk about here but…man there’s a lot of data. the paper goes in-depth with how they constructed the more problematic branches, and trouble they had with some over others, confirming that we shouldn’t take this phylogenetic tree as 100% correct; things will almost certainly change or become clearer as more research is done, and phylogenetic trees in particular are known for being constructed and reconstructed time and time again.

still though, it’s like…to see these relationships at this resolution for the first time is just really fucking cool, man. this isn’t even all the species. i remember i went to a carnivorous plant conference two years ago now, and there was a lecture by researchers attempting to untangle the phylogeny of Nepenthes and coming up short aside from a low-resolution tree of some of the more major species and the relation of Nepenthes to other families, their science blocked by the sheer feral chadness on display in the tropical jungles encompassing the land between china and australia. like, i really just want to take a moment, as an end note, to appreciate that these plants fucked so much in the past couple million years that it took multiple major advancements in technology and the examination of hundreds of genes just to get an approximate look at the phylogeny. like, that’s an Isoetes level power move and im not over it

#Anonymous #long post #me reading a new nepenthes paper: *sight narrows into a tunnel* *writes for two hours*#nepenthes #carnivorous plants #asks #plont asks

489 notes · View notes

touchmycoat · 3 years

Note

HX/LQG!anon: oh, Ella!LQG just pings my kinky heart - he's SURE HX is just messing with him, but there's just a tiny bit of his brain that says, but what if he really needs it? And he just. Wants. He wants to give HX what he needs. And there's that other bit of him that just feels really really good doing what HX tells him to do, a weapon put in good hands. LQG is all-in/ ride or die if he trusts (loves) someone, even if he tries to pretend that's not happening. (Such sub energy!!)

p.s. First David and Second David???????!!!!!! *SCREAMS* I HAVE TOO MANY FEELS! Talk about emotional whump... *bites nails in anticipation*

YES YES YES YES AAAAAAHHHHH lqg honestly wants to be the weapon SO bad, just do as he's told because he knows he's in trusted hands. SUB!LQG IS YUMMIEST LQG. And He Xuan, well, he thrives off of control, that much is obvious. Not to be cliche but I want them to do every single con that involves He Xuan coming in and posing as LQG's debtor or employer or owner in some way, and at some point he just impatiently beckons LQG over, asks LQG why the job's all screwed up, and backhands LQG. LQG murmurs a "sorry sir" with no prompting at all, and HX nods, satisfied, before returning to the job.

BABE. BABE. I ALL OF A SUDDEN REMEMBERED NATE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A CATHOLIC PRIEST. WAS THAT WERE HX WAS HEADED?? NOT CATHOLICISM BUT DEVOUT DAOIST SCHOLAR, MAYBE HISTORIAN??

(then HX's entire backstory got a revamp so warning, this got super fucking long)

Like, he and his sweetheart got engaged during undergrad, and for HX's last year he got this huge grant to travel to China to do his research on, I dunno, the original sutras that brought buddhism to the mainland and the daoist sociopolitical interests that propelled the translations. His fiancee makes a joke about how he's like Tang Sanzang from Journey to the West, but will he be okay all by himself, all the demons out there wanna eat his flesh y'know. HX laughs it off and goes—but it's during this time that SWD's entire shit strikes. It's probably a real estate thing to begin with—HX's dad's little Chinese diner refuses to sell to the rich corporate developers. They send people to smash things up, and the first time dad gets hospitalized HX tries to come home, but his mother convinces him to stay put, bc she's heard the real estate developers have some internal issues and are going down.

Sure enough, the company does, and the Hes thought it was over. HX reluctantly stays in China bc they really do have so much money riding on this, but a little while later, he hears about his baby sister falling sick. He and his mother argue for a period of time, but in the end it's HX's father's sudden death—complications due to his injuries from before—that makes his decision for him. So HX drops the research grant, comes home, realizes it wasn't just his sister sick, it was his mother as well, and takes academic leave to take care of his mother and sister.

But he realizes something's wrong. He's already pretty clever, and through mild grifting figures out there's something hinky with the whole "real estate company going down" thing. At the same time, this guy who just calls himself the Reverend shows up, and tells him look, you seem pretty desperate. Your family's sick, you're working yourself to the bones just trying to keep getting them treatment, you'll probably never return to school. But how about you come work for me?

HX puts on a damn good show. He pretends to refuse at first, forcing the Reverend to show him more and more of the business they got running. Then he "accepts" the Reverend's jobs, but tips off the people who were supposed to be the victims, and has them escape or resolve the situation in ways that wouldn't reveal it was HX behind it all. But it was all just a matter of time, of course, and he wasn't trying to trick the Reverend for the longterm, he was just trying to ferret out the people behind the Reverend. Why did they want HX's dad's shop badly enough to kill him, and why do they keep sending goons to smash up the storefront every time HX tries to clean it up?

Meanwhile, his fiancee, who's always helped out at the diner, is getting sick too. That's how HX put the pieces together, that it's...something like radiation poisoning (gotta figure out the deets),, and the real estate situation was an entanglement of coverups to hide what was probably improper waste disposal way back when.

Some good news though—there's a treatment being offered through a special program at the hospital for the thing HX's mom and sister are sick with, and its rep? A bubbly young corporate heiress out to perform some philanthropy, Shi Qingxuan. SQX befriends HX's fiancee first, and after learning about HX's situation, she prepares a whole grant application to the parent medical insurance company, says if it goes through HX wouldn't have to pay a dime. HX's naturally skeptical, but SQX is like "don't worry, I know people high up, wink wink"

But halfway through this the Reverend figures out HX is compiling evidence. Instead of confronting him straight, they want to tie HX down as an accomplice instead, so they send him on another "job" that's totally a set-up. HX's clever and figures it out, sends people packing, and in the end confronts the Reverend like, "the state police are coming, I have evidence and testimony to your crimes, you're going down."

But then the Reverend goes ahead and says, "good job then, you wanna keep patting yourself on the back or go see your mom and sister for the last time?" And plays for him a message from the hospital about his mother and sister's situations suddenly worsening. HX knows this is their doing, but what else can he do? He rushes to the hospital, and finds his fiancee weeping, SQX trying to comfort her. HX's mom and sister are already dead.

At this point, there are strains and fractures in HX's relationship with his fiancee, because of course there is—they're both still so fucking young. Miao-er had wanted to go on academic leave too, but HX refused, saying one of them needs to graduate college at least. The Hes are paying for her tuition anyways, and he kind of strong-arms her into continuing her education. Then he started taking the jobs for the Reverend, and Miao-er knows it's bad news because she sees the way HX's going kind of dark-sided. She always tries to bring him out of his funk, with varying levels of success, but she also kind of wishes he would just stay, and be there, and make this simple instead of diving into what kind of looks like a crazy conspiracy theory.

So here, that confrontation happens. The Reverend had given HX a gun for the set-up job from before, and HX turns right back around at the hospital room and goes to kill the Reverend. Miao-er tries to stop him, finds out he has a gun, is like jesus shit what the fuck dude, SQX's in the background trying to calm things down. HX ends up storming off anyways, and Miao-er is crying. SQX gets a little pissed off too and runs after HX to tell HX that Miao-er needs treatment too. She's really, really sorry that HX's mom and sister didn't make it in time, but the case went through for Miao-er, she can get the full course of treatment with all costs covered, and if HX storms off for revenge right now and gets caught, that means Miao-er gets left completely on her own, you know? The Hes are basically her adopted family, she doesn't have anyone else here in the States, and she just needs HX, please, calm down.

HX listens, manages to calm down, but when they go back, Miao-er's gone. Figuring she just needs time to deal with things herself, HX makes arrangements for his mom and sister's bodies. SQX continues to keep him company, and when she learns about the Reverend, she brings all her personal lawyers to help out. Together, they successfully resolve the entire Reverend ordeal. The Reverend goes down for everything, from the initial improper waste disposal to the real estate situation to getting HX's entire family killed. HX gets a payout, and wonders what to do next.

But then, Miao-er never came back. HX gets all tense and intense about searching again, but then SQX hesitantly informs him that according to the medical grant, Miao-er is currently receiving the full course of treatment. As for where, she's not at liberty to say, but, well, it kind of looks like she's just avoiding him? Maybe he should give her time?

Then HX gets smacked with an insane amount of student debt, both his and his fiancee's, which made no sense, unless Miao-er had cashed out the year's tuition that the Hes gave her and paid for school with a loan instead? And Miao-er continues to be gone, not answering any of HX's calls, and it just doesn't seem like something she would do but over time, HX doesn't know anymore. In the span of months, he's lost everybody, and the only person who still gave a damn enough to check up on him all the time, no matter how much of a bastard he is, is SQX.

Then SQX tells him her brother is hiring. "Look, we're an insurance company, we need case investigators. Normally they only hire out of prestigious schools but I can vouch for you, alright? I've seen what you can do. Take the job, pay off all these debts, smooth things out, and see where to go from there."

HX listens. He works under SWD and becomes the firm's top investigator. He pays off his debts, helps out his neighbors with zoning shit, and somewhere along the line starts dating SQX. SQX loves loves loves him, and keeps proposing to him ("but hahaha no pressure only if you really want, because I really want, like, spice girls really really want"), so finally, HX accepts.

Soon after their engagement though, HX suddenly gets a call. It's an unknown number, but he recognized the voice immediately. It's Miao-er.

She's crying, she sounds weak, she says she's sorry, so sorry, she let them lie to her for so long, that she never should have trusted them. She says he's been right all along, that there's been a cover-up, and now they're going to kill her for it—

The line goes dead. HX doesn't really remember how, but he loses consciousness. When he wakes up again it's to SQX telling him the doctors said he had a panic attack.

HX's brain puts the pieces together faster than he's really aware, and he has a fist in SQX's collar. He asks her where Miao-er is, what she knows, what happened to the treatment payments, did SQX lie to him about Miao-er taking—

But SWD's also there. They're staying at the Shi mansion, post-engagement. SWD pulls him away from SQX and has security take him down. SQX tries to protest, says HX's not feeling well. HX just keeps demanding to know where Miao-er is, and SWD just coolly opens HX's phone, shows him he hadn't received any calls, and basically calls off the engagement, gaslighting HX into thinking he's had a psychotic break triggered by the engagement to SQX.

Everything goes downhill from there. HX knows what he heard, and knows if something really did happen to Miao-er, then SQX must have had something to do with it. Their relationship completely falls apart, SWD fires him, and HX leaves a complete and utter mess. He drinks himself stupid, lives out of his car, sells his car, and ends up running in the dark side of town, where he mostly just wants to be left alone, but ends up making a name for himself anyways as someone immensely powerful and dangerous.

Then he meets Xie Lian. Everything kicks off again from there.

#leverage AU #it's so much more melodramatic than nate's son OKAY BUT IS IT #the midnight phone call that may or may not have happened is the most melodramatic part #but y'know it vibes with the whole 'real earth master sending up a flare' thing #and a hasty cover up #HX remembers SWD telling him 'nobody hurts my sister'#and even applauds him for it #before he figures out it's SWD screwing him over this entire time #SQX knows nothing ofc #but HX is convinced it's her #until finally she gets exasperated enough with the accusations that she stops trying #and HX is honestly exhausted too #realizes there's no way SQX plotted this #and falls into a slump #that's where we find HX pre-series

2 notes · View notes

shadowfromthestarlight · 3 years

Link

The moment a group of people stormed the Capitol building last Wednesday, news companies began the process of sorting and commoditizing information that long ago became standard in American media.

Media firms work backward. They first ask, “How does our target demographic want to understand what’s just unfolded?” Then they pick both the words and the facts they want to emphasize.

It’s why Fox News uses the term, “Pro-Trump protesters,” while New York and The Atlantic use “Insurrectionists.” It’s why conservative media today is stressing how Apple, Google, and Amazon shut down the “Free Speech” platform Parler over the weekend, while mainstream outlets are emphasizing a new round of potentially armed protests reportedly planned for January 19th or 20th.

What happened last Wednesday was the apotheosis of the Hate Inc. era, when this audience-first model became the primary means of communicating facts to the population. For a hundred reasons dating back to the mid-eighties, from the advent of the Internet to the development of the 24-hour news cycle to the end of the Fairness Doctrine and the Fox-led discovery that news can be sold as character-driven, episodic TV in the manner of soap operas, the concept of a “Just the facts” newscast designed to be consumed by everyone died out.

News companies now clean world events like whalers, using every part of the animal, funneling different facts to different consumers based upon calculations about what will bring back the biggest engagement kick. The Migrant Caravan? Fox slices off comments from a Homeland Security official describing most of the border-crossers as single adults coming for “economic reasons.” The New York Times counters by running a story about how the caravan was deployed as a political issue by a Trump White House staring at poor results in midterm elections.

Repeat this info-sifting process a few billion times and this is how we became, as none other than Mitch McConnell put it last week, a country:

Drifting apart into two separate tribes, with a separate set of facts and separate realities, with nothing in common except our hostility towards each other and mistrust for the few national institutions that we all still share.

The flaw in the system is that even the biggest news companies now operate under the assumption that at least half their potential audience isn’t listening. This leads to all sorts of problems, and the fact that the easiest way to keep your own demographic is to feed it negative stories about others is only the most obvious. On all sides, we now lean into inflammatory caricatures, because the financial incentives encourage it.

Everyone monetized Trump. The Fox wing surrendered to the Trump phenomenon from the start, abandoning its supposed fealty to “family values” from the Megyn Kelly incident on. Without a thought, Rupert Murdoch sacrificed the paper-thin veneer of pseudo-respectability Fox had always maintained up to a point (that point being the moment advertisers started to bail in horror, as they did with Glenn Beck). He reinvented Fox as a platform for Trump’s conspiratorial brand of cartoon populism, rather than let some more-Fox-than-Fox imitator like OAN sell the ads to Trump’s voters for four years.

In between its titillating quasi-porn headlines (“Lesbian Prison Gangs Waiting To Get Hands on Lindsay Lohan, Inmate Says” is one from years ago that stuck in my mind), Fox’s business model has long been based on scaring the crap out of aging Silent Majority viewers with a parade of anything-but-the-truth explanations for America’s decline. It villainized immigrants, Muslims, the new Black Panthers, environmentalists — anyone but ADM, Wal-Mart, Countrywide, JP Morgan Chase, and other sponsors of Fortress America. Donald Trump was one of the people who got hooked on Fox’s narrative.

The rival media ecosystem chose cash over truth also. It could have responded to the last election by looking harder at the tensions they didn’t see coming in Trump’s America, which might have meant a more intense examination of the problems that gave Trump his opening: the jobs that never came back after bankers and retailers decided to move them to unfree labor zones in places like China, the severe debt and addiction crises, the ridiculous contradiction of an expanding international military garrison manned by a population fast losing belief in the mission, etc., etc.

Instead, outlets like CNN and MSNBC took a Fox-like approach, downplaying issues in favor of shoving Trump’s agitating personality in the faces of audiences over and over, to the point where many people could no longer think about anything else. To juice ratings, the Trump story — which didn’t need the slightest exaggeration to be fantastic — was more or less constantly distorted.

Trump began to be described as a cause of America’s problems, rather than a symptom, and his followers, every last one, were demonized right along with him, in caricatures that tickled the urbane audiences of channels like CNN but made conservatives want to reach for something sharp. This technique was borrowed from Fox, which learned in the Bush years that you could boost ratings by selling audiences on the idea that their liberal neighbors were terrorist traitors. Such messaging worked better by far than bashing al-Qaeda, because this enemy was closer, making the hate more real.

I came into the news business convinced that the traditional “objective” style of reporting was boring, deceptive, and deserving of mockery. I used to laugh at the parade of “above the fray” columnists and stone-dull house editorials that took no position on anything and always ended, “Only one thing’s for sure: time will tell.” As a teenager I was struck by a passage in Tim Crouse’s book about the 1972 presidential campaign, The Boys in the Bus, describing the work of Hunter Thompson:

Thompson had the freedom to describe the campaign as he actually experienced it: the crummy hotels, the tedium of the press bus, the calculated lies of the press secretaries, the agony of writing about the campaign when it seemed dull and meaningless, the hopeless fatigue. When other reporters went home, their wives asked them, “What was it really like?” Thompson’s wife knew from reading his pieces.

What Rolling Stone did in giving a political reporter the freedom to write about the banalities of the system was revolutionary at the time. They also allowed their writer to be a sides-taker and a rooter, which seemed natural and appropriate because biases end up in media anyway. They were just hidden in the traditional dull “objective” format.

The problem is that the pendulum has swung so far in the opposite direction of politicized hot-taking that reporters now lack freedom in the opposite direction, i.e. the freedom to mitigate.

If you work in conservative media, you probably felt tremendous pressure all November to stay away from information suggesting Trump lost the election. If you work in the other ecosystem, you probably feel right now that even suggesting what happened last Wednesday was not a coup in the literal sense of the word (e.g. an attempt at seizing power with an actual chance of success) not only wouldn’t clear an editor, but might make you suspect in the eyes of co-workers, a potentially job-imperiling problem in this environment.

We need a new media channel, the press version of a third party, where those financial pressures to maintain audience are absent. Ideally, it would:

not be aligned with either Democrats or Republicans;

employ a Fairness Doctrine-inspired approach that discourages groupthink and requires at least occasional explorations of alternative points of view;

embrace a utilitarian mission stressing credibility over ratings, including by;

operating on a distribution model that as much as possible doesn’t depend upon the indulgence of Apple, Google, and Amazon.

Innovations like Substack are great for opinionated individual voices like me, but what’s desperately needed is an institutional reporting mechanism that has credibility with the whole population. That means a channel that sees its mission as something separate from politics, or at least as separate from politics as possible.

The media used to derive its institutional power from this perception of separateness. Politicians feared investigation by the news media precisely because they knew audiences perceived them as neutral arbiters.

Now there are no major commercial outlets not firmly associated with one or the other political party. Criticism of Republicans is as baked into New York Times coverage as the lambasting of Democrats is at Fox, and politicians don’t fear them as much because they know their constituents do not consider rival media sources credible. Probably, they don’t even read them. Echo chambers have limited utility in changing minds.

Media companies need to get out of the audience-stroking business, and by extension the politics business. They’d then be more likely to be believed when making pronouncements about elections or masks or anything else, for that matter. Creating that kind of outlet also has a much better shot of restoring sanity to the country than the current strategy, which seems based on stamping out access to “wrong” information.

What we’ve been watching for four years, and what we saw explode last week, is a paradox: a political and informational system that profits from division and conflict, and uses a factory-style process to stimulate it, but professes shock and horror when real conflict happens. It’s time to admit this is a failed system. You can’t sell hatred and seriously expect it to end.

Matt Taibbi is one of the only people I subscribe to. He’s one of the few journalists I like because I actually believe he’s genuine.

6 notes · View notes

ruminativerabbi · 4 years

Text

Kindness in the Time of Cholera

I’m still up in the air about the whole thing in terms of where this potential catastrophe may be heading. But what seems beyond dispute to me is that we should be heeding the advice of those wise experts specifically whose counsel is to hope for the best and prepare for the worst. And equally clear to me is that we should be insisting unwaveringly that the government put the responsibility and authority to deal with this looming crisis squarely and solely in the hands of scientists, public health officials, physicians, and epidemiologists…and as far as possible from the hands of politicians.

One of the most intelligent essays about the coronavirus outbreak that I’ve read, by Donald G. McNeil Jr., was published in the New York Times just this week (click here) and I recommend it highly to you. Basically, he observes that there are two ways to deal with a looming pandemic. There’s the modern method of bringing to bear the full force of modern technology to identify the infected, to perfect a vaccine, to develop new strains of drugs to deal with the already-ill, etc. And then there’s the medieval method of locking the infected inside their own cities, closing borders, forbidding international travel or commerce, and quarantining people who may have inadvertently been exposed to the virus until the danger passes and the infected either recover or die.

The latter approach, the one McNeil calls “medieval,” surely does have an old-fashioned feel to it. And it equally surely features a harshness that will make most moderns uncomfortable. But that doesn’t mean it couldn’t work and hasn’t worked. President Benjamin Harrison, for example, apparently successful kept America safe from an outbreak of virulent cholera in 1892, for example, by closing American harbors to any ships arriving from Germany, the epicenter of that particular epidemic in Europe. But, as McNeil goes on to muse, just how possible would that approach be today really? The word “quarantine” derives from the Italian word for “forty” and came to have its current meaning because the Venetian Republic had the very successful idea during the Black Death plague epidemic in the mid-fourteenth century of requiring that all ships arriving in their port be isolated for a full forty days before their crew could come ashore or their cargo be unloaded. But Venice has one harbor and its masters had the ability absolutely to control the comings and goings of boats in and out of their city, whereas it is very hard to imagine that approach being fully successful in our globalized world of highly porous borders and uncontrolled (and uncontrollable) interstate travel. Nor am I only theorizing here. The Chinese actually have turned Wuhan, the city where the virus first erupted into the world, into a single huge quarantine zone. But the virus behind COVID-19 is still spreading dramatically in the world, both inside and outside of China.

The Jewish world has yet another way to combat a pandemic, one that was the subject of a fascinating piece on the Lehrhaus website that I read just last week. The essay, by Jeremy Brown, the director of the Office of Emergency Care Research at the National Institute of Health, concerns a long-forgotten ceremony developed specifically to address the possibility of epidemiological catastrophe: the shvartze chasaneh, literally “the black wedding.” (To read the full essay, click here.) The name, derived from the fact that brides normally wear white to their own weddings, was intended to suggest that the wedding in question is not just the union of an affianced couple eager to wed under a chuppah, but something else entirely—something rooted not in love and devotion, but in fear and community-wide anxiety.

As far as anyone knows, the last time anyone participated in a shvartze chasaneh was in 1918 at the peak of the Spanish flu epidemic. I’ve heard people mention that specific epidemic many times in the last few weeks, but even by today’s standards the numbers are still astounding. Five hundred million people around the world were infected, about a third of the entire population of the world. (Click here for more on that almost unbelievable number.) The death toll is estimated by most authorities to have been somewhere between forty and fifty million people, but some authorities put it as high as one hundred million. Life expectancy in the United States dropped by twelve years after just one year of the epidemic. This was a terrible time, the cataclysmic coda to the orgy of senseless killing that was the First World War. And the pandemic lasted for three full years, from the beginning of 1918 through the end of 1920.

The idea of the shvartze chasaneh itself is a simple one: the community seeks out a single man who is disabled, orphaned, and/or impoverished and arranges for him publicly to marry a similar destitute and handicapped woman. The ceremony takes place, as would any normal Jewish marriage, under a chuppah. But this chuppah is set up in a cemetery—perhaps as a way of inviting the dead to participate in the simchah—and then the community showers the couple with gifts, including gifts of cash, in the hope that this great act of kindness towards the especially needy will somehow avert the plague.

To document his research, Brown uncovered an account of one of these “black weddings” that took place in Philadelphia in 1918 during the height of the Spanish flu epidemic. Citing from a contemporary newspaper account published in the Public Ledger of Philadelphia, Brown reports that one Fanny Jacobs and one Harold Rosenberg were married just behind the first row of graves in the Jewish cemetery near Cobbs Creek, Pennsylvania, on Friday afternoon on October 25, 1918. A certain Rabbi Lipschitz presided; a full thousand spectators showed up to witness the union. And then, to quote the newspaper story directly, “spectators filed solemnly past the couple and made them presents of money in sums from ten cents to a hundred dollars, according to the means and circumstances of the donor, until more than $1,000 had been given.” And the point of the operation was also made explicit in the newspaper account: so that “the attention of God be called to the affliction of their fellows if the most humble man and woman among them should join in marriage in the presence of the dead.”

Nor was this something invented on the spot to deal with the influenza epidemic. The earliest report of a shvartze chasaneh goes back to 1785, when one was performed in the presence of two of the greatest hasidic masters, Rabbi Elimelech of Lizhensk and Rabbi Yaakov Yitzchak Halevi Horowitz (the latter better known today as the Seer of Lublin), and was intended to address an outbreak of cholera. Brown reports that similar wedding ceremonies took place for orphaned teenagers in Jerusalem and Tzfat in 1865 during an infestation of locusts that threatened to destroy the food source for the entire country. (The picture is of the one in Jerusalem.) They must have been quite something to see, those ceremonies: the one in Jerusalem took place amidst the graves on the Mount of Olives and the one in Tzfat took place in the old Jewish cemetery there, where the chuppah was set up between the graves of Rabbi Isaac Luria and Rabbi Joseph Karo, each in his own way the spiritual leader of an entire generation of Jewish people. Other such ceremonies took place in Berdichev in 1866 and at Opatow in 1892, which town Joan and I actually visited last summer.

The Philadelphia ceremony inspired at least one further attempt to ward off the flu epidemic: on November 11, 1918—the very day of the armistice that ended the war—a similar wedding was held in Winnipeg, duly reported in the Winnipeg Evening Tribune under the headline “Hebrews Hold Wedding of Death to Halt Flu.”

I do not think—at least not yet—that we should consider going this route at the current time with respect to COVID-19. But I do think that we could be inspired—and profoundly—by the idea that underlying our response to what could conceivably turn into a world-wide pandemic should be the same sense Jews of a different day had that one responds to the possibility of disaster by being kind and generous, by reaching out formally and publicly to the most needy, by focusing on the future and not solely on the calamity at hand, and by refusing to abandon our most basic values merely because we suddenly find ourselves negotiating straits that even a few months ago were unknown to any of us. The notion that the correct response to looming catastrophe lies in deeds of compassion and charity is very resonant with me personally. My plan for the moment is to wash my hands carefully and often, to leave the real decision making to the kind of public health experts who actually know what they are talking about, and to try to avert the worst by ramping up Joan and my gifts of charity to the poor and the most needy, and I encourage you to do the same!

#shvartze chasaneh #COVID-19

105 notes · View notes

talltalesandbedtimestories · 4 years

Text

House Edge

Title: House Edge (COMPLETE)

Characters/Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester

Summary: You're on a Girls Trip to Vegas and meet a certain hunter at the buffet.

Word Count: 9,100

Warnings: fluff, flirting, gambling, strip club, private dance, mild language

A/N: My first reader insert try. I'm thinking this is sometime around Season 7. Maybe the annual pilgrimage to Vegas when Becky whammies Sam. The majority of events that unfold will probably be right before Dean gets the text from Sam to meet up with him. Thunder From Down Under probably wasn't at Vegas yet - who knows - artistic license and all that. Also, I don't have an extensive knowledge of gambling, so most of what you'll read is from what I've Googled. If something is terribly wrong, feel free to let me know. But, I tried to stay in the vague zone.

Your head pounded and sloshed from the one too many Malibu Bay Breezes you’d ingested during the “Thunder From Down Under” show that ended minutes ago. Three of the nine others in your group were still hooting and hollering at the oil slicked row of hyper muscled, surreal Australian blokes on stage. In addition to the baby oil, the men were bathing in the estrogen overload and accolades washing over them. Wads of cash, stuffed into the glittery floss substituting as underwear, stuck to aforementioned oil slicked skin.

It had been fun, there was no doubt. But the lights and the music and the rabid female reactions were hitting you all at once. Kasey pulled you by the elbow and screamed in your ear. “Wanna get a photo with Faux Fabio?” She pointed to the long-haired blond Adonis with a shoulder span the width of a football field.

You frowned. “How much is that going to run me?”

“Shannon!” Kasey called across the table, still too close to your delicate ear drums. “How much to rub up to one of ‘em?” You were glad you weren’t sharing a room with Kasey. She’d be hurling in the toilet for most of the night after the number of Tequila shots she’d downed. So far. And the night was relatively early. Especially for Vegas.

“Thirty bucks, I think.” Shannon shrugged, paying more attention to her phone.

You shook your head. Your single status and mid-level office job already had you on a strict budget for this girls’ getaway weekend. “I’m good. Besides, the more up close I get, the more disappointed I think I’ll be.” Shannon nodded with a smirk in agreement, still staring at her screen.

Kasey huffed. “Well, Linda, Stacey and Mira are already in line. I’m going to see if I can cut!” She dashed off without another word.

Women skirted and pushed past your standing frame. You tried to become one with the table in front of you. Anything to avoid being pulled into the stampede or thrown to the ground, and mercilessly stomped on by stilettos and sneakers.

Even Shannon looked a bit miffed at the onslaught as you stared at her in a half-cry for help. “My God.” She rolled her eyes.

“Where did Cathy and that bunch disappear to?” You yelled over.

“Who knows?”

You sighed. “What was next on the itinerary?”

“I think any plans are out the window. Every woman for herself.” Shannon tapped on her phone. “My little one’s running a fever. I’m going to get back to the hotel room so I can check in at home.”

You nodded. The only thing waiting for you at home was your tabby, Tyrion. Your Grandma-type neighbor down the hall, Gladys, had offered to cat sit. So there was no one, human or feline, actually waiting for you back in your one-bedroom apartment in Albuquerque.

Holding your breath, you pushed yourself into the crowd, moving against the current towards the exit instead of the line for photos. The quadruple threat of your old college pals was screaming in line about which stripper had the tightest ass.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to have a good time or ogle good looking men. Far from it. But gambling was more your scene anyway. You had a pretty good teacher with your last boyfriend when it came to Blackjack. You breathed a sigh of relief when you shimmied out of the entertainment venue and stepped foot onto the busy carpet of the Excaliber’s casino floor. Your phone read 9:10 pm. There was still plenty of time to lose your shirt.

You’d popped a few aspirin and downed a whole bottle of water in the sitting area of the women’s bathroom, hoping to fend off a killer hangover in the morning. A quick reapplication of lipstick and you were ready to scope out a good table.

After about an hour, you’d split, hit, and stood with the best of them at one table. There’d been one experienced player, Ron, that looked like he’d planted roots in the seat next to you. He got to talking, as the old timers usually did, and you’d learned he was born and raised in Reno. You had a nice little chat with Ron and Stevie, the female dealer, and fended off a few men who sat on the other side and hit on you more than the cards they were dealt.

“That is not a bad takeaway, there.” Ron nodded when you decided to cash out.

“Thanks. Pleasure, Ron. You take care.”

“You too, pretty lady. Remember what I said about Roulette. You should try it once.”

The betting chips clinked in your plastic souvenir cup. “I might.”

He tipped you a two-finger salute. You wandered, your stomach empty. The buffet to end all buffets calling your name.

“Fuck it.” After turning most of your chips into cash at the counter, leaving one $50 chip in your jean pocket, you headed for the International food amalgamation that guaranteed intense heartburn and bloating in the morning.

Fluorescent lights and sneeze shields presented you with choices beyond comprehension. You grabbed a large plate and planned your method of attack. One of your pink manicured nails tapped on the bottom of the china. “Ease into it.” You decided to go with the Mediterranean spread first. Before you knew it, there were helpings of General Tso’s chicken, pizza, potstickers, mashed potatoes and French fries, along with some bratwurst and sauerkraut. The grumbling from your tummy may have been a warning when you sat down at the table for two, alone, on the cafeteria style floor. The waitress gave you a tired smile when she dropped off your iced tea.

You shoveled some sauce drenched chicken into your mouth and took in the scene. People floating around, getting up for seconds or thirds, talking about how much money they lost or won, what shows they should try to see while they were in Vegas. You chewed and stared at the formidable back of a man at the table directly ahead of you. He’d give Faux Fabio a run for his money. He had fluffy, long brown hair. His animated storytelling hands got your attention. You heard a deep chuckle and slurp from his table sharer, out of your view because of the mountain man. “Alright,” the man stated, “Going to give the Poker Room another go. Coming?”

“Nah.” The very deep voice replied. “I’ve still gotta hit the dessert line.”

You watched the man rise from his seat, floored by how tall he was. And, when he turned, you saw how very cute he was. You’d have paid thirty bucks to snap a picture with this man. He gave you a sweet little smile when he walked past. You couldn’t help but look over your shoulder and take in the rest of him as he left. Smacking your lips and shaking your head, you turned back to your plate to resume the dent made in the food. Your eyes darted up to look at the man left alone at the table. You were pretty sure your mouth gaped open at the sight of him, staring at you. He wiped at his face with a napkin.

Oh my. If the man that left appeared sweet and cute with just a smile, this one was a boatload of sexy and trouble with that smirk. You could tell by the way he took his time inventorying you with care, chewing slow the whole time. One side of his lip curled up in another grin variation. He nodded at you in greeting from across both tables. You smiled back and then pretended to stare at your food. He tossed the napkin on his plate and stood up. You peeked up and noted he was layered in a couple shirts and broken in jeans, like his partner. Not quite as tall; but, still very tall in your estimation. You wondered what he’d look like in a g-string and bathed in baby oil.

And, oh boy. He was walking straight over to your table. Yep, he was very tall, by the way you had to tilt your head backwards when he strolled up. He smacked his lips, disrupting the beaming smile before he spoke. “That was my little brother you were checking out. Want me to give you his number?”

You had to lean back in your seat a bit more. “Um. No, that’s okay.” Geez, he was pretty. Holy Facial Symmetry Batman!

He nodded, then smiled again. “Want to give me your number?”

You had to chuckle at the bravado. “Does that work for you a lot?”

He shrugged. “Works enough.”

“I don’t doubt it.” You decided to play along. “How long are you in Vegas?”

His brows rose up. “Just tonight.”

You tisked. “Not enough of a time commitment for what I’d want to do.”

He chuckled this time. “Is that so?”

You nodded.

He pointed to your plate. “Can I get you anything? I’m heading back up.”

“I think this should tide me over for a while. But, thanks.”

His jaw clenched. “Can I join you when I get back?”

What the hell. “Sure.” You smiled.

“Man, you almost kept up with me.” Dean sighed and rubbed his tummy after his third dessert plate.

“Hardly.” You were only working on your second serving of what might be considered actual food. A half hour had passed, you sitting with this veritable stranger. Talking about nothing of much importance, but having a grand time flirting, enjoying his rough and rugged demeanor and the boyish charm. One of your palms hit the tabletop. “I’m tapping out.”

“Not much for sweets?” He leaned in and studied you. Stunning green eyes twinkled with mischief. He batted the kind of lashes you could only get with a thick coating of mascara. “Or are you already sweet enough?”

“Is this like an Ocean’s Eleven thing?”

His smile dropped, waiting for you to elaborate. “Come again?”

“Am I like some unwitting part of a huge con job going down in the money room right now?”

He chuckled. “I’m not following, sweetheart.”

“Why are you sitting here with me?”

“Are you kidding?” He leaned way back in his chair, teetering on the back two legs. An arm swept out from his side in your direction. “Have you seen yourself?”

You pursed your lips. “Please.”

He raised a hand. “I’m not going to try and convince you. But I may take advantage. Commandeer more of your time, since you think you don’t deserve mine.”

“So you are a con man.”

He shook his head. That smile could only belong to the most skilled grifter. “If I was a good con man, I’d have more than a hundred dollars to my name after half a day in this ‘It’s a Small World’ casino.”

“It is a bit Disneyfied, isn’t it?”

A shrug. “Well, it’s cleaner than the ones near the motel Sam and I are staying at, so that’s a plus.”

The plate of food in front of you looked less and less appetizing as the seconds passed. Pushing it away, you really wanted to dig into the dessert that was Dean. But you’d only had two one-night stands in your life. Neither one was spectacular and left you full of regret that you’d had them to begin with. But this man. Oh, you had a feeling this man would love you and leave you with a million other regrets and create an addiction you’d never be able to fulfill again. What was that saying? Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. This man was surging all kinds of wants in your head. If you got a taste, you knew you were done for.

His voice rumbled like a storm cloud and pulled you out of your thoughts. “What’s up for the rest of your night?”

You grinned, wanting to tease out this time with him for as long as possible. Skirt on the edge of a pond of possibilities and drown in those sometimes sea green colored eyes. “I told you there’s not enough time if you’re leaving tonight.”

“Pretty good at completing a task quickly and efficiently.” He licked his lips. “I mean, taking my time, yeah, that’s always ideal. But, if we’re pressed for time, sweetheart, I won’t disappoint.” His brow twitched up.

You sighed, sounding a little too loud and desperate for your liking. “Does a guarantee come with that claim?”

“How much of a gambler are you?” He deflected the question with another.

“I enjoy it.”

“I might be worth taking a chance on, then.”

“Hm. I met a nice old man while playing black jack tonight. He talked about odds and luck and the house edge and why he loves cards, black jack especially. It works his brain and he can play for hours and not lose his shirt.”

Dean smiled. “So, what kind of hand am I? Soft or hard?”

You grinned at the innuendo, trying to keep your train of thought on its track. You leaned across the table. He mirrored your action, meeting you halfway. His hands clasped together on the surface, forearms firm and locked. The closest stare you’d shared.

Both thumbs lifted up in his grip and he nodded a fraction with his chin. “Well, what’s the verdict?” You could smell apples, cinnamon, and vanilla on his breath; courtesy of his indulgence in pie ala mode and his slightly parted mouth. He came into full focus now. Freckles dotting the tops of his cheeks and sprinkled across his nose. Lips that were perfect, puffy and pronounced. Sharp edges and soft curves. He watched you inventory him as he did the same, eyes scanning, crinkles emerging around them when he smiled and you thought he found something he especially liked about your visage. The gamblers and diners dropped away from your periphery. The piped in music and frantic sounds locked away in a vacuum, muffled and mumbling like the adults in those Peanuts cartoons you loved to watch when you were little.

“Neither. You are in no way a safe bet. You’ve got a major house edge.” Your answer came out lower than intended. The slight mix of surprise and disappointment on his face at the answer made you clear your throat. You continued. “So, why gamble in the first place? Cause there’s always the slightest chance you’ll get lucky and hit it big. Flip a coin and see where it’ll land.”

The smile returned and he shot stick-straight in his seat. “I’ve got plenty of coins.” He began to rifle through a jacket pocket. “Two out of three?” You held back a giggle at his eagerness.

“I’ve got one right here.” You dug the chip out of your jean pocket. The plastic disc twirled between your fingers. “Wanna see where it lands?”

His eyes widened. “Big spender. What’re we betting?”

It was your turn to lean back. “Depends. How lucky do you feel?”

He chuckled. “Stakes? And, then I’ll let you know.”

You swallowed. “Well, Ron, the old man, was explaining that Roulette has the best House Edge for the casino. Over five percent in their favor that a player loses. Think you can be my lucky charm and push those odds in my favor?”

He nodded. “What we talkin’? Street or split bet?”

The man knew his games. You smiled. “Straight up.”

His head tilted back. “Whoa. That’s a helluva lot of luck.” A finger pointed back and forth between the both of you. “I help you hit the jackpot and…”

You grinned. “You hit the jackpot. Call the shots for the rest of the night. We go wherever. Do whatever.”

His lips curled into an “O” as he tried to hold back his own grin. He nodded in thought. “If you lose?”

You shrugged. “Buy me a drink at the nearest bar, share some more stories, then we shake hands and say it was nice meeting the other.”

He raised his hands. “Well, I will take those odds. Let’s go find us a wheel.” His tall frame bolted out of his seat, beaming a smile at you.

Your heart sped up. There was no way he was winning this bet. But he seemed up for spending a little more time with you regardless. And that said something. You reached into your purse to drop a tip on the table but he’d already beat you to it.

“Lead the way, sweetheart.”

You nodded and wandered from the restaurant to the massive casino floor. He towered next to your side, the elbow of his jacket brushing against the sheer material covering your biceps. He smelled amazing. When you stopped in the middle of the floor to get your bearings and looked up to ask what direction you both should head, you found him gazing at your cleavage in the strappy surplice top. The look on his face shot straight to your core.

His eyebrows shot up at the realization he’d been caught ogling. “What’s wrong?”

A flush of warmth flooded your face. “We’re using your luck here. You pick the table.”

“Lot of pressure.” He mumbled.

“Lot at stake.” You countered.

“Alright.” He nodded to the right. You followed him, weaving through the crowd, now having the chance to notice his bowlegs and how very wide his shoulder span was. He was wearing entirely too many layers to your liking. But, you got to bathe in the wake of his scent and imagine how very pert that ass was under that denim. He halted without warning and you put the brakes on your stride, inches before careening into his back. His fingers pointed three tables over. “That one.” He looked over his right shoulder and grinned, finding your body and face quite close. “Step right up.”

You took the lead again and inhaled and exhaled deep, taking the one empty seat at the Roulette table. The wheel was currently in motion, the ball spinning, holding the breath of every gambler with a stake on the result. You heard the clicking of the ball along the slots as the rotation slowed, deciding on its destination.

Dean slid his standing frame along your right. He was warm, solid. He tipped down to whisper in your ear. “Sure you wanna go for a straight bet? Making me think you don’t even want a little fun time with me. We could lower the stakes. I’d be more than happy to let you call the shots for the rest of the night.” The offer dripped out of his voice with a deep intensity, low and tempting.

You would not meet his eyes again, already picturing the sexy smirk on his face. He would distract you, make you cave. “Nope.” You responded. “All in. Go big or go home.” You pulled out the chip from your pocket as the winning number was called. A mixture of whoops and grumbles emerged from the dealer’s announcement. Chips were swept over and around the table.

He sighed and rose up, waiting for the table to be cleared and for the dealer to tell everyone to place their bets. “Okay. What number?”

Your mind reeled with the possibilities. “When’s your birthday?” You asked.

“Seriously?” He chuckled.

“Yep.” Your eyes wandered over the red and black numbers on the green felt board. The all clear was called and chips scattered in place with both hurried and tentative fingers of various betters.

“January 24th.”

“So, we could go with 1 or 24. Red or black?”

Your body startled with the pressure of his hand at the small of your back. “Black.”

“24 it is then.” You gulped and placed the chip with care over the number. It rested there alone, a single play amid a multitude of others.

His fingers tapped against your skin in anticipation. “Well, it was fun while it lasted.” He joked. “Maybe as a parting gift you’ll give me your number.”

You smiled, focusing on the slight swirl of his fingers now, imagining what they could do to other parts of your body.

“No more bets.” The dealer called and waved a hand over the table. The wheel spun in one direction. The ball clicked and whirled in its lane in the other.

You thought about what Blackjack Ron had said earlier. Roulette, straight bet odds were 35 to 1. You could view that bet as a drowning man’s last ditch effort to keep their head above the water’s surface. Hold out for that raft to save them, give them a second chance to get things right. Or, you could view it as something as simple as hope. Hope that great things sometimes happen when you take a risk. You should try it once. That’s what Ron had said.

You closed your eyes as the wheel slowed and the ball eased in its race for the finish line. You replayed that little mantra, the pep talk you’d give yourself every once in a while in your bathroom mirror. Failure is always a possibility when you try. But so is success.

The dealer announced the winning number.

Dean’s fingers froze. “Holy fucking shit!” He bellowed.

Your eyes jolted open. The dealer placed a tiny marker on “24 Black.” Your mouth dropped open and watched the chips stack up in front of you.

“Holy fucking shit!�� Dean repeated. “How much is that?”

You blinked, then repeated the calculation out loud you had figured out when you threw out the dare. “One thousand, seven hundred, and fifty dollars.”

“Wow!” You looked up and assessed his face. He was floored and amazed, like a kid that was just told he had free reign in a toy store. “That’s… that’s some luck.”

“All you.” You grinned.

The compliment took him aback. There was the slightest hint of blush on those cheeks.

You motioned to the winnings. “Okay, grab some and let’s cash out. Half of this is yours.”

Even more amazement. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“I’m feeling generous.” You packed the chips into your purse. He stuffed some into his pockets. When you rose up, a jolt of adrenaline pushed you into a new territory of action. One filled with courage. You took your time and slithered close to his standing frame. Let parts of your body sweep along his. His brows rose higher than you’d seen so far that night. “Looks like you’re calling the shots now, Dean. We go wherever. Do whatever.”

A delicious lick of his lips followed your statement. His eyes dazzled with thoughts. “Let’s get out of here.”

You’d walked with him along the strip for what felt like forever. He’d gotten you a cup of frozen yogurt for part of the adventure. The warm air and pulse of Vegas fed your lingering alcohol buzz. Dean was just as intoxicating. He talked in cryptic paragraphs about him and his brother’s nomadic lifestyle. You laughed at his dirty jokes, both basking in the artificial glow surrounding you and the high of winning. But you, most importantly, let go of the decision making.

A turn off the busy, fluorescent lit thoroughfare landed you in a much more adult amusement area of the city. And, you had an inkling, heading in the direction of Dean’s motel. You’d finished the last bit of your treat and tossed the empty cup and spoon into a nearby trash can when he stopped to read the flashing sign of a venue.

His rapt stare forced you to look up and see what he was focusing on. The amber neon depicted the figure of a voluptuous female with flowing hair, one leg wrapped around a bright white pole. You read the name of the establishment out loud. “Sapphire Gentlemen’s Club?”

He turned to you and grinned. “Been in one of these before?”

You felt your brow scrunch together. “Well, no.”

He walked over to the glass door covered in dark film. “Well, let’s go, then.”

“Really? This is what you want to do?”

“At this moment? Yes.” He opened the door and ushered you in. “My lady.”

You chuckled and shook your head. “Are you trying to test my comfort level or something?” The question breezed by his frame as you passed.

“Something like that.” He smiled.

You really didn’t know what to expect when you walked in. A bouncer looking dude waved you in after a quick survey. Dean’s hand was on your back again, as it had been off and on throughout the evening, leading you towards the dim section of tables and booths. It was packed with, from what you could see, a majority of male patrons with the occasional token female. The tables wrapped around a few circular stages with catwalks emerging from blue velvet curtains. A dozen or so topless females danced for the pleasure of their audiences. The bass of the music rumbled through your skin.

“Here.” Dean leaned in, pushing you to a free high top right by one of the stages. Enough light spilled onto the area that you spotted the kid in a toy store look on his face again when he took his seat.

You sat across, tearing your gaze from him to the ladies wrapped around poles, bronzed and oiled similar to the male counterparts you’d been hooting at earlier that evening.

“Thought you could see how the other half lives, after that Australian review.” Dean brought up the exact same thought, only he shivered in distaste. A wave of his hand requested the attention of one of the waitresses who thankfully, for you, wore a bit more than the dancers.

“Hello, lovelies. I’m Cherie. What can I get you?” She purred over to Dean and gave you a sweet smile, dropping napkins in front of your spots. Her bare glittery shoulders and cocoa skin made you crave chocolate for a second.

Dean’s lips quirked up in a smile. You realized he’d been giving your reaction more attention than the female with big onyx eyes and raven, wavy hair. “I’ll have a bourbon. Top Shelf. Neat. What are you having, sweetheart?”

You shrugged, continuing the little game you’d started since he won the bet.

He nodded. “Same for this pretty little lady.” The waitress nodded, about to walk off, when Dean asked, “Oh, what’s it cost for a private show in the back?”

The waitress raised a pencil lined eyebrow. “Depends on who you want the show with.”

“Are you available?” Dean grinned.

She giggled. “I might be.”

“Well, if you are, let me know what it’d be for the both of us?”

“Will do, sweetie.” Cherie bounced off with a pronounced sway of her ample hips.

Your mouth popped open. “What?”

“Whatever I want.” He reminded you with a lick of his lips. He leaned his forearms on the table. “You ever, ah…”

An awkward giggle erupted from your throat. “No.”

He shrugged and smiled. “Thought about it?”

“Maybe.”

That made Dean’s grin grow wider. “Well, it’s only a dance. You technically aren’t supposed to touch the ladies. Sometimes, though, you get lucky. And, the way my luck is going tonight… got to give it a shot.” His fingers brushed over the top of your hand. “Get something etched in my memory for repeat viewings later.”

The touch of his fingers, light and gentle, ticklish and thrilling, hit an itch you couldn’t quite scratch. You emitted something between a laugh and a sigh. “You’re going to blow all your winnings tonight on booze and boobs.”

“Worth it. I’m getting to spend it with a beautiful partner in crime.”

You sat with him and watched the show. A country tune blasted through the sound system. The ladies all sashayed back to the curtains, flinging them back with a dramatic flair. They disappeared only to be replaced by cowboy hat and boot wearing dancers. Daisy dukes rode so high up that half of their ass cheeks bulged out. Holsters, hung loose from their waists, held fake pistols that, when pulled out for use, were done so with the most phallic inducing reminders. And all had the perkiest, perfect breasts you’d ever seen.

His fingers tangled into yours about midway through the performance. “Thank God I’m a country boy.” He tipped his head about to the twang. “So, Albuquerque, huh?”

You attempted to track the conversation and not the feel of his warm skin tingling yours. The pads of his fingers were rough and worn, gritty but not harsh. You imagined what kind of work he did to get them that way. “Yeah. Moved there after college. Got a job at a big research company. Glorified office assistant, so just the mundane business stuff that helps keep everyone employed on the books, bills paid.”

“Research?” His smile softened, listening to you.

“Sustainable energy, nuclear weapons.”

His bottom lip jutted out as he nodded. “Like it?”

“More days than not.” Your eyes widened as one of the dancers provocatively licked the barrel of her toy gun. You couldn’t help but laugh in embarrassment. “Geez, I’ve never done that with a firearm.”

Dean chuckled. “What have you done with a firearm?”

“I’ve got a license to carry. My dad taught me how to shoot when I was around thirteen. He was a big time game hunter. Back in Colorado.” You didn’t bother to go into what happened to your parents. You wanted to keep the tone of the night light and fun.

“What do you carry?” Genuine interest spread over his face now.

“Walther PPQ. But I left it back home.” You smiled, realizing he was not put off and probably carried as well. “Are you packing?”

“Oh, I’m packing,” He grinned, “but my gun’s back at the motel. Not a good idea to mix Vegas nightlife and bullets, I’ve learned.” That sounded like a perfect lead-in for a story. But he only added. “M1911.”

You nodded then asked, “Country boy, huh?”

“Yep, Kansas.”

“We could have hit Stoney’s then.”

“You would have tried to get me to dance.” He nodded to the stage. “More fun to watch.”

Cherie returned, interrupting the flow of conversation with two tumblers of bourbon. After placing the glasses on the table and eyeing the way Dean gripped your hand, she leaned in close to his ear and whispered. You struggled to make it out, giving up when it proved pointless. His lids lifted a fraction. “Well, that sounds positively delightful, Cherie.” He added with a sexy swagger. “Think you can get yourself one of those cowgirl outfits?”

She nodded. “See what I can do. Jimmy’ll come by for you two in about a half hour then.” Another nearby table called her away.

Dean grabbed his glass and raised it for a toast. “To Vegas.”

You shook your head and clinked your glass with his, mumbling. “To Vegas.”

The sparkling beaded fringe curtaining the doorway was a nice touch. You pushed through the strands and took in where you’d be with Dean for the next twenty minutes, along with Cherie, who was on her way. It was enough privacy for an intimate dance. Safe enough, you imagined, that if one of the women had to call for an assist from a handsy client, someone could be there in a flash without impediment. Burly Jimmy, about a foot taller than Dean, seemed to be the bouncer/bodyguard for the ladies and waited outside in the hallway.

“Really playing up the Sapphire theme, huh?” You asked Dean for his thoughts on the decor. There were two blue velvet, plush armchairs in opposite corners of the tiny eight by eight space. Two of the walls were floor to ceiling glass and a tinted overhead light washed everything in shades of midnight blue.

“Fancy.” He teased. “One of the deluxe rooms.”

The two bourbons you had milked at the table for the last half hour had sizzled your senses with a warm euphoria. Almost like you were watching yourself in some sort of out of body experience. Had it really only been a few hours since you’d seen your girlfriends? You glanced at your watch and confirmed in the spin of your head it was a little after midnight. Your brain and body were wired and alert due to the proximity of this man pushing all your buttons tonight. It was raw, racy, a revelation in facets of sexiness you’d never had the honor of being in the presence of. Until tonight.

He’d teased with playful touches; flirted with that outlaw mouth; melted you with heated stares; worn you down with roguish charm; and hinted at some heavy shit that made you wonder how broken he might be under all that attractive armor. The alcohol had let his guard down a few times.

“Hey.” Dean snapped his fingers and brought you back. “You still with me, beautiful? I think we need to cut you off.”

You clicked your tongue and shot him with your finger gun. “Might be right, partner.”

He chuckled. “Yeah. Think so.” He rubbed his hands together and spotted a touchscreen in the wall. “Huh, even get to pick the music. Real fancy.” He pointed to one of the chairs. “Get comfy.” He tapped some buttons. You slid into the cushion, trying not to imagine the amount of bodily fluids embedded in the fabric. It did smell nice and clean, almost antiseptic, so that settled one of your racing thoughts. Your stare lingered over at Dean, a pensive look on his face as he decided on the tracks. It had to be illegal for someone to be that handsome without even trying. “Damn, it’s hot in here.” He pulled off his jacket and one layer of flannel, draping them over the back of the empty chair. His simple black t-shirt strained over his shoulders, biceps, chest. The alcohol had to be part of the reason he looked so perfect. No way, you kept thinking, no one’s that perfect.

The beads parted and Cherie strolled into the room. She had certainly done what she could to honor Dean’s request. She wore the same white vinyl hot pants and matching color stripper pumps that comprised her waitress attire. But she’d gone full on country bumpkin with a plaid flannel tied in a knot under her push up bra, and a cowboy hat.

“Did you pick your tunes, Cowboy?” She flirted at Dean.

“Yep.” The wide, cheesy grin spread over his face.

“Have a seat, time’s a wastin’.” She was working the southern accent, too. Dean hopped onto the other seat cushion and wiggled his ass into position. He also wiggled his eyebrows like a cartoon villain at you. You giggled.

Cherie tapped the screen. You were unsurprised by the country music that filled the room at a respectable volume. “Jimmy explain all the rules?” She asked and began to gyrate her hips to the song.

You nodded and replied, your eyes bouncing from Cherie to Dean, “You get to touch us, we don’t touch you. Stay in our seats. If we aren’t sure if we can, ask first.”

Cherie twirled and stopped to smile down at you. “I bet you were top of your class, hun.”

Your cheeks heated up at the flirting. This woman was obviously younger than you by at least a decade and was calling you hun. Dean’s jaw clenched at your reaction.

“So, what brings the two of you to Vegas?” Cherie turned around, giving you a full face of her curvy hips and tiny waist. The white pants almost glowed in the light and you could hear the slight squeak of material. Her moves were smooth, fluid, second nature.

Dean was getting a full face of the cleavage peeking out of her shirt as she bent down to give him a nice view. “Romantic getaway for my girl, here.” His eyes drifted over to you, past Cherie’s elbow, with a smirk.

Oh, this is how we’re playing it now, you thought. You had to admit the idea of you being his girl was absolute heaven.

“Aw, how sweet. How long you two been together?” She rose up, her hands gripping the back of her neck, elbows jutting out like wings. She twirled to look at you. She backed into Dean’s lap and began to circle and skirt her ass along his thighs. Cherie blocked his beautiful face with pink flannel. The only Dean reaction visible were his fingers latching onto the armrests like a vice.

You stifled a giggle. “Five years.” You threw out the first number you could think of.

“A lot of man to be working with for five years.” She smiled.

You couldn’t argue with that.

“Alright if I put my hands on him, darlin’?”

You heard Dean moan. How could you deny him? And, how fun that she was asking you for permission and not bothering with his approval. “Of course.” You swallowed at the intimate turn things were taking.

She lifted up, turned again. Her hands landed on Dean’s knees. “Let’s let your pretty lady see how much you’re enjoying this.” She cooed and spun him in the - surprise - rotating chair. You got an eyeful at this angle of that chiseled face and the wide eyes from his own surprise at the movement. He glanced over at you, turning serious in a second. It was like someone had turned the temperature on to sauna level in the room.

Cherie’s actions focused Dean’s attention back to her. Her fingers and long nails drifted and scraped along the surface of his hands, forearms, biceps. Her palms came to rest on his shoulders. She climbed on top with grace, wedging her knees into the cushion by his hips, clamping his bowlegs shut with the force of her muscular calves. Her heels poked out from the chair like weapons. That ass settled on his knees. Her cleavage inched closer to his face as he settled and reclined into the headrest.

“How does he feel?” You realized you had asked the question out loud.

Dean turned to you, languid and lush, blissed out and smiling in a lustful stupor.

“Warm. Strong. All sorts of good.” She smiled at you. “Lucky lady.”

If only, you thought.

Dean licked his lips at you, delved his gaze into Cherie’s cleavage, then met the dancer’s stare. “If you think I feel good, you should give my girl a test drive.” He unclenched his grip on the armrest for a few seconds, maybe trying to get some circulation back in his fingers. “In fact, I’d love it if you’d tell me how good my baby feels.”

Holy shit. Your panties dampened at his confession.

Cherie grinned. “Well, that’s up to your baby. Woman always gets the final say.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Dean chuckled. “I’ve gotta run everything by her, or else I’d get spanked. Can I tell you a secret, Cherie?” Dean husked out the question. Cherie nodded in interest, grinding on him now. Dean cocked a brow at the action. “Sometimes I get in trouble on purpose, just so she can spank me.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at that; the thrill and imagery of Dean naked, leaned over your lap with a bright red ass after some serious punishment from your hand.

“Sounds like you’re a handful.” Cherie snuggled down deeper, and dry humped him. “Feel like a nice handful, too.” She was humming along to the country tune. Just another day at the office for Cherie.

It felt all sorts of wrong and right at the same time, watching this lap dance. This teasing, edging. Who the hell has the House Edge in this scenario?

Dean’s hands clenched tighter around the velvet. “Don’t wanna come in my pants, Sweet Cherie. Isn’t that one of the rules?” He panted.

She laughed. “Oh, I’d break a couple for you two.” She slowed the torture and peeled off him with a groan that almost matched Dean’s. “We going for that test drive, baby?” Her hungry eyes scanned your seated frame.

“Um…” You began. Dean’s breathing regulated and he circled the seat back to face you. He grinned at you, peeking over the curve of Cherie’s hips, ready for the show.

“It’s okay. Anyplace you don’t want me touching, just streetlight. Only if you want to indulge your man.” She raised a brow. “But you might like it, too.”

“Oh, God, I hope so.” Dean mumbled.

Cherie did the same with your chair as she had with Dean’s. You tilted, looking at yourself beyond Dean in the mirror. How very deer in the headlights you appeared. Cherie was a veritable tigress, running the entire show.

She leaned down, inches from your face. Her fingers wiggled and she cupped your jaw. “I won’t bite.” Her sweet breath laced with peppermint washed over you. “So warm. Don’t be nervous.” Her soft voice lulled you into a safe space. “Your big strong man over there wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Would you, Cowboy?”

“Absolutely, fucking not.” Dean’s voice shot straight to your core again. You caught him licking his lips. He nodded, entranced at the vision of Cherie guiding her hand down the slope of your neck, then cupping the curve of one breast. Your breath hitched as she squeezed and her long nails dipped into the cleavage. “How’s she feel?” Another lick.

“Hm, so soft.” An eyebrow arched when she skirted over your covered nipple. “And excited. Still green, sweetie?” You nodded. Cherie tipped off the cowboy hat, sliding it over the crown of your head.

Dean rumbled out a low moan. You thought you heard him curse under his breath and whisper something close to “Ride ‘em, cowgirl.”

The arousal created by this beautiful woman was dizzying and the heat from Dean’s stare was making it hard to breathe. Sweat broke out on your forehead. Your stomach churned. “Oh.” Something else was threatening to escape as a sour bile hit the base of your throat. “Oh, no.” You mumbled. “Red, red. I need to get to a bathroom.”

Cherie hopped off and grabbed you by the wrist. “Jimmy! Need a trash can, stat.”

Dean jumped up from his seat. You spotted alarm on his face and got a quick glimpse of a decent bulge in his jeans before you groaned again at the somersaults your insides were doing. A hand clamped over your mouth as you forced down the gag and swallowed. It wasn’t going to be long before the entire floor would be covered with a Vegas buffet.

The saving grace that was Jimmy parted the curtains and slid a small desk trash can over in your general direction. Dean fell to his knees and held it in front of you. Cherie tossed off the cowboy hat you were wearing and held your hair back.

A deep inhale of the artificial lemon smell covering the trash can liner was what finally had you retching.

You emerged from the women’s bathroom fifteen minutes later after the whole fiasco had commenced. Cherie had been nice enough to bring you a disposable toothbrush and some toothpaste from backstage. You’d cleaned yourself up as best you could. But you were exhausted, humiliated, and planned to call yourself a cab. You were certain Dean had called it a night, leaving your sorry ass to figure things out.

How surprised, then, your face must have looked to see him leaning against the wall, Cherie’s cowboy hat twirling in his hands. He was back in his flannel and jacket, staring out onto the stage. The hint of movement by your slow trudges catching his attention, he turned and gave you a soft smile. “Hey there. How’re you doing?”

You shrugged. “I’m so sorry.” Your scratchy voice skipped over the apology.

He walked over to you. “I pushed my luck… and yours… a bit too far. I’m sorry.” He grinned and placed the hat on your head. “Cherie said you could have it. A parting gift for the both of us.”

A smile broke out on your face.

“You look really cute, Cowgirl.”

“You stayed?” You questioned.

Dean’s face contorted in confusion. “Not like I was going to just skip out on you over some upchuck. Trust me, beautiful, I’ve seen way worse.” He flicked the hat so it rose up an inch higher on your head. “So, calling us a cab or walking you back to your hotel so you can sleep this off? You are going to have one hell of a hangover in the morning.”

You tummy seesawed at the thought of a lot of walking right then. “Cab.”

He nodded and headed for the exit. “Let’s go flag one down.”

“But…”

Dean stopped, wavering in his stride and waited.

“I don’t want to say goodnight yet.”

He smiled, then sighed. “Well, I got a text about an hour ago that little brother is going off on a granola munching hike in the desert by himself.” He scratched the back of his head. “So, if you want to hang out in my seedy motel room for a couple hours, it’s free.”

You grinned, queasy but happy.

He’d found a country station on the motel’s radio alarm clock when you’d arrived earlier and forced you to down a bottle of water and pop a couple aspirin. The both of you were now on your third round of War. The conversation had gotten deeper as the battle continued. But there were still the light, fun and flirty moments that made spending this time with him feel even more special.

You sat cross legged on the blanket Dean had pulled out of his duffel to spare your ass from sitting on the dingy motel room carpet. He sat across from you, back against the foot of his bed, leaning an elbow on one propped up knee, the other leg splayed out on the blanket. You didn’t think his bowlegs could manage a cross legged position and grinned to yourself at the thought.

It was 2:00 am. He showed no signs of fading, but you were struggling. Dean kept glancing at his phone but never faltered to toss down his cards in time with yours.

“Hopefully he’s okay.” You offered. The tinge of pain crept in. You knew you had to say goodbye and call it a night. It was obvious he was worried. His brother had not returned his texts and was still roaming around, somewhere. “I should go. It’s getting really late and you look ready to form a search party.” You tossed your hand of playing cards onto the blanket and attempted a slow rise to your feet. You placed a hand on the cowboy hat to keep it from falling off your head. At least, for now, your stomach had settled. The pounding in your head had lessened.

“I’m surprised your gal pals haven’t been ringing you non-stop.” Dean’s head tilted up and stared.

“I’m the last thing they’re thinking of tonight.” You hadn’t given them much thought either since the first time you’d looked at Dean hours ago. God, it felt like a lifetime ago at this point.

“You should stay a little longer and at least see who wins. We’re all tied up.”

“We’ll just have to call it a draw.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He hopped up much quicker than you.

“Where’d I put my bag?” Your eyes found it on the little table by the kitchenette as soon as you’d asked the question. You hobbled over, letting the blood flow into your legs proper again.

As you rummaged through the contents, you heard the volume of the radio go up.

You turned and saw Dean sitting on the edge of the bed, tapping his thighs.

You giggled. “You like this song?”

“Ah, it’s pop-country. But ladies like it, right?”

You shrugged and dropped into the chair beside the table. “Where I’m from, ladies get weak in the knees for Luke.”

Dean grinned that grin you’d seen countless times that night and wished you could see for every night after. He stood up and swaggered over with purpose, in only that black t-shirt, jeans and sock clad feet. He mouthed the words to the song on his approach. Your eyes were locked on those luscious lips and how well he knew the lyrics.

Gonna stomp my boots in the Georgia mud ***

Gonna watch you make me fall in love

Dean pulled the hat off your head and slid it in the perfect sweet spot on his head. The slight tilt was sexy as hell.

Shake it for the birds, shake it for the bees

Shake it for the catfish swimmin' down deep in the creek

For the crickets and the critters and the squirrels

Shake it to the moon, shake it for me girl

Aw, country girl, shake it for me

He teased and smiled, sticking his fingers into the belt loops of his jeans and swirling his hips. You giggled at his awkward and heartfelt attempt at this show and the blush creeping over the apples of his cheeks.

You rose up and joined him, wanting to relieve him from the embarrassment. And, hell, you finally wanted to dance with him. You sidled up into his space, slotted one leg between his bow legs and circled your hips in time to his. That rhythm being something he easily adjusted to and was happy to continue. You looked up into those green eyes, wrapped your hands around his neck and felt his warm, safe hands glide up and down your back. The lyrics came to you easily and you lip synced along with him. It was corny, cheesy, unexpected, and sexy as hell.

Pony-tail and a pretty smile

Rope me in from a country mile

So come on over here and get in my arms

Spin me around this big ole barn

Tangle me up like grandma's yarn

Yeah, yeah, yeah

The brim of his cowboy hat bopped your nose during a particularly forceful pretend belting of words by Dean. “Sorry.” He spoke aloud and chuckled.

“It’s okay.” You whispered, out of breath from everything he was doing to you. “I’m so glad I took a chance on you, Dean.”

That one statement pulled you both out of the playful and flirty exploration of each other and the boundaries you’d tested. His focus on your face turned serious. And, even though the uptempo song stomped on in the background, his motions halted. His eyes drank you in, every inch of your face. His fingers danced along your jaw, curled around your neck, angling you up to him. To finally kiss you through the rest of Luke Bryan’s crooning.

Now dance, like a dandelion

In the wind on the hill underneath the pines

Yeah, move like the river flows

Feel the kick drum down deep in your toes

All I wanna do is get to holdin' you

And get to knowin' you

And get to showin' you

And get to lovin' you

'Fore the night is through

Baby, you know what to do

You’d died and gone to heaven; were positive of that fact. No man had ever had lips so soft, a mouth so determined, and knew exactly what to do with the precise amount of pressure and tongue.

As Bryan faded out, you heard the chirping of a phone. Dean broke the kiss and leaned his forehead into yours. You felt the brim of his hat on the top of your head. “Sweetheart…” The moan was a mixture of want and something else.

You sighed and knew. “Your brother.” You motioned over to the bed where his phone was. “You should go.”

He leaned down and kissed you again, placed the cowboy hat back on your head and sprinted to the phone. You did the same, found the contact of a Vegas cab company you’d put in at the start of your trip and dialed. You spoke to the weary dispatcher and repeated the name of the motel, watching Dean reply back to the text as he sat on the bed and slipped into his shoes.

“Not too far. Should only be about five minutes.” You nodded. “You can go. I’ll wait outside.”

He rubbed his thighs. “No way. You’ll wait in here with me.”

“Dean, I…”

He cut you off. “You surprised the hell out of me tonight, beautiful. You were up for everything I threw at ya.” He smiled. A genuine, heart tugging smile.

“The night could have taken a much different turn if I could have held my liquor better.”

He shrugged. “But it was still one helluva night. And, I’m glad you took the chance on me, too.” He offered his phone. “Put your number in.” You smiled and did as asked, then handed it back. He shot you a text. “There. Now, you have mine.” He pulled a business card out of his wallet. “And, here. Don’t ask questions, but if for some reason that phone stops working... call this number and say you need to get in touch with Dean Winchester.”

You read the card. “FBI Director, Mike Kayser?”

Dean raised both eyebrows.

“Okay.” You slipped the card and phone in your purse. Headlights flooded through the motel curtains. “Well, that’s my ride, I think.”

Dean stood up and opened the door, walking out into the early morning with you. The yellow cab idled in the parking lot. He waved at the driver, then turned you in his arms and stared at you hard. “You send me a text when you get into your room.”

You chuckled. “You’ll be roaming the desert like Jim Morrison by then.”

“Please.” That soft smile again.

“Okay.”

He grabbed your face with two warm palms, angled you in just the right way so he could dip down and kiss you under your cowboy hat, soft and slow. He whispered in your ear. “I wish I could be your safe bet.”

You gave him one more peck, then walked to the cab. When you opened the back door, you turned and called out. “What would be the fun in that? Flip a coin and see where it lands every once in a while, right?”

He gave you a two finger salute and smiled that Dean Winchester grin. As the driver nodded at your destination and turned out of the lot, you watched him, standing, waiting for you to disappear from view. You held onto that grin. Closed your eyes. Committed it to memory. And hoped you’d see it again.

THE END

***Luke Bryan - Country Girl (Shake It For Me)

MASTERLIST

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fan fiction #dean winchester fluff #spnfanficpond #dean x reader

23 notes · View notes

ranma-rewatch · 3 years

Text

Episode 21: This Ol' Gal's the Leader of the Amazon Tribe!

*checks watch* Oh, hey, it’s time for more Ranma 1/2! Hope things are going well for you, person reading this. I’m...fairly sure I know what’s coming? I just don’t really remember exactly how it happens. Will I like it? Will I not? We’ll have to see, next paragraph, after I’ve seen the episode again.

That was...not what I was expecting? This storyline is both moving much faster and much slower than I remember, if that makes any sense. How? Well, let me recap it a bit first.

The episode starts with someone flying into the city on birds. More specifically, a bunch of small birds supporting a larger bird who doesn’t seem to fly, and the person is riding on that bird. It’s weird. She arrives in a construction zone, an old woman with a walking stick taller than she is, and she says something about looking for her son-in-law. Actually, she says it a lot. A steel girder almost falls on her head, but she hits it with her stick in mid-air, shattering the metal into dust, before running off.

It cut from that to Ryoga attacking Ranma. Why? Well, Ryoga doesn’t really need a reason, but this time he does. Namely, the whole Ranma kissing Akane thing from the last episode. Of course, Ranma was in cat-mode at the time and doesn’t remember it at all, no matter how much Ryoga tells him it’s real. After Ryoga gets splashed with cold water, Ranma is then attacked by Sasuke and Kuno for the same reason, and combined with piglet-form Ryoga’s help, Ranma actually gets kinda beat up in the process.

Heading back to the home, he realizes that Akane’s probably mad if it is true, and we see her in the dojo, but she isn’t really working out the way she usually does when she’s mad. If anything, Akane seems conflicted. Ranma shows up to talk about it with her, and immediately apologizes. Akane asks if he remembers doing it, and he admits he doesn’t. Then, Akane wonders, did it not matter? Would Ranma have kissed anyone, and it just happened to be her?

Not understanding what is going on, Ranma stumbles over answering too long, until Akane starts actually getting riled up, calling him a flirt. That pisses Ranma off, so they get into an argument. There’s also a scene where their dads are playing shogi, and they wonder about that pink cat Shampoo sent them, especially since it’s unlikely she knew about Ranma’s fear of felines.

The answer to that comes as Ranma goes to take a nice, hot bath to clean off after the fights he’s had. The cat jumps in with him, and before he can freak out about his greatest fear being in the room, Shampoo emerges from the bath right where the cat had been, and she’s very naked. Yep, the cat was her that whole time!

In a case of Ultimate Bad Timing, Akane comes to take a bath herself and sees Ranma in the bath with a naked Shampoo. We cut directly from that to Ranma practicing what to tell Akane later. Namely, that he won’t apologize or back down, instead being firm on the fact that it wasn’t what it looked like and he did nothing wrong. And we wonder why Ranma has relationship problems.

Akane appears, and she seems fine...before knocking Ranma into a pond. Not long after the water changes him into his cursed form, the old lady from the beginning appears, and Ranma has a very hard time fighting her. She won’t explain who she is or why she’s fighting him, then disappears. That felt...a bit pointless, honestly.

Later, Shampoo comes by the house again, with food. It seems she has moved to Japan officially, and lives and works at a nearby ramen shop. As everyone’s eating the food, the old woman shows up again, taking a place at the table to eat. It’s revealed that she is Shampoo’s great-grandmother, named Cologne, and she’s there to make sure that Shampoo and Ranma get married. Soun fires back about the engagement Ranma already has to Akane, but Shampoo seems to think she has a good argument for why she should be the one to take Ranma’s hand.

She takes him into the bathroom and uses cold water to turn back into a cat, and it’s revealed exactly what happened. Heading back to China, she was shamed for failing to either kill or marry Ranma, and thus had to train with Cologne. They did that at Jusenkyo, for some reason, and Shampoo fell into the Spring of Drowned Cats. So, apparently the curse is Ranma’s fault, and thus he has to marry her. He rightfully points out that’s utter nonsense, but Cologne doesn’t care.

They fight for a bit, with Cologne showing off one of those moves where it looks like there are a bunch of her but only one is real. Ranma uses food and Cologne’s hunger to figure out the real one, but that doesn’t really matter. She’s a bit impressed by him, but still knows he’s far too inexperienced to ever really stand a chance against her. Then she hits him with her stick, and says something about how he’ll be begging to marry Shampoo in a few days.

Why is that? Well, it seems she did something quite diabolical. She apparently hit a pressure point that has caused Ranma to be incredibly sensitive to water. Even cold water feels boiling hot, but it still activates his curse. To turn back to his preferred form, he’d need to use hot water, but with how sensitive his skin is, hot water would be torture to endure. Thus, he can’t turn back into his uncursed state unless he does exactly what Cologne tells him.

Let me start with the stuff I like about this episode. First off, this is a really interesting way to build a story arc that’s very different from the ones that came before. All the story arcs in season one were pretty typical for anime. Each event led directly to the next, it all felt like single stories that just took multiple episodes to tell.

But if you didn’t know the last episode was part of a story arc, you wouldn’t guess that to be the case. It felt like a single-stand alone episode. And it kind of was. Only two things really carried over: Shampoo the Cat being mailed to them, and Ranma kissing Akane at the end of the episode. In fact, when I saw Ryoga and Ranma fighting, it took me a second to realize what they were talking about, because I didn’t think that event from last episode would be carried over.

I really like how it was done, though. The show made it pretty clear that Akane was feeling some feelings about the whole thing, but Ranma was too caught up in the idea that she’d just be plain angry about it to miss what she was really telling him. She wanted him to tell her that actually it did mean something that in his cat-state, he still sought her out and was affectionate towards her. She didn’t want it to be meaningless. That’s really cute, and the miscommunication there was less annoying than it sometimes is and more adorable. Free relationship tip: learning how to properly communicate to your partner is really important!

The concept of finally introducing a character who is actually a better fighter than Ranma is good. Cologne isn’t Ryoga or Shampoo or Kuno. He can’t just beat her in a cool fight, she’s far more experienced and skilled, something that from here will kind of drive the entire arc. The fact that Shampoo ended up with a cursed form that Ranma finds so terrifying is also interesting. She’s kind of scary to him anyway, this unrelenting force who won’t leave him alone no matter what he does, so making her cursed form that but to the tenth degree is pretty neat.

Last good thing: I really love how nonchalant Kasumi is with Shampoo. Like, to her it’s just like, “Oh, Shampoo! You’re back, that’s lovely, do you want to stay for a meal?” Either Kasumi doesn’t understand the complex romance plot going on, or she does and finds it not reason to stop being a good host.

What didn’t I care for? Well, like I said at the start, it feels like this arc is moving too fast and too slow at the same time. In one episode, this story resolves the Akane/Ranma kiss from last episode, the mystery of the pink cat, introduces a new focal player in the story, and curses Ranma with something he’ll have to fix. That’s a lot to happen, and I was really shocked the pressure point thing happened in this episode too.

But at the same time...I really found my interest waning in the back half of this episode. The Cologne fight just isn’t super gripping, to me anyway, especially when the technique she uses just feels very bland. There’s a good five or so minutes, about a quarter of the runtime of the episode, that I was just bored in.

I also like reintroducing Shampoo, only three episodes after she left, was a bit of a mistake, especially when she’s basically a main character from here on out. I know she was very popular, but even then giving the audience some time away from her let’s them miss her, if that makes any sense.

There was originally going to be a Cologne based Character Spotlight, but then I decided not to because we still haven’t seen a lot from her, and also I’m very tired and my birthday was Monday please stop bullying me

So, yeah, if you couldn’t tell I’m kind of meh on this episode. It’s not bad. It’s not great. I enjoyed the first half quite a bit, but the back half was a little more of a struggle. It was in fact a big enough dip that I’m putting this episode fourth from the bottom, just above the P-Chan introduction episode.

Episode 7: Enter Ryoga, the Eternal ‘Lost Boy’

Episode 12: A Woman's Love is War! The Martial Arts Rhythmic Gymnastics Challenge!

Episode 15: Enter Shampoo, the Gung-Ho Girl! I Put My Life in Your Hands

Episode 9: True Confessions! A Girl's Hair is Her Life!

Episode 2: School is No Place for Horsing Around

Episode 19: Clash of the Delivery Girls! The Martial Arts Takeout Race

Episode 6: Akane's Lost Love... These Things Happen, You Know

Episode 13: A Tear in a Girl-Delinquent's Eye? The End of the Martial Arts Rhythmic Gymnastics Challenge!

Episode 17: I Love You, Ranma! Please Don’t Say Goodbye

Episode 20: You Really Do Hate Cats!

Episode 16: Shampoo's Revenge! The Shiatsu Technique That Steals Heart and Soul

Episode 8: School is a Battlefield! Ranma vs. Ryoga

Episode 11: Ranma Meets Love Head-On! Enter the Delinquent Juvenile Gymnast!

Episode 4: Ranma and...Ranma? If It’s Not One Thing, It’s Another

Episode 5: Love Me to the Bone! The Compound Fracture of Akane's Heart

Episode 1: Here’s Ranma

Episode 3: A Sudden Storm of Love

Episode 21: This Ol' Gal's the Leader of the Amazon Tribe!

Episode 10: P-P-P-Chan! He's Good For Nothin'

Episode 14: Pelvic Fortune-Telling? Ranma is the No. One Bride in Japan

Episode 18: I Am a Man! Ranma's Going Back to China!?

But hey, maybe things will be different next time? I’m actually pretty sure I’ll like it better, because now we’re really getting into the stuff I can remember. Namely, Ranma is going to be introduced to what will be his signature technique in “Behold! The 'Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire' Technique”. I’ll be there next week, and I hope you will too.

#episode 21 #This Ol' Gal's the Leader of the Amazon Tribe!#ranma 1/2 #ranma saotome #akane tendo #shampoo #cologne #anime analysis #anime rewatch

5 notes · View notes

shanastoryteller · 5 years

Note

Saw your post mentioning reading your favorite poems and I was wondering what they were? I've never really liked poems but I really liked that one by Emily Dickson you put in the front of that teen wolf fic so you probably have really good taste in poems, and I've been trying to find some to like.

Good Bones by Maggie Smith

Life is short, though I keep this from my children.Life is short, and I’ve shortened minein a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,a thousand deliciously ill-advised waysI’ll keep from my children. The world is at leastfifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservativeestimate, though I keep this from my children.For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.For every loved child, a child broken, bagged,sunk in a lake. Life is short and the worldis at least half terrible, and for every kindstranger, there is one who would break you,though I keep this from my children. I am tryingto sell them the world. Any decent realtor,walking you through a real shithole, chirps onabout good bones: This place could be beautiful,right? You could make this place beautiful.

Because I could not stop for Death (479)

Emily Dickinson

Because I could not stop for Death – He kindly stopped for me – The Carriage held but just Ourselves – And Immortality.

We slowly drove – He knew no hasteAnd I had put awayMy labor and my leisure too,For His Civility –

We passed the School, where Children stroveAt Recess – in the Ring – We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain – We passed the Setting Sun –

Or rather – He passed us – The Dews drew quivering and chill – For only Gossamer, my Gown – My Tippet – only Tulle –

We paused before a House that seemedA Swelling of the Ground – The Roof was scarcely visible – The Cornice – in the Ground –

Since then – ‘tis Centuries – and yetFeels shorter than the DayI first surmised the Horses’ HeadsWere toward Eternity –

this one is an old nursery rhyme:

One bright day in the middle of the night, Two dead boys got up to fight. They turned their backs and faced each other, Drew their swords and shot the other. One was blind and the other couldn’t see, So they chose a fool for their referee. A mute eyewitness screamed with fright.A cripple danced to see the sight. A deaf policeman heard the noise.He came and shot the two dead boys.A paralyzed donkey passing by,Kicked the copper in the eye, And knocked him through a rubber wall, Into a ditch and drowned them all.If you don’t believe this lie is true,Ask the blind man. He saw it too.

She swearsshe will nevergive birthto a daughter.Won’t evenplant a garden.— Adira Bennett

Do not go gentle into that good night

Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,Old age should burn and rave at close of day;Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,Because their words had forked no lightning theyDo not go gentle into that good night.Good men, the last wave by, crying how brightTheir frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,Rage, rage against the dying of the light.Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,Do not go gentle into that good night.Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sightBlind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,Rage, rage against the dying of the light.And you, my father, there on the sad height,Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.Do not go gentle into that good night.Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

My mouth is a fire escape.The words coming outdon’t care that they are naked.There is something burning in here.

— Andrea Gibson

Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep

By Mary Elizabeth Frye

Do not stand at my grave and weepI am not there; I do not sleep.I am a thousand winds that blow,I am the diamond glints on snow,I am the sun on ripened grain,I am the gentle autumn rain.When you awaken in the morning’s hushI am the swift uplifting rushOf quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not there; I did not die.

Never regret thy fall,O Icarus of the fearless flightFor the greatest tragedy of them allIs never to feel the burning light

— Oscar Wilde

Annabel Lee BY EDGAR ALLAN POEIt was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me. I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea, But we loved with a love that was more than love— I and my Annabel Lee— With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven Coveted her and me. And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her highborn kinsmen came And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulchre In this kingdom by the sea. The angels, not half so happy in Heaven, Went envying her and me— Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud by night, Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we— Of many far wiser than we— And neither the angels in Heaven above Nor the demons down under the sea Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride, In her sepulchre there by the sea— In her tomb by the sounding sea.

self-parodies & psalms for shit-scared twenty-somethings by gyzm

is perhaps my favorite poem and just gut punches me whenever i read it but they are a tumblr person who’s poem deserves more attention so please reblog/comment on their poem directly :)

most of what i’ve learned in the first half of my twenties is to embrace statistics i’m not smart enough to verify; theones about black holes and how much of the universe is justempty space: between atoms and from one planet to another.it makes it easier, to stare at my overcrowded sink and thinkthat to get from the floor of this filthy kitchen to the neareststar would take more lifetimes than i could borrow or steal.maybe there is a single withered raspberry molding beneath every single plate i own but in the scheme of things that’s insignificant, a non-event in the life of a non-event, and so canwait until tomorrow, when this hangover is gone.

please, god, don’t let me die before i turn thirty. i’ve heardthat that’s when it all comes together, and i know those’re allfish stories, probably, the lies of those who need to pretend justlike me, but hell, i choose to believe. because the thing is, god, if idie tomorrow, a few years from now, i can pretty much guarantee it’ll be in torn underpants, on a bad hair day, in a bra that doesn’t fitthe way i’d like it to; please, god, don’t let me die before i work outhow to drag myself out of bed in time to dry my hair every morning. i’vebeen promising myself for years i’d learn to get off the couch on monday nights and do laundry, god, okay, i don’t mind living in dirty jeans but i don’t want to die in them, i’m begging, i thank you, i’m sorry, amen.

there should be a page at the back of every baby book thatsays “baby’s first moment of cold realization that they are an gigantic shitheaded asshole.” it’s important, as milestones go. iknow it’s not as glamorous as a first word or a graduation but i’dargue that developmentally, it means at least as much — god knows i put more thought into the bleak portrait of myself at two a.m., staring haggard out from the filmy surface of my mirror, than i did in my ham-fisted infant attempts to say my father’s name. it would benice, is all, to have a warning, to flip through pages of childhood accomplishments and see that placeholder, at the end; to know that the future was coming, inevitably, to make dipshits of us all.

don’t put liquid soap in the dishwasher. don’t put your vibrator in the dishwasher. don’t forget that your mother is coming over until fifteen minutes before she shows up and put every scrap ofevidence that you are a disaster zone living underneath a veneerof overdone eye makeup and slapdash dreams of better tomorrowsin the dishwasher. don’t put your grandmother’s china, that vase you bought at the flea market, a bowl half-full of aged guacamole,in the dishwasher. on the mornings that will keep coming — when the shower does not seem like enough, when you can feel your long history of mistakes pockmarking your face and oozing out from beneath your armpits — don’t put yourself in the dishwasher.

the human body replaces skin cells so quickly that two weeks from now, every part of me will be brand new, and i will still feel as though i have spent my first quarter-century on this planet touching both too much and not enough. that feels profound atthis moment but the human body replaces humiliations fastereven than skin; two weeks from now i will remember saying this,stare at the ceiling above my bed and think: no one has ever been as big of an asshole as you are. there are billions of stars in our galaxy and billions of galaxies in our universe and my ceiling is the only clean part of my apartment. i know it’s a fish story, but c’mon, god, okay — i’m just asking to believe i’ll make it to thirty better dressed; less selfish.

#poem #a poem is just an undirected prayer #you know i read a short book of poems in middle school written from god's pov and one of them was about him/her being pissed that everyone #assumed they were a guy #and i've been thinking of it for 13 years but i have no idea what it was called or what the book was called #anon #asks

370 notes · View notes

thursday8econlive · 3 years

Text

Economists at 3 A.M.

Jefferson Ng

Student ID: 51289495

When I think about how the pandemic affected economics in my daily life, the internet is the first thing that pops into my head. Have you ever watched that video on youtube advertisement that apple made about how you can use the apple system to make work efficiently? Yes, this (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6_pru8U2RmM) video. That was the closest way I thought I was involved in economics, after all, you could relate this to brand quality and all of that marketing stuff.

But that is how it affects EVERY SINGLE PERSON thanks to quarantine, and it is BORING!!!

How does the pandemic affect me, A UCI student living in China? The answer is: It changed my time zone. Because of the pandemic, I can’t take in-person classes in Irvine. And online classes are great until I realize all my live zoom sessions and quizzes are at 2 A.M. in the mourning! I have no choice but to start sleeping in the afternoons and waking up at midnight.

It will be like living in the UK, even though I’m in a completely different place.

And there are lots of opportunity costs to studying at night: I can’t see anyone during the day; I have little sunshine exposure throughout the day; I can’t eat freshly cooked food from restaurants. But every decision has a trade-off, and what I got from this trade-off is to study in UCI, but also, to enjoy going to the gym at 3 A.M. in the mourning.

Thank the pandemic, most of my day is spent in front of my computer. For my physical and mental health, I have an incentive to go to the gym because going to the gym has a positive externality on my productivity.

Have you ever heard of that famous quote from basketball star Kobe Bryant: “Have you ever saw Los Angeles at 4 A.M.?”. I can now ask the same question but replacing Los Angelos with Shen Zhen.

As you might expect, there is no one on the streets at 3 A.M. in the mourning. Meaning, not only do I get plentiful of freshly produced first-hand air, but I also get to walk in the middle of the road without worrying about cars. I suppose this is one of the trade-offs I got from this lifestyle.

But economics doesn’t just live in the trade-off of my lifestyles.

My gym is about 20 minutes away from my house if I choose to walk, however, I have an alternative called MoBike. Mobike is one of those Bikes on the streets that you can rent simply by scanning the QR code on the bike with your phone. It is a very profitable business. Traffic congestions are a big problem in Shenzhen, so you can imagine the demand for cheap transportations is high. Mobike is an inferior good, and people who can’t effort cars are its common customers. And the bike’s cost curve is ridiculously profitable. Aside from the tremendous fixed cost required for the business, the only variable cost might be from the maintenance of the bike’s health.

On my way to the gym, I stop at what I call 7-24 for water sold in big plastic containers. 7-24 is a name for 7-11 because, at Shen Zhen, almost all grocery stores(including 7-11) are open to customers at all times. Most stores hire people for night shifts, and it is these grocery stores operating at 3 A.M. are perfect for people like me. Since all of these mini supermarkets are selling the same product, they are known as competitive markets. It’s interesting to think about how these competitive markets are selling products that have monopolistic firms(How they are intertwined within one another). Anyways, these competitive markets are price takers, hence they are trying to sell as much as they possibly can to maximize their profits. And the reason they are opened at 3 A.M. is probably that the profit made by selling more products at night is greater than the variable cost of sleep deprivation and electric bills.

My gym is opened 24x7. Even though I can tell from the way those employees yell at me when I wake them up that they don’t understand their policies. I have a membership at this gym, and you have to pay a price at the beginning of the month for unlimited access. So, the only logical way to maximize my consumer surplus is to go to the gym every day at 3 A.M. After all I am getting more quantity without paying a price, which is enlarging that consumer surplus triangle.

This pandemic may have been a disaster to everyone, but just like how people can face trade-offs, you may also use this pandemic to gain a valuable new perspective of life. BTW, Living at night is not as lonely as you think it is, because I have all of those bright economists staying by my side at 3 A.M.

(The pictures was taken by me)

1 note · View note

btswishes · 5 years

Text

That one.

Monsta X (Wonho Maifia Au)

Part1 / Part2 / Part3 /...

A/N: This is a bit new as an idea for me. Enjoy and sorry for any mistakes made. :*

Word count: 3,109

Warnings: Blood, talk of death, cussing

-------------------------------------------------------

Society lived normal lives and complained about little things. They never knew what it was to struggle, live day for day and know your life wasn’t yours to begin with. Your whole world was a small room. One bed, one desk and little objects scattered all around it. You would wake up to screams, loud noises people from the rooms next to you banging. After the first few years you stop noticing what happened outside your prison.

Placing your headphones in your ear, you would sit on the bed, knees to the chest, looking at the wall. New people came in and out of this building. There was no escaping it, one had only 2 options. Get ‘adopted’ by some sketchy organisation, or get carried out in a body bag. Sadly the truth was that there weren’t many workers like you and most couldn’t take the first 10 days in this rat hole.

If you get adopted you either get killed, or end it all yourself. So in the end of the day it was die or die. You were here already for the 5th year, but your room being at the end of the corridor, where the craziest creatures were, no one visited. Mostly because you staid quiet and it felt like there wasn’t anyone to even check.

It had been even more empty since your brother ,in life conditions ,got adopted a few days ago. Yuu was a boy originally from Guangzhou, China. He was pretty happy, the opposite of you. You came to like him after spending almost 2 years in here. Talkative Yuu would get scolded often, but you never thought he would be taken like that with the soft character he had.

Today was a Friday on which usually you would get customers. As always you were in the same spot, listening to music, the muzzle being held onto your head with a lock. The only thing you could hear was the music blasting in your ears, keeping you in this world you created for yourself.

“Sir. We didn’t know that someone like you would be coming here these days.” a man was talking outside, following a bunch of men “Most haven’t been surviving lately and we have been loosing them like flies. Not many have been found too.” they stopped next to your door and peeked into Yuu’s old home “This one here was the last danger level we had. He was adopted 3 days ago.”

A loud hit echoed in the hallway. The man was obviously pissed at this news.

“Hyung.” a boy almost whispered standing in front of your door “Look.” the man and his people followed right behind him, peeking into the dark room.

“ Oh that is number 23.She was one of our first arrivals, pretty docile and quiet, we never had any problems with her.” the worker rubbed his palms together uneasy

“Isn’t this supposed to be the code red wing? “ the boy who found you commented with a raised eyebrow

“Well yes, she is here on boss’s orders but unlike everyone else she never made a peep and never tried to kill herself.” he was talking fast, worried that one wrong move and his head will roll on the floor

“Open the door.” the main shot spoke silently

“S-sir I can’t do that.” the worker kept fidgeting, tripping over his words. Suddenly they got stuck in his throat ,when the tall man grabbed his shirt.

“I didn’t ask you, I told you to do it.” pushing him back he fell on the floor and fiddled, pulling out the keys. The sudden light creeping in your room finally made you notice what was happening outside. Your head moved slowly left, view point raising up, you saw him (look at gif)

Your eyes locked onto him, his blonde hair was moving gently as a small smirk creeped onto his lips. His hand reached in from the hole and he waved at you slowly. With the same speed you stood up and walked over to him.The light of the hallway was illuminating your body from your nose down. Going closer in your line of sight ,the keeper in panic pulled out a gun and pointed it at you.

“S-stay back beast!” he was told that if anyone walks past the line in their room he was allowed to shoot and you did just that. His voice was very loud and you could hear it from the headphones. The moment you looked at him, the man snapped from the fear and shot once at you, hitting one of the cables coming down from your ear. This being your only means of escape from the dark world, made his action unforgivable.

Since the area from your nose up was covered in darkness, the blood red color of your eyes illuminated everything like it was nothing. Your hand creeped into the door, nails scratching he titanium.

“Sir let’s move!” the man hid his weapon and started pushing the gang of men to move, but the blonde haired man didn’t take even the smallest step.

“I want that one.” he stepped away from the door and waited for the worker to unlock the gate. He hesitated after what he just did ,but the gang wasn’t feeling very friendly towards him and both ways he was gonna get it. Calling upon a few more people, they opened the gate. There was a moment of silence before a hand grabbed the edge of the wall and crawled out from the pitch darkness. Your eyes were stinging from the sudden light. Looking around, you were scanning everyone, the way they were dressed, the things they had on them.

The guards escorted you to a room where you found two women. They were dressed in military clothes and had weapons as well.Quite understandable.

“Congratulations, you are getting adopted.” one of them walked up to you, her hand pulling you onto a chair and brushing out the hair you were growing for 5 years now “I will cut only a bit of it, since last time we tried you broke our equipment.” the other one stripped you naked and pulled out clothes you had never seen before.

“This is something like a gift from us to you. Chose the style you like.” your hair had been tried up into a high ponytail reaching below your butt. There was a pair of black skinny jeans with ripped knees and a over-sized hoodie that caught your eyes. The women helped you get dressed since you had never tried things like these on and gave you a pair of military boots that had a bit of a heel on them. It felt awkward at first but you got the hand of it.

“I would have put some makeup on you, even if you look really pretty without it. But that muzzle is in the way.”the woman flashed you a sad smile “ You a code red?” you nodded slowly

“Must have been awful here for you. I hope you find some happiness outside.” the women knew that it wasn’t possible ,but most of the children here were taken care of by them and somehow they had a maternal instinct towards them.Stepping out and the group of men laid their eyes on you. From behind them walked up the blonde man, leaning down to look at you.

“Look at you. “ his eyes scanned you up and down a few times, before he lifted his hand towards the guards “Key.” after a bit of discussing, they handed over a small object. The man took it swiftly and leaning closer to you. For a second your eyes widened, but the clicking sound you heard followed the loud tud. Your lips parted a bit as your palms ran over your cheeks. Snapping your head up you saw him smiling at you “I knew you were even prettier without that thing.”

You couldn’t believe you were feeling your skin, your head wasn’t heavy anymore and it felt nice for once. His big hand came in front of you and you just stared at it. “I don’t bite, I promise.” the man smiled, but you were confused. The gang of boys were staring closely when their boss gently pulled your arm up and placed it onto his, closing his fingers around your hand “ Next time I do this, grab my hand, ok?” you nodded shortly after. With one swift move he pulled you out of the gigantic building and you realized that you were in the middle of nowhere this whole time. Land upon land and nothing else insight.

The men opened a car door and sat down one after the other, as you stared.

“Hyung.”someone with brown hair pointed at you. You were inspecting the whole situation. Two strong hands grabbed your hips and lifted you up from the ground pulling you into the vehicle and onto his firm lap.

“There we go.” you sat there,quiet just flashing everyone big doe eyes

“I don’t mean to be the one saying this, but Wonho you sure she can do the job we need her to do? Unlike the others we saw she seems.....weak.” this one had an interesting face shape and was also blonde

“She was in the danger zone, I am sure there was a reason for that.” the man looked at you while you were sitting onto his lap “I think we should introduce ourselves.” from your right their names were Shownu, I.M, Minhyuk, Kihyun, Hyungwon and Jooheon. “I am known as Wonho the boss of this mafia family.” he rubbed his hand onto your back in a calming and soothing way, trying to make you comfortable.

Your head was staring out the car window, as you were taking in all the new things around you.

“Y/N.” everyone had given up on a conversation with you when you spoke

“Huh?” Jooheon noticed your voice

“That is my name.” you added, looking at the men in the car “You were introducing yourselves right?” the boy just nodded, shocked from your answer

“Good girl.” Wonho patted your thigh. Your eyes trembled a bit when you heard praise, something that never even reached your room in that hellhole.

“So...”Shownu turned towards you “How long have you been in there?Any family or something like that?”

“5 years, I had a mom, dad and brother. “ you explained

“Do they...um kidnap you from your home or something like that?” Jooheon jumped back into the convo. Pursing your lips out you thought for a bit.

“It’s called harvesting. When a meta human awakens they get a single. The first moments are when we are at our weakest and they offer fake help. No one wants to look like a monster so they act like angels and take us from there.Some go crazy and end it, others get adopted.” you said calmly

“Is everyone as calm as you?” Hyungwon’s hair pulled your attention when you slowly reach out to him. He was surprised but didn’t move ,with the piercing gaze his leader was giving him. The corners of your lips moved up a bit as your fingers went though his hair

“You look like the puppy I used to have.” your comment made everyone in the car start laughing

“She said you look like a dog!” Minhyuk grabbed his stomach trying to breath

Wonho’s eyes were focused onto you, the smile catching him off guard. His strong hand pulled you back to him as your arms unintentionally wrapped around his neck.

“Anyways!”Hyungwon cut everyone off still waiting for his answer “You are too calm for someone of...your kind.”

“I am not calm.” you sighed as you felt the car stop “I just made peace with my life. After awhile you realize that trying to change the world around you is a waste of time and energy. You will go mad if you try to do something about a place like that. They didn’t hurt us if we didn’t act up, we got one thing a month if we were good. I just learned to change the world in here.” you tapped your chest “And it was much better from then on.”

“Damn, that made me almost bow down to you. Who knows all the things you have seen in there.” Hyungwon exclaimed

“You can only hear things and just imagine what is going on.”

“Hyung we are here.” I.M opened the door and in front of you was standing tall a mansion. It was just beautiful, trees all around it, bright green grass and bushes upon bushes of roses and other flowers you hadn’t even known existed.

Wonho got off, still holding your hand tight “Welcome to your new home.” With a small jump you soon touched the grounded once more.He was keeping you close, like a father protecting his child. Your eyes looking around, curious. Wonho stopped his motion the moment he noticed his two doberman guard dogs. They were big and pretty vigilant. They listened only to their owner, not even to the closest men he had.

Wonho hurried to pull you behind his back. You crooked your head to the side and noticed the other men staying far from you two.

“Loki, Ares! Stand down!” the dogs were focused onto what seemed to them intruders. Without noticing your swift movement, not even a second later your body was standing in front of the dogs. A cold chill ran down the spine of everyone looking at this scene.

“Y/N!”upon hearing your name you turned back. Out of your sight but in Wonho’s, they stood tall above your head. Loki’s paws landed on your shoulders as his mouth opened wide.

“Oh I can’t look at this.”Jooheon looked away, expecting the worst knowing these creatures

Almost like a motion picture movie, your neck moved slowly back towards the dogs, as you left a big and sloppy lick run across your face. A small smile tried to pop onto your lips and you started patting the dog.

“Are you Loki?” the dogs were getting hyper and happy for no reason after the stare down you had with them behind their owner’s back.

“Wait what?!” I.M almost choked upon seeing all of this. He tried to walk closer thinking they were more friendly now, but in a blink of an eye both Ares and Loki stood in front of you in a defensive position, growling “Wow, ok” the boy stepped back with his hands in front of his face “Got it.”

“This is pretty new.” with arms crossed in front of his chest, Shownu spoke to the boss

“Yeah.”Wonho was confused since his guard dogs never acted like this with people from the family, not to mention someone they never met in their whole lives. With a finally calm step he walked over to you and reach down to tap Ares on the nose, turning him into a playful puppy “They seem to like you a lot.”

“Mhm.”you nodded

“I have had them since they were puppies.”

“They love you very much ,even if you mistake their names sometimes.” you said looking at the man next to you

“Yeah-” his body moved towards you swiftly “Wait how do you know that?”

“Well Ares here is very talkative, right?” upon your question the dog barked out loud

“You understand them?!”Jooheon’s eyes widened “No wait, you understand animals ?”

“Mmmm.” looking up, taking some time to think “Yes, but I am better with dog-like and cat-like creatures since I have been close to them before and we are similar.”

“In what way? Claws and glowing eyes?” the boy continued, asking what everyone wanted to know at this point.

“Let’s close the door and go to the living room. Not here.”Wonho stared at the garden in front of the mansion, looking a bit cautious. Soon you found yourself sitting on the ground, playing with the dogs and everyone else comfortably onto a soft chair.

“So...are you closer to a cat or dog?” Minhyuk began where you left off

“I have enhanced senses and reflexes. I can feel the presence of any living creature in a wide radius. I can tell you how many people are on the territory right now without mistake. Most of my abilities come from animal factors. If there is a creature out there that can do something I can too. But I need to know about it. Being locked up I had seen only guard dogs and the occasional cats that sneak in the building.So I am much more familiar with them.”

“You can talk with them too?” since you were facing away from the group, you didn’t focus too much on who was asking

“Yes. Animal languages are like English for example. Australia, UK, America and so on, differ only on some native vocal changes.”

“So you are saying they speak the same language but different species have dialects?” you nodded “Wow that is amazing.”

“Do these abilities appear out of nowhere when you are in danger or do you use them consciously?”

“Umm, I think both. There are so many creatures in the animal kingdom that it is impossible to know every thing I am capable of. But I can’t fly since I am obviously not equipped for that.” you shook your hands in the air

“Ok, enough questions.” Wonho pushed himself off the chair and looked at the boys. Without even a peep, they got up, bowed and left the house. You were sitting in this gigantic room, alone with the dogs and Wonho. His footsteps came closer, until his body was behind yours. Your head moved up to look at him.

“Are you my new owner?” you asked with pure eyes, shooting an arrow through his heart

“No.” he bent down, running his hand through your hair ,making you lean into it “You have rights like me and any person in the world.”

“Then what are you?”

“Well, think of me as your boss. I give you things to do and you work for me.” with a small nod you said ok “It’s late, so you should be going to bed.”

The man stood up and you followed him up the stairs into a room, that looked like a whole apartment compared to your old one. He said goodnight and left fast.

The first thing you noticed was the bookshelf taking the space of a whole wall. Almost instinctively you grabbed one and sat on the bed, reading and reading as much information you could find. The night had just began, but you weren’t planning to rest.

152 notes · View notes