#i freelance and I’ve been in a dry spell for so long that I’m getting worried

[retrogradedreaming]

Recently realized I don’t actually hate my job, I just hate having to do it every day. I hate that I can’t wake up and say “I feel like drawing or chilling outside or cleaning up my home today” and just do it because I have to lick the boots of capitalism instead

[lailyn]

@febuwhump

Prompt Day 17: Field Surgery

Breathe Easy

"Why are you breathing like that?" Tony snapped. "Stop breathing like that!"

"It'd be easier - to stop - " Loki wheezed, "breathing altogether."

"Are you trying to be funny?" Tony seethed. 

"Hah!" Loki let out a chortle that sounded too painful not to be an expression of suppressed agony, evidenced by the sudden buckling of his knees.

Tony lunged forward and caught the Asgardian's toppling frame before he could inhale a faceful of sand. "Loki!"

"Heh," Loki rasped in between coughs. "Don't think I've ever heard you call me that before - "

A coughing fit drove all breath out of him, eerily silent despite the violent seizing of his chest.

"Are you choking? Is that what's happening?" Tony's hands hovered over Loki's quivering back, unsure if he should thump it or rub it or whatever the hell one was supposed to do in this sort of situation -

Call someone! Tony thought. I should call someone.

"FRIDAY!" He shouted. "Get Banner on the phone now!"

"Doctor Banner is away on a humanitarian relief mission in the Middle East, Boss," the AI answered. "He is currently unreachable. Would you like to leave him a voice message?"

"Well, get me Doctor Strange, then!"

Loki was not going to like this, but Tony was running low on options. "Or is he out freelancing too?"

"No…" Loki moaned. 

"Doctor Strange is on the line for you, Boss."

"Stephen!" Tony shouted in relief.

"What is it, Stark?" An irate-looking holographic live image of Stephen Strange popped up. "What is going on? Where the hell are you?"

"Not important. Loki needs help."

"What kind of help?" the Sorcerer Supreme asked warily.

"I don't know! He's having trouble breathing, and before you ask, no, it's not from a spell or a curse. It's a work-related injury, caused by aliens and sheer stupidity." 

Tony tried to glare at his lover but at the sight of Loki writhing on the ground, his anxiety won out.

"Please, you gotta help him," he pleaded.

"Tony, I am thousands of miles away in Kathmandu. I'm kind of in the middle of a crisis myself," Stephen said with a voice tinged with desperation. "I can try to wrap things up here, but it's going to be a while."

The sounds of Loki coughing must have caught the sorcerer-doctor's attention when he suddenly winced, "Is he coughing up blood?"

"No!" Tony looked again, and blanched at the sight of blood spattered on the desert floor like paint. "Yes! Oh fu- " 

"Stark, calm down. How much blood?"

"What do you mean, how much?" Tony's voice shrilled. "There's blood, isn't that enough?"

"Expose his chest, I need you to tell me what you see," Stephen ordered.

Tony did as he was told, ripping away Loki's mangled chest plate and tearing all the layers of protective leather underneath.

"Any visible chest wounds?"

"No, none that I can see."

"Rib - fracture," Loki gasped. "Felt it crack."

"Loki's saying it's a rib fracture, said he felt it crack."

"Chest pain?"

"Yeah. A great deal of it, from the looks of him," Tony said worriedly.

"You mentioned breathlessness?"

"Uhuh. He can hardly breathe," Tony said. Surely Stephen could hear Loki's desperate gasps from all the way there in the Himalayas. 

"Are both sides of the chest rising equally?"

Tony scrutinised Loki's black and blue torso. "The left side isn't rising at all."

"Okay. It could be a number of things, a flail chest or a collapsed lung, but a pneumothorax will kill you the fastest, so now I want you to feel his trachea."

"Let's just forget my insane IQ for a second and pretend that I'm very, very stupid," Tony growled. "How and what do I feel?"

"His windpipe, Tony!" Stephen said in exasperation. "Feel his throat with your index and middle fingers and tell me if it's central or deviated to any one side!" 

"Can't you doctor people speak like a normal person?" Tony groused.

He traced his fingers down Loki's neck as gently as he could. In his distress, Loki had thrown his head all the way back and his neck muscles were contorting under the strain but the displacement of his Adam's apple was obvious.

"The windpipe's deviated, yeah." 

"To which side?"

"To the left."

Tony could sense Stephen's impending relief, as well as the hope in his next question. "Whose left, yours or his?"

"Uh, mine?"

Tony heard Stephen curse under his breath. "Goddamnit, Stark, it's always the patient's right or the patient's left!"

"And I was supposed to know that how??" 

Stephen ignored the indignant outburst. "There's no time to lose."

"Wh-What is it?" Tony grew frantic at the sudden change in his friend's voice.

"This is one of those life-threatening emergencies most of us don't get to see in all our career, so...congratulations." 

Despite the light humour, the former surgeon sounded deadly serious. "And you need to listen to me very, very carefully coz you're gonna be the one to fix it."

"Fix what?" Tony's mouth felt suddenly dry. He had a mental image of cracking open Loki's chest and he felt instantly sickened. 

"It's a tension pneumothorax, Tony. Most likely scenario is the fractured rib punctured a lung, causing air to leak into the space between the lungs and the chest wall. But it's a one-way valve, and all that air is trapped inside his thorax with nowhere to go."

Tony swallowed hard. "That sounds bad."

"It's very bad," Stephen agreed reluctantly. "If you don't release the trapped air, all that pressure will compress his heart, his aorta - "

"Yeah, I get it," Tony interrupted. He did not want to hear Stephen say it; he could see it in Loki's eyes, glassy and damp with fear. 

He had only ever seen lips that blue on corpses. 

He had only just kissed those lips this morning, right before the Quinjet dropped them off in the middle of the Mojave Desert following a tip-off that the rogue Kree soldiers they were looking for were holed up somewhere here. 

Powered by technology siphoned off the Tesseract, the Kree's advanced weaponry had stunned Tony to the point of paralysis; if it had not been for Loki stepping into the line of fire, he would not be alive right now. 

"You can't wait for me, Tony," Stephen stressed. "He won't make it before I get there." 

"I know," Tony said softly. "Tell me what to do."

He listened to Stephen's instructions. A part of him protested at the thought of hurting Loki further, but he knew it had to be done. 

He groped down the side of Loki's ankle strap where he knew Loki kept a small knife on him at all times.

"Do you trust me?" Tony asked quietly. 

Loki nodded feverishly, never breaking eye contact, fearful to even blink. 

Do what you must, the unnaturally bright green eyes seemed to say.

Tony's own eyes watered. "I love you."

I love you, Loki's bloodless lips worked silently around the words, but Tony heard them all the same. 

He leaned down for a kiss as cold as ice. 

The taste of blood galvanised him and he ran his fingers down Loki's breastbone, looking for the dip in between the second and third ribs. 

"Midclavicular line," Tony muttered, following the space between ribs as instructed, reminding himself of the landmark Stephen had repeated over and over. "Aim below the second rib, in the midclavicular line..."

And Tony slid the knife in.

"That's it. Go a little further. It's alright, just keep going until you hear a pop or a hiss…."

Tony could hear Stephen egging him on in the background, but it was all white noise. All he cared about was getting Loki to breathe again. 

Suddenly there was an audible whoosh of air as though a balloon was being slowly deflated, but nothing was more beautiful than the sound of Loki gasping in a full breath, the first ever since Tony had dug him out from under the rubble of the Kree mothership Loki had destroyed in his wrath.

Stephen let out an uncharacteristic cheer over the connection, sounding mighty pleased with both himself and his student. "Well done, Stark!" 

"Yeah." Tony's head swam and he sank heavily onto the ground, Loki's bloodied knife dropping and disappearing into a shrub. "I did it. I can't believe it."

"Feels great, doesn't it?" There was envy in Stephen's voice that Tony did not quite understand but couldn't care less about, not at this very moment. 

He walked his knees across the dust and gathered Loki into his arms, trembling limbs and fractured ribs and all.

"Loki." Tony ran his fingers through the dusty curls to try to shake off all the trapped sand. "Loki."

"I'm here," Loki said, sounding absolutely and utterly exhausted. He wrapped his arms around the metal arm, the one closest to him and holding him for dear life. "I'm here, Tony."

"This is the shittiest Valentine ever," Tony said, his voice cracking ever so slightly. 

Loki chuckled weakly. Each breath was now easier than the one before. "I'm sure there are people out there who are having a worse Valentine's Day than us."

"You think so?"

"I know so," Loki sighed into Tony's chest. "They don't have you."

"You scared me, Games."

"And I am going to scare you again, I'm sure. But never intentionally."

Loki gazed up at his saviour, his reason for living, his heart. "This I promise you."

Tony calmed as the adrenaline finally left him and the love flooded in in its wake. 

"Good enough for me, Bambi."

He bent down once more for a kiss, sweet, long and tender. 

"Happy Valentine's Day, Baby."

"Happy Valentine's Day, Anthony."

[merakiaes]

By Your Side - James Conrad

Pairing: James Conrad x reader

Requested: Yes. 

Prompts: None. 

Warnings/notes: I didn’t include very much interaction between James and reader in this, sadly, so send in more requests for James please, I love him😭 Not proofread so sorry in advance for any mistakes in grammar or spelling. Leave a comment and tell me what you think, hope you enjoy it xx

Wordcount: 3513

Summary: You get separated from James in the crash and are forced to leave your post and head out to find your way back to him and the others alongside Jack Chapman after almost being killed. 

You thought you were done with this kind of life. Both you and James did.

After James’s mission-gone-wrong in Malaysia in 1965, on which he was supposed to rescue Jenny, the seven-year-old illegitimate daughter of a Malaysian woman and a British embassy worker, who was kidnapped and held for ransom by a unit of rogue Indonesian soldiers, only for both the girl and two of his five men to be killed in an ambush, he hadn’t been the same.

The failure of the mission marked the beginning of his disillusioned outlook, as he lost trust in his government and country as well as himself.

It was his last mission as a soldier in the British Special Forces. Ever since then, he had cautiously accepted freelance missions only when he felt the odds weren't stacked against him, said missions only getting scarcer and scarcer as he settled down with you.

Before the mission, you had been in Vietnam alongside him, to teach jungle warfare and survival techniques to American troops.

You were both trackers, specialists in survival and recovering lost people. You were basically the same person, with very similar backgrounds and reasons for choosing the way in life that you had, and hit it off immediately, your professional relationship taking a more intimate turn.

You hadn’t been there with him during the Malaysian mission, you had never been right in the action, not even once, but you saw the effect the last mission had on him and decided right then and there that you were done.

You were okay with him going on easy missions every once in a blue moon, but you weren’t ready to let him go put his life in danger.

Luckily, he didn’t even want to do those kinds of things anymore in the first place, turning down every offer that would be too great a risk to never be able to see you again. Not that you knew about the last part.

But then Bill Randa showed up with an offer to accompany him and a large crew to an uncharted island, thinking that James’ raw courage, survival skills and understanding of nature could represent the expedition’s best shot at making it off the island alive.

You had been the first to protest and James hadn’t been far behind, shaking his head and turning him down. But the more money they put on the table, both literally and metaphorically speaking, the more tempted you could see him become.

As you might have guessed by now, he accepted, on the one condition that they recruited you too, saying you wouldn’t go without each other.

A closed deal and some time later, you were sitting in the back of a chopper, heading straight into the ruthless storm surrounding the island.

You were in the chopper with Jack Chapman, while James was in a chopper with Mason and Slivko. 

You had been planning to go together in the same chopper, but James had come out later and you had already been in the air alongside the rest of the choppers by then.

Storms had never been much of a problem for you, seeing as you were a survivalist and an expert in anything having to do with nature. 

You weren’t worried for a second, not even when the strikes of lightning struck right next to the open doors, and before you knew it, the storm was over and you were safe. 

At least that what you had thought.

But then it happened.

First the bombs, dropping into the ground and leaving loud, bright explosion in their wake, and then a tree shooting through the air like a big arrow, trunk-first and heading straight for one of the choppers, smashing through its windshield and sending the flying vessel to the ground.

It all happened so quickly after that, and at the same time, everything around you was moving in slow motion.

You had wasted no time in searching for James’s hand beside you, only to realize with a panicked whimper that he was in another chopper.

Bringing your hand back to your lap where you clenched both hands into fists, you took a peek outside, your heart hammering in your chest at the sight you were met with.

Together, all of you watched the giant shadow that stood in the distance, standing as tall as the sun, completely blocking the view and its big, hairy fist shooting out in first of many hits, striking the side of another chopper inside which you could see the soldiers struggling to hold on as it fell.

Once it had made contact with the ground, the creature picked it back up, holding it above its head, roared, and swallowed the soldier.

It was all chaos from there on forward, the comms going wild.

“On guard, Fox Five! Fox Eight is down! Fox Four is down! Respond, Fox Three!”

“Oh, my God!”

“Fox Seven moving into position, three o’clock.”

“Does anybody know what that is?”

“I don’t know, man. God damn…”

“Three klicks west of Red LZ.”

“Jesus! I’ve never seen anything like it!”

“Set a perimeter of three-hundred meters. Do not engage.”

“Roger. Climb one eight-hundred.”

“Is that a monkey?” Chapman’s voice came from the front of the chopper you were currently sitting in the back of, but you could only focus on the giant gorilla standing in front of you, wearily taking note of the way it was getting more and more agitated the more you circled around it.

“What the hell is that?”

“Somebody talk to me, man.”

“Turn right, heading two-five-zero. Contact approach.”

“Fox Leader to Fox Group. Form a perimeter. Ready gunner positions.”

“Holy shit! Look at that thing! I’m freaking out here!”

“Fox Leader to Fox Group. Fire at will!”

You had been so engrossed in watching and inspecting the foreign creature that you had tapped out of the comms for a minute, only getting pulled back to reality when you heard Packard’s final order, moving back inside the chopper and yelling out a loud “No!” to Chapman and his copilot.

But it was already too late, the gorilla letting out a mighty roar just as the first bullets flew.

To a start, it just brought its arms up to its face to cover himself, but soon, the more you circulated and the more you shot, the more aggressive he got, standing up straight and hitting at any chopper that came too close.

Your chopper came across James’, and your eyes met for the briefest second, both wide-eyed and chests heaving up and down in the panic of not being able to get to one another, and then before you knew it, your chopper was struck in the side, the flying vessel instantly starting to jerk.

“Fox Six, we got nominal control. We are going down.” Chapman spoke into his comms, before turning his head around to look at you, yelling out. “Hold on!”

You did as told, pushing your back into your seat and holding on to your seat belt as if your life depended on it, which you guessed it kind of did.

The chopper was spinning and jerking and you started getting dizzy and disoriented in no time, a deafening roar drowning out the sounds of the propellers above you just as you hit the first tree-top.

And then silence, and then darkness, as you braced for impact and crashed into the forest.

You had no idea for how long you were out, but when you came back to consciousness, your ears were ringing loudly, your entire body aching and as you regained your composure, you realized, being pulled.

Forcing your eyes to open, the first thing you were met with was a sharp, pounding pain in your head, your hand instantly moving up to the sore spot.

The second thing you realized, when pulling your hand back in front of your face, was that you were bleeding.

Third, you realized that it was now eerily quiet all around you, the sounds of the choppers’ propellers no longer there, and fourth, you realized as you looked up, that Chapman had just dragged you out of your crashed chopper, the soldier helping you sit up with your back against a fallen tree.

Once he had made sure that you could sit by yourself, he knelt in front of you, grabbing your face in his hands and twisting it to the side.

“You hit your head pretty bad.” He wasted no time in informing you, and you winced as he reached up and pressed a dry cloth against the wound on the side of your head.

But you said nothing, letting him clean you up while looking around. “Where are we?” You asked, taking in the thick forest and taking note of how you were the only ones there.

“At the west side of the island.” He replied, leaving the cloth at your head for you to hold.

When you took over for his hand with your own, your eyes flickered over to the crashed and burning chopper, your throat growing thick at the sight of the pilot inside, hanging upside down. “Is he-“ You trailed off and Chapman nodded, sighing.

“Yeah.”

“Shit.” You cursed, using your free hand to push yourself up on your feet, a familiar face suddenly popping up in your head.

“James.” You breathed, stumbling after Chapman who was moving to grab a walkie-talkie. “I have to find James.”

“You will. I promise.” He answered, sparing you a glance over his shoulder and showing you the radio. “But right now, our first priority is to get in contact with the others and find out their locations.”

You sighed, but nodded, and just then, as if on cue, the radio buzzed, causing both of you to turn to look at it.

“This is Fox Leader to Fox Group. Anybody with ears, come back. Respond. Over.”

“Fox, Chapman.” Chapman wasted no time in replying.

“Fox Six, Chapman.” The voice over the radio came again. “Say again, your last.”

“Four klicks west, highest peak November Alpha three-zero-zero. Over.”

“Roger that, Chapman. West highest mountain peak. Over.”

“Fox Six confirm, we’re at the Sea Stallion. (Y/L/N) is here with me.”

“Roger that. Hold your position. We’ll come to you. There’s enough munitions on that Sea Stallion to kill this thing. Survey your perimeter. Locate possible ambush sites. Over.”

Jack kept talking into the radio, repeatedly pushing and letting go of the button to give people on the other side a chance to respond, but no more words came through, only wavering static.

He sighed at that, standing up and turning to you. “Are you okay? Can you walk?” He asked and you nodded.

“Yeah, my legs are fine.”

“Good.” He nodded back, clipping the radio to his belt and heading over to the chopper, bending down to pick something up before turning back to face you. “Do you know how to shoot one of these?”

You stared at the rifle in his hands, sighing, but nodded. “I don’t like it but yeah.”

“Good.” He said again, holding it out.

You walked up to him and took it into your hands, adjusting your grip into the correct one while he bent down to pick up a rifle for himself.

He then grabbed his notebook and a knife, shoving the book into his pocket and the knife into its holster, before grabbing the radio from his belt and bringing it to his lips.

“Chapman to all stations. Recon environment.” He spoke into it, letting go of the button and waiting for a reply.

When he got none, he simply put it back into his belt and started walking without another word.

You moved to follow, but stopped yourself short when catching sight of a red flare gun lying on the ground, quickly reaching down to grab it and shoving it into the hem of your pants before jogging to catch up to him.

You walked for a long while, in complete silence in order to be able to focus undividedly on your surroundings.

While Jack scoped the area for any possible threats or dangers, you analyzed everything else, trying to get a good perception of the flora, fauna and more or less everything around you in order to be able to track your way back to James.

After a good hour of just trekking through the thick rain forest, the trees around you started thinning out and soon enough, you were walking into a clearing of thin, pale, peeled tree trunks, with no green leaves in sight.

You guessed that it was time for a break when Chapman suddenly stopped and stabbed his knife into one of the trunks, hanging his belt with all of his stuff on it, including the notebook.

He sat down on a trunk on the ground, one that was much thicker than he others, but you stayed on your feet, continuing to look around.

“Fox Leader, this is Chapman. Fox Leader this is Chapman, over.”

Once again, he only got static in response and he sighed, shaking his head.

“Dear Billy… Sometimes life just punch you in the balls.” He mumbled, slacking his shoulders and putting the walkie-talkie down. “Damn it.” He rubbed his eyes.

Suddenly, the trunk he was sitting on started moving, having him up on his feet in no time.

“What the-“ You started as you watched a face and four legs start to emerge from the trunk, or what you had believed was a trunk, at least, but got cut off by the loud sound of shooting, your eyes widening as the strange creature let out a wail of pain.

Jack stopped firing at it once he understood that it wasn’t going to make an attempt on his life, and it walked away as if nothing had ever happened. 

Your eyes met each other’s but before either of you could say or do anything else, or even react, an animalistic gurgle reached your ears, and you quickly widened your eyes.

“Watch out!” You yelled, sprinting forward and shoving Jack to the ground just as the lizard-like creature pounced on him.

The two of you wasted no time in opening fire, its screeches deafening.

But the bullets seemed to do nothing but slow it down only briefly, and the only reason you escaped with your lives intact was because you, just a few seconds before it was about to eat you whole, remembered the flare gun, rushing to grab it and from the hem of your pants and firing it straight into its mouth.

You were a survivalist and you did know your weapons, more than capable of shooting a gun, but unlike James and the rest of the soldiers you’d come there with, including the one you were currently with, you were no fighter, so all you could do was run and try your hardest not to fall to the forest floor in a panic attack.

You must have been running for at least half an hour, your lungs on the verge of bursting by the time you finally slowed down into an easy walk, figuring that the coast was clear and that you weren’t being chased.

“What- What the hell was that?” “ Jack stumbled to a stop, taking support against the trunk of a tree and struggling to catch his breath.

“Your guess is as good as mine.” You replied, leaning your hands on your knees and spitting on the ground in an attempt to get rid of the strong taste of iron in your mouth. “It looked like some kind of lizard.”

“A lizard?” Jack quickly whipped around to face you. “The thing was as big as a fucking dinosaur!”

You said nothing, focusing on catching your breath and leaving him to do the same thing, looking around.

You were back in the rain forest now, tall, green trees towering above you, and your interest was instantly piqued when you saw the small, white dots on the ground, quickly rushing over and crouching down.

Jack, taking note of your behavior, pushed himself off the tree, following you. “What? What is it?” He asked, and you reached your hand out.

“Mushrooms.” You mumbled.

“So?” He asked in confusion, and you stood back up, turning to face him.

“Where there’s mushrooms, there’s water.” You said, turning your head to the side and nodding. “This way.”

“We were supposed to stay close to the Sea Stallion, wait for them to come to us.” He argued quickly, and a glare instantly made its way onto your face as you whipped back around to face him, no doubt taking him by surprise judging by the way he stumbled back.

You couldn’t care less, simply staring him down.

“You want to go back there? Stay around and wait to be eaten? Then be my guest.” You snapped. “But I’d very much like to get back to James and get out of here alive. I don’t take orders from Packard, I don’t have to do shit. You make your own choices.”

The determined look on his face fell, and after a moment of silence, he nodded.

“I’ll follow you. Do your thing.” He said quietly and you took a step back, nodding your head and dropping the glare, turning around and starting to walk away without another word, leaving him to follow.

You were on your guard the entire time that you walked, guns held securely against your chests and fingers at the ready at the triggers.

Around you, it was completely silent, aside from faraway animals’ sounds, that you couldn’t quite figure out.

Other than that, the only sound that could be heard was the jangling and clinking of Jack’s dog tags, and the crunch of the leaves under your shoes.

However, just as you were walking into a small clearing, your ears picked up on a rustle; one that didn’t come from your feet.

“Stop, wait. Did you hear that?” You whispered, your arm shooting out in front of Jack to stop him in his tracks.

“What, hear what?” He asked back, looking around frantically while raising his rifle.

Another rustle came from the bushes a few meters away from you, causing you to raise your gun too.

Exchanging a wary look, the two of you hunched down slightly and began creeping toward the source of the sound, light on your feet and your fingers ready to pull the trigger.

Looking at each other once more, you raised your hand with three fingers up, silently beginning to count down and mouthing the numbers as you went.

When you reached the last finger, you lowered your hand to the rifle again and moved to burst through the bushes and attack, but just as you did so, another person appeared through the twigs and leaves, instantly raising his hand in defense when being faced by the barrels of two guns.

“Whoa, easy!”

“Oh, my God.” You breathed out, your face falling in disbelief. “James.”

Beside you, Jack slowly lowered his rifle at the familiar face, wasting no time in reuniting with his fellow soldiers who weren’t far behind, while you dropped the rifle completely to the ground and shot forward, straight into James’ open arms.

“Oh, thank God. I was so worried.” He breathed back, wasting no time in hugging you close to his chest, his hands cradling the back of your head and his lips pressing against your forehead.

You squeezed your eyes shut at the familiar feeling of his arms around you, your cheek pressed against his chest. “I thought I lost you.” You whispered, tears starting to sting your eyes.

When hearing you sniffle, he unwrapped his arms from around you and moved his hands to cradle your face instead, forcing you to look up at him.

“I’m here, darling. I’m not going anywhere.” He said, shaking his head and swiping his thumbs over your cheeks.

You stared into each other’s eyes for a moment longer, before his green ones flickered up to your head, his eyebrows knotting together with worry. “You’re bleeding.” He noted, beginning to raise his hand to your injury.

But you stopped him, catching his wrist and bringing his hand back down, intertwining your fingers with his. “It’s nothing.” You assured, honestly having forgotten all about it until it had been brought back up.

He gave you a doubtful look, and you flashed him an assuring smile. “I’m fine now.” You said. “Just… don’t leave me again.”

His face softened and his eyes, too, and before you knew it, he had pulled you into another embrace, his strong arms wrapping around you and his chin resting on the top of your head.

“Never.” He promised, holding you close. 

You could’ve stayed there in his arms forever but unfortunately you had no time to waste, having to hurry off to stop Packard from burning the entire island down and from killing Kong.

James kept his promise and didn’t leave you again, the two getting off the island with your lives intact and continuing on with your lives, side by side and now completely retired from anything life-threatening.

[readyourimgaines]

Fight With Yourself and Your Thoughts in the Night

Request: “My thought was he’d turn into an actual white wolf and is knocked out by the spell. When he wakes up, he’s been locked into a small cage along with Jaskier. The bad guys think that Geralt will end up killing Jaskier, but instead Wolf!Geralt treats him like a pack member, or basically like he always does. Eventually, they escape and either wears off or they go to Yennefer to have her remove it.” 

When Jaskier came to, the first thing he noticed was that something soft and warm was pressed against his side. The second thing he noticed was that wherever he was was much too small for him and the soft creature beside him. 

The creature whimpered and Jaskier jumped, hitting his head off of what could only be a cage. He pressed slowly raised his hand to see how high this cage was. He wouldn’t be able to sit up from his crouched position on his knees and elbows. Accepting he was trapped in his cage with the creature, he finally looked over and his eyes landed on a snow-white wolf. 

The bard’s heart went cold for a few moments. The wolf began to sniff him and started nudging at Jaskier’s arms like it was trying to get a look at his sides.

Scrutinizing the wolf, Jaskier was hit with a wave of realization. “Geralt?” Jaskier asked, holding his hand out to the wolf. The wolf placed his paw in Jaskier’s hand. “Any idea where we are?” The wolf whimpered. A large iron door opened and a man with a greatsword strapped to his back walked in with a vial in his hand. “Good to see you’re awake, bard,” the man said. He held the vial up. “Do you know what this is?” 

“No.” 

“Don’t test me, boy.” The bandit’s voice was low and gruff. 

“I’ve seen Geralt take them but I have no idea what they are or what they do. Honest.” Jaskier shrugged.

“One of my men took a sip and died on the spot. I take you’re going to want this.” The man walked closer to the cage and put the vial close enough to the cage that Jaskier could reach through the cage for it. 

“Why would I want this if it killed someone?” Jaskier raised a brow. 

“The wolf’s going to get hungry before long. You can’t expect the slimy cur not to turn to you for food when that happens. Witchers are more beastly than the fucking wolves that hunt in the highlands. You can either let the heartless fuck-”

“You nicked us from the highlands, didn’t you?” Jaskier cocked his head. “Shouldn’t you be in a cage too, then?” 

“Watch your mouth you little shit!” The bandit bellowed. 

“What’re you going to do about it? Honestly? You don’t have the guts to kill me yourself so you’re going to make someone you bewitched do it for you? You’re more cowardly than me,” Jaskier laughed. 

The man withdrew the keys from his belt and walked to the cage with a scowl. He unlocked it and the second the door was opened, Jaskier lunged and caught the man around the waist, holding him to the ground. The wolf wasted no time in slashing the man’s throat with his claws. 

“Geralt.” Jaskier tried for the wolf’s attention. “Geralt.” He patted the wolf’s head. “Would drinking your potion undo the spell? I don’t know what-” The bard stopped talking when the wolf whimpered and barked. “Alright. Let’s give it a go, hm?” 

Jaskier picked up the bottle and though it took them a couple of tries, Geralt did swallow the potion. Suddenly, there was a bright flash of light and Geralt was kneeling before Jaskier with black eyes and blackened veins around his eyes. 

“It worked,” Jaskeir grinned. 

Geralt hummed and stood. Jaskier, whose legs had been bent for so long, had a harder time standing. The Witcher figured it was just as well. He’d have to slaughter their way out, his potion was ramping him up. He heaved a deep breath and turned to Jaskier. 

“I don’t want you seeing what I’m about to do.” 

“What are you-”

In one fluid motion, Geralt steadied Jaskier against his chest and cast Somne. The bard’s head lulled back on his shoulder as the man promptly fell asleep. He eased Jaskier down so he was laying on the floor. 

The Witcher turned to the door and blasted it down with Aard. The first man to raise alarm was easily killed by his own sword once Geralt got it out of his hands. Some of the men ran while others were foolish enough to attack him. 

Geralt never went more than a couple of feet away from the iron door. He needed to keep Jaskier safe. The men that chose to attack were killed in front of the door while a few took a bit of coercion.

Once Jaskier’s heartbeat was the only one Geralt could hear, he went back to the room with the cage and scooped Jaskier into his arms to carry him out of the ramshackle cave.

*****

Jaskier’s head was pillowed by Geralt’s travelling cloak. He could tell that by the scent: dead leaves, pine needles, woodsmoke, and a slight tint of something he probably didn’t want to know. His head felt weirdly full yet light. Like someone packed his head full of clouds. 

Geralt was drying his hair, the river water flowing a little redder as it passed him. Roach, on the other hand, was grazing on grass. 

Jaskier sat up and he was now at an angle to see the water flowing past Geralt. The last words Geralt said to him floated through his mind. I don’t want you seeing what I’m about to do. 

What exactly had he done? They were outside so Geralt had clearly gotten them out. But how? Was the Witcher himself-

Jaskier yelped when Roach nudged his head. 

“Head hurt?” Geralt didn’t look up from drying his hair. The usually silver strands were closer to steel when wet, but clean of blood. 

“...No.” Jaskier rubbed his eyes. His head didn’t hurt but that didn’t mean it felt normal, either. “What, uh...what happened, Geralt?” 

“We got out.”

“I see that . But how did we get out?” Jaskier stood, bracing himself against Roach’s side when he stumbled. The bard rubbed Roach’s side for a few seconds in thanks. 

“I knocked the door out, gathered our things, and carried you out. Whatever they knocked you out with had a worse effect than we thought.”   

Jaskier narrowed his eyes at Geralt’s back. The Witcher was always skimpy with the details, but the bard could always tell when Geralt was tiptoeing around a specific detail. 

Accepting he wouldn’t know the whole truth until Geralt was ready to tell him, Jaskier joined Geralt by the banks of the river, sitting beside the Witcher, humming absentmindedly. 

“I’m not scared of you. You can’t scare me. I thought you would have learned that by now.” Jaskier ran his hands through his hair. “You saved my life...again. Which is why you can’t scare me.” 

“You saw my eyes, Jaskier.”

“I did. But I also see them no. The guilty fear. You’re a good person, Geralt. You don’t fight unless there’s no other option. There was a literal cage they locked us in. I might not know how to help you fight, but I know- I think- how to lessen your guilt. To lessen your guilt, my friend, you need reassurances to drown out whatever nastiness your silly brain is spoon-feeding you.” 

Geralt grunted and finally sat up fully, dropping the towel in his lap. “Why are you doing this?”

“Everyone’s always putting you down and you need someone in your corner. Maybe I should write another ballad about you, hm? What do you say to that, Geralt? About the...the sobbing mother who thought her son was dead.” Jaskier snapped his fingers. “Yes! And how we watched their joyous reunion!” 

Geralt was only sort of listening at this point. Now that this idea was in Jaskier’s head, the bard was going to write it whether the Witcher wanted it or not. Which meant he’d be hearing all about it for the next couple of weeks. 

“Thank you.” Geralt cut Jaskier off mid-sentence. 

“Hm? For what?” Jaskier blinked. 

“Not...fuck.”

Jaskier got the message. “Nothing’s changed; there’s nothing to react to. You’ll always be you. The scary-looking man who smiled when a young girl gave him a flower to thank him for saving her brother.

“Yes, you being a Witcher does have some dark and sadder days- such as today. But even my being a bard has its darker and sadder days- like the day I met Valdo Marx. Now if you’ve ever seen a monster in human skin, it’s that flaming compost heap.” 

Geralt grunted out a laugh and Jaskier beamed. 

“Could you… Do you remember anything from while you were under the spell?” The bard’s hand was fidgeting. 

“No. We were swarmed by bandits, one of them was a mage, a bright light, then I’m kneeling next to you with blood on my hand.” 

Jaskier nodded slowly. “Sometime after I woke up, a man came in and gave me one of your potions saying I was going to want it before long because one of his men died after taking a single sip. I got the keys from the man and got us out of the cage, you drank the potion, and then I woke up here.” 

“I put you to sleep.” Geralt wouldn’t meet Jaskier’s eyes. 

“You got us out alive,” Jaskier pointed out. “Besides, I should be thanking you. That was the most soundly I’ve slept in days.” 

Geralt shook his head but said nothing else. 

“Come on.” Jaskier took Geralt by the hand and tugged him up to his feet. “If you don’t comb your hair you’re not going to be able to.”

*****

Before midnight, Jaskier had curled up in his bedroll a safe distance from the fire but close enough that the flames kept him warm. 

Geralt lay on Jaskier’s other side so if anything were to try to get at Jaskier it would have to go through him first. As he lay there, the bard’s words drifted in and out of his mind. The words of his peacefully sleeping bard. 

Jaskier never lied to him. He’d dance around an answer if he was embarrassed, but he never lied. Eventually, the bard would go on and tell Geralt the whole answer because he felt bad about not really answering. 

When it came to his love life, Jaskier possessed questionable morals- just like any other bard he’d ever crossed paths with. Unlike most freelancers, Jaskier willingly helped anyone and everyone he could without a thought of payment with a smile. 

If someone so kind, selfless, and trusting as Jaskier would place his life in Geralt’s hands, maybe he wasn’t as evil as he thought. He could try trusting himself as Jaskier did. Or at least a little more. 

The Witcher rolled over, facing Jaskier, and focussed on that bard’s heartbeat. The sound lulled him to sleep by ensuring Jaskier was alive and well.

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Running Home | 02: The Road

Genre: Fluff, Romance, Smut (eventually), Friends to Lovers

Pairing: Tattoo Artist!Bangchan x Reader

Warnings: No warnings apply

Summary: A journey consists of three essential parts, even the one proposed by an estranged childhood suddenly showing up at the door after years of absence. Although, perhaps begging to embark on an adventure is better befitting of the situation.

After all, the two travellers might find the destination they could not find themselves at the end of the road, inherently constantly running in circles.

Not anymore.

It is time to go home.

The Setting Off / The Road / The Destination

Masterlist

Proposals are a type of commandment left up to an individual’s own volition to agree to or decline, though circumstances or the person uttering the potential decision can influence judgement regardless. However, it also depends on the relationship at the time and that in and of itself.

 Time.

 ‘Run away with me.’ Platinum locks are pushed back by a haphazard palm that afterwards grabs onto the doorway just above where a startled head is resting to stay grounded, mind going insane due to the lack of logic in the demandingly spoken request. The long oversized sleeve rolls back to reveal a stunning grey and black-toned tattoo of a snarling wolf that covers the biggest part of the left forearm, an animal that is nothing like the docile personality of the kangaroo that was first associated with the childhood friend. 

 Then again, everything has changed.

 We do not know each other.

 Not anymore. 

 The familiar scent of mint mixed with a fresh cologne fills every sense when the long lost friend leans in, faces a few centimetres apart in the tiny space of which the air gradually becomes tense, heart oddly beating in a blind panic thanks to Chan’s begging whispering nearness. ‘Let’s do it. We’ve always wanted to. Now’s the time.’

 ‘It isn’t.’ A step backwards breaks the intimate spell, reason breaking through the mirage of wonderful words reminiscent of the rebellious teenage dreams longing to be wildly liberated and build an empire of ink somewhere in the world. It is a harsh truth, but those goals cannot be pursued anymore as the process of growing up has taught an ignorant girl the ways of reality which have led her to become a freelance editor with financial stability after a good while of struggling. The current point is a good place, certain of professional possibilities on the path taken after completing the bachelor in Creative Writing. Why leave behind such an incredible future after working so hard to achieve it?

 ‘Wha- What do you mean it isn’t? Y/N, while we were apart I did my best to actually create what we thought of together, working shift after shift at crappy jobs to save up for the tattoo studio we would open one day. I finally got the money and found a location, but all that is missing is you. Don’t say you forgot what you promised me, that you don’t remember promising to be my business partner.’

 ‘The old me promised that, Chan. I also worked hard to get where I am now, went through stress and money-related hardships to live here and have a steady career. Congratulations on making it. I’m genuinely happy for you, but I left our dream behind when I realized it wouldn’t work, at least not for me. I’ve grown up, moved on.’ A shivering sigh worsens the increase of homesickness because everything within has become aware there is no way to cure the mental distress. 

 College has cost too much in terms of funds and all-nighters to accomplish assignments or study for tests. The multitude of inherently futile interviews had led to too grand an amalgamation of barely manageable stress that could only have been diminished a tad when starting as a freelancer, fortunately landing on the music company’s project after collaborating on a few smaller yet successful projects. The collection of mangas and books on the shelves of a professional are a proud display of the achieved novel ambition to make people read more. Henceforth, there are factors that make giving up the current life impossible despite the craved reunion with Chris. 

 The offer has to be turned down.

 He has to go.

 ‘You’re lying.’

 ‘I’m not, Chan. Really, I’m happy. I get to do things I hadn’t thought possible, work on projects for big companies. See those bookshelves over there? Those are the titles I worked on.’ A convinced digit points at the shelves spread throughout the apartment which support a variety of volumes resulting from all the paid assignments that have carved the road leading here.

 Successful and free of former worries about even making it this far. 

 Only to end up merely as a name in the credits list.

 To be skipped.

 Like the rest.

 A faceless ghost with a name.

 ‘Y/N,’ the gentle softness in speech tells there is no way to deny the presented lie for the inked wolf sees what lies beneath, as he has always done by reading the mind even when it is not wanted, ‘drop the act and be honest because this pains me to see. You aren’t happy, at all.’

 The unconvincing gesture towards the paperbacks falls away, arms stretching forward in longing for a hug from the regained childhood friend and happily wrapping around the waist when a nod gives consent. The heaviness of existence falls away in the warm comforting fabric of the oversized sweater smelling of minty cologne, lashes fluttering shut when the embrace is lovingly answered by a big palm holding the head against the chest. ‘I’m not, haven’t since you were gone.’ 

 A moment of comfortable silence passes before the hush is broken by a confession that has been known all along, confirmed to be so once more as plush lips place a kindhearted kiss on locks that have missed the contact. ‘I feel safe with you.’

 ‘I’m not letting you go again. I promised to protect you and I will. I’m not gonna leave you behind, never again.’ The shivering suppressed sobs are rubbed away by small digits holding on tighter to dusky clothing, a deep sigh slightly calming a frantic heart. ‘Never again.’

 ‘Shh, it’s alright.’ Nothing more can be said without breaking out into tears as well, simply hiding away into wordlessness to let the simple phrase speak for itself. 

 ‘Please, Y/N. Please, run away with me. Let’s just grab the bare necessities and vanish, start anew. We can get food and additional supplies along the way. Even if you decide to turn back eventually, at least come with me today. Let’s just go.’

 ‘I’m not going to turn back.’ The motion of a thumb wiping the tears from pale cheeks is leaned into, molten chocolate irises twinkling in soothed delight before Chris mirrors the gesture on a dry face not yet broken. However, there is something needful in the manner in which the distance is tried to be breached, distinct from how it used to be done in older days in the increased want for intimacy that was formerly solely joked about, only applicable to the situation whereby the friendship would have been of a deeper meaning.

 Something that has never been.

 ‘You promise?’ A suggestive nod almost results in a brush of lips, but shamefully ends in pulling away and ending the closeness that was willingly given into with retracting fingers leaving behind a strangely disconcerting coldness on the skin. ‘Go... Go get your stuff. Or would you- do you want me to... help?’

 ‘Yeah...’ Although likely not needed, it is a comforting thought, a desire that desperately wants to be fulfilled, to have the platinum-haired boy with the wolf tattoo help with packing what little is needed and already present in this empty home. Henceforth, awkwardly avoiding any type of physical contact in the fairly spacious apartment that stills feels too small to move freely in, a small backpack containing what would be enough for an overnight stay at a friend’s is gathered.

 Withal, there is no way to avoid touching at the surprising sight of the sleek motorcycle which will blend seamlessly into the scenery at nightfall parked on the driveway of the apartment complex. Brows furrow as the knot of digits untangles in favour of inspecting the vehicle up close. ‘You have a motorcycle?’

 ‘Uh, yeah, I do.’ A hand timidly rubs the back of the neck, uncomfortable at yet another paradoxically uncharacteristic element of the returned comrade is brought to the surface touched by Time.

 ‘Well, I trust you’ll get us where we end up needed safely or I’ll come back to haunt your ghost.’ A smirk successfully undoes the fit of strangeness, bringing back the once familiar affection free of the judgment from outside, the prejudices deeming us a couple. 

 A concept that seems oddly pleasant as the joking manner is joined when a helmet is handed over. Well, so it seems to be but just as the object is within reach, it is quickly snatched away to be placed on the head with a loving devilish gaze. Knuckles reach up, which results in the annoyingly impactful patting on the top of the thing to ensure it is securely put in place. ‘Or the other way around.’

 Annoyed, the knuckles are stilled. ‘Stop that! By the way, you’re the driver. Besides, I refuse to let you haunt me.’ 

 Confidence fades away into worry at the registration of there being solely one helmet, gazing questioning at the apparent motor mouse with an underlying fear for his safety. ‘Shouldn’t you wear it?’

 The important inquiry is brushed off with a tender smile on the full lips of slightly tilted platinum locks. ‘Ah, don’t worry. I’ll be careful so you won’t actually get to chance to stalk me forever in ghost form.’

 ‘Chan...’ Fingers rapidly grip the edge of the oversized sweater already getting on the vehicle, holding the fabric up enough to see the top part of a melting Victorian style pocket watch outlined engraved into pale skin.

 Time slipping away.

 As it had from us. 

 ‘You’re still as stubborn as ever. It’s fine, Y/N. Come on, get on and we’ll get going.’ The hold on the clothing is made undone by the wearer gently tugging it out of its current grasp, but it is replaced by a new one in the form of once more entangled fingers when the big calloused palm reaching out is taken after patting on the backseat.

 Soothingly protective, the thumb rubs over the back of the smallest hand as deep brown irises sparkle with the true intention to protect like before had always been the case. We have had always had each other’s backs. ‘I’ll be careful, I promise.’

 But knowing this had never stirred up the same storm as it does now, the stomach tying into an odd expectant knot while cheeks fortunately hidden by the head protection warm up. Regardless of the curious sensations, arms wrap hesitantly around the waist after clumsily sitting down on the passenger seat, clinging like a koala to Chris’s sturdy buff body. 

 Sensing the discomfort, the guarding driver checks at every turn to what extent the distress has grown and occasionally slowing down when noticing the enhanced grip on the middle going paired with an anxious whimper. Thus, the road of flashing streets and open highways leading to an unknown destination is embarked upon.

 Though there is rapidly a stop on it already that makes all the continuous wishes for a car, a probably whole lot safer option, come to a halt at a grand supermarket in the nearest town. Howbeit relieved at being liberated from the insane traffic, it was honestly expected to be travelling at least until twilight colours the sky in a tropical gradient of mango yellow and papaya orange. Even food shopping can be done later since the cold luxurious apartment was not left without taking a few snacks and bottles of water for along the way. ‘What are we doing here?’

 ‘You might have everything you need, but I kinda... went to you unprepared.’ The key turns in the engine, the loud noise of the motor quickly tuning out to vanish completely in the ruckus of chatter against a background of moving wheels.  

 ‘You did what?’ Like a gentleman, Chan extends a supporting hand to take while dismounting the vehicle, monitoring every movement to prevent any accidents. 

 It does not go a smoothly as planned, losing balance regardless of the support point but fortunately getting caught by surprised strong arms. ‘You okay?’ At seeing nothing is the matter after a thorough inspection, tensed shoulders sigh in relief as they relax. ‘I went to you with only a change of clothes, that’s all there is in this big backpack. Moreover, it’s better to do groceries now so we can make some good miles uninterrupted. Who knows where we’ll end up tonight? Wherever it might be, I’d rather have a tube of toothpaste and a toothbrush in the least.’ 

 As done many times in the past, strands are fondly ruffled, a cute suppressed giggle betraying the obvious enjoyment of the effect of the irritation the gesture is known to cause. Notwithstanding, as always and strangely more so than before, it is tolerated. Even delighted in, though a blatant display of the whirlwind inside is out of the picture for it best remains hidden among all the other odd sentiments that have come to stir a girl missing her best friend. ‘C’mon, I know you secretly like it when I do this.’

 A roll of the eyes denotes the statement, nullifying the teasing confidence in the transformed yet familiar voice of the young tattoo artist. ‘Keep on dreaming, Chris Bang.’

 ‘You totally like it,’ comes the musing response to the futile verbal counterattack, dark Timberlands easily catching up to the sneakers already on their way to the supermarket. 

 ‘No, I don’t.’ A huff comes from pouted lips, only leading to bubbly laughter from the side that makes the heart melt as it never has before. 

 ‘Yes, you do~’ One hand tucked into the pocket of twilight-shaded ripped jeans, the other comes to rest on the right shoulder and pulls a fellow runaway sturdily against the side. 

 The gesture is answered by an arm snaking around Chan’s waist, holding on tightly out of the irrational fear of any type of separation occurring that will increase the homesickness again. However, the prominent sarcasm in voice hides the anxious thoughts about a premature end of the reunion. ‘Are you really gonna argue like this? How old are you again?’

 ‘The same age as you, although you sound awfully like a grandmother.’

 ‘Oh, grow up.’

 ‘I have.’ And something indescribable in the glimmer of irises signifies the time for joking is over, the sideways contact breaking off to entwine fingers after speaking in a sombre tone with a downcast gaze. ‘Though at times I wish I hadn’t.’

 ‘Why?’

 ‘Because it complicates things, too. Especially how- no, never mind. It’s not important.’ A solemn shake of platinum locks finishes the complete attempt at elaborating on the broken-off sentence, speech lowering to hopelessness as it repeats the heart-wrenching statement. ‘It’s not important.’

 ‘You know you can tell me everything, right? What’s up?’ Whatever is deemed superfluous, it does matter to the one who had to let the problems of the past years unconsciously slide. Finally, there is a chance to find a solution again so each issue can be met head-on either together or solely with a little bit of help.

 Which is denied by a final close to the subject and a squeeze below. ‘Let’s just get what we need and go, Y/N.’

 Not speaking further of the strange behaviour, the pathways lined with food on both sides are navigated while unconsciously switching trolley duty and searching each other when one of the two has wandered to a different section to retrieve supplies for the journey ahead. Of course, as tends to be the natural reaction towards pairs doing their groceries, people throw an inconspicuous glance in our direction while we simply go about while chatting as if there has never been a goodbye. Withal, an uncharacteristic darkness glosses over molten chocolate during the moments a guy without an apparent partner looks in our direction, Chan becoming very touchy by holding hands for no reason, throwing an arm around the shoulders to enhance the intimacy or leaning in as close as possible. 

 The latter happens again when standing in front of the razor section in the drugstore part of the mega shop and a sudden wonder strikes concerning what brand the tattoo artist uses nowadays. 

 The looming presence able to provide a question rising behind the back sends shivers down the spine, though it is not an unpleasant sensation and fuels the want to lean against the buff companion, especially at the sound of an amused hum. ‘Gillette.’

 ‘Huh, what?’

 ‘Gillette is the brand I use. In fact,’ a bright orange packet reading “Gillette Fusion” is taken from the rack and placed in a small palm, ‘this is the one, in particular, I tend to reach to.’

 ‘Good to know for when I have to do groceries for us in the future. For us as friends, naturally.’ The last part is hastily added to not cause any confusion about the status of the current renewed relationship, words coming out in a rapid unbroken stream.

 A seemingly disagreeing muttering responds to the fast additional comment, thoughts gaining a voice howbeit in an incoherent fashion. All that can be gathered from it in terms of intelligibility is the wistful ‘don’t want to’ in the middle of a sentence. Nonetheless, when seeing the curiously raised eyebrow, the former friendly yet oddly protective composure is regained, nodding in a direction away from the current section of the supermarket at the appearance of a possible rival. ‘I think we have everything. Let’s pay and go.’

 ‘Chan, you’re acting weird.’ Reluctantly, broad shoulders are followed as they walk away in the direction of the checkout counter with attention turned unwaveringly towards a point somewhere in the distance. 

 Attention shifts when looking sideways at a tug on the oversized sweater scented with minty cologne which is grabbed in an effort to both halt hasty dark Timberlands and not lose him. 

 Not again. 

 Obviously irritated, a response is nothing short of growled, the fierceness of which instills a paralyzing fear into libs growing suddenly stiff. ‘No, I’m not. What are you on about?’

 ‘Yes, you are. You’re being more affectionate than you’ve ever been, but also more defensive.’ The ice is endeavoured to be knocked off from bones entirely to not lose a sliver of convincing power in the argument about the weird behaviour. In the past contact merely remained at a multitude of hugs and the occasional pat on the head, digits sometimes ruffling hair good-naturedly while proudly grinning.  

 ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not acting anything different from normal.’ Yet the suppressed snarl malforming plush lips tells a different story, revealing the truth underneath the concealing futile lie of normalcy. 

 ‘Then why are we walking away just as another guy passes, eh?’ The last remnant of the abyss between us is breached without letting go of the piece of clothing, the tattooed wolf not tugging it out of the grasp as before, but carefully watching every movement with intent.

 A hand comes to rest on the hip, compellingly guiding the way to the exit, sight ever onwards. ‘He’s got bad intentions.’

 ‘The chap over at the bakery, too?’

 ‘Yes.’

 ‘And in the fruits aisle?’

 ‘They were looking at you weirdly. I didn’t like it.’

 ‘Then what about the dude in the health aisle? Was he a suspicious character as well?’

 ‘He eyed you a bit too much.’

 ‘Chan, for God’s sake, I’m a grown-up woman. I can take care of myself.’ Although not a lie, what has really been done is taking care of myself just enough to keep the homesickness at bay, just enough to actually believe to be able to function as a proper independent adult. The blatant truth is that while the surface has been well-tended to, the foundation has been crumbling since the farewell without any hope of being restored as long as there was a distance filled with questions ripping it apart. 

 ‘We’re on this journey together. You and I form a team, a “we”. There’s no “we” with any of those other men, they’re just individuals who can’t be there nor ever will be there for you as I am!’ The strange outburst at a stop in the open passage to the cash registers resembles the experience of a lonesome soul comically ensuring they are fine while being all but that yet never voicing this. Nevertheless, surely there had been someone for him to fill up the gap created by the tear, a beautiful girlfriend to come home to.

 Notwithstanding, if that had been the case, then why is there a sense of prolonged yearning in the raging? All there is, after all, is friendship, which is made questionable by the passage of time. 

 Unoccupied digits place themselves over the heart in a heavily rising and falling chest, the vibrations of an unintended pleased hum reverberating through them. Curious how such a simple form of contact can calm a scarlet frenzy. ‘Tone down. What are you saying? Don’t tell me you’re actually jealous because that’s delusional.’

 ‘Just forget it.’ Passively aggressively, one hand lets go of the waist to envelop the appeasing digits that are left no choice, holding on to them for the silent remainder of the shopping break as the other pushes the trolley.

 Only upon paying and dividing the additional stock of supplies among us does the touch unravel temporarily and once more when the helmet is securely put into place again.

 And though hating the ridiculous rigidity that has surfaced out of the blue, automatically Chris’s waist is firmly held onto when the motor is mounted to continue the journey. However, muscles tangibly relax as the key turns in the engine, kind genuinely apologetic eyes glancing over a broad shoulder to meet a gaze traced with annoyance at the scene-making earlier though that fades away into forgiving softness at hearing the vocal crack which is tried to be dismissed casually. ‘I’m sorry for the way I behaved. It’s just- we’re finally- I mean, it’s us together on this road and I want to see it through. I want for us to be at the end like how we started it, with the both of us by each other’s side.’

 ‘You could’ve made that clear another way, you know?’

 ‘Yeah... Yeah, I know.’ Uncertainty undeniably comes through in the manner in which the handles are rubbed as sight is turned towards the horizon again. ‘I should’ve thought before acting, acted differently. I’m sorry.’

 ‘It’s alright.’ Cheek pressed to the large dark backpack of the driver filled with provisions, the embrace is tightened. Speech lightens as the burden of failure to please, the fear of having messed up thanks to triggering so strong a reaction in a recently reunited with soul, is lifted and thus makes room for pure joyous contentment. ‘I’m here, still your travel buddy.’

 ‘You still like me?’

 ‘I do, Chan. I do still like you.’

 ‘Glad to hear that.’ Regardless of not looking back, the smile undoubtedly beginning to form on plush lips can nevertheless be envisioned. A calloused palm affectionately brushes over the digits firmly forming a knot below as the strange restraining undertone curiously returns. ‘I’m really happy to hear you say that.’

 A chance to respond is nullified by the engine roaring to life, reawakening the instinct to do whatever it takes to survive a new encounter with rampant traffic racing at high speed. Yet, the knowledge of who the guide is and the faith put in him fuels the determination to see it through until the destination is reached.

 Until we are like we were before.

 Somewhere side by side. 

 Not footsteps to be washed away by the waves.

 But those continuing to walk together.

 Never alone.

 Never again.

[the-headbop-wraith]

2_36 Eviction

The laptop sat on the dining room table and the ear muffs connected to its audio port rest on the table, while Arthur leaned over the side scanning through a bar of audio waves.  “Okay,” he said.  Arthur picked up the headphones and held them toward Mrs. Hirstein.  “Listen to this, and tell me what it sounds like.”  Brea gave the headphones a brief look, before she accepted them and raised one of the earmuffs to her head.

Beside the furthest of the windows that faced the backyard, Vivi glanced over to where Brea sat.  Arthur worked one handed to select the segment of highlighted audio and played it on repeat, at one point he tweaked the audio to clear out some of the echo; he mentioned something about the volume being highest.  Through the duration of the sound loop, Brea voiced nothing of her observations and simply sat stern faced.  Disinterested, Vivi turned and looked out across the backyard, saturated by the rolling night.  Very little of the moons crescent glimmer breached the heavy cloud cover, and already Vivi could feel the diving temperature piercing the glass pane.

“It sounds like some kind of music,” Brea states. Vivi could hear Arthur shift his footing, before he began coughing into the crook of his arm.  “You’re not catching, are you?”

“No.  Sorry, no rest for the weary,” Arthur muttered, and cleared his throat.  “It’s music.  Do you know what kind?”

“No,” Brea answered.

Arthur kept prodding, seeking an answer that was distilled from possible deceit.  What time did the family go to bed?  Did all televisions and radios get turned off as per request?  Beatrice was forthcoming enough with her answers, and began to lose her patience with them.

“I know where it’s from,” Arthur went on.  “But to clarify, none of your kids own video games? No handhelds?”

“For the last time,” Brea growled.  She dropped her palms onto the table’s bare surface. “No.  My kids are not allowed to play vid games, and besides, my husband and I hold strict control over their money.  They are not allowed to make purchases without our permission.”  That alone wasn’t convincing, but it was enough for the recordings authenticity.  

“What was the music from? Vivi inquired.  She’d never gotten to hear through the audios.

Arthur kind of smirked, and waved the folded headphones in her direction.  “Poke’mon battle theme.  I’m not sure, but I can give you the release date later.  No guarantee it’s a lead.”

“And what is this research for?” Brea pried.  She was watching the audio loop, the faint trill of its tune repeated obnoxiously through the headphones.

“Our team also investigates a locations history,” Vivi answered, as she approached the table.  “And correlate the connection between an area and the specific spectral activity that manifests.  Sometimes it helps us understand why a place is haunted.”  Brea had no further questions regarding the homes haunted status, but she appreciated all data that did confirm the paranormal experiences.

Once the sum of evidence disclosure was given, Arthur closed out the last of the audio documents and unhooked the headphones.  “I think that’s about it, then,” he said, as he leaned back and popped his spine.  “Unless, Vivi?  Was there anything else you could think of?”

Vivi shook her head, and scowled.  “Those horrible pictures were all I could get.”

Brea scooted her seat aside, as Arthur hunched over again and tapped away for the pictures that had been clipped to the desktop.  He kind of wished Vivi would keep better track of her photos in the files, they always managed to startle him when he booted up the laptop in the dark.  “Still looks like a shadow to me,” Arthur pondered.  He was on the fence on whether or not it should be used, the shape was almost too vague.

“It looks like some kind of phantasm, all right,” Brea concluded.  “You’ve both confirmed this?”  She indicated a finger to either Arthur, then Vivi.  

Vivi stepped around the table, and moved behind Brea enough for a clear view of the computer’s screen.  “That’s our belief,” she began, cautiously.  Vivi pushed her glasses up a little more, though they were already pressing into her eyelashes and very uncomfortable.  “We have your account, and we’re more than capable in our capacity to debunk ‘supernatural’ claims.”  Vivi quoted with her fingers.   Arthur lingered nearby, tugging on his goatee mechanically.  Vivi almost thought he’d removed the wrong arm with how stiff his movement had become as of late.

“Yes, of course.  I’ve read the release form,” Brea went on, without a hitch.  She waved in Vivi’s general direction, then pointed to the screen of the laptop.  “But you’ll be able to help us with this?”  Not a moment had passed when the question slipped from her lips, and Brea snatched her hands to her as if burned.  The entire table trembled under the harsh drum that slowly subsided, the very resonance identical to something loud and heavy being slammed onto the tabletops surface.  “Did you… did you get that?” she stammered.

Arthur was still recoiling, tipped far back on his heel as one arm pin wheeled at his side.  He couldn’t salvage his balance and dropped hard on his butt.  “Ow… damnit.”  Vivi had already grabbing him by the under arms and tried heaving him upright.  “Not helping.  Not helping!” he yelped.  Vivi set him back down and returned to the shocked Brea.

Beatrice had launched herself backwards from the table, knocking her chair aside in the process, and stared at the unassuming dining room furniture.  “I felt that! See-see,” she yammered on. “Dangerous!  I don’t feel safe in this house anymore!”

With a sigh, Vivi slipped her arms behind the small of her back and looked down to Arthur.

__

“Was that you?” Vivi barked.  She paused beside the door that led into the guestroom long enough to allow Arthur through, then flung the door shut with all the force she could muster.  The door whammed into its frame and the whole room shook.  Lewis, suspended near the light of the low ceiling, crashed to the carpeted floor with a solid sounding thump.  Mystery shot up to his four legs and peered over the side of the bed, where Lewis had fallen from view.  “And you’re floating?  If they catch you here, we will be in so much trouble!  What were you doing?”

“You,” Lewis shot back.  He raised himself from the floor and clenched his fists at his sides. “I’m tryin’ to conserve energy, and I stopped paying attention to where I was being.”

Vivi marched right up to the taller ghost.  “And what?  It somehow costs you less energy to float around, than to sit still for an hour? One job, Lewis, you had—”

Lewis’ heaved his fists up to his chest and grabbed at his shirt— check that, suit collar.  “It costs energy just to be!”  Vivi winced, but refused to lower her gaze from the burning eye sockets. Lewis motioned one arm around her shoulder towards the closed door.  “And who’s making sure those people doesn’t come down here and hear this?  Ah, ah, Vivi dear.  Don’t call the kettle black.”

Arthur strolled by the two, face to cracking face, and waved a thumb back over his shoulder.  “I rigged one of our talkies to the steps,” he mentioned.  Arthur gave Lewis a wide birth as he shuffled around to the front end of the bed, and slung off the equipment pack.  “They mostly poke around when we go upstairs. ��No worries.  Ugh!  Mystery. C’mon, we’re supposed to be workin.’” Mystery clambered over to Arthur and stuffed his head up under Arthur’s arm.

Vivi sighed, and drew back from Lewis.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” she said.  Some of the tension subsided, but Lewis’ eyes remained tinged by scarlet.  “We still got problems.  Nearly an hour of docile information and Mrs. Hershey hasn’t taken the hint.”

“What hint?” Lewis prompted.  “They’re, or her mindset, is narrow-minded.  We’ve dealt with that sort before.”  The idea was more undesirable when he had to spell it out, though their options were obvious.  Or so he thought.

“Yeah?”  Vivi brushed by Lewis and perched on the side of bed by Arthur, he already had the laptop out of the backpack and booted up.  “This is different from a freelance investigations.  This is different, right?”  She briefly swept her gaze Arthur’s way, his focus transfixed by the laptop on his lap but Arthur nodded to the question.  “After we investigate an assigned case, our job is then to elect a suitable resolution based on our information, and amend the client’s plea.” As she spoke, Vivi pressed her palms together and directed her compressed hands to the projected highlights of the explanation.  “Not always, but sometimes we take the course of lesser evil.”

Arthur paused as he handed over the laptop. “Uh, Vi.  That’s not how the—”

“You know what I mean,” she groused.  She reached over the laptop and gave Mystery’s ears a rub, then took the offered computer.  “Technically speaking, our job is done.  We got enough material to BS our way through a report, barely.  We can leave and get home smack dab on the deadline.”

“I would much prefer that,” Arthur admits.  While Mystery is distracted by Vivi’s rapid tapping, Arthur scoots back and lies down.  “That would be the best thing right now.”  He groaned as Vivi patted the side of his hip.

“One problem,” she resumed.  “Our funding for this case will be low if the Hershey’s give us a poor evaluation, for the failure to comply with their demands.”

Lewis leaned over the mattress and turned his head to Vivi. “Okay?”  He snapped his hands from the mattress, upon realizing that they had reverted to black and bone.  Worry about it later, he simply flicked his hand as if he could sling off the bleached patches in his knuckles.  “But since when do you care about a score?  We.  When did that become a thing?”  

Sighing, Arthur turned over onto his side and faced the wall.  “It’s not just a score,” he said.  He fought to keep his dry hacking at bay, and resumed.  “It’s a consultation process.  It determines how much an investigation is worth, and what we qualify for in our next assignment.  We lose a percentage of the total when we fail to return at the designated time.” He pulled the pillow over to him and shifted it under his side, so he wouldn’t be lying directly on his damaged arm.

“I’d rather not do that,” Vivi added.  “But we’re not leaving until we figure something out.” She moved the laptop aside and shut her eyes.  Mystery whined and shuffled over a bit more, he set his chin on her leg.  Outside, the wind strummed its gentle pattern over the outer eaves of the home in haunting twitters.  Somewhere inside the house, its counterpart the heater whirred to life and the warm air thrummed through the network of vents.  

For a long time Vivi was silent, and Lewis waited for a word.  She was eerily serene, and this did not put the dapper ghost to ease.  He raised a hand to cover the mild palpitation of the locket at his chest.  “Lew.  Is there something you can do?” she says, at last. “They don’t belong here, not with these people.”

The light in the ceiling flickered, but no outer countenance on Lewis part revealed his inner rumination.  “I didn’t sign on as a counselor.”

“We can go back with our collected data, submit a report…” Vivi says.  “None of that helps either family when we’re gone.”  She slips out from under Mystery’s resting head and stands before Lewis.  Mystery’s chin smacks the mattress,  and he grumbles as he licks his lips and readjusts himself.  “I don’t know what more we can do.  Even if we – note this is the bottom of the keg option – but if we are forced to do an expulsion, there is no guarantee the entire family will depart at the same time. Far from it.”  Behind her, Mystery whimpered.  “If an expulsion is the only accepted option by the Hirstein’s, then I would want to be the one to do it.  It wouldn’t be right to leave someone else responsible for this, someone that might be less sympathetic with these spirits.”

“It’s a crime of ethereal syntax,” Lewis rumbled. Practically growled.  Vivi took a step back as Lewis seemed to loom over her. “Whoever they are— That family! They don’t need our sympathy, what they need is each other.”  Arthur flipped himself over on the bed and scooted back, nearly clear off the mattresses edge.  Mystery pushed himself backwards on his front legs and tumbled back into Arthur’s knees. “They died together, and they have stayed together all this time.  That’s the way it should be, and no one should control that.”

“And no one will!”  Vivi shoved her hands against Lewis shoulders and sort of pushed the taller figure backwards.  “Do you ever listen, you stupid ghost?  I don’t want this!  But whatever the outcome, we won’t abandon that family!  I know damn well they don’t deserve that.”

For a full five minutes there’s utter silence, but for the intrusive breeze whistling outside, and the steady thrumming of the cracked locket Lewis carried.  Every few seconds Lewis would glance toward the windows, then, back to Vivi.  She stood there back straight as a board, her eyes staring into the dark depths of Lewis’ eye sockets; her face stern and unwavering from the contesting glowers.

“Lew,” Arthur said, quietly.  His back was pressed to the wall, Mystery clutched to his chest, and Mystery was hugging the pillow.  “I feel you and all, honest, but—” Arthur hesitates when those eyes, those hot embers, snap to him.  “You’re kind of siding with the ghosts?  You know that?”

The light above hummed as it dimmed, nearly darkened completely.  Lewis’ eyes glittered in the deepening shade, but the instant the bulb flashed back to life Lewis was gone.

“Lewis!”  Vivi stepped forward and put her arms out and moved them around, seeking a hold or something to indicate the ghost was still present.  She felt nothing.  The temperature about the air fell by degrees and the faint tinge of smoke hovered. Vivi let her arms slump and clutched at the ends of her sweater.

Arthur lightly scanned over the room, looked up, and shut his eyes.  He exhaled the breath he had been holding with a dry wheeze.  When he finally released Mystery, the dog waddled away to sit on the edge of the bed.  Mystery would turn to check Arthur, but kept returning his steady eyes to Vivi. Arthur shuffles forward to the equipment pack and digs around inside.  

“You don’t think,” Arthur begins.  He paused as he drags out the spare walkie-talkie from within, and confirms that it is on.  “You don’t think he’d… do something?”

“If he knows what’s good for him, he won’t.”  Vivi takes a step back, pivots, and moves over to sit on the edge of the bed beside Mystery.  “You were asking, weren’t you?  Not seeking some sort of rhetorical assurance?”  She set her hand on Mystery’s head, and the little bob of a tail wiggled.

A small chortle bubbled up in Arthur.  Despite its warmth, it was cut by an edge if unease. “No.  I was kind of— never mind.”  He raised his hand up to his neck but stopped short.  He knitted his fist into his vest collar and let his arm hang. “No.  He probably went for a walk, or something.  Heh, dead weight.”

“What?” Vivi squeaked, as she jerked to Arthur.

“Nothing.”  He shook his head and waved his arm.  Mystery whined at him, and Arthur stretched out a foot to poke at the dark patch of fur on Mystery’s back.  Arthur raised his eyes, when Vivi hummed his way.

“Was he… I can’t remember,” Vivi murmured, and raised a hand to her forehead.  “Was he always so brash?”  She looked back to Arthur.  In his eyes she could easily read the turmoil that knotted in his thoughts.  Answers he swore on his life would lay in confidentiality.

__

The house stood silent, its open halls frozen by dark waves of shadows, the steady tickle of the young timber’s eerie creak becomes lost within its bleak echoes.  It was the silence of predawn, a stillness of life resetting, of a world sinking through the transfiguring gloom toward the dawn’s invigorating touch.

Eyes scald the seamless cloak of the perpetual midnight. Or what were once eyes.  Twin pools of a black abyss consume the upstart shades, scorching through them with red and magenta quivering blaze.  A low tenor follows the streaming glimmer of those eyes as their shadow drifts up the steps.  The carpeted stairs are polite and never betrayed his presence.  He saw no living, no gleam of life.  How long had he been pacing these halls up and down, down and up?  He lost track of time when he wandered.  He knew now how long his dormancy had endured, but nonetheless it felt too long. Though, it could not compare with that time.  The in-between.  The buoyancy, the lingering, the waiting and amalgamating into… something.  What was he, anymore?

At his shoulder loitered an open door.  A forlorn and drab radiance slipped through the several small windows above the mirrors hanging on the walls, accenting the smooth sides of countertop and slick tiled walls.  Small windows, he could peer out and view the grounds below. The view was nostalgic, reminding him of the place in the forest. It overlooked the road, an abandoned road trespassed by no sane soul. Save for one van and its occupants. They went, they came, oblivious to the deserted trail. As it should be.

No matter where, or what state he was in, or where he was, he always knew when it was them.

The perceivable sheen, or lack of, did not improve Lewis appearance in the slightest.  He crept toward the silvery patch on the wall, and frowned at himself. The twisted memory of a person long dried up, forgotten.  He had done that, it was him.  “If only.  If only,” he reminds.  “If only… I could hold my focus.”  He didn’t want the mirror to reveal him.  He needed the mirror to remember him.  He pressed his hands to either side of the reflective frame and focused.  The mirror would lie for him, and it would know no different.

The suit was no longer inky black flaked by iridescence, white sleeves covered his arms and a dark vest coated his torso.  Pale hands, in contrast to the heavy midnight, withdrew from the shimmering silver.  Lewis checked himself once more, tugged at his sleeves, felt the solidity in the undertow of his refined illusion.  Good.  He was getting better at this.  It felt like cheating using a mirror all the time, but who cared?  It worked.

It worked.

Lewis lowered his hands beside him and clenched his fists.  He couldn’t help but despise the assignment, loath whoever had sent them here.  The school?  He remembered.  How could he not?  That was the first time, he remembered that moment so well.  It was when, and Mystery had shown him.  How long had it been, since he had been lost in his own fire? Forever.  Time was the mortal man’s shackle, a construct to measure the remaining length until final conclusion.

He raised a hand to his face and touched the space of skin beneath his open eye socket.  “Don’t… blame me.”  Lewis pressed his hand over his eyes.  “You can’t blame me.  If only I could, I—” A sound came at his back, and he whirled around to meet it.

Another pair of eyes froze with his.  Lewis could identify the silhouette easily, a girl. “Vivi?”

The voice gave a little peep and the figure darted away, into the shrouds of the hall.  Lewis swept from the doorway soundlessly.  He could have moved faster, but he knew better and advanced with extreme care. He hadn’t caught a clear image of who that was, a tenant of the house no doubt, but of which group?  Those eyes would’ve been a giveaway.  He couldn’t be sure yet, the light was at his back and she had been afraid.

Light foots falls padded in rapid succession to the furthest end of the hall.  A lull of sound proceeded, followed by the mild whisper of a door.  Lewis swayed in the hall, suspended in midair near the steps. For the entire evening he had haunted around aimlessly, up until the Hirstein’s had gradually disappeared one by one into their rooms.  Now that he thought of it, he hadn’t seen Mystery, Arthur, or even Vivi roam around since their… dispute.  This meant nothing, unless he had missed something equivocal in his wandering.  It hadn’t helped his mood, but he felt somewhat lighter after expelling some of his spectral plethora.

He ventured to the end of the hall and found the stairs to the third floor, and two doors; one to what he suspected was a closet and the other to the entertainment room.  Lewis tugged at his ascot as he bided time, covered his options.  He stepped over to the door at his side and gingerly pushed it open.

“Hello,” he said.  Voice sounded all right, some of its fuzziness smoothed out.  Lewis rapped on the side of the doorframe he now stood in, and spoke to the closet.  “I didn’t mean to startle you.  Can we, I dunno, talk?  You don’t have to open the door.”  No answer, but that was actually a good sign.  He waited, glanced back down the hall.  He could’ve been wrong, or maybe she had just vanished.

Then, a timid voice lifted from behind the door. “Who’re you?” she stuttered. “What do you want?”

Lewis raised his hand, as if the person on the other side of the wood barrier could see his passive gesture.  “Nothing, nothing.  I swear. I’m as confused as you are, maybe more. No promise though.”

A little sniffle.  He was unsure if she would respond back.  He half expected the door to creak open when the doorknob rattled. “Do you know… where my family has gone?”

Lewis kept silent.  How to answer that?  She was definitely one of the residents he’d seen the night before, but her family? “I’m not sure,” he murmurs. “I’ll, why don’t we try and find them? Or, you could stay here.  Would you prefer that?”  He regarded his next words.  “You can wait in your room.  I don’t know how long this’ll take.”  The door clicked again, but this time the wood panel creaked open inch by inch.  On the elevated steps behind the door was a window, the light was blotted out as the shorter figure shuffled out to stare up at him.

“I haven’t seen my family all day,” she whispered.

Lewis took a step back.  “Well, tell me where you last saw them,” he whispered.  “Wait in your room, and I’ll send them your way when I find them.”

“No,” she said, and stepped out from the small room, its interior filled with a large space and some shelves tucked with blankets. “I’ll go with you.  There’s someone… someone else in my room. Everything’s wrong, I’m scared and… I really-really don’t want to be alone.”  She put her hands to her forehead and shuddered.

“Listen, we’ll figure something out.”  Lewis knelt down, a ways from her.  “I’ll help you find them.  Let’s begin with your name.”  

“Charlene,” she said.

Lewis stood and stepped out of the entertainment room. He gestured away from the closet down the hall beside them with one arm, his other arm motioned towards the steps. Lewis looked to the young teen. “Charlene?  That’s a cool name.”  She indicated the steps, but moved back as Lewis stepped by.

“My family calls me Charlie,” she offered.  Charlie shut the closet door and followed Lewis’ progress at a safe distance.  “We live here, the four of us – I mean five.  Me, my mom, sister, and my dumb brother.  Dad, he’s not here right now.”

“Okay.”  Lewis reflected over the night before.  The father was somewhere on a business trip, and the older boy was Robbi, but he had not seen Jezebel yet; only Arthur had seen her.  This confirmed his suspicion that the family was together.  

Slowly, he ascended the steps without a sound.  He checked out the windows, distracting his thoughts. “Did they mention going anywhere?” The question was possibly the most worthless he could conjure, but it was reflexive and he needed a distraction. The pause that followed was drawn out, endless.

“No,” Charlie answered.  “I don’t recall.  Mom would’ve left a note, she always does.”

Upon reaching the third floor Lewis gave the hall a short glimpse over, and moved away as Charlie joined him. “Everything’s different,” she murmured again.  “It wasn’t like this, this morning.  When I woke… there was someone else.”

Lewis cued in.  “Someone in blue?”  

“She wasn’t the only one,” Charlie added.  She looked away towards a door across from them.  “Are you with her?” she asked, as she moved towards that door.  Lewis followed.

“She scared you,” he presumed.  “I’m sorry, she’s got a lot on her mind and… Let’s find your family first, and maybe I can explain things better.”

The room was some sort of craft room, full of glittering pieces of cut and twisted aluminum.  Tall laundry baskets lined one wall, filled with what Lewis decided were soda cans.  As they moved through the room, the wires hanging from the walls peppered and constructed with bright pieces of smoothed glass, chatter and chime at their passing.

“This used to be my dad’s office,” Charlie spoke. “But now it’s filled with all this junk. It was cool at first, but now the house is gone.  I don’t know what this place is, it’s not my home.”  She led Lewis to another door, a closet, which she refused to enter.  “We heard people talking in here.  For a while it was fun, but then they started saying things that kind of reminded me of what she said too.”  She gestured the open door.

“My friend,” Lewis clarified.  He winced at the simple term ‘friend.’  “Can you tell me what they were talking about?”  He moved into the room and gave the stacks of shelves a look over.  Beside the doorframe across from him was a light switch.  It wasn’t necessary but he went ahead and flipped the light on, for some much needed atmosphere.  Maybe Charlie needed it too, Lewis reasoned.

“They just asked stupid questions,” she began. “’Why are you here?’  ‘Knock three times.’  ‘What’s your name?’”  Charlie paused, and shuddered.  Lewis kept his back to her as he roamed over the shelves, each filled with tools and more supplies.  “I don’t want to say anymore.”

Lewis considered, running through the familiar questionnaire they had on hand for investigations.  “You went along with it, though?”  To one side of the wall was a stack of boxes, a few plastic baggies sticking out of the open tops were filled with colorful beads.  Near them, on the floor lay a flashlight.

“Yeah,” Charlie admits.  She dawdled just beyond the threshold, leaning over enough to see where the tall man was kneeling.  “Why not? For a while it was funny listening to them freak out.”  That same pensive lull came in their exchange.  “That didn’t last long.”

It was classified as a board game, stocked in the section of stores alongside Scrabble or Operation.  Never had Lewis felt much of an interest for the item, and neither did Vivi.  Something about the Ouija board seemed crude, impersonal.  He could sympathize with Vivi’s plight, “The lesser evil.”  He couldn’t bring himself to touch it, though he was uncertain whether it was due to some obscure law that held him bound, or if it was simply a personal preference.  The thing seemed sort of sinister lingering here, left behind, discarded once the novelty of it was gone.

“I shouldn’t have left,” Charlie continued, to herself. “I knew it was a bad idea— What’s that?”

“Nothing,” Lewis answered.  He shuffled over a bit and raised a fist above the dull printed picture of the board’s face.  The fake artist’s rendition of a withered and worn table, with the replica of old timey sun and moon placed in their respective corners.  He raised his other hand over the locket at his chest, and opened the adjacent palm over the board.  “Como esta llama espiritual extingue, también lo hace la unión a esta materia física etérea. Desenlazar los que vagó aquí.”  He ignored Charlie’s questions, and focused only on the fuchsia gleaming flame as it settled on the center of the board.  The ember sparked out leaving a ring of black singe in the board’s center.

“What did you do?”

Lewis swooped up and clicked off the light. “Nothing.  Let’s keep looking.  Where did you go when you left here?”

Charlie moved away, hurried out of Lewis’ path as he shooed her on ahead.  “I tried to go downstairs, but there were people.  I didn’t recognize the voices.  Like, have you ever gone into a room and someone you’ve never heard before is talking in the next room, but you have no idea who—”  As they step from the doorway, Charlie goes stiff and stares across the hall towards a group of people clumped in front of a closet door.  “Mom!”

The woman from the previous evening shot up and sprint over, catching her younger daughter in her arms as they raced to meet. “Oh baby.  Sweety,” she whimpered, and began stroking Charlie’s hair back as she they held each other tightly.  “Sweetie. Sugar.  We— I don’t know what to say.  I just don’t.”

Lewis kept his distance and observed.  He looked past the two holding onto each other, and set his gaze on the boy and taller girl seated beside the furthest wall. Robbi, that was his name.  He had one arm around the girls shoulder, and she held herself back beside a thin door, hands clasped over her head.

“Where were you?” Charlie sniffled.  “Where!  I was lost, there were people.”  Her mother cut in:

“We were here, sweetheart.  We tried finding you, you didn’t answer our calls.  We were so worried,” the mother cooed.  She rocked gently on her feet, her eyes glitter as she stares off into a distant whirl of black possibilities.

“I didn’t say anything.”  Lewis again directed his attention to the older girl, and boy.  “I should have.  It was so stupid.”  Jezebel dropped her face to her knees.  “I stay up all night.  I would’ve known.  God, so stupid.”

The mother tightened her arms around Charlie’s head, but Charlie pushed her away and stepped back.  “What?  What is she saying?  Don’t shake your head at me.  Just tell me. I want to know what’s going on.”

With a sigh, an actual sigh, the mother nodded.  She guides Charlie to the wall with her siblings and pulls Charlie down by the hands to sit.  For a long time they are silent, and Lewis is unsure if he should be around for this.  “You remember that night?  You were so badly sick?” the mother begins, voice strained.  “And I told you… I didn’t know, sweetie.  But… you remember what I said?”  Charlie glances down.  If she nods it can’t be seen.

“It was a twenty-four hour bug,” Charlie says, as if insisting.  As if stating this very obvious fact would make it the truth.  This time, she does lower her head.  “I went to school the next day.”  Robbi leaned away from Jezebel and set a hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “You made me.”

“No sweetheart.  No, I didn’t,” the mother murmured, and again set her hand on Charlie’s head. “You know I wouldn’t.”

They fall into a reserved silence, aggrieved by their reservations, their forfeited time.  Diluted words were exchanged by mother and eldest.  “I checked the meter,” the mother would say.

“I put on more blankets,” Jezebel murmured.  “And then I went back to sleep.”

“I didn’t check the second floor,” mother said.  “I checked the third floor, but not the second. Completely forgot.”  She was chewing on her thumb, staring off into that distant piece of space she courted.  “It was still under warranty.”  Then, shockingly she turned to Lewis.  “I was going to have it replaced.  First thing come morning.  It was too late to call the gas company.  I was going to do that.  I was.”

Lewis shrugged off his stupor and moved forward. “Things don’t always work out.” The mother shook her head.  He sits down a ways from the huddled family and crosses his legs.  Jezebel and Robbi scoot in closer to either side of their mother, Robbi glanced up at Lewis but otherwise didn’t utter a sound.  “None… of you suffered,” Lewis went on.  He hated saying this, trying to make optimism spring freely.  It couldn’t, and his nature insisted it shouldn’t. “You went to sleep.”

“And never woke up,” Robbi concluded, voice rough. “Kept on dreaming.”

“You… could put it that way,” Lewis conceded.  That was all it had been, a long dormant dream. They knew nothing else, thrived in an illusion brought by the assumption of a long and fruitful life.  How long might it have endured if they were left to their own devices? Who had the right to take such a fragile gift away?  Their world had been torn apart.

Robbi tucked his legs up to his chest and rested his cheek on his knee.  “Is dad dead? Do you think?” he mumbled.

“I don’t know,” the mother hummed.  She reached her hand up and smoothed out Robbi’s hair. “I know nothing.”  She looks to Lewis and after a prolonged scrutiny, she squinted her eyes at their guest.  “What do we do?  I thought that… there was a light or something?  Is it me?  Am I stopping whatever’s supposed to happen?  I don’t know what to do.  Why? Why are you here?”

Lewis entwined his fingers and set his hands on his lap.  She stared at him, the mother did, struggling for comprehension, seeking answers he didn’t have.  “I think you know more than you realize,” he offered.  “Who told you?”  The mother looked Jezebel’s way, but her eldest didn’t respond.  “You can’t turn back the clock.”

“I know that,” the mother hissed.  She sighed and brought her hands back to lay in her lap. “Did we… miss our train?  Are we trapped here?  Do you even know?”

“To be honest,” Lewis says.  “I don’t.  I haven’t found an answer that makes sense.  Sometimes, I—” He stopped talking and took up a bit of time, to think.  The kids were talking to each other.

“I had a boyfriend,” Jezebel said.

“You knew him for a week,” Robbi retorted.

“We were gonna graduation together,” Jezebel insisted. Robbi was about to make another comment, but his mother set a hand on his head again.  It didn’t stop him from speaking, but he did cease and simply let his head slump beside the wall.

“You’re not confined here,” Lewis said.  Urged.  “You waited here, because that was the only routine you knew.  You can leave.”

“Leave?” the mother edged.  She leaned away from her teens, staring at him, eyes glittering but not aflame, not that same unearthly light.  This was something else.  “How do you mean?”

“How ‘bout I ask, why wouldn’t you?”  The mother stares.  “You can walk right out.  Keep walking. The world didn’t stopping turning. You might find peace, closure, forgiveness.  Who knows? You’re free, you know.  Illusions trapped you here, but they’re gone now.” He didn’t know if this was true or not, did it matter?  Lingering in past memories was not the answer.  Lewis slanted his brows, and hoped the mother read his restricted expression.  “Which would you prefer?”

“I don’t know,” she admits.  Then, the mother leans back beside the closet door.  “That doesn’t seem right.  Or, it doesn’t seem fair to my kids.”  Lewis tilts his head down and drummed his fingers over his knee.

The conversation dove from existence and theoretical future, to illustrations of a long ago forgotten lifestyle.  Lewis wasn’t certain how they had ambled into the topic, but they came to be there and it wasn’t unenjoyable.  The mother reminisced about her decade of a life with her husband, and the biggest argument they managed to resolve right smack dab after their wedding night.

“We made an agreement,” the mother continued, voice straight and serious.  Lewis smiled. She was good with storytelling and held a firm matter-of-fact voice.  “He let me wear pants.  That might now seem like much to you, young man, but it was a big deal for me.”  

“I’m not laughing,” Lewis sniggered, palms raised in mock surrender.  He wore a huge smirk that screamed otherwise.  “He shouldn’t have made a big deal about it in the first place.  Who cares if a girl wears pants?”

“Exactly!” the mother praised.  “Someday, you’re gonna make someone very happy.”

Lewis’ smile waned, and he nodded a tad.  “Yeah.  Yeah, I suppose someday, maybe.”

When her first daughter was born, the mother quit her job to become full time mom.  When they had the home built brand new they were barely keeping up with the debt, but her husband earned enough on his wage alone that they managed by in comfort.

“He lost all of us,” the mother said, at one point.  Her wistful gaze had since returned to that place in the void, obscured by Lewis’ perception.  “My word. Life isn’t fair.”

Lewis felt a flash of irritation, but now wasn’t the time. “No.  It isn’t,” he said.  He however talked about the people he traveled with, explained partially why his group, and what his friend – whom the family had met – was doing in their home. He kept out of the Hirstein district. Instead, Lewis revealed that a family had lost him, and that he had friends – the same people he traveled with – that he still missed.

A few of the old cases did stick out to Lewis, which he related as he recalled each.  Some he found he could recall better than others, and a few he did have to end prematurely if the conclusion was a bit foggy.  There was still so much he did remember.

The aspect of untamed exploration and investigation, the unknown, the mystery hunting, the late-late nights that his group dedicated themselves to, beyond exhaustion, and driving many endless nights out of their way to find the next big destination.  Vivi always there with her encouraging words, a butchered phrase, coaxing them to beyond the great beyond if necessary.  He might’ve talked a little more about Vivi than he meant to, but only because her gusto was the driving force of the Mystery Skulls crew.  Her ambition and fire was one to rival his own.

Time was going somewhere, Lewis wasn’t certain where or if it was still around.  The mother recounted a strange paranormal experience her family had, around the time her grandmother was passing.  As the recount ended, Jezebel left her siblings on the other side of the hall. They had relocated, when the stories shared between their mother and the guest had lost interest.

Where they sat Robbi and Charlie spoke in low voices and made few gestures with their hands.  The shell shock had worn off little by little, but the younger siblings would cease their conversation and give long dozy stares to the dark walls that surrounded them, as if only now coming to realize they were in a house. Aside from the revelations they shared, nothing had changed.  The family had awoken from a lie, and in a way Lewis envied them.  Their illusion as a collected whole was so immaculate, it bade by their involuntary nuance.  

Or, not as perfect as Lewis wanted to believe, but this was death after all.  Or, a stage of it.  Acceptance. His old adversary rears its ugly head. Lewis rubs at his eyes, though his eye sockets refuse to betray his sorrow.

“Mom,” Jezebel said, as she neared the two.  She stooped to sit beside her mother at the closet and wall, her legs straightened out with wrists looped over her middle. “We’ve been talking for a bit. Rob and Char wanna go for a little walk.”

“A walk?” the mother echoes.  She turns to give Lewis a long, pained look with a shadow of an expression he didn’t fully gather.  “A walk, to where?”

“I’m not sure,” Jezebel murmured.  She stretched her fingers out and touched the tips together over her knees.  “We just need to get out and look around.”

The mother nodded slowly at first, her head bobbing quicker until she was in full agreement.  “I don’t see why we shouldn’t.”  As she stood, she looked Lewis’ way as if seeking guidance, or foresight.  “It’s really been a delight talking to you.” She held out her hand as Lewis moved to his feet, a little more smoothly than she had.  Lewis took the offered hand.

“Oh, I know,” he chirped.  “I’m glad we got the chance to talk.  I’m sorry if we caused you any trouble.”  His voice trailed off, when the mother didn’t return the hand shaking motion.  She only shook her head and before Lewis can inquire, she has her arms around him.

“Thank you,” she says.  “I can’t… I don’t know how to express my gratitude.  I don’t know how much you’ll understand, but… you have helped us.  I wanted you to know that.  You have helped.  And I— I… don’t even know your name.”

“I’m afraid.”

Lewis swayed a bit, startled but not stalled by the realization.  It only occurred to him then that none of them had given formal introductions.  He was really bad at that.  “I didn’t get your name, either,” he said.

“Diana,” she said.  “Diana Kamden.  My family and I, we once lived in this house.”  Diana put an arm up as Jezebel came over, and Jezebel put her arms around Lewis and her mother.  Robbi and Charlie jointly grabbed their older sister and mother, and clung to them in some utter desperation.

Lewis didn’t know what to say, how to respond to this. He could only think of his own Mamma and Pappa, and his hermanitas .  Always so proud of him.  All waiting, always eager when he finally came home; clustered about him – safety, warmth, love.  Family. “I’m sorry,” he managed.  It hadn’t reached him until then, the repercussions his actions would have on these lost spirits.  But this was right.  This was what they needed.  “All the best to you.”  His voice broke.  “Don’t get lost.”

When Lewis raises his head he finds that his arms are empty, and he is the only occupant of the dark open hall.  There is no light aside from the thin veil that scuttles in from the open door of a bathroom, and down the steps leading to the lower floor. Though he knows the home to be occupied by living residents, the walls felt desolate and the air around him thin. Lewis turns his gaze down to his hands, and is again disappointed.

__

“I don’t even know your name.”

The light in the low ceiling had been left on. Forgotten, perhaps.  It was the unspoken rule that Arthur always slept better with a light on.  It hadn’t always been that way, but while they were not paying bills for the electric it could be allowed.

With a pulse and brief flare of white hot intensity, the bulb was snuffed out and the room was overtaken by the swirling shadows. Pale illumination weaved its way down and through the cloud cover and softly falling snow clumps, thin sheets of crystallized frost edged the perimeter of the window panes in the corner of the room.  As if sensing the impending plummet in temperature, somewhere deep in the home a heater kicked into gear and sighed warm air through the metallic vents.  

Though little of the small room is sketched out by the meager glow, there is enough sheen to betray the dark shape gliding across the room.  It blots out the pale refractions in the iced windows as it moves, and only stops when its shadow contours over the inert bodies on the couch.  

Arthur coughs minutely, and tightens his arm a little more around the dog snuggled against his chest.  The inky hue thickens across the couch and its occupants, and Arthur stirs in his sleep and chokes on the frigid air, as the vapor twists its way deep into his lungs.  The jarring movements drag Mystery from his slumber and the dogs crimson eyes blaze behind his spectacles.  He fully recognizes the silhouette looming over them as Lewis, if the gilded locket on the broad chest was not clue enough.

With eyes glistening in their dark pits, Lewis brought a finger close to his lips.  In response to the soothing gesture, Mystery bares his teeth along the edge of his snout and let out a low, throaty snarl.  Lewis is unperturbed, and without a word pulls a blanket up over both person and hound.  Mystery’s snarls don’t subside immediately, even after the cover is tucked around Arthur’s shoulders.  After a few seconds, Mystery does relent some and shuffles around until he can comfortably set his chin right beneath Arthur’s neck.  He gives a final long winded growl as Lewis turns his back.

The bed is occupied by books and notebooks – many left open – a laptop, and one overworked paranormal sleuth.  Vivi is curled up on her side and partially hugging the computer around its keyboard, the laptops screen is dark, probably in sleep mode. A bit of reorganizing and shuffling later, the books and papers are relocated to the floor beside one of the backpacks.  The laptop on the other hand was very warm, and sleepy Vivi was impossible to reason with, but after some gentle prodding she did relinquish her hold on the computer, and Lewis could save it from certain destruction.

Lewis shut the laptop and set it aside, then shifted back on his knees to face Vivi.  He folded his arms over the mattress and set his chin down on his arms.  While Vivi had struggled to keep her heat source, her glasses had fallen off and Lewis had set them on the laptop.  She always looked different when the glasses came off, the vibrant red added something to her face.  It clashed with the blue and soft beige of her skin, like berries and crème. There wasn’t much difference, but it wasn’t the same.  Vivi wasn’t the same.

A low rumble, something akin to wild thunder brooding on the distant horizon, resonated within Lewis.  “You’re different,” he crooned.  For a short span he listened to the muffled rhythm of the locket; its presence irredeemable, its contents inimitable.  “I forgot Vi.  Time does strange things, and it’s… been purgatorial.  I forgot, and you were alone.  I left you when I promised.…”  His voice barely held itself together, and it came thick while peppered by low gaps of crackling.  Lewis paused and locked onto his bearings.  Once he pooled together enough control, he raised one hand to brush away the few bent clumps of hair from Vivi’s face.  “I’ve been… elsewhere.”  He drew his hand away as Vivi burbled something in her sleep, and tightened her arms up under her neck.  “People are supposed to change,” Lewis rattled, voice barely audible over Vivi’s even breathing.  “But not like this.  If I’d known… it wasn’t— I didn’t anticipate ever seeing you again.  Never.  It should‘ve been different.”

Somewhere in Vivi’s dream, she whimpered and cringes. Curious, Lewis raised his head a pinch, but Vivi had already relaxed.  Lewis moved his hand to stroke her cheek, gently, and began his familiar somber warble of a tune, that almost sounded like a voice he once had.

[emotchalla]

Nothing Like the Sun - One

A/N: Okay so I’ve been ranting about how I want to write Werewolf!Bucky for weeks so here he is! No worries I’ll still be posting Suga Mama as well as taking requests, but in order to keep myself from getting burned out on one thing I’m giving myself options. ALSO I felt like it was about time I brought in another OC of color because representation matters!!! Hope y’all like this one. It’s a little different than what I usually post on here, but there’s something about writing with OCs that do something different with my writing. Thanks for reading <3

Summary: Belle Evans has loved James “Bucky” Barnes for what seems like forever. Despite the inconsistency, the missed calls, and the secrets, she’s remained steadfast in her loyalty to him. Bucky’s hiding a secret that’ll turn everything on its head.

Warnings: Werewolf!Bucky AU x Human(?) OC, Swearing, Slight Manipulation, Mentions of sex, Bucky’s gonna be an asshole for a while I’m sorry 

Word Count: 1.8k+

He always did this to me. He thought it was fun, a kind of game. And like an idiot, I continued to let him do it because I was in love with him. I thought he loved me too, but deep in my heart I knew he was lying. I knew that he only wanted sex, but I thought he’d be better about hiding it. He’d come, fuck me like some one night stand, and then leave saying that he loved me. Right. My phone glows, illuminating the room with the light of a new text message. I open it, and my heart sinks. I can feel the tears fall as I reread the text.

Had a great time, baby. Taking some time off. Love you. - Buck

Of course. I roll my eyes and throw my phone down on the bed. I roll over, pulling the comforter over my head.

I stare at myself in the mirror that hangs on my closet door and groan. Why does he even want me? People tell me that I’m pretty, but no way am I gorgeous enough for Bucky. I’m plain in every sense of the word, and being with someone as flawless as him never lets me forget it. I shake my head to clear my thoughts and pull my dress up my body. My mom’s in town for her gallery show and she wants me to come to one of her viewings tonight. Bucky was supposed to be my date, but I guess that’s a lost cause. I frown as my arm bends at and awkward angle in an attempt to pull the zipper of the dress up my back. When I reach the halfway point between the bottom of the dress and my shoulder blades, I jump up to help my hand further the distance. When I hear the satisfying sound of the zipper reaching its destination, I let out a content sigh. I stare at my reflection in the mirror again. The peach dress my best friend forced me to buy falls awkwardly on my body, ballooning out at my hips and giving the illusion that I am chubbier than I actually am. I don’t know why I’ve come to despise by body the way that I have, but it probably has to do with Bucky’s active practice of neglect. 

He makes me feel worthless despite his proclamations of my value to him. I sigh and walk away from the mirror; that’s enough self-loathing for today. I slide my feet into the tan wedges I’ve left at the entrance to my closet, glancing at the pile of clothes scattered across the closet floor. They’re probably a metaphor for my life, but I’m too lazy to figure out what it means. My phone trills as I plop down on my bed, startling me. I wasn’t texting anyone. I pick up my phone from its place on my bedspread and my eyes widen. Bucky’s name flashes across the screen.

Promised I’d go to your mom’s art thing. 

I’m outside, Bells.

Oh my God. He actually came. I had given up hope and was convinced that I’d be spending the night avoiding my mom’s creepy patrons. She’s a freelance artist, and she holds her own gallery shows at least once a month unless she comes across a dry spell in artistic inspiration. At her last gallery event, one man tried to lure me into the bathroom while no one— specifically his wife— was looking. At an event before that, a man spilled his drink on me while we were sitting down at dinner, and when he tried to pat me dry, he slipped his hand under my skirt. Of course, when I told Bucky about this he was pissed, and in order to placate me, he spent the night lavishing me the way my princess deserves to be taken care of. I take a breath to steel myself, trying to rid my skin of the flush that has assaulted it as a result of my thoughts of Bucky. I not so calmly sprint out of my room and down the hall, eager to see him. I reach the door just as he knocks. 

“I’ve got it, Mom!” I call, my voice wavering as my nervousness increases. 

I don’t want her saying anything to Bucky that’ll ruin this sudden wave of good luck. I smooth my dress down and take another deep breath. I don’t know why the mere anticipation of being in contact with Bucky sends me reeling, but I cannot say that I don’t love it. I grab the door handle, and open it to reveal my coveted Adonis in all of his glory. He looks incredible. He’s dressed in skinny black slacks paired with a white button down and an open black suit jacket. His feet are adorned with dress shoes instead of his usual beat-up black combat boots, and the single gold hoop earring in his left ear glints in the light of the setting sun outside. I feel another blush flood my cheeks as his gaze covers the scope of my body, a small smile of approval on his lips.

“Bells, you look amazing,” he gushes, his voice soft and husky.

“Thanks Buck. You do too.”

He chuckles, walking inside. His hand falls comfortably in the curves of my waist as he closes the door behind him. He pulls me close to his side, and nibbles on my ear. I feel my knees grow weak as I almost bow to his mercy, right there in the foyer of my house. Before he can speak and send me reeling, my mom walks in from the guest room. She’s gone all out with her ensemble tonight, seeing as her best pieces will be on display. She’s donned her favorite red dress, complete with matching heels and daring, sultry lipstick to complete the look. She looks like she could be my age. In fact, she’s better looking at my age than I am.

“Ms. Evans, you look beautiful,” Bucky says, drawing away from me to greet her.

I fight back a frown at the loss of contact. I know it’s foolish to be jealous of my own mother, but I rarely get to spend time with Bucky. My mother beams at him, and envelopes him into a hug. She’s very fond of him, because she says he reminds her of my Dad. Dad was really sick when I was a child, and ended up dying due to surgery complications. At least, that’s what I was told by my mom. There’s always been a part of me that believed otherwise. From what I can remember of him, he was a fighter. He wouldn’t just give up and die like that. He wouldn’t have left me before I got the chance to get to know him. 

“Belly didn’t tell me that you were coming, James!” she gushes, grabbing ahold of his cheeks and squeezing them.

He laughs, but I stand there mortified. How can she be so casual with him? It is when my mother speaks to him that I get to see Bucky actually smile. And while I’m grateful for that, I wish I could be the one that draws him out of his guarded, brooding demeanor.

“Mom,” I groan, complaining about her use of the nickname I created for myself at age four.

She waves her hand at me and rolls her eyes. Bucky chuckles as he sidles up next to me, his hand reconnecting with my waist. 

“Let’s go sell some art!” my mother cries enthusiastically. 

I groan and follow her out of the apartment, Bucky attached to my side. At least I have him to suffer through the night with.

Oddly enough, I really didn’t mind being at the gallery show tonight. It’s probably because Bucky remained ever present at my side, wrapping his arms around my waist, kissing my neck, and telling me how much he wanted me. And as much as I wanted to resist him, I couldn’t. He set my body on fire with his promises of what was to come when we got home. It’s no surprise that we ended up in my bedroom, half-naked and kissing like our lives depended on it. Apparently Bucky loved the dress a lot more than I did, because he took his sweet time taking it off. I’m snapped back to attention by Bucky’s teeth pulling at the skin on my neck. 

“I want you now, baby,” he rasps, his voice full of carnal desire.

You can have me if you stay, I think. I cannot bring myself to endure another night of him staying long enough to fulfill his need for pleasure and then leaving me for God knows how long. I pull myself away from him. I cannot think or speak rationally when he touches me.

“On one condition,” I say, fighting to keep my voice strong.

I look into his blue eyes and get lost in them. He possesses this inhuman beauty that often leaves me unable to speak in his presence. His skin is always warm to the touch, despite his steely eyes. It pains me how a color as deep and vibrant as blue seems almost frozen when reflected from Bucky’s irises. His hair is dark, restrained in a tight bun with some tendrils framing his face. His body is amazing, especially his strong abs. He laughs when I get mesmerized by them, always saying it’s just a body, Bells. I beg to differ. He’s always working out, always becoming stronger, perfecting the surface.

“Baby?” he calls, snapping me out of my reverie.

“What?”

“What’s your one condition?”

I take a deep breath to steel myself. There’s no backing down now Belle.

“If I let you have what you want, you have to stay here with me tonight.”

He sighs, running his hand across his face. He gives me an apologetic smile and shrugs.

“You know I can’t, Bells.”

My heart sinks into my stomach and I want to cry, but I won’t give him the satisfaction. 

“Fine. Night, Buck.”

I start to turn away from him, but he’s faster. He pushes me down on the mattress as a low growl emits from his throat. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as I stare into his glowing eyes. 

“Mine,” he growls through clenched teeth. 

“So you’ll stay?” I ask, my voice as breathless as a whisper. 

“Yes, Belle. I’ll fucking stay.”

He presses his mouth to mine, prohibiting me from asking anymore questions. In my head, I’m dancing at winning this small victory over him. I get to fall asleep in his arms, the way I’ve spent countless nights dreaming of doing. I lose myself in his kisses, finally happy for once. Happy that he’s going to stay.

There’s no tag list for this yet, but I’m tagging people who I think would be interested :)

@palaiasaurus64 @icee-queens @amerwiccan-beauty @papi-chulo-bucky

[gunpowderfics]

Recovery

Warnings: None Rating: G Characters: Church, Tex, Washington, Maine, Red and Blue teams Pairing: Church/Tex 

Summary:  An AU set more in a world like ours. The remaining Freelancers, the reds, and the blues now have the UNSC and Project Freelancer behind them. It's time to work towards recovering from the mental wounds, and adjust to a life where they're not constantly at war.  Note: I apologize if this seems like a reposting. Apparently tumblr doesn’t show posts in the search if you have an external link, and I had the AO3 link for this thrown up there.

Tex sits on the porch stairs of this old ranch house, the warm summer breeze rustling the tall dry grass next to her. The setting sun casts a pink-purple hue on everything from the surrounding mountains, the clouds in the sky, and the idiots running around in the yard. She’s lost count of how many times Donut has been hit from the water guns, but he’s sprawled out on the ground as Tucker jumps over a hay bail to squirt Grif right in the face. They’re still split red versus blue out of habit. There’s no need, though. None of that exists anymore.

The mess with UNSC and Project Freelancer are a distant memory now.

Meta, no Maine, is asleep in a rocking chair off to the right. His snoring is light. Wash is sitting next to him, fidgeting with a small cube and tapping his foot. His brows are slightly creased.

“Why don’t you join ‘em, sport?” Tex asks, looking over her shoulder at him.

“What if he wakes up thrashing around again?”

She smiles softly. “I’m sure I can handle him. Go on. You need to unwind too.”

He keeps fidgeting with the cube, flicking the switch on and off as he watches the others. Simmons screams as Kaikaina, having switched to the blue team, knocks him down, sits on top of him and yells something obscene as she opens the gun, dumping all the water on him. “Yeah that’s not really encouraging,” Wash notes.

Tex snorts. “Oh come on. It’s just a little water.”

“Fine. But if I die out there, that’s on you.” He gets up, grabs one of the spare water guns, and joins in the fun. His first victim is Donut. Tex can hear the former freelancer apologizing, and she just shakes her head.

It’s been a good long while since she wanted to pause time. At least she thinks it has. Everything is blurry to her. She still can’t tell which memories are hers and which are Allison’s. For now, she’s ok with it. There’s plenty of time to sort through everything later. Right now she just wants to take in the feeling of the breeze on her skin, the faint scent of dinner wafting through the window, the sounds of the others, of her friends, laughing and having a good time.

This is all she’s ever wanted.

The screen door creaks open behind her and then slams back against frame. Maine stirs a little, but his snores quickly resume. Someone sits down next to her, hands her a cold one.

“So who’s winning?” Church asks, taking a sip of his own drink.

She shrugs and leans against him. “I dunno. They stopped keeping track after a while. Bet they think I am, but fuck if I’m doing that for them.”

“Eugh. That’s going to be a pain in the ass later. Knowing those idiots, they’re gonna break out into a fight over it.”

“Maybe. Who knows.” Tex swirls her drink around before taking a sip. “Want me to take care of it if that happens?”

“Nah. I’ve got it.” He kisses the top of her head. “You do enough as it is. Thanks, though.”

They sit in silence for a spell. The shouts of the blue team as Caboose runs through the middle of the field right into an attack from the reds break it. He cheers in delight at being absolutely soaked.

“Hey, Church?”

“Yeah, Tex?”

She slides her hand into his and laces their fingers together. “I think everything is going to be ok now.”

“Yeah,” he replies softly, a faint smile on his face. “Yeah I think so too.”

[automationgeeks]

What's The Difference: Writing An Article Vs Writing A Blog Post - How Writers Can Earn More

Which is kind of the thing about most blogging advice.

Your service or product is your voice, Your area of expertise is your worldview.

Your interests and passions range across a whole inner landscape. It's a well fiction Writer. Relates to why readers get obsessed with books and authors, the things that keep the writer up at night. With that said, this also encourages people to find that core thread in their work -the questions you mention. I have one client with whom I always use the word article when talking about these pieces, and another with whom I use the word blog.

Time to raise my rates for the blog client and remember to use the word article when appropriate!

Not surprisingly, rates for my article client are a big bit higher than my blog client for quite similar work.

Danielle, there's nobody best thing to blog about if there were, every single blog will be about it, right? It's intending to depend on your experience and interests, and your research into whether a particular niche is easily monetized or not. Their audience doesn't care. However, a couple of us are sticklers for grammar and some not, Shivani…I know p bloggers who have a typo in every article, and are earning huge sums. With all that said... It depends on the audience. I'm sure it sounds familiar. I've even seen ebooks that are riddled with grammar and spelling quite a few more at $ 600- $ 2000, determined by length and complexity. Remember, where most writers are lucky to get $ 100 a post for blog posts and I recommend you try to make that your floor for blog writing article rates are usually a whole lot better.

One difference between a blog post and a magazine article is that blog posts often contain links to other posts on a company's site, that is a means of keeping the reader on the site for as long as possible.

They are written so that shows readers how they can benefit from these services, albeit these can be articles.

Articles for corporate blogs, for sake of example, often discuss some problem in the industry and after that illustrate how the company is working to solve it. I agree that posts are essentially articles and might be compensated as such, especially when you must have deep knowledge of a company or industry to write the material, the word blog sounds hipper. Blog posts are often written with the intention of convincing readers that they need a particular service offered by the company. Let me tell you something. These posts have great value to companies as they may result in thousands of dollars of business every time a tally new client is acquired and a sale is made. I think they thought they'd get a n of unqualified people if they knew who the employer was.

I responded to one ad once, for example, and it turned out to be a website owned by CBS. I agree quite a few there are scams, there can be legit reasons for not revealing the company. Recently, I got plenty of response to my call for freelance writers to stop writing blog posts. Lots of writers were confused about just what the difference is. That's not the dividing line. Shampa, look, there're certainly articles that lack interviews, and blog posts that have them. I mean technically, an article is in a magazine, and a blog post is on a blog…but the point of my article is that if you look for to be paid more for blogging, you have to do work more on the order of what you'd do for a typical article namely, interviews and more indepth research. Nonetheless, sEO focused junk writing will never pay well, and it's also a shrinking marketplace, would start moving away from the stigma of a blog post being a cheap fix. Here's what to do instead. It doesn't have to be complex. Normally, even simple sentences can be well written. As a result, I disagree with you on one point. For example, it's a really helpful post. We must always encourage people to write with correct spelling and grammar as that helps the case for clear writing. However, they presented interesting data. Posts got longer as bloggers sought to stand out and deliver more value, until 1000 words has become fairly standard, and 2000 word posts are not uncommon. Blog posts began to have more interviews. Nevertheless, sEO keywords' value lessened as Google cracked down on 'keywordstuffed' content. As blogs got more professional, lots of hired editors. Sometimes these get mixed by many who may consider it to be essentially identical. Very much interesting and enlightening comparison which most people often miss. Thanks and I going to be sharing. You see, this excellent write up will also what actually is expected of them as they take a venture. Notice that you also get the bonus of learning to report a story, that lays the groundwork for getting betterpaying articles in future, from businesses or magazines.

Have the advantage of giving you more impressive clips for your portfolio, loads of smaller daily papers pay in the $ 75- $ 100 range for short articles. I would like to ask you something. I am working on my autobiography and someone suggested that I do a blog instead but I have to find out whether that is the writer forum for my story plus how do I protect the rights to my story?

Will you not suggest writing an autobiography on a blog?

I come from a journalism background so I'm comfortable with the more traditional article approach.

I've tried doing some seo content writing and found it really difficult and not very enjoyable. Thanks for the clarification, it's really useful to be aware of this developing trend. We look for posts to be fun and easy to read, not stuffy and dry. We expect factual and wellsourced posts, not rambling rehashes of other people's work or wild conjecture, Accuracy and strong attention to detail are an absolute must. Now let me tell you something. It's a good idea to also be cognizant of online publishing realities and be able to use key search engine keywords in your posts and headlines without sounding robotic, you must have an ideal ear for language.

It's a high visibility opportunity and we are looking for the very best writing talent, that is why we pay a premium over other blogs. We look for to hear from you, Therefore if you think you are a great fit. I have recently started my own blog. Actually, I also write poetry. Also, how should I market that to my readers? I'm sure you heard about this. In order for me to get it up and running I've been doing some research. Should that also correlate to your blog, as far as the articles. Is it best to keep it to the theme of the blog or write about what interests you? So, my question for you is what really is better thing to blog about? I like the fact that you distinguished between an article and a blog. It must definitely stick to a niche, though all successful blogs do.

I have a couple resources to recommend on blogging I learned to build my blog from AList Blogging's Kickstart Your Blog course, and my How to Be a Well Paid Freelance Blogger e book is packed with tips on how to leverage your personal blog to get paying gigs from clients.

Your blog post has come out at the right time.

I am sure they need to be educated about the difference between blog post and article. Basically, I wish to say that all the time, those hire writers are not clear about exactly what they look for. It's more ‘blog post' type writing than article writing. Besides, I wouldn't expect to be well paid for this work type. Since you're not adding any value, simply recycling previously written biographies is more of a blog post.

Uneducated clients who don't really know these two forms been busy muddying up the conversation about them for years. That's made it hard for writers to define writing projects and bid them appropriately. Mostly, copyright attaches at the time of publication on your blog, and you can prove when you wrote it because of how blogs date things…and who is planning to steal your life story? I think most people who're blogging a book don't put it all on their blog they put parts of it, and similar parts are exclusive to the final book. For instance, probably not a huge concern. Lots of print magazines began posting copies of their articles online. They published more opiniondriven pieces from thought leaders. Some also put up blogs where they let writers hit the ‘publish' button on their own. That's interesting. Suddenly, magazine headlines needed to drive traffic, just like blogpost headlines, and headline styles evolved. Yes, that's right! On the 'articlewriting' side, there was also movement. Now look. They impress more of your client's customers.

Then the projects might be more successful, and those clients gonna be more going to hire you back to write more.

As long as they'll be happier with the results they get, it's a classic 'win' you can charge more at the start. I'm sure that the fact is, articles and articlestyle blog posts convey more authority. Do not send story clips as an attachment. Nonetheless, applications that do not meet shall not be considered really. Now regarding the aforementioned fact... Your email subject line must read gooseberry application followed by your full name or it may be deleted, when responding. Please also include three brief story ideas that meet the criteria outlined above so we can get a feeling of your understanding of the audience and the foregoing story guidelines. Your resume might be a single attachment to your email.

Please send your resume, a letter of interest, and clips to published samples of work that is of relevance to the individual biz space.

Blog posts are growing up they're increasingly not the ugly stepsister of articles.

Good news is, the convergence of blog posts and articles should offer writers better pay opportunities. They ought to pay more like the articles they often are. Yes, occasionally a real company wanders on there and posts, not this kind of a poor reputation with freelancers for offering up mostly junk. I know an awful lot of writers for whom $ 2K a month for writing one post a day would've been heaven, Amel! By the way, a long 'writeup' that does not contain any interview and is written about the achievements of some great personalities hereafter in that case, will this work be called an article or blog? Is interview necessary for an article? Oftentimes I know blog is a first person writeup but the write up I am talking about is in third person but is simply based upon biography so, how must I term it?

[riichardwilson]

How Web Designers Can Help Restaurants Move Into Digital Experiences

About The Author

Suzanne Scacca is a former WordPress implementer, trainer and agency manager who now works as a freelance copywriter. She specializes in crafting marketing agency, web … More about Suzanne Scacca …

The restaurant industry has begun to undergo a major digital transformation. Those that want to survive will need a website that can handle the new way of operating, which means they can no longer afford to hold onto that cheap website they built for themselves years ago. And this spells big opportunities for web designers interested in working in the space.

As much as I’ve always loved the experience of going out to eat and ordering in takeout, it’s very rare that I enjoy visiting a restaurant’s website. But I get it. The restaurant industry tends to run on very slim profit margins, so it’s hard to justify spending money on a professionally designed website when all they want it to do is list their hours of operation and menu.

However, I envision all that changing in 2020 (and beyond) as restaurants are forced to expand into digital in order to survive. Unlike a website that a novice might hack together with a cheap site builder, establishing a competitive digital presence isn’t something they’re going to be able to do on their own.

That’s why web designers should seriously start thinking about expanding into this niche.

How Web Designers Can Help Restaurants Move into Digital

Usually, when something serious shakes up the restaurant industry, those that want to survive will adopt newer and better technologies to adapt. So, it’s not like restaurants are strangers to digital transformation. Until now, though, the focus has mainly been on investing in technology that improves how they work in-house.

With everything that’s happened in 2020, though, restaurants are going to need web designers’ help in doing three things that ensure their survival in an increasingly digital world:

1. Modernize The Restaurant Website

Whenever I write one of these posts, I spend time reviewing a few dozen websites to find the best examples to make my point. I’m not going to lie, this one was tough. While I knew I could turn to national chain restaurants to find modern-looking websites, I had a really hard time with others.

While it’s not impossible to find an independent restaurant operator or local chain that has a great-looking website in 2020, I’d say that at least half of them are way behind the times, if they even have a website at all.

Remember when websites were designed like this?

An outdated restaurant website in 2020, blurred out to protect its identity. (Source: Anonymous) (Large preview)

I’ve blurred out the restaurant’s name and details to protect its identity, but you can still get a sense of how bad this design is for 2020.

Restaurant websites can’t afford to be crappy, non-responsive placeholders anymore. They need to become impressive digital presences that set the stage for what customers will experience when interacting with restaurants as diners.

Let’s take a look at how In-N-Out Burger has nailed modern web design. The first thing you’ll notice is it’s a responsive design. On desktop, the website fits the full width of the screen, so there’s no wasted space around the border. It looks good on a mobile device, too:

The In-N-Out Burger mobile website is responsive and easy to read. (Source: In-N-Out Burger) (Large preview)

Also, take notice of the images. This is a burger joint, so you should expect the website to be full of burger photos, which it is. However, there’s something interesting to note about the burgers you find on the site.

The In-N-Out Burger website uses perfectly framed images and well-chosen transitions. (Source: In-N-Out Burger) (Large preview)

When someone enters a page where there’s a burger photo, the food slides into the frame as if someone were sliding it over to a customer in the restaurant. It’s a neat little transition and many visitors to the site might not even realize what’s happening, but it makes the experience feel more lifelike and interactive.

Transitions aren’t the only things you can do to create this sort of experience. Background videos taken within the establishment work just as well as it gives customers the opportunity to walk through the establishment instead of relying on static images that only paint part of the picture.

Another thing restaurant websites need to improve is how they’re organized.

When people are ready to go out to eat or to dine in, don’t waste their time trying to force the restaurant’s history down their throats (which many of these sites surprisingly do). The navigation as well as the order in which CTAs appear on the home page should reflect the actions customers want to take.

The thought process most likely goes like this:

“I’m not sure what to order. Where’s the menu?” (Menu)

“Do I need to make a reservation or can we just go whenever?” (Reservations)

“Where is this place again?” (Locations or Contact)

Or, these days, #2 looks more like this:

“Do they do takeout? I wonder if they’ll deliver it.” (Order Online)

There are other things customers might want to do on the website. Like buy gift cards or merchandise, sign up for rewards or apply for a job.

So, while the above tasks should be a priority in terms of what visitors see first, make sure to look at the site’s data to see what else they’re interested in doing. Then, make sure those popular actions take center stage in the navigation and site design.

2. Empower Them to Diversify Their Income

Under normal circumstances, profitability is a problem for many restaurants. Add a crisis to the mix and it’s going to become downright impossible to generate any profit — that is if they rely solely on dine-in business.

Long before COVID-19, consumers were already showing a growing preference for digital dining solutions.

According to Peapod, 77% of U.S. consumers said they preferred eating at home than going out. But that doesn’t necessarily translate to ordering in from a restaurant.

27% preferred to order groceries online and pick them up from the store.

26% planned to use grocery delivery.

20% were interested in meal kits.

Then, you have information from Technomic and the National Restaurant Association that found that about 60% of all restaurant sales in the U.S. come from off-premise dining.

For restaurants that haven’t yet made the leap to digital dining options, they’re going to have to ASAP. This isn’t just a temporary thing either.

Restaurants that fail to digitize going forward won’t survive.

So, web designers are going to be needed to help them build out the following:

An online ordering system for their website or a link to an external service,

A reservation system (for when in-house dining is available).

That’s just the bare minimum though. For instance, this is what Snooze Eatery has done:

Snooze Eatery advertises delivery or pickup on its website. (Source: Snooze Eatery) (Large preview)

The first thing visitors see on the website is the online ordering option. When they click “Place Your Order”, they’re taken to the restaurant’s proprietary ordering portal:

Snooze Eatery’s online ordering portal. (Source: Snooze Eatery) (Large preview)

This in and of itself is a great solution for restaurants to have available through their websites as it allows them to control the ordering process and capture more of the profits (but that’s up to your clients to decide, of course). That said, many restaurants are getting creative and going beyond traditional online ordering options.

Below the fold on the Snooze Eatery site, visitors will find this banner:

Snooze Eatery now offers neighborhood provisions. (Source: Snooze Eatery) (Large preview)

As I mentioned earlier, there’s a good number of people who want to be able to order food online but then prepare it for themselves at home. While that would previously have left restaurants high and dry, that’s not the case anymore as many restaurants are expanding their offering to include family-style meal kits and groceries like Snooze.

This alone means that web designers are going to become increasingly more important for restaurants. And don’t expect the work to end there. Restaurants will also need your help building other monetized offerings into their websites. For instance:

Gift cards;

Merchandise;

Subscription services for meal kits, alcohol deliveries and more;

Online memberships for cooking classes, premium recipes, etc.

If they don’t have one yet, they’ll also probably need help creating a rewards and account management system as well.

3. Fix Their Brand Images on Third-party Sites

Although the website should be the engine that powers everything for the business online, restaurants need other sites to help with visibility, too. For example:

Facebook to share photos, advertise location information and collect customer reviews;

Instagram to share photos, restaurant updates and customer-generated content;

Yelp and TripAdvisor to collect customer reviews and feedback;

Google My Business to create a local presence in Google search and Maps as well as to collect reviews;

Delivery services like DoorDash to outsource delivery to;

Reservation sites like OpenTable to outsource reservation bookings to.

If customers are looking for restaurants online, they need to be willing and able to meet them where they are… before eventually bringing them to the website.

Although it’s ultimately the restaurant’s responsibility to create these pages, you should provide assistance when it comes to the visual branding piece. For one, it ensures that there’s some consistency between all their platforms. Also, it enables you to fill in missing pieces that restaurateurs might not think about.

Let’s take a look at Rhode Island staple, IGGY’S:

IGGY’S website visitors are introduced to the restaurant with an image of its iconic clamcakes. (Source: IGGY’S) (Large preview)

The waterfront eatery immediately gets down to business and provides visitors with 3 options for ordering online (based on which location they want to go to).

Here’s what the online ordering portal looks like:

IGGY’S restaurant’s online ordering portal. (Source: IGGY’S) (Large preview)

Notice how good this looks. It takes what would otherwise be a text-only menu and turns it into something much more attractive and, arguably, more effective in driving up sales.

Now, contrast that with IGGY’S online ordering through DoorDash:

DoorDash customers can order online from IGGY’s restaurant. (Source: DoorDash) (Large preview)

The items on this page rarely come with descriptions or images.

Now, IGGY’S is a well-known restaurant around Rhode Island, so this might not be a dealbreaker for online customers. However, new customers might approach the menu with more trepidation than the one available through the IGGY’S website since it’s devoid of details.

This is where your visual-centric approach comes in handy. By making sure each item comes with a high-resolution and mouth-watering photo (the same as the one used on the site), you can optimize this sales opportunity for them.

It’s also important to ensure the brand elements are consistently presented. That way, if an existing customer runs across their favorite restaurant on DoorDash, they won’t hesitate to order because they’ll instantly know it’s their favorite restaurant.

For example, the logo on DoorDash is nothing like the one on the website in terms of quality or looks:

The DoorDash logo for IGGY’S doesn’t match the one on the website. (Source: DoorDash) (Large preview)

Be it the logo or another branded element, you want to make sure that 1) it matches the website and 2) looks good. This goes for online ordering sites like DoorDash as well as all the other ones I mentioned earlier.

Wrapping Up

We’re at a point now where restaurants can no longer be reluctant or stingy about improving their digital presence. And, as a web designer, this should get you excited.

There’s a lot you can do to help businesses in this space beyond designing basic websites. Because so much of their digital transformation involves making sales online, you’ll get to design experiences that are intuitive, modern, and mouth-watering while also creating new monetized pathways for them.

(ra, yk, il)

Website Design & SEO Delray Beach by DBL07.co

Delray Beach SEO

source http://www.scpie.org/how-web-designers-can-help-restaurants-move-into-digital-experiences/ source https://scpie.tumblr.com/post/621829319644397568

[scpie]

How Web Designers Can Help Restaurants Move Into Digital Experiences

About The Author

Suzanne Scacca is a former WordPress implementer, trainer and agency manager who now works as a freelance copywriter. She specializes in crafting marketing agency, web … More about Suzanne Scacca …

The restaurant industry has begun to undergo a major digital transformation. Those that want to survive will need a website that can handle the new way of operating, which means they can no longer afford to hold onto that cheap website they built for themselves years ago. And this spells big opportunities for web designers interested in working in the space.

As much as I’ve always loved the experience of going out to eat and ordering in takeout, it’s very rare that I enjoy visiting a restaurant’s website. But I get it. The restaurant industry tends to run on very slim profit margins, so it’s hard to justify spending money on a professionally designed website when all they want it to do is list their hours of operation and menu.

However, I envision all that changing in 2020 (and beyond) as restaurants are forced to expand into digital in order to survive. Unlike a website that a novice might hack together with a cheap site builder, establishing a competitive digital presence isn’t something they’re going to be able to do on their own.

That’s why web designers should seriously start thinking about expanding into this niche.

How Web Designers Can Help Restaurants Move into Digital

Usually, when something serious shakes up the restaurant industry, those that want to survive will adopt newer and better technologies to adapt. So, it’s not like restaurants are strangers to digital transformation. Until now, though, the focus has mainly been on investing in technology that improves how they work in-house.

With everything that’s happened in 2020, though, restaurants are going to need web designers’ help in doing three things that ensure their survival in an increasingly digital world:

1. Modernize The Restaurant Website

Whenever I write one of these posts, I spend time reviewing a few dozen websites to find the best examples to make my point. I’m not going to lie, this one was tough. While I knew I could turn to national chain restaurants to find modern-looking websites, I had a really hard time with others.

While it’s not impossible to find an independent restaurant operator or local chain that has a great-looking website in 2020, I’d say that at least half of them are way behind the times, if they even have a website at all.

Remember when websites were designed like this?

An outdated restaurant website in 2020, blurred out to protect its identity. (Source: Anonymous) (Large preview)

I’ve blurred out the restaurant’s name and details to protect its identity, but you can still get a sense of how bad this design is for 2020.

Restaurant websites can’t afford to be crappy, non-responsive placeholders anymore. They need to become impressive digital presences that set the stage for what customers will experience when interacting with restaurants as diners.

Let’s take a look at how In-N-Out Burger has nailed modern web design. The first thing you’ll notice is it’s a responsive design. On desktop, the website fits the full width of the screen, so there’s no wasted space around the border. It looks good on a mobile device, too:

The In-N-Out Burger mobile website is responsive and easy to read. (Source: In-N-Out Burger) (Large preview)

Also, take notice of the images. This is a burger joint, so you should expect the website to be full of burger photos, which it is. However, there’s something interesting to note about the burgers you find on the site.

The In-N-Out Burger website uses perfectly framed images and well-chosen transitions. (Source: In-N-Out Burger) (Large preview)

When someone enters a page where there’s a burger photo, the food slides into the frame as if someone were sliding it over to a customer in the restaurant. It’s a neat little transition and many visitors to the site might not even realize what’s happening, but it makes the experience feel more lifelike and interactive.

Transitions aren’t the only things you can do to create this sort of experience. Background videos taken within the establishment work just as well as it gives customers the opportunity to walk through the establishment instead of relying on static images that only paint part of the picture.

Another thing restaurant websites need to improve is how they’re organized.

When people are ready to go out to eat or to dine in, don’t waste their time trying to force the restaurant’s history down their throats (which many of these sites surprisingly do). The navigation as well as the order in which CTAs appear on the home page should reflect the actions customers want to take.

The thought process most likely goes like this:

“I’m not sure what to order. Where’s the menu?” (Menu)

“Do I need to make a reservation or can we just go whenever?” (Reservations)

“Where is this place again?” (Locations or Contact)

Or, these days, #2 looks more like this:

“Do they do takeout? I wonder if they’ll deliver it.” (Order Online)

There are other things customers might want to do on the website. Like buy gift cards or merchandise, sign up for rewards or apply for a job.

So, while the above tasks should be a priority in terms of what visitors see first, make sure to look at the site’s data to see what else they’re interested in doing. Then, make sure those popular actions take center stage in the navigation and site design.

2. Empower Them to Diversify Their Income

Under normal circumstances, profitability is a problem for many restaurants. Add a crisis to the mix and it’s going to become downright impossible to generate any profit — that is if they rely solely on dine-in business.

Long before COVID-19, consumers were already showing a growing preference for digital dining solutions.

According to Peapod, 77% of U.S. consumers said they preferred eating at home than going out. But that doesn’t necessarily translate to ordering in from a restaurant.

27% preferred to order groceries online and pick them up from the store.

26% planned to use grocery delivery.

20% were interested in meal kits.

Then, you have information from Technomic and the National Restaurant Association that found that about 60% of all restaurant sales in the U.S. come from off-premise dining.

For restaurants that haven’t yet made the leap to digital dining options, they’re going to have to ASAP. This isn’t just a temporary thing either.

Restaurants that fail to digitize going forward won’t survive.

So, web designers are going to be needed to help them build out the following:

An online ordering system for their website or a link to an external service,

A reservation system (for when in-house dining is available).

That’s just the bare minimum though. For instance, this is what Snooze Eatery has done:

Snooze Eatery advertises delivery or pickup on its website. (Source: Snooze Eatery) (Large preview)

The first thing visitors see on the website is the online ordering option. When they click “Place Your Order”, they’re taken to the restaurant’s proprietary ordering portal:

Snooze Eatery’s online ordering portal. (Source: Snooze Eatery) (Large preview)

This in and of itself is a great solution for restaurants to have available through their websites as it allows them to control the ordering process and capture more of the profits (but that’s up to your clients to decide, of course). That said, many restaurants are getting creative and going beyond traditional online ordering options.

Below the fold on the Snooze Eatery site, visitors will find this banner:

Snooze Eatery now offers neighborhood provisions. (Source: Snooze Eatery) (Large preview)

As I mentioned earlier, there’s a good number of people who want to be able to order food online but then prepare it for themselves at home. While that would previously have left restaurants high and dry, that’s not the case anymore as many restaurants are expanding their offering to include family-style meal kits and groceries like Snooze.

This alone means that web designers are going to become increasingly more important for restaurants. And don’t expect the work to end there. Restaurants will also need your help building other monetized offerings into their websites. For instance:

Gift cards;

Merchandise;

Subscription services for meal kits, alcohol deliveries and more;

Online memberships for cooking classes, premium recipes, etc.

If they don’t have one yet, they’ll also probably need help creating a rewards and account management system as well.

3. Fix Their Brand Images on Third-party Sites

Although the website should be the engine that powers everything for the business online, restaurants need other sites to help with visibility, too. For example:

Facebook to share photos, advertise location information and collect customer reviews;

Instagram to share photos, restaurant updates and customer-generated content;

Yelp and TripAdvisor to collect customer reviews and feedback;

Google My Business to create a local presence in Google search and Maps as well as to collect reviews;

Delivery services like DoorDash to outsource delivery to;

Reservation sites like OpenTable to outsource reservation bookings to.

If customers are looking for restaurants online, they need to be willing and able to meet them where they are… before eventually bringing them to the website.

Although it’s ultimately the restaurant’s responsibility to create these pages, you should provide assistance when it comes to the visual branding piece. For one, it ensures that there’s some consistency between all their platforms. Also, it enables you to fill in missing pieces that restaurateurs might not think about.

Let’s take a look at Rhode Island staple, IGGY’S:

IGGY’S website visitors are introduced to the restaurant with an image of its iconic clamcakes. (Source: IGGY’S) (Large preview)

The waterfront eatery immediately gets down to business and provides visitors with 3 options for ordering online (based on which location they want to go to).

Here’s what the online ordering portal looks like:

IGGY’S restaurant’s online ordering portal. (Source: IGGY’S) (Large preview)

Notice how good this looks. It takes what would otherwise be a text-only menu and turns it into something much more attractive and, arguably, more effective in driving up sales.

Now, contrast that with IGGY’S online ordering through DoorDash:

DoorDash customers can order online from IGGY’s restaurant. (Source: DoorDash) (Large preview)

The items on this page rarely come with descriptions or images.

Now, IGGY’S is a well-known restaurant around Rhode Island, so this might not be a dealbreaker for online customers. However, new customers might approach the menu with more trepidation than the one available through the IGGY’S website since it’s devoid of details.

This is where your visual-centric approach comes in handy. By making sure each item comes with a high-resolution and mouth-watering photo (the same as the one used on the site), you can optimize this sales opportunity for them.

It’s also important to ensure the brand elements are consistently presented. That way, if an existing customer runs across their favorite restaurant on DoorDash, they won’t hesitate to order because they’ll instantly know it’s their favorite restaurant.

For example, the logo on DoorDash is nothing like the one on the website in terms of quality or looks:

The DoorDash logo for IGGY’S doesn’t match the one on the website. (Source: DoorDash) (Large preview)

Be it the logo or another branded element, you want to make sure that 1) it matches the website and 2) looks good. This goes for online ordering sites like DoorDash as well as all the other ones I mentioned earlier.

Wrapping Up

We’re at a point now where restaurants can no longer be reluctant or stingy about improving their digital presence. And, as a web designer, this should get you excited.

There’s a lot you can do to help businesses in this space beyond designing basic websites. Because so much of their digital transformation involves making sales online, you’ll get to design experiences that are intuitive, modern, and mouth-watering while also creating new monetized pathways for them.

(ra, yk, il)

Website Design & SEO Delray Beach by DBL07.co

Delray Beach SEO

source http://www.scpie.org/how-web-designers-can-help-restaurants-move-into-digital-experiences/

[laurelkrugerr]

How Web Designers Can Help Restaurants Move Into Digital Experiences

About The Author

Suzanne Scacca is a former WordPress implementer, trainer and agency manager who now works as a freelance copywriter. She specializes in crafting marketing agency, web … More about Suzanne Scacca …

The restaurant industry has begun to undergo a major digital transformation. Those that want to survive will need a website that can handle the new way of operating, which means they can no longer afford to hold onto that cheap website they built for themselves years ago. And this spells big opportunities for web designers interested in working in the space.

As much as I’ve always loved the experience of going out to eat and ordering in takeout, it’s very rare that I enjoy visiting a restaurant’s website. But I get it. The restaurant industry tends to run on very slim profit margins, so it’s hard to justify spending money on a professionally designed website when all they want it to do is list their hours of operation and menu.

However, I envision all that changing in 2020 (and beyond) as restaurants are forced to expand into digital in order to survive. Unlike a website that a novice might hack together with a cheap site builder, establishing a competitive digital presence isn’t something they’re going to be able to do on their own.

That’s why web designers should seriously start thinking about expanding into this niche.

How Web Designers Can Help Restaurants Move into Digital

Usually, when something serious shakes up the restaurant industry, those that want to survive will adopt newer and better technologies to adapt. So, it’s not like restaurants are strangers to digital transformation. Until now, though, the focus has mainly been on investing in technology that improves how they work in-house.

With everything that’s happened in 2020, though, restaurants are going to need web designers’ help in doing three things that ensure their survival in an increasingly digital world:

1. Modernize The Restaurant Website

Whenever I write one of these posts, I spend time reviewing a few dozen websites to find the best examples to make my point. I’m not going to lie, this one was tough. While I knew I could turn to national chain restaurants to find modern-looking websites, I had a really hard time with others.

While it’s not impossible to find an independent restaurant operator or local chain that has a great-looking website in 2020, I’d say that at least half of them are way behind the times, if they even have a website at all.

Remember when websites were designed like this?

An outdated restaurant website in 2020, blurred out to protect its identity. (Source: Anonymous) (Large preview)

I’ve blurred out the restaurant’s name and details to protect its identity, but you can still get a sense of how bad this design is for 2020.

Restaurant websites can’t afford to be crappy, non-responsive placeholders anymore. They need to become impressive digital presences that set the stage for what customers will experience when interacting with restaurants as diners.

Let’s take a look at how In-N-Out Burger has nailed modern web design. The first thing you’ll notice is it’s a responsive design. On desktop, the website fits the full width of the screen, so there’s no wasted space around the border. It looks good on a mobile device, too:

The In-N-Out Burger mobile website is responsive and easy to read. (Source: In-N-Out Burger) (Large preview)

Also, take notice of the images. This is a burger joint, so you should expect the website to be full of burger photos, which it is. However, there’s something interesting to note about the burgers you find on the site.

The In-N-Out Burger website uses perfectly framed images and well-chosen transitions. (Source: In-N-Out Burger) (Large preview)

When someone enters a page where there’s a burger photo, the food slides into the frame as if someone were sliding it over to a customer in the restaurant. It’s a neat little transition and many visitors to the site might not even realize what’s happening, but it makes the experience feel more lifelike and interactive.

Transitions aren’t the only things you can do to create this sort of experience. Background videos taken within the establishment work just as well as it gives customers the opportunity to walk through the establishment instead of relying on static images that only paint part of the picture.

Another thing restaurant websites need to improve is how they’re organized.

When people are ready to go out to eat or to dine in, don’t waste their time trying to force the restaurant’s history down their throats (which many of these sites surprisingly do). The navigation as well as the order in which CTAs appear on the home page should reflect the actions customers want to take.

The thought process most likely goes like this:

“I’m not sure what to order. Where’s the menu?” (Menu)

“Do I need to make a reservation or can we just go whenever?” (Reservations)

“Where is this place again?” (Locations or Contact)

Or, these days, #2 looks more like this:

“Do they do takeout? I wonder if they’ll deliver it.” (Order Online)

There are other things customers might want to do on the website. Like buy gift cards or merchandise, sign up for rewards or apply for a job.

So, while the above tasks should be a priority in terms of what visitors see first, make sure to look at the site’s data to see what else they’re interested in doing. Then, make sure those popular actions take center stage in the navigation and site design.

2. Empower Them to Diversify Their Income

Under normal circumstances, profitability is a problem for many restaurants. Add a crisis to the mix and it’s going to become downright impossible to generate any profit — that is if they rely solely on dine-in business.

Long before COVID-19, consumers were already showing a growing preference for digital dining solutions.

According to Peapod, 77% of U.S. consumers said they preferred eating at home than going out. But that doesn’t necessarily translate to ordering in from a restaurant.

27% preferred to order groceries online and pick them up from the store.

26% planned to use grocery delivery.

20% were interested in meal kits.

Then, you have information from Technomic and the National Restaurant Association that found that about 60% of all restaurant sales in the U.S. come from off-premise dining.

For restaurants that haven’t yet made the leap to digital dining options, they’re going to have to ASAP. This isn’t just a temporary thing either.

Restaurants that fail to digitize going forward won’t survive.

So, web designers are going to be needed to help them build out the following:

An online ordering system for their website or a link to an external service,

A reservation system (for when in-house dining is available).

That’s just the bare minimum though. For instance, this is what Snooze Eatery has done:

Snooze Eatery advertises delivery or pickup on its website. (Source: Snooze Eatery) (Large preview)

The first thing visitors see on the website is the online ordering option. When they click “Place Your Order”, they’re taken to the restaurant’s proprietary ordering portal:

Snooze Eatery’s online ordering portal. (Source: Snooze Eatery) (Large preview)

This in and of itself is a great solution for restaurants to have available through their websites as it allows them to control the ordering process and capture more of the profits (but that’s up to your clients to decide, of course). That said, many restaurants are getting creative and going beyond traditional online ordering options.

Below the fold on the Snooze Eatery site, visitors will find this banner:

Snooze Eatery now offers neighborhood provisions. (Source: Snooze Eatery) (Large preview)

As I mentioned earlier, there’s a good number of people who want to be able to order food online but then prepare it for themselves at home. While that would previously have left restaurants high and dry, that’s not the case anymore as many restaurants are expanding their offering to include family-style meal kits and groceries like Snooze.

This alone means that web designers are going to become increasingly more important for restaurants. And don’t expect the work to end there. Restaurants will also need your help building other monetized offerings into their websites. For instance:

Gift cards;

Merchandise;

Subscription services for meal kits, alcohol deliveries and more;

Online memberships for cooking classes, premium recipes, etc.

If they don’t have one yet, they’ll also probably need help creating a rewards and account management system as well.

3. Fix Their Brand Images on Third-party Sites

Although the website should be the engine that powers everything for the business online, restaurants need other sites to help with visibility, too. For example:

Facebook to share photos, advertise location information and collect customer reviews;

Instagram to share photos, restaurant updates and customer-generated content;

Yelp and TripAdvisor to collect customer reviews and feedback;

Google My Business to create a local presence in Google search and Maps as well as to collect reviews;

Delivery services like DoorDash to outsource delivery to;

Reservation sites like OpenTable to outsource reservation bookings to.

If customers are looking for restaurants online, they need to be willing and able to meet them where they are… before eventually bringing them to the website.

Although it’s ultimately the restaurant’s responsibility to create these pages, you should provide assistance when it comes to the visual branding piece. For one, it ensures that there’s some consistency between all their platforms. Also, it enables you to fill in missing pieces that restaurateurs might not think about.

Let’s take a look at Rhode Island staple, IGGY’S:

IGGY’S website visitors are introduced to the restaurant with an image of its iconic clamcakes. (Source: IGGY’S) (Large preview)

The waterfront eatery immediately gets down to business and provides visitors with 3 options for ordering online (based on which location they want to go to).

Here’s what the online ordering portal looks like:

IGGY’S restaurant’s online ordering portal. (Source: IGGY’S) (Large preview)

Notice how good this looks. It takes what would otherwise be a text-only menu and turns it into something much more attractive and, arguably, more effective in driving up sales.

Now, contrast that with IGGY’S online ordering through DoorDash:

DoorDash customers can order online from IGGY’s restaurant. (Source: DoorDash) (Large preview)

The items on this page rarely come with descriptions or images.

Now, IGGY’S is a well-known restaurant around Rhode Island, so this might not be a dealbreaker for online customers. However, new customers might approach the menu with more trepidation than the one available through the IGGY’S website since it’s devoid of details.

This is where your visual-centric approach comes in handy. By making sure each item comes with a high-resolution and mouth-watering photo (the same as the one used on the site), you can optimize this sales opportunity for them.

It’s also important to ensure the brand elements are consistently presented. That way, if an existing customer runs across their favorite restaurant on DoorDash, they won’t hesitate to order because they’ll instantly know it’s their favorite restaurant.

For example, the logo on DoorDash is nothing like the one on the website in terms of quality or looks:

The DoorDash logo for IGGY’S doesn’t match the one on the website. (Source: DoorDash) (Large preview)

Be it the logo or another branded element, you want to make sure that 1) it matches the website and 2) looks good. This goes for online ordering sites like DoorDash as well as all the other ones I mentioned earlier.

Wrapping Up

We’re at a point now where restaurants can no longer be reluctant or stingy about improving their digital presence. And, as a web designer, this should get you excited.

There’s a lot you can do to help businesses in this space beyond designing basic websites. Because so much of their digital transformation involves making sales online, you’ll get to design experiences that are intuitive, modern, and mouth-watering while also creating new monetized pathways for them.

(ra, yk, il)

Website Design & SEO Delray Beach by DBL07.co

Delray Beach SEO

source http://www.scpie.org/how-web-designers-can-help-restaurants-move-into-digital-experiences/ source https://scpie1.blogspot.com/2020/06/how-web-designers-can-help-restaurants.html

[asfeedin]

5 Blogging Tips to Help Boost Your Content Now

Every year, Orbit Media releases their Blogging Statistics and Trends survey.

To compile their findings, it’s sent to over 1,000 unique bloggers and content marketing specialists.

Naturally, it’s packed with valuable information, graphs, and tidbits that can transform your outlook on content creation.

But reading a 5,000+ word blog post and deciphering the meaning of dozens of graphs is time-consuming.

And remembering all of it down the line without taking copious, detailed notes? Slim chance.

So, I did it for you!

Here are the biggest takeaways you can learn from the 1,000+ bloggers surveyed to improve your content.

1. Start Spending More Time on Each Post

Most people spend an average of 3 hours and 57 minutes writing a blog post before sending it live, according to the Blogging Survey.

Unless you’ve been an expert in that specific field for the last 10 years, that still isn’t enough.

The problem with spending only four hours on a single post is lack of research.

It’s nearly impossible to conduct impactful (deep) research, synthesize the information, and condense the key takeaways into 2,000 words in four hours or less.

A common issue then becomes the regurgitation of already existing content.

Essentially, just Googling the target keyword, pulling tips from top posts, and then calling it “new.”

That’s not original and it’s sure as heck not going to get results.

Some of the most interesting (and successful) content is months in the making before being published.

Prime example: Search Engine Journal’s 18-part 2020 SEO Guide.

Now go try to write a 2020 SEO guide that matches the quality above in four hours and get back to me with the traffic and ranking results.

It ain’t gonna work.

Content is becoming incredible.

It’s more detailed than ever before.

It delves deeper into each subject’s subtopics and sub-subtopics.

It’s complete with tutorials, tips, studies, original research, and unique value.

If you want average results, spend the average 1-4 hours on your content.

But bloggers spending 6+ hours per post are 38% more likely to report stronger results.

And I’d be willing to wager that with each additional hour (up to a point), those results increase even more.

2. Stop Putting (Real) Editing on the Backburner

Most content out there is dead boring.

It’s dry, nails on a chalkboard content.

Even if the copy is appetizing, it doesn’t mean squat if nobody can digest it.

Content should get people aroused and pique their senses.

It needs to be flawless in tone, style, and delivery.

Without an editor, this becomes a fool’s errand.

You’ve just written 2,000+ words. The last thing your brain wants to do is re-read it five times to check for grammatically incorrect phrases or to see if every last sentence matches the tone of your target audience.

Are you editing your own work?

If so, you aren’t alone.

According to the survey, 41% of writers edit their own work.

Another 28% informally showcase it to one or two people.

Only 22% of writers have a formal editor.

And guess what? Those that use one or more formal editors report 38% better results.

Bad grammar and sloppy editing can damage your credibility and even hinders your likelihood of being promoted and accelerating job advancement.

Plus, the readers don’t lie:

42% of ‘em state that spelling errors give them a negative perception of brand and status.

And, according to the Blogging Survey, showing it to a friend isn’t good enough.

You need serious editors dedicated to the task of content perfection.

There are countless sites like Fiverr and UpWork where you can hire quality editors:

Feeling frugal?

There are dozens of grammar and editing tools online.

I never send off an article without running it through Grammarly:

It checks for plagiarism, spelling, grammar, punctuation, fluency, conciseness, formality, clarity, variety, and vocabulary.

Plus, you can customize goals to deliver more accurate editing suggestions based on what intent, style, and emotion you are going for:

This should serve as a baseline for editing your content.

Once you do this, it’s time to run it by an editor.

Can’t find one?

Grammarly even offers human proofreading services, so you have no excuse.

No matter what you do, always run your content through an editing tool and a professional editor.

Your readers can (and will) thank you later.

3. Stop Neglecting Old Content

Writing a top quality blog post takes hours. Days. Weeks.

Maybe even months if it’s a long guide with production quality visuals.

With so much time invested in a piece of content, it’s easy to hit the publish button and kick back in your chair.

You did it, right?

Sort of. But not really.

Content doesn’t just stay evergreen because you want it to.

Sure, planning in advance for more evergreen topics can help, but even still, nothing in digital marketing stays the same for long.

Once you hit publish, your work is only 75% of the way done. Posts can become outdated in just weeks.

According to the Blogging Statistics and Trends survey, over 33% of content marketers aren’t updating their content after hitting that shiny, instantly gratifying publish button.

I’ve been guilty of going on cruise control, too.

Yet those who do update old content are “2x more likely to report success.”

Updating content gives you the opportunity to grab low-hanging fruit and overtake posts above you if you fall behind, or ensure that competitors can’t do it to you.

Start by looking at your analytics for given posts.

What rankings and traffic did you have when your post was at its peak?

Has traffic flatlined?

Check to see if rankings have changed over time:

If they have, it’s time to update your post to fit searcher expectations.

Head to SERPs for the target keywords and examine the few posts ranking above yours.

Are they targeting Google’s machine learning by answering critically related questions?

Is their content more in-depth, longer, or contain more visuals than yours?

Does it touch on the latest updates and news to keep it relevant?

Ultimately ask yourself:

What are they doing that I haven’t?

Fix it, republish it, and reclaim your rightful SERP position.

4. Start Conducting Your Own Research for Backlink Goldmines

Infographics have long been touted as “link bait.”

But most are far too long, dense, and text-heavy to make a big impact.

Not to mention their cheesy illustrated graphics that we’ve all seen thousands of times over.

And now, good infographics are few and far between.

Hootsuite wrote about the decline of infographics back in 2015.

And a study from 2010-2015 proved that infographics were declining in usage and impact.

So, what works to generate genuine backlinks now?

Original research – ironic, considering I’m writing an entire post about an original research study.

And it’s true: original research is killing it right now.

Case and point, the study I am deconstructing here has 4.25k backlinks already.

Plug in just about any reputable, informative, relevant, and statistically significant original research post and you’ll see similar results.

Tons of:

Links.

Keywords.

Traffic.

Winning.

Why?

Because anybody that writes good content knows research is critical to making your point stick.

Writers need data to back up claims, and marketers need data-driven strategies to maximize their budget.

Providing original research nails both with precision.

According to the Blogging Statistics and Trends survey, 85% of those publishing original research report stronger results than traditional blogging.

Want to create better content that gets noticed?

Start developing original research on unique and trending topics in your niche.

Sure, it might cost you a few thousand bucks to do, but that’s why it works:

You aren’t posting cookie-cutter content.

5. Start Doing What Everyone Else Isn’t Doing

It’s tempting to pump out a bunch of content for the sake of content.

It makes you feel great when you click on your blog and see dozens of long-form posts.

But, unless you are actively doing what most people are not doing, content is a total waste of time.

If you think that you can go write a cookie-cutter SEO tip post in the current age and generate good rankings, think again.

Today’s landscape is brutal.

Even for the most obscure, low-traffic keywords.

Check out the SERPs for “International SEO,” a keyword with just 250 searches a month.

Moz, Search Engine Journal, SEL, Neil Patel, WordStream, SEMrush, and HubSpot. Not a single DA under 87.

Yikes.

Want to rank for it without a DA above 87 and hundreds to thousands of backlinks over years of time?

Two-thousand words ain’t gonna cut it.

“Long-form” doesn’t mean jack if it’s not different in some fundamental way.

You’re gonna need much more, and most people are far too stingy or lazy to do it.

But that’s actually good news.

If everyone was doing it, you’d be stuck in the same position: unable to outrank the big players.

Thankfully, there are tons of strategies that most bloggers are not using, including said big players.

This gives you a powerful opportunity to capitalize on what readers (and Google) want to see:

Only 11% publish 2,000+ word posts: Increase your length, but make sure the content isn’t fluff. Actively research subtopics and provide value. Nobody wants to read 5,000 words if it doesn’t help them solve a problem.

Only 1% collaborate with influencers: Reach out to influencers for quotes to boost credibility. The benefit here is both credibility and the increased chance of these influencers sharing the content and linking back to it.

Only 26% add video content to their articles, and only 7% use audio, but they generate the biggest impacts: For just a few bucks, you can outsource video and audio summaries of your articles to freelancers on UpWork or Fiverr and add immense value for mobile users who enjoy video or want to listen podcast-style.

All of these strategies are listed as the least common tactics among 1,000+ bloggers.

And unsurprisingly, they also rank as the most effective.

Why? Because everything else is beaten to a pulp.

As tactics become more popular over time, receptiveness sinks like a rock (see: Law of Shitty Click-Throughs)

Want better content, better rankings, and better engagement?

Invest in what most content creators are skipping.

Conclusion

With millions of blog posts being written, edited, and published on a daily basis, differentiation is the holy grail.

If you take anything away from this post, it should be this:

Do what other content creators fail to do.

Spend more time on each post (more research, more outlining, more flow development, and more writing).

Have multiple, dedicated editor third-parties edit and proofread your work. They are going to catch errors you simply can’t.

Start revamping your old content and be consistent. Once you hit publish, your job is far from done.

Start producing your own research studies. People love original research. Is it hard to produce? Duh. Is it time-consuming? You know the answer. Is it worth it? Data says yes, unequivocally.

Invest time and money into tactics that most content producers don’t: video, audio, influencer outreach, and more.

More than 1,000 bloggers can teach us that going the extra mile is the only hope in the noise of modern SERPs.

More Resources:

Image Credits

Featured Image: Pixabay All screenshots taken by author, April 2020

if( !ss_u ){

!function(f,b,e,v,n,t,s) {if(f.fbq)return;n=f.fbq=function(){n.callMethod? n.callMethod.apply(n,arguments):n.queue.push(arguments)}; if(!f._fbq)f._fbq=n;n.push=n;n.loaded=!0;n.version='2.0'; n.queue=[];t=b.createElement(e);t.async=!0; t.src=v;s=b.getElementsByTagName(e)[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(t,s)}(window,document,'script', 'https://connect.facebook.net/en_US/fbevents.js'); fbq('init', '1321385257908563');

fbq('track', 'PageView');

fbq('trackSingle', '1321385257908563', 'ViewContent', { content_name: 'blogging-lessons', content_category: 'content-marketing ' });

}// end of scroll user Source link

Tags: 5, blogging, boost, Content, Tips

from WordPress https://ift.tt/2S6vHJI via IFTTT

[bharatiyamedia-blog]

District Justice of the Peace's push for revival of wells, ponds brings hope in Banda; 471 gram panchayats be a part of motion

http://tinyurl.com/yys48yal Editor’s Observe: This summer time has taken a toll on massive elements of north, north-west and north-central India. Because the nation witnesses extraordinarily excessive temperatures ever, here’s a have a look at the Bundelkhand area of Uttar Pradesh and Madhya Pradesh which has been hit by one other drought, and a number of other villages do not even have primary consuming water. That is the sixth in a seven-part series, which explores the state of affairs in Banda, Panna, Damoh, Mahoba and Chitrakoot. *** Banda: Ladies strolling miles underneath the scorching solar with empty vessels to fetch water is a standard scene in many of the drought-hit areas of India. However the image is far totally different and constructive in Banda district within the arid Bundelkhand area of Uttar Pradesh. Villagers from the district underneath the steerage of a authorities official have taken it upon themselves to revive the water our bodies in Banda, as an alternative of passing the buck. Individuals trenching wells and ponds within the morning and cleansing them within the night has turn into a standard sight throughout all gram panchayats of the district. This all began with ‘Kuan-Talab Jivao Abhiyaan’ (properly and pond revival initiative) initiated by District Justice of the Peace Heera Lal, who additionally mobilised the group to revive the pure and man-made water our bodies within the district. District Justice of the Peace Heera Lal inaugurates work at a pond in Banda as a part of the Kuan-Talab Jivao Abhiyaan. Manoj Kumar/101Reporters Lal, who is decided to finish the water disaster within the district, began the initiative in February, properly earlier than the arrival of peak summer time. The 1994-batch PCS officer, who was promoted to IAS in 2010, mentioned the preliminary goal was to scrub the wells, which have been being handled like dustbins in each village, and the ponds. What’s the water physique revival initiative? “I do know the issue of water goes to turn into very severe within the coming days, particularly contemplating how dry the world is. There isn’t a hurt in making an attempt one thing that may assist the individuals in the long term. Wells throughout India have turn into waste bins, and my first goal was to scrub them up, as a result of trenching helps in opening the pores, which ends up in water recharging. It’s the similar with ponds,” he added. The District Justice of the Peace refers the water revival initiative as a sport of cricket during which “the help of the total staff is required”. “To make sure everybody’s participation, I personally began visiting the villages and cleansing the water our bodies. Watching me do it, an increasing number of individuals joined regularly after they realised that it was being performed for his or her profit. I could get transferred from the district, however the residents have to remain right here; in the event that they take motion at this time, it is going to assist their future generations,” he reasoned. Lal mentioned the work of reviving the water our bodies in Banda is being performed in all 471 gram panchayats throughout the district’s eight blocks. Heera Lal inspecting properly with villagers in Banda. Manoj Kumar/101Reporters “I’ve engaged the civil society together with the villagers, and that’s one thing that goes past the duties of a district administration, which is being appreciated by everybody,” he mentioned, including that he can’t touch upon the impression of the initiative in the mean time as monsoon is but to reach within the area. Nonetheless, he assured that water could be collected within the cleaned ponds and wells and, this time, could be usable. “The deadline to finish all work has been set as 15 July, and we’re hopeful of assembly it. We haven’t organized for any separate funds for it and are availing these from the Swacch Bharat Abhiyan and different programmes,” defined Lal, saying that stories of individuals preventing for water in adjoining districts have been commonly pouring in, and he doesn’t desire a state of affairs like that in Banda. “If I’m investing my time, then I wish to see the undertaking give good outcomes; that’s why I’m working 18 hours a day. I’ve visited all of the villages and began this undertaking in each hamlet,” he added. It is an age outdated methodology, say villagers Bhadru Sahu, 53, a vegetable grower from the Chhota Bharkhurd space in Banda says, “Few of the individuals from the parched Bundelkhand have been doing their finest by following the identical methodology for a few years to revive the water sources within the space. There’s a saint in Hamirpur space who has been doing this for a few years and there are others as properly. The District Justice of the Peace solely helped in mobilising the individuals in any other case individuals affected by water shortage have been doing their bit to revive the water our bodies.” Villagers participate in a programme organised as a part of the Kuan-Talab Jivao Abhiyaan. Manoj Kumar/101Reporters Howere, Jamuna Prasad, 47, a farmer from the Pandui village the place the trenching work began a number of days in the past says that is the perfect and conventional technique to convey water to a dry land. “Our forefathers instructed us that if now we have to convey again the misplaced water then trenching needs to be performed time to time. Our era didn’t look after water and ecological conservation till they misplaced it. Now the villagers have began doing this once more and the District Justice of the Peace, with assist from a number of non-governmental organizations (NGOs) like Water Support and others, is encouraging the villagers to do it on a big scale. That is very efficient and everyone knows that it’s going to assist us in years to return as a result of water recharging in pre-dug ponds and wells is simple whereas it takes lots of time within the new water our bodies,” mentioned Prasad. Activists laud initiative Banda-based setting activist Shobha Ram, one of many fundamental forces behind this initiative, mentioned Bundelkhand was as soon as identified for its ponds and wells. “The issue of water has at all times endured on this area, so ponds and wells, which have been the principle sources of water, have been prioritised. Of a complete 7,508 wells, solely 3,223 nonetheless have water in them; the remainder have dried up, and the explanations for which can be each man-made and pure. However, of the two,292 ponds within the district, only one,193 have water in it; the remainder have both dried up or been acquired by individuals,” mentioned Ram. He lauded the water physique revival initiative and mentioned it could assist individuals lots throughout dry days. He, nonetheless, added that the district administration additionally wants to begin work on reclaiming the acquired ponds and wells and provides them again to the general public. One other water activist, Pushpendra Bhai, mentioned, “I’m fairly positive that if there’s one other world warfare, will probably be as a result of shortage of water. Options like this initiative are a step in the direction of stopping that. Heera Lal addressing villagers in Banda. Manoj Kumar/101Reporters “The residents of Banda will have the ability to save not less than 3,930 kilo litres of water, whereas 11,001 kilo litres of water seepage into the bottom in a 12 months will assist in recharging (the groundwater).” Pankaj Kumar, a farmer and an activist who has been actively collaborating on this initiative, mentioned that, initially, solely a few individuals in Bundelkhand have been making efforts to preserve and protect the water our bodies, and therefore, this initiative from the administration was a lot wanted. “It’s laborious to persuade individuals within the preliminary phases, however the presence of the District Justice of the Peace himself helped in getting good public participation. Now, individuals have began doing it even when the DM  is not capable of go to their village. They’ve realised how a lot this initiative will assist throughout extreme dry spells,” Kumar added. ‘DM taking undue credit score’ Banda-based activist Ashish Sagar, who has been elevating his voice in opposition to the unlawful mining within the district, additionally champions the initiative, nonetheless, he says that the administration additionally wants to deal with the issue of unlawful buildings which have been constructed on dry ponds. “If the District Justice of the Peace actually desires to convey again the glory of Bundelkhand, he also needs to take his initiative to locations the place huge buildings are standing. There are over 10 locations in Banda the place buildings have been constructed (on dry ponds) and no effort is being performed to revive them. Additionally, (he ought to) let the villagers take credit score for this initiative as a result of this was began by them and never by the District Justice of the Peace. He’s simply main it from the entrance foot,” says Sagar. The writer is a Lucknow-based freelance author and a member of 101Reporters.com Learn earlier elements of the collection right here: Part I: In MP’s Panna district, villagers launch initiative to restore local water bodies as successive droughts give rise to malnutrition, migration Part II: Villagers in Madhya Pradesh’s Damoh are forced to drink from dirty pond frequented by animals due to water crisis Part III: UP’s Kabrai battles year-long dry period due to illegal sand mining; parched residents turn on each other for water Part IV: Severe water crisis in Uttar Pradesh’s Gopipur leaves bachelors in Chitrakoot’s parched village without brides Part V: Farmers in Uttar Pradesh’s Banda change cropping patterns, restore ponds to make profits despite persistent drought Your information to the most recent cricket World Cup tales, evaluation, stories, opinions, dwell updates and scores on https://www.firstpost.com/firstcricket/series/icc-cricket-world-cup-2019.html. Observe us on Twitter and Instagram or like our Facebook web page for updates all through the continuing occasion in England and Wales. !function(f,b,e,v,n,t,s) {if(f.fbq)return;n=f.fbq=function() {n.callMethod? n.callMethod.apply(n,arguments):n.queue.push(arguments)} ; if(!f._fbq)f._fbq=n;n.push=n;n.loaded=!0;n.version='2.0'; n.queue=[];t=b.createElement(e);t.async=!0; t.src=v;s=b.getElementsByTagName(e)[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(t,s)}(window,document,'script', 'https://connect.facebook.net/en_US/fbevents.js'); fbq('init', '259288058299626'); fbq('track', 'PageView'); (function(d, s, id) { var js, fjs = d.getElementsByTagName(s)[0]; if (d.getElementById(id)) return; js = d.createElement(s); js.id = id; js.src = "http://connect.facebook.net/en_GB/all.js#xfbml=1&version=v2.9&appId=1117108234997285"; fjs.parentNode.insertBefore(js, fjs); }(document, 'script', 'facebook-jssdk')); window.fbAsyncInit = function () { FB.init({appId: '1117108234997285', version: 2.4, xfbml: true}); // *** here is my code *** if (typeof facebookInit == 'function') { facebookInit(); } }; (function () { var e = document.createElement('script'); e.src = document.location.protocol + '//connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js'; e.async = true; document.getElementById('fb-root').appendChild(e); }()); function facebookInit() { console.log('Found FB: Loading comments.'); FB.XFBML.parse(); } Source link

[jansen1107]

Doing the Freelance Hustle

About a year ago, I left my disastrous, full-time, sweatshop ad agency job as an editor and decided to become a freelancer. It’s been kind of a rocky road. Freelancing can be feast or famine, and I’ve seen it from both sides.

I’m really no stranger to the freelance life. I spent most of the 2000s freelancing when full-time proofreading/copyediting jobs were scarce. I was laid off many times from various gigs when the work dried up. Sometimes, I’d start what was supposed to be a long-term gig only to be laid off two weeks later due to budget constraints. 

My friend Julie was incredibly helpful in getting me set up on my own this time, and it was she who got me a gig back at my old agency. Julie has been freelancing since the ‘80s and supplements her dry spells with a side gig doing shiatsu massage from her apartment. She’s an editorial veteran with war stories. She’s also been great at helping me make connections with some agencies she works with.

For the past year, I’ve been trying hard to build a client base. I’ve sent out my resume to various agencies and thought, at one point, that I had struck gold when I found one company with seven agencies in its network. The contact told me they were always looking for editors and all I had to do was call. I managed to get a month of work through them and was even offered an extension with the chance of going full-time, but I decided to return to my old agency for what would become a four-month gig with the plan to go full-time again with, hopefully, a better salary. That dream went up in smoke when the agency recently lost three big clients and had two rounds of layoffs. I would find myself out of work for almost two weeks before being hired back to help with a big project. I have one week left with them and then my life is another blanket toss.

Ad agencies seem to be in a tricky place right now. Back in the ‘50s and ‘60s, it was a glamorous industry that influenced popular culture. Many men (and a damn few women) made their fortunes churning out commercials, ads, and radio spots that are recognized around the world to this day. In 2017, although the facade of that glamor is still intact, the reality is that ad agencies are now beholden to their clients like never before. It feels like a veritable arms race to offer the best product turned around in the fastest possible time for the cheapest price. Ad agencies are now seen as the middlemen and that pressure to perform really takes its toll on the people who work there. Work-life balance is increasingly rare, and it’s not uncommon for teams to be worked around the clock, literally. More and more companies are starting to create in-house advertising departments. The extinction is underway.

I’ve managed to get the most work from my former agency, and at $55 an hour (with $82.50 for overtime), I’m doing pretty well for myself. (Also, I’m more of a bargain than a worker hired through a temp agency.) I don’t exactly get to keep all of that because $567 a month goes to a gold-level health insurance/dental plan through Obamacare. Because I have some health issues, forfeiting insurance is not an option for me. Also, I’d like to get back some of my tax returns rather than get hit with a hefty penalty come April 15. So, even though I’m making good money, it still feels like I’m only just getting by with all of the overhead I have to pay. (Two of my cats needed vet care back in June, which set me back $1,800. And then I found myself out of work for two weeks.) This year alone, I’ve been out of work for a total of nine weeks. Granted, one of those weeks was a trip to Cuba where I requested the time off.

Add to that my constant anxiety about saving for my retirement. I’m single and childless so there may not be a spouse or kids to lean on/look after me in my old age. It’s going to come down to me paying for others to do that. Having enough money to outlast me is going to be a challenge. At present, I have only $80k in my 401(k). That’s better than the average of $63k for people in my age group. But what I should have saved for my age is $146k if I’m going to be a millionaire at retirement. (I’m thinking about that last space on the Life board game.) It’s going to be an uphill battle to get there, and I can see myself working a part-time job well past the age of 70. (I hope I still have good health.)

The smart money (pun intended) would be to open a Roth IRA and start socking away some of my freelance earnings. But (but, but, but…) with outstanding student loan debt (not much) and credit card debt (manageable), I have a hard time deciding whether to save or to pay off accounts.

It’s a scary feeling when you’re a freelancer between gigs. There’s never any guarantee when the next job is going to come your way. It could be a couple weeks or a whole month. I’ve been collecting unemployment during my dry spells, but at only $372 a week after taxes, that’s not a lot to live on. Sure, I can feed myself and my cats and pay some bills, but that amount isn’t going to pay my rent. The weeks off are never a vacation because you’re constantly scanning the online job boards and calling and emailing contacts to try to set up something. Oh, how I would love not to feel anxious during my downtime!

So, I’m at a crossroads right now trying to decide if I want to continue with the freelance life or go full-time again: Pro: With full-time, you have a steady paycheck and can actually create a budget to live by. Con: With freelancing, you’re rolling in the dough, but sometimes it can take a month to get your first paycheck with a new client or you only get live checks and have to wait three business days for it to clear. (Then there are the clients that constantly screw up the hours when they pay you. Creative accounting?) Pro: With full-time, you have help with your insurance and your 401(k) is fed out of every paycheck. Con: But you take home less when you work full-time. Pro: As a freelancer, you can make bank with two 50-hour, back-to-back work weeks.  Con: With full-time, there’s no guarantee that you’ll be paid overtime and will most likely be tied to a salary no matter how many hours you work.

And whether you’re freelance or full-time, there’s no guarantee that the job will even be there for you the next morning you walk into the office. I saw this firsthand at the beginning of the week when the head project manager was (shockingly) laid off due to lack of work coming into the agency. There just weren’t enough billable hours to support his salary. 

No matter what you do, there are just no guarantees.