#point being its designed to be easy to just plug things in and customize it! The colors and fonts are set with varibles

[bastardsofravenkroft-blog]

I basically finished a mini page in like. three hours

[tangledstarlight]

i’ll say it with petals (you’ll ink it in my skin)

julie works at her families flower shop and luke works in the tattoo parlour next door. one time he plays his music a little too loud, one time julie decides to have a word.

it just a lil flower shop / tattoo artist au

i honestly had so much fun writing this one and it really truly did get away from me. i didn’t mean for it to be 11k words long, my bad. it also lowkey covers the ‘how do you passive aggressively say fuck you in flowers’ prompt, so the flower meanings are at the end. 

but anyway please enjoy!!!

also on ao3 (in source!)

trigger warnings! death mentions (julies mom), mild swearing, underage drinking (literally a single beer) needles.

When she was little Julie remembers always being excited to get to go to work with her mom at the flower shop. Because she liked to spend time with her mom, but also because Julie really loved all the flowers.

Walking into the shop when she was little always felt a little like walking into a magical world. Somewhere full of bright colours and loud scents and soft instrumental music always playing in the background. It felt a lot like home too.

With her mom singing and her tia laughing and Julie trying to join in with both. She remembers, when she was little, always pulling one of the tall chairs up to the counter, greeting customers with a gap toothed smile and asking in her best voice ‘what can I help you with today?’ but she’d a little bit of a lisp and the chair would wobble and the customer would smile politely but ring the bell for her mom or tia to come bustling out.

Walking into the shop still feels a little bit magical even now she’s nineteen and no longer full of childhood wonder, but it’s also tinged with a melancholy feeling that has her sitting at the front counter on one of the tall chairs and humming quietly to herself.

When Julie thinks back on her childhood now, it’s full of music and laughter and flowers. When she closes her eyes, when the shop is quiet and she’s alone in the backroom, she can almost hear her mom singing about flower names to her and hear tia talking away to a customer and her dad dropping by to kiss her hair and leave lunch. It used to hurt, and sometimes it still does, but mostly it just makes her smile.

Until the sound of heavy drums and a loud guitar breaks her peaceful afternoon.

Julie accidentally snaps the stem of the lily in her hand as she glares at the wall that connects their shop to the tattoo parlour next door. For the last two weekends this has been happening on and off. The music would start blaring at random points in the day and abruptly stop. Only to start again a little later on.

Now see, despite what people at her school might have said in senior year, Julie still loved music. She liked to play it just as loud as the next person, and she didn’t even mind whatever band it was that was playing. They had some very catchy riffs and melodies, from what she could hear.

But when your music echoed through the walls so loud that someone next door could hear the words, your music was too loud.

Putting the snapped lily down, Julie wipes her hands on her apron and glares a little more at the wall, like the person on the other side would be able to see her, when there’s no change she glances at the clock. Twelve o’clock. So much for having a quiet lunch break and watching an episode of Schitt’s Creek. The only silver lining was that the music didn’t normally last for long. Twenty minutes at most.

By one o’clock, when the music is still blasting and she’s starting to gain a headache and she’s started looking up obscure flowers that could mean ‘shut up’, Julie decides she needs to do something.

The tattoo parlour has been in business next door to Petal Pushers for the last six years and as far as Julie knows there’s never been any issues between them. (In fact, Julie knows that her mom had gotten her last tattoo there and that her tia often gave them leftover arrangements for their front window and four years ago, when the flower shop had undergone a rebrand, one of their artists had designed their logo.)

All she had to do was go next door and ask whoever it was to turn the volume down. Easy.

She finds herself waiting another half an hour, just in case, but she can still hear the crashing of drums and the pulsing bass.

So she slips her phone into her back pocket and picks up her keys, turns the sign on the door to ‘back in ten minutes!’ and walks the eight steps to the right, pushes open the door to Etched in Ink and is immediately attacked by music. There’s a more authentic feeling to it now she’s in the shop, something alive about it, but it might just be the volume and how she can see the bowl of lollies on the front desk actually vibrating.

“Hello?” Her voice gets lost in someone singing about time moving slowly as she steps further into the shop, eyes glancing around. She’s been in before –– she came when her mom got her tattoo and she’s dropped off flowers on occasion –– but it’s been a while. There’s some new art work on the walls she thinks, and band posters. Fingers tapping on the desk she shouts a hello again but isn’t surprised when it’s once again swallowed by the music

Rolling her eyes Julie steps around the desk and through to the main area of the shop where the music is impossibly louder, but there’s still no one around. Honestly, it would be so easy for someone to walk in and rob the place.

Her fingers walk along the arm arm of a chair as she walks through the space and towards a slightly ajar staff door at the back. Julie knocks, to be polite, but huffs out a breath when there’s still no response. Honestly, she can barely hear herself think in this place, let alone hear someone at the door.

Pushing it open, her mouth opens to reprimand whoever is inside but instead she’s left standing both thoughtless and speechless at the guy bouncing around the room.

He’s wearing black jeans and an orange beanie that contradict with the sleeveless band shirt covering his torso. Because that’s all it’s covering, and doing a poor job at that. Julie watches, a little transfixed, as his biceps flex, sleeve of tattoos dancing with the movement as he plays along with the guitar riff of the song on the electric in his hands.

Idly, in the back of her mind, she finally understands why the music had felt different when she stepped into the shop.

He nods his head in time with the music and the crashing of a cymbal, eyes shut tight and biting his bottom lip in concentration.

And okay, Julie knows she came over to yell at the asshole playing his music too loud and is now just gawking at him. But in her defence, she didn’t know he was going to be so hot.

Julie’s still standing in the doorway staring at him, her mind trying desperately to regain control, when he opens his eyes and looks right at her. His eyes widen a fraction in surprise, and she notices his fingers slip, just a little on the frets, before a smirk curls at the edges of his lips.

In mild horror and joy, Julie watches as he takes a step closer to her, fingers moving across the strings as he follows along with the song and stares right at her.

Swallowing, and trying to ignore how warm her cheeks suddenly feel, Julie crosses her arms over her chest and raises an eyebrow at him as the song finally seems to come to an end.

“I knocked!” She blurts out the second he hits pause on the cd player in the corner of the room and she resists the urge to move hair in front of her face when he looks at her with a single raised brow. “But it’s no surprise you couldn’t hear me over this racket,” she waves vauley to his guitar, careful to avoid eye contact with his arms.

“You work next door, right?” He asks, sitting on top of the table in the middle of the room, his feet resting on the chair while he rests his guitar on his lap, folding his arms on top, muscles flexing and oh god. She really needs to stop staring at his arms.

“Mhm,” she manages to get out along with a nod of her head, eyes darting up to his face. But from the look in his eyes Julie’s pretty sure she’s been caught staring.

“I’ve seen you around,” he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and he smiles and Julie thinks that might be worse to look at then his arms. Fucking hell, “I’m uh Luke, by the way. Started here a few months ago.”

“Right,” this conversation was not going the way she anticipated. Pushing aside his employment history and his name –– though she is grateful to have it –– Julie clears her throat and pulls herself up a little straighter. “That’s great. I came to ask you to turn the music down. I can barely think next door.”

“You don’t like the songs?” There’s a slight pout on his lips that almost distracts her and has her saying she does like the songs.

Instead she shakes her head, “It’s not exactly the soundtrack I want when making a funeral arrangement.”

Honestly, she had been expecting him to nod in understanding, apologise for the loudness and promise to keep it down. She didn’t expect him to let out a laugh –– which was bright and clear and made his eyes crinkle in such a cute way that it totally distracted her from his biceps –– or lean towards her with a grin.

“Are you kidding!? A song about how life is short and you’ve got to live it like it’s now or never––” he sings the line and suddenly Julie is hit with the knowledge that the music she’s been hearing over the last few weeks is apparently his, ”Is the perfect soundtrack for a funeral arrangement. Also possibly christenings. But I don’t know if flowers are a thing for those.”

“Of course there’s –– No, no stop,” she closes her eyes, throwing her hands up before she really loses track of the conversation, “I’m not here to talk about flower arrangements. I just came to ask for you to please turn the music down,” she pauses, eyes darting to his arms and the guitar they’re resting on before pointing at the amp its plugging into, “And if you’re going to play, to do it at a 1, not a 10.”

“Even if I play something arrangement appropriate like You Raise Me Up?” Luke leans a little more forward, pushing himself to the edge of the table until his guitar is almost touching the back of the chair.

“Even if you played Danny Boy,” Julie doesn’t know when she’d copied him, tilting forward at the waist so they were almost eye level, but when she notices she can make out the details of the book inked into his skin she realises they’ve drifted closer. Cheeks warming, she stands up straighter and brushes her hands down her apron.

“Just–– keep it down. Please,” she turns to walk out the door but hesitates, turning to look at him over her shoulder, eyes firmly on his face, “If not for my sake then for your own. Anyone could walk in here and rob you, and you wouldn't hear a thing.”

“Hey wait! You didn’t tell me your name! Can’t spend the whole conversation staring at my arms and not give me something.”

Julie pauses, lets her eyes wander from his fingers resting on the neck of his guitar, up his inked forearms and biceps before landing on his face, quirking her lips a little, “Think of it as payment for disrupting my lunch.”

She’s halfway through the main room when she hears him stuttering out a laugh and calling after her again, and it takes all her willpower not to turn around.

Unfortunately that means she’s a blushing mess by the time she makes it back into her shop, shaking her head as she tries to stop smiling.

//

After their first encounter Luke doesn’t play his music too loud anymore, but Julie suddenly starts seeing him all the time anyway.

A Tuesday morning when she’s opening up, blinking back a yawn and fumbling with her keys and he’s wandering up with a wide grin and too chirpy hello. She’s fairly certain she grumbles something about daylight and needing coffee before dealing with him and an amused smile on his lips. (The next Tuesday when he’d strolled up he’d had a carrier with two take out cups and handed one to her without a word. Julie had stood stunned for a few seconds before her brain kicked in and she’d opened the door with a muttered thanks.)

A Thursday evening when she’s lugging a bag of garbage out to the bins at the back of the shop and Luke’s sitting on the old deck chair in his shop's yard, notebook open on his lap and pen tapping on his knee. He’d gotten up, pen tucked behind his ear and book stuffed in his back pocket, and come over to help her. After she’d said thank you they’d hesitated in each other's space and shared a smile before going their separate ways. (Later, Juile wrinkles her nose when she realises it’s the first time they’ve both smiled at each other and it had been next to the god damn bins.)

A Friday at lunch time when she’s bringing out a tray of flowers to give to the hearse driver parked on the street and Luke walks past humming the tune to Danny Boy under his breath, making her burst into a fit of giggles that makes him grin and the driver frown and her blush. (She sees him walking past again half an hour later and waits until she’s sure he’s inside before hitting play on their sound system, You Raise Me Up starts blasting through the shop and she grins to herself when she hears something hit their connecting wall.)

A Sunday afternoon when she’s collecting all the leftover bouquets from out front of the shop and Luke walks past her, hands in his pockets and guariar case slung over one shoulder. He pauses as she straightens up with a collection of rose bouquets in her arms, she raises an eyebrow at him and Juile could swear he blushes, but it’s probably a trick of the dying light. He’d given her a two finger salute, muttered something about having a good afternoon and then hurried away. (Julie had spent the last hour of her shift before closing thinking about the way the denim jacket he had been wearing did very little to hide the definition of his arms.)

So Julie’s used to seeing him around now.

To their little quips and shared coffees on Tuesday mornings and the way the ghost tattoo at the bottom of his bicep seems to dance whenever he shoots her a wave.

But she’s used to seeing him outside.

Never inside Petal Pushers surrounded by flowers or tilting his head as he listens to the softly playing music.

But on a Wednesday afternoon as she comes out of the back room when someone rings the bell on the counter she’s greeted by Luke doing just that. He’s got one hand pushed into the front pocket of her jeans while his other is idly tracing a pattern on the counter top, it’s only when she gets a little closer that she realises he’s tracing music notes.

“Hi, welcome to Petal Pushers. I’m Julie, how can I help you today?” The words leave her mouth before she can stop them, mind working on autopilot at the sight of a customer.

A slow smile spreads across Luke’s face as he looks down at her, his fingers stilling on the counter, “So you’re name’s Julie,” he says and Julie doesn’t think she’s ever heard anyone say her name like him. Like it’s the lyric to a song they’ve been trying to finish or a missing puzzle piece.

Letting out a sigh she gives him a nod, chewing on her bottom lip as she really looks at him. Over the last few weeks Julie has learned that he doesn’t work Wednesdays, that he has a real aversion to sleeves and when he knows no one is booked in for an appointment he uses the time to practice for his band. She’s also learnt that he bites his lip way too much for her health, has a tattoo on his ribs that she’s dying to fully see and that he rubs the back of his neck when he’s nervous.

Like he’s doing right now.

“It is. Did you just come in to finally find out or did you need some flowers?” She tilts head at him and smiles.

“I uh––” his hand is still rubbing at his neck and Julie watches his tongue run over his lips and she has to blink quickly to refocus her eyes when he starts talking, “I heard that flowers have different meanings, right?”

“Uh yeah,” she nods, still blinking, but more in confusion now. This isn’t quite what she thought the conversation was going to be.

“Okay cool. So um, how would you say fuck you in flowers?”

Julie blinks, opens her mouth to say something only to close it again. Huh. Really wasn’t what she expected him to ask.

“Well, do you want to say it subtly? Passive aggressive? Just a straight up fuck you?” Her mind is already thinking about possibilities and what they have in stock.

“Straight up fuck you,” he nods once before muttering, more to himself then her, “I don’t think Bobby would even understand subtly.”

Squinting for a moment, Julie knocks her knuckles on the counter top once before pushing away from it and starting to move around the shop. She picks out a few pink peonies and pale pink geraniums, she looks at the different carnations they have out, pursing her lips in thought.

“What exactly has this Bobby done? Dumped you for someone with better biceps?” She teases, glancing at him over her shoulder as she deliberates between the yellow and purple.

“I wish. That would have been better,” he sighs and Julie frowns at him, brows drawing together as she watches him tap on the counter. “He uh he used to be in my band? But he left because of ‘creative differences’, which was basically because he wanted us to sell out to the first big name label.”

He looks up at her, eyes wide and disgusted at the mere thought of it. And well, she understands that. From the little she’s heard of their band through the walls Julie’s fairly certain they don’t need to sell out to make it big. So she nods at him, tilting her head and hoping he gets that she understands.

“So he left and that was–– it was shit really because we’d all been friends for years. Me and the boys, we tried to keep in touch with him because he left the band but we didn’t think it meant we’d stop being friends, y’know?” Luke moves away from the counter now, wanders over to her and fingers the brushing gently over the petals of a rose as he frowns, “But he cut us off. Found out why yesterday.”

He pauses, fingers still moving over the rose and Julie takes the opportunity to pick out a few of the orange carnations, mentally deciding to fetch two sprigs of meadowsweet from the back when Luke starts talking again.

“He signed with some big shot label and has an album coming out in November. Seven out of the ten songs on it are mine,” as he says it he pulls a little to hard on the petal, tearing it in half, “Fuck, sorry.”

Julie waves away his apology, picking the damaged rose out and adding it to her arms. There’s a dull sort of roaring in her ears as she walks back to the counter, still trying to wrap her head around his story.

His friend had stolen his songs. Had stolen his songs and sold out.

She looks down at the flowers on the counter, stupidity and disappointment and uselessness and anger. Glancing up at Luke, who’s wandered back to the counter, hands pushing into his pockets and looking a little lost.

“He really stole your songs?” She asks gently. It’s been a long time since Julie played her own music, even longer since she wrote a full song, but she knows how much it would hurt her if someone ever stole them from her. Especially if that person had been her friend.

“Yeah,” Luke breaths, resting against the counter and shrugging at her.

“Okay then.”

Holding up one finger she hurries into the back room, picks up a roll of cellophane and the worst ribbons they have, two sprigs of meadowsweet and plucks a single orange lily from the bucket against the wall. Luke’s still leaning against the counter where she left him, staring at the collection of photos on the wall behind it. Most are just photos of their most popular bouquets but mixed between them are photos of her and her mom and her brother and her tia and her dad.

“Your aunt owns this place, right?” He asks casually. Too casually. Like he already knows the answer. Glancing up at him she hums, waiting to see where he’s going with it. “That’s cool. She brings us flowers for the front sometimes. Willie did your logo design, I think.”

Julie smiles at the mention of Willie, he’s a year older then her and had been working at Etched in Ink for the last four years, her mom had picked his design out she remembers. The rough sketched dahlia with music notes hidden in its petals and a rose in the centre. A combination of her moms and her tia’s favourite flowers and music that had always brought their family together.

“My mom said he really managed to capture our family business in it,” she chuckles, moving a carnation and adding one of the meadowood springs. Which might have been true, but Julie also knows they’d picked it because her mom only had a few months left and her tia wanted their new logo to still have something of her in it.

“He’s pretty good at doing that,” Luke agrees and the way he smiles at her lets Julie know that he knows about her mom. And she’s glad he doesn’t mention it, doesn’t try to offer any condolences. “He’s helping Reg re-do our bands logo.”

“Oh?” She raises an eyebrow though her eyes are still on the flowers. In go the peonies and geraniums, colours clashing.

“Sunset Curve. You should uh––” he hesitates for long enough that Julie looks up at him, at the faint blush on his cheeks and one hand at the back of his neck. “You should check us out. We’ve got a few videos on youtube. Or I could uh I could get you a copy of our demo.”

She looks at him for a heartbeat, at his pink cheeks and the way he’s biting his lip despite smiling and the blank space of skin on the underside of his arm. Julie gives him a half smile, eyebrows flicking up as she teases, “Okay, Sunset Swerve, right?”

“I’ll go back to playing our demo super loudly,” he tries to glare at her, but it's ruined by the way his lips stick out in a pout and the lock of hair falling across his forehead.

“Mhm, and I’ll just call the police with a noise complaint,” she grins at him.

“If you were gonna do that you’d have done it already,” he points out and yeah. He has a point there.

“Maybe,” she concedes looking back at the flowers and sticking the lily straight in the middle. No better way to say fuck you then with an orange lily. Without measuring she cuts off a length of the bright lime green ribbon and lays a section of cellophane on the counter top.

“That’s a terrible colour,” Luke points out mildly and when Julie flicks her eyes up she sees him grinning. She wraps two elastic bands around the flower stems and cuts them all down to the same size before laying them on the plastic wrap and rolling them together.

“Can you––” she gestures with her finger for Luke to hold the ribbon and cellophane in place while she ducks down to find a packet of flower food to attach. She might not like who the flowers are going to but that doesn’t mean the flowers should suffer the price. Tying the ribbon into a bow over Luke’s finger, she taps him lightly with her pinky to move it before pulling the loops tight.

“Do you want a card?” She asks, wondering which of their options would suit this type of bouquet best. Maybe just one of the plain yellow ones.

“Oh yeah. Can it say ‘Hey Bobby, fuck you’.”

Julie pauses with her pen hovering over the card, waiting to see if he’s going to add anything else.

“Just–– just that? Nothing more?” she looks up at him but Luke just shakes his head, nodding down to the card for her to finish. Shrugging she does, using her best cursive so he knows the sentiment is meant. She holds it up for Luke to inspect and when he grins she slots it into the flowers, stepping back a little to admire her creation.

It’s absolutely horrendous. It’s perfect.

“This is great,” Luke grins as his eyes roam across the flowers and Julie’s pretty sure he has no idea what any of them mean. But he’s definitely picked up on how awful it looks which seems to be good enough for him. “How much do I owe you?”

“Do you want them delivered?”

“Yeah that would be good,” he pulls his wallet out and Julie has to bite hard at her bottom lip to stop from laughing as she notices the chain attached to his belt.

“That’ll be $15,” she presses a few buttons on the cash machines screen, the card reader lighting up as she waits to see how he’ll be paying but Luke’s just frowning at her.

“That can’t be right. It says the orange and purples ones alone are like ten dollars.”

“Mhm, I’m only charging you for delivery,” she can tell he’s about to argue so she’s quick to speak, “As someone who once thought of herself as a musician, anyone who steals songs deserves worse than an ugly bouquet of flowers. Fifteen dollars Luke.”

There’s a different look in his eyes as he taps his card on the reader, something assessing. Like she’s just handed him another piece of a puzzle when he thought he’d completed it. Julie looks down at the card reader, ready to tear off his receipt so she doesn’t have to wonder what he’s seeing when he looks at her.

“They’ll go out this afternoon, be with Bobby by seven pm at the latest,” she says, pushing the post-it note with the address firmly onto the cellophane and gives Luke a smile.

“Thanks,” the smile he gives her in return is a lot softer than she’s used to from him. But she likes it. “I’ll uh, see you tomorrow?”

It’s a question, hesitant and careful. Almost like he’s worried she won't want to see him tomorrow. Which is silly. Seeing Luke, even briefly in passing, has quickly become her favourite part of the day. Not that she has any intention of letting him know that. That would be embarrassing.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Luke.”

“Bye. Julie,” and there’s her name again coming from his mouth that’s curving up into a smile. All she can do is wave awkwardly as he leaves.

A gasp of air leaves her lips as the door shuts behind him and she slumps forwards on the counter, nudging the flowers with her elbow, “Oh fuck.”

//

The saturday after the fuck you flowers Julie is handed an envelope by Victoria when she walks in for her shift at twelve o’clock. Julie gives her credit, she doesn’t start asking questions about ‘the puppy eyed boy’ until after she’s at least put her bag down.

“He all but pouted when I said you weren’t in yet, mija,” from the way Victoria wags her eyebrows Julie gets the feeling she might have ‘accidentally’ let slip when she was due in.

“I think that’s just his face tia. He made the same one when I said pizza was overrated.” Which was the wrong thing to say as Victoria’s eyes light up.

“And why were you talking about pizza?” She leans on the counter, handbag slipping down her shoulder at the movement.

“Because he mentioned he was getting pizza with his friends, that’s all. Nothing is going on between us, we’re just friends,” Julie tries to put as much stress on the word friends as she can. But Victoria just lets out a small hum, a knowing smile on her lips that Julie doesn’t want to acknowledge.

“If you say so Julie. Right, I’m off. See you for dinner tomorrow?” She pushes herself off from the counter, pushing up her bag and pointing one manicured hand at Julie.

“Papi’s making enchiladas, so there’s no need to bring anything.”

“Of course,” but they both know she’ll still bring something, perhaps a salad. Perhaps a whole meal. Victoria blows her a kiss and then turns in a flurry of skirts out of the door, leaving Julie shaking her head after her, a smile on her lips.

As soon as she’s sure that Victoria isn’t going to come bustling back in having forgotten something Julie unseals the envelope and pulls out a cd case with a post-it note stuck to the front. It takes her a while to work out what it says, but it’s easy enough to see the number scrawled at the bottom in a different handwriting.

It makes her smile, thinking about Luke writing the note and then asking one of his friends to write his number, like he wanted to make sure she could clearly read it. It almost makes her think he really wants to know her thoughts.

Making sure no one's about to come into the shop Julie slips into the back room and over to their sound system, taking out the cd of classical music and replacing it with the Sunset Curve demo. It doesn’t take her long to recognise the opening guitar riffs as the song that Luke had been playing along too when they’d first met, laughing a little to herself, she goes back to the front. Pulling one of the chairs over, she sits down and flips through the little leaflet that the cd came with.

Three faces looking out at her and one scribbled over in black sharpie. She’s going to hazard a guess that that’s Bobby. There’s writing underneath the photo and peering at it closer Julie sees that someone's someones written their names. Alex, Luke and Reggie. She shakes her head at the way he’s added his own name for her, just in case.

“Idiot,” she mutters fondly.

Luke doesn’t come back in, which is probably for the best because Julie keeps his demo playing for the rest of the day.

By the third play through she’s started to memorise the lyrics and by the fifth she’s adding in imaginary keys to parts of the songs and by the sixth she can harmonise along with them.

Around four, when she’s waving goodbye to a customer who came in asking for something blue she decides to take a break, turning the sign on the door as she presses Flynn’s name in her phone. She’s just turning the volume down on the sound system when her best friend answers.

“Okay, what’s the latest with Mr Arms?”

“He left me his demo and number, Flynn,” she whines, flopping down on the lumpy sofa, head hitting the wall softly.

“Is it bad?” Flynn asks and she can practically hear the frown in her voice. After the flower incident Julie had driven to Flynn’s dorm room and told her everything, and then they’d spent two hours looking through youtube for their videos. And they were good. Really good.

“No. It’s great. Amazing. Listen,” Julie pulls her phone away from her ear and hits the speaker button as the chorus of Late Last Night starts and she quietly sings along with Luke’s voice.

“Oh this is catchy,” she mutters, voice echoing through the room and Julie nods before remembering this is a phone call and her friend can’t see her.

“I know,” she groans, “Flynn. He’s hot, he plays guitar like a rockstar, he’s funny and helps me take out the garbage and his arms, Flynn. His arms!”

“I know babe. He’s got the arms of a greek god. You’ve told me,” there’s a teasing note in Flynn’s voice that just makes Julie groan again, slipping further down the sofa.

“What am I going to do?”

“Well, now hear me out, you could just text him. And ask him out.”

When she says it like that it sounds so simple. Julie frowns a little, absentmindedly nodding her head along with the outro to the song as she thinks about it. Texting him. Asking him out. Because what if he doesn’t like her like that? Sure they’ve been sort of flirting for a few weeks but he probably does that with everyone. With his face and personality, not to mention the whole band thing, he could get anyone he wanted, so why would he go for her?

“Okay Jules stop, I can practically hear you spiralling through the phone.”

“He might not even like me like that. He probably just wanted an opinion on his music,” she tries but it sounds weak even to her.

“Right, first of all you are hot. And anyone would be lucky to go out with you, more than lucky, they should be honoured that you’re even considering going out with them,” Julie laughs a little, but there’s no stopping Flynn when she’s on a roll, “Second the boy has taste if he’s asking for your opinion on his music because you have amazing taste. And third, they’re playing a show tonight at the Grange so meet me at mine at eight so I can judge your outfit.”

It takes Julie a moment to register what she’s said and then she’s blinking, pushing herself up on the sofa until she’s sitting up straight, “What? How do you know that?”

“They’re on twitter. And they really need some help on that front because there are so many typos,” Flynn trails off for a moment before her voice is back, “If it works out between you and Mr Arms I might consider offering them my services.”

“Isn’t the Grange a 21+ club?” She asks as her last argument but she already knows what Flynn is going to say. The fake ID in her purse is practically laughing at her.

“Fakes baby. Eight o’clock. Bring some of your dad's brownies.”

Julie doesn’t have a chance to think of any reasons why she can’t go before Flynn is saying “Love you bye!” and hanging up. She makes sure to carefully put the cd back in its case and slip it in her bag before locking up for the night, if they’re going to see them play Flynn should get to hear the whole demo.

//

The club is already busy when they show their ID’s to bouncers and wander in. Bodies press into each other on the dance floor in front of the stage, moving along to whatever the dj is playing so loudly it just sounds like bass to her. Flynn wraps a hand around her wrist and tugs her over to the bar, pushing through a group of boys around their age until they’re leaning on the counter.

“This place is smaller than I expected,” Julie shouts, shooting the bartender a smile as he puts down two beers in front of them and takes Flynn’s money.

“I guess unsigned bands can’t be picky,” Flynn grins at her as she picks up her drink and the two of them weave back through the crowd to one of the tables off to the side of the dance floor. There’s no chairs, but they don’t mind standing, “I wonder what time they’re on,” she taps the screen of her phone to check the time and Julie peers over as 9:32 flashes up.

Julie looks around, idly taking a swig of her drink as she watches a group of girls dance, laughing and giddy. The one downside to opting to take a year off before college is that she’s missing out on all this every week.

The sneaking into clubs and drunken dancing and shitty beer and new friends. Flynn always invites her when she goes out and she’s gone a few times, but it’s not the same. And anyway she’s meant to be using this year to decide what she wants to do. Who she wants to be. She’s pretty sure she’s not going to find it at the bottom of a bottle or on a sticky floor.

She pulls at the hemline of her black high waisted shorts, wiggling her hips a little as she tries to pull them down while trying to keep her lilac off shoulder crop top from riding up. It’s a delicate balance and she’s feeling suddenly self-conscious.

“Hey,” Flynn’s hand appears in her line of sight and Julie follows it up to her face where she’s peering at her through gold shimmering eyes, “You look amazing. Stop fussing.”

Julie blows out a breath, dropping her hands from her shorts and lifting her drink to her lips and drinking. Flynn’s growing smile is enough for Julie to try and relax. And then the DJ is pausing the music and announcing the last band of the night, there’s a loud cheer from the gathered crowd as the three members of Sunset Curve stroll onto the stage.

The dark haired bassist, Reggie, waves at the crowd as he checks his bass is plugged in, throwing a wink at someone in the front row with a grin. Alex seems to be looking for something in the crowd and finds it if the wide smile on his face is anything to go by. But Julie doesn’t really spare them much more than a sweeping glance as her eyes land on Luke.

Apparently the lack of sleeves extends to the stage, as does the beanie –– which makes zero sense and she will be teasing him about it if she doesn’t melt into a puddle of goo by the end of the night –– , but there’s an ease to the way he walks up to his mic, guitar strap across his body and plucking a pick out of his mouth. He grins at something Reggie says that none of them can hear, and his face lights up and Julie knows that whatever they’re about to see is going to be incredible.

“Hey, thanks for coming out tonight. We’re gonna kick this off with something from our upcoming EP. This is Now or Never.”

Luke nods at Reggie and Reggie nods at him and then they’re playing. She’d thought their demo was good, had thought their badly recorded covers on youtube were good, had even liked the little she’d heard through the walls three weeks ago, but hearing them live is another feeling altogether.

They’re better than good and amazing doesn’t feel strong enough. Their whole performance is high energy and makes you want to get up, to dance, to sing along. So they do.

Julie downs the rest of her drink and then clutches Flynn’s hand as she pulls them through the crowd until they’re in the middle of the floor. Bodies pushing in around them, all jumping and swaying and some even singing along when they know the words. She lets herself get lost in the music, in the feeling of the drums through the floor and how the bass line reverberates through her.

It’s when they start In Your Starlight that Luke’s eyes find her in the crowd.

She knows the moment he does because his eyes widen a little and his fingers slip, playing the wrong note as he stumbles a half step backwards. And then he’s smiling, eyes crinkling at the corners as he nods at her, tongue sticking out slightly between his teeth before he starts to sing. While looking directly at her.

Maybe it’s the alcohol in her system or Flynn’s pep talks have finally clicked in her head, but she doesn’t look away, she sings his song back to him. She liked to think the slight tinge of pink on his cheeks by the end of the song is because of that.

They close with a cover of Everybody Talks and when Luke raises an eyebrow at her and nods to the side of the floor where the booths are she doesn’t hesitate to nod with a grin.

“Thank you! We’re Sunset Curve!” Luke shouts into his mic, wiping sweat off his face as he grins out the crowd.

“Tell your friends!” Reggie chimes in, winking at someone and then they’re walking off the stage and Julie is pulling Flynn over to the booths. For a moment, she hesitates as she looks at them, not sure where to go because they’re all occupied. And then a familiar face is waving them over and Julie breaths out a sigh and a smile at the sight of Willie.

“Molina! I didn’t know you were coming!” He grins as Flynn slips into the booth first and Julie slides in after her.

“Sort of a last minute thing,” she laughs nervously, because now that she’s here and knows they’re about to come out she’s suddenly second guessing everything. “This is my best friend Flynn. Flynn, Willie, he works at Etched in Ink too.”

“Oh! You did the logo right?” Flynn asks and then they’re talking about designs and colours and how sometimes a simple line drawing is better. Julie’s half listening, trying to feign interest but her eyes keep going to the side door that she knows leads to backstage, waiting for it to open.

Somehow, despite constantly looking, she still misses them coming out because suddenly a pair of arms are around Willie’s neck and a blonde head is pressing a kiss into his cheek. Julie looks up to find Luke already grinning at her, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Hey,” she thinks he’d have probably whispered it if they weren’t in a crowded club that’s started blaring music again.

“Hi,” and she waves.

God, why did she just wave at him? Before she can do something else embarrassing, like hiding her face in her hands, an arm appears around Luke’s neck and Reggie’s face is next to his grinning from ear to ear.

“You must be Julie.” Something about the way he says her names makes her want to run, like she’s walked into a trap without realising it. Instead she nods hesitantly.

“That’s me. You must be Reggie,” she tries to imitate the way he said her name but she’s not sure it works, but Luke elbows his friend in the side and then he’s sliding into the empty space next to her.

“I’m Alex. Ignore Reg. What he meant to say was we’ve heard a lot about you,” Alex smiles at her and there’s a teasing sort of tone in his words that makes her think she’s missing out on a joke. But she focuses on the other bit of information and turns to look at Luke.

“Aw, you’ve been talking about me?” She nudges his knee with her own, only realising just how close they’re sitting after the fact.

Luke shrugs at her, but he’s smiling and there’s a flush to his face that could be left over from their performance but she doesn’t think so, “Course I have.”

The simple way he says it, accompanied by the unbroken eye contact is enough to make her blush.

“I’m Flynn by the way. Julie’s best friend,” Flynn cuts through, leaning on the table to look directly at Luke who finally looks away from her and there’s definitely a flush on his cheeks.

“Did you uh, like the show?” He asks, and it’s to the table, but he glances at her.

“You guys were awesome, as always,” Willie says, lifting his hands that have been linked with Alex’s since the three boys sat down and presses a kiss to the back of it.

“You were better than I expected you to be,” Flynn shrugs and Alex lets out a disgruntled sound as he looks at her which starts a debate on what she thought they were going to be like. But Julie isn’t paying much attention and neither is Luke, because he’s looking at her expectantly for her answer.

She considers for a moment, tilting her head as she looks up at him, “You were–– you were amazing up there. More than amazing but I don’t know the word to describe it. All of you, but–– I liked watching you the most. You’re–– spectacular.”

“Really?” His eyes are searching her face, as if he can tell just by looking at her if she’s lying, but she just nods her head at him and smiles, he nods his head a little, biting his lip as he smiles too.

“Though I do have question why the fuck you’re wearing a beanie.”

“I told you it was stupid!” Reggie shouts and his hand is reaching across the table to hover in front of Julie’s face, waiting for a high five. Luke shakes his head at her, but she grins and claps her hand to the bassists.

“I thought we were friends,” Luke whines, a hand over his heart as he pouts at her.

“The beanie is so stupid,” is all she says, giggling as he pouts more and pulls the hat off his head, hair sweaty and a mess and she tries really hard not to look at his arms as he runs his fingers through the brown locks. Biting her lip again as she looks away, her eyes catch Alex’s who shoots her a knowing grin and she’s suddenly very grateful for the low lighting as she blushes.

“You really liked the show, though?” Reggie asks, bringing them back to the original question.

“You guys were great,” she smiles at him and Alex, “I especially like the drum solo in Lakeside Reflection? And oh my god the way you go back and forth in the bridge for Late Last Night, is amazing. Have you ever thought about mixing up the order you come in on it?”

She glances over at Luke as she says it, and there’s a moment, where their eyes meet when he’s got this soft sort of look on his face, like she’s once again handed him another puzzle piece and then she blinks and it’s gone and he launches into talking about their songs.

Later, after Flynn has unlocked her dorm room and the two of them have collapsed on her bed giggling and exhausted, Julie pulls her phone out of her bag and finally texts the number she saved hours ago back in the shop.

Luke replies within seconds and Julie clutches her phone to her chest with a giddy smile as Flynn teases her for being in love. She doesn’t even know what to say to deny it.

//

They start texting a lot after that. Silly memes they see and questions about if modern rock is better than classic and do different coloured roses mean different things.

It feels –– and Julie hasn’t said it out loud but she thinks it an awful lot –– like they’ve become real friends. Which makes it so much more awkward as her stupid crush on him grows. Because now he’s more than just the hot guitarist next door that she occasionally talks to. Now he’s Luke, the hot guitarist from next door who she talks to every day and is her friend.

Flynn just laughs at her, insisting there’s really no issue here and that she should just ask him out already so that she can sort out their social media situation without seeming pushy. Julie pointed out she could just offer but Flynn has said that would be weird.

And okay so, logically, Julie knows that he probably does like her. They’d spent the whole night after his show pressed together in that booth, knees touching and talking about whatever came to mind and she’d finally gotten a chance to look at the tattoo on his side.

(The detailed heart and a gramophone horn and the music notes that she’d hummed out loud. She could swear his eyes dipped to her lips as she did so and Julie had almost reached out to trace the lines inked into his skin. Instead she’d looked at his arm, at the tattoos littering his skin and listened as he explained some of them to her. The story of his life, really. She’d started tracing the outline of the guitar on his forearm, the year when he’d first met Alex and Reggie inked at the base, when she’d started talking.

“My mom had tattoos. We were supposed to go and get one together when I turned eighteen,” she’d trailed her finger tips up the neck and over the scrap of cloth attached to it, vaguely noting the way he seemed to shiver, “We had the designs all picked out and I promised her I’d still get mine. But… I’ve been putting it off,” she’d smiled ruefully up at him then, nose wrinkling.

Luke had put his hand over hers on his arm, thumb gently running over the back of her hand as he’d said, “When you’re ready to do it, book it for a Saturday.”)

And he’d started lingering on Tuesdays when he passed her her coffee, to talk about their weekends and if they had busy days and if she wanted to come watch them rehearse on Wednesday and how Bobby had apparently tried to reach out after the flowers. None of them had responded because now the ball was in their court and when they got to initiate the cutting off it was better.

And if she looks at it all. The little moments and touches and smiles and lingering looks, Julie logically knows that he likes her. But there’s still a chance, small as it might be, that he doesn’t.

And it terrifies her.

Surprisingly, or really, unsurprisingly, reassurance comes in the form of a drummer and bassist strolling into the shop on Tuesday morning two weeks after she saw them play for the first time. Julie smiles at them, albeit a little awkwardly, closing her pen in her notebook as she takes in the coffee holder in Alex’s hands and the way Reggie looks around the place in wonder.

She hadn’t seen Luke this morning, though he’d sent a text to say he was sick and wouldn't be around, but that doesn’t explain why she has two members of Sunset Curve in her shop.

“Hey guys, you need anything?” she raises an eyebrow at them, folding her hands on top of her notebook.

“Nah, just here to drop this off for Luke,” Alex smiles at her, freeing the coffee cup and putting it down in front of her.

Julie blinks at it, mouth parting slightly before looking back at Alex confused and chokes out, “What?

“He said he brings you coffee on Tuesday mornings and asked us to do it today because he’s being all dramatic in bed over the flu,” he rolls his eyes, but there’s a fond sort of tone in his voice that does little to help her confusion.

“But he–– I don’t…” Julie trails off as she frowns at the coffee. Luke was sick and he was still worrying about her getting her coffee? She feels like the world is spinning on a different axis.

“Can you make me a yellow bouquet for under $20?” Reggie pulls her out of her spiral and she blinks up at the two of them, catching the tail end of the glare Alex shoots at him and the shrug Reggie gives in response. But it pulls her out and she blows out a breath, pushing thoughts of Luke to the side as she nods.

“Any flowers in particular?” She asks.

Half an hour later the boys leave, with Reggie clutching his little posey of various yellow flowers –– that cost over $20 but if she could change Luke only $15 on a $50 bouquet, she could make an exception for the happiest bassist she’d ever met –– and Alex sniffing the twelve roses he’d bought for Willie. But not before they’d both leaned on the counter as she tied a bow around the posey and Alex had stated, “Luke’s pretty dumb sometimes.”

Julie had fumbled the ribbon as she looked at them confused.

“What we mean is,” Reggie cut in “He’s our best friend, and the best song writer we know. But when it comes to his feelings and doing something with them, he’s dumb. And always pretty terrified.”

She’s still thinking about it an hour later as she sweeps up cuts and hums along with the radio. She taps her pen on her notebook as she looks down at the page she had been doodling on, and then throws it down to pick up her phone. It only takes a few minutes of googling for the number she needs and ten minutes later she’s got plans for next Saturday at one thirty.

//

“Julie,” Victoria’s voice cuts through her thoughts and she turns from where she’d been staring at a bucket of sunflowers to blink at her tia.

“Hm?”

“You’re going to be late mi ciel,” and she nodded to next door, eyebrows raised. Blinking, Julie glances at her phone to check the time and swears.

“Fuck. Right. I’ll um, I’ll come show you when it’s done,” she smiles at her aunt who smiles back, dropping one eye in a wink before she gets out the door.

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll see it tomorrow at dinner,” Victoria blows her kiss before the door shuts and then Julie is on the sidewalk and Etched in Ink is eight steps away. Blowing out a breath she pushes her phone into the back pocket of her dungarees and walks.

When she opens the door there’s music playing faintly in the background and she smiles at how different it is from the last time she was stood here. This time she recognises the Sunset Curve poster on the wall and shakes her head at Luke’s shameless promoting. Like last time there’s no one at the front desk as she walks up to it, leaning her hip on the edge as she tilts her head to try and hear for someone in the back.

“Hello?” she calls and then there’s something crashing to the ground and someone letting out a string of curses before Luke comes stumbling through the archway and up to the desk looking breathless.

“Hey!”

She’s not as taken off guard by the sleeveless shirts and curling hair and teasing smirk as she was last time, but it still takes all her willpower to not just stare at him. Especially as he leans his hands on the desk, muscles and tattoos on display. She’s starting to think he does that on purpose.

“I have an appointment,” she breathes, looking at him and they’re so close she thinks she could count his eyelashes if she had time. God she wanted time to count his eyelashes.

“I know, I saw,” he smiles softly at her as pushes off from the desk and gestures for her to walk into the main room, “I was just getting things set up. Come on.”

Luke guides her with a hand on the small of her back over to the area he’s got set up, wagging his brows a little as she sits down that makes her laugh. Julie looks at the collection of inks and needles and bottles on the little tables next to her chair, chewing on her lip with a growing sense of trepidation.

“So,” Luke plots himself down on the stool, feet on the bar as he spins to face her with a smile, “You got a design for me to follow?”

“Oh! Yeah, right,” she sits up to dig through the front pocket of her dungarees and pull out a sheet of plain paper that’s been folded and refolded too many times to count over the last three years, she hands it to Luke, suddenly nervous about what he’ll think.

Carefully, as if he knows how important it is, he unfolds the sheet of paper and smooths it out on the arm of her chair, biting his lip as he looks it over and quietly, she can hear him humming the notes to himself as he tries to work out what the song is.

“It’s um––” Julie clears her throat as Luke looks up at her, gesturing to the drawing and starts singing faintly, “You are my sunshine.”

Luke looks at her with wide eyes and an expression she can’t quite understand and looks back at the page, quick to fill the silence, “Mom was going to get ‘my only sunshine’ but–– it’s what she used to sing to me when I was little and wouldn’t go to sleep, and it’s the first song I learnt on piano so it’s y’know, sentimental I guess.”

He still hasn’t said anything and Julie’s starting to get worried she’s done something wrong when he blows out a breath and blinks at her, small smile on his lips, “It’s beautiful.”

Then he turns to the table, gathering supplies and pulling on gloves and when he turns back to her he seems to have gotten control over his emotions again and is grinning at her, antiseptic wipe in one hand and numbing gel in the other.

“Are we feeling brave?” He teases and Julie rolls her eyes at him, laying her arm flat on the arm rest, wrist up and flipping him the finger before relaxing them back down.

“Just start stabbing me in the arm with a little needle Patterson.”

“Ooh brave it is huh.”

Gently, he holds her wrist with one hand as he cleans her skin and doesn’t let go when he turns to throw it away and to pick up the tattoo gun. His fingers tap on her palm as he looks at her, raising an eyebrow, “You ready?”

“Yeah,” she blows out a breath and nods at him. But he still hesitates for a heartbeat, searching her eyes before he smiles gently and brings the gun down to her skin.

At the first stab of pain Julie hisses in a breath, fingers of her other hand gripping at the spare armrest and when Luke looks up at her she nods her head with a smile that’s almost a cringe, “I’m okay. Keep going.”

And he does.

After a while it doesn’t hurt quite so much, and she loosens her grip on the arm of the chair. She still hisses in a breath on occasion but it’s bearable, and she can sort of understand why people like getting tattoos. It doesn’t hurt that from this position she has a clear view of his bare arms and can stare at them shamelessly for as long as his head is bent over her wrist.

“Is that––” Julie lets out a laugh, eyes squinting as she tries to peer a little closer as the tattoo above his elbow, “Is that a hotdog?”

“Huh? Oh,” he looks up, blinking at her and then at his arm, joining in with her laugh as he shakes his head. “Yeah. Me and the boy got wicked bad food poisoning from some bad dogs when we were seventeen. Almost died.”

Julie blinks at him and tries really hard to stop her laughter, but it keeps bubbling past her lips, “So you got a tattoo to commemorate the time you nearly died?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs, grinning at her before going back to work.

They make idle chit chat for the rest of her tattoo, talking about music they love and films they want to see and how Willie’s been trying to teach Alex to skateboard for 2 years and can still barely stand on the thing.

“And you’re done,” the buzzing suddenly cuts off and it takes Julie a moment to get used to lack of it, blinking at Luke who’s nodding down at her arm.

Carefully, slowly, she lifts up her arm to inspect his work. Five lines spanning the width of her wrist with little music notes dotted along it and she hums the tune to herself, blinking back the tears that fill her eyes as she just looks at it.

“It’s perfect,” she whispers, biting her lip as she looks at him. “Thank you.”

Luke shakes his head, pulling the gloves off his hands and balling them up before throwing them into the bin and picks up a roll of plastic wrap, tearing off a length to spread on the arm of the chair, patting it for her to put her arm back down on, “Nah, all I did was basically trace your work.”

“No for––” she gestures with her free hand around them, trying to encompass everything of the last two months. For the coffees and the laughter and the music and the conversation. “So much,” is what she settles on, and just hopes he gets it.

When he’s finished wrapping her wrist he trails his fingers up to her hand, squeezes her fingers once and then stands up, and she hurries to follow, not wanting him to let go of her hand just yet. Julie follows him back to the front of the shop, their fingers still linked and she tries to listen to him talk about aftercare and which creams are best and what to avoid. But all she can really think about is the calluses on his fingers and how she wants to know what they’d feel like brushing across her lips.

So Julie pulls them to a stop before they reach the desk, blowing out a breath as she looks up at him. She’s just gotten her first tattoo and only cried at the end, she’s feeling brave. She can ask the hot guitarist out.

“I was wondering if um you maybe–– if you wanted too––” she stutters, brows furrowing a little as she tries to get the words out and Luke just smiles at her, which isn’t helping. “Stop doing that with your face, I’m trying to ask you something,” she mutters.

It just makes him smile wider, and his fingers are detangling themselves from hers and she honest to god lets out a small whine at the sudden loss of contact. Luke’s smile turns into a smirk as he hears it, tailing his fingers up her arm and over her shoulder and up her neck and suddenly he’s cupping her cheek and Julie thinks she’s forgotten how to breath.

“Jules,” he whispers, leaning towards her and she can feel his breath ghosting across her face as she lets out a noncommittal sound, “Can I kiss you?”

A breath rushes out of her and her hands skim up his biceps and around his neck, “God please do.”

And he does.

It’s soft, just a press of their lips against each other at first and then Luke brushes his thumb across the top of her cheek and she lets out a sigh, pulling him closer as he slips his tongue into her mouth.

There’s teeth nipping at lips and her fingers running through his hair and Luke chuckling at her whine of protest when his lips leave hers to trail across her jaw, down her neck where he sucks and she moans and he has the audacity to laugh again.

So she pokes her fingers into his sides, grinning triumphantly when he tries to wiggle away, scrunching his nose up as he looks down at her.

“That’s rude,” he mutters, but there’s no heat behind it and he presses a kiss into the corner of her mouth.

“Hm, I’m sure I can think of some way to make it up to you,” Julie purses her lips, pretending to be in thought before leaning up on her tiptoes to kiss him, slowly, drawing it out.

When they break apart this time they’re both a little breathless and smiling giddy smiles.

“What were you going to ask me?” he whispers, brushing his nose across hers as he tries to pull her closer and it takes Julie a moment to understand what he’s asking, her mind blank on anything that’s not Luke lips on her skin or his fingers trailering over her neck.

“Oh. Um I was going to ask if you wanted to get dinner. With me. Like a date,” she wrinkles her nose at how awkward the question comes out but Luke leans back a little to grin down at her.

“Julie Molina, are you asking me out?”

“Oh shut up, you kissed me first,” she grumbles, tilting her head forward to hide in his chest and Luke laughs, she can feel it rumble in his chest and it makes her giggle a little too.

“Yeah I did. Best decision I’ve made since playing my demo way too loud,” he sounds proud and he presses a kiss into the top of her head, “I’d love to go get dinner with you.”

“Hm,” Julie agrees, trying to hide her smile in his terribly pointless shirt. Honestly, she’s never been more glad that he played his music too loud, it was totally worth the headache she had for the rest of the afternoon.

“Hey Luke,” she pulls back a little to look up at him, and he raises an eyebrow at her.

“Yeah?”

“Did I ever tell you I have a thing for guitarists with tattoos?” She smiles innocently up at him and is rewarded with the same curling smiling on his lips from the first time they met.

[ flower meanings: - pink peonies: passive aggressive anger - pink geraniums: stupidity - dark purple carnations: disappointment - meadoweed: uselessness - orange lilies: hatred (if i got any of these wrong please let me know i got my information from google fghdj) ]

ao3 link

[ravenvsfox]

klance holodeck fic 1/2

Lance is gone. Lost in the plunging gaps between astral bodies, sewn into an invisible seam in spacetime. Missing, for two long years. It’s impossible, to think of the time he's already lost with him. Time passes strangely in a war, and stranger still in space. Stars gasp their dying breaths and ripe dust clouds give birth to whole planetary systems. Some light reaches them with its centuries-old fingers and some can’t weather the journey. So many beings shiver and die. Lance would be twenty now. He tries not to think about it.

Keith can't bring himself to grieve when he knows Lance is still out there. Instead, he follows versions of him down holographic rabbit holes, trying to pry closure out of his memories, and losing himself to an obsession with the simulated landscapes where Lance was never lost.

(Read on AO3)

At first, it’s a french restaurant.

Slate grey and stationery white, sunlight drooping over the tablecloths like curling petals on calla lilies. Keith presses the knot of his tie into the hollow of his throat and swallows against his fingers. The get-up is ridiculous—grey suit, red tie, cufflinks, Italian leather shoes.

He’s never worn anything so expensive or well-tailored in his life, and he can already picture the precise geometry of Lance’s expression when he sees him: badly suppressed smile, like a slipped disc, his cheeks puckered.

Keith seats himself next to the window, fiddling almost immediately with the circlet of his napkin ring. The trees outside rustle and drizzle shade over buskers and vendors across the street. His designer watch has both hands folded over the twelve. A waiter breezes past and lays a rectangle of cardstock in front of him, smiling conspiratorially. As soon as he’s out of view, Keith has forgotten his face.

He looks at the menu, and the transition from the burbling restaurant to the cramped typeface is disorienting, like a cut scene in a video game. When he puts the menu down again, his head is swimming sickly with words like bordelaise and remoulade. And then, like a sweet apparition from a terrible dream, Lance drifts through the doorway.

For a moment, the sight of him is impossibly painful.

Keith’s fingers go again to the knot of his tie, and he makes an involuntary noise, gulping air as if surfacing from extreme physical exertion.

“Lance,” he chokes.

Lance smiles, quicksilver. “Hello.”

“You’re here,” Keith says, staggering to his feet. He crosses the bistro to take Lance bracingly by the wrists. The napkin holder is still in his hand, and the circle of it presses into Lance’s forearm so tightly that his skin bulges through it a little. “Do you—do you know where you’ve been?”

Lance should be defensive, or sly, or angry, or bashful. He should be telling a story that Keith can barely follow at a pitch that he can barely stomach, bragging about all the stupid things and downplaying all the impressive things.

Keith knows that’s not how this works, but still. It’s the Lance he knows.

He focuses on the brittle warmth of his body, the details that are just right. His heart breathes into the paper bag of his chest.

Lance just keeps smiling wanly. His hair is styled wrong—there’s too much volume, and it swoops down too close to one eye. His tie is robin’s egg blue. “No need to get up for little old me.”

Keith shakes his head, off-balance. “What?”

“I’m here to spend time with you! Why don’t we take a seat?”

Keith swallows painfully. It’s like looking at an animatronic figure of his friend—a jolting uncanny robot at an amusement park. “Lance, look at me.”

“How could I not?” he says cheekily, and winks. But his eyes haven’t quite settled into the same groove as Keith’s.

“Tell me—“ Keith starts. “Tell me what you remember. Tell me who you are.”

“Oh, you know me,” he says. “Name’s Lance ‘Loverboy’ McClain, blue paladin, sharpshooter extraordinaire, and defender of the universe.”

“Please.” It’s meant to be derisive, but it ends up falling somewhere closer to desperate. His hands slide up from Lance’s forearms to his shoulders. The napkin ring clatters pointedly to the floor. In a wide, embarrassing moment of weakness, Keith says, “you have to--be him. At least try.”

Lance chuckles.

Keith shakes him, and his shoulders jitter unnaturally.

“Come on. What’s the point if you can’t even act like him? Who would fucking buy this?”

“I don’t—“

“Stop using his voice,” he warns. His hands have crept up to Lance’s neck, and abruptly he lets go, repulsed at the almost-familiar feel of him.

“I would also be pretty overwhelmed to meet an intergalactic celebrity,” Lance assures him.

He’s starting to breathe too fast. He keeps seeing the real Lance—craned into the three-dimensional spread of a star map, brow furrowed, freckled hand curled loosely in the handle of whatever hot drink he found planet-side—superimposed over this stranger’s weird, unblemished face.

“Who am I?” Keith demands.

Lance grins. “My date.”

Keith pushes him hard in the chest. He nearly topples into a neighbouring table, and it’s unlikely, how he keeps his gangly legs underneath his body.

“Easy, sweetheart,” Lance says. “This isn’t the place for roughhousing.”

It’s the wrong cadence, but it’s so like something Lance would say that it’s debilitating. Keith stumbles through the momentum of another graceless shove.

“I told you to stop using his voice,” Keith snaps. “This is cruel.”

“Didn’t you want to meet me here?” Lance asks innocently.

“Of course I did. But you’re not—not—” Suddenly, he’s so fatigued with disappointment that he can’t speak.

After a long moment, he feels an ephemeral hand on his shoulder. And with the help of the ghostly waitstaff, the false Lance maneuvers him back to his place at the table. “Just tell me where to look and I’ll go there,” Keith begs, half-stumbling, half-dragged into his seat. “I swear. I know I can find you, I’ve faced bad odds before.”

“How about a drink?” Lance is saying, apparently unfazed.

“I thought that if you thought like Lance, maybe I could talk an answer out of you,” Keith says. Lance cocks his head, pleasantly receptive. “But really I thought I would look at you and I would feel better. Or at least I would feel angry. But you’re worse than a punching bag.”

“Red?” Lance says, and Keith’s heart is—airborne.

“What?” he asks sharply.

“Wine,” Lance explains. “Red or white?”

His whole body caves in. Rockslide. Catastrophic. He looks into Lance’s wide, earnest eyes, feeling uncomfortably like he’s levelling a shotgun at a newborn. “Neither. End simulation.”

The bistro melts instantly into the oily blackness of the Paladin Simulator.

His jaw is clamped tightly with shame and grief, and as the dark presses in, he folds his arms self-consciously over his chest. He’s ending his session an hour early, and he’s grateful, now, for the uninterrupted quiet.

He shouldn’t have let himself do this.

It should have been obvious what a bad idea it was when he didn’t tell any of the other paladins what he was planning; he was already falling back into his old, knee-jerk isolation, trusting only himself with his secrets.

He just couldn’t take any more of their pity. It was constant, wide-eyed, confused—why would the person who got along with Lance the least feel his absence the most? Sometimes, Hunk looked at Keith exactly the same way he looked at an old clunker of an engine that was in need of replacing.

Keith had heard tell of the simulators years ago, they all had. Liberated planets with the tech (and the admiration) had started building little cyber shrines to Voltron. Like a hyper-advanced arcade game, you could plug in your specifications, step into the simulator, and play out your wildest fantasies.

He’d gathered that tittering fans, unexceptional nerdy types, and bright-eyed kids were the most common customers; the lettering on the swinging board out front promised all kinds of adventure and celebrity:

Join Voltron! Become one of the gang, fighting Galra scum and saving the galaxy from tyranny!

Enjoy a candlelit dinner with the paladin of your choice, and get up close and personal with your hero!

Pick up your very own bayard, and spar with living combat legends! Who will win?!

Although it’s more advanced than the training room controls on the castle of lions, the programming still has its limits. The likenesses aren’t really supposed to stand up to the scrutiny of someone like, say, a paladin himself, but the experience is still sensory, impossible, the science fiction daydream of someone on Earth.

Lance used to love the idea of it, joking that it was the Star Trek filler episode he always wanted. He said he would win every game, romance himself, and beat up holo-Keith without feeling bad about it. He said he could finally stop pulling punches when Keith was just, like, light particles and shit.

In his grief, Keith convinced himself it was right and just and necessary to believe in a false lead. He told himself that the coat rack in the dark looked enough like a person that maybe he could hang all his hopes on it.

And so he had sought out the small, ever-bright planet of Seachmall, where night lasted for twilit months, and massive outdoor markets boasted every good and service you could possibly think of. Continent to continent there were melting, zipping lights, sky-high neon encircling tall buildings like bangles, and criss-crossing lanterns—buoyant in the low gravity—coasting up towards their celestial cousins.

In the capital, the local population joyfully shared liquor and arm-clasping greetings, speaking in the fast creole dialect of a port city, dancing to reality-bending music that haunts every forking path in a dizzying labyrinth of market stalls. Every single day on Seachmall was a feverish, luminous midnight that raged unceasingly past its breaking point.

And every step in the springy too-dark soil, every halting conversation in common, every sizzling technological spectacle that borders on nightmarish, Keith thought that Lance would have eaten this experience alive.

But Lance is gone.

Lost in the plunging gaps between astral bodies, sewn into an invisible seam in spacetime. Missing, for two long years.

It’s impossible, to think of the time he's already lost with him. Time passes strangely in a war, and stranger still in space. Stars gasp their dying breaths and ripe dust clouds give birth to whole planetary systems. Some light reaches them with its centuries-old fingers and some can’t weather the journey. So many beings shiver and die. Lance would be twenty now. He tries not to think about it.

Often, he resents those years he spent on a space whale, cresting out of his teenage years faster than he could track, trying to staunch the flow of memories with the paladins before he lost them all. He gets double vision looking at his mother, thinking of what he knows about love and struggling to apply it to this stranger.

When Lance disappeared just months after Keith returned to the castle of lions, he understood, finally, that loss is the bitter shrapnel of love.

In an alternate universe, Keith would have threaded Lance’s difficult needle, held his jaw, sharp and slight as a paring knife, and told him every wriggling, guilty, breathless feeling he’s inspired in him since they were sixteen.

In that universe, he stepped out of the time warp and into Lance’s embrace, and they were never parted again.

But that’s not what happened. Instead, Pidge started to refer to Lance in the past tense. Allura took over piloting Blue full-time, and Keith Red. The castle, already barren with the loss of Altea, became even more eerily quiet. Keith’s guilt swelled up and took any of their remaining teamwork hostage.

Space is so massively large and radiantly indifferent, but Lance is out there, surely, or Keith would have felt Voltron’s current being disrupted, as it had been when Shiro blinked out of the Black lion. But time stretched on, and he felt nothing at all.

When Lance disappeared it was from the middle of a battle for a nothing quadrant of space, and he was practically teleported out of the fray. They recovered his lion on a smalltime Galra ship within the hour, no sign of a struggle, no sign of Lance.

It was eery. Impossible. They interrogated sentries and hacked systems, combed entire light years of space using Allura’s wormholes. They waited for a distress signal, an apology, a triumphant return. But he just—vanished.

Keith ripped through the galaxy for any scrap of him, a blue flash, those bright ringlets of laughter, the flush of his skin tone in a kaleidoscope of different species.

Allura and Shiro joined him on the ground at first; Pidge, Coran, and Matt worked tirelessly to devise a tracking system, while Hunk took Red apart, hoping to unlock the moment that she and Lance had detached—but it was like her memory had been wiped clean. All they could feel was the panicked thrum of her loose bond with Lance, Keith more than anyone.

Romelle and Krolia hadn’t known Lance for long, but they always came when called. More bodies in the search party, more hands in the alliance. Once, he caught Romelle’s lip wobbling during a debrief, and he remembered the way that Lance had dragged an extra chair in for her first team meeting, winking, and then laughing himself to stitches when Romelle tried to wink back and couldn’t.

In pieces, Keith understood that he loved Lance, and as always, he was processing an obvious truth too late. His grief was swollen purple, and even as he told himself that no one would ever, ever understand, he knew they did. All around him they did, loudly and at length, hurting at such a frequency that Keith was scared it would drown out Lance’s return.

He left the castle of lions more frequently, turning over whole populations, infiltrating Galra ship after Galra ship, singularly driven—but also callous and unbalanced without his team, participating in more violence in six months than he had in five years of war and survival.

Once, Keith stumbled into Lance’s abandoned room and pulled clothes and trinkets out of his closet, stirring up the smell of him and crying like a child. He picked fights with his mother, because she had been a terrible absence once, too. In the artificial light of castle dawn, he sparred more than his body could sustain, and when he found a planet full of unmarked tombstones in his search, he ripped at the ground with his bare hands until his fingernails tore.

The longer he looked, the more he found that the whole universe was exquisite with death, every piece of it burnt out and drifting into expanding blackness. He was so tired of feeling like space rock himself, fast, deadly, and aimless, waiting to burn up in the atmosphere somewhere. So, heart striving ahead of his body like an eager dog, pockets full of tokens, he wandered Seachmall until he found the flashy booth where he would waste the next eight months of his life.

He leaves the simulated french restaurant that first time fully believing that he’ll never be so weak again, but it’s barely twenty vargas before he’s back, trembling all over.

He finds Lance in a simulation of battle, and in the rush, it’s much easier to forget that he’s a fake.

“Not this time, amigo,” Lance crows, looping around an enemy ship and blasting ice the whole time, showing off. Keith is shocked to find a smile bruising his own face. His hands close over fake-Red’s controls. It’s so strange, not feeling her at all while he’s piloting. It’s as impersonal as a Garrison sim, but eons more advanced, nearly authentic. He can feel the heat of battle through Red’s visor, and as always, his calloused thumbs creak against the wheel when he turns too sharply.

“On your right,” Keith warns.

Lance dodges dutifully. “Thanks!”

I know, Lance groans, in his memory. I’m out here flying too, Keith, this isn’t one of those drills where I’m fucking blindfolded—

“Red Paladin,” Allura’s voice cries, weirdly high and operatic. “The evil lord Zarkon is moving in for the kill. You must help us form Voltron!”

“Yeah, right,” he huffs.

The forming itself is so stupid, obviously programmed by an outside observer who’s never felt the itch of unity, the reverse detonation of an impossible bomb, where every scattered thing fits back together to be whole again.

There’s a silly bit of choreography, and fake-Red goes on rails, like a carnival ride. And then, without feeling anything concrete, Voltron pulls in around him.

“Hooray!” Pidge says, sounding like a munchkin from The Wizard of Oz.

“Nothing can stop us now!” Shiro says, sounding like Shiro.

“Can we get back to putting Zarkon in a second grave now, please?” Keith says.

“Always the fighter, Red,” Lance says. Keith blinks.

“I love you,” he blurts.

“Aw,” Hunk says. “I love you guys too.”

“Lance—“

“Use your sword? Exactly what I was thinking,” Lance says.

“Let’s do it,” Shiro says. “Use your bayard, Red.”

“I know,” Keith snaps.

It’s obvious that the simulation has programmed Red in as shorthand for whatever player is in his spot. It would be the same no matter what lion was chosen, but hearing Lance’s nickname for him out of Shiro’s mouth is just—stunningly wrong.

The world trembles from the impact of a Galra bogey, uncomfortably real, and his instincts press him into action.

He turns his bayard in its slot, and the sword shimmers into reality. He watches at a remove as Voltron slices at Zarkon’s craft.

It’s actually starting to get to him, the memory of this battle, the reality of which was a lot more challenging, and much, much uglier. He remembers his frenetic pulse in his fingertips, the threat pressing endlessly past their defences, the damage to Green’s hull, and the awful discovery of Black’s empty cockpit afterwards.

He shudders.

“End simulation.”

In the dark, the adrenaline eases its panicked hands from his throat. You’re alive, he reminds himself. You survived. So did Shiro. So will Lance.

______

The next day, he goes back again.

He spars with himself, out of curiosity, and then with Shiro and Lance, but the holo-paladins are uninspired, easily blocked, programmed to strut and preen through choreography more than they are to improvise and adapt. Lance doesn’t play dirty even once, and Keith shuts down the simulation again, gutted. He wishes there were different difficulty levels, like the bots in the castle. You could program almost anything into—

He stops, midway back to his cruiser, the braid of market-goers loosening around him.

He taps twice on his communicator, and hastily opens a channel with Pidge.

After the long, peculiar swish of the line connecting, she answers, “‘sup?”

“I need you to do something for me.”

“Urgently?” she asks, distracted. He can hear the clatter of keys and the beep and whir of her latest project.

“It’s about Lance.”

The clatter stops. She doesn’t speak for long enough that Keith feels truly bad about himself. And then, “well Jesus, Keith. Isn’t it always?”

He breathes out. “How comfortable are you with the holodeck interface?”

“Very,” she says, no hesitation.

“And do you still have those files from a couple of deca-phoebes ago? That user profile thing you tried to instate, the uh—“ he dodges a Seachmallian waving a kebab in his direction.

“Yes, Keith,” Pidge drawls. “What, do you think I burn data when my projects don’t pan out?”

He shrugs, though she can’t see him. “I would.”

“Forgot who I was talking to,” she says flatly. He’s paused at the ice-cold entrance of a shop selling edible soap bubbles, light and iridescent.

“Do you think you could put together a—a simulation, compatible with a more advanced operating system?”

There’s a throb of silence. “What exactly are you asking me to do, here?”

He closes his eyes, still ducked under the awning of the store, feeling the cold move through him. “Don’t make me say it.”

“You want Lance,” she says. “On a fucking USB.”

“I want to find him,” he growls. “Remember when you wanted that too?”

“That’s low,” she says, deadly. “I’m not the one who’s trying to sleep with a hologram of my dead friend so I don’t have to grieve him.”

He cuts off communication. He feels feverish with embarrassment, and completely sick to his stomach. Candy bubbles breeze past him, over the apron of the booth across the way, which is advertising robot fights—both in Seachmallian and blocky common.

He remembers Lance, a lifetime ago, saying, when I go, I want all the stuff in my brain stored in a giant ship.

His comms ding, and he jabs the accept button on his wrist.

“Fuck you,” he says.

“I’m sorry,” Pidge says. “I don’t know why I said that.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” he says fiercely.

“I know.”

“I just need to know if it was premeditated, if he ever had a safe house or a code in case we got separated, something we could look for.”

“It’s not the worst idea,” Pidge says thoughtfully.

“I know.”

“But I do think it’s a pretty terrible idea for you to do it.”

He grits his teeth, upset in a directionless kind of way. “I can handle it.”

“I know you’re on Seachmall,” Pidge says, “and I already thought that was going to get pretty gnarly. All they’ve got is, like, the mythology of us. Can you imagine what the information in the Altean databases could do to that kind of tactile VR experience?”

“Sort of,” Keith says.

“It would be like if all the OG broadway actors showed up to participate in a high school production of Cats, comprende?”

“No,” Keith says, waspish. “Less.”

“It’s the next step for Altean hologram technology for sure. It would probably revolutionize AI. It’s also not real, Keith.”

“I don’t need it to be real,” Keith snaps. “I need a lead.”

“Well,” Pidge says slowly. “You know I can do it. Can you wait a few quintants?”

He sets his jaw, and against the deep blue horizon, a billboard gleams so brilliantly yellow that for a moment, he thinks it’s the sun.

“As long as it takes.”

______

Keith meets Pidge when she touches down on Seachmall, windswept and gaunt, and although he doesn’t really understand what she intends to do, he dutifully distracts security as she futzes with the control panel.

It’s barely fifteen minutes before she beckons him into the alley adjacent to the simulator room, a sample platter of bolts and wires spread out around her knees.

“Alright chief, it should be compatible, now.” She pulls a stray length of cable from where she’s been holding it between her teeth and pockets it. The little nib of her ponytail bobs as she stands.

“So it’ll be him this time?”

“I mean, almost exactly. I programmed his profile into the grooves set into the existing simulation, but I softened the edges a little so he’s not too self aware. I don’t want him realizing he’s a projection, I’m not that cruel.”

“Right,” Keith says, uncomfortable.

“If you don’t find what you’re looking for and you have to go back in, all you’ve gotta do is punch in this code.” She jabs him in the chest with a folded piece of card, as close to paper as they’ve been able to find out here, and twice as durable. She could have sent him the info, but they both know this transaction is better left under the table. “The system should wipe itself automatically when you’re done. And Keith—“ Her hand flattens on his dark chestplate, and her eyes are troubled. “Please don’t forget why you’re doing this.”

He nods, and puts a gloved hand over hers. “I won’t. I’ll figure this out, and I’ll find him.”

She nods back, a wobbly smile rolling over on her face.

“Okay,” she says. “Okay, I gotta go. I can’t—I wish I could see him, but.”

“Yeah,” Keith agrees sadly.

She smiles again, fleeting, and gathers her kit. “We can’t spare another paladin,” she says, quickly, like it doesn’t matter. “Don’t get lost in there.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but she’s already putting her visor down, and walking out into the crowd.

______

This time, he finds himself on a boardwalk during a powder pink sunset. The air smells blisteringly of salt and roasting meat, and faceless people mill over the beach: parents holding hands with kids, couples sharing shaved ice, a galloping golden retriever in a red bandana.

The leftover scorch of the day blows in off the coast to meet him, like the wave from an open oven door.

He walks purposefully onto the sandbar, craning in circles, trying to catch a glimpse of a familiar face. He feels—pre-heartbroken, caught in the final moments of a long walk to an open casket.

“Where’ve you been?”

He whips around, and Lance is pulling one earbud out, squinting into the sun at him.

“Lance?” he asks, through what feels like a mouth full of marbles.

“Uh-huh,” he says, eyebrow quirked. “The one and only.” He settles back into the shade of his umbrella.

Keith shakes his head to clear it. There’s a red and white striped towel set out next to Lance’s, and he sinks down onto it, overcome. Is this Earth? Did Pidge program this specifically? Is it one of the date settings on the simulator? He can’t remember. He can’t see past the illusion at all.

Lance offers him an earbud. “Come on, Red, will you relax? Pretend you’re not the kind of person who sleeps with a knife under your pillow.” He accepts the bud, numb, and tucks it in his ear. He’s expecting synth pop, but it’s an old R&B song, smoky and familiar. “No overthinking on the beach.”

He can’t stop looking at him. It’s uncanny—the dusky chapped lips, the mole next to his mouth, the cowlick over his ear. His eyes are intelligent, laser-focused on Keith. “Where are we?”

“Dear sweet Keith. Senile at age twenty. So sad.”

“Shut up.” He has to look away, to mask the full-colour magazine spread of conflicted feelings on his face. It all feels a bit like a lucid dream that he shouldn’t jostle too hard. “I’m not used to this.”

Lance’s expression softens. “Hey man, I get it. Being home is weird. Sometimes it’s like—I can’t even remember how we got here.” He shakes his head. “But also I’m so happy to be back, I’m like—screw PTSD.”

His chest aches, badly. “I don’t think it works like that.”

“Rich coming from you, Mr. repression,” Lance says, rolling his eyes.

“I’m not doing that any more,” Keith says. “I’m working through my shit.”

“How admirable.” His mouth twitches. He produces a Palm Bay from his slouchy little backpack, tossing it from hand to hand as if testing its heft. “I’m drowning my sorrows in coolers, personally.”

And then he lunges, spritzing the can open in Keith’s face.

“Jesus, Lance,” he sputters, smacking it out of his hand. They scuffle, briefly, and that helpless, ebullient laugh blows past him like candy bubbles.

“Your—face—“

“You’re so immature—“

“Easy, cowboy, don’t you remember what team bonding looks like?” He pinches Keith’s cheek teasingly, and Keith grabs his wrist.

A pulse flutters under his fingertips.

He scrambles backwards, clothes dragging against the sand, a stray sandal popping off. The heat and grit is so real. If he focuses hard enough on the smell of meat coming off the boardwalk, his mouth waters. Lance looks at him incredulously.

“What? That’s too far for you? I barely touched you!”

“You touched me,” Keith repeats. He can still feel that pulse, like a second heart in his own body. He stands up, shedding sand, and Lance looks up at him, mild expression tinted with hurt. Keith sways, sidelined by a wave of vertigo. He can’t be here right now. “End—“

“You’re being so weird. Like Kuron all over again.”

He stops. “You think I’m a clone?”

“Obviously not really,” Lance says, getting up on his knees. “But that is the level of weird we’re dealing with here. You’re looking at me like you’re about to cry.”

“It’s just—home.” He gestures awkwardly. “Tandem bikes. Coconut sunscreen. Seagulls eating fries out of the trash. The ocean. Earth reminds me of you.”

"Birds eating garbage reminds you of me?" Lance quirks a skeptical expression at him. “Maybe you are working through some shit.”

He reaches for his abandoned sandal, dusting sticky sand from the straps. “You can’t even imagine.”

“Try me.”

Keith looks across at Lance’s calm, determined face, and the words rise up in him like a groundswell.

“I know I haven’t earned it, and I know it doesn’t make sense to you, but I miss how things used to be. And the worse everything gets the more I keep wondering what you would say, or do, and I hate that—god,” he breaks off, and presses his palms briefly to his eyes. “I mean, you would’ve had no way of knowing how I felt. I didn’t even know. But I should’ve—I just thought we would have more time after the war, or I would die and it wouldn’t matter. And I guess I assumed you were always going to be there, because you always were, even when I didn’t want you to be, and now—I don’t know, Lance, I don't know how I’m supposed to go to the castle, or pilot Red, or look at the planet I grew up on without remembering how much you loved it, and how much I love you—“

“Keith, what?” Lance says, alarmed. “You’re freaking me out.”

“Where are you?” he frets.

“I’m here.” He crawls closer, but Keith can't look at him. He watches the fussy waves coming in off the shore instead. “I’m right here.” He rests his hands on Keith’s ankles, and he has to steady himself on Lance’s shoulders when his knees go loose. “Man, I shouldn’t have joked about PTSD. I mean, I feel like this sometimes too.”

Keith looks down into his face. “What?”

“You know, like I’m back there. Like—time doesn’t even exist. Being off-planet was such a bitch sometimes. You feel like you can disappear in all that open space. And sometimes you want to.”

“Lance,” Keith whispers. “You wanted to disappear?”

“Yeah, sometimes,” Lance says, serene. “Just for a while. Let someone else defend the universe for a bit, preferably an adult. Hey, don’t look at me like that, I didn’t do it!”

“You would have told us,” Keith says, through bloodless lips.

“Sure,” Lance offers.

“No. No. You would’ve said something.”

Lance takes his hands away uncertainly.

“I wouldn’t have done it,” he says flatly. “I’m just telling you that I understand being pissed off, and I understand wanting to—hit pause.”

“What about hitting stop?” Keith asks. “What about disappearing so thoroughly that whole galaxies full of alien technology can’t find you?”

Lance’s face is a spinning wheel; he cycles through all manner of confusion, impatience, and worry before settling on defensiveness. “What the fuck are you talking about? Are you out of your mind?”

“If I am, it’s your fault,” Keith snaps. “How could you leave us?”

“How could I leave?” There’s no question now, that this is data from his Lance. His tetchy, self-conscious anger is unmistakeable. “You’re the one who ditched us for the Blades right when we were at a tipping point. You’re the one who wadded two years up and threw them in the trash. You didn’t have to care about us but you absolutely should’ve talked to us. We were a team.”

“You think I don’t care about you?” Keith laughs. “That’s fucking hilarious.”

“I’m really laughing,” Lance says sarcastically. “I don’t know what sort of crazy pills you took that made you think that I’m the deserter out of the two of us. I wish I could be that delusional. I may have wanted out once or twice, but I would never, ever leave the people who need me.” He’s fuming, and the wind is blowing through his curls like it’s trying to placate him.

Keith’s anger wobbles. It hurts, to hear Lance talking this way after so long. It’s not the reunion they deserve.

“I know. I know that.”

Lance sits back on Keith’s towel, frowning. He brushes the drained cooler away, and the remnant dribbles out and darkens the sand. “I don’t know why you always have to ruin everything.”

Keith’s throat aches, and he crosses his arms protectively over his chest.

“Me neither.”

Lance glances up, surprised. And then his gaze slides purposefully beyond Keith, considering. After a moment something comes over him, and his whole demeanour changes. “Keith,” he says softly. “Did you say you loved me?”

Keith screws his eyes shut. After a moment he hears Lance moving closer, reaching out, fingertips barely grazing the back of his hand—

“End simulation. Please.”

He crouches in the dark. “Please.”

______

“Oh, fuck you,” Lance crows. He ducks out from under Keith’s staff, and then grabs the end of it, using the momentum to slide through Keith’s wide stance.

He spins around, and Lance is five feet away, holding his own staff up to his eye like a sniper rifle.

“Bang,” he says.

“This is close combat,” Keith reminds him. He throws his weapon like a spear at Lance’s ankle, and he yelps when it makes contact.

“How is that close combat? You javelin wielding motherfucker. You should be disqualified, and jailed for your crimes.”

He watches Lance shake out his foot like it really hurts, testing his weight and pretending to stumble, falling forward—and then whirling around in time to clash staffs with Keith.

“Shit,” Lance laughs, up close, hot with exertion, putting the pressure of his body weight on the cross they’ve made between them. “Thought I had you.”

“Do you want to surrender?”

“Do you want to kiss my ass?” Lance retorts.

Keith steps out of the way, and Lance’s momentum sends him tumbling head-first to the floor.

“Sure,” he says coolly. “Turn over.”

“What the hell,” Lance says, rolling onto his knees, flustered.

“You lost.”

“Yeah, whatever, like six to five.”

“Six to four,” Keith corrects, and offers him his hand. Lance pretends to spit into it, then flops back onto his hands instead.

“If we were duelling with pistols, I would humiliate you. You would have to drop out of Voltron.”

“By that logic, you should be packing your bags right now.”

Lance throws his head back and laughs. “I’m going to fucking kill you, Kogane.”

“Try me.”

Lance shrugs, but just as Keith starts to look away, he throws himself at him. It’s so unexpected that Keith actually goes down, wrists slammed to the mat on either side of his body, wind knocked out of him.

Lance laughs breathlessly, looming messy and sweaty above him. “Wow, that was embarrassing for you. Your arrogance is your downfall.”

“You’re my downfall,” Keith says, a little too flat and sincere across the top, and Lance purses his lips.

“You’re taking this too seriously, dude.” He lets go easily, and rolls out on his back next to him instead. He flexes his wrist in the air above them both, and Keith watches his fingers work. “Why does it feel like it’s been forever since we sparred?”

“It has,” Keith says simply.

“I guess,” Lance yawns. “I can’t even remember the last time.”

His heart is still pounding from the first serious, sustained training he's done in months. When Lance goes to sit up, Keith puts a staying hand on his chest.

“Hey, Lance," he says. Lance hums. "If you got separated from your lion for any reason, would you—what would you do?”

He frowns. “I dunno. Alert you guys. Rescue mish.”

“What if you couldn’t contact us?”

Lance looks sideways at him. “Not loving this thought experiment. Why are you being so weird?”

“Please,” Keith says, taking Lance’s sore wrist, feeling for the artificial thud of his pulse. “Just—answer.”

“Uh. I don’t know, am I captured? Or planet-side?”

Keith swallows. “Planet-side.”

Lance nods, considering. “If the locals are part of the alliance, I would get their intel, and find a way to reach you. If not, I guess I would lie low. Wait for a friendly ship and signal them.”

“That could take years. It might never happen, depending on where you ended up. Like—alien vessels aren’t cruising over Earth very often.”

“Says you,” Lance jokes. “The truth is out there.”

“You could die waiting,” Keith insists, dropping his hand. “What if the atmosphere wasn’t compatible? The flora and fauna? What if your suit was compromised?”

“I would heroically overcome all obstacles, whistle for my trusty lion, and ride off into the cosmos,” he replies sardonically, “what do you want from me?”

“I just think we should have more rescue protocols in place in case something goes south.”

“Right,” Lance says slowly. “Well, I mean—and I’m going to try and get through this without gagging—I have your back, man. And if we get separated, I’m pretty sure you can take care of yourself.” He gestures at their discarded staffs. “Not as well as me, of course,” he sniffs, glancing sidelong at Keith to see if he’s cheered him up.

Keith feels the phantom weight of Lance’s body crushing him to the mat, a window of weakness pried open, broken and entered. He breathes out. “Yeah. You’re too good for that.”

______

He asks Pidge for more scenarios, and more user profiles. For fleshing things out, he tells her. For recreating the circumstances under which Lance was lost, testing his reactions to different situations, and introducing as many variables as possible.

Slowly, inevitably, he starts to lose control of it all.

He’s still a correspondent to the Blade of Marmora, and he’s on call as a paladin, but they haven’t been able to form Voltron in years. He’s perpetually out of sync with the rest of the universe, living more and more like a washed-up casino-goer, existing only for the market stall where he can plug his friends in and relive the past.

He pays off the owner not to ask questions, and gets an apartment on Seachmall, barely the size of a lion cockpit, just a sparse kitchenette and a twin cot. He spends hours in the simulator and crashes on his bare mattress, bathed in the constant, spectacular glow from the street lights.

Every time he staggers away from the market he has to remember that the real Lance is rotting somewhere, and he’s here playing dress up with shadows.

It’s all easier, in the holodeck.

He loads the original paladin line-up into battle, relives their victories and rights their wrongs. He finds himself in the kitchen of the castle of lions, in a ballroom overlooking a fathoms-deep canyon, curled in Lance’s bed so he can finally sleep. He takes his friends to Earth a hundred different ways.

There’s always a fog, a strangeness about them when they think too hard about where they are, but he knows it’s a mercy. He ends each simulation on the verge of spinning out, functionally pulling the trigger on his dearest friends.

Reality sags out of his grip. Pidge and Hunk call sometimes, and often Kolivan or Allura will give him status reports, scattered missions, and lectures that walk the line between morally superior and deeply, uncomfortably worried. When Shiro starts up daily check-ins, he understands that they all know what he’s been doing, lost on Seachmall for so long.

“You’re taking care of yourself, right?” Shiro asks.

“Yes,” Keith tells him. He’s staring at the empty wall across from his bed, absently sharpening his knife. “I’m just killing time.”

“We really miss you around here. It’s too quiet.”

He tests his blade, rolling his shoulder. “I’m not exactly bringing the party when I’m out there.”

Shiro hums. “I don’t know, you certainly keep things interesting.”

Keith snorts.

“I’m serious!” He can hear the smile in his voice. “There’s only so much quantum mechanics and ancient magic I can take before I want to hit something. I want my sparring partner back.”

They lapse into silence, and Keith traces patterns in the air, enjoying the fine metallic sound of a weapon without a target.

“You know we’re still looking, right?” Shiro asks. Keith stops cutting the air, and puts his knife down on the bed beside him.

“Are you?”

“Yes,” Shiro says. “Of course we are. Allura and I are visiting every contact she has, and Hunk and Pidge are working—overtime. We’re picking up a lot of slack here.”

The back of his neck prickles with guilt. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Shiro sighs. “I’m telling you this because you’re my brother.” But he has his diplomat voice on, which Keith has always hated. “And I don’t know if you’re thinking about what it’s going to do to the rest of us if you don’t come back from this.”

“From a simulator?” he asks, incredulous.

“From grieving,” Shiro corrects. “I would never tell you to stop looking, but I think you know you’re not going to find him in those projections.”

“I could,” he says stiffly. “He tells me things—every day he gives me clues and he doesn’t even know it.”

“He doesn’t tell you anything,” Shiro says gently. “Because it’s not him. Do you remember when Allura had to let go of her father? It was so easy for her precious memories to be corrupted, and even easier to get swept away in the illusion. Everything in a simulator is finite, Keith, but you can’t be. You have to grow, and change, and move on.”

He thinks of every different shade of Lance he’s seen, every secret door that gives and leads to another wing. “You don’t get it.”

“Of course I get it. If Adam—“ he cuts himself off, and his breath shudders over the line. “You’re not the only one to be feeling this loss, or to be struggling.”

“But I never even got to love him," Keith argues. “I never got close enough to put any of these feelings anywhere, and now they’re everywhere. No one ever gives me the chance to love them before they—“ he swallows, and when he goes to speak again he finds there’s nothing else to say.

“I know how hard it’s been for you,” Shiro says sadly. “But Keith, understand—we all love you. No matter where we are or what we’re doing. We don’t have to verbalize it to feel it.”

“Okay,” he says, numb.

“We love you,” he reiterates. “Lance did too.”

“Thanks for checking on me Shiro,” he says, and hangs up.

______

“No way, no way, no way,” Lance crows. “This is slander.”

“It can’t be slander if all of us were there to see it,” Hunk says, but he can’t look at Lance without cracking up.

“You’re remembering wrong,” he says. “She asked me to give a speech.”

“She asked you not to,” Pidge says, rolling her eyes. “Begged you, even.”

“Boo,” Lance laughs. “I was just trying to have a good time at alliance banquet number five zillion.”

They’re clustered on blankets between the yellow lion’s hulking paws, in the soft local vegetation of one of the last planets they liberated as a team. They were buzzed, when this conversation actually happened, but Keith hasn’t been able to replicate that particular feeling through the simulator.

“I don’t know why you always have to lie to these people,” Keith says, just as he did on the actual occasion.

“Embellish,” Lance protests. “I live by the principle that everyone wants to hear the best possible version of the story, and you owe it to them to tell it.”

“But the best version is almost never the real version,” Hunk says, exasperated.

“I dunno man, what’s real anyway?” Pidge says, easing back into the blankets. “Our lives are such a clusterfuck as it is. The line of what’s actually impossible gets farther away every day.”

“Yeah,” Lance says. “What squidge said. Lying is cool.”

“Ugh, don’t call me that,” Pidge complains.

“What, I’m agreeing with you,” Lance says, grinning. He leans over to give her a big-brotherly hair-pull that she intercepts with a karate chop.

“People deserve to know the truth,” Keith says mechanically, following the script, but then feeling flushed and hypocritical all at once.

“Okay, here’s a truth, universally acknowledged: Keith sucks,” Lance says.

“Hm. Sounds like another lie to me,” Hunk says, and Lance reaches up to steal his headband in retaliation. Hunk rolls his eyes and lets him have it, like he’s appeasing an overactive puppy.

Something skitters in the dark, beyond the dunes of Yellow’s paws.

“Don’t you have a rebuttal, Keith?” Pidge asks, sitting up on her hands.

“Why are you encouraging them?” Hunk groans.

Keith shrugs and stays silent; Lance’s gaze narrows shrewdly.

“You aren’t one of those weepy drunks, are you?”

Keith picks at a loose thread in their shared blanket. “No, I just changed my mind,” he says, veering off-book. “I don’t know why I was acting like it was ridiculous that you like telling stories, when it obviously makes people feel better to believe them.”

“Oh. Well. Glad you came to your senses,” Lance interrupts, overly loud. He always seems to hate it when Keith gets sincere like this. He begs for attention but recoils when he gets too much.

“Most of these alliance parties happen after a long period of unrest. So… what, you helped grieving people by acting like a superhero? To them, you are a superhero. God, I couldn’t stand that you took so much credit for our victories, but I should’ve given you more.”

Lance blinks at him.

He remembers with fire-bright clarity how this scene actually played out, the way Keith kept needling at Lance’s hero complex, accusing him of making things up so he could pretend he’d been helpful. Lance had dialled his bravado to a screaming pitch so he could hide the soft, spoiled look in his eyes where Keith had lodged a cruel sword that he couldn’t pull out.

Now, Lance purses his lips so he doesn’t have to figure out what to do with his expression.

“Huh,” Pidge says, chewing on a pseudo-protein bar from their rations. “That’s some unexpected character growth.”

“Are you… feeling okay?” Hunk asks.

Keith looks miserably down at his own crossed legs until Lance says, “not that I don’t appreciate it, but you did just do kind of an impressive one-eighty.”

He looks up. “Yeah, sorry. I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about.”

Lance smiles a little, relieved. He waggles the flask they’ve been sharing in his direction. “You just need to drink more.”

“No,” Keith disagrees, shaking his head. “I want to remember this.”

______

He opens his eyes to the world on its side, gritty endless flatlands sprayed out against a hazy auburn sky.

He rolls, putting his arm over his face, a visor against radiant twin suns.

He doesn’t have to look to remember the architecture at his back, a cubist explosion of edges and colours, each shape squared off and set into the hills. When the paladins liberated Imedemaa, they were offered accommodation in homes that corresponded to their lions: terracotta red, cobalt blue, mustard yellow, foliage green, and a brown so dark it could pass as black.

It’s his favourite place to visit: brilliant views, kind people, warm bed, privacy and proximity bumping shoulders comfortably.

Keith rolls again, sitting up. He feels heat-sick, and if it were real, he knows he would be bruised tan in the coast-to-coast sunshine. He’s spread out on the same outdoor palette where he fell asleep nearly three years ago. His apartment is warm, dull red, nearly orange. The shimmering public baths sparkle with activity just below his balcony.

“Yoo-hoo, neighbour.”

Keith squints over the waist-high wall and finds Lance clambering from his own balcony onto Keith’s.

“You’re going to fall to your death.”

“Nah,” Lance says, swinging a leg down over the railing and sitting contemplatively with one foot dangling over empty space and the other brushing the floor. “There’s a pool down there. Worst case scenario I perform an exceptional and history-making canon-ball.”

Keith watches him climb the rest of the way over, staggering and sitting heavily on Keith’s palette next to him.

“Oof,” he says. Lance's skin is dazzling in this climate, dark and freckled like granite. The simulation reminds him that he smelled like lotus, this day, fresh from the baths, warm shoulder and drizzling wet hair. “Are you ready to absolutely blow this popsicle stand?”

“And do what?” Keith asks, a little breathless from proximity.

“Did you seriously forget? It’s racing day!”

“Oh,” Keith says faintly. “Right.” They used to rent speeders for fun sometimes; the whole team participating at first, and then Keith and Lance alone when they surpassed friendly competition into bet-making and sabotage.

They would sneak back whenever they could swing the time off, careening around dusty corners and ramming one another’s speeders into hysterical tailspins. They would sob with laughter and then spritz their canteens all over each other, tussling in the dirt, so coordinated that it was almost an embrace.

The thought of it had driven him out of bed this morning, but he felt sick and shaky as he typed Pidge’s code into the simulator, setting the modified location of Imedemaa and rolling into a memory so fine and warm that it reminded him of death itself.

“Woah. easy, Red,” Lance says, his voice sharp with concern. Keith comes back to himself to realize that he’s angling into a panic attack, holding his own head in his hands. He can’t spoil this memory. Not this one.

“I—I—“ He can’t speak. Lance makes a dismayed noise, his entire demeanour turning inside out.

“Can I hug you, man?”

Keith jerks his head ‘no’. “I—can’t��you—“

Lance gets to his feet, and Keith grabs at him, hooking fingers in a belt loop, a fistful of shirt, whatever his hands find first.

“Hey, shh, it’s cool, I’m just getting you some water.”

Keith shakes his head again. “Don’t leave me.”

“Will you tell me what’s wrong?” Lance asks softly, sitting back down. “We don’t have to go racing today.”

Keith huffs this weird cartwheel of a laugh, and scrubs a hand over his eyes and nose.

“I think I dreamed you were dead,” he tells him. He doesn’t look up into his face, but Lance’s chest is steady in front of him, rising and falling evenly with each breath.

“Who, me? I’m fine, Keith, look at me.”

“It felt real.”

“Pretty sure it wasn’t,” Lance says, laughter tucked into his worry like a concealed weapon. Keith looks up at him, and Lance beams under his full attention. He wipes the tears from Keith’s cheeks with his thumbs.

Abruptly, he can’t stand it.

“You’re a hologram,” Keith whispers. Lance’s smile falters.

“What?”

“Do you remember how Pidge took our mental blueprints?”

Lance nods quickly. He’s not brushing Keith off, he’s not slow with disbelief. He’s clear and sharp and his face is increasingly overcast with fear.

“I’m using your data in a simulation. This holiday on Imedemaa, it was years ago. You’re not the real Lance.” It hurts, to admit it, but it’s clear that it hurts Lance much, much more.

“No,” he chokes. “No, I feel real.”

“I know you do,” Keith says, reaching for his hand.

But Lance jerks away, standing and reeling backwards, hands splayed out on red paint, which could be gore, really, bleeding out from Lance’s palms like that. “I was so fucking scared of this.“

“I’m sorry,” Keith says, watching this shade of Lance shaking through self-awareness, and feeling the weight of the words that could end it in his mouth.

“Why—where—“

“He’s gone,” Keith whispers.

“Gone as in gone?”

“Gone as in I can’t find him.”

“So why the fuck are you wasting time on this Black Mirror shit, and not out there looking for me?” he demands.

“I’ve looked everywhere.” The agony of his failure slides home all over again. “The search party is a million strong by now. I’ve talked to a hundred versions of you looking for an answer.”

“A hundred,” Lance says. “So what, when I tell you what you want to hear, you delete me?”

“I’m not wiping the data or anything, I—I don’t know how it works,” he admits.

“Jesus. Jesus Keith, this is fucked up.”

Tears start to well up, and he wipes them away furiously. He never used to cry like this. He never used to feel so constantly ravaged by guilt and fear. It used to live in his gut and press at his throat, but he could keep it wrapped and sealed inside his body.

“I miss you,” Keith tries, and Lance’s face twists with despair.

“I really wish it didn’t take this horror show to make you say that.”

Somewhere, something splashes and someone shrieks with laughter. Lance looks at him miserably, hunched in the shade from the terrace, brow damp with terrified perspiration. He absolutely shouldn’t have told him. He remembers Pidge laughing darkly, I’m not that cruel.

“What do you want me to do,” Keith asks quietly.

“What choice do I have?” Lance asks. “I’m a fucking video game character. I’m a dead man walking.”

“Do you want to do anything? Before I end this session.”

Lance swallows, considering. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I do, actually.”

______

They race.

What feels like all day, ripping in circles under arching rocks and through clinging, dragging sand, until the suns are setting, twin flames set into the desert like jewels.

Lance is extra reckless, gorgeous, perched high on his speeder and arched forward to reach the controls. His face, below the goggles, is streaked with mud, and he keeps crying out when he tips over too far or pulls triumphantly ahead of Keith, cathartic, unfiltered.

“One more lap,” he shouts, over the thrum of noise from the speeder.

“I’ll beat your ass,” Keith calls, trying for normalcy, but they’ve both kind of been crying on and off all day, and this is the last thing this Lance will ever do, and really, he’s not that cruel.

“Fucking try,” Lance says, pulling his bandana up over his mouth and taking off.

“Hey!” Keith laughs. “No countdown?”

“I think I deserve a head start,” he calls over his shoulder, but most of his voice is whipped away by the wind.

The speeder rips sideways, sliding over a natural boulder ridge that drops off into nothingness. Strange gravity keeps him on the right side of the cliff, and he hoots with joy, galloping metres and metres ahead as Keith eases through the same turn.

“You’re gonna—“ get yourself killed. He bites his tongue. Lance can’t hear him anyway. He zigzags through natural obstacles, glancing back in disbelief when Keith pulls up behind him. His face is red with the effort of staying upright.

“Can’t you let me win for once,” Lance cries, slamming on the thrusters and stirring up a fog of dust behind him. Keith coughs and dodges, feeling on the very edge of an awareness too big to name, like being able to feel one stage of grief ending and another beginning.

Sometime during Lance’s luxurious lead he’s taken off his helmet, and now the desert wind is whipping his hair straight.

He takes the next corner much too fast, and Keith’s heart is in his throat as he inevitably spins out, in smooth little frictionless circles at first, weightless as a bumper car—and then the rear of the speeder catches on a jutting rock and he’s ejected altogether. He topples out into the sifting dunes, rolling half a dozen times and stopping himself so abruptly that Keith can hear something snap.

He pulls up hard, tumbling off the speeder and throwing his helmet out into the sand, running as best he can to where Lance landed.

When he reaches him he’s cradling a severely broken arm to his chest, and the bone is piercing through the skin. There’s blood everywhere, weeping through his fingers, streaked high on his hairline, staining his shirt and the tawny sand beneath him.

“Would’ve been great if you could have programmed me not to hurt,” Lance wobbles. Stiff upper lip, terribly pale.

“Didn’t know you were going to throw yourself off a speeder.”

“Yeah, well. Me neither.” He hisses as Keith takes his wrist in his hand, unfathomably gentle, turning it this way and that.

“This looks terrible.”

Lance snorts. “Thank you doctor Keith.”

“I don’t think we brought any first aid,” he mutters, frowning, digging through the pack at his hip.

“I don’t need it.”

“Are you kidding me? You’re—“

“Keith.” He looks up at him, smudgy and sweaty and splashed with five kinds of red in the fading light. “I don’t need it.”

Keith trembles, still searching for a bandage or a stopper or an answer of any kind. “No. I hate this.”

Lance smiles grimly. “I don’t love it that much either. But hey, maybe there’s a way to bring me back. This exact version of me. From the ether somewhere. Doesn’t feel quite as permanent as capital D Death.” His eyes narrow. “As long as you don’t lose me, Red.”

“I won’t,” he whispers, parched and grief-torn. “Never again.”

“Okay. Okay.” He makes himself comfortable, stretched out on the sand, arm folded over his chest. “Hey, Keith?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you not—raise me from the dead again? I don’t think—I mean. A hundred versions of me and you haven’t found what you’re looking for.”

“But I have,” Keith says fiercely. “I always find what I’m looking for, because I’m looking for you.”

Lance laughs, coughs, squeezes his eyes shut. “That’s real romantic.”

Keith’s mouth twitches. “I’m glad you think so.”

Lance cracks an eye open. “Just find me the old fashioned way, will you? No more beautiful Lance casualties.”

“I—don’t know if I can promise that,” he says. “I miss you,” he reiterates.

“Yeah. More, I bet, when you’re looking right at me. Ever wonder why that is?”

Keith shakes his head fast.

“Dumbass,” Lance says fondly. “It’s literally always gonna hurt, trying to live in the past. Makes you feel like you don’t have a future.”

“Maybe I don’t.”

“That’s a pretty insensitive thing to say to a dying guy.”

Keith laughs wetly. “You’re being melodramatic.”

“When can you be melodramatic if not on your deathbed?”

Keith brushes the sticky hair from Lance’s forehead. He turns his face and Keith’s hand softens and cups his cheek comfortably.

“Pidge can do anything,” Keith tells him. “All your ones and zeroes will be safe somewhere until she can figure out somewhere for you to go.”

“Yeah, okay,” Lance says, like he barely heard him. He’s determined, heroic. Fucking heartbreaking. “I hope the real me gives you hell.”

Keith nods jerkily. “He always does.”

“I hope he—I hope he’s good to you, too.”

Keith’s face crumples, and he puts his forehead to Lance’s, feeling him wince when his chest grazes his broken arm.

“Sorry, sorry,” he sniffs, holding his face, wiping the blood and muck and tears back.

“It’s okay,” Lance says, starting to slur. “It’s okay, Red, just end it, quick.”

“You’re the last one,” Keith promises.

“Good,” Lance says, “because you’re not gonna do better than me.”

Keith laughs, putting their foreheads together again, and then kissing the place where a tear has rolled down into his hairline.

“See you soon,” he whispers. Lance leans up, golden, bloody.

Keith shudders, and says “end simulation” into his mouth.

Imedemaa winks out, and his whole world narrows instantly to a pinhead. He’s huddled on the floor over nothing at all, caught in the throws of fantasy, like a sleepwalker. When he licks his lips though, he swears he can still taste salt.

______

He leaves the simulator into the whiz and pop of another Seachmall night. The owner nods at him, looking vaguely troubled, possibly by the amount of time that Keith has been locked in his simulator today, and by the look on his face now, which he can only imagine is ripped in half by loss.

The market is busier than usual, stranger, overfull with alien tourists, so much so that the paladin simulator has accumulated a long line-up.

He sidesteps their stares, slipping soundlessly into the alley, already dialling Pidge on his communicator. She said the system would automatically wipe after each use, but he’s certain she can retrieve whatever information would be inaccessible to the public. She said herself that she doesn’t burn data.

He waits through the suck of the empty line, feeling antsy and keyed up, aching from a day of racing but incongruously clean and dry.

“Come on, Pidge,” he mutters.

Somewhere in the market, there’s a great clamour of voices. Something clatters to the ground, and someone apologizes profusely in common. Keith chews his lip distractedly, waiting for a thief to run by, a sheepish tourist, or scuffling rival business owners.

The line connects and disconnects in quick succession, and Keith kicks a trash disposal chute so hard that it dents.

He frets, thinking of Lance’s final moments, the wilting fear on his face, his mouth split open like fruit.

A hoverbike rounds the corner, and Keith only steps barely out of the way, nearly clipped by a wide fender. It crashes to a stop, making a thin, rumbling sound, and then its rider has whipped all the way around to stare at Keith. Achingly humanoid. Cobalt blue Motorcycle helmet. Rippling with motion even while sitting still.

They swing a leg over the seat of the bike, staggering closer, and Keith knows. He knows when a slender, gloved hand reaches for the visor, and when twin pistols clink and gleam from their holsters. The helmet falls, rolling into the dirt.

“Keith,” Lance breathes.

[pliskin]

im gonna talk about some doomvega stuff idk where else to post it 

slayer hc

I like selective mute slayer the most... nonverbal communication most of the time, his body language/expression vega gradually eases into learning, then for longform communication its typing into vega’s console, morse code into vega’s palm (<3) or sign language.  the few times he speaks is very curt and short, maybe just quick affirmation from vega for whatever (kisses <3) and the gayest reason of all... so he can say vega’s name tenderly 

lots of hobbies, which is more or less canon, but it's cute to think about... particularly his cooking magazines make me think he would be a good cook in a umm domestic au... but I like that he enjoys many creative things also like reading/writing/music, in addition to a scientific/engineering bg, hes kind of like... full package husband material

I dont have a ton of slayer hcs... I think hes mostly introverted, more into his hobbies, cultured... I think my only self-indulgent not canon compliant hc is he gets embarrassed easy and pretty expressive but has rbf.  hes like the shy boyfriend in the “excuse me he said no pickle” meme with vega

vega hc

vega for drawing purposes I like to make an android, tho in a fic im more inclined to regular AI vega especially in character studies and introspective writing... there's something a lot more poignant about vega reminiscing about almost being shut down while not assuming any kind of physical form... idk im just talking about what I like on a scale bc I love tons of vega interpretation

android vega:  I like to imagine an android body was created for vega per samuel’s instruction a little bit after vega became operational... kind of like a flex to match with uac creating the first cyborg body as well.  since samuel is a bit of a dick to his dad he doesnt make him w maykr proportions in mind and instead vega is given a very average human male body: about six feet tall, gentle (fatherly -_-) disposition, dark hair and brown skin, unnatural blue eyes... I think this would be good for vega to “blend” into the personnel, build camaraderie w him, though I think samuel would pull the plug on it in the long run for reasons my brain can’t put together atm lol.  this kind of self-indulgent but I like vega’s “virtual age” being 50 bc he’s samuel’s dad, and I like vega w a completely average body but thin waist like a maykr... which is a subconscious decision by samuel bc hes more accustomed to makyr bodies... but I am also just a bastard that wants thin waist dilf vega

this is maybe a reach of the fortress’s resources but I think the slayer could manage to build the same body for vega he had on the base if vega gave him the materials and instructions for it... just like a project, nothing exactly urgent, vega’s body slowly being worked on until completion.  but then... the slayer finds himself a bit attached because vega is like 100x more pleasant and soothing when he can see vega smiling at him.  im corny

I also like vega being a bit catty and passive-aggressive, but in his customer service voice.  he’s definitely not a doormat as an AI, and hes a lot more direct as umm god.  god vega I like aesthetically (SO MUCH) but I think I will hold back on my interpretation till ancient gods.  even his visual design I know will be probably significantly different from that 6-wing maykr angel concept art (if hes shown at all) but I like the aesthetic of it and will probably keep that if no canon physical body for vega is shown...

doomvega hc

very slow burn... mostly on vega’s part, but I like the almost innate way the slayer is more friendly/gentle with vega and his upgrade bots, so I think the slayer is sweet on vega

vega wondering about why the slayer chose to back him up is always a fave... and ik its not the exact reason for why dg is back in urdak but I like thinking about him going back for vega or at least I hope they make it a point in the dlc that dg is looking for vega amidst all the chaos... it would really cement their relationship together and would be so good for vega as not being seen as a tool to be thrown away (god stuff aside).  like he’s the slayer’s partner and not just an assistant or something like that

its canon that the slayer has ptsd so I think vega (in an android/robot body) can help him through episodes/nightmares... and this is pretty corny and self-indulgent but I think vega’s touch calms him bc of like... god reasons... and vega is not really sure why it feels so right to hold the slayer and comfort him but its god reasons

slayer also likes to hold android vega and his arms wrap around him easy, and vega is flush against his chest (<3) I like to imagine this after some kind of... very heartfelt “thank you” or confession from vega.  I also really like the idea of vega confessing his feelings first I think because he would have to also deal with thinking his “feelings” are real or not since he’s AI and not human and all of those schlocky sci-fi romance tropes

then theres the slayer x father vega dynamic im speculating a little about but want to wait till ancient gods to see... it seems like the slayer is vega’s right hand this time which is so exciting for them... it adds so much more versatility to their dynamic 

this got too long already I just wanted to contextualize some of my art... I want to add more later though.  anyway I love them!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  theyre good

[myartofhealthyliving]

What is a Portable Oxygen Concentrator? (Benefits, Uses, and Limitations)

At the point when you’re battling with a lung sickness or a breathing issue that expects you to utilize supplemental oxygen, there are a few things you can do to make it simpler to adapt to these issues. Oxygen offers many advantages and since you have the choice of a versatile oxygen concentrator, you would now be able to inhale simpler while you partake in your opportunity and autonomy.

What is a Portable Oxygen Concentrator (POC)?

Portable Oxygen Concentrator definition: A POC is a medical device that helps individuals with a low level of blood oxygen. You can plug them into an electrical outlet or power them by a battery. If the battery is spent, you’ll need to charge it back up by plugging it into the electrical outlet. Many of the portable oxygen concentrators also come with an adapter so you can use your device while driving.

Portable oxygen concentrators receive air, purify it and then distribute the changed air. Air is made up of mostly nitrogen and some oxygen before it goes into the concentrator. After going through the concentrator, the air comes out almost all oxygen and very little nitrogen. The device then separates the nitrogen to give the individual as much oxygen as possible, since it’s hard to get the perfect percentage of oxygen without using a medical device like this.

Benefits of a Portable Oxygen Concentrator

There are a number of benefits to a portable oxygen concentrator. Some benefits of a portable oxygen concentrator are:

Easy to Use

Many POCs can be a little confusing to operate. There are what seems to be an endless amount of:

Wires

Buttons

Switches

These can make it very challenging to modify your oxygen therapy and will have your device beeping back at you to let you know you’re not doing it correctly. This is why it’s important to use a device that’s user-friendly like the Inogen One G5 portable oxygen concentrator.

An easy-to-understand and clean control panel will allow you to monitor your liter flow and battery life easily. It will also make adjustments as simple as pressing one button on the touch screen control display. And there are no worries about exasperating battery belts, irritating internal batteries and confusing connectors. Instead, there’s a lightweight battery that’s very accessible that you can change in just a minute or two.

A Better Night’s Sleep

While you’re sleeping, your oxygen saturation levels tend to drop, even in individuals with healthy lungs. If you have COPD or another type of chronic lung disease, you may suffer with transient nocturnal desaturation which can interfere in your good night’s sleep, leading to substantial health issues.

If your sleep is being frequently disrupted, you should consult with your doctor about having an overnight oximetry test performed. They may end up prescribing you supplemental oxygen therapy during sleep, helping you to sleep better.

Mobility

The newest oxygen concentrators are lightweight and compact as well as very discreet. You can take them with you just about anywhere:

Picnics

Car Rides

Walks in the Park

Baseball Games

Many individuals using a POC can work, take part in social events and participate in physical activities. Some POCs are smaller, weighing only six pounds and being only one foot in height.

Increases Stamina

If you don’t have enough energy during your day, it might be because you have low oxygen levels. Oxygen therapy provides you with the stamina you require to perform every day, normal functions like:

Cleaning the House

Getting Dressed

Walking the Dog

Preparing Meals

Customized To Meet Your Needs

Whether you have chronic bronchitis, emphysema or chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, you’ll have different needs than the next person who needs oxygen therapy. And, this is why it’s essential your POC is more than a one-size-fits all device. You might want to choose an oxygen concentrator that provides both pulse-flow and continuous flow delivery so you can decide on the best form of oxygen therapy for your needs.

Improves Mental Alertness

Do you feel like you’re always in a mental fog? When you’re not getting the oxygen you need, every one of your body’s organs are affected; even your brain. The first sign that an individual with lung disease isn’t getting enough oxygen is confusion. Supplemental oxygen use helps keep your brain and other important organs healthy.

Independent Lifestyle

POCs make independence obtainable. Individuals can often lead energetic and active lives. Machines are made for mobility and carrying cases, wheeled carts and many other accessories are available to make it easier to get around. You can do anything and go anywhere easily because of the battery life. Not to mention, you can have oxygen in any place that has a plug.

Portable Oxygen Concentrator Uses

People who require oxygen therapy are choosing portable oxygen concentrator because they allow them to continue maintaining their standard and quality of life.

If you’re struggling with severe COPD and you have low oxygen levels in your blood, a POC could help you live a healthier, longer life.

Among the standard treatment approaches for chronic lung diseases like pulmonary fibrosis (PF), chronic obstructive pulmonary disease and emphysema, supplemental oxygen use at the most advanced stages is often prescribed near-universally.

While there are other types of medicine used in tandem, like corticosteroids, inhalers and prescription medicines, supplemental oxygen use has stayed a staple in lung disease treatment for its ability to offer continued respiratory support for individuals struggling with their oxygen intake on a daily level.

The Top Best  Portable Oxygen Concentrator

1. Inogen One G5 Portable Oxygen Concentrator

The Inogen One G5 offers the most oxygen per pound for a portable oxygen concentrator on the market today.

The Inogen One G5 offers an impressive 1,260 mL of oxygen output per minute, 6 oxygen flow settings, and weighs only 4.7 pounds with the 16-Cell battery, making it the most powerful Inogen model and most powerful oxygen concentrator available among lightweight, compact models. The Inogen One G5 also boasts a longer battery life than all other models, allowing you to more freedom in your day-to-day activities and for extended travel, removing barriers to a vibrant, active life.

Like the Inogen One G4, the Inogen One G5 is Bluetooth enabled and can be used with the Inogen Connect App. This free mobile app allows you the ability to monitor your Inogen One concentrator through your mobile device. With Inogen Connect you can check your battery life, monitor sieve column life status, perform column resets when replacing columns, get the latest software updates for your Inogen One machine, easily access the user manual, and view troubleshooting tips. Most of all, Inogen Connect provides you with peace of mind knowing that your Inogen concentrator, or that of a loved one in your care, is working properly.

Features and Benefits

Flow settings 1 – 6, delivers double the amount of oxygen over Inogen One G4

Longer battery life – at setting 2, a 16-Cell battery runs for up to 13 hours

Can be charged at home or in the car while in use or not

Designed for low and hi-flow oxygen users

Utilizes Inogen’s Intelligent Pulse Delivery Technology

Bluetooth enabled and can be monitored via the Inogen Connect App

2. Oxlife Independence Transportable Oxygen Concentrator

The OxLife Independence Portable Oxygen Concentrator System is designed to make oxygen easily accessible and portable no matter where you want to go, boasting a compact size and integrated travel cart for easy transport. The long-lasting battery and quick charging time make it easy to pick up and go without feeling limited, making sure you spend less time charging and more time out living your life.

The Oxlife Independence features an integrated travel cart with a convenient travel arm that flips up and locks down with just the touch of a button. This concentrator is approved for travel on airplanes and cruise ships, giving you the freedom to explore, travel, and live your life wherever you want to without feeling limited by your concentrator.

This concentrator is constructed with high-quality materials to ensure durability, resisting the bumps and bruises that come along with frequent travel. The sleek design and black coloration make it blend easily into the background for a more discreet oxygenation system.

Backlit LCD screen with colored background makes monitoring and changing settings effortless. Continuous and pulse modes can be switched between for versatile use, accommodating a variety of user needs.

This concentrator boasts the best battery life in its class with a two-battery configuration that allows you to swap batteries while the machine is still running with no loss of oxygen. Additionally, it performs better in vehicles than most competitors, offering DC run power on all settings, plus run and charge up to 2 LPM continuous and 4 LPM pulse.

Features and Benefits

Quiet and easy to use

Integrated wheels and handle for transport

Longest battery life in its class

Sleek modern design blends in easily

Ultra-lightweight at 16.7 pounds

Better vehicle performance with DC run power on all settings

Continuous flow up to 3.0 LPM

Two-battery configuration allows you to swap batteries while the machine is running

Approved for airline and cruise ship use

[honestlyfragile]

Jinxed - Bang Chan

Pairing: Bang Chan x Female reader

Genre: fluff, crack, winter!au

Wc: 3.1k

Summary: Chan had always had a thing for knick knacks, and you’re just right on season. But are refunds possible? Or will he just have to deal with being… jinxed?

Your novelty shop was a tradition passed onto your family for decades. It was open all year round but since Christmas was around the corner, it was more active than ever. You sold items that were brand new, and some antiques that were either donated, or preserved stocks that haven’t been sold in years.

Ever since winter break, your mother certainly took the chance of asking you to watch the store this time, and you couldn’t really turn her down. Besides. it wasn’t that hard to do so. You would just punch the items on the cash register, then it’s sold. Pretty easy, right? Except for when customers have way too many questions. Especially for the antique items. Questions that go as far as the origin of the item, which you should know of. Gladly, every single donated item had its own story to tell.

It was a few minutes before your lunch break, but just as you were going to put up the “On Lunch Break” sign, a boy with ash blonde hair with a faded brown undertone wearing a thick, black leather jacket with a red knitted scarf entered the store. His eyes slowly wandering from left to right as soon as the chimes on the door tingled. You sigh, but you had to entertain them. Your lunch could wait.

“Good day! How can I help you?” You smile.

“Uh, yes good day to you too,” he awkwardly greets, and you give him a nod.

“Looking for anything in particular?”

“Oh i was hoping to buy a snow globe.” He rubs his cold hands together, his pale skin turning red.

“We have a lot of those here, do you prefer new ones or antiques?” You suggest.

“Antiques? Those seem cool, they are still in good condition, right?”

“Of course they are. Let me show you where it is.” You exit the cash register and lead him into the section of the well preserved antique snow globes. “Some of these go way back fifty years ago. But they are a bit pricier the older they are.” You give him a heads up.

“That should be fine. Fifty years you say? May I take a look at that?” His eyes light up, you start to think that maybe he did have a thing for collecting these kind.

You scan the selection and carefully reach for the one that had an intricately carved bronze base, while the globe had a small Christmas village on it. With both hands, you hand it over for him to observe.

“Wow.” He lightly shakes it to make the snow flakes float around. “May I know the origins of this one?” He says, eyes still glued to the knick knack.

“That one is from England. It was donated to us.”

“Interesting. How much is it?” He looks at you this time, and notices your nametag.

You couldn’t help but smile back at the excitement of this boy. “It’s a hundred and fifty dollars.”

His eyes widen, but doesn’t complain. “Consider it sold.”

You carefully take the item from him, and go back to the cash register. You get it a nice box and tie it with a red ribbon, for the design and security of the package. “Here you go, thank you for the purchase.” You smile and hand it to him.

“Thank you, ____.” He smiles, turns his back and leaves the store. You could finally have your lunch.

It was kind of him to have taken note of your name, but you never really got his. But he was just a customer anyways.

----

Chan arrived home and ever so carefully took out the item he had purchased from your store. He lightly tugs on the red ribbon that you had beautifully knotted around the box, and they slowly fall on the sides. He opens it and cautiously slips his quite large hands into the box, and he could barely fit it inside. Still, he tried to grip the glass ball and once he had gotten a hold of it, he flips it over with care. Bothered by the fingerprints that he left on it, he took it with both hands and fogged up the glass with his warm breath. He wipes it with his sweater paws and it went back to its crystalline form. Satisfied, he shakes it to make the snowflakes float around and places it on his bedside table, where his lamp shade was also located.

He smiles, pleased with what he just acquired, which he thought was a rare item. It was, and he had absolutely no idea what it might bring him.

----

The weather was more frigid than usual, it was zero close to negative. He had checked all of his windows if they were tightly shut, and they were. He shudders, and rubs his palms together and warms it with his breath. He tries to turn the heat up, because the temperature indoors most certainly wouldn’t do.

“What the heck?” He fumbles with the heater, which didn’t want to turn on. Even if it was very much plugged into the mounted outlet on the wall. He unplugs it, then plugs again. But it still didn’t work. “The power couldn’t be out, the lights are fine, the others are working too..” he pouts and scratches the back of his head.

Setting aside the busted appliance, he thought that maybe he could just eat and drink something warm, like hot chocolate and some spicy ramen. He pours hot water onto his mug and mixes in the dark cocoa powder and adds two tablespoons of brown sugar. The scent and aroma kissing his nose. He lifts the mug onto his lips, and carefully takes a sip— it was too hot. He got startled because his tongue got stung by the burning sensation, and at the same time, some of the drink has also spilled on his clothes. “Shit.” He mumbles, frustrated. He couldn’t even enjoy a cup of hot chocolate without something unfortunate happening. Maybe his luck with making ramen would be fine, he’s done this a hundred times, what could possibly go wrong?

Now more cautious than ever with his actions, he gets a cooking pot and fills it halfway with water. He grips it tightly, just in case the water would want to suddenly leap out of the pot, right? Safe. The pot made it to the top of the stove, and he sighs in relief. He turns up the heat, setting it to high and impatiently waited for it to boil. He was freezing.

Chan had his own way of making ramen, he learned it from a former room mate. He puts the seasoning powder first and lets it simmer before he boils the noodles. He was doing so well until the gas stove had suddenly just stopped heating the food. The fire had disappeared, and his noodles weren’t even soft enough to be eaten yet. He tries to stay calm, and turns the knob of the stove over and over again, but no sign of ignition. He ran out of gas.

“You have got to be kidding me.” his palms rest on the marble counter, the cold sensation hitting his skin and he flinches. He curses to himself, he has never been this unlucky before.

He had no choice, he couldn’t just throw the meal away. He got his electric kettle and hoped that the noodles would continue to cook there. He transfers the half cooked ramen to the small opening of the kettle and it slightly spills on the side, but thankfully, he made it work.

“Who eats ramen that was cooked in a electric kettle? Psh.” He shakes his head in disbelief, but eats it anyways.

As he quietly tried to enjoy his meal, his head uplifts to look at his wall calendar, thinking that it might have been Friday the 13th or he might have stepped on a crack on the pavements on his way home. His bad luck had to come from somewhere. And to his surprise, it was. December 13th, 2019, Friday. And for once, he had believed that it all made sense. It was just Friday the thirteenth.

-----

Chan woke up the next day, not sure if he felt lucky or not. The first thing he does is get his phone from his side table, his eyes barely even opened. Before he could even read the time, his phone drops on his face, and hits his nose, hard. “Jesus!” He rubs the bridge of his nose, now quite red from the impact of the gadget. He runs his hands through his hair and carefully stands and stretches. He walks over to a safe spot, making sure that his limbs won’t knock anything over. He successfully does his push-ups. He walks over to the blank wall beside his desk and does a handstand. So far, so good. He huffed, and does a couple handstand push-ups, then carefully plops down.

He heads over to his desk to shake the snow globe that he bought, takes his small time admiring the details of what was inside, then sets it down once again. He goes to the bathroom and washes his face with a cleanser as he lathers it lavishly. By the time that he tried to turn on the sink again, there wasn’t any water coming out of it. He opens his eyes as a reflex, totally forgetting that he still has soap in his eyes, causing it to sting. And as another reflex, he rubs his eyes only to find out that the hand he used was covered in foam as well. He stomps his foot, nothing has ever went his way ever since he got home from your store. The only way that he could possibly remove all the residue on his face was to use the drinking water he had, which was an absolute waste. As the saying goes, “When ill luck begins, it does not come in sprinkles but in showers.”

Chan started to think that maybe something else had been bringing him this horrible luck. Many Friday the thirteenths have passed in his whole 23-year old life but he has never had it this bad. Actually, he could not recall the last time where he was running out of luck. Chan wasn’t the type of person to believe in superstitions that much, but the shower of unfortunate events made him believe that it wasn’t just all a coincidence.

He sat in front of his desk, plopping down on his swiveling chair. He runs his hands through his hair and goes in deep thought. Again he glances at the snow globe. He crosses his arms. “Could it be?” he shakes his head, “no, no, it can’t it’s a snow globe what can it possibly do?” He pauses. “But what if it is? Should i go back and ask for a refund or would that be too stupid?” He raises his eyebrows and puts his hand under his chin. He was literally having a conversation with himself at this point and it was hilarious.

He abruptly stands up, causing him to get dizzy. He rubs his temples and proceeds to grab his coat, he was going back to your store. He got the box that was used for the snow globe and even the ribbon, of course he didn’t know how to tie it as good as you did, nonetheless he tried to get the package to the original stage that it was in.

It had been snowing a handful outside but it was still safe to drive. He places the package on the passenger’s seat and even blocks it with a seatbelt. “It could have been you. You’re the one who’s bringing me bad luck. You can’t fool me with how good you look.” He glances over the item, and proceeds to drive. The light had been yellow and he tried to beat it, unfortunately he was caught and halted onto the side. He was given a driving ticket. His bad luck was a whole avalanche.

He arrives at the store, practically storming in. You were surprised to see the boy again, but the smile on his face has definitely vanished. “May I help you?” you look at him, puzzled.

He arrives at the counter and sets down the item. “Yes i would like a refund.”

“We don’t do refunds sir I’m sorry. But is the item damaged? Why would you want to make a refund?” You questioned, surprised because no one has ever asked a refund from your store, for as far as you could remember.

“No, it’s perfectly fine. Physically.” He looks down on his feet, his ears turn red.

“Then I don’t seem to understand the problem here sir.” You were still very much confused.

“It’s just, i don’t want it anymore.” He stutters and purses his lips in embarrassment, he couldn’t get himself to say that it was because he thought that it was bringing him bad luck.

“I told you, we don’t do refunds. And what’s with the reason that you have? That’s not very sensible.” You raise your eyebrows, like you knew that he wasn’t telling you something.

“Please I can’t really take this thing home anymore” he pleads but it was still very much ineffective.

“Not until you tell us why you don’t want it anymore. I clearly remember how excited you were when you got it.” You look at him in disbelief.

“It brings me bad luck!” he blurts out, and bites his lips. He fidgets with his cuticles.

“It what?” you couldn’t help but laugh, and you knew that it was impolite to do so. But it didn’t make sense to you at all. But you purse your lips right away.

“You heard me. I’m not saying it again.” He looks down, his ears red from being flustered, and fidgets with his cuticles once again.

“Okay let’s have a deal then, you leave that item here for a day and see if anything changes. Also, if you don’t come back then I won’t be giving you your money.” You shrug, hoping to have made a decent deal with this bothered young man.

He takes a deep breath and doesn’t make eye contact. As if he did not want to agree. “Fine.” he finally lets out, and you smile.

“So it’s settled then?” You get the package from him and store it somewhere for safe keeping. You could not believe you had just agreed to this boy’s request. He was cute anyways, totally harmless.

Instantly, Chan was in a better mood. He just felt like he was lucky again, or at the very least he was back to normal. He smiles at you, and for the first time, it was blinding. Like the whole atmosphere of the store has changed. You were stunned, you could barely hear what he was saying.

He waves his hands in front of your face, and you snap out of it. “___ hello?” He calls you by your name once again and you swear it has never sounded that good. “I’ll be coming back yeah? Thanks for letting me work out this situation of mine.” He clicks his tongue, and winks. Before you knew it, he was out of your store.

-----

It was something about him returning the item that made you feel a sudden change, whether it was in you or amongst your surroundings. For some reason, you have looked forward to seeing him again, when back then you could not have cared less. Getting a crush on a customer wasn’t so practical now, was it?

Business is booming today. You watch people go in and out of the shop but the one person you hoped to see didn’t come. You anticipated his return because for the first time, you looked forward to working your shift. But you still never got his name. Good old no name.

But just when you were about to wrap things up and close the store, he catches up to the entrance. He breathes heavily and pants, the white December air escaping is lips. His throat is dry, so he swallows before he speaks. “Look, wait is it too late to get that refund?”

You sigh, you were about to lock the door already. “Well, technically yes. But since you made the effort, i’ll go and open for a bit again.” You try to hide your smile as you turn your back, but you knew that he did the same. The lights were back on and you head to the register. “So, were you lucky today?” you laugh, as if it were to be teasing him of his absurd reason yesterday.

“Y-yeah. Pretty lucky. I mean look i made it whole today.” He straightens his coat and brushes off the snow.

“If you were lucky, you wouldn’t have been late today.” you chaff, shaking your head.

“That’s a different story okay! I had to attend to something” he reasoned out.

He was adorable. You couldn’t deny that. But you loved to see him all defensive. “Okay, fine. Here you go. I’m not telling my mother about this refund so let’s just pretend it never happened or else i’ll get in trouble.” You take the cash out of the register and hand it to him.

“Your mother? Why?” He asks out of curiosity.

“We own the place so yeah. This is basically breaking the rules…” you trail off. “Anyways. I guess i won’t be seeing you again since the whole thing is sorted out now.” You don’t exactly know if you shoot your shot with what you just said.

“Who says we’ll just see each other here?” he smirks and you were taken back. Your cheeks flush bright red. He caught on.

“I work here, not really much free time with me.” you fumble with the closest thing you could get your hands on, which was a pen with a red fuzzy ball on top.

“I’m going to test my luck one last time today” He rubs his hands together and takes a deep breath.

“Huh?”

“Where are you going after this? Like after you close the store.”

“Uh, home?”

“Do you want to… perhaps get some coffee with me? Or hot chocolate, only if you’d like.” He smiles, and you’re weak on the knees.

“I’d love to.” Your cheeks were flushed but you didn’t care, he actually asked you out!

“Well I guess that’s enough luck for today. Shall we go?” He offers, but you had one last question in mind.

“I don’t even know your name.” You playfully roll your eyes and cross your arms.

“Chan. Or Chris, or… cutie whatever floats your boat.” He giggles and it was music to your ears.

[brucesterling]

GPT-3 writing whatever writers write

https://calv.info/gpt-3-real-magic

(...)

Test 2: curing writer’s block

By now, you have likely seen a lot of different text completion threads on twitter. People feed in a blog post, a set of tweets, or a conversation, and GPT-3 begins to generate a bunch of new lines for it.

For fun, I tried plugging in a draft of one of my earlier posts into the API.

Here’s the text I’d written.

When buying a new product, it’s easy to “judge a book by its cover.” Doing a deep evaluation of a service with feature comparisons, build vs buy scenarios and ROI is really hard! It’s much easier to take a quick mental shortcut and assume the well-designed product must be the superior one… That’s the reason why I tell most startup founders (especially engineers) to spend time on design and aesthetics. You literally can’t afford not to. There’s so many options out there, you’ll get zero traction if your app looks like garbage. [1] Upon reflection, I realized that feedback was a bit surface level. How does it account for the Salesforces, Oracles, and Adobes of the world? I wouldn’t consider any of them to be the apex of visual design… yet they continue to grow. Did these behemoths come to power at a different point in time? Or is there something more subtle at play? What’s going on? I think there’s a different, but often overlooked explanation: a product’s UX matches its buyer, not necessarily its user. There are two very distinct sales motions: ones targeted at practitioners, and ones targeting executives. No matter who ends up using your product, you have to satisfy the buyer.

I pasted it in and hit submit. Here’s what the AI produced…

It’s a small nuance, but it explains how a lot of successful companies have flourished. Let’s explore this difference by looking at three very successful companies: Salesforce, Oracle and Microsoft. [2] What we are about to embark on is a thorough exploration of the evolution of a feature set. Think of it as a user centered design case study. The twist is that the feature is being driven by two distinct “buyer” segments. I’ll highlight the differences, and then draw some conclusions. Let’s start by comparing a well-known SaaS cloud CRM: Salesforce with its enterprise force-multiplier predecessor, Oracle Siebel. Salesforce was founded in 1999 by an accomplished internet entrepreneur Marc Benioff. The idea was simple: what if an application provided salespeople with the information they needed, right when they needed it? Benioff was the consummate salesman. As he pitched Salesforce, he described the typical CRM user. The message was clear: salespeople are busy, they hate paperwork, and would rather be talking to customers.

It’s one thing to watch text other people have posted. It’s entirely another to see an AI completing your own thoughts right before your eyes; nothing quite prepared me for it.

While the generated text doesn’t exactly follow the rest of the article… it’s not obviously wrong either. The transitions are smooth, and tie back to the original content I’d written. More interestingly, GPT-3 picked up on my convention of using [1] for endnotes, and added its own [2].

As I sat there and watched the autocomplete work, it actually gave me a few new ideas for both the structure and the content of the article!

That’s why I believe one of the killer use cases for GPT-3 is curing writer’s block.

My biggest challenge with writing can be simply starting a paragraph. It’s gotten to the point where I’ll start typing some half-formed string of words just to get in the rhythm of figuring out what should come next.

But with GPT-3 there’s another tool at my disposal. If I’m stuck, I can try a few variations of what “should come next” just to get my mind going. Even if they aren’t the right words, it’s enough of a prompt to get myself out of a rut. From there, I can curate, edit, and ideate.

By adding just a few lines, and then waiting for the result to teach me something, I’m effectively getting new ideas from the entire text GPT-3 was trained upon.

The whole experience has opened me up to the idea that the writing tools of tomorrow will be very different than the writing tools of today.

Instead of being rote recorders and spellcheckers, tomorrow’s editors will actually try to guide unstructured thought. Auto-completion, complex queries, and even the fresh idea generation will all be built into the text editors of the future.

It all means that great writers can spend less time writing and more time thinking.  (((No, that’s never “what it means.”  Nobody displaced by automation ever spent less time working and more time thinking.)))

[tobywulo422]

15 Reasons Why You Shouldn’t Ignore Conversion Funnel Creation

The only The https://cli.fm/rwD4qZ Most Effective Ways To Increase Your Conversion Rates Guide You'll Ever Need

Table of ContentsCheck Into What A Website Conversion Is to See Why Its Not What You ThinkWhy Web Design Principles are BoomingWhat to do with Ecommerce Website Conversion Is in 2021Most Unusual Keys To A Better Ui factsHow and Why Forming A Hypothesis Will Change ForeverSome Facts about The Average Website Conversion Rates That Women OverlookWhat to do About Ways To Increase Your Conversion Rates Before it's Too Late

A whitepaper download containing some important info that you're distributing via complimentary download. A shopping cart and several products your visitors can buy from you online. What do all 5 of these things share? They're all examples of. Without conversions a website is just a brochure.

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Why Women Love Click Through Rates More Than Men

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As the visitor browses your website, they take in more details about your company and your product or services. They're moving their way down the funnel and this is when more individuals fall off during the process. Either they didn't discover what they need, they have actually gotten sidetracked, or something else came about.

How to Learn About The Customer Journey in Your Spare Time

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When you're attempting to grow your organization online, you must keep track of important metrics to guarantee your business is growing. One crucial metric is your website's conversions. Conversions assist you determine if you're driving success with your digital marketing campaigns. So, what is website conversion? How can you improve your website conversion rate? Keep checking out to get more information about site conversions and find 5 https://conversionrateoptimizationconsultant.com/ tips to improve your conversion rate! If you wish to remain up to date on the latest digital marketing details, like website conversions, subscribe to Income Weekly!.?.!! A website conversion takes place when someone completes a pre-determined and desired action on your site, like registering for a newsletter, sharing an article to social networks, or purchasing a product.

What to do About Cro And Landing Pages Before it's Too Late

A couple of examples of site conversions consist of: Submitting a type Signing up for e-mails or details Sharing content to social networks Clicking a particular button Making a sale And more Site conversions can be any of the actions listed above. You will figure out which action fits your campaign goals the very best.

Ecommerce sites are most likely to concentrate on earning sales as conversions. A service supplier, like a plumbing or electrical contractor, may focus on creating leads as a conversion. No two services are alike, so you might not have the same website conversions as other companies. After asking the question "What is site conversion?", the next concern that follows is, "How do I determine my conversion rate?" Luckily, it's simple and easy to calculate your conversion rate.

Why Women Love On-site Conversions More Than Men

How to Learn About Conversion Rate Optimization Tips in Your Spare Time

Of those 5000, 500 buy items from your page. If you plug that into the formula, it looks like this: Your website's conversion rate would be 10% in this instance. If you want a fast service to calculating your conversion rate, have a look at our conversion rate calculator!.?.!! Now that you know what a site conversion is and how to compute your conversion rate, the next thing you want to know is what is a great conversion rate.

The fact exists isn't a magic number. Your conversion rate will depend on various elements, including: Your market Your sales cycle Your products/services Your costs And more These aspects affect your conversion rate, so it's difficult to identify the precise amount you require to accomplish. You might require to do some research to discover what a good conversion rate is for a company in your market.

The Only Guide to How To Increase Website Conversions For Ecom You're Going To Need

Individuals will state how you need to move individuals through the sales funnel to earn conversions for your service. So, how does the sales funnel affect your site conversion rate? The https://cli.re/KMzEB3 sales funnel plays a crucial function in turning prospects into conversions for your company. There are four phases of the sales funnel: At this stage, people are simply finding your brand name and finding out about you.

When individuals reach this part of the funnel, they start to consider your business as an option. They're still investigating and learning more about your company, but you have actually become a practical choice. At the desired stage, individuals are ready to make their decision due to the fact that they know what they need. At this point, you can make a last-minute pitch that reveals them why you're the best option.

Review This Report on Click Through Rates

Whether you want someone to purchase an item or complete a type, they reach this phase and total that preferred action. As you can see, various parts of the sales funnel result in individuals finishing your supreme action. The steps you take along the way in the earlier part of the sales cycle will influence whether individuals get to the "action" part.

Why Conversion Rate Optimization Tips are Booming

If you wish to have a excellent conversion rate, you need to buy nurturing individuals through each stage of the sales cycle. Now that you have the answer to "What is conversion rate?" you may check out your organization's site conversion rate to see where you stand. After crunching the numbers and analyzing market averages, you may find that your conversion rate is less than stellar.

[thetapelessworld]

MeldaProduction is proud to announce availability of MDrumReplacer

MeldaProduction is proud to announce availability of MDrumReplacer 

MeldaProduction is proud to announce availability of MDrumReplacer — an aptly-monikered drum replacement plug-in pairing the best drum-detecting algorithm on the market with perfectly-recorded multilayer samples as an easy-to-use tool to fix flaws, replacing weak- sounding snares, lousy kicks, and such like with a chosen multilayer sample in both single drum and mixed tracks in a matter of seconds

Appreciating advances inherent in MeldaProduction’s MDrumReplacer plug-in perhaps involves an appreciation of drum replacement itself. In modern music production parlance, drum replacement is the practice of an engineer or producer recording a live drummer and replacing (or adding to) the sound of a particular drum with a prerecorded sample — say, replacing all the recorded snare hits with the sound of a handclap. History has it that the technique was pioneered in the late Seventies by American engineer, inventor, and producer Roger Nichols (R.I.P.) while working with American rockers Steely Dan in the studio. Subsequently it became increasingly commonplace to replace every snare hit in a performance that may or may not sound subjectively ‘good’ with an ‘ideal’ snare drum hit, and has since grown in both popularity and complexity since computer-based technology took hold in music production — to the point where some suggest that the practice defeats the purpose of having a live drummer as opposed to a drum machine, making for an end result that is effectively exactly the same as what a drum machine would produce if equipped with a custom drum sample recorded especially for it. In reality, however, crafting more complexity in an increasingly automated world is not necessarily easy to achieve, but it does not have to be that way — which is exactly where MeldaProduction’s magical MDrumReplacer plug-in comes into play.

Putting it this way, MeldaProduction itself pulls no percussive punches when posing some hard-hitting questions with a semi-serious delivery: “Does your snare sound like a bird vomiting on a plastic table? Does your kick sound like a horse s**t falling on the ground? Then just replace them!” That, then, is MDrumReplacer’s raison d’être, effectively. After all, not every drum hit is perfect, not every drum take is flawless, and nor does every drum sound good. Get this, though: with MDrumReplacer no drum recording is gone for good necessarily. No matter if it was suffering from poorly-positioned microphones or the sound of the entire drum kit is, in retrospect, simply not up to scratch or even to taste, MDrumReplacer fixes flaws in a matter of seconds. But best of all, the recordings will still sound spectacularly live after applying MDrumReplacer’s magic, thanks to the plug-in pairing the best drum-detecting algorithm on the market with perfectly-recorded multilayer samples. MeldaProduction’s MDrumReplacer’s powerful drum-hit DETECTOR works with maximum precision, finding the hits to be replaced in both single instrument recordings and even mixed drum sessions with minimum user intervention. It is equipped with advanced analysis technology that thoroughly examines the audio material to identify the most prominent frequencies and sets the resonators accordingly, then users can audition just the filtered signal with the ‘listen’ feature so that they can easily adjust the filters to set them as precisely as possible. Ultimately, users can completely replace drum hits or get creatively effective by blending the original sound with the selected sample — enhancing kick drums with some added electronic flavour, for example. But better still, since MDrumReplacer basically includes MeldaProduction’s MDrumLeveler plug-in — itself marketed as the ultimate dynamics processing tool specifically designed for working with drums, MDrumReplacer need not necessarily only be used to replace ‘bad hits’ but also to iron out the drummer’s performance by simply letting the DETECTOR find an event and compute its correct level, with the requested DETECTOR GAIN then being applied to the event, so that the drummer sounds solid and firm-handed as a result.

It is simply a case of running the DETECTOR and speedily selecting a sample that best fits the track — from MeldaProduction’s massive multi-sample libraries (totalling over 80 GB), including the recently-released Drum Empire 2020, the latest in its lengthening line of free extension packs for its MDrummer virtual instrument plug-in, the most advanced drum machine and virtual drummer on the market — with which to replace the unwanted drum hits in most cases, however. Helpfully, MDrumReplacer uses the mighty MDrummer’s sound engine, enabling users to choose synthesized drums as well as top-quality drum multi-samples that respect the original drummer’s performance and feel, ensuring that it remains resolutely human and not robotic, though some imperfections can be fixed with the plug-in’s inbuilt drum LEVELING. Lending an air of further flexibility, MDrumReplacer’s presets are carefully stored in a system database and users can quickly access them from any project in any host, while the plug-in itself can automatically share users’ presets and also allows them to download other users’ presets from MeldaProduction’s servers. Turning to literally look at things from a visual viewpoint, it is well worth noting here that user interfaces need to be fast, simple to use, and easy on the eye. Everyone’s needs, of course, can be different, so flexibility is important. MeldaProduction’s MDrumReplacer meets those observations head on — as, indeed, do its many software siblings — with the most advanced GUI (Graphical User Interface) engine on the market, allowing users to choose colour and style to personalise what is also a freely- resizable plug-in, one which is accelerated by the host computer’s GPU (Graphics Processing Unit), making for lightening-fast graphics while freeing up extra power from the host computer’s CPU (Central Processing Unit) to focus on that all-important audio. Although current computers can clearly do their thing faster than ever before, algorithms are becoming more complex and projects bigger as a result, so processing power still needs to be used effectively. MeldaProduction’s MDrumReplacer uses the fastest algorithms, takes advantage of the newest processor capabilities, handles the graphics accordingly, and shares those resources with other MeldaProduction plug-ins. Indeed, it is amongst the fastest on the market, while providing the best possible audio quality using 64-bit audio processing to handle any sampling rate. Reality dictates that it does not make much sense to go over 192kHz, but if MDrumReplacer users think that it is a good idea to do so then the plug-in can do that.

MDrumReplacer makes for a creative user experience with an extensive feature set that is surely second to none, including a powerful MIDI (Musical Instrument Digital Interface) processor — listens to MIDI controllers and keyboards to allow realtime control of any parameters; multiple parameter control using a single so-called multiparameter — handy for automation or smartly morphing between banks of settings, for example; A to H slot switching — taking the A/B comparison concept to the next level by enabling users to access up to eight instances of the plug-in, copy and paste the slots, and freely switch between them, as well as allowing for morphing between the first four slots with an X-Y pad to find the perfect blend between four preloaded presets; and four fully-featured modulators that can control any set of parameters — including other modulators, to but scratch the surface of this deep diving-enabling plug-in par excellence.

MDrumReplacer makes for a compelling case for drum replacement that is light years beyond that which was first envisioned by Roger Nichols. Needless to say, anyone suffering from vomiting-sounding snares or horse s**t-sounding kicks knows where to turn! MeldaProduction’s MDrumReplacer is available to purchase — as an AAX-, AU-, VST-, and VST3-supporting plug-in for Mac (64-bit only) and Windows (32-bit and 64-bit) — at an introductory discounted price of €29.00 EUR (inc. VAT) until January 3, 2021 — rising thereafter to the regular price of€129.00 EUR (inc. VAT) — from its dedicated webpage, which also includes further information, here: https://www.meldaproduction.com/MDrumReplacer MDrumReplacer comes with a huge library of samples, multi-samples, rhythms, drum sets, loops, and other resources that are distributed for free via MeldaProduction’s MDrummer packs, including its latest Drum Empire 2020 addition available from here: https://www.meldaproduction.com/MDrummerDrumEmpire2020

Note that MDrummer Essentials (https://www.meldaproduction.com/MDrummerEssentials) is required for MDrumReplacer to work properly.

Watch MeldaProduction make a compelling case for drum replacement with its introductory video for MDrumReplacer here: https://youtu.be/o3CLjv3jYBc 

[mobius-prime]

159. Sonic Super Special #15

Welcome to the final Sonic Super Special ever! Here's my opinion on it. Past Super Specials have ranged from okay to amazing, depending on the writer and the subject matter, and their long length has usually, if you ask me, worked in their favor, as it meant more time and space to tell a compelling story. This is not true of this one. Unfortunately, the last super special of the comic is utterly awful, with two stories that do absolutely nothing to grip my attention, one of which ends in a status quo with a net gain of absolutely nothing, and the other of which is cringeworthy and isn't even very clear on when, where or how it takes place. Let's just get this over with, shall we?

Naugus Games

Writer: Ken Penders Pencils: Many Hands Colors: Josh and Aimeee Ray

This first story is far, far longer than it has any right to be - it really feels like they were trying to find ways to pad it out it to take up the full 48 pages of the special. Furthermore, you might notice some oddities about the credits above. First of all, Aimee's name is misspelled with three E's for both stories for some reason, indicating some lazy copy-and-pasting as well as a lack of care from the editors. Even more frustratingly, no one is actually credited directly for the pencils (or inks), with the art instead just being credited to "many hands." Remember how I said the comic was getting annoyingly bad about properly crediting people? Now, in case you're confused, there's not just some artist out there literally named Many Hands; instead, that's the comic's way of sidestepping actually bothering to credit any individuals for their work. It just means "eh, a lot of people worked on this I guess, but we don't care enough to actually tell you who." Unfortunately, unlike a few issues ago where the art style was immediately recognizable as Steven Butler's, the art style for this story is foreign to me, suggesting they got some people who weren't their usual artists to work on this one, so I can't even take an educated guess here. All I know is that both the art style in general and the quality of the inks are very poor, and as we'll see, the art gets unforgivably lazy at times. Perhaps best of all, this story was later retconned into a much more interesting and concise version of itself at a later date, with better storytelling and artwork to boot. The only reason, then, that I'm covering it at all, is honestly as a demonstration of just how lazy the comic could get at times, as well as due to the fact that this is the first appearance of "Many Hands," who later pencilled one other issue for the comic that was of equally poor quality.

So this story takes place at an unspecified time in the recent past. It seems to be sometime after Eggman's return, judging by some of the lines of dialogue within the story, but the actual timeframe is pretty vague. Sonic has returned to the Southern Tundra to pay his respects to Eddy, recalling how Eddy sacrificed himself when he, Tails, and Nate all fought Naugus here some time ago. He's brought a single rose to lay on the site of the wreckage, but the ground isn't quite stable…

And here we have the first instance of a truly terrible art decision. Sonic falls into a pitch black cave system, but instead of representing this with maybe one page max of blackness or darker lighting, we're treated to nearly four pages straight of nothing but this:

He blindly stumbles around for a while, informing us of this fact through dialogue bubbles because everyone knows that telling is better than showing in fiction, right? He finally hits a wall and sees a glow through a crack in it, so he tunnels his way into the next room only to find it full of glowing rings - apparently, either he, Tails and Naugus somehow didn't use up all the rings when they fought, or these one have just auto-generated themselves somehow down here. Sonic recalls memories of the previous battle when Nate sealed Naugus away with a wish from a ring, and then decides to try to use one to get out of the cave system.

Wonderful! Apparently, a "wish" as defined by the magic of the rings just means that you think of someone's name while touching a ring, and so with a flash, Naugus is back from his imprisonment in the zone that Nate sealed him into! But how is this possible?

That explanation makes… basically no sense, dude. Naugus was definitely sealed away in another zone, he didn't just get turned into a pile of telepathic rings. But whatever. He and Sonic start battling it out, and somehow make it outside, where Naugus conjures up a snowstorm that consistently stays centered on Sonic no matter where he runs. Time for the second awful art choice of the issue - now instead of four pages of pure blackness, we get six whole pages of this:

I think the best thing about this is that the blizzard backgrounds are clearly not even hand drawn like the rest of the comic is - there's only two types of snowflakes up there, and they're consistently just copied and pasted in that same repetitive swirl pattern on every single page. I get that drawing for a big story in a super special like this can be long and tedious work, but this is why you don't try to find a way to artificially elongate a story like this which could easily be told in the span of a normal issue length. It just ends up making the audience feel like their time is being wasted. Anyway, the blizzard finally ends when Sonic pulls out a ring from his jacket and wishes for Naugus to be sealed away in his previous zone once more, and thus, Naugus is out of our hair again, with absolutely nothing to show for it. Man, if it's this easy to defeat people in this universe, why hasn't anyone tried this on Eggman yet?

Sonic then leaves back for home, thinking one last time of Eddy, who is shown looking down on him from the heavens above. And thank god that story is over.

Sonic Spin City

Writer/Pencils: Michael Gallagher Colors: Josh and Aimeee Ray

Michael Gallagher, over the course of the comics, has gone from one of the series' main writers to basically a guest writer who's brought on every once in a while for special occasions. In this case, he even makes his return as a penciller! Unfortunately, his goofy writing style has begun to clash with the much more serious plots of these later issues, and this story is no exception. It's entirely unclear about whether we're supposed to take this story as actual canon, as a story from an alternate zone, or as just a silly joke story that doesn’t mean anything - and while I tend to try to avoid looking at non-canon materials in this review series (I've already skipped a few stories and issues for exactly this reason), the ambiguity of this one forces me to cover it. In addition, I don't even know why Josh and "Aimeee" were credited as colorists for this story, considering the entire thing is black and white with no color to be found.

Much like the first story of StH#52, this story has the flair of an old detective serial. Sonic is wandering the streets on a rainy night when two swatbots ambush him. Of course, two swatbots are no match.

What does a swatbot need matches for? Eh, whatever. Sonic races over to Rusty's, a hangout for abandoned badniks, and orders himself a "chili dog float," which in addition to sounding absolutely disgusting doesn't even seem like something a bar for robots would serve in the first place. As he takes his seat, the lights go out, and… this abomination emerges onto the stage.

Yes. The badniks are going wild for a swatbot with tits dancing seductively on a stage for them. What is she gonna do, plug them into a wall outlet? They even start screaming out for "the stretch," and appear to get even hornier as she massively elongates her legs for them. I mean, just, what? I swear, Michael, if we get one more weird borderline-sex thing like this from you in this comic, my eyes are gonna pop out of my head like Natsuki. A bot grabs the dancer's ankle, and she's thrown off balance and crashes down, with the head popping off to reveal that underneath, it's Bunnie in disguise.

You know, after her claim all those issues back that she's a "sax cymbal," I'm not even gonna contest the idea that she'd do a sexy dance during infiltration for a mission. Hell, I get the impression she'd do one anyway just for fun back in Knothole if she got the chance. You might also notice her arm is the arm from her old design, and that coupled with Sonic's own design seems to indicate that if this took place at all in actual canon, it was before Eggman's return, though I'm immensely skeptical that this is supposed to be canon at all. Sonic and Bunnie take out the rest of Rusty's customer base, and then evacuate before the last swatbot activates its self-destruct chip, blowing the place sky high. Congratulations, nothing important was accomplished in this issue and nobody cares!

It's kinda sad that the final Sonic Super Special turned out to be so low-quality, honestly. However, this marks a bit of a turning point in the comic. For the first time in its entire run, from now on, there are no more special issues, no sister series, no miniseries, nothing. From the next issue, all the way to almost the 200th, with one exception in the form of a Free Comic Book Day issue, there are absolutely no interruptions from issue to issue. While this may not seem too notable at first, since we've just been reading everything in mostly-chronological order anyway, keep in mind that as far as the comic is concerned we're still in the year 2000, with a mere seven years having passed from the beginning of the comic all the way to now over the course of 159 issues. Over the course of the next 106 issues, we're going to blaze through nine years of comic history, meaning that the story is going to flow a lot faster, with more plot points being covered in a shorter amount of time. While this does make the order of issues a lot easier to follow, since there's no questions about which issue fits in where or anything, I am sad to see all the special issues go, as I quite enjoyed how they served to break up the flow of the comic as a whole with special stories and side content. Though we're still in the middle of our current plot era, we're entering into a new era of the comic as a whole, where we've got a straight shot through the next hundred issues. So I say - let's do it to it!

[jonathanraychapman]

Why I Play The Older 8-Bit Consoles

I was born in 1980 so really the Atari 2600 age of consoles is a little before my time.  By the time I was gaming in 1985-86, we were well into the NES golden era.  But I have went back and collected the older consoles and I enjoy playing them.  I’d like to discuss my thoughts on why I dwell on this older generation - and some of the struggles and positives of my hobby here.  When I say older here, I really mean systems that pre-date the NES or are older technology.  So even though the SMS is pictured there, it’s not really what I’m talking about.

Simple Fun Games Continue Being Fun

The first thing to realize is that these older systems (by that I mean Atari 8-bit machines, Intellivision, and Colecovision) are very limited in the scope of what they have to offer.  They are very sparse in processing power, ram, and - subsequently - pixels (let alone sprites) on the screen.  This makes newcomers initially scoff at the thought of playing the games.  In truth, the good games that came out of this generation overcame those limitations by really having solid concepts and those concepts became the basis for future games that could expand the visual appeal.  The notion of fun transcends technical specs and experiencing these early games is one part history and one part simple fun.  I’m not nostalgic for these systems (as they are before my time).  I came to them the same way any newcomer would and I still fell in love with the simple charm they have to offer.  

Overcoming Controller Difficulties

A lot of complaints about the early consoles involve the controllers.  While the designs might seem novel interesting at first, someone that actually wants to play these games is quickly going to get over that and not want to continue.  I’m not particularly a fan of the Atari Joystick (despite its iconic look).  The Intellivision and the Colecovision have very non-ergonomic controllers that incorporate a digital number pad.  The good news here is that there are options to bypass these controllers and use NES-pad style or Sega Genesis style controllers.  The Genesis controllers generally work just fine with Atari 2600 (with C being the only button).  That’s easy.  To use a NES pad with the Atari 2600 or 7800 (which has two buttons), you’ll need to do a little modding or buy a pre-made controller.  For the Colecovision, I bought a box that converts the controller and also has a digital pad built-in to the box.  For Intellivision, I built a custom arcade stick with the numbers built in (I believe the PCBs and even pre-built controllers are available for sale).

Overcoming Graphic Output

If you have an older CRT TV that you can use RF with (you will need a basic s-plug adapter to coaxial), you can experience these older systems the way the originally were (setting your box to channel 3 or 4).  But I refuse to use RF because it’s very clunky, they have a lot of static noise (especially after all these years), and I want to use switch boxes to easily go between consoles during a play session.  Luckily there are plenty of composite-out solutions if you’re handy with a soldering iron.  And the audio is basically going to be mono for these systems - so you can just duplicate or hook up the output to both sides of the TV speakers.  There are hacks to add a little separation, but I don’t really think it’s worth it.

I really do recommend sticking to older style CRT TVs for the really old 8-bit consoles by the way.  For one, they look fantastic with the scanlines and the natural blurring effect of the TV.  For another, this is authentic to the intended experience (if that matters to you).   It’s just part of the experience and I love playing this way.  It’s just not the same when you play on a LCD TV - not for the older games.

Should You Play These Systems?

If you are someone young that maybe started out with PlayStation or even Nintendo Wii as your first console, this esoteric older stuff might or might not be for you - depending on your personal taste.  If you’re into the history of gaming, you might want to experience these systems at least once, but it’s a lot of time and money for what you might just want to check out with a Raspberry Pi or a computer emulator.  If you were born - like I was - in that middle time where the 8-bit consoles were transitioning into the 16-bit era, then this might be hit or miss.  I personally love playing games like Joust on original Atari hardware.  However, I realize it’s not for everyone.  However, if you’re at the point where you want to get into something new or expand your collecting to these games (which admittedly are harder to find out in the wild these days), maybe check them out.  If you own a Mister setup, then you can at least get your feet wet to see if it might be something you’re going to like.

[woocommercevariationswatches]

Wooing Organization In to Ecommerce Prosperity With Woocommerce

Business styles in the current time and age have transformed tremendously with the influx of net technology and on line communication. The net is just about the house for marketing and campaign of organization products. It's possible for a Small business to explode right into a multi-billion gain entity through successful utilization of the online program for marketing. The market is only going to increase, but should be harnessed with ecommerce for little business. Ecommerce is just'the'easiest way to really get your organization apparent and to entice interest of your possible customers. Ecommerce identifies operating organization digitally, primarily on the Net and with the capacity to get your items "floorspace" on the internet marketing tools like search motors, social media networks, website pages, blogs, and organization directories. You can even determine it as getting and offering products and solutions through the digital channels. There's nothing easier as ecommerce due to the increasing industry, 24 time product accessibility, and world wide reach in actual time. Little, medium, and bigger corporations are increasingly utilizing the impressive methods for the internet to offer consumers with quicker on line business solutions.

The trick of having ecommerce for small business flourishing lies in WordPress with the wonderful Woocommerce plug-in extension. It's very important to note that ecommerce works best once you take into factors the facets of clean style, fast efficiency, and visitor captivation. Whenever your business is online a number of the points you need to do to entice traffic awareness contain elegance and easy usage of home elevators products. This is where in fact the outstanding Woocommerce styles available comes in. Most businesses use WordPress ecommerce since it's quite simple to use and easier for the traffic to gain access to required information. I've shown business owners how to handle their very own keep in less than 2 hours of training!

woocommerce variation swatches

Woocommerce is among the most used ecommerce plug-ins for WordPress. This is exactly what transforms a WordPress small company site to a significant ecommerce keep with simple management, a solid seo foundation, schema information (stars in Bing seek out products), and all the bells and whistles an online store requires. With assistance from the Woocommerce jacks the WordPress eCommerce develop into a rapidly and inexpensive way to truly get your items selling beautifully, yet feature-rich solution. So long as you pick a responsive concept (which you should!), then the keep will soon be mobile and pill friendly. This really is vitally important in this day and era of iphones, androids, ipads, and desktops. Woocommerce extension extensions provide the best features to keep your keep competitive on numerous levels. It has social networking integration, Bing Analytics e-commerce checking, safety to a WordPress Sucuri normal, comprehensive store management, duty & Transport possibilities, and an array of payment gateways. Additionally it is really transformation friendly, with one page checkout and plenty of space for solution images and descriptions.

To place into the easiest of phrases, the world of ecommerce encompasses businesses whose modus operandi is company done over a network. Any company that discounts in the buy or sale of things and services via digital press (mainly the internet) is called being part of the ecommerce ecosystem. That essentially addresses many different corporations like customer centered retail sites, market or audio web sites, to even exchange of business between corporate businesses (B2B corporations). Electronic commerce is among the most crucial resources of the internet.

Alongside providing the ability to the bigger businesses to perform their organization, the net gives ecommerce for little corporations as well. However, it isn't the simplest method and neither the least expensive to accomplish it correct out of your home. You will find organizations offering aspiring organizations with the services of ecommerce website progress for this very reason.

The growth of the internet and its tools for firms gave delivery to ecommerce progress organizations like Shopify, Magento, Wordpress and WooCommerce which are some of the important programs that focus on ecommerce web development. All these ecommerce designers provides various ecommerce packages to budding on line company and have their very own benefits and drawbacks relying about what the provided company is looking for. What they do have in common is that they're all an easy task to implement.

WooCommerce is a plugin for WordPress sites for making online shops. With this particular plugin, you promote all sort of things including electronic good. WooCommerce with the ability to accept all type of credit/debit bank cards including PayPal, BACS and cash. WordPress with WooCommerce plugin has become very popular every year.

Shopify is generally considered the go-to software for little businesses because of the advantages they provide including computerized taxes, delivery costs, and help for numerous languages and it enables you to take advantage of all the major credit cards.

Magento, on the other give, provides the facility of endless modification to the company, unlike Shopify. It is really a function which should appeal to organizations that provide products and services which aren't categorized like the majority of generic items offered by on line businesses.

[coggle]

Coggle is a fully remote company – we almost always work from home, and we have for over four years. Since lots more people around the world have recently been advised, or ordered, to work from home, here are some of our experiences and tips for successful remote working.

Designate a Workspace

The absolute most important thing we've found is how helpful it is to have a specific designated place at home you work. This makes it much easier to switch into (and out of!) a working mindset, and focus on getting things done. Some people go as far as to leave their front door, walk around the block, and then come back home before starting work, as if walking to an office.

Ideally a workspace might be a separate room, but if that isn't possible even having a specific chair at the kitchen table that you sit in to work, or small table or desk in a corner is much better than sitting on the couch.

The other side of this is it's important, when taking a break or at the end of the day, to leave your workspace, instead of just sitting in the same place and opening up netflix.

Have a Schedule

When there's no one else around to remind you, it can be easy to forget what time it is, and accidentally skip lunch, or keep working late. It can seem productive in the short run, but it's really important to have a schedule to work to, otherwise the separation between working and home life starts to get blurred.

Go Outside!

If at all possible, try to go outside at least once a day – either for a walk, or even just in the garden if you have one. Its easy to end up getting no exercise or natural light by staying indoors all day. Here in the north of Europe (hello from Orkney, Scotland!) where winter days can be short and dark, we try to make the most of the short daylight we do get by taking a break in the middle of the day.

Video Conferencing and Conference Calls

If it were up to us we would do everything by text and email. Other people feel differently but inevitably, when working remotely you end up doing lots of multi-way conference calls and video chats with the people you're working with.

These calls can stereotypically be a nightmare of connections failing, incomprehensible audio, and other disasters. There are a few things that dramatically improve the experience for everyone:

Never, Ever, Use the Built-in Microphone on Your Laptop

Always use headphones with a microphone for calls of any type. The headphones that come with almost every phone include a microphone, and the headphone port on many computers will use this automatically if you plug in the headphones. As good as modern noise cancelling is, the built-in microphone will still pick up background noise and typing will deafen everyone else.

If you're able to invest in a good bluetooth or wired headset which includes a microphone then that would be even better.

Find the Mute and Un-mute Buttons

All conferencing software is different: if you've been invited to use a new one the first (and possibly only) button in the confusing interface that you need to find is the button to mute, and unmute your microphone. Whenever you're going to speak, check that you're un-muted. If you're not speaking, it's generally a good idea to mute.

Most software will automatically mute the sounds from other people when you're speaking to prevent feedback, so if you forget to un-mute you might not be able to hear them shouting at you that you're lips are moving in the video but they can't hear you!

Use the Phone-in Option

If you have sometimes unreliable or slow internet, but you have unlimited minutes on your cell phone plan (hello again from rural Scotland!) then use the option in lots of video conferencing software to 'dial in' for the audio from your phone. The phone network will often provide a more reliable voice connection than an unreliable internet connection will. If there are slides being shared then you can either ask for the deck to be emailed beforehand, or also join the call with your computer to view the slides.

If you do dial in both from a phone and a computer, make absolutely sure to mute BOTH the audio and the microphone on your computer or else you will end up with awful feedback

Test!

Finally, if you're hosting a call or inviting other people to join you, make sure you test the conference method you're going to use first (especially if they're a customer or client!), by using it with a colleague to get familiar with it.

Don't Wait to Share Updates

One consequence of working remotely can be a longer time before you get feedback from other people. Tools like google docs, Trello, and of course Coggle allow people to collaborate in real-time and see changes instantly as they're made. These are are really powerful tools for shortening this feedback loop. Even during a conference call you can use Coggle to make notes that everyone can share, and make sure that people are taking away the same key points and actions.

Don't Share Too Much at Once!

The other side of not waiting too long to share things, is you have to be mindful (especially if you're in charge of a team of people) not to share too much with them. Everything you send someone else has to read - so be mindful of saying things in the shortest and clearest way possible. Within a small team ideas should flow freely, but when you're sharing more widely it's really important to spend that time editing to make sure updates are precise and clear!

Do you have any of your own tips to share, or stories using Coggle to work remotely? let us know!

Posted by James, March 2020.

[traveltofrance]

Travel to France

Before you go to France, use this comprehensive online France travel guide to find out all the basics about customs requirements, the culture, weather, currency and more. Also, get tips on when to go and where to go in France.

About France Travel

France is a diverse and rich nation, filled with destinations to suit every taste. The French, while often stereotyped as rude or snobbish, is actually a proud but friendly people. The key is to understand cultural differences. The food in France is among the finest in the world, and it is the largest wine-producing nation in the world.

The French value cuisine, arts, culture, and history. Each region has its own flair and uniqueness. You are about to embark on an enticing adventure, but there are certain details and rules you should know before you go.

How To Get In

All foreign visitors must have a passport. (If you don't have a current passport, start this process as early as possible. Glitches, like a missing birth certificate, can drag this out.) Americans planning to visit for 90 days or longer, or those who plan to study in France, must get a long-stay visa.

Where To Go

Think of France, and most people automatically think of Paris. But there is much more to this country, whether it be the robust stews and beer of the Alsace or the laid-back attitude and sunny beaches of the Riviera and Monaco. There are many other underrated but wonderful cities, as well as unique spa resorts and villages and lovely beaches all around the coastline from the north to the border with Italy.

France is divided into regions, and I would recommend you read up about the distinct personalities of each before deciding on a destination.

Getting There

Most major U.S. airports fly to Paris, some going non-stop, and Roissy-Charles de Gaulle in Paris is the most popular airport in France. Some airlines also fly into other major French cities, such as Lyon and Strasbourg. It takes around 7 hours to get to France from the East Coast.

Getting Around In France

There are many economical and handy ways to get around France. You need to examine where you will be going and how flexible you are.

If you plan to visit villages not accessible by train, a rental car is ideal. The French drive on the same side of the road as Americans, but there are some differences. While traffic lights are commonplace in the States, many intersections in France are traffic circles instead. These are actually much more efficient but might take getting used to. Also, it becomes far more crucial to have good maps if you will rent a car. (Try asking for directions in a foreign language. Not pretty.) Check out the advantages of long term Renault Eurodrive Buy  Back Car Leasing.

If you are visiting cities with train stations, rail is convenient and can be inexpensive. The key is to determine whether you will just buy point-to-point tickets (preferable if you will be taking few trips or short trips), European rail passes (if you plan to go country to country) or a France Rail Pass (if you will travel often and long distances, all on one country).

If you plan to visit French cities that are far apart (say Strasbourg and Carcassonne), you might want to check into flying within the country. It's relatively cheap and can save you hours of train travel.

Train Travel

In addition, many cities also have their own transportation system (such as Paris' metro). Even many smaller villages have a bus system. France's transportation system is much more extensive than that of the U.S. Check with the city or region's tourism office.

Next: When to go, Cultural differences, Official holidays and French language

When To Go

Deciding when to go depends on both your temperament and that of France. Climates and the popularity of a region depend heavily on the time of year and vary dramatically from one region to the next.

The North of France is at its busiest in late spring and early summer. The weather is best, but the attractions are packed and the prices are the highest. Also, you might want to avoid the North in August, when most of the natives are on vacation in the South. If swarms of tourists aren't your thing, fall is a wonderful time to visit the north. While you are sure to have a few overcast, windy, rainy days to contend with, things are still very happening this time of year. Winter can be blustery, but there are keen benefits then as well, such as ice skating in Paris or Christmas Markets in Alsace. See Christmas In France.

The South of France is attractive almost any time of year. But remember that it is jammed in August. In May, the Cannes Film Festival packs that city and those nearby, visit city of Nice or the Monaco city-state. Even in fall, sometimes you can dip your toes in the Mediterranean. Don't be fooled, though. Provencal winters can be unexpectedly chilly. Find out more with the France Travel Monthly Calendar.

What Time/Day Is It?

France is one hour ahead of Greenwich Mean Time, and five hours ahead of New York City. The country does honor daylight savings time, so during that time, it is one more hour ahead, or six hours later than in New York. The French also celebrate several holidays, and visiting during this time can result in some good things (festivals abound and many museums and restaurants remain open) and bad things (most businesses and shops are closed). These are the holidays in 2017:

January 1 - New Year's Day

April 16/17 - Easter Sunday/Monday - Pâques

May 1 - Labor Day  - Fête du Travail

May 8 - Victory in Europe Day 1945  - Fête de la Victoire 1945 (marks the end of WWII)

May 25 - Ascension

June 4/June 5 - Whit Sunday/Pentecôte

July 14 - Bastille Day  - Fête Nationale

August 15 - Assumption Day  - Assomption

November 1 - All Saints Day  - La Toussaint

November 11 - Armistice Day (End of WWI)  - Le 11 Novembre

December 25 - Christmas Day - Noël

How To Communicate

If at all possible, it is very helpful to at least learn a few basic phrases, especially ones you will use often (such as transportation and menu terms, etc.). Although the French are taught English in grade school, some do not know much English (what do YOU recall from high school Spanish, after all?). They also are more likely to reveal their ability to speak English if you at least make an attempt to speak their language first.

How To Blend In

Many times, people presume the French are being rude when it's actually just due to cultural differences. The French, for instance, always greet each other before speaking. So if you run-up to a French person looking for directions by saying, "How do you get to the Eiffel Tower?" you have just been rude by French standards. Acquaint yourself with French Culture.

Next: Euros; What to Pack; How to plug it in; Calling home and Extra Tips and information

How Much Is That?

In France, the euro is the local currency. This involves a little less math than the previous franc (although I still miss the colorful franc with interesting themes such as "La Petite Prince").  When the euro is more valuable than the dollar, just round up a little (such as, you spend 8 euros and estimate $10 in your head just to be conservative).

Even those who know a little French language may have trouble understanding shop keepers who recite prices. When you ask "Combien?" (How much?), keep a small pad handy so shop keepers can write the amount down.

What To Pack

What to pack for your French trip depends heavily on which region you will visit, where you will stay and how mobile you will need to be while visiting.

If you will be traveling all over the country, hopping the train from one destination to another, pack light. A rolling backpack is great for this, by allowing you to choose between rolling it along or popping it onto your back. If you will, say, fly into Paris and stay in one luxury hotel the entire time, you can be more flexible and pack heavier.

Don't presume you can just find it in France if you need it, however. Good English-language maps or guide books can be tough to find, and it is challenging even in a big city to get an adaptor plug designed to convert an American appliance into the French plugs. (Think about it. They have plenty that allows French appliances to be plugged in while in America because most of the shoppers IN France need that). To be sure you don't have packing regrets, check out this list of the Free France Travel Packing Checklist or these tips for packing light.

How To Plug It In

If you want to use American appliances in France, you will need an adaptor and a converter. The adaptor allows you to plug it into the wall, while a converter changes the electrical current to the French standard. For example, if you have a hairdryer that allows you to change the electrical current, you would only need the adaptor. What some visitors fail to realize is that phone plugs also need adaptors, and without them, you will not be able to connect your laptop. Be sure you also get a telephone adaptor if you plan to take a laptop.

How To Call & E-mail Home

Placing a call home from France involves certain knowledge, but once you get the hang of it, it is surprisingly affordable and relatively easy. But first, you must know the basics. For one thing, most French payphones do not take change, but instead, use "telecasts." These can be purchased at many spots, such as tobacco and convenience stores, for a few euros. You slide the card into the slot on the phone, wait for the prompt on the display, and then enter the phone number (starting with the country code, such as "1" for the U.S.). The display will show how many units you have remaining. Calling on off-hours will eat far fewer units. You can take advantage of time differences by, for instance, calling later in the night when it is late afternoon or early evening in the States.

How To Get Stuff Home

Dreaming of lugging cases of delectable French wine home with you? Think again, unless you want to pay. The U.S. government offers the following restrictions:

Most visitors are allowed to bring back $800 of French goodies without paying duty.

The duty includes up to 200 cigarettes and 100 cigars.

One liter of alcohol is also included in duty-free.

[omahaseoagency-blog]

Omaha SEO

Efficient Search Engine Optimization

The concepts reviewed in this article have the power to relocate your site into one of the top areas in Google. At the end of the day each of these principles, independent of each other will typically not generate the type of outcomes you're seeking in seo It is the collection as well as unification of the adhering to concepts that absolutely have the power to deliver your desired lead to major online search engine. Google, Yahoo, as well as Bing seem to be concentrated on one thing; power and authority. You can have a great deal of nice-looking websites, appropriate web content, and an excellent idea, but everything come down to power and also authority. Hasn't it constantly though? Isn't that what it is always about, power as well as authority? Yes it's constantly been about that, as well as nothing is different with the major online search engine. What they wish to know concerning you as well as your website, is how effective you are, what sort of authority you have, and it is all determined by your popularity among other members on the internet. That old claiming, "it has to do with that you know, not what you understand", still appears to prove out as well as actually seems to be most suitable when it concerns search engine optimization.

So what do you do in today and also age when there are numerous effective players and so numerous recognized contenders on the internet? Exactly how do you break through, and ranking for the keywords that you truly need in order to drive more website traffic to your business? The response consists of one word: uniformity. Regardless of what any type of SEO specialist tries to do, unless they are persistent as well as regular with the principles that are listed here, they will certainly never accomplish their desired outcomes.

On web page optimization.

every search engine optimization specialist will need to either know how to edit a web site, or have a web designer that they can depend on to do on page optimization. There are numerous lists, steps, as well as ideal methods for implementing a correct method for on page optimization. This article was not suggested to go in deepness on this subject, yet a quick Google search on best practices for on page optimization need to suffice. The point right here is that prior to anyone begins implementing any one of the succeeding actions, they ought to make sure that their web site is built correctly, and gets along to the significant internet search engine with adhering to the very best practices.

Blog writing

most firms are not updating their web site every day. Actually most firms are hardly updating their internet site each year. This is where a blog site is available in convenient. Blog sites are extremely simple to handle, and also a number of them are constructed to be online search engine pleasant. A blog is something that should be resolved everyday. Blogs are what will certainly offer Google its repair of pertinent, upgraded, and distinct material. Do not simply copy and paste write-ups from other people as well as anticipate the internet search engine to respect your efforts. Think of material that interests read, yet offers its objective in search engine optimization Google reads left appropriate so make sure your blog site entries and also titles reflect the key words that you are attempting to target. Make sure that you have the proper plug-ins in position specifically if you're making use of WordPress in order to make certain that your blog is maximized for internet search engine. Guarantee that you have a right understanding of tagging as well as internal connecting. Utilizing your blog to produce round interior links with pertinent and also strategic anchor text positioning will certainly make your website much easier to navigate consequently making certain Google's happiness.

Video seo.

it has come to be, and also is ending up being much more noticeable that Google is giving quality videos preferential treatment in the internet search engine's. If you wish to be an excellent search engine optimization consultant, or if you are just a firm searching for seo, after that you must see to it that whoever you involve is video savvy. This component of SEO will turn into one of one of the most important skills to have as well as make use of in ranking internet sites, driving traffic, recording focus, as well as transforming leads. Videos have the capability to maintain web surfers on the page that they have arrived on. Every web site is dealing with versus a bounce rate, and also it is necessary that internet masters and also Search Engine Optimization specialists locate ways to keep people on their pages and their clients pages. Videos can captivate a target market, provide interactive guideline, and tempt customers as well as clients to investigate the product or service being supplied. In addition to being one of the most straightforward means to market, they are very easy to make if you have the best devices. Nevertheless if you do not have the right devices, and your videos stumble upon extremely less than professional, you may be doing on your own an injustice. A video clip is a kind of wager or two-edged sword if you will. On the one hand if you do it incorrect, you might interfere with the services or product being used and consequently drive consumers away. On the various other hand, if you do it right, your video might go viral as well as have the ability to drive millions of potential customers to see your video. BlendTec did it right by creating a series of YouTube video clips called "Will certainly it blend". They produced video clips showing the toughness of their mixers in a way that was really funny and also appealing.

Social media advertising

social media sites advertising and marketing is mosting likely to be the future of moving the masses. Social media has actually currently verified to be one of the most effective means to gather crowds and also advertise ideas, products, solutions, and also particularly firms. Because of the assimilation that accompanies blogs and several social media websites, it is very easy to get words out to those whom you are closest to. If you have 500 close friends on Facebook as well as you send out a video that advertises your item, and afterwards they liked that video or re-shared that video clip then you have the capability of reaching hundreds of individuals in a couple of minutes. Facebook, Twitter, as well as LinkedIn advertising and marketing has actually become one of one of the most effective ways to market and will only grow in appeal as the years go on.

Article marketing

short article advertising is something that ought to be done often, and it ought to be done with the intent to create and disperse top notch relevant web content to upper-level article directory sites. If the author can produce an adhering to in which individuals anticipate the write-ups that are being composed, as well as they end up picking up those posts and also redistributing them, then you have produced a marketing network that works around the clock by itself. Along with getting popularity with regular article directory visitors, you will also obtain beneficial back links to upper-level web sites. Receiving back links from a lot of page rank zero web sites will do little to absolutely nothing to boost the authority of your web site.

News release advertising and marketing

There are many firms available that will offer you a way to compose and disperse top quality and efficient press releases. PRWeb.com is one of the top news release distribution companies in the world. Various other business such as Businesswire and also PR.com will certainly also aid syndicate your press releases. These companies have constructed connections with information outlets across the nation and will provide you a much better shot at getting discovered by significant and also minor information electrical outlets in addition to editors searching for a story to create. Press release advertising and marketing does cost cash yet if made use of successfully and consistently will prove to be a worthwhile financial investment in your advertising method.

The seo techniques noted above have the ability to take any kind of excellent concept and area it at the top of the search engines. Actually, if these strategies are implemented regularly, some business will certainly locate themselves "going viral". If a firm goes viral, and they have an excellent service or product, as well as have the ability to scale up with rapid development, after that there is no recalling. The most important point to remove from this post is the word "uniformity". Absolutely nothing that you carry out in SEO can be done carelessly or periodically. It has to be done by a person that is devoted to controling their competitors as well as is persistent. If you do not prepare to do search engine optimization constantly, also simply a little every day, after that you are genuinely losing your time. The name of this game is consistency, and also as competitors grows stronger, so will certainly the demand for consistency. omaha-seo.com

[mohsinbeg]

Why You Need A Brand Agency

At some point or other each business needs the help of a branding agency. Many ignore the warnings or plug their ears to pretend that everything is fine But eventually, this choice can come back to haunt them.

A brand agency will review the way you present, define, and connect your brand to your customers. Utilizing research, strategy, design, and messaging the brand agency will guide you through the journey of creating an image you are proud of, and that will help your business expand and flourish.

Are you looking for a brand agency? It's not always easy to determine and we've compiled 10 reasons to think about finding one.

 1. Its strategic blueprint has taken its course

The foundation of every business's success is a strategy which guides the company through the year. It doesn't matter if it's a one-year plan, a five year plan, or one with an unknown end and eventually, every plan will reach the sell-by-date. The brand agency is here! We bring expertise and a method to stimulate your thinking and facilitating the discussion, define the messages and assist you in defining the objectives.

 2. Your marketing strategy isn't producing results

Your product or service might be genuine however the way you're communicating with your clients does not produce the desired results. Perhaps you're not making use of the correct channels, or the message isn't sufficient in its clarity. Perhaps you're not thinking in a creative way or maybe you're in need of some objective advice. In any case, these agencies are not just experts in formulating the strategy but also can help you spread the word.

 3. Are you tired of being a stumbling block in a crowd of shoppers

The market has never been more flooded with competing advertisements all trying to get the attention of consumers. It's no longer about being superior to the competition but rather being unique. Brand agencies are more envious of nothing than companies who play their cards safe. They're all about helping their clients discover their brave, bold and unique side, as well as bring their ideas to life.

 4. Nobody can explain your activities in a coherent and precise manner.

A lot of companies are filled with individuals who cannot explain what their company does within less than 30 seconds. This is the classic elevator pitch and the unfortunate fact is that very few are able to pass the test. This means that your branding message isn't clearly defined enough and if your employees aren't able to comprehend the purpose of what you do in the first place, then they will not be able to. As part of a branding strategy, companies will concentrate on the message prior to taking on the look and feel. If they don't, then they are not doing the right thing.

 5. Your identity has been vanishing in the shadows

Maybe your image of your company's image has changed style, or you're not having uniformity across various platforms, or you've gotten bored of a traditional image. The time is now to contact the experts. A brand agency can tell you precisely how to manage your existing brands, develop an entirely new one, or assist you to create a brand that is according to your plan as well as your objectives and values.

 6. Your brand name isn't crystal clear

There are many guidelines to follow when choosing the name of a brand. There are many companies that have strayed from these guidelines, resulting in an unwieldy or narrow. If your brand's name is hindering your goals or causing confusion for your customers, you need to consult a brand management company.

 7. Your business isn't a symbol of any thing.

Today's business world require more than the appearance of a logo and strap-line. They must have an unambiguous vision as well as a persona and conscience. With the increasing importance the concept of social responsibility for corporates as well as the increased emphasis on the accountability of customers, your business has to figure out what it is that it represents.

 8. The culture you're fostering inside isn't inspiring your employees.

The culture of a business's internal environment is just as crucial in determining its image externally. If your employees don't know the brand's values, how can you expect them to become an effective ambassador for your brand. The consequences of employees not adhering to the brand's values could be devastating. A brand agency can help bring the brand's message to life at every step of your employee's journey.

 9. You're not in the loop with your clients

Your customers must be the focus of what you do. No matter if you're B2B or the lack of knowledge of your intended audience can cause catastrophe. If you've ever felt that perhaps your brand isn't communicating in the same way as your customers, it's time to call an agency for branding.

 10. Your competitors are performing better than you.

It is important to take the time to check out your competitors is something that every company needs to take the time to do. The business world is too focused on providing for their clients that they don't notice the latest trends, and when they finally get the time to breath and take a look around, they realize that they've fallen behind. Branding programs will start with audits and market research.

Does any of these suggestions are familiar to your company and you personally? If so, it could be time to seek the counsel of a brand consultancy.

Also take a look: SEO Analyst | Google Ads Expert | Social Media Expert