#the fact that i do in fact live near by this local business you’re advertising to me because i’m local to it

[fullmetalwindbreaker]

i wish i knew where tumblr thinks i am that supposedly the nearest becu is 1600 miles away

[worldsfromwords]

A writer in a coffee shop.

I did it. I brought my laptop to a local coffee shop, ordered an overpriced latte, and settled in to write. But write what? The eternal, terrifying question.

So I’m writing about writing, in an effort to look busy while I have my main character moment. Turns out there’s more to this than I thought. More to being a creative person than pretentiousness. Or is there? Doesn’t everyone have a creative side? It’s not just painters, actors, musicians, and yes – writers. It’s everyone. Woodworkers, dog groomers, advertising execs, even accountants. So what separates the so-called “artists” from everyone else? Does such a separation even exist? Or is it, in fact, just being bold or arrogant enough to claim the title of “artist” or “creative” for oneself? 

Is it being able to make a living off of one’s creative abilities? That can’t be it. Too many great artists died broke. 

Am I writing yet? Does this count? Or is this stream of consciousness just a shallow attempt to grasp for the profound?

I take another sip of my matcha latte, a floral design carefully created on its surface. There it is again. Art. In the hands of a barista.

Why do so many writers do their work from coffee shops, anyway? Is it just the change of scenery? The people watching? The distance from a disruptive partner or family? The distance from one’s own fridge, maybe? Or is it the desire to be seen writing? Having others bear witness to your act of creation. Does it feel more like a “real” job when you’re not working in a ratty t-shirt out of your bed?

I am all questions, no answers.

We are a strange species. So riddled in self-doubt. So afraid our creative output will never amount to anything. So hungry to be told we’re talented. That we’re worth something. That our work will be remembered.

I’m getting near the bottom of my mug, now. I feel the creeping dread that I didn’t manage to write anything good start to rise. That I’m a phoney. A fake. A pretender to the throne. Nothing more than a wannabe.

Writing something is better than writing nothing, I tell myself. It’s supposed to console and encourage me, but it doesn’t work. I think it’s easier to lie to yourself and believe you’d have been a talented something-or-other when you’ve never even had the guts to try. There’s nothing to prove you wrong that way.

It’s the trying, and staring one’s own mediocrity in the face, that cuts the deepest. Perhaps it’s confronting that, and daring to try again anyway, that makes an artist. Maybe that courage is the secret ingredient to making something worth remembering.

My mug is empty now, and this is all I have to show for it. Oh well. I will try again tomorrow.

[kannymaei]

The Perfect Girl - Prologue (Kamisato Ayato x Reader)

Author’s Note: First, yes, I play Genshin Impact and have been obsessed with this man xP. Second, I haven’t been updating my Gojo Satoru x Reader fanfic since I’ve been completely busy with my real life and! It’s stuck in my drafts. Sorry for the delay but I’ll start updating different parts of the fanfictions gradually~ REBLOGS AND LIKES are very much appreciated! Thank you!

Author’s Note 2: Please be reminded that this fanfic is Modern! AU and Highschool! AU and none of this are canons to the actual lore of Genshin Impact. I do not own Genshin Impact nor the characters that belong in the game!

Synopsis: You were a graduating high school student who somehow got involved in unfortunate events and transferred to another school, Teyvat International School. Due to your “complicated” physical features, you became the main target of the school’s “bully”, Kamisato Ayato! Together with his friends, Diluc Ragnvindr, Tartaglia, and Arataki Itto.

TW: Mentions of death

Word Count: 888 words

Masterlist

Next -> Chapter 1

”I’m sorry for your loss Y/N...”

“My condolences...”

“Poor girl, she lost her parents before she enters college...”

You gaze at the night sky before looking back to your parent’s caskets being buried in the ground. After the ceremony, you see yourself packing up your things before leaving this place that you once called home. 

“Lady Y/N! It’s in your parent’s last will for you to study at Teyvat International School. Even in the afterlife, they still wanted you to live a good life.”

Aren’t International Schools a little complicated? People with high statuses or people who came from rich families were studying there? I am, in fact from a rich family but why did my parents choose this time after their deaths to enroll me in a school like this? Can’t I just graduate from my local high school? What’s so special with this school anyways?

As soon as you finish packing up your things, you looked back from your home for the one last time and recall your happy memories from how your father taught you how to ride a bike to your mother teaching you how to bake your favorite smores cookies. No one knew that on this day it finally came close to its end.

(Goodbye...) You thought to yourself before looking back to the maid who’s also your second mother.

“Ready to go Lady Y/N?”

“Yes...” It’s good that you didn’t shed a single tear, after all, life goes on no matter what. 

You got inside in the backseat of the car while the servants pack up your things in the car’s trunk. How long has it been since your parent’s died? Perhaps it may have been a week already. 

It’s quite worrisome that you weren’t able to say goodbye to your friends at your local high school and knowing the fact that they aren’t going to be in the school you’re about to transfer to is another problem.

(How am I supposed to make friends when I’m a year left before graduating?) You honestly don’t have any idea how would you socialize with your soon-to-be classmates. These thoughts were cut off immediately when the car started to move. You combed your hair and tied it to a messy bun, after that you reached out to your nerdy glasses and cleaned them before wearing them.

“Lady Y/N, kindly look to the window on your right, we are almost near Teyvat International School”

You leaned towards the window to your right and to your surprise, this school is quite huge! It’s like the mansion you used to live in before except it got multiplied to fifty. 

(It’s exactly how it was advertised on TV. This school is something not even a middle-class family would be able to afford) The building is so perfect as if the architects who designed this were genius. 

The car stopped at the school’s gate which automatically opened after it recognized the vehicle. 

“You must be Miss L/N, I’ve been waiting for your arrival.” said the man that looks like on their 20′s and is quite... short, he’s a little taller than you. The end of his braids has a little shade of fading green, based on his approach to me and my maid, he’s the kind of person that is jolly and easy to be friends with. 

“Come, come! Miss L/N, Mr. Zhongli, and Ms. Ei are waiting for you” said the man as you followed him while walking through the school’s corridors. Large windows with a huge amount of sunlight passing through casting two shadows from you and the man you’re following. 

You seemed to caught someone’s attention while passing through one of the hallways. Both of you shared intense eye contact, this said person is very tall and has blue hair and a girl standing next to him seems to be someone the same as your height, and her hair is colored pink. Not noticing your surroundings, the man intentionally tripped you over his feet making you fall onto your knees.

“W-what was that for?!” You said looking up to this man and the girl beside him who seems to be laughing a little bit.

“How dare you look at me like that? And what do you mean ‘What was that for’? Are you blind?”

“You intentionally made me trip over your feet, stop lying!” You held the collar of the man even if you were small for him and now the students are staring at you and the student.

The man held your arm that you used to hold his collar, “I don’t know who you are but you have no right to hold me like that” You loosen up your fists and let go of his collar while he fixed it with an angry face. As soon as he was about to punch you in the stomach-

“Miss L/N! There you are! I thought I lost you” The man from earlier just saved you from being hit by this student. 

“Miss L/N are you okay?”

“Y-yes I am, I came across with some inconveniences” Before looking away, you smirked at the man that you just now called an inconvenience.

(L/N, so that’s her name. I’ll be making sure that she’ll remember who I am in her mind and her heart) Kamisato Ayato thought to himself. 

Next -> Chapter 1

[spaceskam]

woke me up from the longest dream

Summary: Alex and Michael follow up on a lead and find something powerful.

Tags: canon compliant (for the most part), visions, road trips, my deep sky still sucks agenda

ao3

"Why is it so fucking cold?" 

"Welcome to Montana," Alex said dryly.

Michael made a face and shoved his hands in his pockets. He was doing his best to be mature about Alex inviting him on this trip. It was another loose lead he found and he was irritated that he didn't find it until after he came back home. Michael had offered to help after a grueling time in self-induced misery and Alex had agreed and he had planned to use this time to show Alex how much he'd grown.

However, there was something about being alone with Alex that made him feel a little like he hadn’t. 

"Are you not cold?"

"Didn't we deduce that your species is from a really cold planet due to your body temperature and the clothing Tripp described they were wearing?" Alex asked back.

Michael was used to a vaguely snarky Alex, it was in his genetic makeup. This was a different level though. Alex was in one of the worst moods Michael had ever seen him in that didn't result in a fight, instead it was all icy silence and irritated answers. Michael wasn't sure if it was because of his breakup with Forrest or if it was something else entirely. Maybe it was the fact that Michael was here at all.

He decided to keep quiet.

"You got me," Michael said, taking slightly bigger strides to keep up with Alex.

They were in a small town that served as a hub for a few even smaller towns that surrounded it. It had one small stretch of road with all the local businesses in it, a shabby hotel, a diner, and a farmer's market being the three biggest options. There were a couple others buildings, but Michael couldn't say what they were by just looking at them from the outside.

Alex seemed to know where he was headed though and he waltzed up to a building that was only identifiable by a sign that was meant to say CORRIE'S but was missing a few letters and said CORE instead. He pushed the door open and Michael followed. The inside had the heater blasting in a way that immediately smothered him, but he managed to keep his face even. It looked like a convenience store with only three rows of shelves in the middle. A sign at the back door read GAS PUMP IN BACK. Michael thought that was bad advertising.

"Hello," an older woman at the counter greeted. She seemed to be the only one here.

"Hey," Alex said, approaching her and turning on an easy smile. Logically Michael just knew he was being charming to get what he came here for. Illogically, it felt like Alex could be nice to everyone but him.

How many times could he tell himself to grow up? 

"What can I help you two with?" she asked. 

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but this place is owned by someone who used to live in Fort Belknap?" Alex said, not even beating around the bush to charm her more. That was the only thing to convince him it wasn't just him. 

The woman stared at him, face unchanging. 

"Who's asking?" 

"Holt," Alex said, smiling and tilting his head a little bit, "Carla Holt, to be more specific."

She breathed in and closed her eyes for a moment before opening them a few moments later. 

"Their timing has always been impeccable," she said, gesturing towards a door behind her, "Come."

"Who's Carla Holt?" Michael whispered to him as they followed. Alex grabbed his arm and squeezed, nearly causing Michael to fully trip over air. 

"Just follow my lead. Stay quiet," Alex explained quietly, "I'll tell you later."

And Michael did as he said. 

"You must be the littlest Manes boy," the woman said as she led them into a little office. It was cluttered and didn't really seem like the top secret place Michael was imagining. 

"Yes, ma'am." 

"Corrie," she corrected, "I never did like the sound of ma'am."

"Alright," Alex said, laughing lightly even though didn't reach his eyes, "My mother told me the same thing." 

"I bet so," Corrie said, digging through messy drawers of a desk. She sat down heavily into the beat up chair and started digging through a file cabinet. "I kept telling myself it'll eventually come and bite me in the ass, carrying secrets for someone I only hear from once every few years, but you never know what you're getting yourself into until after you're stuck."

"Yeah, I know how that feels," Alex sighed. Michael's eyes drifted to him. He avoided eye contact completely.

"I'll be honest, I wasn't expecting you. Your brother, maybe. Part of me expected your father to bust down my door more than anyone," she went on. Corrie pulled out a small box and opened it, looking in and making a face before closing it and tossing it over her shoulder. 

"Guess I'm the sucker who agreed to clean up duty."

Corrie laughed.

Truly, Michael expected more danger and more difficulty. He expected a fight or at least tension. Instead, Alex and Corrie made small talk about their shitty affiliations while Corrie dug through decades worth of clutter. Eventually, she pulled out a box and opened it and took a deep breath. She closed it again before giving it to Alex and Alex didn't reopen it so Michael had no idea what was in it. All he knew was that it went into Alex's bag.

"Thank you "

"Keep it safe," Corrie said, "Keep yourself safe." Then for the first time her eyes drifted to Michael. "You too. There aren't many of you left."

It was hot in the building, but somehow Michael felt like he'd jumped in ice water.

"Thank you."

"Mhm. Now get the hell out of my store before somebody follows you."

"Of course. Thank you again," Alex said politely and then he did as she said, turning on his heel and walking away. Michael wanted to stay and ask more–if she knew what he was, maybe she knew things he didn't and they could get rid of Mr. Jones–but Michael simply followed Alex's lead.

"Alex," Michael said, nearly having to jog to keep up. Alex opened the door of the store and a blast of cold hit Michael in the face, colder than before due to the extreme warmth inside. It took him a moment to reboot his mind enough to finish what he was saying. "Alex, what's in the box?"

Alex managed to close his eyes and shake his head in disapproval without slowing his pace. 

"Can you wait until we get to the hotel?" Alex asked, cold again. Michael nodded despite the fact Alex couldn't see him, deciding that a verbal answer probably would be annoying in itself. 

The problem with silence was that it was a sure way to get Michael to spiral. He had discovered very recently that being alone when he wanted to be alone the most was the worst idea. Now, he didn't want to be alone as much as he wanted answers. Walking in silence down a street while wondering what was in Alex's bag, who Carla Holt was, why Alex was angry, etc, etc, etc, was only making his mind race.

By the time they stepped into the lobby of the hotel, Michael was sure that Alex had just borrowed a bomb from an old lady and he was going to explode himself and whoever Carla Holt was was going to hunt Michael down in revenge. He of course didn't say that. Instead, he tapped his foot as Alex requested a room with two queens and didn't realized that the worker snorted because he was assuming they were two queens until after they were already heading to the room. 

"Should I go spit in his drink?" Michael asked when he realized. 

"No," Alex said, "You'd probably make it taste too sweet."

Michael again found himself stumbling over nothing and he looked at Alex, wondering what the hell was he talking about. But it was the nicest thing he'd said to him the whole trip and Michael decided to take it very personally. 

"You sayin' I'm sweet?" Michael asked, grinning. A smile pulled at Alex's mouth that he very quickly schooled, slowing as he came to their room. 

"I'm saying your saliva, and probably your other bodily fluids, have a higher concentration of a glucose-like chemical," Alex said, "As proved by Kyle and Liz when we got drunk."

"You guys drunkenly tested our saliva's glucose levels?" Michael asked, laughing a little. Alex finally speaking to him made his brain stop wandering as much. Not completely–he was still wondering about that box–but enough.

"We were talking," Alex said, unlocking the door with the keycard, "And noticed we all thought you three tasted sweeter than other people we'd kissed and, well, you know. So we did some tests."

"That's... Interesting," Michael said, letting the door close behind them.

Alex walked over to the bed closest to the door and carefully sat his bag down. Michael watched him, staying near the door. He was still unsure about where they stood. He knew Alex cared about him and he knew Alex didn't hate him, but he was also still holding him at arm's length. And then there was that box. He didn't want to push.

But Michael wasn't known for his patience. 

"Alex," Michael said, "What's in that box?"

Alex swallowed and looked up at him for a moment before patting the bed beside him. An invitation. One that made Michael's stomach drop and twist in 11 knots. But he walked closer, sitting beside Alex. Alex stared at him, his features slowly loosening up to betray his feelings. His eyebrows pulled together in that kind of worry that meant he felt like he was drowning, scrambling to pull himself to the surface and never able to get a good grip. Which would explain the coldness, he supposed.

"You know you can trust me, right? I'm... I'm working on not being so self-destructive, and, like, knowing I'm helping you out kinda helps when I feel shitty," Michael said. Alex huffed a small laugh and shook his head, dropping his chin to his chest for a moment. When he looked Michael in the eye again, he was back to being serious. 

"I did something stupid," Alex said, softly like it was a secret, "I agreed to something without knowing what I was getting myself into. And I'm kind of stuck right now."

"Stuck? What do you mean stuck?" Michael said, following his lead and whispering.

"I'm figuring it out, alright? Don't worry. I'll tell you later," Alex said, reaching out to squeeze his arm before dropping it back to the bed, "And I checked before we even left that I wasn't bugged and I've kept my eye out to know that we aren't being followed. And my computer definitely isn't. We're good. They're tracking me, but only to the extent I'm letting them. It's okay." 

"That doesn't sound okay," Michael said.

"Trust me like I trust you, alright?" He said. Michael reluctantly nodded. "I need you to hold something for me."

Michael blinked. "The box."

"Yeah."

"Who's Carla Holt?" Michael asked. Alex smiled softly

"It's not a who, it's a what. It's a code from my mom's side of things. She knows more about the alien shit than she let on," Alex sighed, "I didn't stand a fucking chance not being involved with this shit. My dad, my mom, you. So, you know, if you ever feel bad about that, it's my fucking destiny." 

Michael swallowed and nodded, feeling more eager by the second to know what was in that box. Needed to keep hearing Alex say how fated they were to know each other. Needed Alex to touch his arm again and smile.

"Okay," Michael said, trying to stay in his own space, "So we're fated. Cosmic connection. Called it."

Alex broke into a wide smile, genuine and welcoming as he shoved Michael's shoulder gently. "Shut up."

"Show me," Michael said instead. Alex's smile faded just a little.

"Do me a favor and double check our surroundings," Alex said. Michael nodded and tilted his head, sending a chair to lodge itself under the doorknob and pressed the curtains tightly to the wall. His eyes slid closed as he did a mental sweep of the building, not noticing anything out of order. When he opened his eyes again, Alex seemed to be closer. "Thanks." 

"Show me." 

Alex sighed and nodded, hesitantly reaching into his bag and pulling out the box. It was clear now that it was made of really nice wood, intricate carvings covering it. Alex handled it with an extreme care that Corrie didn't have with it. His eyes flickered between the box and Michael a few dozen times before he hesitantly opened it and Michael leaned closer to see.

"It's just a ring," Michael said, almost disappointed. It looked like a normal, silver band that was old and unpolished after years of being tucked away. 

"Not just a ring," Alex said, he kept his fingers very precise as he picked it up. Michael didn't miss the way it seemed to ripple at his touch.

"Something alien," Michael acknowledged.

"Something alien," Alex confirmed, "Most of the glass and even the rocks that you've had so far all seem to be crafted and at least heavily altered by your people to be as useful as they are. This... This was passed down as a pure substance that was mined and cut into a wedding band to mimic human customs." Alex looked at him. "It pre-dates your mother landing here, Michael."

Michael let out a shaky breath, eager and hungry for knowledge for the first time in a long time. He'd poured over Tripp's journal over and over, poured over Caulfield and Project Shepard records, all of it painful and sickening with an unhappy ending. And now there was something new– old –that might actually give him something more. Proof that aliens were here before his mother, proof that there was a reason they came to Earth of all places. More secrets he craved to uncover. He missed the feeling. 

"It's powerful and, as far as I can tell, the last of it left. The rest was probably destroyed with your planet. But it's old and... and sentimental. One of the older women on the reservation told me the sentimentality powered it more. Because it's not just a ring that symbolizes love or a bond between two people, but it's a new start. Blending the past they chose to leave behind together with something new and different. Safer and secure. Together," Alex said. Michael swallowed, eyes unable to break away from Alex's. Alex cleared his throat and looked back down at it. "That's what she said anyway. There was probably two at one point, but I'm sure the other is lost to time."

"Yeah, okay. Okay," Michael said, agreeing without hesitation, "I'll take care of it and keep it safe."

He went to grab it, but Alex pulled it out of his reach.

"Michael," he said, "When I say it's powerful, I mean the moment you put it on, something's going to… happen."

Michael hadn't really intended to put it on, but it seemed Alex knew him well enough to know that eventually he would. 

"What kind of something?" 

"I don't know, Michael. I just know legend says it has unspeakable levels of power. So, please, be careful with it. I'd prefer you do it with someone around in case it overloads you or something," Alex said. Michael didn't point out what Isobel had before–he was the only one who didn't have a limit.

"Why not just put it on right now?" Michael said, "We're in the clear and you're here. Why not?" 

Alex breathed in and out, staring at him with that same worried, downing look. Michael selfishly enjoyed it for a few moments–enjoying that he cared that much. So he smirked and held out his left hand, feeling confident.

"Go ahead, Alex. Put a ring on it," he said. A smile pulled at Alex's lips that he fought, but he relaxed his shoulders and grabbed Michael's hand with his empty one.

Alex's hand was warm. Michael was sort of obsessed with the feeling of it. Why hadn't they been holding hands this entire time? 

"I'm right here, okay? So if you need me to take it off or if you feel like you're going to lose control, let me know. Try not to throw me," Alex said. Michael rolled his eyes.

"I don't give a shit how much power I have injected into me, I'm not going to hurt you," Michael said. Alex raised an eyebrow. "Physically. Come on now, cut me some slack."

"Maybe," Alex said, putting the ring closer. Michael could feel it now that it was millimeters away from his skin, the power of it overwhelming. And Michael was intrigued. "Ready?"

"Always."

Alex slid the ring onto his ring finger.

The wave of power hit him instantly and, before he could adjust, sent him into a mindscape. Or–he thought it was. The room was damp and dark, unwelcoming. Michael looked around for something, someone, but he was alone. It was crowded with things, though, inventions and technological structures. It looked like his own lair but significantly less familiar, less comforting. 

“Michael?”

Michael turned towards the voice and saw Alex at the top of a ladder, staring down at him with a face that said he was doing everything to stay calm. He had red stains on his clothes. Michael stared at him, unsure what to do. Alex was down the ladder and centimeters away from him so quickly that it could only be achieved by him seeing something that wasn’t happening just yet.

“Are you okay?” Alex asked, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Michael said, instinctually, “Where are we? What is this place?”

Alex looked around the room, his face betraying his pain before he met Michael’s eyes again. Then his hand was on Michael’s cheek with a warm and grounding presence. Michael’s heart was about to burst out of his chest.

“My research,” he sighed, “Half of it’s destroyed anyway. Let’s go.” Michael didn’t really think that sounded right. This didn’t feel like Alex’s space. He’d been in enough of Alex’s spaces before to know what they felt like. This wasn’t it.

��Your research?” he said. Alex gave him a look and stroked his thumb over his cheekbone.

“I’ll tell you later.”

“Stop that,” Michael said, his voice sounding more irritated than he meant. He could feel the anger in his body, but he didn’t know the source. “Stop not telling me things. You keep doing that. You need to tell me.”

“You’re right,” Alex agreed, swallowing, “But we need to get out of here. I swear I’ll tell you once we get in the car. But we need to get out of here.”

“You promise you’ll tell me in the car?” Michael said. Alex nodded.

“I promise.”

They were upstairs just as fast as Alex had been downstairs. Michael saw blood. He turned his head to find the source, but Alex’s hand was back on his neck to stop him.

“Don’t look. Let’s just go to the car.”

“What, you tryna baby me?” Michael asked, “You know I’ve seen some shit.”

“Yeah, I know,” Alex said, still leading him towards the door as his thumb dug slightly into the muscle on his neck, “Doesn’t mean I have to show you more.”

Michael sucked in a breath and he was thrown back into his body, the power from the ring still thrumming through him and teasing a possible second surge. It was old and unused and desperate to stretch out some of it's pent up energy.

Alex was there, staring at him and holding onto him. He was so close, so real, and so was that memory that was just in the opposite direction. Michael stared at him, taking him in.

"What happened?" Alex asked, hands squeezing his biceps. His hand started to slide up, but stopped at his shoulder. "Hey, you with me?" 

"Yeah," Michael said, "I'm okay."

"What happened?"

"I think, uh," Michael breathed, swallowing. His throat felt dry again. The heat of the hotel seemed to work with the heat inside him; he was on fire in the best way. "I got, like, That's So Raven'd."

Alex blinked a couple times, his thumb moving in slow circles against his collarbone not too far from where it’d been moments ago in his vision. Michael wanted to let his eyes roll back into his head and just sink into the bed with Alex beside him and let this undeniable strength course through him.

"You saw the future?" he said, "Like one of Maria's visions?" 

"I think so," Michael confirmed, "Only… mine wasn't of something bad. I mean, not really, anyway."

"What was it?" Alex asked. 

Michael licked his lips, studying Alex for a moment. The ring on his finger fit perfectly as if it was made for him. The power it gave settled nicely in him, pulsing and eager to be used just a little bit more, but in a childish, playful way. It wanted to stretch after too many years being cooped up.

"Hey, I'm going to try to see something else," Michael said. Alex's eyes went wide as saucers.

"What? Tell me what you saw the first time," Alex pressed, his hand shifting just enough to cup the side of his neck. Michael layered his hand over his, feeling bold and unperturbed. At some point, they were going to get there. He was sure of that more now than ever. 

And he wanted to see more.

" Michael ," Alex said, but Michael closed his eyes and breathed in, letting the power in the ring take him somewhere else.

And he was somewhere else. 

He was standing at the end of a driveway. He looked around and tried to grab some sort of identifier, but all he saw was a house behind him and then a school bus headed towards him. It stopped in front of him, a kid stepping off and running towards him with a backpack almost as big as she was. 

"Daddy!" the kid yelled and Michael tried his damnedest to act like he was meant to be here as the little body slammed against his legs for a welcoming hug. "Is Dad home yet? Can you tell him to get ice cream? I think we need ice cream."

"Oh, you think we need it?" Michael asked, walking with the kid towards the house. It felt natural, oddly enough. 

"Yes," the kid said simply, running towards the door. She threw it open and Michael laughed and jogged the rest of the way. He could hear her already telling a story about school and he was trying to stay close enough to follow.

He walked into a foyer, pictures lining the wall. Family portraits.

Him and Alex. The three of them.

When Michael came back to his senses, Alex was right there again and staring at him without faltering. The ring was still alive, but it was at a sated hum now that it had been used a few times. He wondered how it would feel doing something he understood. He couldn’t wait to try.

“Hey,” Alex said, soft and comforting as he welcomed his weight. The vision he had was definitely not what he was looking for, he wanted to know more about Alex’s research and why it all felt so wrong and where the hell they were, but the second one… 

“Hi,” Michael said, breathing and his eyes drifting down to his lips. Michael had experienced a lot of urges to kiss Alex before. Somehow this felt more dire.

“Please don’t do that again,” Alex said, “Maybe we should take it off.”

Michael shook his head carefully, eyes scanning him, “No, it feels fine now. It just needed to be used after being in a little box for decades. It’s good. Feels good.”

“Okay,” Alex said, still clearly hesitant. His fingers played with the hair at the back of Michael’s neck. There were two beds, but Michael was trying to figure out how to convince him to share one. They could fit. They’d shared smaller. “What’d you see?”

Michael breathed deep, wanting to get closer. He kept his hands to himself no matter how much he wanted to touch. He was being good. To get to where those visions said he was headed, he had to be good. Good for himself and Alex.

“Tell me what’s going on,” Michael said softly, “What are you researching? Who are you working with?”

Alex blinked once, twice before dropping his hand off of Michael. Which definitely hurt, but the fact that Alex didn’t move away definitely helped. 

“What did you see?” Alex asked again, more pressing, “I know you saw that I’m researching something.”

Michael shrugged. He technically did, but he didn’t see anything identifiable. He didn’t know what it was. He would like to. Then again, he’d always wanted to know everything about Alex Manes.

“I didn’t see what,” Michael said, “I just saw that someone’s going to fuck with it. I think. I don’t know, we were in this basement looking thing and it felt really off and, and not like you, but you said your stuff was in it. And you had blood on you and when we went upstairs, there was more blood. But you said not to look. I don’t know what you did or what happened, but, like, if you told me, maybe we can prevent it getting that extreme.”

Alex stared at him for a long moment. 

“You saw that both times?” Alex asked softly. Michael hesitated before shaking his head. “What else did you see, then?”

“Um,” Michael breathed, trying to think of the right words to say, “Uh. I don’t think, um…”

“ Michael.”

“Family portraits,” he said carefully, figuring that was easier to start with than a whole person who called them dad, “Like, ours. Um. I know we don’t belong in suburbia, but I guess we fucking get it anyway.”

He laughed. It wasn’t funny, but it was easier to say it like it was a joke. Alex looked at him, face confused.

“Suburbia? Like. White picket fence kinda thing?” Alex asked. Michael took a slow breath.

“I, uh, I didn’t see a fence, I was too focused on the‒” he stopped, licking his lips. Michael rubbed his thumb over the ring. It seemed to purr at the attention. Michael couldn’t wait to get back home and see what he could really do.

“On the what?” Alex prodded, reaching out to rest his hand on his leg and reigniting the contact. It felt so good. Michael really liked when he was touchy, it was his favorite thing about Alex.

“Um,” Michael breathed, feeling drunk off the attention and the ring all at once. He thought about lying, maybe that they were babysitting because that was close enough, but he was so tired of lies and half-truths and I’ll-tell-you-laters. “On the kid.”

Alex froze for a moment, “The kid?”

“Yeah,” Michael said, shrugging softly, “I, uh, I guess she was ours. She was calling us dad. Do we have any water? My throat is super dry.”

“I… I don’t think you’re seeing the future then, I’m never having kids. Do you realize how awful of a parent I would be? Awful. Neglectful. That’s not… And after I clearly fucking hurt people?”

“Maybe not,” Michael said, not about to argue right now. He was too busy feeling good. Alex kept his hand on his knee. “But whatever it was, it was good.”

Alex stared at him, quiet and clearly thinking things through. Michael let him. It was easier to give him space and time now. He’d gotten better at it before his visions, but they solidified to him that they were on a good path. It felt like they were making good choices and taking good steps. This was just a part of it.

Alex eventually took a deep breath, looked him in the eye.

“I’m gonna tell you what I’m doing, but you have to promise you’re going to stay out of it and trust me,” Alex said, “You promise?”

“I promise.”

“And you’re gonna promise to be honest with me?” Alex said, “And stay safe. Like, seriously. Don’t be reckless just because. I know you.”

I know you.

“Yeah. I’m doing better now,” Michael said, stretching his hand out, “I am. But I’m… I’m tired of not doing shit together. Doing stuff separately always gets us in shitty situations, Alex, I wanna be a team. Can I be on your team?”

Alex swallowed and moved his hand up, tucking Michael’s hair behind his ear.

“Yeah. Be on my team. Let’s be a team,” Alex said. He shifted and Michael waited patiently, watching him. “Okay, so. Deep Sky. It’s… it’s got some good people, I think, but it’s overall fucked. I don’t trust anyone in there, but it’s where I’m doing my research. Sort of. So I’ll tell you.”

It almost felt too good to be true to hear, but he didn’t need the ring to know that Alex was being honest. It showed him anyway. Truthfulness radiated off of him in vibrant blues and whites. He didn’t even need to get in his mindscape to be sure of it. It was strange to feel like that was unnecessary, like his body didn’t need confirmation because it already knew.  It didn’t feel like he was stepping off a ledge. He hoped Alex had the same confidence, wondered what would happen if he put the ring on him.

If Alex still felt like he was stepping off the ledge, he was going to be sure to catch every inch of him this time. No piece would hit the ground like all the times before.

He was going to make this work.

“Everything?” 

“Everything.”

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Just Swimmingly ch.7 (BAON)

Summary: Team Rescue is on the way...mostly. Look, they aren't good at names.

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Established Relationships,  Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

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Read it here!

~~*~~

Edge had been on worse car rides, but not many. In fact, he could only think of one; riding in the backseat of his own car with Stretch unconscious in his lap, his life ticking away in decimals as Edge desperately clung to Blue’s instruction that he should think of healing magic as similar to making a hollandaise.

It wasn’t ridiculous if it worked and sitting here in this silent car, hyperfocusing on the mostly empty roads with Blue next to him radiating grim determination and Antwan in the backseat, Edge found himself thinking of hollandaise again.

The mental picture of the saucepan was strangely easing, keeping his turbulent thoughts occupied. In his memory, Blue’s voice was preternaturally calm as he reminded them that all the butter couldn’t be added at once because the mixture would break. Edge followed the direction coming from his phone as the voice assistant instructed him in its robotic way to turn left, (you need to add the butter a little at a time) turn right, (whisk it in), your destination is on the left.

It was only when he pulled into the empty parking lot as directed that the real Blue spoke, his high voice uncertain over the confidence of his imaginary twin, “Shouldn’t the security teams be here?”

“No,” Edge said disgustedly. He threw the car into park and pressed a knuckle between his eye sockets with painful force. “because this isn’t the right place.”

The dilapidated sign over the empty storefront declared with a spooky if faded cheer to be ‘Spirit Halloween’ but the only spirits in this place were the ghosts of customers’ past.

“My brother’s sense of humor,” Edge said, “he’s sending us a message. We went trick or treating behind his back and here’s his trick.”

“Of course it is,” Blue muttered, sinking back in the seat. His gloved hands were tight in his lap, a mirror to Edge’s grip on the steering wheel. “Papyrus probably warned him hours ago that I’d left home. He would have been ready for something like this.”

Edge picked up his phone, his bare thumbs moving with cautious swiftness over the screen. “Yes, he would. Which is why we’re going to follow the other tracker now.”

“Other tracker?” Antwan leaned over the driver’s seat to look at the new directions scrolling up the phone screen. His laughter was uncomfortable, more nerves than humor. “How many trackers do you have on your brother?”

Not as many as he has on me, Edge did not say. “On a normal day, only one.” Edge pulled back out onto the empty street, following the monotone drone of the GPS. “Sans set it up for me when Red pulled his little disappearing act after California and then reappeared to wreak havoc on my kitchen.”

“He did what?” Blue asked and Edge winced internally, barely keeping it from showing on his face. He wasn’t at his best, that much was certain, spilling secrets out in a spreading pool, but caring about that would have to wait. There were only so many directions he could pull his focus for now and Blue was hardly going to take out an advertisement in the paper if he heard anything he shouldn’t. A bit of gossip when it came to office relationships and the local scandals aside, Blue was one of their diplomats and he was well able to use appropriate discretion.

Hopefully, his definition of appropriate did not include asking Red any uncomfortable questions at a later date.

“It doesn’t matter. As I was saying, I usually have one tracker on my brother just in case he gets it into his head to face something he shouldn’t alone.” Edge didn’t quite roll through a red light. Better to not get pulled over by the Ebott police if he could help it, Embassy security certainly had enough on their hands right now without having to handle minor traffic violations. “Except, as I said, Sans gave it to me. Which means it’s only as accurate as Sans wants it to be and he has an unfortunate tendency to match my brother when it comes to deciding he knows what’s best for other people.”

A certain sourness fell over Blue’s expression as he nodded. As both a younger brother and a diplomat he was quite familiar with the ongoing irritation of overprotectiveness, even as he often did the same to his own brother.

“Which is why tonight I added my own tracker to Red’s jacket,” Edge said, “I would have followed that one first, but I was hoping not to reveal it so quickly if I could help it.”

Blue hummed thoughtfully. “You don’t think he’d be expecting that?”

“Of course, but I think he’d have a harder time finding and disabling it. Stretch made it for me.” The memory of his maniacal delight when Edge told him what it was for was briefly allowed, as well as his satisfied triumph when he presented Edge with a device that was the size of match head, tagged with near-microscopic hooks reminiscent of Velcro that were made to catch and cling to any fabric with a mere touch.

His design was with the Research and Development team now, minus the tracking device, as they worked to find a use for it that would allow for them to sell it to Humans, along with a dozen other things he’d created. So many of Stretch’s designs ended up that way, patents in which he was not named used as bargaining chips to help keep their coffers full. Stretch always declared that he didn’t work for the Embassy and that much was true. Instead, he worked for all of Monsterkind, that clever mind of his working to get them the funds they needed establish a place in this world. Only a handful of people even knew it and while Asgore could be foolishly soft-hearted on occasion, he wouldn’t considering paying a large ransom for any citizen on the street, even if they were married to Edge. Stretch was important past his twitter feed and it would be narrow not to suspect that these kidnappers somehow learned about it.

This time the tracker was leading them to the other side of town, down on the north side where the neighborhoods were filled with condemned houses and boarded up businesses. The only industry that thrived there were liquor shops whose windows were barred, manned by cashiers who spent their days behind a thick layer of bulletproof glass. His car was going to stand out like a sore thumb, but it couldn’t be helped. He wasn’t about to waste anymore time by stopping at the Embassy to borrow something more discreet.

At least he could worry less about reprisals from rolling through stop sign; the Ebott police presence on this side of town was minimal.

They made their way through the empty streets without incident. It was late even for the criminal element and a glance down the alleyways they passed showed them filled with shadows that could have been trash cans or curled up humans sleeping amongst them.

Some of the children from the Y lived on this side of town. Actually, most of them did and some of them might well be sleeping on the street right now…no. He couldn’t think of that at this moment, one thing at a time. He couldn’t afford to have his attention ping-ponging around inside his head, not when their destination was in sight.

This time, there were plenty of cars parked in a semi-circle around the building, floodlights pouring from their windows and flashers circling on their rooftops. Embassy security teams were made up of Monsters and Humans, and there were plenty out there in their uniforms. The Ebott police were going to throw a fit about jurisdiction, of that he had no doubt, but that was going to be a tomorrow problem for the Legal department and their FBI connections.

One of the security personnel approached the car as Edge pulled up, both hands raised in a gesture that could either mean for them stop or for him to offer surrender. Edge rolled down his window and he ducked his head inside the car. “Sir, your husband and his friend are both fine,” he said without preamble. “This area is closed off, you should—”

“If you even suggest that I should leave, you’re going to be reassigned to the elementary school playground for the foreseeable future,” Edge said evenly.

To his credit, the guard’s expression did not change. “Wouldn’t dream of it, sir. I was going to tell you to park over on the north side,” He pointed to a clearing off behind the other cars. “Your brother is waiting for you up at the entrance.”

“Of course he is,” Edge muttered. “I’m sure we’ve kept him quite entertained with his version of hide and seek.” But he obeyed the direction.

He parked a fair distance away from the circle of the security vehicles and got out of the car, Antwan and Blue at his heels. No one else approached, the rest of the security team keeping a respectable distance away out of either direction from their leaders or simple self-preservation.

Standing near the warehouse entrance and out of the glare of the floodlights was Red, burrowed into his jacket with a Styrofoam cup in his hand and a cigar smoldering between his teeth. As if warned by his instincts or, more likely, through the curling earpiece that was stuck into his audial canal, Red turned to them as they approached. His grin was irritatingly knowing and familiar, pleased as a punch to have held them off long enough that everything was finished but the cleanup.

And yet, it was also such a comfort to see that smirk that Edge nearly went weak at the knees. He wouldn’t be smiling that way if Stretch or Jeff were hurt, even his brother’s sadism had its limits.

“what took you so long, you stop for coffee?” Red snorted. He held up the Styrofoam cup. “coulda brought me some, the shit they’ve got here’d give battery acid a run for its cash.”

“Yes, of course, we got stuck in the drive-thru at Starbucks," Edge snapped. “You’ll forgive me for not bringing enough for everyone!”

Before he could even demand a report, Blue went on past him. Parking lot gravel scattered under his booted feet as he stormed up to Red and swatted the cup from his hands. He paid no mind to the coffee sloshing out over their shoes, his small fists knotting into Red’s jacket front as he hauled him in close to snarl out, “WHERE IS MY BROTHER?”

Even through layers of forced calm, Edge could still appreciate the sight. It was certainly an unusual one. Blue was shorter even than Red and he wore no oversized jacket to give his small frame an illusion of bulk. The overwhelming visual was that of a tabby cat attacking the local tiger and if it were anyone else, Edge might have tried to intercede. It was possible he could have saved their lives, if not their limbs, had it been anyone but their innermost circle.

As it was, he tensed until his brother said mildly, “easy on the threads, baby blue, this’s my favorite jacket. my only one, too. they’re still upstairs. they ain't hurt, so we're lettin' 'em come down in their own time. ain’t no need to rush ‘em. think they needed a mo’ to catch their breath, s’all."

Blue didn’t wait for another word. He let go of Red and turned to the building entrance, running towards it. No one tried to stop him, though Edge noted with approval that one of the security team peeled away from the others to follow him at a discreet distance.

Antwan looked as if he was considering chasing after Blue, but he hung back. With the suspicious nature of a good lawyer, he asked Red, "If they’re fine, why aren’t you with them?"

"sweet that you think me bein' there would be some kinda comfort," Red snorted. "already saw 'em. head on up if you want, we've already cleared away the rest of the honey bun’s little scooby traps." Red offered them a vicious slash of grin. "your liability might need a new rating, he's damn creative when he’s got a hair laid across his ass just right."

That was enough for Antwan. He headed off in the direction Blue had, leaving Edge alone with his brother.

Edge waited until Antwan disappeared before he asked, low, "Where are they?"

Red only looked at him with mild reproach. “toldja, upstairs. what, you think i’d bullshit you on that?”

“I don’t mean them.”

Red was shaking his head before Edge finished. “nuh-uh, nope, not a chance. you ain’t gettin’ a look at those asswipes outside a courtroom. you’re keeping your toes behind the yellow line on this one, sneaking backstage ain’t happening, little brother.”

“I need to see—" Edge began heatedly.

“you fuckin’ don’t. you want to see and your wants ain’t on the list, not this time!” Red lowered his voice, “i get you wanted firecrackers and this is endin’ on a wet fart for you, but i ain’t explainin’ to the honey bun that i stood here and let you add a fresh shovelful of xp to your load on his account. so whyn’t you head upstairs now and go get your liability, huh? take him home and let us handle this, you can read the report tomorrow, yeah?”

Suspicion filtered through Edge’s strained temper, cooling it. Something of his brother’s little speech rang wrong to Edge; it was too consolatory towards him for their normal tastes, something was off here. Now that he was looking at it without his frustrations clouding things, there was also the matter of him leaving Stretch and Jeff alone; comforting presence or not, it was difficult to believe that Red would let them out of his sight unnecessarily. As shrewdly as he could still manage, Edge took a closer look at his brother.

Red did not have any LV but that certainly didn’t mean he had no trauma. His tells were subtle, unnoticeable to anyone who hadn’t watched them develop straight from the gutter. Eye lights slightly narrower than normal, his cigar clenched between too-tight teeth, the rare crackle of crimson magic arcing across his fingertips like a stray bolt of lightning.

There was something Red wasn’t saying, but there was no point in trying to fish it out now; he’d need better bait and Edge already had one in the net to deal with.

Better to leave it as it was. Even if the issue festered, his brother was unlikely to allow it to affect his work. It was difficult not to lay a hand on his brother’s shoulder, however briefly. Edge resisted the absurd impulse. It would not be appreciated. Unwanted concern was more likely to make things worse.

Instead, Edge nodded curtly and headed for the entrance. His boots clacked loudly on the cement floors. Security was milling in the hallways, others crouching over scorch marks and a strange overflowing mass of what looked like multicolored foam oozing down one side of the stairwell. Superfluous information, none of it mattered. He followed the subtle cues from the security personnel, the glances and occasional points that came without questions leading him up the rickety stairs to the second floor of offices and storerooms.

On the landing, a low sound caught his attention, a familiar voice crooning softly. Edge nearly skidded to a stop outside one of the rooms, looking in the open doorway to see the Swap brothers sitting together on the floor, holding each other tightly.

“hey, bro, shh, i’m okay. they didn’t hurt us, sans, i’m fine,” Stretch was saying. Blue was in his lap, clinging like the child he no longer was, and Stretch was rubbing a gentle hand down his brother’s back, leaving behind sooty streaks. He looked up, soft white eye lights catching on Edge still standing in the doorway. His cheekbones were wet, his wide sockets drowning in tears. Stretch scrubbed his face with the sleeve of a shirt that was not his own and managed a tremulous smile. "hey, handsome, miss me?"

He’d seen Stretch only hours ago, dressed in clothing stolen from Edge’s side of the closet and offering flirtatious kisses before walking out their front door. Now he was in baggy clothing that belong to neither of them, the shirt nearly hanging off his narrow shoulders and his bare legs sticking out from the bottoms of the too-short pants to leave the delicate bones of his feet filthy and exposed. All of him was filthy, his pale tears left clean tracks down his cheekbones and Edge did not know what Stretch had done to free them both, what he’d endured until he could., couldn’t begin to imagine it. Or perhaps he simply did not want to, and the precariously thin layer of Edge’s calm finally began to crack. All his desperate worries surged in through that first line of weakness to fill his face and then downward to soak into his aching soul.

"Don't—" Edge choked on the word, unsure what he was even going to say. Don't joke, don't dismiss this, don't ever leave me. He walked over and fell to his knees beside them, hardly feeling the warning jolt from his leg as he pulled them both into his arms rougher than he'd meant. Unnecessary, Stretch came easily, willingly, settling into his embrace exactly as if he belonged there, and brought his brother along for the ride.

"hey, i'm okay," Stretch said, pitching his voice for them both. He rested his forehead against Edge’s, settling a gentle hand on his sharp cheekbone with a sigh. "we’re okay, babe. it's okay."

"It is not okay by any stretch of the imagination,” Edge said hoarsely. His own hands were moving over Stretch, cautious of his lack of gloves even as he convinced himself that this was no dream, these well-loved bones were real. “And if you make a pun on that, you can ride home with my brother."

“wouldn’t joke about it, babe.” Then Stretch promptly made it a lie as he teased, “hope i get extra credit for not stretching things out, actually, ‘cause i sure didn’t get my ‘stay out of trouble’ badge tonight.”

“Pappy,” Blue moaned. His grip in the awful shirt Stretch was wearing twisted as if his disgust needed a physical outlet, “honestly, must you?”

Edge barked a laugh, hard and pained, but in his soul there was only giddy lightness. “No, you certainly did not. I would say any claim that you didn’t find trouble would be stretching things.”

Another groan from Blue was interrupted by a scuffing sound behind them. Edge jerked around, but it was only Antwan holding Jeff in his own tight embrace, whatever whispers between them too low to be heard. Edge hadn’t even noticed them when he first came in and the faint guilt from that was too small to be borne, already swallowed up in overwhelming relief.

Safe, they were both safe and unharmed, and Edge set his anger back, holding it in reserve. No matter what his brother thought, this was not over, and he would not be relegated to the injured group to recover, not this time.

But first, he was taking his love home.

tbc

[alpaca-writes]

I have this habit of being very detailed in writing- hopefully not too much that it bores anyone to death. Personally, I love detailing OC's and as many aspects of them as I can before exposing these poor things to pain- almost like a slow-burn for torture, I suppose?

But then it occurs to me as well that maybe I'm just writing a normal story, with villians and heroes and anti-heroes but with more emphasis on the pains they go through.

Oh well, here is my newest creation-

CW: None quite yet. Some strong language, I suppose

MYSTICS

CHAPTER ONE: A NEW JOB

Lyrem Nomadus busied himself, flipping through resumes that bored him half to death and then a little more. Usually, he wouldn’t dare to look for anyone to share his space with. The business of curating, refurbishing and selling occultic items was dreadfully interesting to the general public and the last thing he was looking for was someone new to devalue it with their own useless knowledge and presumed ‘psychic’ abilities. The last two days were full of just that. He pinched the bridge of his wide nose as a mild headache came on- the last interview was a particularly painful thought.

A young man, with a heavily freckled, pale face, and round framed glasses poured over his collection of rocks near the front entrance, started spouting nonsense that Lyrem had little patience for.

“Ooh, malachite. I heard that stuff’s toxic, y’know,” he spoke with little regard for Lyrem standing near the cash register- an old charcoal grey thing with large buttons and made a noise like a classic ‘ka-ching’ just before the receipts printed out and the drawer popped open.

“Hm,” Lyrem hummed unamused, hoping it would prompt some style of professionalism from his prospective interviewee. It did not.

The young man continued to look around the store, finding one hematite pendulum specifically fascinating. Then he found his attention drawn to a display of elegantly designed tarot cards. The young man picked one of them up, studying the hierophant with mild interest.

“Please do not touch the merchandise.” Lyrem cut in.

The young man placed the card back down on the glass shelf, slightly askew to the rest on display. He cleared his throat and approached the register, finally.

“Did you bring a copy of your resume?” Lyrem asked him, knowing what the answer likely was, as there was nothing in his hands. He wore a long black trench coat over ratted, torn jeans and a plain tee shirt. There was one chain dangling from a pocket somewhere.

“Yessir,” he answered.

Oh, perhaps this boy had a hope after all.

After reaching into his back pants pocket with effort, the resume was presented, folded into six sections as a single piece of paper. A folded and clearly used napkin fell out onto the floor. Lyrem breathed deeply, took the folded resume, and smiled.

“Thank you for applying, but I am afraid you are not quite the right fit for this position,” Lyrem didn’t bother opening the paper, and instead tossed it over his own shoulder. It landed directly into the bin behind him.

“I-I’m sorry? You haven’t interviewed me yet”- his eyes widened with the confusion of the sudden rejection.

“Hm. I have interviewed you plenty, and I tell you now, I’d have a mangey dog run my store before you.” He didn’t mean for his tone to be so casual. Lyrem blinked.

The poor boy took a moment to process the insult before glaring across at the owner of Mystics ruthlessly. Suddenly, his fist pounded the desk, sending a short tremor through the wood.

“Anybody with half a brain could do this job! For fuck sake’s, man!”

Lyrem looked at him with a simple eyebrow raised and cocked his head toward the door. He was tired these days. The less he chose to care about children’s tantrums, the better. The boy left in a huff, and clearly, he tried slamming the jingling door behind him as he stepped out onto the street, but the spring against the top disallowed such havoc, and bounced slowly back. It closed finally with a light click, and the young man was gone.

Releasing the pinch from his nose, Lyrem sighed. He didn’t know which one was worse, that boy who left a trail of disrespect in his wake, or the woman from the previous day who was convinced that she could speak with his mother in the afterlife. The sullen woman wore gems aplenty on her fingers and hanging from ropes and chains around her neck. The wire wrapped amethysts in particular, caused her to look like an easter egg more than a living person. She didn’t take it too kindly when he explained that the stones around her finger were not a genuine turquoise either. By the end of it all, she was rather happy to be finished.

He shuddered, remembering the strong scent of patchouli she left that seemed to linger within his store, even now.. He didn’t have an aversion to patchouli, or to amethyst or turquoise, or even easter eggs… at least he hadn’t one before two days ago.

The rest of the applicants were all the same. Wanted a job, wanted something easy, and for experience- and all the time, Lyrem would ask himself: “experience for what, exactly?” Instead of asking the question aloud, he’d thank the person, and politely send them on their way out, with a promise to call them when he had made a decision.

He wasn’t planning to call anyone.

It was a Tuesday afternoon. The streets would be bustling past four, and if he wanted to avoid it and give himself a break from the eye strain, he would need to go for his coffee now, or not have one until after six. The horror.

He flipped over the sign on the door. It was one of those apologetic ones- as though it would stop a person from throwing a brick through a window for being closed on a weekday. Lyrem locked the door and turned to his right. There was a small local place not far from the corner of the intersection that he had grown accustomed to. If they had the raspberry scones today, he decided he may take one of those as a treat. Lost in thought, he crossed in front of a small white car making its left turn. The car stopped, though no horn was sounded as the engine suddenly died inexplicably next to him.

Lyrem walked around the car and poked his head through the passenger-side window which was open for the cool breeze. The driver looked back at him, his hands gripping the wheel too tightly.

“Pedestrians have the right of way, you know,” he mentioned calmly. Then, he tapped the top of the car twice. It restarted. “Drive a little safer, now.”

The driver suddenly remembered that the car was still in gear, and he moved along, crossing the intersection and left Lyrem behind like everything he had just done was part of some fever dream. He chuckled lightly and turned back down the block.

It was a sun-filled day, without a cloud in the sky, and it was a warm one too. Despite the fact that it was still early April, and the city had only just started waking from its hibernation from the cold, the streets were filling quickly with people.

His coffee took a while, which he forgave only because the end result was quite often a perfection, but he was nearly pouting at the counter as the spot for raspberry scones were replaced with one with blueberries instead. Losing his appetite, his eyes drifted around the rustic establishment. The sounds of a classical guitar filled the room with the unmistakable talents of the virtuoso, Andrés Segovia. It was a nice change from the sounds of folk rock and boy bands. The coffee shop was only getting better and better with age, it seemed.

Against the wall, a cork board was decorated in haphazardly placed notes. Some notes were simply inspirational or funny, some were searching for students for taekwondo or guitar, advertisements for plays and musicals at the local theatre were spread along the outer edges begging to be noticed, and there were a few job postings as well from other nearby establishments, restaurants, including one from a pet store.

He shouldn’t have tried putting an ad on Kijiji at all- not when the perfect people were right here all along. Like Icarus, Lyrem flew too close to the sun, and was burned by the troubling rays of stupidity that came through his door from delving into the ruddy depths of online job hunting. Never again would he make such a mistake.

“Lyre!”

Nodding, he retrieved his cup, and turned back toward the door. He nearly collided with another person, standing close up to the cork board and huffed, not spilling a drop.

“Excuse me,” he muttered.

“Apologies.” The person gave him little notice, but moved off to the side with ease to allow him through.

He furrowed his brows. What was it that was causing him to pause just before reaching the door? There was just… something… off.

It took him a moment before hearing it- the faintest humming to Segovia’s España, Spanish Dance No.10 in G coming from the person who apologized to him for being in the way. Each note timed perfectly to the sound from the speakers in the corner. He turned his head, to a particularly high note, the humming stopped to be replaced with fingers tapping in unison to the notes against their thigh.

“Guitar?” He asked, suddenly beside them. He studied the board also.

“No,” they replied. “Just looking for a job.”

He nodded, grimacing. Raising his hopes one final time, he ventured.

“I have potential work for you. I am hiring at my store’s location down the street. If you are interested.”

“That seems coincidental.” They replied unemphatically sifting through the other job postings there, knowing they were not currently dressed for success. “What store?”

“Mystics. It’s along twenty-third and”-

“-seventeenth, yes, I know the place.”

“Then you’re hired.”

They stopped, and brought their hands down from the board, and turned to stare their deep brown eyes into his of deep hazel- to finally spare a glance to the person wanting their attention.

“I don’t have time for practical jokes- or human trafficking, for that matter,” they said with insistence.

“I’m not joking, and I am definitely not in the business of human trafficking”- Lyrem stuttered incredulously. “I thought you said you knew the place.”

“I do.” They replied. “I’ve just never been in. It’s just one of those ridiculous shops for people to waste their money on colourful rocks. There’s literally a river just under the bridge half a mile from here- infinite supply for none of the coin.”

Taking them by surprise, he laughed.

“You will be the worst salesperson.” He said. More seriously, he added, “look, I really am in need of a person to take care of a few evening shifts and the weekends, I pay well above the average rate for any local retail store, and I’d be able to supply you with health benefits.”

This sudden bargain seemed to be interesting enough for the person to distance themselves from the cork board.

“I’m still finishing high school- under eighteen- is that a problem?” They asked. “It’s been a problem everywhere else”-

“Not a problem.”

They nodded.

“When do I start?”

[allagents]

What Should I look For In An Area When Moving House?

Essential Guide For Moving House?

So your moving house, maybe from rented accommodation onto the first rung of the property ladder? Or you are a seasoned mortgage owner and are looking for the next homestead? Or it could be your moving house to upsize or downsize? Whatever your reason for moving, what you really need to consider first is what areas you are interested in moving to.

Maybe your current rental accommodation has been in an area that never really suited you, maybe your flat of choice was actually a choice made for you due to financial constraints, but now you are in a position to venture onwards and upwards. Or possibly it could be the opposite, you are moving house because your area is now pricing itself out of your comfort zone and so you’re planning to move slightly farther away. Not far enough not to enjoy the perks of the area but just far enough away to enable you not to be restricted by the ever-growing costs of living there!

We all know that buying/moving house can be exciting but it’s also very nerve-wracking. It’s a big decision and there is so much to think about – first time buyer or not!  Buying a property is also a massive investment, so it’s important you feel confident and happy with the area you intend to move to.  Preparing, researching and asking lots of questions will enable you to make the correct informed choice.

House viewings – take your time, ask lots of questions and don’t go alone!

Make sure you do this more than once. A few visits are the norm.  Potential buyers nowadays want to view their potential new home in the daytime, evening and at the weekend, especially if it’s located in a busy area of town. Don’t worry that you’re being an inconvenience to the sellers, most if not all sellers will (or should) expect this nowadays.

Remember you are buying a property – so this is a BIG deal –  don’t feel uncomfortable asking the seller lots of questions or spending time thoroughly inspecting each room. Remember the purpose is for you to be able to make an informed decision about whether to proceed with the purchase or not.   Ask about the neighbours.  If the property is near the main road ask about the noise levels at night.  If the home is near late nights shops or any late-night venues ask about their opening hours/closing times etc, and if there have been any issues with these venues in the past. Most vendors will be truthful as they will know that if you are asking these questions of the seller, then you will more than likely be doing other research too.  Afterwards, let them know you are planning to explore the neighbourhood to find out what amenities are nearby. They will more than likely give you more information on the surrounding area and add to your bank of information on the area you are considering moving to.

If you’re buying as a part of a couple/family then chances are you will be accompanied on any viewings, scouting of the area and general fact-finding mission for a potential area for relocating.  However, if this is a sole purchase/venture then it’s a good idea to bring a friend. It’s safer to attend a viewing with a partner or friend and it’s also easier to identify and/or raise any issues with the property with the seller when you have a supportive person by your side.

The local amenities – have this area got what I need?

Ensuring your home is close to local amenities, good schools, and public transport links etc will make you and your family’s day-to-day life much easier.  No frantic rush in the morning to make time for a long commute to the school or/and the workplace makes all the difference to everyone’s mood!   It’s also a good selling point for the property in the future, as what attracts you is bound to attract other buyers too!

If you have young children and/or pets you may want to be near the local park for long walks and fun in the summer. School-age children will possibly want to be close to a library or their after school clubs.  If you have teenagers they may consider good sporting facilities nearby, a gym, cinema etc as their priorities.  Keep all this in mind when moving house as these are the very simple, yet very important, factors that bring ease and happiness to everyday family life.

Be honest and pragmatic about things…..

Even if you are bowled over with the house, it’s crucial that you take a step back and look at the surroundings and area where the house is located.  The area where you choose to live will make such an impact on your life, possibly an even bigger impact than the bricks and mortar of the house. When evaluating if this home could well be your next happy homestead please remember to list any/all negatives and positives and weigh them up and consider what is right for you.

We all require different ‘boxes’ to be ticked in life to be happy.  However, you also don’t want to get hung up on minor things like somebody’s un-mowed lawn further along the street, or a barking dog who just happens to be out walking past with its owner when you are viewing.  These are neighbour/ close living issues that are part of everyday life, so you have to be able to separate real problematic issues from normal day-to-day living.

Neighbouring houses with imposing structures, or with possible planning permission to extend….?

While it’s natural for building work/extensions to be made to people’s homes over the years, we are all aware of neighbouring feuds involving intrusive extensions/noisy builders for months on end which can negatively affect neighbours, and in turn blight neighbour relationships.  This can be because of many issues, possibly an extension is blocking natural light to a neighbouring house, or indeed in some cases even access their home.

These issues in turn cause animosity/ bad feeling/ arguments and very often litigation, court cases and very expensive court fees!  So it’s a good idea to also look around the neighbouring houses – the back gardens and courts.  Get a feel for what, if any, building work is going on or has been completed recently.  You can also ask the local council offices with regards to what is allowed and not allowed in your area with regards to extensions/planning permission etc.  It’s better to be forewarned of any possible building work that a close neighbour has planned. Our Courts and Planning/Land Laws are there to protect all house owners as much as possible, but to save yourself any possible future anguish and expense do your homework first!

What can we do in the area for fun?

Well for children/family time you may well want to check out any Local Events in your area via local websites in your area and sign up for updates.  Check out the local library, or the local newsagents notice board! Coffee shops etc will also usually advertise local events such as Festivals, Fun Days at the Local Park, Community Jumble Sales etc.  For local swimming activities/ summer clubs etc, again the local libraries/schools will be able to give you information.

For the older members of the family, you will want to know where the nearest restaurant is, the local bar/wine bar, or the most popular coffee shop.  Nightlife and late-night entertainment – is this more than a short taxi ride away?  Is that important to you?  Remember what is important to you/ your family might not be what others would find important however this is about you and your family.  So talk/discuss all aspects of your move with everyone who is involved. Make sure you are all on the same page.  This way the ‘big move’ will much be less stressful for all!

Ok – so I’ve made my decision, what do I do next?

We recommend always to seek professional guidance.  If you’re looking for a fast house sale so you can move into your new home quickly, contact the experienced professionals at allAgents and we can get that house move on the go asap! Please remember that having all the necessary and correct information from a trustworthy and reliable source ensures well-informed decision making at EVERY stage.  We at allAgents ARE that trustworthy and reliable source.

There are many resources on our site to help assist you every step of the way through renting your property and all that that entails, thus ensuring a smooth transition and a successful outcome.

Your ‘moving home’ experience doesn’t need to be stressful…

Not with allAgents on board!

[jamielea81]

Conversations

Chapter 1 

Description: You accompany your friends on a day trip to Animal Kingdom Theme Park where you meet Scott Evans by chance. This one afternoon leads to a year long friendship with both Chris and Scott over text messages and phone calls. 

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Warning: Cursing

A/N: Welcome to my new series! If you’re new here, thanks for stopping by, if you’re a returning friend, you know right off the bat this will be a slow burn. That’s just how I roll. There will be lots of flirting, cuteness, snark, and some angst. I recommend looking up a ride through of Expedition Everest if you’ve never been on it. A cast member is what Disney calls their employees. I think that’s all you need to know for now. Tag list is open, please send an ask. Likes, comments, and reblogs are wonderful.

“My feet hurt,” you whined, sticking out your bottom lip for added affect. “Go on without me. Just promise me you’ll remember me always.”

“So dramatic. Go sit down, you big baby.” Jana said, giving you a light shove.

The two of you were just outside of Pandora at Disney’s Animal Kingdom Theme Park waiting for her husband Brooks to use the restroom. It had already been a long day. You rarely visited the parks during the day anymore unless family or out of state friends were in town. After moving to Florida from the Midwest for college, you decided to stay. The heat was something you never truly got used to, but with so many career opportunities in the Orlando area it was hard to pack up after graduation. Twelve years later and you were still here.

Jana and Brooks had a rare weekday off and begged you to join them at the park. Because of the heat and the crowds, you generally avoided the parks. Unfortunately, their idea of a park day started at park open. Today the park happened to open at eight in the morning. You compromised and told them you’d meet the two of them at nine. There was slight protest from Jana but she was happy you were even going.

Brooks had been your friend for the last seven years. Taking a job at the Orlando Sentinel was unexpected, but it turned out to be quite the dream job. On your first day, you managed to get turned around and ended up on the floor that held mostly sales and advertisement employees. Brooks took pity on you which you took for flirting until his girlfriend called while he was walking you to your cubicle. That girlfriend later became his wife and your best friend, so it worked out for the best.

“You know I’m scared of that ride anyway. It goes backwards for Christ sakes. Backwards,” you muttered again shaking your head.

You’ve only ridden Expedition Everest twice and that was more than enough. Disney has great theming, but even a great attraction can’t make you want to ride it. It’s first flaw is how high the coaster goes up. The second flaw is at one point it goes backwards. And the third and final flaw is the huge drop. Yeah, your stomach did not agree with riding it. The wait time was posted for seventy-five minutes and you had no desire to stand in line that long for something you didn’t want to do.

“Y/N, your ridiculous. It’s a roller coaster. At Disney. Children ride it,” Jana said.

Brooks caught up to the two of you, intertwining his fingers with Jana.

“She doesn’t want to go?” he asked.

“That’s a big nope,” you replied popping the p.

The three you walked across the bridge leaving Pandora and into Discovery Island. Tiffin’s was a nice restaurant on Discovery island, but a little on the expensive side, so you hadn’t dined there. But Tiffin’s had a bar called Nomad Lounge with an outdoor covered patio that you very much had visited. Several times to in fact. With its dark wood floors and ceiling, billowy curtains that were always only partially tied back, large wicker couches with colorful pillows and small intimate tables that lined the patio railing looking out into a sea of trees, it was your favorite spot. Over the last year it had become increasingly popular, but you still loved it and visited it for a drink on every outing to the park.

“You two go ahead and stand in line for over an hour. I’m going to sit my butt here,” you said pointing to the lounge. “Let me know when you’re done and I’ll meet you.”

Brooks rolled his eyes at you, pulling Jana along who kept turning back to give you sad eyes.

When they were out of sight, you walked onto the curved patio looking for an open table. You passed an open couch, but you always felt selfish taking one up for just yourself, so you continued on. Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be much else open, being that if was after two and most people had the same idea as you in needing a break. Turning yourself around to head back to that couch you passed near the entry, a couple stood up from a small table. You waited patiently for them to grab their backpacks and bags before quickly sitting down on one of two chairs pushed into the table. You picked up the menu quickly passing the selection of beers. deciding it was more of a cocktail afternoon. A Hightower Rita with its mixture of tequila and watermelon sounded perfect.

You set the menu down on the table, grabbing your phone from your jean shorts pocket, to post a few pictures of the day onto Instagram. When the server had not stopped by to clear the table and take your order, you opened your e-mail. A few sales ads, a forwarded e-mail from your mother. People still send those? And a new assignment. The Jonas Brothers at Amway Center next month. You actually liked a few songs off their new album, so you were pretty excited for this concert.

When the server still hadn’t been by, you let out an annoyed huff. Sure, Jana and Brooks were still in line with a long wait to go, but at this rate you weren’t going to be able to finish said drink by the time they were done.

You stood up and looked around from your spot, not wanting to stray too far from the table and lose it to the vultures circling the patio for a spot of their own. Not seeing a server in sight, you huffed out loud again before plopping yourself back in the chair. At least it was padded so it didn’t hurt with how fast you dropped.

You heard a slight chuckle from the sectional couch that sat against the restaurant’s outer wall in front of you. Choosing to ignore it because the lounge was packed, it was really none of your business what was happening at other tables.

“You’re at Disney, smile,” you heard a man’s voice say.

This time you did look up and sure enough, a man sitting across from you was looking directly at you. He was sitting with two other guys who were in a loud conversation and completely ignoring what was apparently happening.

“I’m sorry?” you asked. You couldn’t help the bitch face you were apparently sporting.

He laughed again. “No, I’m sorry. I just can’t help noticing the huffing and puffing that’s going on,” he said.

You took a breath and tried to relax. “It’s fine. I just hate when people say smile, as if life stops just because you’re in a theme park. I just really need a drink and for whatever reason, the server is on break or quit or whatever.”

He laughed again before standing up. “What do you want?”

“Huh?” you asked a little puzzled as to what this stranger was doing.

“I asked what you would like to drink. I’ll go grab it for you.”

“No. No, no. You don’t have to do that. I’m sure he or she will come back at some point this month,” you said, slouching in your seat.

“Just tell me. I’m going to get one anyway.” He crossed his arms and tapped a foot.

It was your turn to laugh. “A Hightower Rita. And thank you,” you said offering him a small smile.

This was quite the surprise. Generally, strangers weren’t nice for no reason.

A few minutes later he was back, placing the drink in front of you. Reaching into your packet to grab out a ten dollar bill, you heard him clear his throat. You looked up to see he took the seat next to you. His very own Hightower Rita in front of him.

“My treat,” he said, giving you a wink.

“Thank you, really,” you replied. You offered him your hand. “Y/N, by the way.”

“Scott,” he offered, shaking your hand as well. “So, do you normally come to Animal Kingdom in a grumpy mood?”

What a smartass.

“I haven’t been grumpy all day, I’m just tired. And thirsty,” you replied.

You lifted the glass and held it out to Scott. The two of you clinking your glasses together before taking a generous sip.

“I’m not on vacation, I live here. My friends dragged me out of bed to come with them, so it’s been a long day.”

“So, a local huh?”

“Yeah, by way of Minnesota. Came for college and never left.”

He nodded his head in understanding. “And where are these friends of yours?” he asked.

“In line for Expedition Everest.”

“You don’t like roller coasters?”

“I do. Just not that one. I’ve ridden the others several times. Big Thunder Mountain is one of my favorites. I just can’t handle that one.”

“Scott! What are you doing? Leave the poor woman alone,” one of his friends from the table shouted.

“I’m making new friends. Mind ya business,” he replied.

You chuckled at him shaking your head.

“What do you do here, Y/N?” he asked.

“Here in the park?”

“Really?” he deadpans. “What do you do for a living?”

“My apologizes,” you laughed. “I’m a writer. A little bit of everything, but mainly I review entertainment in the greater Orlando area. Theme parks for instance.” You waved your hand around. “Like a new ride opening or a hotel or restaurant. Also concerts and events that come to town. I pretty much can make up my own schedule that way. Every once in awhile I’ll write a piece for me, like a think piece that I’ll send out and if I’m lucky, various magazines and newspapers pick it up. That’s what I prefer to do, but it doesn’t pay the bills as well.”

“That actually sounds like a lot of fun. My family and I love coming to the parks, so it would be cool to be invited to grand openings,” he said.

You nodded your head in agreement.  “What about you?”

“I’m an actor. Nothing exciting,” he says shrugging his shoulders which enlists a laugh from you.

“Obviously,” you tease. “Are they your family?” you ask pointing to the two guys sitting on the sectional. Both have ballcaps on backwards that you almost asked if the bros were his family.

“Yeah, that’s some of them. It’s a big group, they’re around somewhere. I got stuck with the weak links,” he jokes. A small smile tugging on his lips. “I’m having way more fun talking to you.”

Shaking your head at his comments, you take a peek at your phone to check the time. It had only been about a half an hour, so you had plenty of time to relax.

“Let’s do a shot!” he exclaims out of nowhere.

“What?” you ask. But he’s already out of his seat, heading back inside before you even get the word out.

Scott’s relatives give you a look and all you can do is quirk your mouth and shrug your shoulders.

A minute later he’s back sans shots. “They’ll bring them out,” he mutters as he sits back down.

The allusive server appears a few minutes later with a tray of two shot glasses, limes slices, and a salt shaker. She sets the contents on the small table and asks if you need anything else. You ask for a water and she promises she’ll be right back.

Scott picks up his glass and holds it up. “To new friends.”

“To new friends,” you repeat before downing the tequila in one go.

You quickly grab a lime slice and suck on it before grabbing another. You hadn’t done a shot in so long; you feel way out of practice.

The server does return with a couple of glasses of water shortly after you’ve taken the shot. When she asks if we need anything else, Scott starts to order another round of shots but you cut him off.

“One and done, buddy.”

He laughs and tells your server the two of you are set. As odd as this day has been, meeting this new “friend” has been a welcome change.

“Scott! Let’s go do something.” One of the bros calls out. “I already texted Sarah, she’s on her way.”

He waves him off and turns back to you. “Let’s go ride Expedition Everest.”

You look at him like he’s crazy. “No way. I already told you, I don’t ride that coaster.”

“You’ve got liquid courage now and you’ll be riding with me. I promise you’ll have fun.”

Shaking your head, you look back at your phone. “My friends are probably still not on it. The wait time is posted at seventy-five minutes.”

“We got an in,” he says so casually that you have no idea what he’s talking about.

Out of no where, a plaid wearing Disney cast member appears asking the other two guys where’d they like to go.  

“Expedition Everest. Please.” Scott interrupts.

“That works,” the bearded bro says, getting up and flipping his cap around.

“And we’ve got one more joining us, Sarah,” Scott said.

Bearded bro raises his eyebrows and Scott just smiles.

Before you know what the hell you are doing, your walking with Scott, Sarah, and the two bros. Weaving in and out of crowds as she leads. You make it to Expedition Everest and enter through the exit because apparently Sarah can do that. The four of you are ushered into the last two rows to wait for the next train to arrive. Just as it pulls up, Scott moves behind you, getting out of the waiting row.

“I can’t ride in the very back. It makes me sick. Chris, switch with me.”

Chris groans, but comes to stand right behind you.

You’re on the verge of a panic attack as you look over to Scott in the next row.

“Y-you were supposed to be my ride bu-buddy,” you barely manage to get out.

You didn’t want to go on this damn ride anyway and now you weren’t even sitting with your almost friend. Now you’re stuck with a stranger who hadn’t even spoke to you yet.

“You’ll be fine. This is my brother, he’s a good ride buddy. I’ll be right in front of you anyway,” Scott says. He reaches over the barrier to squeeze your hand but it does little to comfort.

The train car pulls up and you’re climbing inside your seat pulling the lap bar up and pushing it into place. You pull on it at least three times to make sure it’s in place.

You look over to Scott’s brother who you know can tell you’re freaking out. He offers you his hand and you shake it.

“Chris,” he says.

“Y/N,” you reply.

He smiles and it suddenly dawns on you who you’re sitting with. Why Sarah escorted your group through the park. Why you were able to enter through the exit and get on the ride almost immediately. Chris is Chris Evans. Actor. Movie star. Whatever you want to call him. You’re pretty sure you follow him on Twitter.

Jesus.

In your line of work, you’ve met plenty of celebrities before. Some at various Disney grand openings, others have been musicians for concerts and albums you have reviewed. But this is different. You take a breath and try to go back to freaking out about the ride rather than about who you are sitting next to.

The coaster takes off, winding around a grass and tree lined path. All too soon you are ascending up “the mountain.” You keep your gaze straight ahead at the back of Scott’s head rest. Every few seconds he looks back and gives you a smile. You’re too frozen to return it, but that doesn’t deter his. It’s honestly a smooth ride and it doesn’t take long to get to the top where the “broken tracks” are. You hear the train switching tracks right before your hurtled backwards down the track into darkness. You can’t help but scream the whole way while you hear Chris laughing next to you. The train comes to a stop again, this time in the dark and you see the shadow of the Yeti against the interior wall. The train starts to move forward and you see the outside light in the distance. You death grip the lap bar and try to reach for the side of your seat with your other hand, but instead you grab Chris’ hand. He gives yours a squeeze back and doesn’t let go.

“I’ve got you,” he says just as you hit the big drop.

Your eyes are plastered closed and all you can do is scream. You don’t dare open them until you start to feel the coaster slow down. You let go of Chris’ hand and hesitantly look over at him. He’s smiling at you with a big cheesy grin.

“I’m sorry about the whole grabbing your hand thing.”

Your face feels like it’s on fire and you’re sure your hair is a mess.

“S’no problem. Really,” he replies.

The two of you climb out of your row and find Sarah waiting for you. She leads the four of you out of the ride, stopping off to the side to see where they would like to go next.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Scott asks.

“Dude, I’m never going on it again. No chance.”

He laughs and throws his arm around you. “Just drink more next time.”

“Not even then.” You shake your head. “Listen, I should probably find my friends. I want to say thanks, but I don’t feel like I should.”

He starts to laugh and it’s pretty contagious that you can’t help but join in.

“It was nice meeting you, Y/N,” Scott said.

“You too.” You give a wave to the three of them. “Enjoy the rest of your vacation,” you call back as you start to walk away.

 You were in the middle of writing an article about for the Sentinel when your phone rang. Generally your phone only rang during business hours and even that was rare. E-mails and text messages were pretty much standard in your day. Seeing that it was Jana that was calling was even stranger. She probably hadn’t actually called you in five years. You mind instantly goes negative thinking something must be wrong. Maybe Brooks was deathly ill or they were in a car wreck.

“Jana?” you answer, trying to keep your voice as even as possible.

“You bitch!”

What the fuck?

“Excuse you,” you reply.

“You fucking met Chris Evans and on top of that, you rode Everest!” Jana shouts.

“Oh yeah, that. Um, how’d you find out about that?”

“It’s on Twitter. I just tagged you in it.”

She did what now?

“Tagged me in what exactly?”

“The ride photo. It’s of you and Chris holding hands on the ride. What’s that all about and why didn’t you tell me?”

You sighed. “It’s a long story. Can I tell you tomorrow over coffee?”

“You better. I’m still mad at you. I thought I was your best friend,” she muttered.

“And you are. I promise I’ll explain tomorrow,” you said.

“Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 It had been three days since your trip to the park where you met the Evans brothers. You were surprised that photo even made it on the internet. You were also surprised Jana even saw it.

You opened your Twitter app and searched Chris Evans. Sure enough, one of the top trending stories was that ride photo. It was a mix of “how is she related?” to “is that his new girlfriend?” You didn’t dare click into any of the tweets because you knew they would be full of negative comments about you. It didn’t help that your face was super scrunched up with your eyes closed. Leave it to your best friend to recognize you.

Within a matter of minutes, your notifications started to go off like crazy. You had gained at least one hundred new followers, but one stuck out the most. Scott Evans. You added him back, remembering how nice he was and the drinks he bought you. You closed the app, not wanting to deal with the notifications any longer. Besides, that article wasn’t going to finish itself.

Right before climbing into bed, you checked your Twitter account and saw that you had another 100 followers and one new direct message. How people quickly figured out it was you in the ride photo, just by Jana tagging you in one post made no sense. You updated your security preferences so that people would have to request to follow you instead being able to do so automatically.

Clicking open the message, you were surprised to see it was from Scott Evans. Sure, he added you, but he was messaging you now?

Scott: “Hey grumpy Disney girl. How’s my drinking buddy?”

Why did it feel like life was about to get a whole lot more interesting? Or is complicated a better word?

Chapter 2

Tag list: @tanelle83​ @pinknerdpanda​ @allaboutthebooz​ @estillion14​ @panicfob​ @patzammit​ @heartislubbingdubbing​ @collinsstanharbour​ @twittytelly​ @thefandomzoneisdangerous​ @linki-locks11​ @mywinterwolf​ @ab-baybay​ @rda1989​ @impalaimages​ @mustangshelby04​ @bellaireland1981​ @carolina-thiell​ @sullyosully @straightforwardly​ @torntaltos​ @denise1605​ @mcuclintasha​ @southerngracela​ @iam-cj @humandasaster​

[raleighliving]

Pros and Cons of College Life in Raleigh

Last time I wrote about colleges in Raleigh generally and how it’s not like other college towns. This time, I’m gonna be speaking a bit more about the pros and cons so it should be a little more specific.

Before that, however, I wanna make this clear: Raleigh is not somewhere you should move to for college unless the school you’ve applied to is your dream school.  

In terms of academics, there are better choices than NC State or WPU. If you wanna study biology or medicine, schools like UNC-W or Duke would probably be a better fit for instance. If you live in Raleigh, don’t pick a school just because it’s close; if you live in another part of the states and you want to attend an east coast school there are options all along the east coast that you should consider.  

Raleigh is a great place to live and work, and there are plenty of friendly people here; but a degree from the right university can make or break your career (depending on the field and other aspects of course).

As a person suffering from anxiety, the question “Do you want the good news or bad news first” has always been a terrible one for me. Up until I hear the bad news, it could be literally anything regardless of what the person asking was doing or how much of the task they were on I’m familiar with.

Similarly, living in Raleigh (or really anywhere for that matter) is going to present a lot of subjective pros and cons. Please keep in mind this is gonna be super subjective, but I hope you enjoy reading this even if we disagree.

But you didn’t come here to read three paragraphs of disclaimer. So lets start by listing the good stuff.  

Raleigh is a city full of vibrant color, culture, and cool shit. You can find cool things almost anywhere you look, regardless of where you are in Raleigh. I mean, all of the pictures (including those in this article) I use for this blog I’ve taken in Raleigh or nearby it. As a result, the first pro has got to be the beltline highway system.  

The beltline is a highway system composed of I-440, I-40, and parts of I-540 that encapsulates all of Raleigh. It connects north and south Raleigh while having downtown in the center, letting travelers easily reach nearly any part of Raleigh. 

I’ve lived on the border of Durham, Cary, and Rolesville at different points in my life. I’ve had to make trips to Garner and Apex for various reasons. At no point in my 20+ year stay have I ever had to make a city trip that lasted longer than a half-hour (one way). It makes working in Raleigh especially easy, since the abundance of highway access points and the convenience of the loop design means I’m never too far from that loop. 

It even helps with adjusting to your new environment if you move here (for school or other reasons) since if you’re ever lost, the highways can act as a point to re-orient yourself by. I know I’ve had to do it plenty of times in the past, and it can really save you from looking like an idiot if you excuse your lost-ness by just saying “Oh yeah mate, I was just tryna get on the highway. Saves so much time.”

Does this mean Raleigh has the best transportation network of any city? Hell no. Does this mean that Raleigh has the best highway system? Not even close. But it’s still super nice, especially for students. You’ll run into the problems any urban place has like rush hour or crash delays, but this is mitigated by the fact you’ll be using it for our second pro: Everything happens in Raleigh. 

Well, not EVERYTHING everything but as I’ve ranted about before; there’s plenty to do and see in the city of Raleigh (even if you’re a student). 

For instance, according to raleighnc.gov, Raleigh is home to over 200 public parks. Not a fan of parks? Into more electronic entertainment? Then visit our very own “Arcade of Thrones” downtown and get your game on with your fellow nerds

Boring stuff like restaurants and night clubs aside, Raleigh is home to literally thousands of businesses and social clubs for you to partake in. Farmers markets, gun and knife shows, fishin’ holes and public church barbecues are available for that classic southern charm; but don’t forget to make use of our barcades, art festivals, concerts, comedy clubs and sport centers. 

The only reason why I’m not going into more detail about examples like First Friday, the downtown cultural festivals, PNC arena or other more specific events is because I want to write about them in-depth in the future.  

Of course, students having things to do and places to go is only part of the college experience. If you’re gonna come to Raleigh for college, the best pro I could possibly mention is the support network.  

Not to say that we’re exactly all one big happy family here, but in Raleigh you get that nice blend of metropolitan city life with your rural state. Orgs like the LGBT Center, Goodwill, Raleigh Missions, and more support locals in need constantly and provide for the many different groups around here.

Libraries and civic centers share the same city as mosques and churches which neighbor women's shelters and LGBT+ advocacy groups. If you’re a republican or democrat, that’s fine but be prepared to meet the other members of the political spectrum since groups like the Democratic-Socialists of America (DSA) are active downtown as well.

If you need help or want to help others, there’s a 98% chance that you’ll find someone or something out there that meets your needs. Join a community through Facebook or Nextdoor and you’ll see every diaper drive, garage sale, and community recommendation pop up whenever one is needed.

Of course, this brings us to our first con. Raleigh may be home to some of the nicest people I’ve ever met but it doesn’t mean you won’t run into some problem people sooner or later.  

There’s of course the typical collegiate douchebags, the upper-middle class young scions of no import who fumble through life with no regard for others because mommy and daddy will perpetually care for them, but being a red state you’ll also run into the more colorful republicans.

Every year there’s an anime convention called “Animazement” downtown and every year there’s a small herd of fundamentalist Christians warning all the otaku who’ll listen that they’re going to hell. Drive around town long enough and you’ll find a few different businesses that have made their opinions on things like masks and social distancing clear, not to mention there’s no shortage of QAnoners and alt-right sympathists. 

Of course, you shouldn’t let others dictate the quality of your life or the area you live in but you should be aware that these people exist. Raleigh is more liberal than other parts of North Carolina for sure but it’s not the leftist paradise those other parts would say it is.

Other than the coinflip that is neighbors, Raleigh is kind of a pricy place to live. The cost of living is on average higher than other cities in the US, cheaper still than New York of Californian cities, but pricey nonetheless.

Rent in Raleigh for a one bedroom apartment is on average $975 according to bestplaces.net and can go as high as $1200 depending on the complex and location. 

That, with a federal minimum wage of $7.25 an hour, means you’ll need 

>Multiple jobs >Multiple roommates >A good paying job

or any combination of the two to be able to afford rent, utilities, and food beyond cup ramen. There’s housing programs like Section 8 and military housing initiatives to help, but for students you’re looking at some pretty steep housing costs for anywhere that’s not student dorms. 

You can get a good job that pays decent, of course, nothing’s impossible. However, finding one that won’t require roommates would demand full time hours (which might be difficult to make on student scheduling) or a degree (which you’re probably at college to get). Most living spaces require you make at least 3x the advertised rent to even be considered as well, which may limit students to seedier student living complexes like University Village or The Proper (Formerly Vie, formerly wolf creek).

Finally, if you move to Raleigh for college be prepared to drive. A lot.

As I mentioned earlier, the beltline is a god send for students and people looking to explore; but it’s also practically mandatory for moving around Raleigh. Public transit in Raleigh isn’t non-existent but it’s pretty damn close.  

Live between 10-15 minutes from your desired destination? Taking the bus is gonna be anywhere from half an hour to a full hour, and that’s if you even live near a bus route. If you’re like myself and habitually on the edge of Raleigh, be prepared to drive for a bit before you even see a GoRaleigh bus let alone a stop. 

The buses do at least run pretty late (Closing normally around 11PM), but the lack of public transit lines and bike-able roads means that you’ll be adding to the urban congestion more likely than not.

Okay with driving? Hope you’re okay with paying another arm and a leg, because at most schools down here tuition doesn’t cover your parking pass. 

NC State prices range from $105 to over $400 depending on your credit hours and where you’re staying at. Other schools like William Peace only charge a flat $130 for their parking decal, but most of the schools require you throw them an extra Apple Pencil or two for the privilege of being able to park your own vehicle close to the actual campus.

There are workarounds, like parking off-campus nearby, but those carry risks and penalties that can add up over time. The audacity these schools have to take thousands in tuition and then demand that you pay and additional fee to just use the parking lot.

Hopefully, though, regardless of my thoughts if you live in Raleigh or North Carolina in general and you’re considering attending one of the fine establishments here; I’ve provided you some food for thought. 

College can be a scary experience for many, and the area around it can really make or break your experiences. We don’t have the biggest party schools or the most glamorous cityscape; but if I had to go through the collegiate system again I honestly couldn’t imagine doing it anywhere else.

Next time I’ll be talking about some alternatives to College though, so stay tuned for that.  

Special shout out to the DSA of Raleigh as well. They didn’t help write any of this or communicate with me during the production of this article, but they’ve been doing some amazing work downtown with the homeless during the pandemic.  They are some of the most amazingly hard working individuals who care immensely for the community and you can check them out on dsanc.org.

[themurphyzone]

Oneshot: Make Believe

Summary: When actors from Darkwing Duck go missing, Drake Mallard and Launchpad are beyond ecstatic to finally have a case that doesn’t just involve stopping a Beagle Boy from purse-snatching. But hero work always leads to a dangerous truth. 

Drake Mallard flopped onto his bed with a splitting headache. He’d spent two hours on a stakeout and the only action he had was just another Beagle Boy purse-snatching. That old lady should’ve been grateful, but she screamed about killer shadows returning and smacked him in the head with her purse. 

He groaned and reached for a bottle of painkillers. Seriously, what did she keep in that thing anyway? 

Rocks, bricks, and medieval torture devices? 

He’d only taken up the mantle a few weeks ago. Drake knew he shouldn’t expect results right away, but he figured there would at least be a journalist or two seeking a new and fresh story. 

He was still an unknown figure in Duckburg, so he had to brainstorm ways to boost his public image. Business transactions at McDuck Enterprises, failed revenge schemes at Glomgold Industries, and Gizmoduck dominated the local Duckburg news. He needed to take a case that would supersede all three of those things, something that would circulate through the major networks and social media alike for weeks. 

Roxanne Featherly criticized everybody she reported on, but Drake was willing to tackle negative publicity. If he could prove his own bullies wrong as a duckling, he could certainly shatter expectations all over again. 

And maybe, just maybe, he could inspire a kid to triumph against the world. 

He could be a hero. 

A sudden rumble shook the foundations of his apartment, and Drake instantly went on alert. 

“Who’s there?” he called, throwing open the door to his bedroom. “I’ll have you know, I was top of the class in Quack Fu! Beware my fists of fury, thieve!” 

But the living room only contained a couch, a TV, a table, the front half of a limousine sticking out of the wall-

“If you’re trying to kidnap me, you’re doing a very poor job! And I definitely don’t appreciate your pitiful attempt at redecoration!” Drake shouted, his fists raised in a basic defensive position. 

“AH! THERE’S A KIDNAPPER IN HERE?” someone screeched. 

“Aha! So you admit your motive!” Drake exclaimed triumphantly. In the darkness, he could only make out vague shapes. But there was a tall, muscular someone in front of him. That was an undeniable fact.  

“Have at you, fiend!” Drake yelled, rushing at the tall, blobby shape and knocking it down. He drew his fist back, but his attacker’s hat fell off, revealing bright red hair that no darkness could ever hide. 

“THE KIDNAPPER’S GOT ME! HE’S GONNA SACRIFICE ME TO THE MOLE MONSTERS!” 

“Wait, Launchpad?” Drake asked, lowering his fist. He knew that voice. He never would’ve tried the hero gig for real without it. 

“HE KNOWS MY NAME! NOW HE CAN MIND CONTROL ME WITH A MAGICAL AMULET!” 

Drake scrambled off Launchpad and turned on the lights. “Launchpad, we’re the only ones in here. There’s no kidnapper.” 

Launchpad sat up, scratching his head as he surveyed the living room, his eyes falling on the damaged wall and limo. He chuckled, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “Oops, guess I’d better let Mr. McDee know about this. He’s not gonna like it though...so, how are you?” 

He popped the question like they just randomly saw each other in the grocery store. 

“Disregarding the whole kidnapping and crashed limo thing? I’ve been better, I guess,” Drake shrugged. “Mostly I was just hoping I could stop something bigger than a Beagle Boy purse-snatching.” 

“Stopping a theft is good,” Launchpad said earnestly. “Stealing is wrong.” 

Drake knew Launchpad was right, though sometimes the childlike honesty was a little uncomfortable. 

“I saved the purse without too much trouble, but I was smacked in the head by its owner,” Drake said. 

“Gee, that’s too bad,” Launchpad winced. “It hurts just thinking about it.” 

“Yup,” Drake sighed. He turned on the TV, quickly flipping to the news when the screen displayed a rerun of Darkwing Duck. 

Launchpad didn’t protest or comment on the switch. The circumstances under Jim Starling’s disappearance were too fresh on their minds. Through some unspoken agreement, they refused to consider the possibility of their idol’s death. 

Jim Starling. 

Drake didn’t know how to feel about him anymore. On one hand, Starling saved their lives. But on the other, Drake and Launchpad’s lives wouldn’t have needed saving if Starling hadn’t set the studio ablaze with his jealousy-induced rage. 

Drake thought he’d honored Starling by accepting the role in Boorswan’s rather...unique vision. 

But Starling just considered him a knock-off replacement. 

“Hey, Launchpad,” Drake said quietly. Launchpad’s gaze tore away from a clip of Gizmoduck accidentally beaning Roxanne Featherly with a lemon meringue pie during an interview. “You told me to honor Jim by taking up Darkwing Duck. How do you know I’m just not replacing him?”

“Cause you aren’t,” Launchpad insisted. “Let’s say you and Jim are both pilots instead of actors and you’re both working under this really important guy. Then Jim goes missing for a decade and during that time the important guy hires you to pilot him around. Then Jim comes back, you wanna meet him, then he yells in your face in a houseboat and storms off. Get the picture?”

Drake forced a smile. “Uh, yeah! Oddly specific analogies really help me get the picture. Thanks.”

Launchpad clapped him on the back so hard that Drake nearly fell off the couch. “No problemo,” he said, his attention returning to the TV. “Huh, they got a missing person case going on.” 

Drake leapt to his feet. “A missing person case?” he exclaimed, suddenly feeling wide awake. He quickly turned up the volume. 

“-actor-turned-salesman Jack Russell has been reported missing. He was last seen walking by the water cooler factory in the industrial district. The investigation is still pending.” 

A picture of Jack Russell flashed onscreen. The dog’s hair and muzzle had long turned gray, but there was no mistaking those long, floppy ears and enormous nose. 

“Is that-” Drake gasped. 

“The actor who used his background as a salesman to deliver rapid-fire marketing-based threats as the Liquidator!” Launchpad exclaimed. “Man, that’s too bad. Vanished into thin air like Jim.” 

“Like Jim,” Drake agreed. “You don’t suppose there could be a-” 

“-suspicious connection behind the disappearances!” Launchpad and Drake finished together. 

“Now that we’ve established that particular possibility, let’s head to the industrial district, partner!” Drake exclaimed. 

“Partner?” Launchpad gasped. He bounced up and down uncontrollably. 

“Sidekick doesn’t have the same ring to it,” Drake admitted. “You get the limo outta the wall, I’ll get into my costume, and together we’ll solve this mystifying mystery perpetuated by the machinations of the malicious criminal mind!” 

Launchpad’s jaw dropped open. “You’re really good at that alliteration thing!” 

Drake grinned as he disappeared into his bedroom. “Don’t wanna boast, but I was one of the best drama students in my school!” he called over his shoulder as he donned his Darkwing Duck costume for the second time that night. 

“Duckburg. A peaceful, quiet night. The moon and stars shine over the empty streets, not a soul to be seen. Yet not all are slumbering peacefully in their homes, for villains lurk somewhere in the shadows. For he is the terror that flaps in the night, the typo in the villain’s manifesto, he is Darkwing Duck!” 

The limo swerved to the side, the front bumper clipping a stop sign. Darkwing yelped and grabbed the seat with both hands, wishing he hadn’t ignored his agent’s suggestion of creating a will. 

“Great monologue!” Launchpad said, still applauding. 

“Uh, Launchpad...if you don’t mind, WE ARE ABOUT TO CRASH INTO THE BRIDGE!” 

Darkwing covered his eyes in preparation for the inevitable.

“Love the dramatic flair, especially when you say-oh no, the bridge!” 

Darkwing smacked his bill against the glove compartment as the limo’s front slammed against the concrete support beam of the bridge. His seat belt was the only thing that saved him from being flung out the window. 

Shaking his head to get rid of the dizziness, Darkwing grappled for the door latch and stumbled out, clinging to a telephone pole for support while his heart rate slowed to a less dangerous hypertensive level. 

“Oops,” Launchpad grinned sheepishly. “At least we’re at the factory now. So are you going to use your superior sleuthing abilities to catch the crook?” 

Finally recovering from his near-death experience, Darkwing straightened up. “There’s no guarantee we’ll catch the crook now, partner. But there could be some kind of clue. Signs of a struggle, a form of identification, something.” 

Launchpad tsked. “It’ll be awful hard to find a clue with all this litter lying around.” He scooped up an armful of discarded advertisements. “There a trash can around here?” 

Something small and rectangular slid out of Launchpad’s arms, landing face-up at Darkwing’s feet. A duck’s head was emblazoned across what Darkwing initially assumed to be a business card. 

But business cards didn’t normally depict masked, malicious-looking ducks. Darkwing scrutinized the card, even using a magnifying glass in case the words were written in very fine, small print. But there was no name, no address, no telephone number. 

There was nothing written on the back either. 

“Launchpad, we found a calling card,” Darkwing said as the taller duck returned from dumping the advertisements into a trash can. “I have a theory that it was purposely planted by the perpetrator.” 

Launchpad only looked at the card for ten seconds before pulling away, his shoulders hunched and his eyes uneasy. “He looks kinda like you.” 

“Well, I can see it in the beak and face, but my hat is way more stylish. Who wants to go around wearing a ragged stop sign on their heads?” Darkwing said, deliberately turning the card face-down. 

He didn’t want to look at the card for longer than necessary. Something about that smile with sharp, yellowed teeth made him nervous. He ran a hand through his cheek feathers, praying they weren’t as ragged as the picture on the card. 

“You alright, DW?” Launchpad asked. 

“I’m fine. This lead is a bust though. We should find a-wait, DW?” Darkwing asked, the nickname halting millions of questions that were currently running through his head. 

Launchpad nodded. “I want to call you something too. I mean, I know the show usually called him ‘the Darkwing’ or ‘the Masked Mallard’ or something but I can come up with something else if you want. I got it! I’ll call you the Purple Pimperbill!” 

DW didn’t have a bad ring to it. But mostly he wasn’t keen on being saddled with the second suggestion. 

“DW sounds great, LP,” Darkwing said. 

“Darkwing Duck gave me a nickname,” Launchpad breathed, collapsing in a dead faint. 

While waiting for Launchpad to wake up, Darkwing flicked through the local news on his phone. 

So far, the police had discovered nothing. It seemed like everyone was banking on Gizmoduck to rescue Jack Russell. Well, almost everyone. Roxanne Featherly was adamant that the police could handle it and Gizmoduck should keep his oversized wheel out of the way. 

For once, Darkwing was inclined to agree with her. Gizmoduck just didn’t seem like the investigating type to him. 

Another headline popped up. 

BREAKING NEWS: ESTEEMED UNIVERSITY OF DUCKBURG PROFESSOR DR. TINO CHICKPEA KIDNAPPED IN BIOLOGY LAB. CLICK TO SEE SECURITY FOOTAGE. 

Tino Chickpea. Bushroot’s actor, Darkwing recalled. His love for plants wasn’t just a trait made up by the show.

Launchpad coughed, finally coming back to the conscious world.

“Glad to see you awake,” Darkwing said, practically shoving his phone in Launchpad’s face. “We have a video lead now! Whoever our kidnapper is, he’s not smart enough to avoid getting caught on camera!”

He played the video.

The security feed didn’t have audio, but Darkwing could practically hear Dr. Chickpea gently encourage his budding sunflowers. As the professor measured water in a beaker, shards of glass scattered across the floor. A caped figure stalked towards Dr. Chickpea, who didn’t appear to notice the intruder until the very last second. His beak went wide, but the intruder knocked him out with a single blow to the head.

Launchpad rubbed his own head as if he could feel the migraine that sort of attack would inevitably cause.

The intruder slung Dr. Chickpea over his shoulder like a dead weight, then lingered by the desk for several seconds as he removed something from his pocket and shut it inside a drawer. 

With a flourish of his black cape, the intruder faced the security camera. 

Black mask. Ragged, crimson hat. Messy feathers. 

Darkwing compared the face on the card to the criminal in the video. It was a perfect match.  

The intruder laughed directly into the security camera lens. Though Darkwing couldn’t hear it, he was pretty sure living bodies weren’t supposed to contort like that. 

Finally, the intruder sauntered offscreen with Dr. Chickpea in tow. 

The video was over. 

“He left the calling card here, Launchpad,” Darkwing said, pushing down the uneasy feeling in his stomach. “And deliberately planted evidence among Dr. Chickpea’s beloved plants.” 

“I thought he put it in a drawer,” Launchpad said. 

“They’re in the same room. It still counts,” Darkwing replied. He struck a heroic, confident pose to rid himself of his previous misgivings. A kidnapper that had successfully nabbed two former Darkwing Duck actors was running rampant and needed to be stopped after all. “We should get to that bio lab. To the limo, partner! We’re going to the University of Duckburg!” 

“Alright! I haven’t been to that place since I accidentally crashed the Sunchaser into the field by the Fine Arts building!” Launchpad exclaimed. 

It normally took half an hour to reach the university from the industrial district, but Launchpad’s driving shortened the journey by fifteen minutes. Though Darkwing held a great preference to not bumping into curbs with every turn of the wheel, he had to admit that Launchpad saved plenty of time. 

As Launchpad pulled into an alley to avoid parking next to the police cars surrounding the street in front of the university, Darkwing searched for a layout of the campus online. He found a color-coded map that would suit their purposes tonight. 

Much to his surprise, the biology building wasn’t far from the giant archway in front of them that marked the university’s entrance. That would greatly simplify the investigation. 

Now it was just a matter of sneaking past the police officers. 

“Here’s the plan, LP,” Darkwing said, snapping his fingers in front of Launchpad’s face when his expression glazed over from the nickname. “We’ll work on your fainting habit after this case is wrapped up, but our main priority is getting past those officers.” 

“Or we could just ask them for information,” Launchpad said. 

Darkwing shook his head. “While that would be our simplest option, I’m not a recognizable public figure yet. They’d probably just mistake us for costumed partygoers.” 

“Too bad you’re not Gizmoduck levels of recognizable yet, huh?” Launchpad asked. 

“And what does that mechanical menace have that I don’t?” Darkwing muttered, painfully aware of how Gizmoduck content had a tendency to circulate around social media. Sure, most of the videos consisted of suit malfunctions, but the recognition levels were the part that counted. 

Launchpad pointed to the university. “The police’s attention for one thing.”

“Huh?” Darkwing peeked out of the alley, concealing his beak with his cape so the bright color didn’t give away their hiding place. 

Sure, Gizmoduck was the self-proclaimed superhero of Duckburg and finding a kidnapper naturally came with the territory, but that didn’t mean Darkwing was pleased to see him. The mechanical menace’s beak flapped multiple times as if he was speaking a mile a minute. Several of the officers held pens and paper out, which Gizmoduck quickly signed before trying to get back on topic. 

One of the officers pinched the edge of Gizmoduck’s beak and gently shook it, much to his embarrassment. 

Darkwing didn’t like Gizmoduck, but he knew this was their best opportunity to sneak past the officers. 

And seeing Gizmoduck being treated like a little boy was comedy gold. Too bad his phone camera didn’t capture videos from this distance. 

Darkwing and Launchpad crept out of the alley, ducking behind a police car for cover. 

“M’maaa...ma’am I must ask that you focus on the question please,” Gizmoduck declared. “Did the kidnapper leave any fingerprints or other forms of evidence behind?”

“Are you sure you aren’t wearing yourself thin?” a brown-feathered officer asked. She looked torn between wanting to hug Gizmoduck and maintaining a certain professional distance. 

“He doesn’t look good,” Launchpad whispered. 

“How can you tell? You can’t even see his expression,” Darkwing said. 

Launchpad shrugged. “He’s been busy lately. Hasn’t been around his lab much either.”

Darkwing blinked at him. Launchpad was more well-connected than he realized. 

“As fascinating as Gizmoduck’s personal life is, we should really be going,” Darkwing said. 

After a quick check to make sure Gizmoduck and the officers hadn’t spotted them, Darkwing and Launchpad made their way across the street and ducked behind a thick bush before finally sprinting to the archway, where a support column blocked them from the officers’ line of sight. 

“Oh man, that was awesome!” Launchpad exclaimed. “Only thing we need is a musical accompaniment!” 

“Smooth jazz on saxophone would’ve been so perfect,” Darkwing said. “I’m definitely the saxophone type. Smooth, classy, magnetic.” 

“Yeah, I can see that,” Launchpad said. “What kind of instrument do you think I’d have?” 

Darkwing thought for a moment. “Cymbals. Or some kind of percussion. I don’t know, cymbals crash, you crash, I think it fits.” 

“We should put wheels on cymbals,” Launchpad mused. “Then you’d get twice the crashiness.” 

They headed to the biology building, which had a helpful ‘Biology Hall’ label attached to the doorway. Darkwing stopped Launchpad before he could enter.

“Let’s look around the perimeter first,” Darkwing said. “There was shattered glass in that security footage, so there’s likely a broken window used as a point of entry.” 

Launchpad nodded. “Exactly like the thirtieth episode!” 

“Yes, precisely,” Darkwing agreed. “And once we’ve located the broken window, it’s a simple matter of finding whatever the kidnapper left behind!” 

“Let’s do this!” Launchpad exclaimed as they rounded the corner. 

“That’s the spirit!” Darkwing shouted. 

Turned out there were a lot of broken windows. 

“Maybe I should look into the next few labs,” Launchpad said. “Your feet aren’t looking so good.”

Launchpad’s feet were covered so the glass shards didn’t affect him much, but Darkwing wished he had the foresight to bring boots along.

“Working through the pain!” Darkwing grunted, though every step felt like a million pins were digging deeply into his lacerated feet. “Just give me a few minutes and I’ll be fine. Boost me into that window on the end! I have a feeling this could be it!” 

Launchpad bent over, allowing Darkwing to climb onto his back and reach the last window. The glass had been entirely knocked out of the pane, the sparkling shards scattered all over the lab. Darkwing pushed off the wall with his hands, heaving his lower body through the window. 

Darkwing dusted himself off, then helped Launchpad through the window. 

“Whoa,” Launchpad said in awe. “Tino Chickpea sure loved his plants.” 

It looked as though the professor had turned his lab into a miniature greenhouse. Shrubs and saplings lined the entire back wall, while flowerpots rested on the tables. The cabinets were full of fertilizer, seeds, and water. 

The artificial sunlight lamps hanging above the flora made it possible to see without the use of a flashlight. 

Darkwing avoided the shards as best he could, though he was pretty sure the smaller crystals were still burrowing their way into his foot. There was a desk in the middle of the room, directly in the line of the security camera. A sink had been built into it, the kind that students normally used in science labs. 

A shattered beaker laid on the floor, the glass surrounded by a puddle of water. 

“Aha! So this is the lab where Dr. Chickpea was unceremoniously abducted by our avaricious avian,” Darkwing said, heading straight to the drawer where the kidnapper had purposely left something behind. 

The middle drawer contained a black recording device. 

They were trying to leave a message. 

“That’s weird. I thought criminals wanted to get away with their misdeeds,” Launchpad said. 

“So did I,” Darkwing admitted. 

Instead of keeping his kidnappings under the radar, it seemed as though the masked villain enjoyed being in the open. 

Darkwing hit the play button, hoping the tape would explain some sort of motive behind the kidnappings. 

A guttural sound came out of the recording device, followed by harsh, gravelly laughter. Darkwing tried to turn the volume down, but the laughter only seemed to get louder. 

“I am the screeching fingernail on the chalkboard of justice! I am the devastating blight on the potato field of peace and goodwill! I AM NEGADUCK!” 

Darkwing and Launchpad backed up from the recording device as if it had been possessed by the devil himself. 

The voice spat out every good value as if they were nothing more than a disgusting, grimy stain in a twisted perversion of Darkwing Duck’s triumphant introduction.

“Hello, Dipwing Dork. We haven’t been properly introduced, have we?” the voice crooned, every word oozing like deadly, acidic honey. “But I’ve been watching you, and you think you’re oh-so-noble letting my...no, your lackey feel like he’s helping. Newsflash, dimwit. He belongs to me. You stole him. I’ll take him from you. I’ll take everything from you that you stole from me!”

“I didn’t steal anything from this...Negaduck guy,” Darkwing said, picking up the recording device. He’d heard enough. He prepared to throw it out the window, but a tingle ran up his arm and evolved into a painful shock that made him drop the device on his foot. 

“Nuh-uh-uh. I’m not finished yet. Just one last order of business. I have two actors. You may have noticed something they share in common. And like any collector, I’m not satisfied until I have them all. Maybe I can even score a few...exclusives. Oh, I believe I mentioned this device was set to self-destruct once the recording’s done?” 

Launchpad barely managed to grab Drake and take cover behind the desk in time as the device exploded, creating a huge hole where the window used to be. Thankfully, Dr. Chickpea’s plants were unscathed. 

“I’ve never heard of him,” Launchpad said. 

And Launchpad regularly associated with a family who faced down practically every type of villain in existence. 

“A newcomer to the scene then,” Darkwing said, struggling to his feet. The pain was flaring up again, but he ignored it. ���Jack Russell and Tino Chickpea played two members of the Fearsome Four. Negaduck’s going after the last two. We have no choice but to emerge victorious against this vile villain.” 

“Dan Rattigan and Michael Bill,” Launchpad supplied. “The actors for Megavolt and Quackerjack. They run a toy store downtown. Been there a few times with the triplets. They’re a big help when I faint in there.” 

“Given the current time, it’s more likely they’re at home,” Darkwing said. “And unless a headline breaks about them being kidnapped, we have no way to reach them.” 

“Actually, they’d be in the toy store tonight,” Launchpad said, pulling up a picture of a video game console on his phone. “It’s the midnight release of the Gigashark X. It’s been superhyped up lately. Louie’s been trying to get Mr. McDee to buy him one, but Mr. McDee isn’t budging.” 

Darkwing checked the recent news on his phone, but there was nothing to indicate that Dan Rattigan and Michael Bill had been kidnapped. 

Since Negaduck was deliberately leaving evidence of his criminal activity behind, he probably wouldn’t care much about kidnapping the former actors in front of an audience either. 

If anything, the recording raised more questions than answers. 

“Alright, let’s get to that toy store,” Darkwing said. “And please try to resist fainting this time.”

“Sure thing, DW,” Launchpad agreed. 

After some debate, Darkwing and Launchpad decided to leave through the front entrance so they didn’t have to deal with the glass. Then the door burst open. 

“LEAF-ING SO SOON, THIEVES?” 

Darkwing and Launchpad instinctively put their hands up as Gizmoduck rolled into the lab, shining a spotlight on them as if they were a pair of criminals.

“Mistaken for a kidnapper by a guy who can’t even make a pun worthy of a Saturday morning cartoon,” Darkwing muttered. 

“Believe me, I’d love to be more creative with those,” Gizmoduck sighed. 

Launchpad waved. “Hi, Fen-” 

Gizmoduck broke into a coughing fit. 

“Uh, guy I don’t know whose name definitely doesn’t end with ‘ton’!” Launchpad corrected himself hastily. “Man, that was close.” 

“Launchpad!” Gizmoduck groaned. “You’re as bad as M’ah...Officer Cabrera. Hold on, why are you even here? And with the criminal too!” 

“I’m helping DW on the missing actor case,” Launchpad replied. “It’s been really cool so far. It’s just like being on the Darkwing Duck show!” 

“And if you watched the security footage, you’d know that the kidnapper’s costume is similar yet different than mine,” Darkwing added. 

“So did you use your super-cool telepathic abilities to find us?” Launchpad asked. 

“My suit can track heat signatures,” Gizmoduck said. “I don’t have telepathy.” 

While the chance meeting was nice and all, Darkwing knew they really needed to get back to the case. He clapped his hands, getting Launchpad and Gizmoduck’s attention. “Yeah, great to meet you. If you don’t mind, Launchpad and I will be heading to a toy store now,” he said, insistently tugging on Launchpad’s arm.

Unfortunately, Launchpad was too heavy for him to move. “I know! We should team up!” Launchpad exclaimed. His arm snaked around Darkwing’s shoulders, and he managed to get Gizmoduck tucked under his other arm for a group hug. 

Darkwing tilted his head slightly so Launchpad didn’t accidentally choke him, and Gizmoduck’s beak opened in surprise as he wobbled unsteadily on his wheel. 

“We’re gonna be like one of those buddy cop shows where they don’t mesh well at first but through a series of mutual understandings we come together and save the day!” Launchpad exclaimed, pulling their heads closer to his chest. “To the toy store!” 

“To the toy store!” Gizmoduck shouted. “Wait, why are we headed to the toy store?” 

“We’ll fill you in,” Darkwing said as he tried to wriggle out of Launchpad’s iron grip. 

Gizmoduck was terrible at the whole secret identity thing. Even if Launchpad hadn’t slipped up and called him ‘Fenton’, Darkwing would still know that Gizmoduck’s M’ma was on the police force.

Because his armor was too large to fit in the limo, Gizmoduck had gone back to his alter ego, Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera, for the time being. Fenton added Darkwing Duck to an alarmingly large list of people who already knew his secret identity. 

The Gizmoduck armor was currently inside a large duffel bag, stowed safely in the back. It seemed like an incredibly cumbersome way of keeping the costume nearby. 

Darkwing explained everything they knew about the case, and Launchpad interjected a few times to compare an event to something that happened on the Darkwing Duck series. 

“I think the components of the recording device were already prone to overheating,” Fenton said after Darkwing summarized the important points of Negaduck’s message. “Though under normal circumstances, it would be a few sparks here and there or a small flame that would easily be put out. This Negaduck guy likely added a small time bomb that would go off after a certain amount of time when the play button is pushed. Too bad it couldn’t be salvaged. I know someone who could’ve examined the parts for us.” 

Darkwing didn’t care much about the science behind the recording device though. It exploded. That was all he needed to know. 

“Fenton, you’re one of the best scientists I’ve ever met. Sure you could have done it too,” Launchpad said. 

Fenton blushed. “Uh...I don’t know about that. I get the basic concepts and stuff, but I don’t really have, say, advanced knowledge of electronics. That’s more of Gandra’s thing.” 

“He’s an official employee under Mr. McDee,” Launchpad said. “Scientist superhero is a pretty good job title.” 

Darkwing raised an eyebrow. “So he just sends you out whenever he needs some superhero-ing done?” 

Fenton shook his head. “I’ll admit I had a brief stunt as...well, a sell-out superhero under Mark Beaks for lack of a better term...but I could never work like that again. Deciding who doesn’t get saved or not saved based on an app? It was terrible. And I still barely know what I’m doing half the time. I repeat puns like three times in the course of a single confrontation. I still pie people in the face by accident. I’m not sure how half the contraptions on the armor work.” 

“Don’t worry, you’ll figure it out,” Launchpad said. “Gyro and Mr. McDee and the kids and I think you’re amazing. You already have a strong moral code as a hero. You’ve got this.” 

Fenton smiled. “Thanks, Launchpad. Still, I’m glad you guys are helping me with this kidnapping. It’s been kinda tiring lately.” 

“We should do an interview together. You can promote me as Duckburg’s newest hero, and I can give you a few pointers in managing your fame,” Darkwing said. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Fenton laughed. 

Teenagers and young adults lined the sidewalk leading up to the toy store, complaining loudly when the employee only let ten in at a time. It seemed like every teenager in Duckburg was here. So far, everything looked normal and there was no sign of a black-masked duck anywhere. 

“From what you told me, I just assumed Negaduck already kidnapped the former actors,” Fenton said as Launchpad parked behind a delivery truck. The hood ornament of the limo crunched against the back bumper. “But that doesn’t seem to be the case here.” 

“We might have time. If we can get to Dan Rattigan and Michael Bill now, we might be able to take them to a secure location and rescue the other two actors,” Darkwing said. 

“McDuck Manor would be our best safe zone,” Fenton suggested. 

“Launchpad can drive them there,” Darkwing said. “You and I will find Jack Russell and Tino Chickpea and apprehend Negaduck.” 

Launchpad grinned. “Alright! I get to drive two actors from my favorite show!” 

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Fenton said. “Got any ideas on how we’re getting in though?” 

“Easy. Name brand recognition,” Darkwing said. 

Launchpad and Fenton stared at him blankly. Darkwing couldn’t be the only one in their group who was willing to take advantage of fame, right?

“Starting to see why all those posts trend about Gizmoduck on social media. You should really get a PR manager for that,” Darkwing suggested. “Just roll up as Gizmoduck. The employee will let you in cause you’re famous, and me and Launchpad too by association.” 

Fenton frowned. “I don’t like taking advantage of being well-known like this. And you’re a little too excited about fame by association.” 

Okay, maybe he also wanted to try negotiating a cut of the toy sales by using his connection to Gizmoduck. But hey, a guy had to get publicity somehow. 

“Hello there, citizen!” Gizmoduck called to the employee managing the door, who finished counting another group of ten and regarded Gizmoduck with half-lidded eyes. “Beautiful night, isn’t it?” 

“I guess,” the employee yawned. “Get back in line. Like, way over there.” 

He pointed to the end of the street, where the line only increased in size. 

“Sir, this is an important matter,” Darkwing stated. “We have it on good evidence that a crime most foul will be committed here tonight.” 

“Technically, the evidence was destroyed,” Launchpad added. 

Darkwing put a finger to his beak to hush Launchpad. The employee didn’t need to know that. 

“A kidnapper has been targeting actors from Darkwing Duck. Two of your co-workers are on his list,” Gizmoduck said. “If you’ll let us through, my associate Launchpad will drive them to a secure location while Darkwing and I catch the kidnapper once he shows up.” 

The employee rolled his eyes. “I’ve heard plenty of stories tonight. People just don’t wanna wait in line, you know? Now get to the back and I might consider letting you in when it’s your turn.” 

Darkwing marched up to him, ready to protest that lives were at stake, but broke into a hacking cough instead. Thick clouds of red smoke flooded the air like evil incarnate in a gaseous form. Gizmoduck activated several fans on his suit, but it wasn’t effective against the dense smoky dread that had pierced its way into the atmosphere. 

Confusion and panic snaked their way through the crowd. Teens tried to run, only to collide into each other. Total strangers clung onto each other for dear life. Several people rushed out of the store to see what was going on, despite Gizmoduck trying to order them back inside. 

“I AM THE BLAZING INFERNO THAT RAVAGES YOUR CITY. I AM THE VENOMOUS SNAKE THAT LURKS IN YOUR BACKYARD. I AM NEGADUCK!” 

The proclamation was followed by harsh, gravelly laughter, which terrified his audience even more. The smoke made it impossible to pinpoint Negaduck’s location. 

“My heat sensors can’t detect him!” Gizmoduck coughed. “There’s too much interference!” 

Darkwing clenched his fists and dropped into a basic defensive position. 

“I was wondering when you’d show that face I despise so much,” the voice hissed. “I was about to go rob a few banks while I waited. Blow off steam.”

Darkwing tried not to twitch. He felt something press against his back and he jumped, only to realize that it was just Launchpad covering his blind spots.

“Face it. You’re nothing more than a fanboy in a costume. A hack. A fake. How pathetic. I’d get more of a challenge out of an eroded pebble!” 

“Shows what you know. You’ll never scare me!” Darkwing said, allowing his cape to flare out. His heart hammered and threatened to jump out of his chest at any given moment. Negaduck was just another bully, he told himself. Darkwing had dealt with plenty of those. “Do you know who I am? Let me tell you, I am the terror who flaps in the ni-”

Something heavy slammed into his back before he could finish, knocking him to the ground. Gizmoduck and Launchpad cried out in warning, but Darkwing could barely hear them over the massive cacophony. 

Darkwing’s back erupted into sheer agony. Something was putting massive pressure against his spine, pinning him in place. Fingers dug into his vertebrae, threatening to sever a fragile nerve. A hand clamped down on his neck and squeezed. Darkwing could only make choked, pathetic noises while an eerie cackle rang in his ears. 

Black spots danced in Darkwing’s vision. He couldn’t yell at Launchpad and Gizmoduck to run and find help. He couldn’t make out anything except a pair of furious, insane eyes. 

The harsh laugh formed a chilling soundtrack as the darkness closed around him. 

“Unhand us at once! Michael and I need to be at the store tonight! You’ll be hearing a call from my lawyer if you don’t let us go!” 

“My plants are on a very strict water schedule!” 

“I was taking a walk to cure my insomnia! What did I do?” 

“Is this some kind of joke to you?” 

“Would. All. Of you…SHUT IT! I CAN’T HEAR MYSELF THINK WITH ALL YOUR STUPID YAKKING!”

Darkwing’s neck throbbed. His back ached. His lacerated feet stung.

He took it as a sign that he wasn’t dead.

“DW! Where’s DW?”

Launchpad.

“I’m right here!” Darkwing tried to say, but something that tasted an awful lot like spandex covered his beak, preventing him from reassuring Launchpad. 

“No pet names! Darkwing Duck doesn’t do pet names, nicknames, or any of that other junk!” 

Darkwing opened his eyes, surprised that the material covering his face wasn’t blinding him. 

Launchpad was bound to a high-backed chair, his wrists restrained by many coils of rope. Several rows of empty seats stretched out behind him. 

It was a studio audience setup, Darkwing realized. 

Four old men were strapped to the floor on a green screen. They whispered to each other in soft tones, shooting confused glances to Negaduck, who barked orders at them to shut up while he rolled a large camera into the center of the setup. 

They found the actors of the Fearsome Four, but not in the way Darkwing had hoped. He’d been thinking more along the lines of a daring rescue where he thoroughly defeated the villain and received countless requests for public appearances afterward. 

Gizmoduck wasn’t here. 

Darkwing knew Gizmoduck was either running damage control or going to McDuck Manor for help if Negaduck hadn’t gotten his slimy hands on him, but he seriously needed to hurry up. 

Negaduck pounded on a piece of sound equipment whose wheels were trapped on a piece of metal in the floor. After several minutes, he screeched so loudly that the walls shook and tore through the metal with a chainsaw. The metallic sound grated on everyone’s ears, but Negaduck didn’t listen to anyone’s pleas for mercy. 

With Negaduck distracted, Darkwing could escape, rescue Launchpad, evacuate the Fearsome Four, and save the day! Darkwing grinned, feeling the spandex crinkle against his cheeks. 

First things first, the mask that encompassed his entire head had to go. Darkwing grunted, but his hands refused to come up to his face. He could only twitch his fingers against his sides. His legs were bound too, so he couldn’t use his feet either. 

So Negaduck thought he was clever enough to restrain Darkwing Duck with a series of intricate knots, did he? Little did he know, Darkwing had some Junior Woodchuck merit badges under his belt! Tying and untying knots had been one of his specialties! 

Darkwing looked down, though the mask limited his range of motion. But he didn’t find a large rope coiled around his body. 

Instead, a gray suit covered him from his neck down. At first, Darkwing thought Negaduck had changed his clothes while he’d been unconscious and cringed at how creepy that sounded, then he felt his fingers brush against the fabric of his Darkwing Duck costume, much to his relief. 

Darkwing leaned back, taking a deep breath and tried to think of a new plan of escape. His head brushed against another piece of fabric, and he jerked forward in surprise. A red, high-collared cape covered his back. 

At least he thought it did. It was hard to tell with his limited head-turning capabilities.

The costume was vaguely familiar to him, but he couldn’t pinpoint where he’d seen it before. 

“Where are we anyway?” Launchpad asked. “I dunno, I thought I was at a toy store with DW and Gizmoduck.”

“As my biggest fan, I thought you’d appreciate seeing me in action,” Negaduck said, leaning against the metal gate that separated Launchpad from everyone else. “Had to knock you out like the hack and Feeble Four though. Can’t have you revealing my location before the big show.” 

He grinned, revealing a mouthful of sharp, yellow teeth. 

Launchpad shrugged. “Sorry, I think you confused me with someone else. I’ve never seen you before. Well, unless you count that security footage in the lab.” 

Negaduck laughed humorlessly. “That cheap camera didn’t capture my best side.” 

“What big show?” Michael shouted. “If you’ve tied us up here, the least you could do is explain why!”

Negaduck snarled in his direction, and Michael quickly hid his face. His entire body trembled, and only a brief touch from Dan managed to calm him down again. 

“Aw, Mikey,” Negaduck chuckled lowly. “You’re too impatient. I was just getting to that part. SO DON’T INTERRUPT ME WHEN I’M TALKING!” 

Negaduck’s fist collided with Michael’s head, knocking out the former TV villain instantly. Dan and Launchpad pleaded for Michael to wake up, Tino stuttered incoherently, and Jack averted his gaze and refused to speak, as if it would somehow shield him from Negaduck’s wrath. 

Darkwing threw himself forward, trying to scream Negaduck’s name to get his attention. He needed to draw his ire, get him to turn his wrath away from an innocent person, but the suit prevented him from moving more than an inch. 

Darkwing strained against the suit, but it was tightly pressed to his chest and limbs. He gasped for breath as the suit closed in around his body, constricting his movements even further. 

He’d never been claustrophobic before, but he was sure he’d be developing that fear soon enough. 

“Ah, I see our guest star is getting restless,” Negaduck drawled. “You’re all just dying to know what’s happening, aren’t you? My biggest fan, don’t you wanna know who our guest star is?” 

“I’m not sure I like this,” Launchpad admitted. 

Negaduck ignored him. “We’re on the air in one more minute. Those bumbling morons make it so easy to hijack the airwaves.” 

He sauntered in front of a camera, adjusting his ragged hat and cape. 

A green light flickered to life. 

“Attention, Duckburg! You’re bearing witness to the debut of Negaduck! And don’t even think about tuning out, because all your channels are filled with nothing but me! Not that it’s a huge competition. I’m sure you all prefer watching a grim and gritty villain than whatever passes for entertainment these days!” Negaduck laughed.

Darkwing didn’t know how Duckburg was reacting to this, but he doubted they were laughing along. 

“Years ago, a show was canceled prematurely. I was...invested in this program,” Negaduck ranted. “The idiot executives thought they could sweep it under the rug and pretend it never existed. But the joke’s on them. In just a few moments, everyone will be able to see the long-awaited season finale of Darkwing Duck!” 

“You left Michael half-dead for this?” Dan shrieked, ignoring Tino’s attempts to hush him. “A fanboy who can’t accept that a silly show ended. I can’t believe this.” 

“Believe it,” Negaduck growled. ”BECAUSE I DON’T RECALL TELLING YOU TO SPEAK!” 

Negaduck kicked Dan in the side, hurling furious diatribes about where he could stick his electronics. Dan whimpered in pain and curled into a ball to protect himself. Tino trembled violently, while Jack pursed his lips and avoided looking at Negaduck. 

Launchpad looked away, fiddling with his restraints. “So that’s why he’s got the masked evil twin and the bombs,” he said quietly. “I...I don’t wanna believe it either.” 

As Negaduck stalked towards Darkwing, something clicked in his mind. 

He knew this suit. It was in the last episode of Darkwing Duck before the series was canceled. 

Hadn’t he spent countless hours theorizing over TV Darkwing’s evil doppelganger? 

Negaduck knew the Fearsome Four actors. He was invested in the show. He knew Darkwing would investigate the kidnappings. 

And most importantly, Negaduck believed Launchpad was his biggest fan. 

Negaduck dug his hands into the fabric of the villain suit, and Darkwing shuddered as he felt sharp-tipped fingers press against his ribs. 

“You think a few very painful explosions can stop me?” Negaduck snarled. Darkwing resisted the urge to gag on his rancid breath. “Now, let’s see who you really are.” 

Darkwing had seen those blazing, madness-fueled eyes before. And just like last time, he was caught off-guard, aching, and helpless. 

The spandex mask came off with a sharp yank. Negaduck carelessly tore out several of Darkwing’s feathers along with it. 

“Jim Starling?” Darkwing asked, the name tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop it. 

For a moment, the only sound was Launchpad’s choked gasp. Darkwing was sure Launchpad had figured it out already. He just didn’t want it to be true. 

Negaduck’s hand went slack and Darkwing took several deep breaths, savoring the air he’d been deprived of. 

But it didn’t last long. 

“DON’T CALL ME THAT!” Negaduck roared, an animalistic howl escaping him. Darkwing’s vision blurred as his beak smashed against the ground. 

“YOU’RE TALKING TO NEGADUCK NOW! I’LL GROUND YOUR SKELETON INTO DUST AND BLOW IT UP WITH A MISSILE! AND THERE’LL BE FIRE! LOTS OF FIRE THAT WON’T LEAVE YOUR ASHES BEHIND!” 

Darkwing’s entire body was on fire. His muscles protested, his legs throbbed, and no matter how deeply he breathed, he couldn’t get enough air to travel to his lungs. 

But he had to get up and keep fighting. He couldn’t allow Jim...no, Negaduck... he had to think of them as different entities, to hurt four innocent people. 

Darkwing strained against the suit, finally freeing his arms and latching onto Negaduck’s ankles. Negaduck snarled, striking every part of Darkwing’s body with his feet, but Darkwing refused to let go. 

With his legs still trapped, Darkwing was relying heavily on his upper body strength. He endured Negaduck’s kicks for just a few seconds longer, then abruptly tugged on Negaduck’s ankles, knocking him to the ground. 

But his attack only fueled Negaduck’s murderous desires, and Negaduck freed his feet from Darkwing’s grasp within seconds. Darkwing’s head swam as Negaduck slammed him facefirst into a metallic strip. 

“DW!” Launchpad shouted, struggling against his bonds. “Jim, you gotta stop!” 

Negaduck glowered at Launchpad, his hand still wrapped around the back of Darkwing’s head. “The name is Negaduck!” he screamed, sharply yanking Darkwing’s head back. Darkwing made a pathetic noise as his neck ached in protest. 

“You’re still Jim Starling though,” Launchpad said calmly. He was the only person in the room who wasn’t intimidated by Negaduck’s violent inclinations. 

The crushing pressure around Darkwing’s head vanished, and he hit the ground facefirst again, but not by Negaduck’s doing. Compared to everything else he endured, it felt like he’d fallen onto a pillow. 

“You’re my fan,” Negaduck growled. “Support me.” 

But Launchpad shook his head. “Not this. Never like this.”

Negaduck took a step back, the madness in his eyes being replaced by...was that grief? 

Maybe it was the lack of oxygen talking.

In a swirl of his tattered black cape, Negaduck swept out of the room, his hasty footsteps echoing off the walls. 

It took several tries and shouted instructions from Darkwing, but Launchpad finally untied the restraints binding him to the chair. He rushed over to Darkwing, stepping behind him and lifting the high-collared red cape out of the way. 

Moments later, Darkwing heard something being unzipped as he pulled his legs free of the trap he’d been forced to wear. 

“The Darkwing Duck trivia said that Jim-” Launchpad paused, glancing to the door in worry. “-well, apparently he spent six hours stuck in the doppelganger costume cause the zipper wouldn’t work and he wouldn’t let anyone cut him free.” 

“Your production trivia knowledge comes in handy,” Darkwing said, smiling at Launchpad despite his aching beak. “Come on, let’s get these actors free.” 

Dan and Tino’s restraints came undone in a simple tug, Jack’s took a bit more effort, and Launchpad had to carefully slide Michael out while Darkwing undid the complicated knot. 

“That was Jim?” Jack asked in a small voice. His long ears hung limply as he bowed his head. “You’re sure?” 

Those were the first words he’d spoken all night.

“I’m afraid so,” Darkwing admitted. “Are you alright? I mean, I know you were kidnapped and taken here against your will...sorry, Mr. Russell. It was a dumb question.” 

“I’ve seen better. I’ll stay here and keep an eye on my friends,” Jack promised. “Jim needs to be stopped.” 

“You’ll be fine?” Darkwing asked. 

He glanced at Michael, who was still out cold. 

Jack nodded. “Don’t worry about us. Best go before Jim gets away.” 

Darkwing and Launchpad followed the trail of destruction. Overturned desks, shattered pictures, and shredded paper littered the hallway. 

Negaduck was standing in front of a large mirror that covered the far wall of the room. 

It was supposed to be a dance studio, but the floor was in need of a good polish, the ballet shoes were worn and frayed, and the mirror was cracked and distorted their reflections. 

“That’s me in there,” Negaduck murmured, reaching up to touch Darkwing’s reflection. He hunched over the bar, breathing slowly. “There I am. Adored, respected, beloved by fans.”

His voice was no longer Negaduck’s husky growl, but it wasn’t the familiar pitch of Darkwing Duck either. 

No heroic bite, no confidence, no cockiness. 

“Jim, we can help you,” Launchpad said quietly.

Darkwing braced himself in front of Launchpad, ready to lash out if Negaduck’s short fuse went off. 

Negaduck didn’t acknowledge them. 

“But it’s not real, is it? Just some stupid fantasy of a has-been who’s not even fit for a cameo. That’s what being a hero gets you. Insults and scoldings and everyone wondering why you couldn’t have a productive life even though you get injured every single day of your washed up career just to entertain them.” 

“Jim, please stop,” Darkwing whispered.

Negaduck screeched, tearing out the bar and smashing it against Darkwing’s reflection. 

“WHY COULDN’T YOU JUST LET ME BELIEVE I HAD A CHANCE?”

Jagged mirror shards splintered everywhere, leaving an empty, tattered wall behind. Negaduck clawed at the wall, shredded wallpaper falling to the ground.

This was the man he once looked up to. 

This was the man who shaped his worldview.

This was the man who gave inspired him, enabled him to fight back, and helped him through hard times. 

And now he was gone, though some part of Darkwing prayed that wasn’t the case. 

The next few minutes passed by in a blur. Darkwing couldn’t watch Gizmoduck restrain Negaduck and walk him into an armored vehicle. He couldn’t watch the paramedics aid the former actors. He couldn’t watch Scrooge McDuck order several skilled technicians to cut the hijacked airwaves and restore the normal programming. 

“You need medical attention too, DW,” Launchpad said. 

Launchpad was right, but Darkwing buried his head into the taller duck’s chest instead. 

Maybe it was selfish, but he desperately needed this. 

Drake’s hospital room had been dubbed ‘The Superhero Suite’. Launchpad had explained they treated any injuries Fenton received as Gizmoduck here. And doctor-patient confidentiality extended to secret identities as well. 

Drake had several finger-shaped bruises around his neck where Negaduck had tried to strangle him. Drake had almost forgotten what it felt like to breathe normally. And he was lucky to not have an infection on his feet from the broken glass. 

“This is so weird,” Fenton said. “I’ve never seen you without your mask before!” 

“Just don’t go calling me Drake Mallard when I’m in costume,” Drake warned. “Cause the identity thing is something you need to work on.” 

Fenton laughed. “Yeah, I get the same lecture from all the other critical people in my life. Guess people are a little more observant than they portray them in the superhero shows!” 

Drake fingered his bedsheets, trying to think about anything but a certain show. “Sure they are.”

“Ah, sorry. I forgot. I’m just gonna change the subject before I strike a sore spot, okay? I’ve got good news. Launchpad’s smoothed everything over with Mr. McDuck. He’s less angry about the blown up limo now. And I’m pretty sure the kids are throwing an ‘I’m so happy you’re not dead’ party for Launchpad.” 

“When did the limo blow up?” Drake asked. He didn’t remember that part. 

“Launchpad parked too close to the delivery truck where Negaduck was keeping his kidnapped victims,” Fenton replied. “He couldn’t get the doors open so he could throw you, Launchpad, and the two actors-turned-shopkeepers in. I guess blowing up the limo was the logical thing for him. Or he just liked explosions. Maybe both.” 

“And the actors? How are they?”

“Recovering on a floor below us,” Fenton said. “Michael needs to be observed for a while, but he’ll pull through. So will Dan. They’ll be running their shop in no time. Jack said he’d be helping Tino with some community gardening. He says nature has a calming influence on Tino.”

Drake sighed in relief, just happy that the actors would be alright. 

Fenton twisted his tie, scuffing the floor with his feet and avoiding eye contact. “Drake, I stopped by for another reason. I just wanted to...say...um, I’m sorry. Really, really sorry. From the bottom of my heart sorry. Really badly-” 

“Fenton.” 

At the sound of his name, Fenton looked up. 

“Don’t go putting this on the record, but I have no idea what I’m doing either. Nobody wrote a Superhero-ing for Dummies manual, you know,” Drake said. 

“You wanna learn together?” Fenton asked, finally smiling back. “Launchpad said you’ve got all sorts of neat moves on you. If you teach me a thing or two, I can get you a few gadgets. It’ll protect you better in the field.” 

“You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Crackshell-Cabrera. I humbly accept your offer,” Drake bowed dramatically, much to Fenton’s laughter. 

“My two superhero buddies are bonding!” an excited voice said from the doorway. “It’s everything I dreamed and more!” 

Drake coughed. Launchpad’s childlike honesty was nice at times, but it could be downright awkward too. 

“Nice to see you, Launchpad,” Fenton said, patting the chair next to him. “Things going good at the Manor?” 

Launchpad happily accepted the invitation. “Yup! Louie was upset that he missed a late night episode of Ottoman Empire. The whole taking over your TV thing, you know. Dewey and Webby clung to my legs for a whole four hours. That’s gotta be some kind of record. Huey and Della were out doing some Junior Woodchuck mother-son camping trip, so they missed out. They’ll find out soon enough, I guess. Mr. McDee says Negaduck was taken to jail and they’re gonna be setting a trial date in a few months.” 

“Negaduck won’t be in jail forever,” Fenton said. “Probably just long enough to recuperate, but he’ll be causing trouble on the streets.”

At the mention of Negaduck, the jovial atmosphere sobered. 

Drake plucked at his bedsheets. He wanted to believe Jim Starling and Negaduck were two separate people, but reality said otherwise. He couldn’t live like Negaduck, who desperately tried to relive the glory days of his acting career. 

But being a hero wasn’t something a person could make-believe. 

Jim must’ve believed in the ideals and dreams of Darkwing Duck once. He’d inspired Drake and Launchpad after all. How many other children saw him on television and adopted Darkwing Duck’s beliefs? 

“I think we should help Jim,” Launchpad said. 

“What? He tried to kill you guys a lot!” Fenton protested. “He’s selfish, egotistical, and doesn’t care who he hurts. Why would you wanna help someone like that?” 

Fenton hadn’t grown up with Darkwing Duck the way Drake and Launchpad had. And frankly, Drake thought the idea was crazy too. 

But nobody, not even Jim Starling, Negaduck, or whatever he called himself deserved to rot in their own madness. 

“Because it’s the right thing to do,” Drake replied. 

“For Jim,” Launchpad said. 

“For Jim,” Drake echoed, placing his hand over Launchpad’s. 

They looked expectantly at Fenton, who sighed in resignation. 

“I have my doubts, but you’re right. Heroes save everyone, whether they deserve it or not. Let’s do this for Jim,” Fenton said. He squeezed Launchpad’s and Drake’s hands. 

Jim Starling once showed Drake how to get back up and stand on his own two feet. He showed Drake how heroes suffered setback after setback, but it didn’t stop them from saving the day. 

It was time to return the favor. 

[theawkwardterrier]

things left behind and the things that are ahead, ch. 11

AO3 link here

Shelby Peterson’s family has been to Disneyland and Disney World, which means she has been on an airplane four whole times. Shelby Peterson has taken pictures with Mickey, Minnie, Pooh Bear, and all seven of the dwarves. Shelby Peterson’s favorite rides is the Rocket Jets, but she likes the Alice in Wonderland teacups too because sometimes they spin so much that her little sister throws up. Shelby Peterson thinks that the Swiss Family Treehouse is so boring that she considered writing to the people at Disney Studios to tell them to come up with something better. Shelby Peterson thinks it’s a real shame that not everyone can experience the most magical place on Earth.

Steve hates Shelby Peterson.

He knows she’s a fifth grader and he knows he’s never met her, but if Nate brings even the specter of her into the house again, Steve’s banning her name.

It’s only because it’s Nate that he hasn’t already. He doesn’t say any of it in a wheedling way, or faux casually while peering up through his eyelashes to see how the information is landing. He doesn’t put it forward as if demanding anything. He drops the comments randomly - after spitting toothpaste into the sink, as he pulls out his math folder in the afternoon, when he asks if the peaches on the backyard tree are still too hard to eat - as if they are always turning over in his mind. His words are always simple and considered, the way Nate is, but there’s a jealousy there, a deep longing that makes Steve’s own brain start working.

“Have you thought about what you want to do with your vacation this year?” he asks Peggy. They have made sure over the past few years that Peggy takes at least two weeks off from carrying too much of the world on her shoulders. “I thought this summer might be a good time to take a trip. Rosie’s going to be starting college in the fall, Drea’s had a pretty tough year, and where have our kids gone in their lives? Brooklyn, up to Howard’s place in Maine, a little time at the beach here and there?”

They stand side by side at the kitchen sink - it’s one of their nights to do the dishes. Steve’s wedding ring (the replacement, which he’s grown quite fond of in its own right) sits on the countertop as he scrubs and rinses a frying pan then hands it to Peggy to dry. She circles the towel over it with an amused expression.

“Is this about Shelby Peterson?” she asks indulgently, slotting the pan into the rack. “Have you finally been convinced to experience Mr. Disney’s dreamland despite the expense?”

Steve finishes the last of the cutlery and hands it off to her, letting the scummy water circle down the drain. “Not exactly,” he says. “But if you can free up some time in August, I thought we might experience something else.”

They shuffle the kids out of bed at 6 AM, dressed in sweaters and comfortable clothing for the car and carrying their own pillows and blankets. The station wagon was packed the night before, its spacious trunk filled with suitcases, and once everyone is tucked in and already dozing again, they set off.

Peggy squeezes Steve’s hand and leans to take a catnap herself. The sun rising behind them, Steve pulls out of the driveway. As they move easily through quiet, empty streets, Steve looks in the rearview at his sleepy family. When he takes the time to consider it, when he isn’t caught up in the day-to-day routine of it all, there’s a strangely tinged sweetness in looking at them. They are the loves of a life he nearly didn’t have, and he is so grateful that he has had the opportunity to know them and be loved by them, for them to know and love each other.

He smiles to himself: he has no idea why Peggy thought this would be a rough trip.

By 9 AM everyone is up again and clamoring for breakfast.

By 10, they’re returning to the car following a nasty fight in the diner between Rose and Drea over whether they should both get pancakes or if one of them should get French toast (Rose: “It makes sense to have one of each! Then we can trade, a taste for a taste.” Drea: “You wouldn’t stop at just a taste! You’d probably eat all of yours and half of mine!”).

By 11, everyone is stewing in the aftermath of the argument between Nate and Drea as they’d returned to the car (Drea: “You can’t have that seat - you know we’re supposed to trade, plus I had dibs on that one and you know I get nauseous.” Nate: “The first part of the ride was short! Trades only count when it’s been hours. And we all know you’re faking because you just don’t like the back.”) and another between - surprisingly - Rose and Emma because Rosie refused to root around under the seats for Em’s sky blue colored pencil (Emma: “But you have the longest arms! They’re so long, it will be easy for you.” Rose: “I’m sorry, my weird long arms are busy.”)

Steve refuses to look over at Peggy, even as they stop for bathrooms, gas, and lunch around 1.

They divide into a kids’ room and a parents’ room at the motel in Indianapolis that night. Through the wall, Steve can hear the four of them bickering about who should have to share beds with who.

“I have no idea whether or not Rosie’s snoring is the equivalent of Nate’s kicking, but if they don’t go to sleep soon I don’t know that it will matter,” Peggy mumbles.

“If they’re tired out, it might make things easier tomorrow,” Steve suggests.

“I’m not certain that you’re in a place to comment,” she tells him, and rolls over to go to sleep.

Peggy takes the first driving shift the next morning, outfitting herself with sunglasses and a determined expression. They’re supposed to make it to Missouri by tonight.

“You look great today,” Steve tries about ten minutes down the highway, but Peggy just raises a waspish eyebrow at him and puts her foot to the gas. He sighs and tries to find a comfortable way to stretch his legs as he takes out his book.

The kids are following his example in the back, having each apparently elected to give the silent treatment to the rest. He isn’t sure how effective it is when they’re all doing it, but at least it’s quiet. Quiet enough that with the road whizzing beneath them and the scenery blurring outside, Steve actually falls asleep.

When he wakes up, Peggy is saying sternly, “No dirty words, Rose,” and Rosie is replying back, “I just said that we should look for signs that have the letters F and U in them! We’ve gone through the whole alphabet already, we have to move on to combinations. It’s just logic.”

“I can do without that logic,” Steve tells her, straightening in his seat and clearing his throat. “Your mother’s right, pick something else.”

“Hello, again,” Peggy says to him as he scrubs his fingers over his eyes to clear them. Behind them, the kids are reminding each other of the rules for Twenty Questions.

“Hey.” He smiles over at her. “I didn’t think I’d slept that long. Are these our same kids from this morning?”

“They are, they’ve simply remembered that they actually like one another.”

“Mom, Emma says that Drea’s pushing on the back of her seat!”

“That’s what happens when I’m all the way back here! My legs need somewhere to go.”

“Well, they like each other most of the time,” Steve says, and points to an awning beside the road proclaiming Dolly’s, the smaller print below reading Hamburgers, Floats, Fries. “And they’ll probably like each other more after lunch.”

Their motel that night has a pool, and the fact that none of the kids beg for a swim before bed should probably be a tipoff that something is up. Steve is still awake and reading at 11 when there’s a splash outside the window. He brushes back the curtain and stretches up as much as he can from his position sitting up against the wall. Rosie and Drea have already jumped in, and Nate is climbing down the ladder. Emma seems content to simply dangle her feet, at least for now.

“Are you going to tell them off?” Peggy mumbles into his shirt from where she’s dozing on his shoulder.

“Nah.” Steve closes his book and puts it on the bedside table. He leans over and rests his face into Peggy’s hair for a moment. “Hey, Peg,” he finally says, kissing the top of her head with his eyes closed. “You brought a swimsuit too, didn’t you?”

The night manager comes out at half past midnight to grumble at them that the pool’s closed, and when they go to check out, a charge has been added to their bill for a noise violation. Steve’s about ready to argue that he isn’t paying for any made up fine, but then he watches Nate and Emma guarding the luggage in the corner, interrupting each other with eagerness as they recall the underwater somersault contest they had with Peggy the night before.

He pays the charge.

They drive past a sign advertising a local square dance in one of towns near the border of Oklahoma, and even though they’re meant to just be driving through, the kids want to see it badly enough that they while away the rest of the day and put together the most appropriate outfits they can find from what remains in their suitcases.

It’s too intimidating for the kids to actually participate. Even Rose, who is usually difficult to embarrass, doesn’t attempt a venture into the fast paced synchronicity in front of her. But they enjoy themselves anyway, clapping along to the beat that echoes from the huge tent which has been set up, trying to translate the unfamiliar language of the dance for Emma, and appreciating the energy of the caller, a grinning, red-faced man whose enthusiasm only increases as the evening goes on, until he’s ending each number with a bellowed “Yeehaw, it’s done!”

For the rest of the trip, whenever something is completed - a meal or a book, the drive through another state - it will be inevitably and solemnly announced, “Yeehaw, it’s done.”

The plan had been to have arrived in time to celebrate Nate’s birthday, but the stop in Oklahoma puts them a bit off. They end up in a joint called Elmer’s for his celebratory dinner, which Steve doesn’t think looks particularly promising, until he meets Myra, the brains behind the operation.

She doesn’t even let them order, just brings out family sized dishes of lasagna and garlic bread and some kind of broccoli dish that all the kids actually eat. When they mention that it’s Nate’s birthday, she nods solemnly and asks how old he is. The cake, topped with eleven candles plus one to grow on, arrives at the end of the meal, so enormous that Myra has to balance it on both arms.

“How did you know what kind I wanted?” Nate asks her, wide-eyed, as they get ready to go. “No one ever guesses that I like white frosting but chocolate cake inside.”

Myra taps the side of her nose. “Restaurant owner secret.”

(Emma won’t leave until Myra’s given up her lasagna recipe, even though she and Steve have been perfecting their own for years.)

“If we’re just going to find a place for the night,” Rosie asks slyly as they return to the car, “why don’t I drive?”

“No,” Steve says firmly, only to find himself echoed by everyone else. Rose is a maniac driver. He’d tried to give her a couple of lessons but couldn’t concentrate on advice when he was consistently formulating strategies for evasive maneuvers - he was certainly getting older, but he could probably still get the two of them out if it came to it. It is common family wisdom that she’d only been licensed to drive because the examiner had interpreted her handling of the test course as a direct threat on his life.

Keeping a tight grip on the keys, Steve says, “I’m actually in the mood to drive a little more. You all go to sleep. I’ll wake you up when I find somewhere to stop.”

He turns off of I-40 around 5 AM. The sun is just beginning to trickle up the horizon. He leans over and runs his fingers over Peggy’s cheek.

“Are we there?” she asks, her voice soft and sleepy. She blinks a few times, slow, groggy, barely opening her eyes, and stretches a bit. “Have you accomplished your latest bullheaded idea?”

“Almost. Thanks for agreeing to come with me.”

“I always will,” she says. “You know that.”

He drives the rest of the way with one hand on the wheel, the other hand holding hers.

They don’t quite make it before sunrise, but that’s alright. There isn’t anyone much there: it’s chilly, a Monday morning. The kids bundle themselves up in their blankets as they stumble from the car. They are still in their clothes from dinner last night.

They stand together on the rim of the Canyon, looking out.

“This is it,” Steve signs when no one says anything first. He wonders if they’re regretting letting themselves get dragged all the way across the country. Maybe this isn’t enough for them the way he had thought it would be.

Then Drea says, “The world is so big.” For once she does not stretch the sign to exaggeration; it is held against her chest in wonder, a whisper. She looks up at him. “Dad, did you know the world is so big?”

He smiles down at her. “I had a bit of an idea.”

They start to drive back at night after two days at and around the Grand Canyon. It’s the only way Mom is going to get back in time for her to start work again, and everyone still has to go back-to-school shopping.

“At least you let us prepare this time,” Rosie grumps as they climb into the car. “No one likes sleeping in their jeans, Dad.”

Dad just kisses the top of her head and says, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Nate, like all his siblings, falls asleep pretty easily on car rides. But he wakes up a little while later and isn’t sure why. It’s really dark out, even darker than at home, and the stars look pretty from where his head is leaning by the window. Mom and Dad are talking softly up front. He likes when they do that. It makes him feel safe.

“I’ve been thinking,” Mom says. “It seems to me that once the cost of the various food and lodgings, the gas and souvenirs and all the rest have been tallied up, a trip to Orlando might have been more cost effective.”

“Maybe,” says Dad. “But wasn’t this worth it?”

“Hmm,” says Mom in that smiling way she does when Dad makes a good point. “I suppose it was.”

Nate remembers doing handclaps across the car seat with Emma until his palms were sore and they declared themselves world champions, making Rosie laugh until she’d almost peed in the pool, trying to remember the square dance steps with Drea even though he was too short and she was too tall and they kept tripping over each other. He remembers his birthday cake. He remembers Mom leaning over to Dad that first day at the Canyon and asking very quietly, “You really never saw it before? In all that time?” and the way he’d replied, “No. I guess I was waiting to see it with all of you,” and how Nate had felt all lit up inside from hearing that.

Worth it, Nate thinks drowsily, and closes his eyes again as Dad drives them steadily through the dark.

He’ll have plenty of stories of his own to tell Shelby Peterson when sixth grade starts.

[sailolive93-blog]

The best Guide to Reddit Marketing around 2019

"Yep, i do all my modelling in C4D as I just know the tools so well there. I do minimal retopology in Zbrush on organic shapes but any hard surfaces I make in C4D. I'd recommend the "Introduction to Subdivision modelling in C4D" by Shane Benson on Vimeo (he goes by Sheppard O'Neill on YouTube if you prefer that) and it was his tuts that got me into box and subdiv modelling.

I'm also releasing a modelling workshop in C4D and models from the kitchen scene that these belong to will be in there to learn. Just not these two as they belong to marketing for the workshop. very well "Brand new Reddit account with two extensive comments defending Boa Vista Orchards huh...? We joked earlier about spotting the Boa Vista account in here but it looks like we actually have lol! > I just talked to the dude who does the marketing for Apple Hill and he sent me this So you just randomly talked to the guy and he emailed over his entire statement...? " "I too wonder why they didn’t just create a new line and call it the mach-e instead of mustang, I believe it has something to do with the marketing department since they knew it’ll stir a lot of discussion" "Precedent suggests it depends on the marketing around the product being sold and the implied purpose. " "Wow, ha. The fact that you think that it’s ok for the government to strip away my personal health insurance so that I HAVE to be on the same shitty plan on everybody else is crazy. If healthcare is “free” and universal, the quality of healthcare is bound to decrease. I can choose to pay for whatever the fuck I want and whatever healthcare I want. I give to charity and I have plans on giving a lot more to charity as I get further in my career and start making more money. Believe it or not, you aren’t the only one that cares about people just because you want “free” healthcare for everybody. And there is also no such thing as free healthcare. It has to be paid somehow and middle class taxes will go up no matter how complicated you try to make the source of payment sound. And regarding free college, that will also raise middle class taxes. You keep bringing up this. 02% of financial transactions bullshit as if that’s going to cover all costs. Have you done studies on this yourself? Do you even know that? You act like all these things can be magically paid for without anybody in the middle class being negatively affected. I have a bachelor’s degree and I didn’t feel like college was very challenging. It was more like a series of annoying classes I didn’t need when all of college could have been boiled down into one year of the core classes of my major of marketing. College is a fuckin scam and it’s only truly necessary for a very limited amount of majors. You’re just another minion that kisses the feet of big-government Democrats that try to make us feel like horrible people for not allowing them to sucks insane amounts of money out of the economy and spend it how they would like to. inch "That's including the localization teams for every language though, as well as PR and marketing. >! Some of them might even be legacy accreditation for the Gen 6 models they're *still* using.! < " "Time is a cost and you should track where that cost is going. That said, if you are working on general administrative/nonbillable stuff within your own department, it's pretty easy to have that time automatically go to the right cost bucket, so generic entries for that sort of thing are fine imo. The stuff that really has to be tracked is anything for clients or for departments that are outside your default (e. g. engineer writes a blog post, that's marketing time etc). micron "I believe there are some lessons on Google Academy for Adss (now called Skillshop) but hands-on experience is tricky. Two ways are possible, 1) is for you to have your own website and use Google Ad Sense, but this is more from the advertiser side rather than publisher or technical side 2) ask a digital or marketing agency that is near you if you can shadow/assist/internship/work experience for a week or so. This may be difficult depending on where you live and agency people are always very busy, so if you do ask tell them how you could help THEM not the other way around. To be honest, start with Analytics and Paid Search as they are arguable more accessible and have more out there for you to learn" "We are in the same boat, but different industry. Here's my approach, starting this week: I'm joining business groups that my target clients are a part of, for example, manufacturer groups. Then I'm going to target that organization with our services. I'm then going to offer to speak about the service I offer and how it helps businesses. Not a marketing spiel, an educational talk. Good luck" "One might consider a lawsuit if a car or alcohol company advocated or implied the action of drinking and driving in their marketing" "This post has been removed for breaking Rule 1. No Spammy Titles. Do not mention anything about selling anything in the title. Absolutely ZERO marketing in the title. Do not even ask for people to contact you for more. Be enticing. Post quality pics with quality titles. Read the rules for info on how to market yourself here. If your posts keep getting removed then you will be banned. READ THE RULES! *I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Remember to[contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/? to=/r/feetpics) if you have any questions or concerns. *" "I came of grew up and came of age in Chicago during Jordan's time with the Bulls and the shortest answer is that it's almost incomparable because the level of fame basketball players before Michael Jordan was laughably lower than now. Even today MJ has a logo that might be more identifiable than the company that created it. I would argue no athlete in any sport has surpassed MJ's level of fame. MJ pioneered so many avenues of endorsements, its like comparing planes in the era of propeller planes with jet planes. Jordan like most greats, stood on the shoulders of giants, specifically Larry Bird and Magic Johnson. Those two spent the better part of the late 70's and early to late 80's dominating the sport of basketball. Also add in Isiah Thomas of the Pistons and arguably "Dr. J" Julius Erving of the 76ers and those four were the superstars of the four teams that won EVERY NBA championship of the decade. Before Michael Jordan won his FIRST NBA Championship in 1991, he was arguably bigger than all of them. Before MJ, being a big name athlete meant getting your name on a breakfast cereal box called Wheaties, and doing the commercial saying the plug line "Gotta eat your Wheaties! " That's not a joke. Check 'em out on youtube, they're cringe worthy. MJ's meteoric rise in my opinion was helped by a few special advertising campaigns. I think first would have been his Nike commercials with Spike Lee, another pioneer. He just made "Do the right thing" at a time when black people making movies with black people in the movies wasn't really a thing. Spike Lee also happens to like playing characters in his own movies and Mars Blackmon was a character in that movie that Spike Lee chose to portray in a series of commericals with Michael Jordan. Again, pardon me for repeating, but I have to say it again for context. You have a supremely talented and charismatic young athlete being marketed by a young shoe company (Converse Chuck Taylors were still THE basketball shoe) hiring a visionary and ground breaking director to do something that had not been done before. And they crushed it. Again, at this time Michael Jordan wasn't winning NBA championships. He was having savant level performances, but get bounced out of the first round by the Celtics, or getting manhandled in the playoffs by the Pistons. By the time he did win it all in 91, MJ was doing things that no one had done in fields well outside basketball. Michael Jordan in Flight is one of the first videogames to have 3D. He had already supplanted Dr J in the one on one basketball video game with Larry Bird. Gatorade put out a marketing campaign with the song "Be Like Mike" and that song was the top song for the summer of 92 in Chicago on most radio stations regardless of genre. You're already familiar with Space Jam, but before Space Jam, the Looney Toons were relegated to afternoon after school syndicated (rerun) television stations. Michael Jordan made Bugs Bunny cool again to a whole new generation that knows of them only through MJ. I hope that helps. inches "Yeah I don't want to turn it around and criticize Musk over this or anything, but Tesla is great at PR and marketing while convincing people they don't actually try to be. inches "No, you dont need more parties, you need to ban all parties and establish government funded elections where everyone with a certain amount of support by the people can run using government money and marketing channels. Equal funding, equal marketing, equal candidacy, by the people, for the people. Sounds too good to be true? Well fuck you, because parties are corrupt barbaric cavemen shit. " " Funny Cartoon Images for website content - Family Funny Images and illustrations, Ultimate single panel funny cartoons used for websites, social media and emails https://www.freecartoonsdaily.com https://www.cartoons.cafe   www.cartoons.cafe www.acmeblanks.com sign up now! Funny Cartoons, Funny family cartoon images, Custom Cartoons, Niche Cartoons, Humorous Illustration Services, Business Cartoons, Medical Cartoons, Custom Comic Strips, Book Illustration Services, Political Cartoons, funny hospital cartoons, cartoons for marketing, corporate cartoons, work cartoons, business cartoons, Computer Cartoons, farmer cartoons, farm cartoons, tractor cartoons, Pig cartoons, pig farmer cartoons, cor farmer cartoons, wheat farmer cartoons, soybean farmer cartoons.... inch "That's including people associated with the marketing and promotion of Sword and Shield, which means people at Nintendo and the Pokemon Company rather than actual programmers at Game Freak working on the game itself. The same article you're looking at gives 200 at Game Freak - which is likely wrong since Game Freak had 143 employees, and Game Freak openly stated most were working on Town. You could include the modelers from Creatures Inc, but given that the models are the same as those developed for X and Y by Creatures Inc years ago, they are likely still being credited for "work" on this game that was actually done quite some time ago. " "Imagine what a lucky break JonTron was for FlexSeal. Their products are actually pretty decent, but their marketing was almost typical infomercial stuff that no-one over fifty would've seen. Next, out of nowhere, some YouTuber makes them famous amongst younger customers. People make "that's a lotta damage, " and "I sawed this boat in half, " memes. Everyone knows who they are. Chances are, when you need some stuff like this you'll at the very least know about their existence and you might buy their stuff because at least you know they're legit. Some people will buy it when they need something like that, literally for the meme. All they have to do is keep the ball rolling with tweets like these (because, of course, people actually follow them on Twitter now). " "That's my point. The pub you linked to is disney land. I'm looking for somewhere that recreates the  a more authentic historical experience. I think these places have got their marketing wrong which is why they are closing. They should be trying to recreate an experience closer to that in the Pathe news reel. If you just sold fresh baked bread, potted Hare, a variety of local ales you could heat with a poker while smoking a hilarious pipe you could capture a huge slice of the real ale / hipster / foodie market. " "No game in the genre had been competition for the Diablo franchise since it's inception. D3 no matter how you look at it was a huge commercial success being in the top 10 video games sold of all time at one point. Diablo now has become what WoW was before, tons of games saying they are a WoW killer and none of them doing it. So now we looming at Diablo killers but they all end up falling off somewhere because they don't get the same $$$ support / marketing. inch "8M opening weekend bad = bad marketing. Bad quality movie would be revealed in the multiplier (word of mouth and no rewatches). In this case I don’t think there was anything compelling from the movie they could focus the marketing around which led to the 8M OW. " "I’m in the same boat. I have to get 14 credits by may2020. In the last 2 weeks I did principle of marketing 3 credits score 66 and principal of management 3 credits score 62. This week I’ll take precalculas which is 5 credits and calculus which is 4 credits. I did not pay the $89 for the test because I did modernstates which pays the testing fee. It also reimburses me for the $20 testing fee" "Marketing. McAf€€ gets money from users, Micro$oft gets money from McAfee. They beget the green, motherfuckers that they are. Sometimes  http://tipofmytongue.topreddit.info  who install 3^^rd party stuff tho, it's not only Microsoft. Anyway, it's a motherfuckery of bloatware if not malware. "McAfee antivirus is one of the worst products on the planet" -John McAfee" "You're arguing entirely from marketing hype instead of actual quality, which is entirely stupid and comes down entirely to Sont having far greater of a userbase and them having less games to pump more money behind. Besides, let's not pretend Sony has an actual library of games here. Both Xbox and Sony have completely shit the bed this console generation in terms of exclusive libraries. Sony has had like, 8 good games this entire generation as exclusives. You have Death Stranding, Uncharted 4, Horizon, Until Dawn, Bloodborne, God of War, MLB The Show... That's about it? I guess you also have Detroit and Last Guardian depending on who you ask, but I defo don't wanna throw Days Gone on that list. But in any case, you could lump all of those games into loke 3-4 genres. Am I��missing anything? But yeah, stop saying dumb shit like "Well its not a household name so its irrelevant" because you're entirely missing the point and reducing the entire industry to what can or can't be marketed. As well, its telling that Sony has stated their goal next-gen is to have less games release but have them be bigger, where Microsoft is going the opposite direction. Keep the the big titles, bur also have a little something for everyone. Diversity is important. Your Battletoads reboot might not sell as well, but its important to folks who like it. Games shouldn't be live or die based on how well they fit in established and marketable trends. Its absurdly reductive" "I actually never had injected one, whats the main difference? And is it really a big improvement or rather a marketing bait" "It’s all part of his NYC persona. Marketing. inches

[redeyedryu]

Anecdotes & Asides

Chapter 1 - A Burger for my Valentine [Ao3]

Alrighty, here it is! A Valentine’s special for Apathy & Happenstance.  As far as timeline goes, this can be seen as occurring at some point a bit down the road from where we currently are in A&H. This chapter can be considered canon.

Summary:  It's the Underfell brothers' first Valentine's on the surface. Sans all but forces you to take him to a local burger joint and you take the opportunity to introduce the brothers to a holiday tradition.

It’s Thursday afternoon and you’re sitting in the outdoor portion of some random restaurant Sans had expressed a strong interest in visiting. He’d said something about judging whether or not the joint held up to its claims of having the best burgers in town. You assume he saw a commercial or something advertising the place while channel surfing but with the way he had announced you were heading out, (because he hadn’t asked, no, just announced it to you the moment you had walked in the door that afternoon) it was almost as if he had been issued a formal challenge by the business itself or something.

A quick glance at a few of the tables around you shows numerous couples seated about, with the near deafening noise that floats out every time the patio’s door is opened a testament to the business’s popularity. Though, considering the day and your general aversion to dining out, it’s impossible to tell if this is typical weekday traffic or if it’s because of the “holiday”. Part of you wonders why Sans had to choose today of all days for a public outing while another wonders if the monster’s even aware of what today is. Probably not, you decide, but no matter. It’s not often that he expresses interest in going somewhere, so despite having wanted nothing more than to de-stress on the couch after a less than stellar day at work, you had agreed to take him out. Papyrus had passed when you asked if he wanted to accompany the both of you (something about greasy food being of the lowest caliber and not worth his time nor attention) so it was just the two of you, out amid the sea of lovebirds.

A fleeting thought crosses your mind and it causes you to pause the absent minded twirling of the straw in your glass. You wind up focusing on the thought, stuck to the idea like a bee on honey: do the random passersby see you and Sans sitting here, having dinner together, and make assumptions? Ice clinks in your glass as you shift your gaze to the skeleton seated across from you, completely ignorant to your inner musing as he all but inhales his meal. A mixture of grease and condiments are dripping down his jaw and phalanges, some of the mess even dribbling down the bones of his wrists. You quirk a brow at the sight, equal parts disgusted, amused, and impressed.

My, what a pair the two of you must look like.

You huff in amusement and decide to indulge the stray thought, chasing it down the proverbial rabbit hole as Sans continues to stuff his face. Maybe it’s because you’re surrounded by couples, that today is Valentine’s, and that there are hearts and declarations of love all around that your mind is tossing up unwanted hypotheticals, but you find yourself wondering: could I see myself dating Sans? Would I ever want to date him?

You haven't know the guy for long, you remind yourself. You do know a few things about him, though, what with sharing a living space and all, your mind counters; that he’s an absolute slob, that he’s always trying to rile you and his brother up, but there’s also the fact that he’s surprisingly attentive. Sure he’s often crude and crass, and his people skills could definitely use some refinement, but he always seems to know when you need a good laugh or pick-me-up and is more than eager to supply his unique brand of humor (though poor Papyrus is often left to suffer for it). You haven't missed the way he hovers close when you're out in public, either, the tension he holds, as if ready to take on any attack at the drop of a hat.

You bring the straw to your lips and sip as you study Sans with a critical eye. You’re not sure what you’re looking for, exactly, but you take in his marred bones—the many nicks, cracks, and scratches that litter the visible portions of his body; the way the little pips of ruby red light that denote his irises catch on the rims of his eye sockets; that golden tooth, at home among his smirking maw.

...smirking?

You blink, blink again, and then blink several more times in quick succession before shifting your gaze to take in the whole of Sans’s face.

Oh.

Yeah, he’s definitely smirking at you—grin wide and at shit-eating levels.

The straw falls from your lips as you force yourself to slowly, casually, straighten in your seat.

“What?” you deadpan as you begin fiddling with a fry on your plate. You stuff it in your mouth and ready another, acting for all the world as if you hadn't just been checking out your skeleton roommate.

Sans just chuckles. “nuttin’,” he replies as he grabs a napkin and starts cleaning up his mess. You can’t help but watch the way his bones move—the way they bend and twist and work together with nary a muscle fiber nor tendon in sight. It's fascinating to watch and you just can’t seem to tear your eyes away. Not until another deep chuckle rumbles forth from the skeleton, anyway. You blink and force your gaze from his hands, focusing once more on your neglected plate with its half-eaten burger and barely picked at fries; you hadn't been very hungry when Sans insisted you go out. He laughs again and you tell yourself you didn't just flinch, that it's just unseasonably hot out here and that's why your cheeks suddenly feel so heated.

“hey, hey, sweetheart,” Oh goodness, don’t acknowledge you heard him. “i don’t mind ya ooglin’ tha goods.” Sans continues, and you can just hear the smugness in his voice, can see that self-assured grin splitting his mug. Ugh. Great. He's going to be incorrigible for the rest of the night, you just know it.

Don't admit anything; don't acknowledge anything.

“So what’s the verdict,” you deflect, grabbing up another fry and using it to motion at Sans’s decimated plate, all the while trying to avoid his gaze. “D’the burgers here pass your almighty judgement or were you just that hungry?”

“heh. don’t think i don’t know what yer doin’, bud, but fine.” He nabs a fry from your plate, completely ignoring your indignant squeak of protest. “i’ll bite. if ‘m bein’ honest, it ain’t half bad—ain’t no grillby’s but it ain’t bad.”

“Uh huh.” You try to whack his clawed phalanges away as he makes another grab at your fries, grumbling as you somehow manage to miss despite the close proximity. “Must be a flamin’ hot endorsement, coming from you. Hey!” The jerk just nicked another fry. “Stop stealing my food, you ass! Place another order if you want more!”

“naw,” he says between laughs. “s’too fun watchin’ ya struggle.”

That prompts you to finally meet his gaze, eyes squinting and lips set in a frown. He actually has the gall to look proud of himself. Oh, this little piece of-!

You scowl as he munches on your fries, muttering to yourself, “Can’t believe I even entertained such a stupid idea.” No way would you ever date an ass like him!

Sans quirks a brow, pliant bone arching as that stupid grin of his spreads. He tilts his skull towards you, his chin braced on his palm. “oh? what’s that? got somethin’ a’ say?”

“No, nothing,” you mumble, shoving the plate towards him. “Just shut up and take them, you heathen.”

“oooh yeah, with pleasure!” You grimace as he wastes no time devouring the fries much like he had the burger. How someone can be so messy eating fries, you'll never know.

It's not long after that Sans has finished devouring what was left of your meal. The bill is paid and the two of you are making your way past the check-in desk, the young woman manning the station smiling bright and wide at the two of you.

She waves, which you return on reflex, and calls out, “Happy Valentine’s Day, you two! Have a nice night!” as Sans holds the door open for you. You choke on a sputter just as you pass the threshold, eyes widening and cheeks heating because she totally made the assumption. You spare a glance at Sans as you pass him, expecting to see some manner of salacious expression adoring his face but all you see is a puzzled befuddlement. He meets your gaze before falling into step beside you, phalanges jamming into the pockets of his jacket.

“th’ fuck’s ‘valentine’s day’?”

Well, that's another question answered.

You take a moment to school your expression, to calm your suddenly racing heart and to fight back the heat on your cheeks. Biting your lip helps to further distract yourself.

“Pretty much just another commercial holiday,” is your even reply, and heck yeah, you nailed it! As the two of you make your way back to the apartment complex you continue: “People typically buy chocolates, flowers, or whatever for their significant other—some people’ll get stuff for their friends and family, too. My dad, for example, would always get me a yellow tulip.”

“huh. n’ people willingly take part in that kinda sentimental crap?”

“Every year,” you say as you glance ahead of you, about a block down the street. Your gaze lands on a local florist’s shop and you can’t help the grin that works its way across your lips as an idea comes to mind.

Sans, on the other hand, just glares at the ground. “tch. that’s some pansy-ass bullshit if you ask me.”

You shoot him a questioning look and notice how closed off his posture now is; how he’s drawn in on himself. Maybe you’re reading too much into it but he almost looks… disappointed?

You loop an arm around Sans’s, pulling him with you towards your new, spontaneous destination. He shouts in surprise and makes a weak attempt at pulling himself free but you refuse to acquiesce, instead only holding him tighter against you. “C’mon, you nasty little gremlin, I’m getting you something for Valentine’s Day.”

He sputters half-hearted protests and breaks out into that ever-present magical sweat of his as you pull him into the quaint little store but doesn’t bolt when you release him. He doesn’t say anything as you walk away from the check-out stand and hand him a single yellow tulip. He somehow manages to sink down into the collar of his sweater and the fluff of his hood, as if sulking, but you note the careful way he carries the flower and the tinge of red to his cheeks.

The two of you continue most of the remaining walk home in a nice, companionable silence.

Papyrus doesn’t comment on the flower you bring him, despite Sans’s insistence that it’s a silly gesture and no way would his brother accept some stupid weed as a gift (funny how Sans didn’t make any such declarations about his own flower). Instead, the tall skeleton surprises you (and his brother) with a tender, albeit brief, expression aimed at the proffered flower—a yellow tulip, just like the one you got Sans. In a blink, however, his expression is back to neutral placidity.

He doesn’t say anything as he shifts to hold the vase close to his chest, merely dips his skull towards you and holds your gaze with that of his empty eye sockets for one beat, then two, before he turns on his heels and walks down the hallway towards the room he shares with his brother. You tell yourself the red dusting across his cheekbones is just a trick of the light, a combination of his scarf bleeding into the light of the setting sun from the window, reflecting on his bones.

[marketingtipsworld-blog1]

7 Essential Marketing Tips for Small Businesses

Advertising is costly and no simple undertaking for an entrepreneur, yet you can't disregard the way that showcasing is additionally a standout amongst the most significant structure obstructs for your business. You have an extraordinary thought and when it's a great opportunity to discover clients for your business, contacting the ideal individuals with your promoting endeavors will be significant.

Informal exchange can enable you to begin, however you need to connect with an a lot more extensive to make a manageable business. It is hard to maintain a business on a financial limit and like numerous others, you may finish up cutting your spending limit on advertising. Fortunately you needn't bother with a great deal of cash to begin advertising your business and in this post, we share 7 fundamental promoting tips that each entrepreneur can receive to begin and develop their business.

Set up your personality

When beginning your business, your first center ought to build up your novel personality in the market. In the event that you figure out how to get your marking right, at that point your business can profit by it in years to come however on the off chance that you fail to understand the situation toward the starting, it might demonstrate to be an over the top expensive slip-up for you.

So as to set up your personality, you have to recognize some significant parts of your organization by asking yourself these inquiries: What does my organization represent? Who are my objective clients? Who are my rivals? What is my specialty in the market? How am I not quite the same as my rivals? What esteems will my organization have? What sort of a character do I need my image to have?

When you have answers to the above inquiries, you have lucidity about your business personality and you can proceed to locate an appropriate name, a logo, and hues that will speak to your business. Research shading brain science to discover which hues are most alluring for your group of onlookers and attempt to join comparative hues in your logo and marking material.

When you have your very own logo, you will have a personality for your business which you can use over the entirety of your promoting material, your business cards, envelopes, email marks, etc to build the perceivability of your business. Be that as it may, we would encourage you to not rely upon the logo totally, however construct an involvement with your business that your clients can identify with.

Have an extraordinary site

As the web keeps on turning into an essential piece of individuals' lives, a great

web architecture turns into a key factor of achievement for some little and huge organizations. In the event that you don't have a specialized foundation, you might be stressed over spending a tremendous measure of cash to manufacture a site that you may not have the option to keep up independent from anyone else. You don't need to stress over that any longer, in light of the fact that there is a ton of simple to-utilize, free apparatuses to enable you to assemble a delightful site with no specialized foundation by any means.

Early introductions are the most significant, and a business site adds validity to your business when you advance yourself. A site is a straightforward yet practical approach to impart data about your business to potential clients. Consider your site as a free showcasing channel where you can share and gloat about your organization's accomplishments and advancements. It's additionally an extraordinary chance to create leads and discover more data about individuals who are effectively hunting down your business.

On the off chance that you have a disconnected business, at that point you may ask us for what valid reason would it be advisable for me to try and mind to be on the web? All things considered, in the event that you need to pull in new clients and develop your business, at that point having a business site is a fundamental advance towards more advancement. Allude to this brisk rundown to discover which significant highlights you ought to incorporate on your site.

Get familiar with promoting with free online courses

We frequently get notification from entrepreneurs that despite the fact that they don't have a decent comprehension of showcasing, they're willing to learn. In any case, they simply don't know where to begin. We offer a rundown of top free advertising courses you can do at your very own pace and become familiar with all you have to think about showcasing.

The upsides of these courses are that they can be taken at your very own pace and are available over numerous gadgets, so you don't generally need to open up your workstation to begin the course. The majority of the seminars on the rundown are totally free of expense and give you a free accreditation to demonstrate your aptitude.

We would prescribe you to begin from the Google Digital Garage course on the off chance that you have definitely no learning about promoting. The course will enable you to comprehend diverse advertising ideas and will enable you to get a ton of thoughts you can actualize for advancing your business. Take these courses and remain responsible for your very own business. Likewise, when you have sound information about the ideas, you can be increasingly sure about requesting the assistance of experts to scale up your advertising endeavors.

Guarantee your free postings

Finding new clients is a requesting procedure for independent ventures, particularly toward the starting when you're simply setting everything up. Your business can pick up focal points with better presentation on the web, and you can begin constructing your online nearness by asserting free professional resources.

You can begin by making a free business email ID for your business and building a Google in addition to profile for it. Utilizing Google in addition to is a significant advance since a huge number of individuals lean toward Google as their web search tool, and it gives more inclination to posts by means of Google in addition to. At that point, you can guarantee your free posting on Google My Business. The data you add to your Google My Business profile shows up on the correct side when individuals scan for your business and offers a chance to your clients to leave their criticism and remarks about your business.

Here's the finished rundown of sites where you can list your business for nothing and draw in new clients, while additionally fabricating your online nearness.

Begin exploring different avenues regarding online life

When you're prepared with your site and free postings, the following sensible advance is to make online life pages for your business. A standout amongst the most widely recognized oversights numerous independent ventures make is to make a page on each social site as would be prudent. It's an extraordinary method to recover another site to connection to your site and for a fast begin. Be that as it may, it is critical to organize the most significant stages for your methodology, and make an effort not to take a shot at all of them on the double.

You are eager to set up your business, yet it's difficult to keep up the energy of your substance and posts via web-based networking media once your business is fully operational. In this way, it's keen to pick the stages where you're well on the way to discover new clients. For instance, in the event that you're a hair salon, at that point a Facebook page and Instagram are incredible stages, in any case. Facebook offers you the chance to share substance and data about your business while Instagram enables you to share flawless pictures from your salon and enable your clients to perceive what enchantment you make with your business.

Guarantee that your business profile, contact data, and site connections are dependably cutting-edge. Attempt to incorporate catchphrases in your profile. Join discussions and gatherings where you can discuss your items and administrations, and discover individuals who might be keen on them. Be that as it may, ensure you don't finish up spamming the channel and making a negative picture for your business.

In the event that you wind up in an imperative for time, we prescribe you to plan your posts and advancements with free devices like Buffer. Support enables you to plan your advancements and consequently posts on your online networking page at the booked time. On the off chance that you don't know how to manufacture an imaginative for web based life, at that point observe some contender pages to get a few thoughts, and begin making your own materials with a free programming like Canva.

Choosing the correct stages for your advertising advancements, won't just guarantee that you achieve the correct clients yet will likewise ward off you from the weight on making content for every social medium channels.

Advance item/administration mindfulness in the nearby network

Systems administration is significant and a speedy method to begin advancing your items and administrations is by making more mindfulness about your business in the neighborhood network. Discover how you can profit your locale and how your items/administrations can improve their life. Subsequent stage is to get progressively included with the network in various exercises, for instance, volunteer at occasions or take an interest in network exercises.

Numerous towns and urban areas host marches, celebrations and little network occasions consistently. Engage with the network, associate with individuals and offer data about your business. It's an incredible method to assemble a positive vibe for your business without showing up excessively limited time. You can likewise plan and host a few occasions to fabricate network commitment and to draw in new clients toward your business.

Keep in mind, building associations are increasingly significant. You can get astounding input from individuals who you associate with, and this is vital for your business achievement in the long haul. You can likewise utilize referral plans and boost referrals to urge individuals to get more clients for you.

Put time in systems administration and always remember to take your business card

When you include a solid reach inside your locale, have a go at growing your system by partaking in systems administration occasions. Meetups, independent venture gatherings, new item dispatches, and exchange shows are an incredible method to begin.

Be that as it may, before you begin organizing you should set yourself up for these occasions and get into the systems administration mentality. In the first place, make a draft of your lift pitch, and afterward make your expert online arrangement booking framework. A standout amongst the most ideal approaches to urge individuals to associate with you is to call them to activity. An invitation to take action is content or substance which desires the clients to make a move. 

Related post :

Bisnis and Project Tips http://projectnowadays.com/

[whatscallion]

don’t panic!

Pairing: Flirtatiously Quill x Unnamed OC ( it’ll make sense )

A/N: This is the first time I’ve really done an OC / Reader insert deal, but figured that the writing challenge set by @spxderbarnes would be a good time to start! Besides, who doesn’t enjoy Quill (okay, ignoring infinity war bc obvious reasons). Hope I did this remotely right. Lots of references to one of my favorite book series, and a fun film - ‘Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy’. Best if read in the voice of Stephen Fry. Summary: A failed date at Milliways, The Restaurant at the End of the Universe, that is unabashedly crashed by a group of rowdy individuals - including one Star Lord. Shooting and great hair ensues. Word Count: 3,097

Special thanks to @cptsteven for dialogue help.

There were once stories written in the stars, carefully planned as to not tip any balance one way or another. There are those who wish to see this done, just for the sake of planetary chaos. This rarely bode well for the galaxy’s inhabitants. Yet amidst it all, there tended to be a common denominator, one that would surprise even the most powerful of beings.

And he had a knack for timing.

Milliways was, as always, a popular destination for all kinds of critters across the universe, both intelligent and not. The establishment boasted its exotic dishes through dismal advertising - most of which was by word of mouth, passing through the different curls of languages painting the cosmos. It was most known for its drinks, all of which required an incredibly high pain tolerance in order to consume. If that was survived, then surely the hangover would do the trick in granting untimely death. Fortunately enough, only about 5% of the universe’s populace could actually afford such a drink, so lesser beings didn’t have to worry, often opting for the local tap water, which was arguably just as bad.

But there she was - that bored girl from Terra who’d been unfortunately stood up in one of the most far-reaching restaurants anyone has or hasn’t heard of. How she managed to get there required a ridiculous amount of impossible abnormality. It was enough to require a change of clothing and sugary coffee to get by all those stars and that unending void. But it did end, in a sense, because that’s where Milliways was. There were all kinds of physics surrounding how it managed to ride the wave of the expanding universe, offering unparalleled views into a very true and very seamless abyss, but that was neither here nor there.

The tap water had something of a metallic taste to it, and our girl only took a sip or two before finally letting that scowl bleed through to compound her already lacking disposition. Through months of travelling as an unexpected guest aboard some intergalactic pirate ship, the novelty of alien compositions had worn off completely. Every possible color of the rainbow had come in every possible shape and texture any one being could think of. The excitement of the Final Frontier had waned, just as the restaurant’s atmosphere had over the course of several millennia. A once posh venue serving only the elite, Milliways had degraded itself to a tourist trap with questionable patrons and even more questionable dishes.

She grumbled about her absent date, expressing her disdain for what she’d been dressed in ( iridescent mesh had not been her choice, but that of the ship’s captain ) through a deep sneer and a subtle fidget. It was also incredibly uncomfortable, but of course, she’d been reassured she’d draw more attention than a Ta’avarian on the planet Nucleux, whatever that meant. It was becoming more and more apparent that the ship she’d been on had been waiting to unload their unwitting bounty to get on with their lives rather than pander to a fragile Terran who couldn’t even hold her breath for longer than a minute.

For a moment, she wondered how improbable it was to get a hamburger in this place that was made from a discernible meat. But thoughts were ceased as the doors to the restaurant whipped open to reveal a handful of very colorful individuals who immediately commanded attention through presence alone.

That and they were quite loud.

A tree ent, a raccoon ( that she assumed lived in a nest on the tree ent ), a scowling green woman, a larger scowling green man with intricate markings ( which she assumed was the reason he was shirtless in a restaurant ), and a man who looked surprisingly normal despite wearing green ( short ) gym shorts, a sweater, and flip flops. Never in her life had the Terran seen such a diverse group of individuals, prompting her to stare longer than what was deemed admissible, even by a Kloxin’s standards. For those unaware of the race known as ‘Kloxins’, they are an arachnid type species that can ensnare the mind if all eight eyes are met simultaneously. This would wreak havoc on the universe if everyone had eight eyes as well, so the Kloxins are doomed to simply control one another for the time being until evolution can throw them a bone.

The seemingly rowdy group went and sat in the corner of the restaurant, which held a perfect view of absolutely nothing while boasting about shooting this or slicing into that. The Terran girl only looked away when she felt the dryness of her tongue since her jaw had dropped somewhat. Right when she thought she’d seen it all, or at least became numb to it all, she became surprised at what this team was comprised of. She turned in her seat, greeted only with her reflection in the mirror at the back of Milliway’s bar, though it was frowning at her. Envy, curiosity, anxiety - they all wracked through her system, and she’d offered whatever imaginary greater force her soul in exchange for regular clothing. Her kingdom for denim. Whoever that was was obviously busy, for her attire didn’t change in the slightest, bringing her to groan in self-pity.

Hidden behind her hands that had been stained blue since first being picked up off her planet, there was a subtle shift in the space next to her. Some sort of extra-sensory thing she wished she could put her finger on, choosing to believe cosmic radiation had started to change her when really, she was just being perceptive and it was oddly quiet. She peeked through her fingers, finding that the most normal of that loud crowd had chosen to sit beside her, though he wasn’t looking at her.

She couldn’t help but glance down at the gym shorts that looked as if they’d gotten two inches shorter since he’d entered the place.

“You look normal,” he finally said, just before hailing down the robotic bartender for a glass of tap water, neat. “Like you’re not from anywhere near Centuri or anything.”

For those unaware, the radiation belt surrounding Centuri covers millions upon millions of lightyears of space, thus turning most inhabitants into something that resembles what your aunt would bring to Thanksgiving for dessert: globby, bits of things floating in it, and unappetizing in color.

“Uh,” she started, unaware that she’d been served something that resembled a hamburger, but strong suspicions would have her believe it was merely a facade for something tasting akin to celery. Mind reading robots tended to operate that way, acting on visual dreams rather than the substance that created them. “I guess I’m normal? I don’t know what to categorize as normal. Earth isn’t very normal to begin with.”

This managed to grab the man’s attention, bringing him to turn in his seat to face her completely, making it increasingly difficult to not steal another glance at the magically diminishing shorts. His eyes were alight with curiosity and relation, which forced the Terran to assume he knew the planet she was from. She could only hope that his opinions of the place were good, making him one of the very few she’d come across with the right attitude. More often than not, she feigned being from Earth’s moon which was the equivalent to being from America’s Alaska when traveling abroad.

Same neighborhood, but unassociated to those who don’t know better.

“Earth? Really? Hey, I’m from there. What a coinkidink. Did ‘Temple of Doom’ just blow Indiana Jones out of the water or what?” He looked too hopeful for that, but the truth was out of her mouth before she could really stop it.

“What? No. It’s the worst of the original trilogy. Earth collectively doesn’t even talk about the fourth one.” The girl sounded harsher than she intended. Probably.

“Trilogy? They made another one after ‘Temple of Doom’? And another after that?” While he looked minutely downcast, there was an eagerness to know more about the planet she came from. Which was his planet as well. “What uh- What else did they do?”

“Remade ‘Footloose’.”

“WHAT.”

His exclamation was enough to draw the attention of the restaurant’s patrons, all of whom were now settle with varying gazes upon the two at the bar. While she seemed a bit shy about the attention, her neighbor seemed unphased by it, as if he were used to being watched with differing states confusion.

He was oblivious, until someone spoke up.

“‘Footloose’? You’re kidding me.” It was more a growl than anything, followed by the unmistakable noise of a chair skidding across worn laminate flooring. The man in the shorts turned before the Terran girl did, both now looking across the dining room at what could only be described as a heaping pile of slimy ropes mushed together to vaguely resemble a bipedal . . . thing.

This was a member of the Gliphtrin race, who are infamous for finding sheer joy in throwing small rocks at bigger rocks, then eating said smaller rocks. But eating was unnecessary since they were all collections of smaller beings that greatly resembled boiled hagfish, absorbing their needed nutrients from the air around them. They are, collectively, notorious for having tempers and holding grudges. In fact, they hold the record for longest grudge held, which predates the universe’s creation by three and a half days.

No one is really sure what the grudge is, or who it is against, but it is known to be fierce and misplaced.

“Ooooooh, heeeey . . . you.” The green-shorted man had obviously forgotten this particular alien’s name, and it was apparently the wrong thing to do. The Terran girl could just sit there and watch as if a fly on the wall, wishing she had a glass of water she could hide behind - preferably one that didn’t threaten her livelihood. “Haven’t seen you in a while. How’s it hanging? Low and a little to the left?”

“You stole my fuel! And left me deserted on a desert planet! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW BAD THAT IS FOR MY SKIN?!” This growing conflict between green shorts and rope monster was growing a bit comfortable as far as the Terran was concerned, which would explain why she slipped from her seat to put distance between her at the verdant booty shorts. This felt like an inevitable disaster, which would be truly fatal considering they were in a place that was nothing more than a pocket of air in the vastness of space, which had no air.

The lingering sensation of possible death sat heavily at the back of the Terran’s mind as she continued to sidestep away from the only other Earthling she’d met in roughly six months. This felt like a bad mix of whatever was going between the two and tainted water, which was proving to be volatile, even by the universe’s standards.

“Hey! YOU said you had spare fuel! YOU said I could have what you had in order to get to Knowhere! YOU CAN’T BLAME ME FOR TRUSTING ONE OF YOUR WEIRD TALKING FACE HOLES!” The flipflopped man had a way with words, it seemed.

Nowhere? Huh, thought the Terran, now at the edge of the bar.

The rope monster roared with all billion mouths it apparently had, which rightfully incited chaos almost immediately. The Terran girl dove behind the bar in a shimmering flash of iridescence, quick to curl into a ball against the shattering of numerous bottles that had been adorning the back counter. Fear held her tightly, keeping her from even imagining the war carrying on just a few feet away from her small safe haven in the corner of a dingy countertop. Imagine her surprise when a body had hopped over and fell to the floor beside her.

The booty shorts man. And he had a gun. Or what she assumed to be a gun. It wasn’t a gun by Terran standards, but it was definitely something you pointed at something else to make it stop moving one way or another. Part of his sweater was burned off.

Oh.

That got the Terran’s attention. She hadn’t quite noticed there could’ve been muscle beneath that poly-blend.

“DAMN IT!” He wasn’t nearly as happy that his clothing was ruined. “Rocket! ANY LUCK?!”

There was nothing but cackling in return, which had actually been a good answer since the tension of the situation slowly dissipated from him as he sat up, checking the gun thing in his hand and finally noticing the girl he’d been talking to was right beside him.

“Oh, hey. Didn’t think you were alive. So that’s cool. I’m Peter, by the way.” He held out his free hand, and took her own, but the destruction raining down around them kept her from really returning the favor and giving him her name. From the pocket of his shorts ( which she really could not get over ), he produced a small device - an MP3 player. “This calls for some mood music, yah know?”

She immediately recognized the tune as he put it on.

‘Kiss’ by Prince. A classic.

“If we all get out of here alive, wanna come with? Couldn’t help but notice that whole forlorn doe-eyed look you had going on earlier. We could use a girl on the crew.” It was mind boggling to the Terran that Peter was so calm as glass and splintered wood peppered the air so continuously. This must be a somewhat common occurrence.

“I-...what? That green woman-..”

“Gamora? She’s alright. Bit rough around the edges. Actually, a lot rough around the edges. Did you know she slept with that Iron Dude once? She said he cried.” There was ample snickering on his part, which made up for the complete lack of comprehension on the Terran’s part. “But hey, you should definitely think about it. It’d be fun and nice. We’re cool. I’m the coolest, because I’m the captain. I have my own ship and everything. And music.”

She was just so . . . flabbergasted.

“Peter, I don’t mean to sound rude or anything since we just met, and there’s a lot going on, but are you flirting with me?” Part of her hoped he wasn’t, just because the timing would be so strange - almost too cinematic and cliche.

But a much larger part of her hoped he was.

“I don’t know, maybe?” He spoke as he reloaded his gun thing, or so she assumed. “Is it working? Because if it is, I’m definitely flirting.”

This man wearing shorts that left so little to the imagination and ( what she knew to be ) Old Navy flip flops was being so smooth despite the complete hot mess he made himself look like. The crooked smirk beneath the slightly grown facial hair was the kicker. It was then that the Terran found herself budding a whole new appreciation for the jaded hue and a new take on casual wear.

Before she could answer, the entire bar area fell prey to what had been a nega-space hand grenade, which had instantly condensed the entire bar structure to one single atom before exploding it outward in a grand display of absolute annihilation. But in the wake of something so absolute, there was only silence. Who had lived through that?

Everyone.

The Gliphtrin had scattered after basically being disassembled during the blast, and most of the patrons had been dubiously ( and conveniently ) knocked out as well. It was undoubtedly the crew that Peter had arrived with that were the first to stir from where they’d landed during the fight and subsequent explosion, murmuring curses at both parties involved. It was pertinent that they leave immediately before word of their usual shenanigans got to the Vogons who would almost literally bury them in necessary paperwork.

“That was less than I expected,” the raccoon cackled as he scrambled for the door, Treebeard following with only one arm less than he’d shown up with. “I’m disappointed in kids these days. Ain’t a good fight in the stars.”

“We’re not really looking to fight, Rocket,” the green woman spoke, sheathing a sword that had been hidden away when she’d entered the restaurant. “We’re running out of places we’re not banned from. If we keep this up, we’ll be eating whatever Drax feels like cooking.”

“I make great meals. I don’t know what you’re talking about, making it sound like torture,” the large tattooed man said, flicking what looked to be a finger off his bare shoulder. “If I wanted to actually torture you, it would not be with life-sustaining food.”

“On the bright side, we’re all alive, right?” Peter had gotten up, somehow forgetting the Terran’s existence in the process. Maybe the blast had scrambled his brains a little. “And I know, I know - I say that every time, but I’ll stop saying it when it stops being true.”

They were heading out when they heard a very meek ‘hey’ from the collateral left behind them. When Peter turned to look back at the noise, almost expecting one of the mini-rope monsters egging him on, he could only do that damned crooked smirk again at the site of torn mesh.

The Terran girl.

“Hey, buttercup, you’re alive! Wanna come with?” Even if he’d been unabashedly flirting before in the midst of a firefight, there was still some semblance of sincerity there as he watched her stand, completely ignoring the incredulous looks from his cohorts. “We’re heading to uh . . . I think it’s Gre’qrium next. Right?”

He had to look to those standing around him for confirmation, which he got by way of enthusiastic nods before they began to amble off.

“Whaddya say? I heard it’s got rivers of pearls, incredible food, and a really relaxed policy on clothing.”

“Hell yes, I do,” she answered, more than thankful that her date had stood her up at that god awful restaurant. She started to walk with him towards a teal and orange ship that looked a lot cooler than the pirate ship she’d previously been on. “Wait, what do you mean relaxed policy?”

“It’s a nudist planet,” the green woman answered from inside the ship.

“Oh,” said the Terran. “That’s uh . . .”

“Don’t worry,” Peter said, throwing an arm around the girl in what she hoped was a comforting gesture. “It’s not like they look like us.”

“They look worse,” said the one she assumed was Drax. “Beautiful, but worse.”

“We’ve got a trip ahead of us. Tell me what I’ve missed at home. Clothing optional.”

Peter winked.

Everyone but the Terran rolled their eyes.

[tipsfprsports-blog]

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