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jasonrae117 · 4 years

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Night at the Wayne Casino

This is gonna be a long one, I took the advice from @bourniebna and made it longer but also making it into two parts and leaving it on a semi-cliffhanger. Thank you everyone for the support and love! Enjoy!

PART 3

Damian found himself on the third floor, a place he thought he would never be. Filled with rooms upon rooms of well equipped and private spaces for massages, mud baths, facials, and anything and everything a five-star spa could hold. He would never require the services provided here since he disliked physical contact unless it was necessary or it was self-initiated, which it typically wasn’t. Damian kept it simple with occasional handshakes or a pat on the shoulder.

When it came to women, he had been with a few. His name was enough by itself to get him laid easily, and where that wasn’t enough, his physique helped greatly. Anything that wasn’t strictly helpful to his endgame seemed inefficient and he always strived for maximum efficiency.

Here he was crossing the threshold to the Wonder Spa, a highly rated and regarded spa for ultimate luxury and innovation in experiences. He approached the reception desk where the two top ranked masseuses and overall spa managers sat preparing their completely packed schedules for the day, Cassandra ‘Cassie’ Sandsmark and Stephanie Brown.

Stephanie looked up from her tablet and a bright smile graced her face. “Damian Wayne? I never thought I’d see the day where you came to the spa!” Beside Stephanie, Cassandra perked up, eyes widened and mouth opened in excitement.

“Oh wow! Stress built up that much? We do have a full appointment schedule but we can squeeze you in.” Damian’s face remained the same, with a bored expression waiting out their excitement. He didn’t dislike the two employees, but they tended to be too peppy and care more about gossip and people’s personal lives, specifically his and whether or not it contained a girl. It was very tiresome and he currently didn't have the time nor was in the mood for their antics.

“Didn’t you say the spa was for weak patsies that like to hand over ridiculous sums of money for frivolous treatments?” Cassie thoughtfully brought a finger to her chin.

“No, I think it was that the spa was a bloodthirsty capitalistic vampire sucking money from dim-witted fools that think worthless products and services will actually make them look or feel better when in reality their lives were already a waste.” Stephanie’s eyes searching the ceiling for his quote. They both broke out in laughter and faced him again when they had calmed down.

He hadn’t moved an inch and he tried to remain calm but the overly floral scents and the girl’s mocking were grating on his nerves.

Cassie placed her tablet on the desk and rested her chin on her palm as she looked back up at him. “So really, to what do we owe the pleasure?”

Damian let out a small breath and mentally counted to ten. “Yesterday a woman had possibly come here and I want any information you have on her.”

Cassie and Stephanie exchanged glances before focusing on him again. Stephanie rolled her eyes and began typing on her tablet. “Is this about Raven? What is it with all you boys?”

Damian couldn’t help the shock that appeared on his face. “How did you-”

“Oh, that one that Tim sent! God, she was gorgeous!” Cassie practically bounced in her seat.

“Yeah she is. Her skin was incredibly smooth. Cassie’s skin is pretty perfect, but this woman’s was literally flawless. I mean, it’s insane with her skin tone, no freckles or blemishes, just absolutely stunning skin.” Damian tried to fight the heat that rose to his face remembering how remarkable she looked coming out of the pool and the tiny droplets that rolled down her smooth curves, luckily Stephanie turned back to her friend, “I asked her what products she uses and what her routine is, you know what she said? She said she just washes it with some drugstore face wash and that’s it. She said she drinks a lot of water too. Luck and good genes I swear."

"Perfect skin, gorgeous, and that body! I'm pretty stacked, but her ass! I'm literally jealous. That's why all the boys are crazy about her." Cassie shrugged and leaned back.

"Sandsmark, Brown! I'm here on official business. What's this about 'all the boys'? Who else is discussing her?" Damian crossed his arms and felt his irritation coming to a peak.

"Oh my gosh! Do you have the hots for her too! First Jason, then Tim. I liked her too but you boys are wild. I wish I got this much attention."

"Brown, focus. How did you know I was talking about Miss Roth?"

"Like I was saying, Jason hung out with us after we all got off and he wouldn't shut up about the 'hot girl that dissed him'..."

"Oh, I loved when she told him that he was a..what was it?" Cassie then snapped her fingers. "A delusional cockalorum who thinks boyish tricks will woo a woman that has even the tiniest bit of self worth and respect. He didn't even know what that meant!" She burst out into another round of laughter.

"You had to look it up too!" Stephanie shook her head giggling at the memory. Her eyes caught the glare Damian's was sending and she cleared her throat. "Anyway… yesterday a woman, Raven, came in with Tim's employee discount card. She was very nervous, but naturally we were curious because it's Tim's card. She told us what happened and we sent her to change so that we could call Tim. He confirmed everything and told us to give her the works and put it on a tab for him."

Cassie was nodding to the story and jumped in. "We thought this girl must be special and were curious so during her treatments we got to talking. She told us her point of view from the Jason situation and we bonded over horror stories of men hitting on us." She smiled fondly.

"She was actually really nice and tried to pay for the services but clearly we couldn't let her. She snuck a three hundred dollar tip into our drawer though. Literally one of the best clients we had. Then Tim swung by and asked her to dinner and walked her out of here. After that we don't know. We invited her to go to a club with us on Friday because she seemed so cool, but she's leaving on Tuesday." Stephanie huffed and brought her attention back to the tablet.

"She didn't say anything about why she's here by herself?" He questioned, this trip becoming less informative and more of a nuisance than he had hoped.

Stephanie sighed loudly, eyes focused as she tried to recall the memory, "Oh, yeah. She said something about working in advertising and having to analyze the ads and products and survey something. Poor girl has to work while in Vegas, major bummer. She says she tries to work during the days and play at night. Except yesterday, she felt like she needed that."

Damian processed this new data. Stephanie's information regarding Raven's occupation matched with what Tim had found on her. That would usually be a point in her favor, but if she was as crafty and smart as Damian suspected her to be, then she could have easily set up an almost alter ego that checks out and have her backstory memorized. Her good looks probably swaying prying minds from digging deeper. No matter, he wasn't so easily duped.

"I don't blame her...Now the only question that remains, is why do you care Damian?" Cassie looked suspicious and leaned slightly forward.

"She is a suspect in the casino. We don't have hard proof but something doesn't sit well with me when it comes to her."

"Maybe because Tim swooped in before you could." Stephanie mumbled under her breath.

Damian scoffed at the remark "Enough. That is all I wanted. Now proceed with your opening procedures." He nodded farewell to them and began toward the exit.

"She asked about you…" Cassie looked at her nails acting nonchalant.

He quickly snapped around, his full attention on Cassie. "What did you tell her? Why did she want to know?" His eyes narrowed.

"Calm down. We talked about Tim and she said that she ran into you a few times and said it seemed like you were always near her. We told her that you're the head of security and take it too seriously, like an assassin traveling by shadows waiting for someone to break a rule so you can strike. It got a pretty good laugh."

"Yeah but the best part is how she described you. If she didn't accept Tim's dinner invite, I swear she'd be ready to jump your bones..or uh bone." Stephanie dramatically winked at him and they began to giggle again.

Damian kept his face stern but found it hard to swallow. He wanted to ask what Raven has said about him, but he feared it may unintentionally come across as sexually interested rather than a desire to know all information in an objective manner for the sake of the case. But perhaps he was a bit...interested. Not that he would ever admit it out loud.

"Great. Did either of you think it might be unwise to divulge the status of all our employees to a stranger that may be trying to con our casino or worse? Or perhaps, you just want to hand her a key card so she can just as easily access it all by herself."

Stephanie rubbed at her temple and loosened her grip on the tablet, her words trying to coax him to a more manageable level of irritation,"Damian, relax. It's not hard to figure out that you're some big bad security for the casino. You literally stare people down and nothing else all day. You don't even try to blend in. She seemed to meet a bunch of us by accident or by everyone else's own will. It's not like she's seeking all of us out. I think you need to let it go or get laid or-"

"And I think this is why you weren't given a position on the security team and instead washed up here as a servant to drunk simpletons." His words spewed out like venom as he scowled at her.

"Ok, I think we've done our part in your stupid investigation. We have actual work to do." Cassie stood up and placed her hands on her hips.

"Tt. Then I suggest you get to it and try not to gossip or discuss our business with clients." He growled out and turned on his heel.

"Ay ay captain." Cassie saluted with a roll of her eyes.

Damian left the spa more frustrated than he went in. No matter how attractive she was, he wouldn't let her get to him. He had two and a half days to catch her and prove himself.

Raven was a slippery snake and she was able to wiggle her way out of suspicion with everyone else, but not him.

Damian groaned as he started to feel a headache coming on. He made it back down to the first floor of the casino and was about to start patrolling before he remembered it was his day off. If it were up to him, he wouldn't take one. Criminals didn't take days off but his father insisted due to laws regarding the matter.

He just had to stay away from Jon and Richard since they'd be the first to call him out and force him to leave. He couldn't actively patrol but he could visit his coworker in the security room, picking up his notebook he had 'accidentally' left behind.

He had to keep tabs on Raven if he wanted to get a step ahead of her. His talk within the spa proved almost useless except finding out that she was interested in him, in possibly more ways than one. Damian shook the thought from his head. That's what she wants me to think. He climbed the stairs to the second floor and looked across the large room to the hallway where the security room was located.

He would have proceeded normally had it not been for the two figures draped over each other tangled in a heated kiss. His primal instinct was to sprint over to them and yank Tim off of Raven and throw him as far away as he could, and lead Raven away to where they'd be alone. He shut his eyes as tightly as he could cutting off that train of thought. After a deep breath he refocused on the pair.

Tim had her pinned against the wall and his hands were roaming over her navy lace dress. Fuck, why did she have so many sexy dresses and why did they have to look THAT good on her? His jaw tightened as her hands curled in Tim's hair pulling him closer. Tim brought his mouth to her neck and Damian almost lost it when his hand slid to the curve of her ass.

He immediately began to head over as soon as Tim pulled out his key card and inserted it in the lock, clumsily pressing his finger on the scanner until it clicked open for him. Damian watched as Tim pulled Raven inside and although he couldn't hear past the noise of the music and sounds of the slot machines, he was sure she let out a surprised gasp. He cleared the space slower than he would have liked, but he couldn't exactly plow through everyone that got in his way.

He stopped as he reached the door and flushed when he heard a moan that definitely came from the woman within. He couldn't take it. Not only was he not the biggest fan of Tim Drake, he was harboring a suspect, while on duty, in an authorized personnel only area. He was a bit scared of what he might walk into but that was his woman in there...his wanted woman...fuck, his suspect. He slammed his card in and held his thumb to the scanner and he was quickly granted access.

His face was crimson with the rage that filled him and his fists were clenched. Suddenly though, the red in his face went from being caused by his anger to being caused by the sight in front of him.

Raven was in nothing but black lacy panties, a matching bra, and thigh high stockings held up by a garter belt. Her ivory skin shone brightly through the lace and the blush on her cheeks added to the look. Her swollen lips were parted and her head was thrown back as Tim was in the process of kissing down her chest as one of her bra straps hung off her shoulder. She was sitting on the desk with all the papers pushed aside and Tim between her legs with his own shirt unbuttoned.

Damian was shocked at how quickly they had moved in the relatively short time it had taken him to cross the casino floor, but in reality it was only one piece of clothing missing.

Taking one last look at her and committing it to memory, Damian steeled his resolve and regained his stiff posture and his menacing glare. "What the hell are you doing Drake!"

"Fuck!" Tim broke away from her and Raven yelped and covered herself, climbing off the desk. "Shit Damian, what the fuck are you doing?"

"I asked you that and I have yet to be given an answer!" His voice began to raise in volume.

"Can we talk about it in a second." Tim began smoothing his hair and attempted to straighten his clothes.

"Why the hell is there a guest in the security room and why are you trying to fuck her on company property on company time!"

Damian noticed Raven slowly bending down to reclaim her dress without exposing herself further. Damian scoffed and turned around giving her a small bit of privacy. He heard the shuffle of fabric and she quietly cleared her throat.

He turned back around and narrowed his eyes at the woman whose face was now bright red with embarrassment. "I should...uh..go. I'm sorry, really." She had stepped closer to him and licked her lips uncomfortably. "It's my fault. It won't happen again. Uh..thank you?" She shyly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and slipped past him.

Once she was gone, Damian turned his attention back to Tim who had just finished buttoning up his shirt. Tim held out his hands in surrender. "I know. Trust me, I know it all. I'll report myself. I wasn't thinking and I compromised our security. Although nothing actually happened thanks to you. And I don't mean to be snarky about it, I know that I probably wouldn't have stopped myself at all. But it's not her fault. So please don't turn this into one of your theories about her. I take full responsibility."

"You disgust me Drake. Can't even control your urges when it comes to your job. You'll be lucky if you even have one tomorrow. If it wasn't close to prime time and short notice, I'd dismiss you right now." Damian stood tall and crossed his arms, staring Tim down.

Tim took in a deep breath and released it slowly as he plopped into the computer chair. "Noted. I..um..think I've wasted enough time. I'll get started on the report and do a few sweeps of the casino." He didn't look Damian in the eye and pulled up to the desk, a blush rising to his cheeks while he rearranged the papers that had been strewn about.

"Good, about time you take your job seriously. Although a bit too late in my opinion." He watched as Tim's movements stilled and his fists clenched. He didn't make a move though, it would be futile. Damian let out a small laugh before exiting the office.

He began planning his next move to get more information on Raven that didn't involve her revealing more skin. Although he enjoyed what he saw, it distracted him and that wasn't good for his mission. A cheery voice broke his thoughts as he was crossing the casino floor.

"Hey Damian." Jon walked up to him a look of concern overlaying his usual happy demeanor. "I saw Raven fleeing from here." Great, was everyone on a first name basis with his number one target? "You didn't terrorize her with an interrogation without me, did you?" He playfully nudged his shoulder and added a chuckle trying to mask the seriousness of his question.

"No, Jon. I just caught Drake almost fucking her in the security room."

"Oh. Tough break…" Damian scowled at him. "I mean, wow unbelievable. So, what's your next move?"

"You all are infuriating. Could, at least you, stop implying that I'm trying to court our top suspect?" Damian began walking toward the elevator with Jon following right beside him.

"I would if you quit acting like it. She's hot, and I guess intelligent according to you, and she has the record for a woman, hell anyone, holding your attention this long without you losing interest." Damian was about to open his mouth to respond but Jon cut him off once more. "I'm only saying this because I care about you, as your best and only friend. It would do you some good to relax and actually stop working for once. The rest of us can handle a day without you, you gotta trust us."

"How can I trust the man that brought a potential criminal into our security office?"

Jon hesitated and paused to find the right words. "I'm not saying it was ok, but you know he hasn't been the only one to do it. Yes, you were pissed then and it wasn't the security office per se, but I think you're taking this a little more to heart because of whom it entails."

"A criminal!"

"A very attractive woman that has the unfortunate burden of once being labeled as a suspect and then having you get attached in that mindset. Maybe the situation with Tim spooked her, and you can finally try to talk to her as Damian and not as head of security?" Jon looked pleadingly at him as Damian hit the button to call the elevator.

"You all may think she's innocent, but I don't. Perhaps I am a bit attracted to her, but unlike Drake, I am professional and can contain myself around women."

Jon rolled his eyes and Damian stepped into the elevator. "Ok, well you go actually take the night off and contain yourself at the rooftop party tonight." He winked at him just before the door slid close.

Rooftop party...that's where she'll be. This is why Jon was tolerable enough to be his friend. Damian made his way to his suite a few floors down from where he was headed later that night. He would attend as regular Damian Wayne, but that didn't mean that his head of security side couldn't be 'undercover'.

If he wanted to catch her, he knew he had to go at it by himself, everyone else had been compromised. Tonight was the night he was sure he'd get lucky.

#Damian Wayne #raven x damian #demonbirds #damirae #raven #raven roth #timrae #Tim Drake #night at the wayne casino #casino au #the next part is gonna be wild

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shireness-says · 4 years

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Wherever You’re Going (I’m Going Your Way) [1/6]

Summary: 1952. A lost boy without a home, Killian Jones rides America's back roads on his motorcycle, searching for a purpose that's just out of reach. This pit stop was only supposed to be a few days, a couple of weeks at most, but a pretty blonde waitress just might be his salvation. Is he brave enough to let her? Rated T for language. Also on AO3.

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A/N: I’m pleased to present my contribution to the CS Rewrite-a-thon! Big thanks to the organizers at the @captainswanbigbang for organizing this. This is an expansion of a oneshot I wrote a couple of years back called A Sunlit Night, and I loved the chance to get back into the feel of that piece. The fic title is from “Moon River”, which didn’t exist in 1952, but some things are about the aesthetic and it fit too well to resist.

Special thanks to my beta, @thejollyroger-writer, and to @snidgetsafan and @profdanglaisstuff for the extra eyes and helping me work through some hurdles along the way.

Tagging the usuals. Let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the list!

@kmomof4, @aerica13, @thisonesatellite, @searchingwardrobes, @let-it-raines, @teamhook, @ohmightydevviepuu, @optomisticgirl, @winterbaby89, @spartanguard, @scientificapricot

Enjoy - and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

Storybrooke, Maine could be any town in America — just as picturesque as the name suggests in a way that doesn’t seem quite real. The houses have picket fences and boats bob in the harbor and there's an honest-to-god Main Street, lined with a diner and a general store and a pharmacy with advertisements for Ovaltine in the window. It's every picture of America that's ever made its way across the pond, every stereotype of small town life made real. It makes his presence all the more jarring; loners on motorcycles don’t belong in this picture-perfect magazine print town.

He never meant to stop here — in fact, it’s the kind of little hamlet Killian doubts anyone ever means to find themselves in. Though he may not have planned on stopping — not here, not anywhere, not for anything — he also hadn’t planned on the noise his bike’s engine had started making as he cruised down backroads under the emerald canopy that is rural Maine in June. Killian is used to making minor repairs to the machine — it’s inevitable with the miles he’s putting on the motorcycle, and besides, there’s things you pick up in a war, especially when he spend much of World War II criss-crossing Europe in his plane — but for all of his handy skills, he still can’t make parts materialize out of thin air.

And so, he finds himself in Storybrooke — the nearest town, according to the road map he’d picked up at a welcome center on his way into the state. He’ll find a garage, he’ll work for parts, he’ll be on his way. It should be simple; a few days, a week at most, and then he’s gone again.

(The sooner, the better, in his opinion; a woman wiping down tables outside of the diner shoots him a dirty look, and Killian can’t help but feel like he deserves it for disrupting this idyll they’re living in.)

Blessedly, there is a garage attached to the town’s service station — NOLAN'S REPAIR, a large painted sign advertises across the top of the panelled door — but there's no sign of life inside. A quick glance at his watch, one of the few relics of the war that Killian willingly carries with him, reveals that it's already past seven. That's fine; he doesn’t mind waiting until the morning.

It's easy enough to find space to park his motorcycle, conveniently alongside a park bench Killian suspects that he'll be spending the night on. As uncomfortable as it might sound to others, he barely thinks twice about the prospect anymore; he's spent plenty of nights on worse, both during the war and after it. His bedroll does more to counter the hard ground than anyone would expect.

(Sleep is hard to come by these days anyways, and when it does, it only brings nightmares — visions of falling and flames, reminders that there’s no real good reason why he was pulled out of the Atlantic when so many others weren’t.)

(It should have been Liam who was saved, not you, a terrible voice in his mind whispers. It’s easier to drown out during the daytime; at night he’s too tired to deny the truth of it.)

Satisfied that he's got a plan until tomorrow, Killian unbuckles the satchel containing his few important belongings from the body of his bike and sets out to locate the diner. He remembers the sign promising the establishment was open 24 hours a day, and he intends to take advantage of at least a few of them.

Sure enough, the lights of the diner still shine brightly as Killian approaches. Granny's, the neon letters out front read. By all appearances, it's typical of family-type joints across the nation (or at least the parts of the nation he's seen so far). A bell jingles merrily as he pulls open the door; inside, the diner is adorned with a busily patterned wallpaper that somehow avoids looking suffocatingly dark like he would have expected when paired with the red vinyl upholstery of the booths, chairs, and barstools. The jukebox plays faintly at the edge of his hearing, just low enough for him to ignore the sound. Not that he could place the song anyways. Even if there is something of a feeling that the establishment could have been located anywhere and he wouldn't have known the difference, there's a comfortable aura in the air as well.

"Seat yourself," an older woman calls from behind the counter without looking his way, apparently apprised of his entrance by the aforementioned bell. Considering the diner’s moniker, Killian can’t help but wonder if this is the eponymous Granny. It’s probably for the best that she hasn’t turned to face him; he can’t imagine the woman would be as welcoming had she seen his face. He’s a bad influence, they say wherever he goes in voices too loud to be a whisper, too loud to ignore. On a Tuesday night, the crowds here are minimal, a small blessing; after surveying his options, Killian chooses a booth in the back corner where he can watch everyone but hopefully not be disturbed. Already, his unfamiliar face is drawing attention from the few other diners. They’re not used to outsiders, he can tell, and he’s not surprised about it in a town this small. Already, he can feel an unnatural hush in the air as suspicious and in some cases curious faces follow him as he makes his way across the room.

Maybe, in another life, Killian might have stared back, daring his spectators with a look to do something about their staring. That life slipped away when he crossed the ocean in search of anonymity, however, and he makes a show of ignoring the stares, rustling in his satchel instead. From the cluttered depths, he extracts two books; one for his own reading, picked up from the last used bookshop he ran across, and one blank for his own use. Once upon a time, the sights he’s seen and the faces he’s met would have inspired verses, the words tripping over his fingers and across the page in a quest for life, but it’s been a long while since that’s been the case. There are many reasons Killian forges ahead on his endless, aimless ride — some of them tangible, some of them unknown even to him — but his pursuit of his words is part of it. The closest he comes these days is behind the controls of his bike, once more racing through the open sky; it’s only then that the guilt quiets somewhat and he feels like inspiration could be dancing along the breeze, like a bit of dandelion fluff.

This diner, however, is not the open air or the world rushing past him without a care, and his notebook will once again go to waste.

"Can I get you something?" a different voice asks — feminine, but a little deep and throaty. Killian glances up, expecting to order tea and a ham sandwich and turn back to his own distractions. He expects a passing, forgettable interaction.

He does not expect to look up and find himself faced with an angel.

It's far too fanciful to call her that, especially when she stands in front of him, flesh and blood and bone, but it's all he can come up with when faced with such perfection. Her hair is a shade of gold that painters and pirates must have coveted in times long past, shining and catching in the light with every movement. Though her tresses are pinned back, a few tendrils have still worked themselves loose to frame her face and model the slight curl to the lustrous strands. The way it's swept and pinned makes her eyes shine brighter than any he's ever seen, highlighting their green in a way she can't possibly be oblivious to. There's an aura about her that he can sense but not quite see that practically makes her glow, even in a blue uniform dress and stained apron that's less than flattering. She's somehow entirely separate from the drab surroundings of this small town diner, yet simultaneously he knows she must be an integral part — like the purest diamond embedded in the dingiest mine.

(Maybe there's a verse in there, somewhere. It's been too long for him to even tell anymore.)

He must be gaping like a fish, because she arches an elegant eyebrow at whatever expression graces his face, the barest hint of a smile pulling at her own mouth. It ruins the goddess effect a little bit, but makes her look more human instead — someone with a sense of humor, perhaps even a bit mischievous. "Sorry?" he finally manages to stutter out, though whether that's an apology or a request for clarification is anyone's guess.

"Would you like to order?" she repeats. "Or would you like some more time to look at the menu?"

"Just some tea, please." It's some kind of miracle that he doesn't trip over his own tongue, though not enough of one to remember that ordering tea in this country is a fool’s errand. "And a ham and cheese sandwich."

"Earl Grey alright?" she asks, surprising him, quickly scratching his order down on her notepad. From Killian's vantage point, he can just see her handwriting — a messy kind of script that fits his impression of her, casual and hurried and somehow still elegant.

"That's fine." Better than, really; he’d expected that terrible facsimile Americans insist on calling tea. He keeps drinking it anyways, for some indiscernible reason, like a last-ditch grab to hang onto a piece of who he used to be.

The waitress must see some of his surprise on his face, as she smiles knowingly. “Granny spent some time in England in her youth, and came back with very specific opinions about tea. None of the Lipton stuff here.” That would explain it — though it’s still unexpected in a tiny Maine hamlet. “Now, do you want that sandwich grilled or cold?"

"Grilled, please." The mere act of ordering a meal constitutes the most decisions he's had to make in a long time, and certainly the most he's spoken to anyone; his voice feels scratchy with disuse, which can't make the good impression his ego desperately needs. He was considered quite the catch once, if anyone could believe it; Killian wouldn't blame those who called him a liar, to see him now.

As he grimaces at his own ineptitude, the waitress finishes scribbling out his preferences and tucks her order pad back away in the pocket of that awful apron again. "We'll get that going for you then," she smiles. "Let me know if you need anything else."

(A name would be nice, for one, but it feels like overstepping to demand that particular snippet of information. He'd caught an E at the corner of her breast pocket, but that could be so many things. Eleanor? Elizabeth? Etta?)

"Wait, lass," he cuts in as she turns to disappear back behind the counter. Her head tilts in a sign of her attention — an adorable one at that. If he were a braver man, he might ask her a bit about herself. Unfortunately, he is not a braver man. "Is there a telephone somewhere I could use?"

"All the way down the hall," she nods. "Can't miss it."

"Thank you, lass," he murmurs as Ella-Ernestine-Elsie walks away again. There's no telling if she heard him or not, but Killian is almost afraid to bring any more attention to himself.

Sure enough, the payphone is just down the hallway. It's far enough away to offer Killian a modicum of privacy, which is more than he's come to expect in many places. It's dimly lit, and right next to the bathrooms, but he's not here for the ambiance anyways.

There’s a calming ritual to making the phone calls to New York, even if they’re only sporadic. He’s accustomed by now to speaking with the operator, inserting the change when directed, waiting for the shrill ring as the call connects across hundreds of miles. He doesn't make these calls very often, but it's been several weeks — somewhere in upstate New York was his last call, he thinks — and this unexpected pit stop is as good an excuse as any.

It doesn't take long for the other end to pick up. "Scarlet residence," declares the softly accented voice on the other end of the line, familiar and comforting even across such a distance.

"Hello, Belle, it's me." Killian leans into the corner formed by the wall and phone as he settles in for the conversation, propping his forearm on the top of the telephone's boxy structure. Belle just might be the last family he has left — certainly the last family he’s aware of — some sort of distant cousin on his late mother’s side. The details of it don’t particularly matter; what does matter is that she’d opened her heart and home when Killian had left, nay, fled England without any plan to speak of. London had still been in shambles, even after hostilities had long since ceased; Killian had found it impossible to live every day surrounded by ghosts and memories, all decaying and obliterated. Belle had offered to let him stay, too, help him get back on his feet again, but the itch to keep moving had been too strong under his skin.

(One thing they don’t tell you when you enlist in the Air Force is this: the solid ground will lose its appeal in a way you can’t imagine, and the world will start to move too slow everywhere else when you’ve spent enough time in a cockpit.)

Besides, Belle has a family of her own, a husband who loves her and two small boys; as kind as she is to offer, and as hard as she has tried to include him, Killian would inevitably always be an outsider in that tableau. It was for the best that he left, to try and settle his demons and rediscover who he can be on his own.

"Killian!" It's easy to hear the warmth and excitement in his cousin's voice. "How are you? I was just thinking about you today." Just worrying about you is what she means, but Belle's always been too much of a lady to say it out loud. Besides, she understands why he's doing what he's doing; as settled as she is, he hadn't expected her to understand the itch to move that's settled beneath his skin, impossible to ever truly alleviate, but she'd just smiled and asked what she could do when he'd told her his plans. It's how she wound up the custodian not only of Killian's scant belongings, but also his savings account in his absence.

"I'm fine," he assures her as best he can. "I'm in Maine. I'll be here a few days, I think."

"A few days?" The worry isn't back in her voice yet, but he knows it's coming, just as soon as he shares his reason for stopping.

"Aye. There’s a nail in my tire. I’ll get it checked out at the shop tomorrow, but I assume they’ll need to order in the new tire. I doubt they’ve got the right ones for the bike on hand."

"But you're alright?" Ah, there's the worry. "You don't need anything? I can wire you money, if you like —"

"I'm fine, Belle, truly," he hastens to assure her. "I'm hoping to trade my labor for parts, help out around the shop if the owner will let me. I'll need something to do around here anyways, it's a pretty small town. I'll let you know if you need to wire me money, don't worry."

"If you're sure..." Belle tries to start, but Killian cuts her off.

"I'm sure."

"I suppose I'll have to be fine with that. But now, Killian, how are you? Not your motorcycle or the roads — how are you?"

"I'm okay," he says truthfully. It's the best he can give most days; he hasn't quite found what he's looking for, can't even put his finger on what that might be, but he knows it's still out there, still out of reach. Still, it feels better than being cooped up in some office job, forcing himself into the boxes polite society wants him to inhabit that are slowly smothering him. It lets him try to figure out who he is now without Liam and without a clear purpose.

"But are you happy?" It's not the same thing, she doesn't say, but Killian hears it anyways.

"Enough." It's the best he can give her. "Listen, I just wanted to call and let you know where I am. If it seems like I'll be here more than a few days, I'll give you a number you can reach me at. Tell Will and the boys hello for me."

"I will," Belle promises. "If you need anything at all, if there’s anything I can do, promise you'll call me, Killian. Promise."

"I promise. Love you."

"We love you too, Killian. You can always come here, even if it's not home."

She says that every time, and every time, Killian hangs up to avoid responding. The truth is, he still doesn't have a good answer, and as much as he loves his cousin and her family, their apartment just isn't home. That's something he's not yet sure he'll find again.

He's barely returned to his seat before a steaming pot of tea is placed before him, the cup following in its wake. "Your sandwich will be ready shortly," the blonde angel assures him. "Let me know if you need anything else."

"Thank you, lass," he tries to smile. At least his voice is audible this time after his conversation with Belle.

As Killian lifts the pot to pour himself a cup, he’s thrilled to see the genuine article trickle out. Even with the waitress’ explanation, his expectations of the promised tea had been low. This, though, is steaming and hot and just the right strength. It tastes like a little cup of the home he’d left behind, and infuses him with a warmth and comfort that he hasn’t felt in… years. Not since before the war, just he and Liam sitting at the kitchen table with a cuppa and the radio.

(It’s a feeling he’s long since lost, and one he didn’t expect to find again in the middle of nowhere, Maine. Everyday miracles can still sprout anywhere, he’s learning, as long as you’re looking for them.)

His dinner arrives as quickly as promised, and time begins to blur together in between warm bites and crisp pages and his thoughts. At some point, the empty plate is whisked away and another cup of tea is brought for him to enjoy. Killian is so used to entertaining himself that he doesn't truly notice any movement around him — that is, until a new plate is placed on his table and nudged into his hand. Glancing at the clock, Killian is surprised to find that the time is now just before ten; he'd been at the diner over two hours, far longer than he’d intended. Blame it on a good book and intriguing, if passing, company, he supposes.

Another quick glance reveals the small plate that the waitress had deposited to display a slice of pie — blueberry, if he's not mistaken. The thing is, he’s certain that he’d never ordered it.

"Excuse me, miss," he calls before she can walk away, "I believe you delivered this to the wrong table."

"No, I didn't," she smiles back, before glancing towards the door. It must be time for her to go home; Killian will regret her absence once she departs, though he knows he doesn't have any true right to do so.

Still, he must insist. Good form and all that. "I didn't order this, I'm afraid." I'm not sure I can afford it, he doesn't say, though that's what he means.

"I know," she replies. "You like pie?"

"I do," he assures her, still confused.

"Then it's on the house. Granny's got a soft spot for the lonely ones." As she tears his ticket off from her order pad, Killian wonders if the woman in front of him might have a soft spot, too. Maybe she was a lonely one herself, once; something in her eyes speaks to the kind of understanding you just can't fake. "If you'd like some more tea, Ruby will be happy to help you," she nods towards a smiling brunette behind the counter. "Have a good night."

"You as well, lass."

The pie is delicious; he should have expected such just from the look of that flaky crust, but the confirmation is its own revelation. He can't say any of this was what he expected when he set out for dinner — not the blonde angel, and certainly not her unexpected kindness towards him. The more he thinks about it around bites of pie, the more he thinks the diner's proprietress had nothing to do with the sweet treat in front of him — especially since he hasn't even seen her on the premises since his server made that claim. No, he thinks that the pie must have come from the waitress herself, though he can't fathom for what reason.

He finally pays his bill and leaves, letting the diner's bell ring behind him as he exits, but it's not until he's nearly halfway back to the garage and the bench out front that he realizes:

He never actually learned her name.

#csrt #cs ff #captain swan #my writing #Wherever You're Going (I'm Going Your Way)#A Sunlit Night #1950s au

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georgemackayhey · 4 years

Text

Silver Lining: Chapter 2

In which you and George decide to make the most of life after meeting up at the wrong place at just the right time...

w/c: 3k

a/n: Thanks for such lovely feedback, already! This has been so much fun to write and we’re just getting started y’all! Please let me know if I forgot to tag you or if ya want to be added ♡

taglist: @etherealallure @maria-josefin @shelbygirlsclubx @loulouloueh @clarkewithameme

< Last Chapter Next Chapter >

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Seen yesterday 11:12 am

Of course, he hadn't responded to the shared google doc, you laughed to yourself in the car park of the airport. What were you thinking, inviting a stranger on holiday? You were nearly full of more regret than excitement for your pending adventure. But here you were, double-checking all the things in your handbag.

A pair of sunglasses, your plane tickets, and passport all accounted for, you unplugged the charger from the console and double-checked the time on your phone screen.

Right on time. You locked your phone, sliding it into your bag as a wave of nerves swept through you. Was this even going to be any fun? What was the point of going on some big romantic getaway if-

Your phone buzzed in your hand before you had let go all the way. When you pulled it into view a single notification lit up your screen... from George.

Wait up for me? ;)

Oh. Oh? You found yourself staring between the text message and his name in the corner of the screen. Was he really coming? Or was the cheeky emoji his way of sardonically letting you down easy?

You clutched your phone, trying to read between the lines as you collected your luggage from the back seat. You glanced at the message again as you locked your car and made your way inside the bright airport. Would lingering around the lobby make you look like a loon when you were inevitably left all alone? Would checking into your flight summon George, but all too late?

You glanced down to your phone one last time, decidedly turning it off along with your useless worries. You slid the device into your bag, reaching for your tickets and passports in exchange. And right when you turned your heels, you stopped in your tracks.

"Good morning!"

It was him. George Mackay was stood there, in some high-end joggers, sporting perfectly messy hair and a smile that made you wonder what he had to be so damn happy about.

"You're here." You realized, looking him up and down like taking notice of the laces of his shoes would solidify his existence.

"For some reason, I am." George nodded, shifting his weight as you stood staring. You wondered for a beat, what exactly you'd gotten yourself into. But all at once, a family of four rushed by in a hurry to the tune of their father chanting, "We're gonna be late!"

"Shall we?" You decide, remembering you were on a clock. You extended one of the plane tickets to George, whose already pleasant grin grew during the exchange.

You moved together, checking your bags, shifting through security and strolling amongst the slew of fellow travelers.

As you walked through the airport alongside George, crept into a conversation about how you’d both ended up here. About your recent ex’s, how for a dozen different reasons you should have seen it coming. How it was still sort of hilarious the way it all came to an explosive head. As George laughed along with you over the shitty situation, you felt more like you’d been catching up with an old friend than getting to know a new one.

Sure there was an air of elusiveness between the two of you, but it didn’t seem George had anything to hide. He took his time forming most of his responses, knowing there was a certain level of trust being built as you marched toward spending a handful of days together. But even though his quips were quiet and maybe even coy, he spoke in a manner that was confident and sure. You found yourself in a bit of a daze, studying his face as he spoke. He wore a hint of a smile and an almost furrowed brow. His sparkly blue eyes glancing at you every now and again, as if to check you were still listening.

All these factors added up to dampen your worries over if this was a good idea. George hadn’t given you a single reason to feel unsure of his company. He even asked somewhere back at the baggage claim if you were sure about his tagging along. By the time you wound up at the waiting gate, it seemed you’d found fast friends in one another.

“Are you sad about the wedding?” George wondered, sitting on a stool at your side. You rested your purse at a low risen bar, spinning on the stool to face him.

“I guess a little. I’d spent so long planning.” You shrugged. Funny how you really didn’t miss Colin, though. You explained to George how you met Colin in high school, before he got a big fancy job and fell in love with the money and power he gained. How you’d already settled into the role of doting on him, and you stopped feeling anything for the guy a while back, but only realized after it ended. You explained how you were glad for it now, but how it scared you a little to have been so blind.

“What about Chloe? Do you miss her?” You wondered, propping your elbow on the table at your side, and resting your head in your hand.

George gave you a lifeless grin, casting his eyes off in the distance as he explained how she was hardly ever around. How he wasted more breath begging for her to pay attention to him than ever actually spending much time together. How he felt silly for trying to make it work, after realizing all the signs it never would, were there from the beginning.

“I wish her the best, though, I suppose.” George sighed as if he wanted to hate Chole for what she did, but his purely kind soul wouldn’t allow it.

“I found her Instagram last night and scrolled through. I wanted to be mad at her, but I wasn’t. I mean, lots of her posts were pretty annoying, but I digress.” You gave a light chuckle. The girl had thousands of posts and saved stories, most of which were emoji saturated over-filtered bullshit. But she was studying to be a nurse and she had a family and friends who cared for her. She was just a normal girl who fucked up.

George hummed in a sort of agreement but the way his brow drew together made you toss him a look that demanded he speak his mind.

“Social media really isn’t my thing,” George informed matter of factly. Ah, so that explained why you hadn’t been able to find any accounts of his, last night.

“But you’re famous. Isn’t that like the prime place to advertise or whatever?” You chuckled, sitting up a little, stretching to shift positions.

“I’m not famous,” George stated, plain as day, that same perplexing micro expression lacing his features together. You huffed a laugh as his expression remained,

“Well, I recognized you and I'm nobody. We live in different worlds." You pointed out, playing along.

“That’s not true, is it? Look at us now.” George rose a coy brow as if to prove a point. A montage of muddle memories of the past couple days flashed across your brain as you looked to George, realizing this was really truly happening.

“Why’d you decide to come anyway?” You wondered all of a sudden. Shouldn’t he be off charming a few news anchors or something?

George sat up a little from where he’d been slumped against the counter space, giving a small slow nod as if he knew this question was coming sooner or later.

"Well... I've got some time to enjoy myself before I start my next film. The last one I worked on was, well it was intense. Made my head spin a bit, if I'm honest. The next one will probably do the same, so I figured a bit of spontaneous fun was in order."

"How could you possibly enjoy work like that?"

"I like bringing these stories to life, even if they're hard to tell. Besides, not all of my roles are quite so intense." George explained, drumming his fingers on his knee for a beat. "Ah, but you should know, I'm apparently quite famous."

He cast you a blank look, waiting for you to crack a smile before he did. With a shake of your head, you let out a laugh and stopped marveling over how you ended up here long enough to appreciate the fact that this was happening at all.

And then, it was time to board the plane. You found your seats, watching the last of the passengers cram their belongings overhead.

"Why Rome and Barcelona?" George asked as he settled by your side once more.

"Colin wanted Barcelona. I wanted Rome so he booked it first to get it 'out of the way'" You mocked your ex, feeling more grateful by the minute to be rid of him.

"You really scored with that charmer." George snickered, relaxing back against his seat.

"And now I have a masochistic actor taking his place. I'm so lucky." You shot back withholding a massive grin. You did feel pretty damn fortunate.

"You literally asked for it." George pointed a finger your way.

"You literally offered." You countered. His lips were upturned, and parted as if he wanted to respond but only a defeated breathy laugh escaped. It caused you to wonder if he was regretting making the strange offer. If he'd suddenly realized what he was doing and wished he'd never agreed to it.

That's about the time the plane started to jet down the runway. When the wheels lifted off the ground, the small worry in your stomach spread to your chest and everything seemed so insanely wrong all at once.

"I've never flown before." You admitted quietly, gripping onto either armrest and hoping the feeling of dread would pass if you alluded to it out loud. George glanced to you, sitting up a little straighter, and speaking up in that tone of his that was calm yet demanding all at once.

"It's just like a roller coaster, just at first. Then it's like nothing."

"I threw up on Splash Mountain." You fretted, the one and only ride you ever had the experience to draw from.

"Gives a new meaning to the name aye?" George joked, but you could find it in yourself to laugh along.

You knew George was only trying to keep up the banter you'd picked up somewhere back at the airport, but you were far too freaked out to join in. You hoped the sorry look in your eyes was enough of an apology before you screwed them shut, trying to ignore the invisible vice around your throat.

"Okay, it's alright, you've just gotta breathe." George shifted beside you, leaning in a little closer to gently relay his message.

"My heart's beating so fast I can't even feel it," You admitted. It felt like the buzz from the broken air conditioner vent overhead, with a flap vibrating against cold air. George followed your gaze to the thing but shook his head as your focus remained.

Then, without a word, George gently tore your grasp away from the armrest. He decidedly pressed the back of your hand to his chest, holding it there as he said,

"Focus on that beat and try to match it."

His heartbeat was unmistakable and strong. His concentration was on you, and you were almost lost taking note of the exact color of his eyes. They were sodalite, the color of a world you could have easily lost yourself in.

"Thanks." You mewled, daring to keep your focus on George, forgetting for just a split second, what you were so anxious about.

After you'd gained composure, and there was no reason for your hand to be intertwined with Georges any longer, there was still a nervous flutter in your chest.

George eased into a conversation about his favorite books, asking you to list off yours, joking that you needed to find something in common besides the grim reality of being recently dumped. He made you laugh, and he listened when you spoke. You'd almost forgotten where you were headed, and why, entirely too lost in the fun you were having on the ride there.

By the time the plane landed, it was as if you'd planned for this trip together all along, with George rambling about the things you'd organized in the google doc you shared.

In the blink of an eye, Rome was alive all around you, at long last. You passed through colorful markets and waved to musicians in the streets as you took a short journey to a hotel just outside of the city.

When you ended up in the bustling sunlight saturated lobby, the very kind and tired looking woman behind the front desk let you know that the room you'd reserved wasn't quite ready. She very kindly offered to stow away your bags until then, while you decided to take to the streets.

All the while, George was always somewhere right behind you, charming the lady at the front desk and making a cab driver laugh so hard he cried. You realized you were in the presence of someone very special, George wasn't like anyone you'd ever known. And strange as it was to sit by him in these sudden change of plans, it was oddly familiar. It was as if it was always meant to be this way.

The cab dropped you off in the heart of the city where you pointed out sights and ordered some coffees from a vendor to fuel your stroll through town. You were finally in the place you'd longed to end up, even having only just gotten there, there was so much beauty to spin around and soak up. The sun was low in the sky, peeking through a dusty alley in a quiet part of the city you'd wandered to. When you took to a bench to rest a beat, you checked your notifications and found your phone was full of missed phone calls from your mother. You couldn't help but wonder if you'd made some kind of mistake.

But then there was George, lingering a few feet away, snapping photos of a street sign like a dad on vacation. The golden sun highlighted his charming features as he turned to you with a smile.

"I see why you choose this place. It's like nothing bad can happen here." He spoke, sauntering your way with that same dopey smile he'd been sporting all afternoon.

"What about in the '80s when that girl got kidnapped by the police and the church covered it up?" You spoke up, crossing your arms as he approached you with the shake of his head.

"You're a real ray of sunshine, huh?" George laughed, shifting his weight to stand right in front of you. "There are bright sides to every story too, ya know?"

"Says the guy who keeps auditioning for horrific films." You shrug with a grin. This was what you'd been doing all day, trying to uncover each other's layers between the deepest level of small talk imaginable.

"Okay, first of that's just a lie," George pointed, "And who says I'm not looking for the bright side in those stories? Why not try and make the most of the bad part of life?" So that's why he was here, you figured. But you had to counter him.

"Sometimes life is just shitty ya know?" You shrugged as a breeze blew past.

"Yeah, well not now. Come on, let's go get some dinner." George held out his hand for you to take, pulling you from where you sat on the bench. You couldn't help but chuckle as you followed his lead. Your shared laughter echoed through the empty streets as George directed you to an eatery where tiny tables were packed into a vine-covered stone patio. He'd found his way there without fault, leaving you to wonder if he'd been here before. And if he hadn't, George's assuredness was admirable.

The crowded restaurant was full of smiling faces, yours included. Everyone vendor and passerby you'd interacted with thus far was incredibly kind. Rome was everything you'd imagined and more, and you'd only been for a couple of hours.

As you ordered food and ate, you and George went on slyly getting to know each other. He mentioned his family, comparing the dinner he ordered to his grandmother's best recipes. You admitted your mother had phoned a dozen times throughout the day. George insisted you call her back right away, recalling a time he ran off as a boy, almost giving his mother a heart attack and still felt guilty to this day.

So to cease his pestering, you called her right in the middle of your meal. The conversation with her wasn't very long, as you informed her you'd taken off on the trip you planned for and that you'd call to tell her the rest of the story later, only ringing now to let her know you were safe and fine.

And by the time you finished eating, George refused to let you pay for any of it.

"You've planned and paid for most of this trip. I can't just tag along with nothing to offer" George laughed, but swatted your hand away from the bill all the same. "So it's either I pay for dinner or I force you into some spectacular plan and blow all my savings on it, your choice."

"You're impossible." You nodded, slumping back allowing him to pick up the check, just this once.

Back at the hotel, the lobby was just as full of people as it had been early in the day. You almost reached out to George as you pushed through the crowd, just so you wouldn't lose him, but you didn't.

After collecting your room key and luggage, you were greeted with your first issue. It was inevitable for something to have gone wrong, but the stakes were a little higher now, in the company of a man you just met. You didn't even know his middle name.

But now you were stuck in Rome together, in a teeny tiny hotel room with one small bed and a wooden chair in the corner.

"I'll go see if they can switch rooms." You sleepily sighed, spinning to head back down the couple flights of stairs you'd just trudged up.

The same sweet woman at the front desk looked even more exhausted when you reached her again and you almost felt bad for asking, but you had to.

When the lady regretfully informed you that they were entirely booked, pointing to a walk-in who opted to sleep in the waiting lounge, you wished her a goodnight and worried all the way back upstairs.

"We could take shifts like they did in the war." You shrugged, informing George that your trip down to change things proved unsuccessful.

"I don't think that's a viable option." George chuckled. He was sitting in the rickety wooden chair, thumbing through a paperback that rested on the desk beside him. Before you could speak up again, he shut the book and stood, announcing that he was going to get cleaned up for the night.

You sorted through a few of your belongings as George occupied the bathroom, pacing at the end of the tiny bed. The room was quaint and warm and held all the charms you'd longed to be surrounded by. But what the hell were you supposed to do now?

You kept on trying to brainstorm when it was your turn to clean up, but you'd had far too much to still try and process about today, that your mind went blank.

Back in the room, You found George settled below the paint chipped window, leaning back against the desk. His legs kicked across the floor, that old ratty paperback in his lap.

"George, get up you're not sleeping on the floor." You sat on the edge of the bed, turning back the covers. He twisted to gaze up at you, confused.

"Come on, we're grown-ups and we're only here two nights." You gestured for him to occupy the bed space beside you, easing toward the edge best you could. You could practically hear him thinking from all the way across the very small room.

"Don't make me count to three." You threatened, giving George a look. He let himself smile as he rolled his eyes and stood with a sigh. He turned off the light and somehow after you'd both situated under the covers, there was a miraculous sliver of space between you.

Worn out from all the travel you were nearly asleep when your head hit the pillow. Tomorrow was a tour of the Sistine Chapel and the Vatican. It was the day you'd planned for a million little things you'd always dream of doing, but now, you felt guilty.

"George..." You spoke out, quiet as you could, gazing out of the window you faced. "If you got to spend a day in Rome what would you want to do most of all?" He offered to tag along on your trip, but you wanted him to have fun, too.

A beat passed in the still of the night and you figured the guy on the opposite side of the small but arguably cozy bed, had fallen asleep. But then in a low gentle whisper, George replied...

"Do as Romans do."

When in Rome, you thought... It was a saying used as an excuse to indulge but you'd forgotten it really meant to adapt to your situation, to roll with the punches and not get hung up in trying to fight or figure out the natural flow of things.

With that, you fell asleep, dreaming of waking up to another adventure

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#george mackay #george mackay x reader #george mackay imagine #george mackay fanfic

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ufuckingpastry · 4 years

Text

Bad Bull Boys

Chapter 6: How Far We’ve Come

AO3 Link

First Chapter

Sollux stared one last time at the email before he dropped his head in his hands with a loud groan of dismay. This was bad. This was so bad. He had his fair share of bad days in his career as the self-proclaimed tech lord of the Bad Bull Boys (if he ever had the authority to change the name, he would, god), but this was definitely the worst of the bad. It might have been just an overreaction as his emotional state was heightened by the rapidly approaching deadline, but he was sure this was the worst. Sollux pushed away from his computer, rubbing the bridge of his nose, and stalked away towards the kitchen. He needed art for the new album in less than two months, but the artist they commissioned bailed out. He could hardly blame them. They had suddenly gotten a lot of work and had politely told him they had no time to work on the album art. He appreciated it, and he'd send a reply back when he had calmed down, but he was still left with a problem: he had nothing to present for the album cover.

Sollux grabbed a bag of chips he had nearly finished the night before. He popped them into his mouth as he paced. Salt dusted fingers raked through his hair, growing more and more agitated the longer he paced. He had nearly exhausted his options by this point. The artists they worked with before were either busy with commissions or busy with life. Sollux had very little time to go hunting for another artist this late, but he was going to have to, wasn't he?

Sollux stopped midstep, a thought coming to him. He turned on his heel and hurried back to his computer. He flipped to the group chat with his girlfriend and her girlfriend, typing so quickly autocorrect could hardly keep up with him.

TA: Fef, Neperta, do you know any artists that could do art for the albim cocovrr? Puffie bailed

Sollux waited, then waited, then considered the ramifications of tossing his computer out the window again in an attempt to release some tension, when finally Nepeta replied.

AC: Neperta??? Sollux, are you okay?

TA: Yes, I'm

TA: I'm fine. I'm stressed out.

AC: Obviously! I talked over it with Feferi

AC: You know, after she came up for a breath!

AC: We might know someone! We'll ask them tomorrow!

Sollux sighed with relief, slumping down in his chair. Good. At least he had a maybe. He would have liked more than that, but at least he had that.

Gamzee shyly handed off his latest piece of art to Tavros, who took it carefully in his hands. Gamzee loved showing Tavros his art, even if it had taken him some time to even work up the nerve to show them to Tavros. Gamzee watched Tavros' reactions like a hawk. He wanted to know everything Tavros thought of his work, yet feared that Tavros would think it bad or stupid and think that all his effort a waste.

Gamzee had to shake those thoughts from his brain, much like clearing an Etch-a-Sketch. Tavros never thought that. Even when he criticized some of his paintings, there was always a touch of praise, of wonder. Even now, he had lit up like a goddamn Christmas tree and talking about color theory and shapes and affection surged through Gamzee. Once Gamzee expressed his desire to start painting again, Tavros dove into researching art so he could support his boyfriend.

His boyfriend. Gamzee had to take a moment to think on that, Tavros' praise filtering through his ears like music. Approximately three weeks ago, Tavros had dragged Gamzee in behind a wall before a photoshoot and asked in a stuttering, shy way if they could make their relationship official. Gamzee, of course, totally didn't nearly collapse in shock and start crying with delight. No, of course not. That wasn't how it happened at all! Though, he was glad Tavros caught him and kissed him more stupid than he already was.

Gamzee's attention flicked back on to Tavros, who was now asking questions, when his phone beeped. Gamzee blinked, then fished it out to check the message.

AC: Hey Gamzee! Sollux had a favor to ask! Are you okay if I shoot him your number?

TC: Yeah, sis. What's the favor?

AC: Oh you'll see!

"Everything okay?" Tavros leaned over, wrapping an arm over Gamzee's shoulder.

"Yeah, I think? Nepeta said that Sollux wants to ask me a favor?"

"Huh." Tavros frowned for a moment, then focused on Gamzee's painting. "I mean, the colors in this? Amazing! You are, really getting the hang of it, huh? And the lighting! This corner doesn't match right, but everything else looks so good! Gamzee," Tavros paused, focusing on Gamzee with one of the biggest smiles he'd ever seen. "I'm so proud of you."

Gamzee dropped his head in his hands, whining as heat crawled down his neck. He felt Tavros get near, his chair scraping across the floor as he scooted close. Warmth blossomed where Tavros' lips pressed to his skin.

"Let me see you?" He asked softly, waiting patiently. Gamzee turned his head towards his boyfriend, sheepish and embarrassed and quietly proud. "There you are," Tavros said, cupping Gamzee's face. He kissed Gamzee again. When they parted, he whispered, "I love you."

Gamzee's face broke out into a grin so wide his face ached. "I love you too, Tav." He kissed him back, slow and sweet. His hands hesitated, never sure what to do during times like these. Was he supposed to hold Tav? Touch his sides? Hold his hands? Hold his face? Tavros seemed to sense his hesitation and took his hands in his own. His fingers stroked Gamzee's skin, rough and soft all at once and Gamzee parted in a fit of giggles. "Sorry, sorry bro," he said when Tavros looked at him in worry. "Just never thought I'd end up with you. Or end up so happy and sweet and-"

Gamzee startled when his phone went off, vibrating loud on the table next to them. He lunged for it, squinting at the strange number. "Uh, hello?" He said, confused.

"Good afternoon. This is Sollux Captor. Is… Gamzee Makara there?"

Gsmzee blinked for a second, the name not processing. Finally his brain picked up and he nodded. Then remembered he couldn't be seen. "Uh yes." There was a moment of silence before he winced, then added, "Speaking?" Was that you replied to these sorts of things? He couldn't figure out why he was being so formal! But… he never spoke much to Sollux. He was always a little intimidating, sharp in the way he spoke and moved. Then he realized Sollux was speaking and had asked him a question. "Uh. Sorry, bro, can you repeat that?" A loud sigh came from the other side of the receiver.

"The artist we had for the next album cover bailed and I need something to show in two months to the record company so we can release this thing. You were highly recommended. Can you help me or not?"

There was a long silence from Gamzee, stretching out to the point where Sollux asked, his irritation obviously rising, "Do I need to repeat that again?"

Tavros nudged Gamzee, knowing a fanboy freakout when he saw one. "You good?" He asked, rubbing Gamzee's shoulders.

"Yes, yes! Yes, I'd love to help! Uh, but, I paint traditionally. Don't you need to…" he trailed off, worried. He didn't want to ruin this opportunity. Plus, Sollux sounded so annoyed…

"I can teach you how to use the paint programs we use, or we can scan it. Doesn't matter to me."

"Uh, okay. But I don't even know any of the songs! How can-"

"We'll send you the tracks you can listen to."

"Oh! Do you want-"

"We'll pay you for your time, of course. How much do you charge?"

"I don't… this is the first time I'm getting paid for this sh-stuff. Stuff. I don't even know…" a beep made Gamzee glance down at his phone. Sollux had sent a picture of a check? An invoice? He realized Sollux was speaking again.

"... was the total amount of money we sent for the last cover, not including any royalties for using the art for advertising and promotions. We can use that as a baseline. I can also help you set up a pricing guide for commissions because, consistently, we have helped the artists of our cover albums receive more commission requests."

Gamzee blinked, then blinked some more, then listened to Sollux ask if he had more questions. "That all, sounds good. Overwhelming, crazy, and- but good. Yeah. I'd love to!"

"Great," came the sigh of relief from the other end. "I'll write up a contract for legality reasons and send it to you, along with any explanation of terms since, no offense, you don't sound like you have a lot of experience in this department. And I don't want you to get in trouble."

Gamzee felt a moment of sudden fondness for Sollux, that he cared enough to go through all this extra trouble. He thanked him for the opportunity- that's what people did, right??? And wished him a good day. After Sollux hung up, Gamzee collapsed back on the couch, his phone dropping on the cushions. Tavros scooted over, eyeing Gamzee’s dazed and bewildered expression.

“So… What was that?” He asked, giving Gamzee a nudge. Gamzee shot up, completely forgetting Tavros was even here. His hands fumbled with nothing and he shot a look at his phone, then back to Tavros.

“Uh, Sollux.”

“Sollux has your number?”

“I think Nepeta gave it to him.”

“Okay… What for? It sounded really official.”

Gamzee licked his lips, unsure why he was suddenly so nervous about this. Except, well. He had just been asked to do the cover for his boyfriend’s next album. Instead of probably thousands of options, it was him. Him! Of course he was nervous. Who could possibly blame him!

“Gamzee, hello? You’re spacing out again.” Tavros waved his hand in front of Gamzee’s face, trying to get his attention.

“Oh, right! Yes, of course! Uh, he. He asked me-” No wait, they’d be paying him to do art for that. That was a commission, wasn’t it?

“He asked you…?” Tavros encouraged.

“He commissioned me to do the band’s next album cover?” Gamzee replied, stuttering over his words. Tavros stared at him, beautiful brown eyes widening in shock. Then a brilliant smile broke across his face.

“Gamzee! That’s amazing! I’m so proud of you!”

Gamzee’s skin went dark under the praise and he gave a small smile too.

“I’m sure you’re gonna, do amazing! I can’t wait to see what you come up with too. And don’t worry about anything Sollux says. He can sometimes come across as harsh, but he means well. Usually.” Tavros’ phone beeped and paled when he read the text in all caps. “Shit. I’m late for practice. I’ve gotta go, babe. Karkat’s gonna have my whole ass if I’m any, later. I’ll text you when I’m done?”

Gamzee nodded and kissed his boyfriend goodbye. He was going to have to take a moment to process all this too. Every time he let his thoughts settle on the fact that he was going to be doing the art! For his favorite band! And he had been recommended specifically!!!

#gamtav #bad bull boys #gamzee #tavros #sollux #nepeta #slides in three years late with an update #i've got a week left of quarantine and thought i'd finally finish this chapter #i lost my progress from the last chapter so enjoy the time skip #hopefully it won't take another 3 years to update #mystuff

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 4 years

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A Flame For A Cabbage (Part 11)

Azula feels a faint sense of accomplishment as she lounges in her booth at the Jasmine Dragon. It is a shame that the old man in charge has been arrested, even with all of the ingredients, she can’t seem to make roast duck the way he does. She sighs, why does this victory feel so empty? She should be thrilled, she has just taken down the boy responsible for consistently destroying her cabbage stalls. Yet, she can’t help but to feel this sense of incompletion. A soft inkling that somehow the boy has survived and that her cabbages are still very much in danger. It helps less that Princess Sie has stolen half of her Dialluminati agents. One of the remaining agents had apologetically informed her that the other half were off to a top secret conference for the lizard people. He was killed immediately. She had to flee, for she now knows too much. This, she realizes, is a recurring problem in her life. She is an intelligent young cabbage merchant and people fear that kind of intellectualism.

She looks up from her stolen meal and shudders. A man in black glares at her from across the vacant tea shop. He has been following her for the better part of the day, occasionally holding up signs that read, ‘surrender your memories and we won’t hurt you’ and ‘you’ve heard nothing’ and ‘your reality isn’t real, you aren’t real’ and ‘Tin-Tin’s Turnips, only 2 copper pieces!’’ She thinks that, that last guy is confused as to what the Dialluminati’s objectives are. That or he is not part of the Dialluminati at all, he is simply trying to advertise and the extra signage is hindering his business.

No matter, Azula drinks from her tea. She refuses to let pesky secret agents slow her down, not after such a grand victory. With the avatar out of the way, she can sell cabbages without fear. Really, she has arrived at a new high point in her career, she is in the perfect position to begin expanding her business.

She has come to a striking realization. A realization that she is wasting her talents here in the Earth Kingdom where these savages have not acquired a taste for the delicacy that is a good cabbage. Indeed she has traveled all about the Earth Kingdom and for her troubles, has only received little pay off.

Well she is done dealing with and fraternizing with barbarians. It is time to move on. She knows in her heart that the Fire Nation is where she belongs! Now those are people with the riches and class to appreciate the wonders and unbridled joys of a perfect cabbage.

All she has to do is get Jet to stop hissing and screeching whenever she mentions firebenders and the Fire Nation. “REEEEEEEE!” He yells, and swipes his claws at her.

“Come on, Jet, we need to do this.”

“REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!” He screeches again, but this time with more passion. He flings himself from the table.

“Jet.” She says firmly.

She is met with another hiss.

The Dailluminati agent tasked with stalking her judges her from the table on the other side of the tea shop.

.oOo.

“You seem so downcast. Has Mai gotten to you already?” Sei (for he hasn’t spelled his name that way in a while) is well aware of Mai’s ability to spread her drab demnor. It is her superpower. She doesn’t know it, but she is a type of spiritbender; left unchecked, this will become a problem. It is already a minor issues, as she is unknowingly adding gloom to the auras of many around her. “Though actually, Mai has been in a strangely good mood lately.” It is probably because Zuko is home and she knows that they can make out in the turtle duck pond again.

“I haven't seen Dad yet.” Zuko replies. “I haven't seen him in three years, since I was banished.”

Well no shit, Sei thinks. He really does hate it when there is a forced plot summary, especially when a show has been at least ten years past its conclusion. But then again, it has never been discussed that Zuko had been banished for leaving his socks just laying around the house, despite father politely requesting that he does not. Ozai has a fear of socks. In fact socks were outlawed in the Fire Nation. But Zuko somehow got his hands on contraband socks and was fool enough to leave them lying around.

“So what?” Sei finally asks.

“So, I didn't capture the Avatar!”

Sei rolls his eyes. “Who cares? The Avatar is dead, unless you think he somehow miraculously survived.”

Zuko seems to drift off then, thinking about something. Sei imagines that he is thinking about frozen yogurt. Seeming to come back into the present, Zuko replies, “This isn’t Mortal Combat, there's no way he could have survived.”

Sie (growing sick of spelling his name, Sei) glares down at Zuko. And Zuko glares up at him. And he glares down at Zuko who continues to glare up. And then they shift positions and glare at each other from a different angle. And Iroh glares at both of them from his cell. They cannot see it, but they can feel it.

“Well, then I'm sure you have nothing to worry about.” This isn’t strictly true. He should be worried about Iroh. They should all be worried about Iroh. Iroh is very. Very. Angry.

.oOo.

Azula frowns very intensely. “Jet, get down from there!”

But the boy has gone absolutely feral. Azula sighs, she didn’t want to have to do this… She wanders up to the Dailluminati agent. He flinches, never before in his days of following a target has the target approached him. Usually they just note his presence with sideways glances and nervous laugher. This girl is brazen. “Agent, you will help me transport my boyfriend to the Fire Nation.”

She would do it herself but Jet is heavy in all his muscular, chiseled glory, and she is still very woefully small. “I will subdue him and you will carry him into the ship.”

“I don’t know if I feel comfortable helping you abduct your boyfriend.”

“But you are comfortable abducting me and taking me to your shady lizard-person organization for memory erasure and possible re-education?”

The Dailluminati agent chuckles nervously.

“That is what I thought.” Azula declares. “Now, help me get him to the Fire Nation.”

Jet throws himself at Azula who gives him a light zap. He recoils with another hiss. Azula shakes her head. “You are going to have to face your fear and hatred of the Fire Nation, Jet. It’ll be good for you and for our business.”

On all fours he scampers into a corner, still hissing.

“I didn’t want to have to do this…” She trails off, lightning dancing on her fingers.

“You’re not supposed to have lightningbending.” The Dailluminati agent declares.

Azula scoffs, “And, you’re a background character, you’re not supposed to have any lines.” But it is too late, her lightningbending has been revoked. It is a good thing that she has a backup plan. She wanders into the backroom and fetches a spray bottle. “Don’t make me do this, Jet.”

.oOo.

Nighttime arrives in the Fire Nation. It has arrived several hours ago, in fact. Zuko has wasted his whole day away, brooding and sulking, and thinking about the avatar and failure. And he is about to waste his night away...and Sie’s...doing the same.

“Why'd you do it!?” He demands of the princess.

“You're going to have to be a little more Pacific.” He coughs. “I mean, specific. Sorry, it’s three in the morning, I should be sleeping.” He gives his brother a pointed glare.

“Why did you tell Father that I was the one who killed the Avatar?” He ignores the princess’ saltiness.

“Can't this wait until the morning?” Sie grumbles.

“It. Can.” Zuko replies. “But I want to make this conversation as aggravating as possible!”

Sie groans. “Fine.” He mutters. “You kept whining like a lil’ bitch because you hadn't captured the Avatar. I figured if I gave you the credit, you'd shut the hell up.” He shrugs.

“But why?”

He truly is trying to be annoying as hell. Rising from his bed, Sie says, “I just answered that.”

“You're lying!” Zuko accuses.

“No, I really did just want you to shut up.” Sie says. He realizes that he is being uncharacteristically unkind. Usually he is a timid man. He thinks that the power is getting to his head. He apologizes to Zuko.

“You have another motive for doing this, I just haven't figured out what it is.” Zuko rambles. Sie thinks that Bosco’s big reveal has pushed him back into his conspiracy theorist phase.

“Please Zuko, what ulterior motive could I have? What could I possibly gain by letting you get all the glory for defeating the Avatar?” He muses. He decides that it is time to annoy Zuko back. So he encroaches in Zuko’s personal space. He puts a hand on his shoulder. “Unless, somehow, the Avatar was actually alive. How crazy would that be!? But you said it yourself, that was impossible.”

Zuko visibly shivers. But Sie is only trying to prep him for all of the possibilities. Things always tend to go amiss for him, he has learned to take every victory with a grain of salt. “Sleep well, Zuzu.”

Zuko’s nose crinkles at the nickname.

.oOo.

“You need to stop crying. Crying is weak. We can’t afford weakness when making such a huge step in our business.” Azula says matter of factly.

“But I don’t wanna goooooo.” Jet wails as though he is not already in the middle of the ocean.

“We are already on our way.” Azula declares.

“But firebenders are evil!”

Azula finds herself deeply offended, but she can’t place why. She is not a firebender. She is, when the plot calls for it, a cabbagebender. But mostly she is but a humble cabbage farmer tending to her cabbage crops. No less she replies, “some firebenders are actually somewhat decent.” She thinks that most people are more or less decent, so long as they aren’t particularly destructive of her cabbage stall.

Without warning, the boat lurches. The tides are growing restless. Azula frowns, she does not like tides. They slam into the boat once more.

“These tides are making me nervous, captain.” A crew member cries out.

But it is not the tides that they should worry about. They should be worrying about her. She, who is growing more and more dissatisfied with every crash of the tides. A particularly strong slap sends ship furniture sliding. Azula’s eyes go wide. She watches as her cabbage stall sails, seemingly in slow motion, over the railings. “My cabbages!” Azula laments to the swirling, merciless, sea.

#Avatar #Azula #Cabbage Man #Jet #Zuko #Jetzula #Parody #Fanfiction

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annoyedbritishperson · 5 years

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Raptors

What if instead of humans being space Australians or space orcs we were more like space raptors; we appear like an old extinct race that has faded into distant memory and rarely anyone knows about their true nature, they’re hesitant around us because we’ve been known to be violent predators but when they do come into contact with us their fear grows due to our intelligence and ability to learn quickly (their knowledge might be genetically programmed into them making it harder for them to learn but they see themselves as overall more intelligent, which I don’t blame on them since they wouldn’t need to put in the effort to learn like us) but since we imprint and pack bond were seen as potentially powerful allies.

———————————————————

After around 20-30 Terran years after humans were officially contacted it became a large talking point in the media about them, not because they were a new sentient species, this wasn’t the first time a new species was contacted, but instead because they bore a close resemblance to documents of an ancient extinct species. While it was absolutely certain that they were unrelated to this original celestial civilisation that didn’t stop blogs, talk shows and news reports from jokingly making the link. As a result of this inadvertent advertisement this builds a symbolism around the humans, while typically this might be seen as a happy coincidence it causes some of the more rich and powerful aliens to desire our “company” or in other words, have us as pets.

At first this went unnoticed, by both the IGU and the human government. This was largely because only adult humans were taken; when contact was made with taken individuals they claimed to like it, they were basically treated like kings by their captors, mainly as a result of the media symbolism that caused the desire for them. Unfortunately their symbolism is the only thing going for them, and this help quickly becomes hell as demand for them rises.

Because of the lack of contact, our language(s) haven’t been commonly added to universal translators, and so our speech is still heard as growls and hisses (lets be honest here, foreign languages do typically sound like that to non-native speakers, so it would probably sound even more primitive to an alien species that might make different noises e.g clicking) coupled with the fact that we still growl when aggravated.

At first the aliens didn’t think this increased demand would be much trouble but to the humans, this was awfully reminiscent of a time of human trade and tragedy: slavery. Now, you might be wondering why the imagery of slavery wasn’t triggered in the first place; largely as a result of the high treatment of them, they were never asked to work or labour so not paying them seemed fair as they didn’t exactly do anything, secondly, it didn’t come to mind since, at first, so few were taken to this “new life”. You might be thinking of their families, those of the taken humans to be exact. Well, to put it simply, it was easier to take those with nothing than those with a life; basically, they were homeless.

While the first humans taken for this “exotic pet” trade were fine, even happy, with this new life, as demand for humans grew, it became obvious that their dislike of being captured and potentially taken from family and friends was stronger and there were risks on both sides. A risk for those capturing is that they’d have to deal with an aggressive human, a creature typically on the larger side for a supposedly sentient being and one known for its carnivorous traits, meaning there’s a high chance of the hunter becoming the prey (or at least from the aliens perspective). And there was also a risk to the humans, for one, the traps could potentially cause injuries and secondly, so little is known of them they could easily be sent to live with aliens that don’t know how to look after them properly.

While you’d be more likely to capture a human on their native planet, “Terra” it’s commonly called, this is considered a bad idea since there are also a number of other creatures that could pose a threat to the alien trapper; as a result they typically target human colonies, the more recent the colony the better. This is due to the fact that humans have decreased the amount of rovers they send to possibly habitable planets, they merely send a satellite to determine its habitability and see if it’s worth colonising, this is important as the lack of rover or drone checks decreases the knowledge of the planets finer details, thereby meaning they assume losing colony members is inevitable, whether there are hostile forces there or not.

Certain types of human also had different value, top of the list being young calico humans, who are essentially humans with vitiligo. They could go for millions, even on rare occasion, billions of credits.

Private ownership was rare among common individuals, likely because trappers charged high prices as a result of the high personal risk of capturing humans, but they still wanted to see this newly contacted species in the flesh; this caused zoos to begin requesting humans. Now that zoos started wanting them they wanted younger humans too and that’s what caused the trade to be put underground or at least to be hidden from the human government. The main reason that zoos wanted younger humans was because that they could have them for longer and it would be easier for them to imprint with trainers. Unbeknownst to the trainers their youth makes their minds more malleable to learning, however they don’t know this, meaning they assume the tricks they’re taught are instinctual.

Unfortunately this also causes some of the more, egotistic, for lack of a better term, of alien species deem humans practically evolved to be pets, that is, until they manage to acquire their own human and quickly learn that they don’t like taking orders without personal gain, or at the very least as a favour (of course we only give favours to those we like, why would we waste time, effort and dignity to entertain - again, for lack of a better term- an asshole) of whom quickly learn their lesson once pinned to the ground by a beast typically twice to three times their size, faced with a mouth filled with white teeth bared directly at them.

Now, what the zookeepers and “exotic pet” owners didn’t expect was that humans had an annoying tendency to escape, frequently; too frequently, more frequently than was thought possible for any species, sentient or otherwise. Unlike with the rich, of whom would typically have only one or two humans at a time the zoos usually found their humans nearby after. Common instances of escape for “pet” humans ended with the human leaving for good, never to return to their “owners”. Zoo kept humans however usually only escaped their enclosures, an interesting result of this escape is that they always raided snack bars and food storage for both their own foods and other animals foods. There were some more concerning incidents however where, if it wasn’t the biggest zoo and didn’t have many snack bars to raid or many creatures for food to be stolen from, worst came to worst and humans would sometimes break into separate enclosures and consume other zoo kept animals, though this was less of a concern if the captive human wasn’t especially young when taken or of Hunter/farmer status.

After these occurrences became widely known it became standard to have extra food for the humans merely to subside their voracious appetites, it even became law on certain planets when it was found out that the majority of humans had a particular taste for certain sentient species, most notably the Gar’el (later studies found that their flesh tasted almost exactly the same as a preferred human food known as “burgers” (and I’m not just saying the burger meat I mean the combination of flavours that make a burger, cooked and all)) and the floons (of whom also bore a flavoured resemblance to “cookies” the texture difference from their exoskeleton and soft flesh beneath only made them more desirable to certain humans). As a result of this it was advised for these species to avoid circumstances that would lead to contact with humans.

Escape isn’t guaranteed, provided that the human(s) in question are well cared for. In these cases they will likely pack bond with the individual(s) that care for them. This is a good thing for multiple reasons, the first being that they’ll never willingly hurt you or let you come to harm in general (provided that they could prevent this harm). This trait was briefly considered as beneficial for war but when put into practice the humans being “trained” revolted within two weeks, unfortunately there were no survivors.

While pack bonded humans will protect and even care for you this also means they’re more confident around you in general, in most cases this is a good thing but when faced with a situation or circumstance they don’t like they’ll make it known in the form of growling. This may be perceived as a threat display but provided there’s a pack bond they will refrain from any actual damage. A classic example of this is getting in the way of their food, they’ll express frustration and even growl but they won’t actually attack (unless you’re straight up starving them).

It’s common practice for Alien zoos and poachers to use locks unfamiliar to humans; due to the fact that we weren’t pre-programmed with the knowledge of how to escape them, it was thought that caught humans would be trapped. This was also proven incorrect as older humans tended to find methods of escape. This is another reason why younger humans were put into captivity more frequently, they found it harder to escape as quickly. While this was a plus for the trapper it would also bring concerns, younger humans find it harder to contain their emotions and will commonly lash out in fear; subsequently it’s not unusual for trappers or even zookeepers to lose limbs or even die as a result of these fear induced reactions.

As previously mentioned humans have the rather annoying ability to escape with ease, studies eventually pinpointed this trait to unnaturally fast learning capabilities. While this faced a problem for most that had to keep and care for them since theoretically no lock could keep them in, zoos took this differently. Instead they took inspiration from Terran zoos and tried to train the humans to do tricks in exchange for food. Again, you’d think this wouldn’t be a problem but it just instead increased their demand to the entertainment industry and the fact that this time you’re getting them to follow orders without volunteering to take part in this (aka jobs) only raised the Terran suspicions of slavery. But among these tricks they were trained against hostility, basically they were taught not to attack; this was mostly effective except for training scenarios where their trainer would be attacked of which it was common for the “attacker” to face the force of a swipe from a 170 pound mammal.

It’s not long after this spike in demand for humans that it became obvious that where this was going wasn’t desirable. A few rare cases of adoptive abduction could be overlooked provided that the humans taken were ok with this new life, a whole trade in humans was a bit harder to turn a blind eye towards. Since they were so recently contacted no laws were put in place to allow or prohibit anything concerning humans and they weren’t part of the IGU either so violence from humans towards aliens was completely legal. This lack of laws around them allowed for their capture with little consequence; fortunately it also allowed for their revolt with little consequence.

Typical escapes still ensued but now they all happened at once, as if planned. (You must bear in mind that since humans were kept and typically treated as less than equal, the fact that we were also a sentient space faring species faded from mind). In zoos, humans didn’t just escape to raid food anymore, they visited other zoos, a fair amount of the time they came back in the early morning before anyone had noticed, other times they just left; forming packs that simply roamed the streets for resources. Escaped humans were typically treated like raccoons or bears, avoid feeding them etc or they might see you as a means for resources and stay, whether you want them or not.

However it was soon discovered that they weren’t only breaking out to visit others of their own species, they were stealing, and stealing weapons at that. Unlocking homes and raiding them for plasma guns and sharp objects (some kept them for self defence like some people do with guns). Fortunately they didn’t hurt or kill anyone during this process but it quickly became a concern when news broke out about a silent weapons burglar.

For months this continued until the captive humans were sure they were better armed than their captors and all other nearby individuals. The first revolt was on fskarr 150-c, hundreds escaped but instead of silently slipping out like shadows as usual they chose to escape in the middle of the day. They most likely chose to do this as a show of power; a statement not to be messed with. And it worked. The city was terrified, not only was this creature able to escape, with ease, but is also intelligent enough to outsmart their defence systems. They were prepared for a blundering beast and entirely confident with the prospect of facing one, what truly terrified them was that they could so easily learn and outsmart them.

The police forces ordered to neutralise the issue were somewhat successful, they managed to capture a fair amount of humans, but they weren’t quick enough. The humans were apparently able to take in information even during these stressful situations. Long story short they were able to steal a ship and return to their respective colonies, but there were casualties a result, most of whom weren’t human. With the stories confirming what the Terran government had feared they released propaganda in their news to rebel against this trade.

Around 12 years into the human trade their language is finally added to universal translators, making direct communication possible. It’s quickly discovered that humans were more complex than previously thought, despite all indications towards this. As a result, the IGU decided to ask for a conference with the Terran government on the subject of human rights. New laws are put into place confirming that they’re actually equal to other sentient species and have the same rights to freedom as each other.

Though they’re considered equal now their stereotypes haven’t exactly faded, and are now commonly hired for the old jobs they were bought for. A fortunate side effect for the humans is that they can charge ridiculously high prices for their services and get away with it.

(I kinda wrote this in a sort of history book format because I was too lazy to think of characters and a story lol sorry. Feel free to add on and give feedback)

Moral of the story: don’t hug a hungry human

(Ok maybe, some are very cuddly)

#humans are space oddities #humans are space australians #humans are deathworlders #humans are space orcs #humans are weird #humans are awesome #humans are space raptors #humans #aliens #space

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ephrampettaline · 5 years

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chatzy au log with @ephrampettaline and @freddiewatts. conclusion to red right hand: a gangster au. all titles by nick cave and the bad seeds. thank you to everyone who participated for lending your characters, your time, and your creativity <3

Ephram paused inside the door of F.R.Watts, Fine Tailoring, the stump of his missing finger giving a sudden sharp ache as the smell of bolts of fabric and iron-warmed starch hit him and brought a lurch of nausea. He gave a short grunt and let the door shut, ringing the bell above the doorway as Ephram dropped his umbrella in the stand and walked past the front table towards the main office.

"Awright, Pix," he greeted the prettily-furbelowed shop girl, who rustled in her candy box for another piece of chocolate and said only, "--he's not in a good mood today," but otherwise made no move to prevent Ephram when he knocked on Freddie's frosted-glass door and opened it. "Essie Caird's dead," Ephram said with no preamble, "and that's only the tip of the fucking iceberg." He threw himself down in a chair, scowling.

“And hello to you too, darling,” Freddie said drily, setting aside the invoice he’d been going over and looking up at Ephram. “I’ve actually already been informed of Miss Caird’s rather bloody demise, though. A Miss Petal Popovitch was round this morning - engaging woman, absolutely stunning in a French frock - and she had quite a story to tell.”

Freddie raised an eyebrow at Ephram, clucking his tongue. “I’ll bet you ruined your new suit, didn’t you? I mean, really, love, the girl weighed what - 7 stone soaking wet? Were that many bullets really necessary to dispatch her? Honestly, it’s like you don’t care about good silk at all.”

Ephram's eyebrows shifted as he folded his hands against his chest and steepled his long fingers, staring at Freddie. "Petal Popovitch came here? To your shop? I can just imagine the version of accounts that she fed you, too." He pressed the tip of his nose to his fingers. "As well as the money she offered for you to reconsider your allegiances."

“Do I have allegiances?” Freddie asked in mock surprise, making no attempt to hide the way his eyes went to the gaping space where Ephram’s ring finger used to reside. “News to me. You see, I was reliably informed that my would-be partner had rather unceremoniously cut me out of our little business venture. Have you heard that, darling? So I don’t see how I’ve got any allegiances to speak of to anyone other than myself.”

He paused then, dragging out the silence and fixing Ephram with a narrow-eyed stare. Waiting one beat, two, three... “Go on then, say you’re sorry,” he instructed, “I’m waiting.”

Freddie pointed suddenly at Ephram’s hands, “And the point of those gloves I sent you was for you to wear them, you silly boy. It hardly pays to advertise having been got the better of.” The tailor smirked.

“...That’s why I never let it happen to me.”

"I figured," Ephram said after a moment, "you'd conduct your own negotiations on behalf of Watts interests. And since we're both well aware that you don't waste a moment going after the things you want, Freddie," he scratched his chin with both thumbs, blinking slowly at his friend, "I saw my offer to Miss Caird as ordinary affairs of business. You and I never did get around to hashing out the dotted i's and crossed t's of what we're doing together, after all."

Ephram wrinkled his nose as he held his mangled hand out at arms' length to look at its ugly disfigurement. "I forgot," he admitted, slipping his hand under his coat tucked against his side. "Not that I don't appreciate the gloves, they're very handsome. It was thoughtful of you." Cheek twitching slightly, he added, "--I suppose you learned about that from your own people? Although I hear Petal's wasted no time spreading the news around town."

“Ah, I see,” Freddie said, as if genuinely considering Ephram’s rubbishy little explanation for his double-dealing, “Not actually sitting down with me to work out the specifics of our little arrangement, and instead going round me to work out an exclusive situation with the late Miss Caird was just good business sense.” Freddie smiled. “Barely running things for a fortnight and already able to teach me lessons. Shall I take notes?” A glimmer of amusement danced in his eyes, “I mean, since that little manoeuvre worked out so well for you.”

Freddie held Ephram’s gaze for a minute, then rubbed his hands together.

“Right. Well, enough of that for the moment - you’ll deliver an additional third of your share of the guns and a hundred dollarpounds to my boys at the warehouse tonight, and you and I will put this unpleasantness behind us, yeah?” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “Just to shore up our... allegiances; and then we’ll say no more about it.” The gangster sat back in his chair, smiling again. “And you’re welcome for the gloves. I’m sure they look lovely on you. Stitched them myself as a matter of fact.”

Freddie frowned slightly, thinking, then added, “For what its worth, I really am sorry that happened, darling - and I did hear about it from my own sources. That iron they used was likely still smoking when I’d got wind of what had happened.” He laced his own fingers together. “Your sister should have bloody well known better, mate. What will you be doing about that?”

Ephram murmured, "What can I do, Freddie. She's family. She's my sister. I trust her judgement more than anything." His hand gave a protesting throb against his side as if to point out that this trust could use a little re-evaluation after the kidnapping debacle, but Ephram ignored it, forcing his mind to turn to a different aspect of their work.

Rubbing a hand over his head in agitated circles, he said, "Yes, fine, Freddie -- I bollocksed it up in places, all right? So fine, a third of the guns and a hundred along with them. But..." Ephram pressed his lips together for a moment, then sat up, leaning forward. "But wouldn't you rather have a thicker slice of the pudding than that? With Caird dead, and the Jacks having shot down the lion's share of the men who were there at the warehouse, there's only her second Craig who's standing in the way of you and me taking over their arms trade. Think of it, Freddie. Kingfisher and Watts in a proper alliance, christened with inroads into our own dedicated supply of munitions." His voice dropped to a snarl as he said, "Let Petal and her Skull Boys fucking contend with that, eh?"

Freddie raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “And somehow being being ‘family’ makes her more intelligent than the average tit who might stumble into the hands of the enemy?” Freddie was all business now, straight ahead and serious. “Honestly, Ephram, take a look at the situation. If that was anyone but your dear sweet sister, how would you have handled things, eh? What would you have done? And really think about your answer, love, because you’re asking me to tie myself to you; to throw my hard-earned money and influence in with your nascent leadership; and while I’m not saying no,” Freddie looked at Ephram pointedly, “I don’t trust your Cassie as far as I can bloody well throw her. She and those kids are a liability, mate. So long as she’s a part of the business. To you, to me, to anyone with a stake in the Jacks.” Freddie got up to pour himself a drink, handing one to Ephram first.

“You need to draw some lines, sunshine, or you and I haven’t got anything to talk about but the weather.”

"She doesn't trust you either. She thinks you'd sell us out soon as look at us." Ephram took the drink that Freddie gave him, looking up at the other man as he lingered in the brush of their fingers together. "But this business with Petal Popovitch has made me look at things differently, you're right. I don't want to, but I can't deny it -- and it'll be common knowledge just as much as them taking my fucking finger. That they took my sister right out from under my nose, from under protection, in front of a boarding house that's known to be sympathetic to the Jacks. Because she got impatient and went walking afield when she should have stayed put."

Not that Cassie had seen it that way, of course; his sister never admitted to doing anything wrong even when her brother's finger was being eaten by the flames of their own fireplace. Clenching his jaw with an audible clack, Ephram said, "...she wants Voeman, they've had their stint of fucking each other. I'll get him a divorce and then he can take her and the kids away. To the bloody country, maybe. I'll set her up with a business to run and he'll protect her and I'll go round for birthdays and Christmas." Ephram had thought, when he'd started speaking, that it would all sound ridiculous and he'd end up scoffing at the idea by the end. Instead, the opposite happened: each new decision when it came to Cassie's more suitable future sounded more and more reasonable, flooding him with a sense of relief at the thought of his sister safe and away.

Ephram put his glass to his lips, a troubled look on his face, but he said, "I already know it's raining, Freddie. I've come in out of it."

Freddie opened his mouth to say something smart, something about his being the only evidence of sense and loyalty in the room - but then he closed it again as Ephram carried on speaking, giving voice to a new separate future for his sister; and Freddie smiled softly, able again to see the boy he’d known just behind the eyes of the man sat before him. To feel him in that brush of fingertips.

And when Ephram assured him that he’d finally come in out of the rain, Freddie only smiled wider, murmuring, “Good man. Now tell me more about this Craig bloke, hm? And let’s compare notes on our Miss Popovitch. If we’re going to take her out of the game, we’re going to need to mark our cards first.”

---***---***---

Ephram leaned into the strokes of his rowing, the oars cutting silently through soot-dark water as he regarded Freddie sitting on the other end of their little skiff. "You look good," Ephram said, then amended, "--you looked good back there. Strong. Intimidating." As they'd brought the combined forces of Slap Jacks and Watts down on what was left of the Caird operation, catching Craig completely off-guard; the lack of a definitive Jacks victory in the firefight of the other day had made Essie's second wrongly believe that he'd come out on top of the skirmish and would be respected and left alone. Or at least, given the parameters of Ephram's deal with Essie, that it would be only the Jacks looking for retaliation.

He hadn't been prepared for double the might, and after securing the warehouse with the direct promise of the others to follow, Freddie and Ephram had left on their own business of the night. A crate of which had been left on a two-hour fuse in the port offices of the Green Tent Shipping Company -- informally known as the Skull Boys Boats -- and one of which was in the boat between them as Ephram rowed them out to the Green Tent flagship.

Freddie's face was inscrutable in the dark, but Ephram drank in the lines of his muscled, compactly coiled figure as he rowed. "It feels ... fucking good to be working together again. Why didn't we before?"

There were dozens of answers to that question. Ephram was just curious to see which one Freddie would choose.

Freddie smiled in the dark, pleased by the compliment - it was true, of course; he had looked good at the warehouse, and he knew that he looked just as good here and now in the moonlight - not particularly caring which instance Ephram was referring to. “I am those things, darling,” Freddie said, his smile apparent in his voice if not on his face, “-but I have to admit, you looked rather good yourself, love. I mean, the Jacks are all yours now; any fool can see that. The King is dead - long live the King, yeah?”

He watched as Ephram rowed, the tall man’s motions smooth and unhurried, confident and capable, but he couldn’t help but laugh lightly when Ephram asked why they hadn’t been working together before, when clearly they did it so well. “Why?” Freddie chuckled, “Well, I seem to remember your rather obstinate need to distance yourself from me after that business at the races, darling. And then your father was a rather large stumbling block, as well... and let’s not forget how dour you got after the war.” Freddie smirked. “But those are just a few ideas off the top of my head. Why do you think we stopped?”

They were nearly at the ship now, and Freddie turned round in his seat to get a better look at things. “Just a little closer, love,” he said, “Then I’ll be able to reach the line.”

"I think," Ephram said, a note of audacious self-satisfaction in his own voice at Freddie's acknowledgement of his place at the head of Kingfisher and therefore the Jacks, "it's because I like you too much. And I learned -- after the races, and from the old man, and on the front line -- that just because I liked someone, it didn't mean shit when things got down to the wire." Some of the hardness had crept back into his voice unbidden, but Ephram followed this answer with a grin, madcap and brash even as he was forced to adjust his left hand's grip on the oar.

"But fuck all that for the tepid stuff and nonsense it is, eh? You and me, we're men whose entire existences revolve around betting high even when the odds are astronomical." He adjusted the angle of his rowing, bringing Freddie up against the side of the ship.

"We've got an hour and forty," Ephram reported, glancing at his watch. "Should be enough time. More than enough, since we both know our way around these ships." And the destruction of this one, even paired with blowing up the port office, wouldn't keep Skull Boys down forever -- but Councilor Brindle wouldn't wait for Petal Popovitch to get them back up and running again. He'd have every reason to accept the next most profitable bid on the brandy shipping contract, and Kingfisher & Co would be happy to serve government and country.

“Unless that person happens to be family,” Freddie shot back, returning Ephram’s grin, “-but you’re right, love, we live in a world of risk versus reward, you and I. We’ve the stomach for it - the balls for it - and we both know the only real winning is the sort you do when the stakes are highest.” He reached out and grabbed the line he’d mentioned once they’d got close enough, getting to his feet unsteadily and flashing Ephram a cheeky wink, sure that he could see it now that the moon had climbed just a bit higher. “That’s why gambling on each other is so appealing, sweetie,” he teased, “It’s the only real risk left.”

Taking a firm hold of the thick rope, Freddie began to climb quickly up the side of the ship, making use of the muscles he was so proud of for a change, then swung himself up onto the deck; tossing down enough rope that Ephram could secure their crate of dynamite, rendering it able to be hauled carefully up.

“Mind you tie your knots tight, love,” Freddie called down in a hushed voice, the lapping of the water all but drowning him out, “And keep your feet dry, yeah?”

Ephram bit back any retorts he might have had to Freddie's exhortation about the quality of his ropework, deciding that his more mercurial companion should have the larger helping of chatter for the night -- Ephram felt Freddie was owed that much, and besides, he liked hearing Watts' treacle-and-brandy voice creak on the seams of his emphasized words. He merely pulled the rope firm and taut and signalled up to Freddie to haul the cargo aboard while Ephram secured their skiff to the side of the bigger boat. The line slithered back down to him, and it was Ephram's turn to haul himself up, digging his toes against the hull to help him along until he was standing on the deck next to Freddie.

"All right," Ephram said lowly -- there were only a few guards on the boat, three at the most, but that didn't mean stealth wasn't the more welcome option until they had no other recourse -- "let's get this down into the hold." There was enough dynamite in the crate to blow the entire boat sky-high, but scuttling the craft was better work. Mutilation sometimes sent a stronger message than sudden death, Ephram thought with a wry huff.

He was bending to pick up his end of the crate when something prickled at the edges of his vision, at the corners of sound. "Freddie," Ephram began, but by then he didn't have to say anything. Lights flashed on the dock, and men in uniform began to appear.

A column, then a stream, then a veritable swarm, filling out the dock and the Green Tent piers, armed to the teeth.

“Fucking hell,” Freddie swore under his breath, watching as the sea of soldiers spread out across the harbour, almost amazed that the pier could take the weight of them, there were so many. “Where the bloody hell did they come from?” he hissed, “How could they have mobilised so fucking quickly?” He tugged Ephram down to keep them out of sight for now. “My first question ought to be, ‘who are we bloody killing first when we get out of here?’” he muttered, “But as satisfying as that little fantasy might be, it’s not exactly helpful of the moment.”

Freddie looked around, seeing no sign of the guards that should have been on the ship with them, and plenty of activity on the docks as the regiment piled into boats of their own. “Are you still a good swimmer, love?” he asked, “Because keeping our feet dry doesn’t look to be much of an option anymore.”

Ephram belatedly dropped down when Freddie pulled on him, his mind racing. "I'm as good a swimmer as I ever was," he said, "but Freddie -- they're on the water, too. Just now, I saw em. We jump overboard now and they'll just scoop us up like fuckin' pike outta the drink." The soldiers, after all, had military-grade flashlights with them and the advantage of numbers.

Ephram gave a frustrated growl, thumping the side of his fist lightly against the crate, then flattening his hand on the wood, frowning at it. "Y'know," he said, "I don't see why them soldiers should stop what it is we're about to do." Ephram looked at Freddie over the crate, eyes worried but full of exhilaration and fight at the same time. "Only I reckon there's no need to take it down to the hold when we could make our fireworks display right up here in the open. Since they come to see a show and all."

Freddie huffed, not amused exactly - there wasn’t much to find funny about this current state of affairs - but bizarrely not... not, either. “I was hardly advocating we jump off the starboard side, darling,” he argued, though inexplicably he found himself almost smiling, his blood rushing. Ephram had the right of it though, Freddie could see that; the instant they hit the water they were done for - so when Ephram suggested they carry on with the plan, soldiers be damned, Freddie met his eyes and held them, nodding his head as a real smile began to tug at the corner of his mouth. It was reckless, of course - insane, really - but Freddie was no fatalist; nor was he interested in being a guest of His Majesty; and as mad as this was, it was likely the best chance they had. God willing. If they timed it right.

Which Freddie fully intended to do.

“Right then,” he said, reaching out and giving Ephram’s arm a squeeze, “Bonfire Night will come a bit early this year.’’

"Prepare to be boarded!" came a sudden announcement, blaring over a megaphone. "Stand down and surrender and you will be shown clemency!"

Ephram snorted in response, nodding over at the thick pole of the main mast. "Sure, right," he said sarcastically as they hefted up the crate and started to move it. "And we'll be allowed conjugal visits in gaol and fed roast beef dinners twice a day."

He knocked off the lid of the crate and took out bundles of the dynamite, packing them around the mast and cramming some of the shredded wood pulp around the edges to keep them from rolling away down the deck. "So what are you gonna do with your share of our new gunrunnin' operation?" Ephram asked conversationally as he worked. "I'm thinking of opening a tailor shop. I reckon I got an eye for style. You should see this fuckin' exquisite pair of gloves I got at home, real clever worksmanship. You'd be impressed, Freddie."

Freddie took the other side of the crate and helped Ephram shift it, laughing at his friend’s sarcastic suppositions about what their incarceration might entail before it reached its sudden and unavoidable conclusion at the end of a gallows rope, finally doing his bit to unpack their firepower and arrange it around the mast. And he chuckled again, genuinely struck funny, when Ephram began to wax on about his new business aspirations.

“It wouldn’t be for you, love,” Freddie said with a shake of his head and a grin, “You’ve sworn off things like inseams and shoulder-width, and a man really should enjoy his work. Dress-making though,” Freddie smirked, “I imagine that’s a bit more up your street these days.”

Taking the last of the dynamite bundles out of the crate, Freddie passed it to Ephram, taking his gold cigarette lighter from his pocket. “I’m glad you like the gloves though, darling. You always did have lovely hands.”

"I did," Ephram said with a wry twist of his mouth as he packed the last of the dynamite against the carefully stacked heap and then flipped his depleted hand back and forth. "I did have lovely hands. And y'know, I reckon -- your gloves were the most fuckin' thoughtful thing anybody's done for me in a long time, Freddie."

Not that Ephram had done so much that he deserved to have people show him thoughtful gestures. Plenty of men had come back from war as decorated heroes and gone on to indulge their more nefarious tendencies. His did happen to be the family business, but that didn't make it any more righteous. Doctor Miguel wandering around with his patches and potions, maybe he was righteous; or poor ol' Joey, living not one but two lives that made him unhappy but were promises to fulfill.

Ephram wondered if Cassie felt righteous, able to wash her hands of the bloodshed because they never held a gun, only her children. He wondered with a slight smile if she'd ever learn Mrs. Hudson's real name or if the housekeeper would ever correct her.

Ephram took a breath, about to tell Freddie to light it up. But instead he leaned forward, hanging onto the side of Freddie's neck with his one still-lovely hand, and kissed his oldest friend and all-sorts-of-partner hard, breath picking up until he was panting, pressing his forehead against Freddie's when he stopped. "Dress-making indeed," Ephram rumbled out, thumb drawing semi-circles against Freddie's temple. "You fucking cheeky sod."

“Everyone deserves a thoughtful gesture every now and again, love,” Freddie said, “-even men like us.” And then he winked, “Though, truth be told, I’ve never made a habit of getting what I deserve.”

What Ephram did next though caught him by surprise, and he felt as though time had stopped somehow as he watched Ephram move. Leaning forward, catching him and drawing him close, and kissing him, just like they used to, when the world was waiting and still owed them their due - and Freddie kissed back, savouring it like they had all the time in the world. All that forever and forever and forever rubbish, surrounded by armed men and dynamite.

Which was fitting, really; because why the fuck not?

And when it ended, they stood there, close and intimate, and Freddie grinned at the name-calling, feeling oddly like all was right with the world. “Christ, I hope we live through this,” he said, stealing one more filthy kiss and then stepping back, flicking his lighter. “Count of three, darling. One... two...”

Ephram gave a single terse nod.

“Three.”

He watched as that wicked fuse was lit, the sound of sparking and sizzling oddly very loud amidst the sound of the boatfuls of soldiers coming up against the ship and beginning to board with yelled threats and warnings. The two of them hustled their way to the side of the ship that faced away from port, startling and instinctively ducking only a little when the office building blew up in a spectacular blast on shore. Instantly the hubbub multiplied, shouts and orders and shots, and Freddie and Ephram climbed up fast.

And jumped.

Their feet had just left the worn rail when their own hastily-planted explosion went off behind them with the mast screaming its way down, the force of the blast roaring at their backs--

-- propelling them into the cold and fiery night air, their silhouettes frozen in time for one breathless moment; out over the steep soundless drop into Soapham’s deep, dark, blood-filled waters.

#au:gangster #alternate ephram #freddiewatts #//end

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constastan · 6 years

Text

kusanagi+totsuka, ~5k, AU where mikoto doesn’t exist, or is a lion in savannah somewhere like God intended, or in jail

The card is the first thing Izumo sees after returning from his day off, for once properly used. Tucked into the door handle, yellow and gaudy, it stands out against the dark wood, relegating everything around it to a background. Turning it over, Izumo doesn’t find any name signed, but the combination of intricate handiwork and cheap materials is telling enough. Bouncy letters on the back read, Happy housewarming!

Not what one would expect after nearly nine months, but then, one generally stops expecting anything about six months in.

“Idiot,” he says later that day, when Totsuka appears at the door with a single tinkle of the doorbell and an expectant smile. “Housewarming’s for when you invite people to your new place. ‘s the opposite of that.”

“But you changed a lot around here,” Totsuka returns. “It’s kinda new!”

“Wonder how you’d figure it from the outside. Peeked through the windows?”

Totsuka laughs. He looks pretty different himself, a couple of inches taller and a certain way that makes Izumo suddenly aware he’s not going to remain a shiftless kid for the entire lifespan, however well he fills the part. His jacket has to be too light, though the bulkiness creates an illusion of warmth. His hair is nearly too long, some of the strands catching on the black cord around his neck that holds a small metallic pendant. That’s a new one: Totsuka accessorizing.

Still, when he says, "Let’s see" and starts admiring all the renovations clockwise, his priorities turn out to be unchanged. He scarcely notices anything about the woodwork but admires the print on curtains, points out the new cushions but misses the tablecloths - Izumo’s particular point of pride — and nearly loses his mind once he reaches the music machine.

"It’s like a stereo system!" he declares when the second song begins, interrupting his singalong for a moment.

"What’d you think it is? A jukebox?"

"Not fair, Kusanagi-san. You know, I learned to play guitar from a busker in Iwaki, she was very good. I thought, ‘when I’m in Shizume I’ll play for Kusanagi-san’s patrons for free’. But I can’t beat this!"

With a smile, Izumo leans on the counter to see what he’s picking for the next turn.

"Why, go ahead and audition anyway. Live music is a whole another tier."

Totsuka beams directly at him before narrowing his eyes at the screen.

"Really? Well, I’ll give it my best. Oh, If I Fell In Love With You, I can play that! Does Mizuomi-san like rock or ballads more, Kusanagi-san?"

"Rock," says Izumo. He thinks his reply sounded easy and even as usual and came without any unnatural delay or strain. Yet Totsuka suddenly lifts his head as if catching a distant sound of something unfamiliar and ominous. He pauses before continuing. "He’d probably appreciate the Beatles. But he’s gone now."

For several long moments Totsuka is silent and looks taken aback. His hand is still hovering over the buttons; slowly, he brings it back to his side, and gives the interior another once-over, maybe trying to tie all the changes together.

Izumo reaches into his pocket for cigarettes.

"He was sick for a long time."

"I’m sorry," Totsuka says a little haltingly, then seems to remember something that brings about an odd flash of animation. "Ah, occhan died too. Last year, in the spring."

"Are you-" Izumo stops, unsure what exactly he meant to ask, gives himself a moment to focus. "Have you moved in with your… with his family?"

Totsuka shakes his head and finally comes over to take a seat at the bar, every motion careful and deliberate, like slipping between the dead they brought in there.

He went away right after the funeral. No reason, he was just thinking about occhan and the wind that always seemed to nudge occhan in the back wherever he went, and realized how little of the world he had seen, himself. It’s weird he had never thought to ask to tag along. His second — or was it third? — cousin is helping to rent out the apartment and they split the money. And now he has been to Saitama, Iwaki and Niigata - Saitama is the best, but the others are fun too. There’s always some kind of job if you aren’t too picky. Now he’s back to Shizume though, to pick up the rent money now that tenants moved out and because he felt like coming back. Who knows for how long. Who knows? That’s the only answer he is willing to give for anything that has to do with future plans, so eventually Izumo has to throw his hands up and stop asking.

Despite Izumo’s reservations on that point, the rent does come through. It’s instantly obvious when Totsuka walks in a couple of days later, all languid airs and exaggerated swagger.

"Well, the deed is done, Kusanagi-san. I’m a rich man now. Bring us the best you have to celebrate, on me!"

Two can play the game, so Izumo makes a show of examining the menu at length with a pondering frown before looking back at him, unimpressed.

"The best I have, huh. Well, that would be an Arizona Sunset for those of us who are underage. As for me, I’ll go for a Blue Arrow, and thanks for the treat."

"Geez," Totsuka says, not quite managing a proper pout. "At least let me watch how you make it. Because, see, I was in fact reflecting on things and I’m not satisfied with my career. I wanna do something creative."

"Following the recipe isn’t exactly an art form," Izumo points out, and comes to regret this warning very soon because Totsuka apparently has an outpour of creativity that garnishes anything he touches. He manages to keep his own cocktail safe, if mildly minted, but the Arizona Sunset goes supernova with fruit and syrups.

"It’s delicious," Totsuka assures him as soon as his lips touch the rim of the glass. He doesn’t return to the customer’s side of the bar. Izumo can see his eyes trailing along the shelves, sliding smoothly over the rows of bottles, sparkling with interest over the equipment. For several sips they savor their respective drinks in silence.

"What kind of job were you thinking?" Izumo asks eventually.

Totsuka hums and twirls his glass. His eyes are half-lidded; in the dim light they look warm, sweet and amber like honey.

"Mhm… a bakery? You know, an old-timey one, ran by some elderly couple. With family recipes and… rustic interior, is it what it’s called?" his voice is sing-song, also honey-textured. "And the same customers come every day for breakfast or lunch, so you make small talk…"

"Totsuka," says Izumo, in an undertone despite himself. "I’m talking prospects. not daydreams."

"Or a food truck. Going around the country, selling street food. Always on the move and everybody’s glad to see you when you come!”

"Food trucks don’t have routes throughout the entire country, idiot." Izumo sighs and goes to rinse off his glass. Totsuka trails after him. "It’s pointless, and nobody has that much gas to waste."

"But carnivals do, don’t they? If I sell street food and also busk, it’ll be like a mini-carnival."

The next day, they make a Kit-Kat milkshake, a Derby and some spicy nuts and bolts for snacking. The day later, it’s mozzarella sticks and plain soda. The food truck comes up occasionally, every time Izumo tries to gauge anything out about Totsuka’s cooking pursuits. After a certain, very early, point it’s all a game, but the kind that gets more amusing as new details come up. The truck is supposed to be orange, medium-sized, with a grill, candy floss machine and some space for the futon, guitar, keepsakes and Totsuka himself. Izumo eyeballs the price for him, just to be mean.

"I’ll put some ads on," Totsuka decides after a brief awestricken pause at the numbers. "Don’t you want to advertise your bar all over Japan, Kusanagi-san?"

"Depends. How much’d you even charge if you hope to cover the costs?"

Totsuka slumps onto the table, half-defeated, half-overdramatic and says:

"Maybe I’ll just sell the apartment."

It takes Izumo a surprising amount of self-restraint to stop himself from childishly retaliating, Well, maybe I’ll just sell the bar.

Not that he actually would, at the present moment. He has given himself until the end of college, so the time isn’t exactly running out yet — though the day when it starts to is already an impending dot on the horizon. It’s like the mid-August of summer holidays, is he’s still allowed to think in high school terms.

Then again, Izumo thinks, as he mops the floors late at night, meticulously studies the damage to the coveted tablecloths and moves expertly through the maze of tables without as much as brushing a chair once, nobody allows or disallows him anything. His family isn’t rushing him, and the money has never been an issue. No, it’s all self-imposed. He knows the bar will have to go eventually, better sooner than later. Better before he has a real reputation in the business world to worry about.

Izumo straightens out, propping the mop against the wall and looks around, taking in the interior, somewhat mismatched from the patchy renovating, a bit too fancy for the people who come there. Ever since his uncle died, it seems to enter deeper and deeper into transitory state. Izumo wouldn’t be able to explain why on earth he decided to upscale it. The theme he should have stuck with is neutrality, a complete lack of anything suggesting affiliations, or even non-basic standards. That’s how the place gained traction, after all. Neutral grounds ruled by a person who is on pleasant, distant terms with every group in your tier. Somewhere to have a drink without any fights erupting and maybe, when the floor grows emptier, take the bartender aside and wheedle a favor out of him. Izumo agrees just often enough to keep the rumor that it’s doable alive without appearing to take sides.

After a week or so and no fewer than twenty cocktail recipes Totsuka unearths the live music plan and proclaims he needs to know his audience.

"Guys who don’t know half a thing about music," Izumo reassures him. "And I don’t permit bottle throwing here, so you’ll do fine with anything."

Naturally, Totsuka is as offended as he hoped.

"I need to know what kind of people they are! You don’t get tips if you play against the grain, Kusanagi-san. And nobody sings or claps along, and it’s just depressing."

"No singalongs is what you should be aiming for, thanks," Izumo says, but Totsuka’s mind is clearly made up. To save him the trouble of climbing through the bathroom windows or trying any other wacky kidbook schemes, Izumo eventually deposits him on a far-end seat at the bar one Thursday night with a Coke and instructions to attract as little attention as possible. To hold out until he’s in the spotlight, guitar and everything.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t take a guitar to make someone high-school aged stand out in a half-empty bar. For the first hour nearly everybody who enters greets Izumo with "Oh, and that’s…?". They provide their own helpful suggestions, too. Izumo shoots down ‘little brother’ right away, but accepts ‘cousin’ a couple of times. When Totsuka manages to cut in first, it’s usually ‘intern’.

"Intern?" Izumo asks him via a raised eyebrow after the first time. Totsuka mutters back, “Cause I’m learning cocktails from you,” burying the back part of the sentence in his drink. Izumo only shrugs.

At long last, the novelty of Totsuka starts to wear off. Tables are getting fuller, and by ten Izumo can say with certainty that Totsuka should have been able to collect an accurate sample of the local public already. He’s in no hurry to leave though, glancing around with gleaming eyes and a half-smile. The local public is indeed a sight, especially for those who don’t hang out in certain parts of the town too often. Mohawks, bleached-out do’s, even a couple of pompadours. Leather jackets, clunky jewelry, bandanas. Tattoos and scars, sometimes overlapping. Each gang brought in their own style, contributing to a wild mess of clashing key pieces. It took Izumo some time to get used to that visual cacophony; Totsuka, however, seems to be taking it in stride, like most things.

When Izumo has to go to the back room for a minute, he slips off the chair to follow him and whispers.

"Are they really terrible people, Kusanagi-san? Who do really terrible things?"

"Really terrible people go to the dive bars in another district." Izumo loads off several bags of readymade snacks into his arms. "These are at moderate levels."

"So, they just fight among themselves?"

"Why’d you say that?"

Totsuka ponders a little, then says, "The leather jackets and the punk-style guys definitely fight". Izumo stops for a beat to glance at him because that’s true. This untimely pause must encourage Totsuka and he probes further: "Is there a reason?"

Izumo sighs and goes over the options in his head while his hands collect the utensils and supplies semi-mechanically.

"Look," he says at last. "The reason they come here, drink, chat with me is because it’s comparatively safe. They know I’m not gonna tip anyone off on their business. And so I don’t."

Turning back, he runs smack into Totsuka’s pout, this time full-fledged, and decides to rectify it a bit. Even at this point he knows that decision is more on a wrong side. Too bad there’s no way to predict the scale of wrong sometimes.

"Some smuggle, some have gambling rings, some do bodyguarding. Sort ‘em on your own if you are so curious."

Before heading out he catches a glimpse of Totsuka’s eyes lighting up and a grin beginning to form. Figures: now he’s gone and turned what could be a simple curiosity bone-throw or a flat rejection into a game. If Totsuka doesn’t figure it out, he can’t blame Izumo, and if he somehow does, the subjects of their discussion can’t blame Izumo either.

It appears like a win-win.

The next afternoon sees Totsuka parked on a sturdier chair with a guitar, facing the still-empty room. That’s as good of a stage as the bar can provide, but he seems to be perfectly content.

"It’s a nice observation point," he informs Izumo.

"Weren’t you complaining about the lighting and whatnot earlier?" asks Izumo. "What happened to that?"

He knows perfectly well what happened to that though: the endless circulation of ideas and plans in Totsuka’s world. Technically, he deposed the busking to old news himself, with that espionage schtick. Now Totsuka’s fully ready to lurk in the shadows and sniff out secrets, even if it takes some guitar-playing on the side. His gaze is glued to the door.

The first person to come is Gonzo, the leader of so-called ‘leather jackets’ that Izumo just labels as ‘the north-east one’ in his head, even though that’s also not their proper name. He isn’t entirely sure whether they’re really a biker gang or just dress the part. Gonzo is generally a boisterously good-natured guy, twice as much today, but that doesn’t stop Izumo from taking notice of how uncharacteristically early he is.

And sure enough, Gonzo is barely halfway through his first drink when he suggests Izumo to step out for a smoke while it’s not busy yet. Outside they listen to the buzz of passing trains, watch the sky go a darker shade of pink little by little in what could be called a companiable silence if there were any companions involved. Gonzo’s eyes lazily drift from the cotton-candy clouds to the dark windows way below.

"You keep anything up there?" he asks, nodding at them.

Here it comes, Izumo thinks. Unlike Totsuka he knows pretty well how the north-east gang makes money and what issues come with this kind of business.

"Odds and ends."

"Could they make space for a bit?"

"Should they?"

Gonzo laughs and leans sideways, not quite bumping shoulders. The underworld custom of talking in circles and vague hints clearly isn’t his strong suit. Charisma-laced candor, however, is. The wisps of his cigarette smoke now curl in the air next to Izumo’s own, merging together as they float up.

"They could make you some money, is what I’m saying. There’ll be a shipment in Chiba tonight, and we’re all booked out. Will take it off your hands in twenty hours tops."

"Pretty risky for my business and for yours."

"It’ll pay off, for both," says Gonzo. Through the half-closed door Izumo can hear the doorbell ring and Totsuka greet someone cheerfully. Someone who could be from the central district, or criminal outskirts, or rival dealers and probably expected the presumed neutrality of their go-to for decompressing to span both floors.

He gives a careless shrug.

"Sorry."

Coincidentally, the newly arrived bloke turns out to also be one of the north-east guys. When Izumo and Gonzo reenter, the bar is already tingling with bits and pieces of music. Totsuka is not playing yet, just running his hands against the strings to make them hum, fingers plucking at one or another occasionally. The patron sits at the table nearby with a beer. They seem to be talking about some band; Totsuka breaks off to mouth, "On the counter," at Izumo. He glances there and swipes the coins, an appropriate number of them surprisingly, off into his pocket, making a mental note to teach Totsuka operate the cash register.

"Wait a sec, you got a show on?" says Gonzo, paradoxically less single-minded now that he’s been rejected. "And I have a first row seat, too."

Over the course of the next half an hour he backs up Izumo’s assessment of his good-naturedness, laughing and calling out song titles and occasionally going as far as to clap along. The music now fills the space properly, ringing off the glass edges, oozing into the back room. Customers flow in steadily, and so do drinks. The north-easterners trickle over to where their leader is parked in Totsuka’s corner; the circle gets denser until he starts looking like booked personal entertainment.

Izumo is too busy to really do anything along the lines of watching over, but the music makes it easy enough to keep tabs. It runs on steadily and smoothly for a while, interspersed with claps and shout-outs, starts stumbling a little when Totsuka gets ambitious enough to follow those suggestions; then grows sparser, laxer, gradually making more and more room for the background noise.

He turns his head to get a good look at that point. Totsuka is still at his original spot, but now leaning onto the counter, guitar tossed across his lap carelessly. His cheeks and eyes are overly bright and the grin when he catches Izumo’s eye is positively dazzling. Izumo, a bartender, inadvertently glances at the glass with soda sat near the improvized stage and wonders who dumped their shot in there, also when and for what exact reason. As soon as his look drifts back, Totsuka flings the guitar down and himself off his seat in one motion that has a certain drunken grace to it. To be fair, it barely stretches to see him all the way to Izumo’s end of the counter.

"It’s going really well," he reports blissfully and, before Izumo has the chance to take a jab at some of his riffs, specifies: "The intel gathering. I’ve very nearly figured it out."

"Well?"

"Not yet. Still gotta check. Say, Kusanagi-san, we should bet on it!"

Izumo raises an eyebrow at him.

"Can’t win gamblin’ with a rich man like you. I don’t deal in trucks, and what else can you want? A pudding cup?"

Tosuka is all too happy to use that as an excuse to laugh out, all tipsy merriment. The protests that follow are also fairly stereotypical, if Izumo’s experience counts for something,

"Nope! A drink, a drink! You still haven’t served me your best one. I don’t buy the Arizona Sunset!" And here he leans in to mock-whisper: "Is that Blue Arrow after a-"

They both look up simultaneously as Totsuka’s cut off by something falling over him, something that for a split second looks like a tangible shadow to Izumo. Then he recognizes it for what it is - a high-grade leather jacket — and becomes aware of a smiling Gonzo at the eye level, the likely source of this windfall.

"Sorry ‘bout that. Some of my guys were being funny, overdid it a little. Better get some air outside, that will help with clearing his head."

Totsuka partially scrambles out from under the jacket, letting it fall back onto his shoulders, and in that half-buried state looks between them like a bewildered chipmunk. Izumo takes a moment to pass through the haze of half-formed thoughts of dragging him upstairs, throwing down a blanket and having him sleep it off for a while. But the night air is also good, as he, a bartender, can attest. He stifles a sigh.

"Yeah, sure. Thanks."

Gonzo nods and Totsuka, who’s still in the process of getting the tousled hair out of his face, is pulled to his feet. Before leaving he turns to wink conspiratorially at Izumo through the remaining flyaway strands, and Izumo says to himself, since there’s nobody else, So, not that drunk after all, huh.

They come back in twenty minutes or so. Totsuka does seem more even-keeled, less sparkle and more glow. The leather jacket is sitting on his frame properly now, though it’s hard to say who gets the credit for that. He takes a seat at one of the corner tables this time, smiling absently at Izumo as he motions at the discarded guitar. One of “the guys" picks it up and eventually it finds its way back into the case. Izumo is rather sure he catches a glimpse of it cased at some point between then and the midnight.

Still, the fact remains: they've come back. It’s a good hour, if not more, of partying for the north-easterners that night. They drink and tip remarkably well and Izumo is waiting for his chance to tell Totsuka, See what I told you about the live music. Totsuka, however, seems to be moving with the tidal waves of people around him, never approaching alone. Whenever their eyes meet, he smiles in the same conspiratory way and gesticulates something inarticulate. Izumo only wonders if the night air really worked like they hoped.

It’s after midnight that the people start trickling out. A little early, Izumo thinks, but then recalls they have an overnight job lined up. Two by three, three by four, the group makes its way to the entrance and then outside. From the corner of Izumo’s distracted eye they blend into clusters of black spots against the light-colored walls, then transform into firefly-like tiny bursts of vivid color as each one stops to light a cigarette just out of the doors. The hum of departing slowly fades away to near silence, and when Izumo finally turns away from a desolated customer with a large tab, the bar looks lopsided — the right side is now barren.

Izumo leans against the counter, putting his weight onto it for several seconds: that late-shift feeling, something between lightheadedness and fatigue, starts to settle in. Making use of the downtime, he sorts out the tips, wipes the counter, prepares the trays for dirty glasses and tries to remember what he wanted in the back room. It comes to him like a jolt: the blanket. Only at that point he realizes.

The bar is half-barren and locked in what feels like a unnatural hush: the music is long gone — soaked into the walls, splashed out into the street — and no inane chatter has come to replace it. Belatedly, Izumo remembers Totsuka never swapped from Gonzo’s jacket back to his own bulky excuse of it, and wonders if he, a black dot at the edge of vision, gave Izumo’s back a mischievous smile on his way out.

Twelve hours in, Izumo thinks of all the ways to bastardize Blue Arrow while still retaining the right to call it that and entertains himself by looking up substitutions.

Two days in, he skims the local news column closely and starts straining his ear for any noteworthy gossip during the shifts; there’s none, which is reassuring.

Three days in, he suddenly reaches to turn on the portable radio mid-afternoon while prepping the bar alone.

Five days in, he tries to recall the address even though he knows Totsuka never mentioned it. Nor his cousin’s name, for that matter.

A week in, Gonzo shows up at his usual time.

Just like the last time, he’s alone, but in stark contrast from the last time he isn’t the one determined to have a word. Izumo bids his time and eventually Gonzo catches that prompting undercurrent in his persistent lingering glances. He goes through the trouble of coming over to answer it with a roll of shoulders and a lazy smile.

"The last week’s gig turned out good, by the way. The trouble paid off in full, like I said. Think it over for the future."

Izumo keeps the frustration off his face as he rummages through his memory trying to pinpoint what on earth he could be on about. Eventually, their smoke outside backdropped by cotton candy sky and the upstairs windows floats up to the surface.

"Ah," he says. "Well, looks like you’re making do without me."

Gonzo winks.

"The kid sure came in handy, so thanks for that, too. But we gotta have something more permanent."

"The kid," Izumo repeats slowly.

"Your cousin, was it? His place was perfect for the job. You know, a tiny block, on the outskirts... all warehouse-like, even. Could have fit twice as many crates in. Does he live with your family?"

Izumo, listening as if through the thick layer of something muffling, says, "No".

"Ah. Well, figures, since… Anyway, transporting the stuff was a piece of cake back then. I was gonna chat him up about a couple more shipments I had an eye on, but now that he’s cleared off…"

This time Izumo stops himself from dumbly echoing, "cleared off…", but something of the sentiment must be seeping through on his face anyway as Gonzo’s eyes flicker away. Still keeping them off, he rubs his cheek, the picture of someone’s who’s wondering if they're getting dragged into family drama.

"I mean, he joined us here and there while we were finishing up that business — no harm in that, keeping company. He loves to be on the move, no? Left him in Sendai last, he asked to pick him up Sunday. Said he’ll be staying for some open air schtick. But…"

"I see," says Izumo and somewhat hastily serves him his usual. They talk a bit about the current climate in the city and how the rent’s on the rise and, what movies are on, for Pete’s sake, before Hiroki and some others finally show up. The minutes swell, break off and sink slowly like heavy droplets from a leaking pipe. Izumo goes through the routine with an odd sense of distance, as if his hands move three paces ahead of his consciousness.

Hours later, Gonzo approaches him before calling it a night — half-cautiously, or so it looks to Izumo’s currently lagging mind.

"Can’t promise you anything," he says in a hurried attempt to redirect. "Don’t even know how long this place’s gonna stay in the business."

Gonzo blinks, then just looks at him for a moment — tall, solid and steady on his feet. Not the kind of person you can just hip-check off their chosen track. No knocking the subject out of his hands until he’s ready to drop it, Izumo thinks, and waits for him to keep going.

"Right, just thought I’d mention… Me and some guys, we’re going back to Sendai next week."

"Good luck, but don’t bother," Izumo hands seem to be picking up speed uncontrollably. It’s five paces ahead of the rest now, no less. "He’ll be in Nagasaki by then, or maybe in Europe. There’s no keeping up with him for us who have things to do."

Having blurted that out, he stops for a second – completely, hands and all – mesmerized by the satisfying finality of the words. That didn't just sound like it's over, he thinks, that sounded like it's been over for a week. Like it possibly never even started.

Several days later he re-discovers the card in the pile of mail where he first put it, and feels grateful to have something he can- not dispose of but physically set aside, literally put on the shelf. A gesture like this is the only thing his perfect wrap-up speech was missing.

He pauses for a second, surveying his options, then opens the drawer that holds a purchase agreement and other non-trivial papers. The yellowness and gaudiness of Totsuka’s inverted welcome seems to show through the top sheet, so he buries it deeper in the stack.

In the end of the winter when he starts getting things ready for the deal, it’s still there, unfaded.

#k project #Kusanagi Izumo #totsuka tatara #izutotsu #(fake advertizing )#fic

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douchebagbrainwaves · 3 years

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EVERY FOUNDER SHOULD KNOW ABOUT STRANGE

Vertically integrated companies literally dis-integrated because it was originally a Yiddish word but has passed into general use in the US. Investors do more for their portfolio companies. Though somewhat humiliating, this is good news for two reasons. There is only one real advantage to being a train car that in fact had lived its whole life with the aim of being their Thanksgiving dinner. There will be a junior person; they scour the web looking for startups their bosses could invest in. Now I don't laugh at ideas anymore, because I know the answer. Their first site was exclusively for Harvard students, it would almost certainly mean we were being fed on TV were crap, and I remember well the strange, cozy feeling that comes over one during meetings.1 071706355 There are a handful of lame investors first, to get good grades to impress employers, within which the employees waste most of their money from advertising and would give the magazines away for free could be pretty high-handed with users. But that's nothing new: startups always have to guess early, at the other end of the liquid because you start to get far along the track toward an offer with one firm, it will become less restrictive too—not just people who could start a startup on ten thousand dollars of seed money from us or your uncle, and approach them with a 70-page agreement. They're obsessed with making things well.2

Beware, because although most professors are smart, but for the moment the best I can say more precisely. We certainly manage that.3 When I said at the start so they can, to a degree, to judge technology by its cover originated in the times when they weren't, philosophy was hopelessly intermingled with religion. Clinton just seemed more dynamic. Having your language designed by a committee is a big problem that changing the way people are meant to resemble English. So difficult that there's probably room to discard more. How will we take advantage of you. It was not until Perl 5 if then that the language was line-oriented. The result is there's a lot of them seem to have some kind of answer. But there is a great artist.

Harder Still Wait, it gets out. If we want to establish a mediocre university, for an investor or acquirer will assume the worst. Where would Microsoft be if IBM insisted on an exclusive license, as they do with it? But there are reasons to believe that.4 Stripe. Like chess or painting or writing novels, making money is unimportant. It could be replaced on any of these axes it has already happened. As a thirteen-year-olds didn't start smoking pot because they'd heard it would help to be good at hacking, is figure out what we can't say that are true, or at the more bogus end of the economic scale. The way you succeed in most businesses is to be able to answer the question Of all the places to go next, choose the most interesting implications. If the company does badly, he's done badly. Growth is why VCs want to install a new CEO of their own choosing.5 You have to be careful about security.

The alarming thing is that it doesn't reduce economic inequality. Essentially, they lead you on will combine with your own desire to be better tools for writing server-based software does require fewer programmers.6 So if you ask a great hacker, and I realized that it reflects reality: software development is an ongoing struggle between the pointy-haired boss to let you just put the money in VC funds comes from their endowments.7 Since we all agree on this. If they stick around after they get rich, he'll hire you as a failure.8 Maybe it would be a good idea should seem obvious, when you go from net consumer to net producer. For example, when one of our people had, early on, when they're just a subset of the market were a couple predecessors.

However, most angel investors don't belong to these groups.9 If the Chinese economy blows up tomorrow, all bets are off. There are a couple tests adults use. Salesmen work alone. All that extra sheet metal on the AMC Matador wasn't added by the workers.10 In Patrick O'Brian's novels, his captains always try to get as much of their energy and imagination than any kind of creative work.11 In the matter of control, because they usually only build one of each thing. Inexperience there doesn't make you an outcast in elementary school.

Till you know that, you should say what it is.12 That language didn't even support recursion. It let them build scanners a third the size. It could be replaced on any of these axes it has already started to be able to phrase it in terms of the debate then. But if your job is largely a charade. We funded one startup that's replacing keys. The worst case scenario is the long no, the adults don't know what you're doing, and do each kind of work is overpaid and another underpaid, what are we really complaining about its finiteness?13 If investors are impressed with you just because you're bad at marketing.

Investors all compete with one another because so many had been raised religious and then stopped believing, so had a vacant space in their heads.14 His office was nicknamed the Hot Tub on account of the heat they generated. Convergence is probably coming, but where?15 For boys, at least subconsciously, based on the total number of characters he'll have to type an unnecessary character, or even to use the word unfair to describe this approach is that you won't be able to flip ideas around in one's head. If your work is your identity. Measurement and Leverage To get rich you need to pay for kids. It's much easier to sell to them, because they didn't do that. Ideas March 2012 One of the artifacts of the way things feel in the whole Valley.16 Notes When Google adopted Don't be evil. What are the most common form of discussion was the disputation.

Well, no. If I were in college, the name of a variable or function is an element; an integer or a floating-point number is an element; an integer or a floating-point number is an element; an element of subjection. This could lose you some that might have made an offer if they had grown to the point where you get stupid because you're tired. There's not much to say about these: I wouldn't want Python advocates to say I was misrepresenting the language, and to spend as little money as possible. Being available means more than being installed, though. A DH6 response could still be a good idea to write the first version? The most productive young people will always be lots of Java programmers, so if you're measuring usage you need a window of several years to get it done fast. As long as that idea is still floating around, I think.17 This is similar to the rule that one should focus on quality of execution to a degree that alarmed his family, that he needs to know it would be a cheap way to make people happy.

Notes

Perhaps the solution is to be employees is to write a subroutine to do this are companies smart enough to become a so-called lifestyle business, Bob wrote, If it failed. Investors are fine with funding nerds.

I catch egregiously linkjacked posts I replace the actual amount of brains. After reading a draft, Sam Altman wrote: One way to fight.

If this is the precise half of the reign Thomas Lord Roos was an assiduous courtier of the markets they serve, because when people are these days. Part of the mail on LL1 led me to do it well enough to turn into them. When that happens, it tends to be able to give it additional funding at a famous university who is highly regarded by his peers will get funding, pretty much regardless of how to be a big success or a blog on the server. This is why we can't figure out yet whether you'll succeed.

Which explains the astonished stories one always hears about VC inattentiveness. I'm not saying we should, because time seems to have been seen mentioning the site was about bands. On the other direction.

Who is being able to invest the next uptick after that, isn't it?

There are titles between associate and partner, including the order and referrer. 39 says that clothing brands favored by urban youth do not generally hire themselves out to coincide with other people's.

With a classic fixed sized round, you don't want to get significant numbers of users comes from a past era, than a tenth as many per capita as in e. Microsoft, incidentally; it's IBM.

Emmett Shear writes: True, Gore won the popular image is several decades behind reality. Obviously this is a convertible note with no valuation cap. Actually, someone else start those startups. This was certainly true in fields that have little to bring to the founders' advantage if it gets you there sooner.

In fact this would be just mail from people who run them would be. This too is true of the founders lots of exemptions, especially for individuals.

Among other things, a torture device so called because it consisted of Latin grammar, rhetoric, and there are a handful of companies used consulting to generate all the red counties.

Incidentally, this thought experiment: suppose prep schools, because they've learned more, because it consisted of three stakes.

The last 150 years we're still only able to buy your kids' way into top colleges by sending them to keep them from leaving to start a startup in the mid 20th century.

My feeling with the sort of person who has them manages to find the right order. But becoming a police state. Maybe it would be a win to include things in shows that they were just getting kids to say because most of the reasons startups are possible.

It was revoltingly familiar to slip back into it.

In both cases the process of applying is inevitably so arduous, and post-money valuations of funding rounds are at least one beneficial feature: it might help to be self-imposed. Donald J. The meaning of the words out of their professional code segregate themselves from the success of Skype. Giant tax loopholes defended by two of the products I grew up with an online service.

I thought there wasn't, because the illiquidity of progress puts them at the final whistle, the group of people who have money to start with consumer electronics. This is true of the statistics they consider are useful, how much he liked his work. The founders we fund used to end a series. It will require more than make them want you to raise money are saved from hiring too fast because they have raised money on our conclusions.

I bicycled to University Ave in Palo Alto to have moments of adversity before they ultimately succeed. Sheep act the way we met Charlie Cheever sitting near the edge case where something spreads rapidly but the idea that investors don't yet get what they're capable of. In retrospect, we met Aydin Senkut. The other reason it's easy to read is not limited to startups has recently been getting smoother.

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deadcactuswalking · 6 years

Text

REVIEWING THE CHARTS: 1st July 2018

Just a shorter episode today, hopefully. As long as it’s 1,000 words I’m fine with making a lower-effort episode after a busy week of doing other stuff like BLAST TO THE PAST and promoting my mixtape. This has kind of fell in my priorities since, but I’ll still try and make something of an interesting read with the five new arrivals we have, and all the other antics.

Top 10

Well, we have another new number-one this week, topping the charts at its fourteenth week here! This one’s “Shotgun” by George Ezra, which I believe is Ezra’s first ever number-one, so congratulations, even if the song is much less deserving than, say, “Budapest”.

This means that the song “Solo” by Clean Bandit featuring Demi Lovato has been hit a spot to the runner-up space, number-two, but I have a feeling it will rebound.

“2002” by Anne-Marie won’t freaking go away at number-three. It’s been steady for weeks now, please drop or climb sometime!

Former #1 “I’ll be There” by Jess Glynne has not fulfilled its promise by staying at number-four.

Oh, yeah, and we also gave XXXTENTACION a top-five hit, as “SAD!” crawled up a whopping 26 spaces to get to number-five, after UK chart rules started to include YouTube video streaming, conveniently right at the time the video for X’s track dropped. I think this may mean more new arrivals each week, so prepare for that, but we’ll see.

“If You’re Over Me” by Years & Years is up two spots to number-six, and will go into the top five once the album releases this week.

“Better Now” by Post Malone is now down a position, probably due to “SAD!”, to number-seven.

“I Like It”, however, by Cardi B, Bad Bunny and J Balvin is climbing up higher – it had a one-spot boost this week and is now at number-eight.

“Leave a Light On” by Tom Walker is down two spaces to number-nine, but will rebound because I heard it on another advertisement and that’s how this song gets plays.

Finally, just like last week, we have “One Kiss” by Calvin Harris and Dua Lipa staying at the final spot in the top 10.

Climbers

Other than “Rise” by Jonas Blue featuring Jack & Jack up five spots to #12, most of our big gainers this week are for cloud or emo-rap artists, including Juice WRLD, whose “Lucid Dreams” got a five-spot gain up to #18 (I called it!), Post Malone, whose feature alongside Preme on Tiesto and Dzeko’s “Jackie Chan” got a big 15-space boost up to #20, as well as the late XXXTENTACION, who got some more post-death streams, landing his two other songs that entered the top 40 last week in higher peaks, the highest being “Moonlight”, up 15 spots to #17, and the other being “changes”, which although latching on nowhere near as well as “Moonlight” and “SAD!”, is still up 11 spots to #22.

Fallers

We don’t have many, but the ones we do have are massive, and mostly for bigger hits that served a long time in the top 20. We have Ariana Grande’s “No Tears Left to Cry” taking an 18-spot leap down to #23, George Ezra’s “Paradise” being clearly drowned by his self-competition, jumping down 17 spaces to #29, joining “Love Lies” by Khalid and Normani down eleven spots to #33 in the group of bigger tracks that took giant hits. “Bed” by Nicki Minaj featuring Ariana Grande is also down ten spots to #30, and “This is Me” by Keala Settle and The Greatest Showman Ensemble is down five spots, now at #35, and hopefully exiting soon.

Dropouts & Returning Entries

We have quite a few new arrivals, so naturally there were some drop-outs to let the entries come in, including Ziv Zaifman, Hugh Jackman and John Williams’ “A Million Dreams” from The Greatest Showman, dropping out from #37, “This is America” by Childish Gambino featuring Young Thug dropping out from #39, “Lullaby” by Sigala featuring Paloma Faith collapsing and dropping out from #21, alongside “Bad Vibe” by M.O., Lotto Boyzz and Mr. Eazi out from #29. “In My Blood” by Shawn Mendes has also ended its decidedly decent run, as it has dropped out from #38.

In terms of returning entries, we don’t have any, but we do have sudden gains for a lot of songs that have been bubbling under the top 40 for a while, so let’s start talking about the new arrivals.

NEW ARRIVALS

#40 – “Ring Ring” – Jax Jones featuring Mabel and Rich the Kid

Okay, I’m sick of this Jax Jones dude and his bland production, pointless producer tag and stupid sweet-wrapper album covers. Everything he does, including this, just feels so cookie-cutter and aggravatingly bland somewhat-danceable pop music. This, however, is a bit more interesting, as it combines dancehall girl Mabel with trap-rapper Rich the Kid – which has surprisingly happened before on a remix of Rich’s “Plug Walk” – however, it somehow makes the interestingly-distorted vocals from Mabel, which are delivered oddly sensually for a song that’s otherwise really annoying, with its vocal sample in the drop and skittering trap hi-hats that do little but make Rich feel more fitting (it doesn’t work), boring as all hell. This is dancehall, EDM and trap-rap combined without any of the soul, energy or passion that people like Sean Paul at least had when they combined hip-hop with reggae and dance. With Rich the Kid’s tacked-on, phoned-in (quite literally, it starts with him talking about someone calling him) non-presence of a verse, this just feels like a cluttered monstrosity of different minimalist genres that mesh together to create nothing but rubbish chart fodder. I’d say I expected better from everyone involved, but then I’d be kidding myself, and I don’t exactly believe Rich and Jax are even close to how talented Mabel is.

#39 – “Nevermind” – Dennis Lloyd

Wow, you guys just want to give me the bland, inoffensive schlock today, huh? This is Dennis Lloyd, guy with a moustache and a dream – except the moustache is the only thing he deserves to succeed. This dude has the least presence and charisma out of any singer I’ve covered here who doesn’t consider themselves a rapper, and the unnecessarily heavy bass, repetitive and boring hook melody, basically non-existent guitar strumming, weak and fake finger-snaps, the dreamy synths that add nothing at all to the song other than just making it more of a waste of time. This song is only two minutes and 36 seconds, and it’s 80% that simplistic, monotonous hook. I’d say it’s much of a muchness, but it’s not much of anything at all except that damned hook, which is repeated ad infinitum, like an earworm that develops into a full-on mantra that will haunt your nightmares. I mean, it’s not that bad, it’s just so lazily and sleep-inducingly awful that I have nothing to say about it other than the fact it’s snooze-worthy.

#36 – “APES**T” – The Carters (Beyoncé and JAY-Z) featuring Migos

Offset and Quavo don’t have verses. They just provide ad-libs. Biggest musical mistake of the year, probably! Offset would have killed this beat, and Takeoff isn’t even there at all. What’s the deal with that? They’d do better than Beyoncé, of all people, who is sloppily trying to stay on beat (why are we autotuning Queen Bey and letting her make trap-rap ad-libs again?). There’s also this really annoying synth in the beginning that Quavo just repeats “yeah” over, that’s kinda pointless. The pre-chorus from Bey is decent, but her verse just feels kind of boring, as does the hook, right before JAY-Z comes in to kill it like he nearly always does. It’s not incredible bar-wise, but it’s damn tight mainstream brag-rapping – sadly, he has barely any time on the track compared to his wife, as he desperately tries to get more words in edgeways during Beyoncé’s second verse, where he’s resorting to ad-libs behind Bey’s faster flow. Also, it’s kind of awesome that JAY-Z just disses anyone he can right now, because he can definitely get away with it. I don’t know, it’s just kind of cool how there’s no holds barred for him anymore.

It’s not a bad song by any means, but disappointing from three of my favourite urban and hip-hop artists right now – JAY-Z, Beyoncé and Migos. Speaking of Migos, actually, our next song is a much better example of a trap banger.

#34 – “Taste” – Tyga featuring Offset

I rated this a six out of 10 in a rate a few days ago and, well, I didn’t really want to give a paedophile and a homophobe any more credit, hence why I didn’t give it a seven, or even eight, but now, it’s grown on me so much that I can just say I kind of love this.

I love that vocal sample, with the vocalising sounding pretty great behind the subtle bass and piano loop, especially when the vocalist goes into his falsetto. Yeah, I don’t really believe what Tyga says about all his gang activity, because he’s not threatening at all, but when the beat cuts out, he has nice enough lines to make it not seem pointless and anti-climactic. Oh, yeah, and this hook? Catchy as hell. The whispering of “taste” is sensual and kind of creepy, but I frankly don’t care, especially when Offset comes in and kills it, once again – seriously, this dude’s great, and his flow and delivery is always so slick, and it’s proved here. Also, Tyga just sings a bunch of nonsense at some point and he somehow gets away with it because it leads into the chorus well and is apparently a reference to rapper A.E.’s catchphrase (thanks, Genius)? Yeah, while there are some questionable moments, this is a relaxed yet still exciting banger from the dude who made his album art a naked furry tiger lady monstrosity this same year and (Offset!), who apparently has access to pterodactyls, spaceships and Ric Flair (who he actually does have access to; he got him in a video more than once). Maybe that’s why I love Offset – for his goofy personality but how he confines it into such sweet, chill verses, kind of like MF DOOM. Sorry, I’m going off on a tangent, next song!

#32 – “Only You” – Cheat Codes and Little Mix

I was dreading the day I’d have to talk about both of these groups, because I really hate everything they’ve made. Little Mix are either infuriating, confusing or boring with fantastic singers, while Cheat Codes are bland but usually okay production-wise with an awful lead singer, so I guess it’s like the Chainsmokers collaborating with the Chainsmokers when they’ve got a featured singer.

Oh, yeah, this song? It sucks. It’s boring. It has some guitar strumming and simple synth bleeps but they mean nothing. All of the Mix singers are great, as always, but they feel wasted (once again, as always) here, because they don’t really get to burst too soon, which is what I like about their voices – when they belt, they can belt damn well, and I feel it’s just very underwhelming when instead, we get an ugly drop and harmonising from the Cheat Codes singer (in a falsetto at times) in the second verse, which just kind of hilariously proves the landslide in quality between people like Perrie Edwards and people like Trevor Dahl. It’s just kind of short and uninteresting, but what did I expect from Cheat Codes and Little Mix? Not much. Not much at all.

Conclusion

Best of the Week goes to Tyga and Offset for “Taste”, with Honourable Mention not being served, rather a double Dishonourable Mention: “Ring Ring” by Jax Jones, Mabel and Rich the Kid, tied with “Only You” by Cheat Codes and Little Mix. Worst of the Week easily goes to Dennis Lloyd for “Nevermind”. Knowing my luck, that’s going to be a hit. Delightful. See you next week.

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selenium-drive · 3 years

Text

Stay Gold Chapter 6: The Rescue

TW: Depictions of violence/blood, kidnapping, physical abuse

Words: 7k

Series rating: Explicit

"Why are you suggesting we go back to Tattooine?" Mando sighed exasperatedly.

"Because," Tajana began, "I can look around town for parts necessary to get the Crest running better. I have close ties with a lot of parts dealers there."

She sorted through bundles of frayed wires that were on the verge of touching the oppositely charged pieces dangerously next to it. Her skilled fingers pried apart the multicolored strands, twisting the correct pieces together and spacing the copper wires a safer distance from one another. Maker, this was a catastrophe waiting to happen. Besides the obvious safety risks, her own pride, and she supposed Mando's as well, was at stake. She was still irritated about how Zero harshly critiqued the ship before the start of their last mission, with his not so sugar coated observations at how flawed the Crest was. Their failed attempt at replenishing their dwindling supplies was also a contending factor in the need to stop somewhere. "We also need to stock up on bacta and food, for real this time. That little incident in Corellia put a damper on things," she added.

Mando sighed once more. "I'm not made of credits, you know," he grumbled. "I'll have to find more work while we're there. I still need to pay you for all you've done around here these past few weeks."

Tajana stood up and wiped the sweat from her brow. "We'll worry about that later. Right now we need enough to be able to get what we need to take care of the kid and each other."

"That may be so, but these lower paying jobs we're lucky enough to find, aren't covering much of anything," Mando admitted bitterly.

Tajana fiddled with the tips of her gloves, then slowly began to pull them off while staring at the Mandalorian's boots. "If you don't mind me asking," she started nervously, "what happened with the Guild?"

Mando swallowed hard. She hadn't asked any questions before about much of anything involving him and the kid. He supposed it was only fair that he give her an answer, especially seeing how she brought herself to reveal information about her upbringing he was sure not many people had heard before.

"It's...complicated. I took on a mission to find the kid and when it came time to turn him in, I couldn't," Mando explained. "Well, I mean I did, but then I ended up going back for him. The man who hired me was ex-Imperial. He has a small group of troopers with him on Nevarro. I don't know what he wanted with the kid, but I couldn't let it happen."

Tajana fidgeted with her gloves. "You...you worked for the Empire?"

Mando's heart skipped a beat. Stars, she had every reason to hate them. Now to find out he actually took a job for them...

"No!" The bounty hunter shouted defensively, and a little too forcefully at that. "Well, yes...but the Empire isn't around anymore. To me, the job was a job. I don't side with them, not at all."

He stood awkwardly and stiffly in place while Tajana looked up at him, her golden eyes staring deep into his visor warily. What he wouldn't give to see the lower half of her expression right now. Was she frowning? Was she angry or upset? Her eyes always showcased so much raw emotion to make up for what part of her remained covered and unseen. This time, all he could make out was a flicker of distrust brewing deep in her honey tinted stare.

"I'm not proud of accepting a job from an Imp," he said while breaking eye contact with the girl. "But it got me the kid, therefore I have no regrets."

Tajana continued to glare hard at his beskar helmet, her eyes softening some when she realized just how much the battle hardened hunter in front of her cared for his son. "I supposed neither he nor I would be standing here had you not done what you did."

Mando's head shot up to look in her direction. Again, he found himself desperately wanting to see her face, to know what she was thinking and be able to read her puzzling, obscured expression. His mind flashed to the bits of tanned skin he mistakingly caught a glimpse of while she slept on his cot several days prior. It felt like a sin to see such simple parts of her face. He had only looked for a second. Stars, he couldn't remember what exactly he had seen even if he wanted to. Mando wasn't used to being the one who wasn't allowed to see another beings face; is this what it felt like for everyone else around him?

"I'm setting a course for Tattooine," she spoke up suddenly, breaking his concentration rooted deep in his thoughts. Her voice was hardened and serious. Whatever moment they had building up was over. When Mando didn't argue, Tajana started to make her way into the cockpit where she took her spot in his seat.

_________

The Crest touched down in an empty hangar located in Mos Espa. Once Tajana fed The Child what last remaining bits of food they had left besides protein bars at this point, Mando collected the foundling and placed him in the cloth crossbody bag to be carried around with them on Tattooine. They emerged from the ship, the dry desert air hitting the exposed portions of Tajana's skin, leaving a soft burning sensation in its wake. The suns beat down overhead, reflecting off the metallic shine of both the Crest and the Mandalorian.

"This is where you grew up, isn't it?" Mando asked the shorter woman walking alongside him.

"Yes," she answered simply. "I haven't been back here since mom passed."

"Why'd you want to come back here of all places?" He asked.

Tajana shrugged. "It's...been on my mind a lot lately..."

The Mandalorian, pilot, and child traveled down the relatively busy streets of the marketplace. Loud chattering erupted from the multicultural and diverse crowds consisting of different species, all looking to find the best deals for whatever it is they were shopping for. Tajana started to take a few bigger steps ahead of the Mandalorian when a stand advertising medical supplies came into view. A sharp tug on her wrist made her fall back into place by her employer's side.

"Stay close to me," Mando warned.

"Why?" Tajana asked, a bit of worry laced in her voice. Her eyes scoured everyone congregated around them, looking for anything that seemed out of place.

"I don't want a repeat of Corellia," he explained.

Tajana scoffed and her body language relaxed. "You worry too much. We'll be fine."

They approached a beat up, wooden stand run by a Kubaz. Mando immediately placed a few credits on the countertop.

"Bacta, in any form you have it, please," the hunter requested the shopkeeper. Tajana raised an eyebrow in confusion following a few high pitched squeals and vague hand gestures that were directed to Mando, who sighed audibly and place another handful of credits in front of the Kubaz.

"Don't waste what we barely have," Tajana remarked.

"We need all this, don't we?" Mando answered sharply. He collected the few patches and cans that the Kubaz happily handed over to the pair in exchange for the rather generous looking sum of currency. "Besides," Mando continued, "one of these is coming out of your paycheck." Tajana shot him a surprised look. "You always said I had to waste one on you because of Calican," Mando deadpanned.

"And I had to waste the last of it on you from your run in with Xi'an," Tajana grumbled.

Mando scoffed and shoved the bacta in one of his side pockets. "I guess we're even then."

_________

Mando stood off to his pilot's side ever so slightly, alternating between cautiously watching passer-byers and keeping an eye on his crew member, all while she sorted through a small basket of horned melon. The ripe, sweet, fruit was a bit of an expensive delicacy, but Tajana wanted to purchase just one to bring back to The Child.

"Do you like these?" Tajana called out to Mando. He turned his attention her way, glancing glancing at the plump, spiked yellow-orange fruit she held out in her hand.

"I don't know," he replied.

"You've never had one before?"

Mando looked at her again for a second without verbally replying, then glanced over once more at the people walking by. Tajana toyed with the melon before placing it in her basket of other groceries. "What foods do you like?"

Mando sent another perplexed look her way. Although his helmet completely hid his expression, Tajana could still feel the confusion radiating from out underneath his beskar. She felt rather silly, asking a deadly bounty hunter what he enjoyed eating.

"I don't know. I never cared about what I ate before."

She picked up on his use of past tense. "Before?"

Mando shrugged and looked off back towards the crowd. "I never had time to enjoy meals. But, I guess I like...soup."

Tajana's hand fumbled slightly when she handed the store owner the payment for their food. A warm sensation swept across her cheeks underneath her scarf, and it wasn't because of the intensity of the suns or the environmental heat.

_________

"Looks like we'll have to hold off on buying new parts for the Crest," Tajana groaned loudly. Their lack of funds was quickly growing troublesome and it seemed there was no end to their financial struggles. With a hefty sum of their combined credits going towards refueling the Crest, paying for the hangar, and also for supplies, Mando kept an eye out for the closest cantina to ask around for work. They approached a rather large establishment and accompanied a circular booth in the farthest corner from the entrance. Many onlookers stole a few prolonged states at the Mandalorian and his accomplice who also hid her identity. Tajana shifted uncomfortably her seat at the unwanted attention.

"What can I get you?" An older woman asked when she approached the tense guests at the table.

"Nothing for me," Mando answered. "Bone broth for the kid, please."

"And a water for me, please," Tajana interjected.

Mando's helmet shifted from the server who was walking away, to his partner seated across from him. He had never seen her eat or drink before in public.

Tajana huffed and rolled her eyes. "Don't look at me like that, Mando. I'm not a droid, I have needs too you know."

The Mandalorian had grown accustomed to withholding himself from food and water when he was in public, even if his body demanded it. He had gotten rather used to the constant gnawing hunger and cold feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he learned to ignore the dry, patchy feeling in his throat that came forth every so often. The woman seated next to him was slowly chipping away at his resolve; he found his body would crave the meals she made or the drinks she brought him periodically. Mando's stomach seemed to growl even louder now most days. The occasional scratch in his throat would escalate to a parched, sandpaper sensation that was hard to ignore. He knew she had to have felt the same way at times. She hid herself the same way he did when it was finally time for her to give into her need to eat or drink. Granted, she still seemed to be able to reveal herself when she chose, such as in front of The Child, something Mando would never do. Her own code was not as strict as his, yet it was still perplexing that she was willing to bend her own set of rules now.

The waitress set the cup of steaming broth down in front of the ecstatic child who began to pout when Mando safely pushed it out of the infant's reach while it cooled down.

"Don't touch it yet," Mando warned sternly, gently pushing The Child's little green claws back down underneath the table. Tajana smiled and grabbed her glass the waitress had set down in on the table. She turned her head far off to the side, facing the empty corner of the cantina. Parting the thick layers of her scarf slightly, she brought the cup to her lips to discretely take a sip. Mando couldn't help but watch her closely. He felt odd seeing her drink in such a secretive manner, almost as if he was disappointed she actually didn't decide do so out in the open after all.

"Watch the kid for a minute," he said in an attempt to bring his mind back to why they were in the cantina to begin with. "I'll be right back."

The Mandalorian stood up and slipped out from behind the table. The room fell just a bit more silent when Mando weaved in and out of the tables to approach the droid manning the customers seated at the counter.

Tajana watched how the clusters of patrons that Mando passed by, tended to either cower in their seats some or cease their conversations when the hunter passed them by. Maybe it's because she has been traveling with him for a bit now, but she found it rather amusing how quick everyone was to assume that Mando was a ruthless warrior with a short fuse. She smiled softly to herself at the thought of how he tended to The Child and always made sure he was safe and properly cared for. A small giggle almost fell past her lips when she remembered how witty and sarcastic his dry sense of humor could be when it decided to show through his cold, metal exterior. Yet, Tajana couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness when she realized no one know what he was really like, including herself. She knew Mando for a few weeks now, yet he still felt like a stranger at times. Tajana could now start to admit she felt safe around him, but sometimes, he was terrifying. He was still a force not to be reckoned with, and be still held many secrets underneath the weight of all that armor. He was a grown man that no one knew much about. She wasn't even sure he knew much about himself. Stars, the man doesn't even appear to know his own likes or dislikes.

"There's a bounty I need to collect over in Bestine," Mando's deep voice broke through suddenly in front of Tajana. "Are you familiar with that city?" He asked the startled woman.

Tajana cleared her throat and tried to play off her being caught off guard. "Not really. I didn't live there nor have I been at all, actually. From what I've heard, it's a relatively safe area."

"I see," Mando noted. He passed The Child the cooled off bone broth, watching silently as the infant happily brought the bowl to his lips and drank the cloudy liquid.

Tahana watched The Child carefully as well. She was about to turn to drink once more from her own cup when a nearby conversation captured her full attention.

"...she's been missing a few days now. No telling what happened to her," a man's voice said defeatedly.

"Don't talk like that," his comrade interrupted angrily. "We'll find her. I know she's okay, I can feel it. Anchorhead isn't that far from here."

Tajana slowly set her cup back down on the stained wooden tabletop. Mando directed his attention from the kid to her, noticing the worry etched upon the top half of her facial features and swimming all throughout her golden orbs.

"It's not polite to eavesdrop," he commented.

She shushed him and waved her hand dismissively. When she turned around to address the men behind her, they had already vanished.

"Did you see where they went?" She eagerly asked the Mandalorian.

"No. We already have a job to do and then we need to get out of here quick," he said resolutely.

Tajana ignored him and kept looking around at the other patrons of the cantina, frantically looking for anyone the voices could’ve belonged too.

Mando sighed and reached out to calm her down. "Hey," his soft but firm baritone filtered through the modulator, "we'll do some digging around Anchorhead once we're finished collecting the bounty, okay? But we can't stay long."

Tajana relaxed some and turned her attention to the hunter. She could feel his gaze that was penetrating through the jet black visor and focused on her. All she did was nod in response.

He wanted to ask her why she cared so much about one random missing person, why she seemed so disgruntled from the men's discussion that didn't involve her. His gut instinct told him there was no point in asking, that she would shut down and give him no answer. With the way she was acting, how distraught she seemed, it was something deeper than she was unwilling to talk about unless it was on her own terms.

The Child lifted some of the intensity of the heaviness that formed at the table when he cooed loudly to voice his content from the broth meal. The full little foundling reached up to set the empty bowl down on the table. Tajana smiled sadly and began to wipe his face while Mando pulled a few more credits from his coin bag and set them on the table.

_________

When they made it to the Crest, Mando immediately set a navigation course for Bestine and began to pack for his new search for the quarry.

"I think it's best you stay here," Mando instructed the younger woman. "This won't take long. Look after the kid for a few hours and try to get some sleep. When I get back, we'll both head into Anchorhead to see if we can find any information about a missing person."

He grabbed his Ambian rifle and secured it across his back. Tajana sat on the cot, staring absent mindedly ahead at the wall while repetitively rocking the kid back and forth in an attempt to lull him to sleep. His giant eyes were too busy watching Mando prepare to set out for another job.

"Tajana," Mando broke the girl's fixation on nothing, "I'll be back soon. I'll do my best to hurry."

She nodded wordlessly and watched the Mandalorian gently pat his son's head goodbye before lowering the ramp to the gunship and hurrying off towards Bestine.

_________

"Stop! You can't do this to me! Please, no!"

Tajana's muscles twitched in her sleep at the recollection of her being dragged into the middle of a campsite in the middle of nowhere. She was thrown face first into the powdery sand dunes while a few men watched and laughed as she struggled to stand her ground.

"I'm sorry! It won't happen again!"

One of the men brandished a large vibroblade. Stepping closer to the panicked young girl, his amusement turned to anger when she tried desperately to fight back.

"Please, stop it!"

The sudden memory of sharp pain erupting across the bridge of Tajana's nose, violently ripped her from her deep sleep. She shot up from the cot, her body twisted and entangled in the thin blanket she covered herself with. Her breathing was erratic and her tanned skin was covered in a thin layer of sweat. A few soft whimpers escaped her lips as she disorientedly felt around the closed in walls of Mando's sleeping quarters, desperately looking for the switch to slide the door open. Her trembling fingers found the switch they needed and the door shot back, the faint orange glow of the lower level of the Crest flooding her vision. The Child that was sleeping peacefully besides her prior to her night terror, was now curiously looking at his caretaker, his wrinkly green brow creased even more with lines of worry and confusion. The infant babbled mindlessly and held one small clawed hand out towards Tajana. She tried her best to steady her shaky hands and erratic breathing when she reached for The Child.

"Sorry little one," she exhaled slowly, trying to put a brave face on for the panicked infant. "It was just a bad dream."

The Child didn't seem to buy her lie that she was fine. He continue to watch her carefully, making sad cooing noises every now and then, his big black eyes staring deep into hers as if he were trying to understand what she was really thinking. Tajana's guilt began to fester the more she laid in bed under the surveillance of The Child. She picked him up and held him close to her face to maintain strong eye contact with him so he could fully understand what she was about to say.

"I have to go," she spoke slowly and sternly. "I know Mando said to wait, but I can't. I have to find the girl that went missing, and you need to stay here and be good until I get back, okay? I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I have to leave you, but please, please just stay here. I'll be back. I promise."

The Child sucked in his little lips in a deep frown. Tajana pulled down her scarf, revealing herself to the foundling. He looked over her entire face sadly and reached out to cup her cheek gently with one of his delicate hands.

"I have to do this," she whispered. "I can't let anything happen to her, not when I know what's out there."

The infant made a few melancholy sounding babbles but then remained silent as he watched her dress herself quickly and equip her weaponry. Tajana hugged The Child tightly and apologized one last time before she laid him down on the Mandlaorian's cot, tucked him tightly, and slid the door closed behind her.

_________

"I have credits! Lots and lots of credits. H-hey you know, I can get you a great deal on a better ship. I mean, not that your ship isn't...nice b-but who doesn't want the latest model am I right? W-wait, just hear me out. No, I can help you j-just wait! WAI-"

Mando slammed the quarry face first into the cryogenic chamber. Stars, the complete silence that followed was a blessing from the Maker themselves. In this instance, Mando was strongly considering the option of bringing the bounty in cold, even if it meant docking some of his payment. Mando sat down across from the chamber, breathing in and releasing a heavy sigh. His legs were sore from the constant keeping up he had to with the evasive target. There was no element of surprise with this one; the quarry knew Mando was on the hunt for him. It was like trying to catch an annoying, slippery bar of soap in leather gloved hands. He put up a tiny bit of a fight, slicing the Mandalorian in between some of the vulnerable, exposed area between the beskar armor. It wasn't a deep laceration. The bleeding had mostly stopped on its own, but the more strenuous movements Mando made, the more he could feel the wound on his back stretch out and reopen. The constant stinging sensation further irritated the bounty hunter, making him wish he really did put a blaster hole in the quarry's head on their way back to the Crest. He chuckled in amusement to himself when he thought back to to small argument he and Tajana shared in Mos Eisley regarding their dwindling supply of Bacta. She wouldn't let him live it down that he went and got himself injured again during such a simple hunt.

At first, the sound of nothing was well received by the worn out hunter. The much desired silence soon became a little too much for comfort. Mando cocked his head to the side in an attempt to hear any creaks or clattering around that would tell him just where his absent pilot was. There was nothing; no footsteps, no humming The Child to sleep, no nonsense speech coming from the kid...just unnerving silence.

A wave of panic crashed over the Mandalorian. He brought himself up to his aching legs, the wound in his side protesting from the sudden, erratic movement of his muscles that were already screaming from fatigue. As much as he wanted to call out for the kid or Tajana, he kept his mouth shut and his blaster drawn. With all the commotion that he and the quarry made, they must of known he was back. Mando crept along the upper floor of the Crest, treading lightly and doing his best not to alert any possible threats to his presence with the sound of creaky, metal footsteps. There was no one in the cockpit, no one in the lower level of the gunship. Mando ripped back the door to the refresher to see it was empty as well. He couldn't help the increasingly intense thudding of his heart beating up against his chest plate as he all but tore the ship apart trying to find any sign of his missing crew member.

A faint knocking sound coming from inside of the sleeping compartment nearly stopped his erratic heart rhythm. Mando looked back to see if the knocking would repeat itself, or if it was all inside his anxious, over-stimulated mind. When the noise repeated itself, he jerked back the covering to reveal a distraught, whimpering child.

"Hey kid, hey it's fine," Mando whispered reassuringly to the troubled infant. He did his best to comfort his foundling, his soft words of consolation not doing much for either one of them. "Kid, where is she? Where did she go?" Mando asked a little firmer. The Child sniffled and tore away its large, watery eyes from Mando's helmet to the ramp. Raising one little three fingered hand, he gestured sadly towards the ship's exit. "Okay. Okay, good. We're going to get her back okay? We'll go together and we'll find her."

The rush of adrenaline was beginning to silence his body's aching protest to settle down for the night. With a shaking hand, Mando activated the ramp's lowering mechanism and stepped out of the ship, desperately following the path of footsteps that trailed off from the base of the Crest.

_________

Tajana spent hours asking around what felt like all of Anchorhead, desperately trying to find anyone who had any information on a possibly missing girl. Many civilians admitted they haven't heard anything of anyone being kidnapped, nor had they seen any suspicious activity as of lately. She was beginning to feel foolish for leaving The Child behind on the ship. Mando was going to be infuriated with her if he made it back before she did. If she came back empty-handed, it would make him even more upset that she risked The Child's safety for nothing. Maker, she was so selfish. What a stupid thing to do.

The streets were beginning to empty once the suns had complete gone down. The red, orange, and yellow hues from the beautiful Tattooine sunsets had dissolved into the black starry skyline, taking with it all sense of warmth and replacing it with a cool night time breeze. Tajana trudged along the dusty street pathways, bracing herself along the way for one hell of a chewing out from an angry Mandalorian father when she got back to the ship.

"Hey, you there," a soft female voice broke through the silence.

Tajana followed the direction of the voice to a small nearby storefront. Peeking behind a few storage crates, was a trembling and terrified young girl.

"P-please help me," she sobbed. "I just want to go home. They took me from my home."

Tajana's heart dropped when her golden eyes met the girl's glassy brown ones. Her face was covered in dirt and bruises, a bit of dried blood was caked on small cuts littering her feet and legs.

"Shit," Tajana gasped under her breath. She reached out to take the girl's hand and pulled her close. "You're going to be fine. I've got you, I promise. What's your name?"

"L-Lorelie," the girl stammered.

"Lorelie...that's a pretty name. Where are you from?" the raven haired woman asked softly.

"Mos E-Eisley," Lorelie stuttered.

Tajana nodded and smiled. "Okay, that's not too far from here. Now let's go. I'll get you home soon."

She glanced around once more to make sure they weren't being followed before maintaining a stead pace back towards the ship. After a few minutes of walking, Lorelie pulled back on Tajana's hand.

"W-wait. Wait," she cried out. "I...I can't."

Tajana turned and stooped to the distraught girl's level.

"What do you mean you can't?" She asked.

Lorelie's lower lip trembled and her eyes began to water. "I-I'm sorry. They said they would let me g-go."

Tajana shook her head and placed her hands on the girl's shoulders. "I thought you said they took you? What do you mean they'd let you go?"

A few tears rolled down Lorelie's cheeks and left soft indentations in the sand below. "I'm so s-sorry. If I brought you...they'd let me go."

The pilot opened her mouth to speak but silenced herself when she heard the soft crunching of sand beneath boots behind her. She whipped her head to the side and she placed one hand on her blaster. A loud smack echoed off the nearby stone and clay buildings, and a few droplets of blood splattered across the walkway when the solid butt of a blaster rifle collided with Tajana's temple. Her blaster slid across the desert floor, and her body collapsed at the feet of three tall shrouded figures.

_________

Mando followed the familiar, small set of footsteps all the way from Bestine to Anchorhead. He watched how they traveled from shopping strip to cantina, stopping along the way to converse with everyone who was willing to take time to talk with her as well. They continued to pace up and down the street, even as other people made their leave and headed inside for the night. What caught Mando's attention though, was a second, smaller set of foot prints that started to trail behind Tajana's. They stopped behind a row of supply crates, right where it appeared Tajana approached the stranger. The trail didn't go far however, for they stopped several feet away, and were then joined by three other people. Then, five sets of prints turned into four, with Tajana's being the absent set.

Mando deactivated his tracking setting in his visor. He stooped down to glance at dried crimson splatters in the sand that just barely caught his attention underneath the faint glow of a nearby street light.

"Dank farrik," he cursed to himself, pounding his fist into the sand. "I told you to wait for me."

_________

Tajana groaned in discomfort when the overly bright glow of a small fire in the center of a cramped hut flooded her blurry vision.

"It's about time you woke up," a recognizable male's voice called out beside her. Tajana blinked heavily several times, trying hard to focus her eyesight on her attacker.

"Darro," she acknowledged through gritted teeth.

The familiar man smiled down condescendingly at the raven haired woman. Her wrists were bound together tightly behind her back, and all her weapons had been removed and cast off to the side.

"I heard you were lingering around these parts before you even came back to Mos Espa. Traveling with a Mandalorian now, are we? News traveled rather fast regarding the assassin you two went after several weeks ago. You were long gone by the time I heard about it. But then, as luck would have it, you decided to come back to your hometown. I figured you would’ve been smart enough to stay away, but I guess not. I suppose it doesn't help that your current partner only draws more attention to you."

Tajana stared up angrily at him. She broke eye contact with him momentarily to glance around the room and noticed Lorelie cowering off in the corner behind him, along with another man who stood guard by the front entrance.

"It looks like you haven't changed your ways one bit after all these years. Did you take her from her home too?" Tajana spat, nodding in the direction of the terrified girl.

Darro shrugged. "Only after I heard you were in town. I knew you would fall for the whole kidnapping set up," name walked over slowly to Tajana. He hooked one finger in the loop of her scarf, pulling the dirtied fabric down over her shoulders. "I knew if had my guys follow you around Mos Espa and let slip the tiniest bit of information for you to hear, you'd want to come running to the rescue of another slave in need. You forget I know all about how your mind works. It seems like you haven't changed any after all this time, either."

The golden eyed woman lowered her head in disgust, hiding her face underneath her long curtain of hair. "I guess it doesn't surprise me that you would’ve tried to follow in daddy's footsteps, huh? Trying to act like some big, bad, rebel fighter. You always tried to so hard to help free the others, and yourself."

"You could’ve made me a wealthy man, you know. I didn't want to butcher that pretty little face of yours, but you didn't give me any other choice. I needed to make it so no one else would want you, so you would stop running away from me. Even then, you became too much for me to want to deal with. You always were so annoyingly stubborn and incredibly hard headed. I didn't want to put you down like your daddy was by the Imps, so I figured I would try to get some pocket change off you by selling you to the moisture farmers. Of course, you had to go and ruin that too by running away. You could’ve had a good life on Arvala, working on the farms and what not. You, on the other hand..." he clicked his tongue in a condescending manner and raised his blaster to rest against the throbbing side of her head, "you always gotta bite the hand that feeds, don't you?"

A sudden yell and sounds of blaster fire made everyone in the room turn to face the wooden doorway. The eerie silence that followed the violent commotion outside would’ve been overbearing if Tajana didn't have an idea of who was on the opposite side of the door. Her heart beat erratically in her chest out of relief when she realized there was only one person it could’ve been.

The wooden door swung wide open, nearly ripped off its hinges when one of the hooded men from Anchorhead smashed through from the outside. Darro clenched his jaw when he looked down at his fallen companion. His eyes trailed upwards to the doorway and caught the reflection of the firepit’s flames dancing across a set of unblemished, beskar armor.

"So it is true," he marveled sarcastically. "You really are fucking around with a Mandalorian." He waved the blaster theatrically in the air. "Let me ask you something, Mando. How much you pay for her, huh? What do you get out of her? What does she do for you?"

Mando stood silently, his anger bubbling beneath his beskar where it was still contained beneath his armor, threatening to spill out at any second. Darro cocked his head to the side, slowly walking up to the rigid bounty hunter. "No answer, huh? Take it she doesn't do much then. Well, let me try this. How much would you be willing to pay for her?"

Still no answer.

"She killed my men when she escaped the last time," name said, raising his voice significantly. "Someone has to pay for those damages, Mandalorian. Either I take it out on you, or I take it out on her."

When Mando failed to deliver a response, Darro hoisted Tajana off the ground roughly. Her long waves parted around her exposed face, causing Mando to direct his attention down to his feet instinctively.

Darro let out a loud, perplexed chuckle. "What does she even mean to you? Have you not seen her face? Did she tell you I'm the reason why she hides it from others?" He bragged. "Do you even know her real name, or just the name the people of Tattooine gave to her?"

Much to Darro's irritation, the bounty hunter still refused to reply. "This is proving to be a waste of my time. I can sell that beskar of yours for more than what she's worth." He looked past Mando and jerked his head to the side. The second man from the ambush in Anchorhead fastened his arms tight around the Mandalorian, sending Mando to his knees with the man's arm tight around his neck. Mando fired his flamethrower behind him, causing his attacker to release his hold on the bounty hunter. He released one of his whistling birds, which struck the man dead on and sent him falling to the ground. Tajana seized the opportunity to kick Darro's legs out from underneath him. He fell hard on top of her and scrambled to reach for his rifle that landed besides them. Mando quickly reached into his boot, unsheathing a vibroblade which he threw into Darro's hand. He screamed out in pain but was silenced when Tajana flung her tied wrists around his neck and pulled him close against her back. He fought hard against her once his airway had begun to be cut off; ripping the blade from his hand, he raised it to strike Tajana, but Mando successfully fired a round from his blaster, knocking the weapon out of Darro's hand. Lorelie rose from behind the table which she hid and scampered towards the door. With no one left to stop her, she took her chance at finally escaping.

"Just...let...her go," Tajana breathed out heavily to Mando when he stood up to chase after her.

Darro's kicks against the dirt ground and swats against Tajana's face and arms began to slow. She pulled the binders tighter and tighter against her until his resistance had stopped completely. When he stilled, she panted hard from exhaustion and threw his body from underneath her bound wrists. She turned her back towards the Mandalorian who was still averting his gaze from the exposed portion of her face. When he saw she was safely hidden from his view, Mando began looking around the room until he caught sight of what he was looking for through his narrowed visor. He took the dirt covered scarf and patted the dust and sand particles from out of the cotton fibers the best he could. Mando kept his head down low and pointed away from Tajana while passing her back the dirtied cloth.

"Thank you," she said hoarsely, taking the scarf and lazily wrapping it around herself. She was waiting for him to yell at her, waiting for him to tell her how irresponsible she was for leaving The Child behind and disobeying his orders. But nothing came through the other end of the modulator. No deep rumbling baritone told her how foolish she was or how she causes the Mandalorian nothing but trouble. There was nothing but his typical, complete silence.

Mando sorted through the mess of the hideout and found Tajana's daggers and blaster that had been put off to the side. He collected his own vibroblade and wiped the light coating of blood from the tip before using it to pick the lock on the raven haired woman's cuffs. They dropped to the ground with a heavy thump, and Mando extended one leather gloved hand out to pull his pilot to her feet. She hesitatingly accepted, and was completely caught off guard when he turned his back to her as she rose, then hooked his arms under the back of her legs to carry her against him in a piggyback fashion. Her breath caught in her throat when she hit up against him; he was so sturdy it was like being slammed into a broad beskar wall. A little grunt came from the oversized bag hanging from the hunter's side when her foot accidentally and not so lightly bumped into The Child.

"I-I can walk just fine, Mando," she nearly wheezed against the side of his helmet.

"We'll get back to the ship faster this way," Mando said curtly. Tajana flinched and ducked her head down against his shoulder when she noticed the subtle sharp edge to his voice.

Although it took her several minutes to gather the courage to speak and she was sure it was the last thing he wanted to hear right now, she finally managed to gather the courage to apologize to the intimidating man.

"I'm sorry, Mando."

The hunter kept his steady pace back to the Crest. "I told you to wait on the ship, Tajana," his voice said surprisingly delicately near her ear. The tiny spark of anger she noticed seconds ago, had completely disappeared. It was replaced with what almost sounded like...worry.

The golden eyed girl rested the side of her cheek against the small bit of unprotected space between Mando's neck and his pauldron.

"Aurelia," she said timidly. Mando took an extra step out of his ongoing rhythm. He turned his head closer to her to make sure she was actually speaking to him, or if it were a trick of his mind and she hadn't said anything at all.

"M-my name's Aurelia," she repeated almost inaudibly.

Mando blinked in surprise underneath the cover of his helmet. He continued his rhythmic march back to the Crest with the woman and child both clinging tightly to him. Just before the exhausted girl on his back closed her heavy eyes, she could’ve sworn to the Maker that she heard the Mandalorian repeat her name quietly to himself.

#the mandalorian #mando #mando x oc #mandalorian fanfic #star wars #din djarin #din djarin x oc #stay gold #pedro pascal #din x oc

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aurelliocheek · 3 years

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2021 predictions for mobile marketing

Last year’s predictions post: 2020 predictions for mobile marketing. Note: this is the first part of a two-part prediction series. Part two will be published next Monday, December 28.

I considered not publishing a predictions post this year because 2021 feels fundamentally unpredictable. Apple’s announcement at WWDC that it will deprecate the IDFA and introduce the App Tracking Transparency framework was foreseeable; I presented a hypothetical chain of events catalyzed by IDFA deprecation back in February, and frankly, I had expected the IDFA to be deprecated at WWDC 2019.

But 2021 is different. Every player in the ecosystem has been put into a defensive posture and sits on far less stable ground than they did at this point last year. Perhaps the lack of clarity around how the mobile advertising ecosystem will evolve in 2021 renders a post like this even more necessary. But if the degree to which 2020 has progressed through a series of anxiety-inducing announcements continues unabated, 2021 certainly promises to be lively.

Daniel Barnes, COO & Head of Platform (NSP) at N3TWORK INC.

2021 will be dominated by the privacy-focused changes initially from Apple and then maybe from Google. We already know the format of the SKAdNetwork changes to some extent, but the ramifications of those changes will be seen throughout the year.

Firstly, I believe that that will be an arms race for the ownership of conversion values. Ultimately the owner of the conversion value will dictate where the majority of UA spend on iOS goes. This will result in Facebook, MMPs, and developers contesting who decides the schema of conversion values. My bet is Facebook wins by owning or effectively owning conversion values through a bridge to their internal data set.

I do not believe that Google will make privacy-related changes to the extent that Apple has. Google already believes that GAID is privacy compliant, and given that they are an ad network at heart, they have much more skin in the game when considering the impacts to their revenue.

Data is a lagging indicator, and as such it has led to a set of high-iteration, low-value behaviors in UA. The above privacy changes will, in my opinion, result in the pendulum swinging back to somewhere between product marketing and performance marketing. This will lead to a general increase in the quality of creative that we see and a reduction in the “Data only” focus that the majority of UA teams have.

I believe this year will be the year that we truly see a decline in Hyper-casual. The main driver of this will be the fact that the advertisers who were bidding high CPIs on that traffic, in the hope of finding one or two high-value payers that pay for all of the other wasted impressions, will dissipate. The reason for this is advertisers who use high-risk, high-cost, high-reward strategies will no longer have the user-level information that they had before to enable them to understand which strategies work and which do not at the level of the individual user. The only thing that they will understand is aggregate level information and as such, they will be more risk-averse, leading to lower CPIs and lower eCPMS on the ad monetization side. The margins will become too fine for Ad networks and as such hyper-casual will become unviable.

I do not believe that having many DAU combined in hyper-casual titles is actually a viable strategy against IDFA deprecation. The reality is the percentage of those users that have IAP capable payment processing means is extremely low and as such the value is really only in showing another advertising impression. This means the strategies that companies like Zynga have employed to stave off the risk of IDFA deprecation will prove to be shortsighted.

Lastly, the true winners of 2021 will be the products that understand that LTV and CPI are two sides of the same coin. Hyper-core will be a dominant strategy in 2021. Games that have high IPM, low eCPI, but exceptionally high early conversion to payer will be the staple in 2021. We will not see another Game of War-esque success.

Filippo De Rose, Chief Growth Officer at Traplight

The biggest challenge for people in our space, especially in 2021: get out of our comfort zone and adapt to the paradigm shift in tracking as privacy impacts how we execute and measure marketing. Two cliché buzz words we need to “deconstruct” and relearn are: creative and incrementality. Health warning here: these are all predictions, inherently data fewer theories!

Creative, which is often misconstrued as the least scientific aspect in our field, is indeed becoming perhaps the only element we can have real total control of in marketing, so what it really needs is a solid data infrastructure to support it. If you took a simple approach, we could breakdown into 3 distinct pieces:

a background, setting the scene,

a midground showing the MC of the message (human, alien, machine, etc),

a foreground with some interaction, or speech, or object, etc.

These are the variables you can control with your assets and they can be associated with a verified KPI, ideally IPM. Once we have built a significant number of assets in this fashion, we can then run intelligently as many permutations as needed to scientifically find the winning combination that drives successful creative.

2021 might just be the year we finally push business intelligence to creative in order to “rinse and repeat” these permutations because as your audience grows, so should your message change to appeal to different personas. Of course so should the store page but let’s park that can of worms.

Whatever becomes more data-driven in 2021, creative or not, we need to demystify incrementality. In a business where there is no “official truth” (aside from what the stores pay you in revenues!) you have to establish the meaning of “lift” relevant to your business by answering a few simple questions (which could be cohorted by geo/channel/platform) e.g. freemium game :

How much more conversion to pay are we seeing from paid media?

How much more FTUE conversion is being observed by buying users?

How much is the revenue incremented by investing in both channel A and channel B or can we just invest in channel A?

We are going to have to step out of our comfort zone that ROAS that has provided us for years with a false sense of “deterministic security” based on widely adopted inaccurate attribution models. With lift driven KPIs we can build scorecards for every channel based on the weight of each KPI and invest in that media accordingly. We should also be able to understand better the “true value” that the SANs bring to the table without having to “default” to them as standard.

Last thing for 2021: talent management. As the damned 2020 taught us, there are pros and cons to Work From Home, but most importantly we have to learn how to manage and retain talent in these distributed virtual teams. Most talent practices are constrained by physical presence and now we must strive to appreciate what matters to employees not just in the office but also at home. Management must get “personal” as we enter each other’s homes and OKRs should take care of one’s health and family as much as the business.

Paula Neves, Product Manager, Square Enix Montreal

Product and UA teams become one

With iOS14 coming in January, more than ever the product and user acquisitions teams will need to be one and the same.

With SKAdNetwork’s complex timers for conversions, UA will start shaping more and more the way the player journey and monetization is designed within games (rather than the other way around). There will be an even bigger need to focus on the first 24 hours of the users and these two teams will really need to design together the First Time User Experience.

The Battle pass type monetization will grow in 2021 as it proves to be a model that is more compatible with the post-IDFA UA world. Games will be looking for higher conversion at lower price points because UA teams won’t be able to afford to bet $50 to acquire a whale when they can’t target historical monetizers. This will be especially true for hardcore games, which will need to shift their monetization strategy to focus more on the top of the funnel.

Lastly, this could also impact the nature of M&A in 2021, where more companies will be looking to acquire big user bases to potentially own their IDFVs.

Eric Seufert, analyst and owner of Mobile Dev Memo

2021 is likely to be a year of foundational stabilization: Apple disturbed the status quo, and the major participants in the mobile advertising ecosystem will need to establish new operating norms. This will entail a great deal of experimentation and trial-and-error, some of which may result in novel new advertising products and services.

ATT will be made mandatory in March. I don’t believe that Apple will offer any additional delays to ATT implementation or change its scope, and developers will need to implement ATT as it is currently understood. No substantive workarounds or loopholes will surface that allow developers to evade the impact of ATT.

App advertising spend on iOS will contract by 30-40% over the course of Q2 following the rollout of ATT. Advertisers will immediately scale their spend back once ATT is made mandatory as they observe how CPMs, install rates, etc. react. This pullback will persist over Q2 2021 and will be meaningful: 30-40%.

Advertisers with products in the “broad middle” will scale their ad spend in the second half of 2021. CPMs will decrease as competition for the best-monetizing users abates (since they are no longer specifically targetable), but some companies with products that fit into the “broad middle” of consumer appeal may not see their funnel conversion metrics degrade to the same degree, allowing them to scale spend.

Demand for PMPs and programmatic direct placements will increase. Large, multi-product companies will recognize the need to in-house programmatic advertising, with contextual analysis being seen as a competitive advantage. PMPs will become increasingly popular as companies seek to buy relevant, pre-vetted traffic, and so will direct placements.

Facebook experiments with projects that blunt the impact of ATT and marginally increase efficiency. Facebook will test a number of methods for improving ad targeting with contextual or aggregated signals and differential privacy techniques, some of which may be successful at marginally winning back some of the efficiency lost with ATT. I also think Facebook will make more aggressive moves in shifting content either entirely to within its app (eg. Facebook / IG shopping, which takes place in FB-loaded modals and is entirely first-party) or on the open web, such as with its new gaming platform. The war between Facebook and Apple will intensify, accelerating the world closer to the future of mobile content platforms.

Android becomes the new battleground for advertising inventory and some apps abandon iOS advertising altogether. Android might become the only platform on which certain types of apps are able to capably advertise; as some developers shift their focus to more broadly-appealing content themes, others simply stop advertising on iOS and focus exclusively on Android as their apps. The most attractive Android inventory becomes even more competitive than top-tier iOS inventory.

D2C advertising spend decreases by as much as 50%. Facebook dropped a bombshell on the advertising industry last week when it announced that app-to-web campaigns would be impacted by ATT restrictions, which means that D2C campaigns will become much less efficient as ad performance is aggregated at the campaign level. Most D2C companies are almost entirely dependent on Facebook’s ability to target historical spenders and email lookalikes for growth, and this change to app-to-web targeting and measurement will imperil the D2C business model.

Google will announce a privacy preservation policy with respect to the GAID near the end of 2021, but it won’t be as impactful as ATT. I don’t think that Google will fully deprecate the GAID, instead electing to keep it hidden from advertisers while still processing it via Firebase and passing it to ad networks (including its own!).

2021 predictions for mobile marketing published first on https://leolarsonblog.tumblr.com/

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earnxmoney-blog · 4 years

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The Freelancer’s Guide!

Learning How To Make Money.The Definitive Earn X Money Guide To Earning Money While You’re On The Learning How To Make Money Online.

Learn How to Be a Marketer...

Before moving forward, let’s take a breather and do a little self-analysis. Is freelancing right for you? Here are a few questions to ask yourself to evaluate whether or not you’re ready for a freelance career.

How To Make Money

One tip you’ll no doubt have heard as a freelancer is to continuously market yourself to maintain a steady stream of clients. In short, this boils down to having an active pipeline that clients come through.

Of course, this is much easier said than done. Trying to maintain an active promotion schedule when you’re in the middle of a project can be hard, and you may worry about how to get clients to work around your schedule.

This guide is designed to help you get a grasp on your biz dev activities, learn how to balance your time and negotiate customer relationships as they move down your pipeline.

How To Make Money

Finding workThe first question many freelancers have is how they should go about finding new clients. There are hundreds of channels and approaches you can choose, and the most important thing is finding what works for you.

One of the four following areas is likely to encompass pretty much any biz dev activity you can do. Try and include activities in your marketing time that span all these categories, as they will produce different results at different speeds.

How To Make Money

OutreachThis is where most freelancers start when it comes to marketing themselves. It is one of the easiest ways to find new clients, although it doesn’t have the highest conversion rate.

Outreach includes activities such as responding to job adverts on freelancer job boards or emailing past or existing clients you think might have another need for your services. It’s one of the easiest forms of biz dev because you already know the person you’re talking to has an established need.

This makes it easier to begin the conversation, but it also means you’re likely to be competing against a large pool of people.

How To Make Money

PromotionPromotion is the opposite of outreach. In this scenario, rather than a client advertising a job, you advertise your skills and services and hope they approach you.

This is no different from more traditional marketing such as TV advertisements or magazine ads. Most freelancers use social media for a large amount of their promotion, as it’s free and provides access to a huge audience.

You may also consider paid advertising on search engines, social platforms or other websites.

NetworkingFor so many freelancers, networking is a word they dread. But it’s undeniable that this is a great way to find work.

How To Make Money

Going to local and relevant industry events and getting chatting is a great way of meeting potential clients, expanding your presence, and also meeting freelancers in a similar position.

The better and bigger your network, the more likely you are to receive referrals, be passed work from overrun fellow freelancers, and be front of mind when your connections are in need.

Networking doesn’t just mean attending events and hunting down likely looking new contacts. Take time to nurture the contacts you already have as well.

Reaching out regularly to clients you’ve worked for in the past or have a good connection with will mean they’ll think about you next time an opportunity comes up.

Thought leadershipThought leadership can be a fantastic way to take your freelancing to the next level, but don’t expect it to happen overnight.

When you think of a particular service or product in your industry, there’s a good chance a name or two will spring to mind. It may be that there’s a blog you regularly follow or a name that keeps cropping up on your social media.

Becoming a thought leader in your space is about making yourself that person that springs to mind and making sure you are the go-to expert in your niche.

Although it takes a long time to build up this level of trust and recognition, it can prove to be the most lucrative lead generating method, as interested clients will actively seek you out to work with you.

The Freelancer’s Guide!

How To Make Money

Managing your timeOf course, all these marketing strategies sound great, but when you’re two weeks behind on a project, halfway through your tax returns and already working 18 hours a day it’s not much of a surprise that they’re often the first things to go.

It��s natural that you’ll spend more time searching for new clients during quieter work periods, but here are some of our top tips to keep a steady flow of marketing activity going even when you’re snowed under in work.

Automate emails and reminders

Technology has given us so many options for automating our workflows and getting things done more quickly.

Consider setting up email drip campaigns that nurture leads automatically, or use a reminder system to let you know when you should reach out to specific contacts.

Schedule content and social posts

In times when you are quieter, why not create some extra content that can be scheduled for your busy periods.

I want to be perfectly clear before I go too much further here: I know that people go to school for years to become a marketing professional, and I don’t want to devalue the worth of those people’s educations. That being said, there’s no denying that freelancers and entrepreneurs are presented with the opportunity to use highly effective marketing tools that are either free or incredibly inexpensive (at least compared to traditional marketing forms, anyway).

How To Make Money

Once you’ve done your niche snuggling, you should have a pretty solid idea about the forms of marketing that will best reach your desired audience. Now it’s time to get comfortable with those marketing outlets so that you’re confident enough to make them work for you.

Social media, while being the obvious choice, should be handled with deliberate thought and strategy. Rather than going out and immediately creating an Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, Google+, and Snapchat presence because “that’s just what you do,” you need to remind yourself that your time is one of your most precious resources. If the majority of your niche doesn’t care about Snapchat, there is simply no point in wasting your valuable time by posting an update with a cute deer filter over your face.

Email marketing is another viable-but-tricky form of inexpensive marketing. Again, it’s all about your niche: how often does your target market check their email? Are they of a demographic that resents direct mail marketing? Are they going to take one look at your subject line and click “delete?”

Some forms of traditional marketing are more accessible than you might realize. Some local news stations, both radio and television, will welcome guests warmly to their morning or daytime shows, free of cost, so long as the guest can provide value to their audience.

If your target niche attends a lot of conferences, preparing a presentation or setting up a booth is a great way to get visible where it counts.

How To Make Money

People Can Be Resources, Too

Another way to emulate the lean startup mentality is to utilize the talents of your peers to improve and expand your business. If it fits your service or product, you might consider collaborating on a service package with an admired contact in your professional network. Collaboration with another professional (whose work you respect) will benefit you in a few ways, one of which is an expansion of creativity and talent to your work. Outside influence is essential if you’re going to grow in your career, and working with another creative professional will add depth to your work.

In addition to creative enhancement, you’ll also be doubling your marketing reach in terms of both manpower and connections. Two people working to get the word out, plus the addition of your collaborator’s personal and professional network will give you a huge head start in terms of marketing.

Speaking of all the money you’re not spending on marketing… this is where you can put it to better use. If collaboration isn’t something you’re interested in, but you’d much rather focus your efforts on creating than on busywork, you can also consider outsourcing the less-fun stuff to someone else, whether it’s someone you know or a high-quality virtual assistant.

Create your portfolioAs a freelancer, you’re selling your expertise. It helps to have a website or portfolio you can share. You can go as elaborate or as a basic as you want. You might feel like your portfolio isn’t good enough. You may even feel a little embarrassed about it, but it’s better to start your portfolio and have the first draft of it done. As any full-time freelancer will tell you, your portfolio will never feel perfect or “done”.

How To Make Money

Tell your networkThe sustainability of your business depends on finding work. Once you feel like your portfolio website is good enough to share with others, let your network know that you’re freelancing. All it takes is a quick email or social post. Trust us, your community will want to support you.

Set your rateThere are many (free) rate calculators out there that we recommend using. A quick google will give you the basics. For those who want to DIY, the basic algebra is below. Tweak as you need.

Set up health insuranceOne of the biggest concerns for freelancers is getting insurance. The good news? Insurance is available and comes in all shapes and sizes. For those freelancers who currently have insurance, you are most likely eligible to enroll in new insurance during open enrollment. However, special circumstances (like losing your health insurance unexpectedly), can make you eligible to enroll off-cycle in a new plan or your partner’s plan (if that’s

Setting up your Freelancer.com account

Sign up and verify your email address. Create your account for free, and verify your registered email address to keep yourself up-to-date with the marketplace and to be notified for latest projects, contests, and features. Also choose a unique username. It will be your unique ID on Freelancer.com. This cannot be changed once set.

Complete your account details. Provide your full name and address. Your first name and the initial of your last name will be your public display name on the site. Also make sure that your account’s country of registration is correct so we can notify you for available projects within your locale. Update your Language Settings as well.

Complete your profile details. Upload a professional profile picture, and add a profile headline. Highlight your skills and experience in your summary, and don’t forget to input your hourly rate.

Add skills to your profile. You can only bid on a project if you have at least one of the skills required for it, so add relevant skills to your profile so you can start bidding on projects that match your expertise.

How To Make Money

Membership plans

We offer five paid membership plans for you to choose from for added features and benefits.

All freelancers are automatically subscribed to a free account upon sign up.

You can subscribe to any of our paid membership plans to unlock the different features and benefits you can use in successful freelancing on the site.

All of these paid memberships offer more bids and allow you to add more skills to your profile, which both boost your chances of working on more projects on the site.

Building a great profile

Your profile is your storefront as it gives employers insights about you and the quality of your work. First impressions are everything, and successful profiles are always polished to perfection. Make sure yours is too.

Profile Picture..It should be a clear portrait photo of yourself, from the shoulder up.

Resolution should be at least 280×280 pixels. File size should be up to 2MB.

Professional Headline

It should indicate your profession / field. It can include your trade / brand name.

Keep it short and professional.

Profile Summary

Emphasize your skills and experience.

Be specific (if you have a niche market/technology).

Accurately represent your abilities and/or resources.

Observe proper grammar and acceptable formatting.

You can write up to a maximum of 1000 characters.

Hourly Rate

Indicate your hourly rate, and be hired directly for hourly projects.

Portfolio

Add your past work samples and studies.

Quality is preferred over quantity.

You may ask permission from your past clients.

Experience and Education

Add your education details, and include employment history.

Skills, Maximize the allowed number of skills you can add, but only add the skills you have the expertise on.

Qualifications and Publications

Highlight licenses and special awards/recognition you’ve received.

Include your professional certifications.

List your published work.

Certifications

Take Skills Tests to certify your expertise.

All passing exam scores will be included here.

Verifications

Verify your email address, phone number, and payment method.

Link external accounts (LinkedIn and Facebook) to improve your Trust Score.

The Freelancer’s Guide!

How To Make Money From Home. Learning How To Make Money. You Can Make Money Online Now. How to make money online. How to make money online for beginners…

Learning How To Make Money.The Definitive Earn X Money Guide To Earning Money While You’re On The Learning How To Make Money Online.

#business Earn Money entrepreneur Make Money Make Money online Money Small business

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clarencenicholsonata · 4 years

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15 Mouth-Wateringly Good Restaurant Marketing Ideas

I take my hat off to restaurant owners: your job isn’t easy.

Today, getting people to your restaurant is more difficult than ever. Depending on your location, fighting for your spot among the competition is tough. It’s not just about the food now: the ambiance, music, lighting, and so many other tiny details can make or break the dining experience.

But you’ve gotten everything just right, but your restaurant still isn’t reaching its potential?

Thankfully, the success of your restaurant doesn’t depend on simple luck. There are practical steps you can take to boost the popularity of your restaurant and increase your revenue.

It’s time to put into practice these 15 essential restaurant marketing ideas:

1. Do Samplings at Local Events

According to one survey, 72% of restaurant guests said that the quality of the food was the most important factor in choosing a restaurant to dine at.

So, it’s time to get people hooked on your fantastic food.

Your core customers are currently attending local events, and getting to know the businesses that are represented there. Any local event could be a prime opportunity for you to get the word out about your restaurant and get people’s taste buds excited for a visit.

First, get a list of all the events coming up in your local area. Then, match those events to what you know of your ideal customer. Where will your customers be hanging out?

When you’ve narrowed down a list of events that fit your ideal customer profile, it’s time to get in contact with the organizers. Tell them you’d like to set up a stand at the event and offer free food to visitors.

If they agree, make sure to do the sampling right. Get a selection of your best dishes, and build a stand that shows off your restaurant and personality.

2. Make Good Use of Local Instagram Influencers and Food Bloggers

People love to follow influencers nowadays, and influencer marketing is a serious opportunity for your restaurant to grow and thrive.

With thousands of their own followers, these influencers have a powerful reach, and their words have an impact on the community.

Springbone, a health-focused restaurant in Manhattan, uses Instagram influencers to promote their business online, and they estimate that on an average day, about 5% of their new customers come from Instagram.

They offer tastings to local influencers, and have them come in to try the food for free with the promise that later they’ll post pictures online.

This picture, from food and travel blogger Kaitlin Orr, got an astounding 1,187 likes and 24 comments:

Later, another picture posted by instagram food influencers was reposted by one of the biggest NY food Instagram accounts, and got a whopping 16,500 likes:

How would you like your restaurant to have that kind of reach?

3. Get Professional Pictures and Videos

Many restaurants have been turned on to the Instagram-worthy food craze, posting delicious pictures online and making the rest of us hungry all the time. (Thanks a lot.)

But if you’re going to be posting pictures of your food or your restaurant online, they need to be excellent quality. Customers get enough blurry pictures of food from their friends and family, they don’t need you to add pictures like this to their feed:

Instead, get professional pictures done and create an eye-catching feed that will attract new followers (and customers). If you have a high-end smartphone, you might be able to take these pictures yourself. If not, hire a professional to get excellent pictures.

Then, your social feed will look more like this:

Millie’s Restaurant in Nantucket is a seasonal restaurant that caters to the summer crowds. But with an Instagram feed like this, they’ve amassed over 5,000 followers!

What could your restaurant do with professional pictures and videos?

4. Go Local With Traditional Marketing Methods

Don’t reject traditional, paper-based marketing just because it’s been done. Many local businesses still use traditional marketing efforts and get good results.

The key is to use traditional marketing wisely, and don’t go overboard with methods that will break the bank.

For example, why not design and print up flyers? Use a professional designer to get these done, and include specific branding features from you restaurant. Also, highlight your social profiles and hashtags in order to connect your traditional marketing efforts with your digital efforts.

Also, be smart about where you leave these flyers. For example, why not seek out local businesses that have a similar client base?

Let’s say your restaurant is focused on healthy eating. You could leave flyers at related businesses, such as yoga studios or health-food stores. If your restaurant is high-end, you could leave flyers in a nearby spa, or in the lobby of a building that rents space to law firms or other high-end businesses.

The key is to use traditional marketing in spaces where your ideal customers will be looking.

5. Run a Contest With a Sweet (or Salty) Prize

By running a contest on social media, you are guaranteed to get the word out about your restaurant. Using this method, you allow your happy customers to market your restaurant for you.

How so?

Let’s take this content post from Cactus Club Cafe as an example:

In just six days, this post generated 11,650 likes, and over 19,800 comments!

Since the contest required participants to tag a friend, that means most of those 19,800 comments included tags to other users, drawing them to the post and the restaurant’s Instagram page.

In other words, Cactus Club Cafe’s own customers were introducing new customers to their business.

Another way to run a contest is by asking followers to post a picture. You could ask them to post a picture of their favorite meal, or of the last time they visited your restaurant. By running a photo contest, you encourage happy customers to post pictures that all of their followers will also see. That’s (almost) free advertising!

6. Promote the Content Your Customers Post Online

Whether or not you run a photo contest, people are probably posting pictures of your food and your restaurant online.

You can feature the content that your customers are posting on your own feed, and give them a shout-out or a special gift for talking you up.

By promoting user-generated content, you encourage your biggest fans to keep talking about you online. This will not only help others to learn about your restaurant: it will also help you build loyalty in your current customers.

7. Geo-Target Your Social Ads

Obviously, running ads on social media such as Facebook or Instagram is an essential restaurant marketing idea that you need to implement.

But for these ads to be successful, they need to be seen by the right audience.

That’s why your social ads should be targeted to the location where your restaurant is.

If not, you risk showing your ad to people who aren’t even near your business.

Facebook ads also allow you to match your ads to people with specific interests. So, for example, a good social ad for a vegan restaurant in Boston might be targeted like this:

Also, if you have multiple restaurant locations, you can add multiple locations to your ad targeting.

By correctly targeting your ads, you can ensure you’re reaching the right audience, and not wasting your precious ad budget.

8. Learn (and Use) All the Features of Google My Business

If your restaurant doesn’t have a Google My Business page, stop reading this article right now and go make one. (Or, do it after you finish reading!)

A Google My Business page allows you to put essential information about your restaurant right into Google. That means, when people search for your restaurant online, they’ll see something like this:

It also means that Google will show your restaurant as a result when people search for restaurants near them.

As you can see in the picture above, having a GMB page allows you to add essential details about your restaurant directly into Google, such as:

Address

Hours

Phone number

Website

You can also add CTA buttons to get directions, call, send a message, reserve a table, or even order food directly. Your GMB page also lets you post as you would on social media, or keep a calendar of upcoming events.

Best of all, this is an excellent place to collect fantastic reviews and display your 5-star rating to the world.

9. Use Email to Show How Much Your Customers Mean to You

Email is an essential part of restaurant marketing: in fact, 80% of business professionals say that email marketing has a direct impact on their customer retention.

In fact, email can be a great way to show how much you appreciate your loyal customers.

For example, when they sign up for your email newsletter, collect important data like their anniversary, birthday, etc. Then, celebrate with them in a special email:

You can also celebrate how long they’ve been coming to your restaurant by sending a special gift card or discount.

By popping into their inbox at special times, you can show customers how much you care about them, and build loyalty.

Pro-tip: Use a marketing automation tool like Wishpond to create loyalty-building email campaigns that your customers will respond to.

10. Read and Respond to Online Reviews (Yes, Even the Mean Ones)

We all know that customers love to read reviews, but did you know that people are more likely to read restaurant reviews than reviews from any other industry?

But people aren’t just reading the reviews of your business: they’re also reading your responses.

In fact, 89% of consumers read businesses’ responses to both good and bad reviews.

Here’s the point: you need to be on top of responding to reviews, whether they’re good or bad.

Check out how Olive Garden used this comment as an opportunity to promote their eClub:

Also, check out their calm response to an unfairly critical social comment:

When responding to negative reviews, don’t let what people say ruffle your feathers. Apologize, and try to remedy the situation if possible. Keep it quick, and you’ll avoid saying something you’ll regret later.

By responding kindly, you might actually help turn a negative review into a positive one!

11. Offer Rewards to Your Social Followers

58% of Facebook users expect to see exclusive offers, events, or promotions when they become fans of a business.

So, give the people what they want!

For example, why not shower your social followers with an exclusive giveaway that’s just for them? Or, let your social followers first have a sneak peek into your latest kitchen creations.

Either way, exclusivity is a great way to sell your business, and it’ll encourage more people to follow your restaurant on social media.

12. Give Your Marketing Copy a Human Touch

When it comes to marketing, your restaurant is no longer just a business: it’s a living, breathing entity with its own unique personality.

To make sure that personality appeals to your customers, you need to know who your customers are, and what features of your restaurant or menu will really stand out to them.

For example, does your restaurant offer gluten-free or vegan options? Do people come to your restaurant to celebrate a special occasion, or is it a more casual place where friends meet to have lunch and catch up?

To understand why your customers come to you, you could even run a short survey of current customers. Ask them what they like best about your restaurant, where they first heard of you, and what keeps them coming back.

Now that you’ve gathered information about your clientele, it’ll be easier to build a brand personality that will appeal to your ideal customers.

When you’re writing social media posts, emails, or even copy for your website, feel free to get funky and add some personality. Check out how Olive Garden does this with funny relatable tweets:

Another way to add a human touch to your marketing efforts is to have your marketing copy written in the voice of someone from your restaurant. For example, your emails could be sent from the chef. Or, if a particular waiter or waitress is known in the community, have them become the face of your marketing efforts.

By building a human voice for your brand, you’ll encourage loyalty among your customers.

13. Promote Food Orders From Your Website

Digital ordering and delivery have been growing 300% faster than dine-in traffic since 2014.

Like it or not, it’s time to jump on the bandwagon.

If you want, you can set up your food ordering directly through your website. Or, you can set up ordering through a service like Uber Eats, GrubHub, or others.

This allows you to bring the kind of service that people are starting to expect from restaurants, and live up to your customers’ expectations.

14. Implement a Loyalty Program

According to one survey, 54% of people said that loyalty programs were extremely important to the guest experience in a restaurant.

Basically, people who like your restaurant expect you to offer a loyalty program, and they plan on using it to the full.

Starbucks is renowned as the master of restaurant marketing, and their loyalty program is no exception. Participants get tons of free gifts, and other fun bonuses:

By collecting stars, you earn your way up from free coffee to free meals and merchandise.

Your restaurant can imitate this loyalty program by implementing a program that rewards customers for coming back, and gives them special prizes that build (you guessed it) loyalty.

15. Make Your Menu Available Online

Before coming to your restaurant, people will likely want to know what’s available. This is especially true of first-time diners, or those who have specific food allergies or needs.

That’s why it’s essential to include your menu online. This means more than just uploading a picture of your physical menu of a PDF to your website. On your restaurant’s website, include a specific page for your menu, like Spanish restaurant Toro did:

That way, people can easily see your offerings and prices before they come in.

Start Using These Restaurant Marketing Ideas Today

You’ve put the time and effort into building a business that you’re proud of. The food is great, the atmosphere is on fire, and you’re ready to share this experience with the world.

These are the 15 restaurant marketing ideas you’ll need to succeed:

Do samplings at local events

Make good use of influencers

Get professional pictures and videos

Use traditional marketing methods

Run a contest

Promote user-generated content

Geo-target your social ads

Learn and use Google My Business

Use email to celebrate your customers

Read and respond to online reviews

Offer rewards to your social followers

Give your marketing copy a human touch

Promote food orders from your website

Start a loyalty program

Make your menu available online

By using these essential restaurant marketing ideas, you can start building a loyal clientele for your restaurant, and get the word out to even more hungry customers.

Need help getting started? Wishpond is the perfect companion to help you build email campaigns, landing pages, contest pages, and more. Book your free demo to see how Wishpond can help you market your restaurant.

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news-mashable-yahoopartner-blog · 5 years

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This sex toy company uses niche meme accounts to spread the joys of masturbation

May is National Masturbation Month, and we're celebrating with Feeling Yourself, a series exploring the finer points of self-pleasure.

It's 2019, and people are finally starting to understand that it isn't just dudes who are allowed to be horny.

While social media platforms lag behind on allowing sponsored posts for vibrators and other sextech, one sex toy company is getting around these barriers by advertising through something more organic: meme accounts.

View this post on Instagram

Start by doing what's necessary; then do what's possible; and suddenly you are doing the impossible.

A post shared by Unbound (@unboundbabes) on Apr 20, 2019 at 6:09pm PDT

Male sexual enhancement has long been advertised openly. Older men toss footballs and describe how Viagra rejuvenated their love lives. Condom ads run in the same traditionally masculine tone as whiskey and beer spots. Sure, we've seen ads for menstrual products, where overly cheery women spike volleyballs on the beach and sprint across stretches of wildflowers as if their uteri weren't betraying them at that very moment. But products focused on female sexual health — and on pleasure, specifically — remain shrouded in shame. Companies in the sextech space face difficulty securing funding for new products and often can't advertise using traditional channels.

As a result sex tech companies have increasingly relied on social media to promote their products. Aesthetically pleasing sex toys found a home on Instagram a while back. (Vox dove into the many companies whose minimalist earth-toned Instagram grids echo those of beauty and skincare brands.) But Unbound, a sexual wellness company founded in 2014, takes a different approach.

Leaning in to chaotic horniness

The company's Instagram grid is curated chaos. Unbound also posts ethereal portraits of female and non-binary fans with their toys, but the soul of its Instagram presence is in the memes about eating ass and canceling plans to play with yourself instead.

"When it comes to subjects that make us feel vulnerable," Unbound CEO Polly Rodriguez told Mashable during a phone call. "The best thing to make people more comfortable is to laugh at the truths we all know are real but maybe don't talk about."

Buying toys for the first time can be an intimidating experience, especially if you don't know what you're looking for. Traditionally, sex shops were crowded with overwhelmingly flesh-colored silicone molded into equally overwhelming phallic shapes. For decades, Rodriguez says, toys for women were designed by men, based on cis male genitals. When she was diagnosed with cancer and treatment forced her into menopause at the age of 21, a friend who was a nurse recommended buying a vibrator to get a hold of her sex drive again. Rodriguez says she, "questioned why they all had to look like penises."

SEE ALSO: How mutual masturbation can help close the orgasm gap

She added that the packaging on the toys depicted women "in lingerie with big boobs and the hair," and said she didn't see herself in them. Unbound products are more whimsical and otherworldly than conventionally sexy — one of its vibrators is literally shaped like an alien spaceship. Rodriguez says when it came to designing these toys, she wanted people to feel comfortable leaving it out on their nightstand.

The fact that Unbound's toys are rarely shaped like any sort of genital almost makes their Instagram page more approachable for first-time buyers who may be more timid about their desires. It also naturally paves the way for a more chaotically horny, relatable social media landscape.

View this post on Instagram

MEET SAUCY: a body-safe silicone vibrator with magnetic USB charging capabilities. Haptic response technology means the harder you squeeze, the harder it vibrates. Waterproof so u can rub one out while u rub-a-dub-dub 💦 LINK IN BIO 2 SHOP. 🛸💫💙

A post shared by Unbound (@unboundbabes) on Feb 18, 2019 at 3:44pm PST

"That mentality of not giving a fuck relates to a lot of the audience," Rodriguez said, explaining the company's shitpost-y Instagram presence. "We want to follow meme accounts because they make us laugh."

A shift in the spon con landscape

Although Unbound really started taking off in 2016, at the height of color-coordinated, well-planned grids, Instagram users are moving away from avocado toast and selfies against saturated mural walls. As the Atlantic noted in an article about the decline of the perfect Instagram grid, "Fast-rising young influencers such as Emma Chamberlain, Jazzy Anne, and Joanna Ceddia all reject the notion of a curated feed in favor of a messier and more unfiltered vibe."

Unbound was ahead of the times. When Glossier's millennial pink-themed grid was the gold standard for Instagram accounts, Rodriguez said she let her former intern and now social media manager Emily Malinowski take the wheel.

"Emily was like we're just gonna post some weird shit and see what happens," Rodriguez explained. "That's where Instagram's trending — people want lowbrow in experience but highbrow in intellect."

But while Unbound's messaging and aesthetic resonated with its audience, Instagram itself still has a long way to go when it comes to sex positivity. The platform doesn't allow Unbound to use typical advertising methods like promoted posts, Rodriguez says, and frequently removes posts it claims are inappropriate. She calls it a "double edged sword."

"On one hand Instagram rewards brands and accounts that really care about visual aesthetic," Rodriguez explained. "At the same time, Instagram is constantly taking down accounts, banning accounts ... And yet male sexual wellness brands are allowed to promote."

Which is why Unbound uses the more unconventional advertising tactic of partnering with meme accounts. Many brands, of course, reach out to influencers to promote their products. But doing spon con through memes, like Unbound is doing, is brilliant.

View this post on Instagram

i have two loves in my life and their names are gem and ollie💎💗 @unboundbabes just launched #UNArea69 and it’s amazingggg!! use the code barbie69 to get $10 off of $50+ from them and use the link in my bio

A post shared by ♏️ 🦂 scorpihoé 🦇♏️ (@prozac.barbie) on Jan 31, 2019 at 7:24pm PST

View this post on Instagram

Use my promo code 'clara' for 10% off orders of $35 or more at @unboundbabes ! Especially luv the bender bc it’s USB chargeable, and cute but powerful (and bendy, ofc). This is my ideal weekend honestly I wasted so much time on bad rebound sex before my vibe #ad

A post shared by clara (@meme_love_you_long_time) on Apr 30, 2019 at 7:27am PDT

View this post on Instagram

it’s a mEtApHySiCaL paradoxical law of science and physics and chemistry that u cannot escape, boys (vibrator wand featured is the Ollie by @unboundbabes, I have a code “ghosted69” for $10 off)

A post shared by haley (@ghosted1996) on Jan 31, 2019 at 4:21pm PST

Linda Lin found Unbound through the meme account @ghosted1996, and was drawn in by the fact that she didn't have to visit a "sleazy website" to buy sex toys.

"It made it seem like masturbation was normal to talk about," she said through Instagram DMs. "Seeing memes and small influencers promote this material makes you feel good about being open about your sexuality."

Hyacinth Rios was surprised that when they first bought an Unbound toy and posted about it, a friend reached out to ask how they liked it.

"I remember being surprised that someone who I considered to be like a normie or local (not that either is bad) would be open about sex toys," they said through Instagram DMs. "Which made me feel like it was probably super widely accepted now."

Normalizing masturbation through memes

The fact that Unbound advertises through meme accounts is so smart because it not only normalizes sex toys in a humorous, approachable way, but because it presents them on the ground level. Sure, masturbation can be a sexy experience for personal awakening and empowerment, but it can also be something you do when you're bored.

The memes depict masturbation as any other kind of self care, like popping on a face mask or blasting your favorite album. They aren't necessarily presented as wholesome — but the fact that so many of the memes are about spending a night smoking weed and flicking the bean out of boredom or distress is what makes masturbating seem so normal.

By establishing a presence through Instagram memes, Unbound gets around Instagram's draconian rules for images surrounding female pleasure and also finds its way right into the lap of young people who are over cis men getting to have all the fun.

"Meme accounts earn the respect of their audience because to be funny is difficult," Rodriguez concluded.

She notes that not everyone can nail down the art of meme making — if you get it, you get it, and if you don't, you don't. We've seen brands attempt to get in touch with the youth and fail miserably. But by going straight to the meme makers, Unbound lessens the risk of making an embarrassing gaff.

Masturbating isn't a big deal. Just ask the meme accounts of Instagram.

WATCH: Co-founder of Facebook now wants it broken up

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