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sirowsky · 3 years

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The Flowers Always Know

Description: When a mad scientist uses you as an experiment while you’re on holiday, the Heroics only just manage to save you. And in your recovery you become very close to the leader of the group. (Slow burn)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Language.

Link to Masterlist

Comment: Another day of side-effects where my head really hasn’t been in the game. But a little fun stuff to pass the time has managed to crop up.

So sorry for the tease ending... I blame the headaches.

Chapter 27

The Chef, Greg, had personally brought you extra leftovers during the five weeks you were living in the cell, training and learning about your abilities. He knew about your abnormal energy-consumption, and had become concerned when you never ordered more than a double portion of food, no matter how exhausted you were. So, he’d come to give you the leftovers one evening, and you’d explained that it felt like you’d be stealing from others that might need it, if you ordered six or even eight portions. After that, he’d begun saving all the leftovers every day, and bringing you that for the extra portions you otherwise wouldn’t have ordered.

“I may have to make Greg my Best Man.”

“He’d probably decline. He’s nice, but he does have standards.”

“Ouch…”

“He doesn’t know you, Cujo.”

“Okay, seriously, what is up with that?”

“It’s just an accurate description.”

“I am not a fucking dog.”

“Yes, you are. It’s just that, ordinarily, you’re a puppy. You just have that lovable puppy-face, with the eyes and the grin that can melt the coldest of hearts. And then, you bare your teeth and growl, and you look fucking terrifying.”

“I do?”

“Um – yes. Unequivocally – yes. It’s amazing.”

“Wait… you like my Cujo-quality?”

“I like that you have that side, when you need it. I like that it comes out almost exclusively to protect the things you love. And I have to admit that I like the fact that even the remotest possibility that William actually had tried something, elicited that kind of a response from you.”

“I was a little shocked at how strongly I reacted to that. Just the thought… I would’ve killed him, if he had. Not because you… belong to me. But because you were weak and unable to stop anyone that might have tried. Thank god William’s even more of a puppy than I am.”

“Will is more of a Greyhound.”

“What?”

“Yeah, you know – sleek, effective, streamlined.”

“Okay, let’s just drop the whole dog-topic already.”

“And, just for the record – of course I belong to you. Ass-hat.”

He practically beamed at you.

“Ditto. Mama bear.”

You’d been talking while walking back from lunch, and when you got back to your office, Anita was there. Just standing in the middle of the room, with her signature scowl in full effect.

“Hi, mom. Wow, you’re actually in the office, it must be serious.”

“Fifty noise-complaints in the last hour – is serious.”

You both stopped smiling, and threw a nervous glance at one another, but she just huffed and turned to you.

“Have you had yourself checked out by medical, yet?”

“No… why would I…?”

“Because human beings don’t possess the biological imperative to breed, to the point where their libidos take control of their bodies.”

You had actually checked both your offices for cameras and microphones a good while back, and found nothing. And there weren’t any fucking flowers in your office!

“How the hell do you know that? Seriously… How?”

She just rolled her eyes.

“Get your ass down to medical. Now.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“Whatever it is, I feel fine now, which means they probably wouldn’t be able to detect anything abnormal, so I’m gonna finish my work for the day, and then I’ll go to medical.”

You walked over to your desk as you spoke, and as you sat down, you remembered something.

“And by the way, where you in charge of selecting my substitute while I was gone?”

“Yes. Petra wasn’t ideal.”

“You don’t say. If I’m ever gone for an extended period of time again, no one sets foot in my fucking office. Got it?”

“Did you just try and give me an order, loco?”

“I’m not trying anything. I’m telling you. No one.”

She threw you a kinda skewed smile and then turned around to leave. But as she crossed the threshold she stopped and looked back at you with pure steel in her eyes.

“4pm. If you’re not at medical by then, I’ll drag you there by your ear.”

“Try it. Please.”

She left and you sighed and looked at Marcus, who had sat down on the couch again, one arm draped over the backrest while he’d watched you take on Máma.

“Are you absolutely sure you feel fine? Because I’m all kinds of hot and bothered right now.”

“50 noise-complaints, Marcus. That’s half the damned building.”

“And like I said: fuck ‘em.”

“Please go away so I can think.”

“Only if you promise to call me the moment you feel any amount of craving. I’m serious.”

“You think I want to feel like that again? Of course I’ll call, and you’d better pick up. I don’t care if HQ’s on fire.”

“You have my word, famb.”

“You know, your list of nicknames is getting a bit ridiculously long.”

“Oh, I haven’t even started on the real one’s yet.”

“Real ones?”

“Prometida, esposa, amada, mi corazón…”

“Okay, okay, have as many as you like, jeez.”

“Which one’s your favourite?”

“You already know.”

He got up from the sofa and came over to kiss you before he left. His lips lingered long after the kiss ended.

“Hermosa…”

He was intoxicating. You put a hand up on his chest and pushed him away gently.

“Get out of here, gorgeous. Mama’s got work to do.”

“Oh, that’s mean. You know how I love it when you talk all husky like that.”

“I’ll call you if I need you.”

He walked away looking disappointed, but also kind of expectant, like he was looking forward to getting you back later. You smiled and shook your head after the door closed behind him.

You did get a lot of work done after that, and even if you were still miles behind from catching up to where you’d been 7 weeks ago, it still felt good to have gotten back on track. Especially on what had been possibly the weirdest day of your life. Which was saying something. Your libido stayed calm and behaved for the rest of the workday, but you did see Anita’s point in getting yourself checked over, and so you were planning on going to the med-bay. But at 3:30 you were working on your computer, looking up rare metals for an upcoming build, and you sort of stumbled over a site for wedding-rings. You were just gonna take a quick peak, scrolling through the various options, and getting progressively more worked up as you saw the price-tags. You were just about to leave the page and go back to work, when an ad in the corner popped up.

Wedding-dresses.

Fuck.

You clicked.

“If you thought I was kidding about the ear, you were sorely mistaken.”

You startled at the sound of her voice, and a puff of energy escaped you, sending papers flying everywhere.

“Thanks a lot, Anita. Why don’t you give me a heart-attack while you’re at it?”

“Don’t be so dramatic. It’s not my fault you were so engrossed in that screen you didn’t notice me. What were you looking at, anyway?”

Had half an hour already passed? You just clicked on that ad a second ago… And why was she looking at you like that?

“Just research.”

“Mhm. Let’s go.”

“Alright, just let me get these papers off the floor.”

As expected, since the event seemed to have passed, the medical exam didn’t reveal anything, and Anita seemed unnecessarily peeved about that.

“What are you so upset about? What exactly did you think they’d find?”

“Nothing. Never mind.”

“Never mind, my ass. You all but dragged me to this exam, and now you’re disappointed. So, spill. What’s the deal?”

“I just hoped that maybe… you increased enthusiasm was…”

“Was…?”

“Alright, most women experience increased sensitivity when they’re pregnant. I just wanted to be sure.”

You sort of half froze midway through pulling your pants back on, and your hands involuntarily went to your abdomen.

“Oh… I never even considered…”

“I’m sorry, niña. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No, I’m not upset. God, I don’t even know what I am.”

You finished dressing and sat down on a chair, letting your head fall into your hands.

“Eight months ago, I was just a designer, going on a fucking vacation. Now, I don’t even know what the hell I am anymore, much less what to do. Every time I think I’m starting to get a handle on things, something else happens and I’m lost again.”

She tapped your leg with her cane, ushering you to look at her.

“What you are, is my son’s fiancé. My granddaughter’s adoptive mother. You’re smart, highly capable and stubborn, kind and caring, but abrasive when the situation requires it. You’re everything you need to be. And that’s all you ever really need to know about yourself.”

You drew a deep breath.

“Do you think he made the right choice? With me?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Thank you.”

You called Marcus to let him know how the exam had gone, and he was just about to pick up Missy, so since you had your own car you told him you’d race him home. But you decided to stop by Amanda’s house on the way. You wanted to talk to both of them, but her place was closer.

When you walked in at home, Missy was in the living room playing a video-game with Noodles, A Capella and Wild Card. It had been a while since she’d had any friends over, and you smiled when you saw how much fun she was having.

“Hey, Alma! Wanna see me crush these guys for the second time?”

“Any day of the week, angel, but I gotta talk to your dad right now.”

“Okay, suit yourself!”

You laughed and walked into the kitchen to find him opening pizza-boxes and distributing slices onto plates.

“Hey, sweetheart, sorry, this wasn’t planned, they just spontaneously asked if they could come over as I was picking her up.”

“Honey, why are you explaining yourself?”

“I don’t know… it’s just, with the weird day you’ve had and how you seemed a little down after the exam, I thought that maybe you weren’t quite in the mood for a house full of teenagers.”

“No matter how I feel, Missy’s entitled to enjoy herself with her friends. I would never wanna deprive her of that.”

“No, I know. I just worry about you.”

“Yeah, I do too, sometimes. But that’s usually when I remember I have you, and it all feels better.”

He smiled and asked you to help him carry out the food to the living room, and once you’d done that, you sat down at the dinner table to eat yourselves.

“So… I may have googled wedding-dresses today.”

He beamed.

“Really? Did you manage to narrow down any preferences? Don’t give me any specifics, by the way.”

“I did, I think. Or, at least, I found a lot of stuff I didn’t like, so I guess that helps. I don’t know, I feel like I need to see them, touch them, to actually get a sense of what I like.”

He beamed even more.

“I really like the sound of this. I’m sure Amaire would come with you if you asked.”

“Yeah, I kind of already asked them to, this weekend.”

He was fucking radiating joy at that point. He got up and took your hand, leading you to the bedroom and closing the door behind you. Then he reached into his pocket and fished something out. His smile turned just a hint of insecure, as he held up the ring he’d chosen for you. It was gold-plated steel, with a single row of small diamonds sunk into the centre of the band all the way around. A sturdy and solid piece that wouldn’t break or lose its shape. While you admired it, he started trying to explain his choice.

“I know you’re not much of a jewellery-girl, so I figured we’d skip the whole engagement ring plus wedding-band. You can wear it right away if you want and then just take it off before the ceremony, or you can wait and put it on then, either way is fine with me. That is, if you like it? If you don’t, we’ll take it back and you can pick something else. It just felt right as soon as I saw it. You’re not the frail silver band type of person, and I know you’d only get annoyed with a big rock getting in the way and getting caught in stuff. You work with your hands and so I figured something sturdy but elegant. I have a matching one just without the diamonds. Please say something before I pass out from oxygen-depravation…”

“I love it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Really.”

You both beamed.

“Can I put it on you?”

“You better.”

He slipped it on your finger and it fit perfectly. And for the first time it really sunk in that you were gonna marry this man. The love of your life. It felt like a really long time until the kids went home and Missy went to bed, with her headphones on.

“I totally forgot, we need to go bed-shopping, honey.”

“I don’t know, a mattress on the floor might be preferable until we know the extent of your ‘heat-situation’.”

“Mm. Good point. Although, breaking in a new bed is always fun.”

“Hermosa.”

“What?”

“Stop talking and get undressed. I’ve been waiting for this all night.”

Authors’ Note: I love criticism, don’t be shy to let me know if there’s anything you like/don’t like/have questions about.

@blueeyesatnight @farfromjustordinary @allmyspideys @hrk-fic-recs @strawberryperegrine @lucrezia-thoughts @computeringturtle @sarahjkl82-blog

#marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno fic #we can be heroes #we can be heroes fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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kacxa-fan · 4 years

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Costume Party

Request from @rorylum about Kacxa dressed as Big Barda and Mr. Miracle for a costume party!

___

Summary: Typically the two weren't ones for parties, especially those considered loud and flashy, but for the sake of pleasing their friends who kept insisting them to "take a break", they did so.

___

"But you have to! C'mon Acxa, it's just for one night! It'll be a good chance to clear your mind, then you can go back to stressing yourself out." Whined the pleading voice from across the line.

"Hmm, alright. Inform me of the whereabouts and time it would be most appropriate to visit."

"Wow, really? Awesome! Okay, so the party's at James's place around uh 9 p.m., got it?"

"Got it." Acxa responded, quickly jotting it down just in case she forgets due to all the clutter kept in her busy mind.

"Oh- How could I forget? It's also a costume party! So be sure to prep yourself up, k? Can't wait to see you~!"

"Wait. What is a-" the phone call ended "Oh Veronica..." she groaned.

Acxa avoided recalling her friend, deciding it be best to ask her significant other. She walked down the stairs and met him sitting on the couch, Kosmo lazily splayed about his lap. She took whatever was left of space on the furniture.

"Hey, got your work done yet?" Keith glanced over at her before returning his gaze to the TV as he switched through the channels.

"Not quite. I've decided to put work aside for a bit since Veronica asked me to come join her to a 'costume party'... Whatever that is."

"Huh? That's a surprise, but hey, it's nice to get out and destress. Also, a costume party?" He paused and tilted his head over to fully face her.

"If you will, please explain to me what the customs of this type of party are?"

Keith muted the TV, turning his full attention to her.

"Well, a costume party is basically a party where the guests dress up as whatever they'd like. Examples say being uhhh a monster or character from a show. Stuff like that."

"Like a disguise?"

"Yeah, like a disguise, but you don't really gotta fool anyone."

Acxa nodded, her hand reaching it's way over to Kosmo's ear.

"Very well, but what should we dress up as?"

"We?"

"Oh, I forgot to ask. It's just that I thought you'd like to join..."

"Or you'd feel a lot more comfortable if I joined you, huh?"

"Perhaps, that too..."

Keith chuckled, scooting closer to Acxa. He wrapped his arm around her waist and placed a kiss on her blushing cheek.

"I'm in!"

"Thank you, Keith."

"Mhm. Okay so costumes, uh we could be hmmm... Oh! I grew up really liking Batman, and I guess you could say Catwoman was his girlfriend? You'd rock a Catwoman, not gonna lie."

He pulled out his phone to search the duo up.

"Here, look. See?"

"Ah, how um interesting. As much as I'd like to say that she looks quite flattering, I can't help but notice how uncomfortable her outfit seems. Leather, is it?" She looked down the image "And high heeled boots?"

Acxa unconsciously took his phone from his hand, scrolling through the various images of the peculiar lady.

"Oh my, this is... suggestive?"

"Hahaaa, yeaaah." Keith muttered in slight embarrassment, scratching the back of his neck.

"Is that a whip? Her weapon?"

"Okayyy! That's enough lookin' her up. Let's say we think of another couple, if you're not sure about this one, k?"

The two huddled closer as Keith offered various other options. Somehow Acxa always seemed to pick at one or the other, more so fascinated and weirded out by the outfit. Time ticked by as Keith grew tired. They ended up with few ideas.

He blew out a puff of air, "Uhm welp here's these two. Superheroes. Named Big Barda and Mr. Miracle?"

Acxa, again, took the phone. Her eyes dilating at the bright colors.

"Guess it's a no too?"

She shook her head, "No, I actually find it suitable. Considering that I am the tallest out of us both. Also, we are running out of time, no?"

Keith rolled his eyes playfully, although their height difference was never much of a bother for them.

"My only complaint is the bold colors. Other than that, it looks to be comfortable enough. Don't you think?"

"As long as you're sure, I'll settle for it."

What Acxa wasn't aware of is that Keith was not necessarily looking forward to wearing such a thing, as it was not his sort of style. In fact, this duo's fit was nothing of their style, but nonetheless they agreed to it.

---

"Here we are. Ready to show off?"

"Just a moment. I think my cape got tangled."

Keith and Acxa exited their car, pinkies hooking and having nervous talk about their suits. They entered the apartment complex, scanning the numbers of each door.

"Here it is! Ready?"

"What other choice is there..."

Keith knocked, and low and behold, James answered.

"HEY! ACXA AND... KEITH? NO WAY! THAT'S PRETTY FUNNY SEEING YOU TWO HERE. ESPECIALLY WEARING THOSE!" He shouted as the commotion of the dark yet colorfully lit room dazed the visitors viewing it. The brunette took his time looking the deadpanned couple up, incapable of holding his growing amusement.

"WELL, COME ON IN! THE GANG'S JUST RIGHT OVER AT THE POOL TABLE."

Keith took the lead, holding a hand out for Acxa to follow. Acxa examined the area, taking notice to the strange figures, assuming that some were not human at all, but actual aliens to Earth such as herself. She heard the booming and perked her ears, worried that a fight involving weaponry was taking place. Hesitantly, she took his hand and stepped foot into the strange presence. They walked behind James as cautiously as they could, with the few bumps here and there from strangers in all sorts of display.

"KEITH, IS THIS WHAT ALL PARTIES ARE LIKE? GOODNESS WH- OH, FORGIVE ME!" Acxa hollered.

"NOT ALL, BUT WHEN IT'S RUN BY PEOPLE LIKE JAMES, THEN YEAH. PRETTY MUCH."

Finally straying away from the crowd and their noise, the trio were reintroduced to their friends.

"Aw Acxa, and Keith~! Glad you actually came. I was beginning to think you'd bail out on us and this fun!" Veronica hugged her confused friend.

"Why yes, I would never do such a thing. Although, I would have to disagree with you on how this could be 'fun'." Acxa responded, massaging her ears.

"Oh there you go again blurting out your opinion without a care. Typical Acxa-"

"Our Acxa!" Veronica consoled James by patting his back playfully.

The rest of the MFE group exchanged their greetings.

"So, Acxa. You think this ain't at all fun? I'll make it my mission to prove ya wrong!" Nadia spun back to the others, "Right guys? Everyone come on and join us!"

"Sure, sounds fine by me." Said Veronica.

"I mean, I'm kinda busy on keeping check who's at the door cause this is my place-"

"Don't worry about it, Jamesy! Someone else can take care of that stuff. Spend time with us and quit looking around for a girl to dance with and hopefully date~"

Veronica and Nadia shared a smug smirk towards the now heated boy. Ina simply shook her head in shame.

"If you'd like, may I offer you all to a game of cards?" Ina asked.

"Cards?" Acxa tilted her head.

"What kind of ga-"" Keith was cut off.

"CARDS?! Inaaa sweetie, again?" The blue haired, hyper girl whined.

"Shush Nadia, there's nothing wrong with playing some more. Plus, I think it's a great way to show Acxa how a party can be fun!" Veronica stated, pulling Acxa and Keith to the table as the rest soon followed in.

After this "boring" and time consuming game, Nadia was sure to introduce her alien friend to a whole variety of other party activities.

Some not so appropriate to her friend's taste, that is.

___

Hours passed, around four. At least, that's what Acxa assumed. It was quite dark afterall.

Clumsily, she walked, or rather stumbled, her way back to the snack table. Her eyes dilating as her gaze lingered from item to item, looking for that deliciously red-colored juice. To be honest, she didn't really think it to be that good, terrible actually, but nonetheless she had the urge to engulf her system with some more. This beverage was making her feel... happy anyways.

"Acxa? Acxa-" Keith trotted to his girlfriend. He rested his hand on the small of her back, looking over to see her pouting face. How cute.

"...Ac-?"

"No, nooo, nooooo! There's no more *hiccup* juiceee!" Acxa aimed to pound her hand onto the table, but instead missed and hit Keith's stomach area. She turned around at the sudden sound.

"Ow. Acxa are you-"

He felt her cold finger poke his lips. She giggled childishly. Her toothy smile making the man blush almost uncomfortably. She looked so happy, and he knew well that it was not exactly in her control.

"You're... I think you look very handsome~! Do I *hiccup* know you... from somewhere?"

"Yes, yes you do. I'm your boyfriend, remember? Keith." He couldn't help but chuckle.

She looked up and stared at nothing in particular, thinking.

"Keith. Oh yes! I remember you, I think."

"I sure hope so. It'll suck if you don't and I lose my beautiful girlfriend."

"Aw, you're too kind, sir." Acxa bashfully covered part of her smiley face with her hand. So cute.

"Really looks like Nadia did her job, huh? How much did you drink?"

"Hmmm, I estimate around 57 *hiccup* cups? No wait, maybe it was 70..."

Keith was shocked. Then again, he was dating a 6 foot something to 7 foot girl from another planet. He should've been surprised more at the fact that Earth alcohol even had an affect on her.

"Wow, ahaha! That's enough for you then. Let's say we go back home and go to sleep. I'm beat and this party is getting crazier by the minute." He took her hand and tugged her to, again, follow him.

"Waaait~! Not yet! I wanna say bye to my *hiccup* friendsss!" Acxa protested and limped herself back.

Keith sighed, "Ina told me to say goodbye for her to you a while ago. Veronica went out earlier too. Nadia's passed out black on the couch. And James is... eh whatever who gives a damn."

"Nadia? Passed out! Is she okay? She's not okay! I need to help her- Let me go help!"

Great.

"Woah woah calm down, baby. Nadia's okay. She's with a few other girls watching over her. Trust me?" Keith wrapped his arms around her frantic self.

"Always have, always will." She puffed.

"Good. Thanks for that. Now, ready to go?"

"M'kayyy~!"

___

AN: Gee, look who's back. 🤡

#keith x acxa #keith #acxa #kacxa #vld ships #voltron: legendary defender

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worryingthing · 4 years

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Hello, back again with more cards. It’s late August and everything feels bad. Pulling cards feels like a trick I try to do to get myself to think and articulate my feelings, and that’s all it’s for. I tried to scroll through tumblr but I can’t remember what being on this platform is supposed to be like anymore, even though for so long it was a huge part of my life. It just slipped away like so many other things. It also feels bad to sit at my desk, to type, to have the length of my forearm pressing into the desk so I can type. I haven’t been sitting at a desk for the months of homestay and have barely touched my computer. I’m noticing I’m barely able to read text without hunching forward, without my glasses I mean. I have looked up so so many laptop stands and found nothing that is to my liking. I’d like to raise the computer a ltitle to see better, I’d also like a better angle for zooms and discord video chats, etc.

Anyway, I put the tin of cards on my desk, which has so little space and is totally cluttered over with things, and one card fell out and the second I pulled out of the deck while shuffling. The card that fell was the 8 or swords, the card I pulled was the 7 of swords reversed. Just two people with some sword problems, but we’ve all been there.

I’m wondering what’s not a problem these days? The waking hours feel like an agonizing thing to toil through, to try to pass and spend and exhaust because for some reason we’re universally subjected to consciousness. Like getting a ton of tickets at a cheap arcade, and reluctantly exchanging them for some less than satisfying plastic doodad. Was that really the whole point of playing the game?

Anyway we’re moving soon and maybe things will get better? It feels impossible that things could improve, or that change at all is possible. That these patterns and horrible hours could ever shift off their already set purgatory course. The 8 of swords knows this feeling, there she stands encased in swords, bound and blindfolded. He perspective and movement are inhibited, limited, blocked off. She feels, and is, trapped.

“The Eight of Swords reveals that you feel trapped and restricted by your circumstances. You believe your options are limited with no clear path out.”

“When the Eight of Swords appears in a Tarot reading, it comes as a warning that your thoughts and beliefs are no longer serving you. You may be over-thinking things, creating negative patterns or limiting yourself by only considering the worst-case scenario. The more you think about the situation, the more you feel stuck and without any options. It is time to get out of your head and let go of those thoughts and beliefs holding you back. As you change your thoughts, you change your reality. Replace negative thoughts with positive ones, and you will start to create a more favorable situation for yourself.“

Now, this is the part I truly groan at: “The Eight of Swords assures you there is a way out of your current predicament – you just need a new perspective. You already have the resources you need, but it is up to you to use those resources in a way that serves you.”

What can I say to this? Who doesn’t feel trapped and bound right now? in their homes, with their thoughts, with the eternal recurrence of daily life amidst a pandemic? I’m miserable, but so is everyone else, and for a lot more reasonable reasons! This thought unfortunately fails to shrink the misery, but instead makes me feel selfish for my little complaints which, as the 8 of swords says, do not serve me or anyone. So here I am with these wasted hours that I wonder what to do with, with the impending move (when? this weekend? mid month? we don’t know and I can’t Not Know, it is Virgo season c’mon), with my keyboard that mysteriously sticks whenever I try to use shift and a symbol, with my too short desk and my clutter, trying to consider all these things going into boxes and transitioning to a new space that I should start to feel hope for the way a seed germinates and then starts to reach up and out towards light for the purpose of L I F E. Things that went into boxes will come out and maybe magically be better in new light, with new space, and new rooms, new roots?

Ok so Upside down sword problem man, what’ve you got? “The Seven of Swords often appears reversed when you feel like a fraud and are suffering from ‘imposter syndrome’. You may doubt yourself and your abilities. For example, if you have started a new business, you may ask yourself, 'Who am I to be doing this?' Know that this is fear talking. Get out of your head and trust that you have everything you need to make your new venture a success.”

Look at this dude, he’s like “I’m getting away, I have so many swords! *clank clank clank clank* OW!!” I dropped a knife off the counter last night and it barely missed my foot. Stigmata honestly sounds refreshing at this point. These cards seem to suggest I get out of my head, but how?? Is that what this writing is?? and I ask myself “who am I to be doing this?” about EVERYTHING. Who isn’t always walking around like ‘ooooh I will be found out’ about some part or the whole makeup of their “identity”. What is identity now, at home, with overgrown hair and shoes with no tread worn down hanging neatly as they were left at the end of the last warm season, no place to be or be seen, not that being seen is optimal, but also how does self expression and self actualization work anymore? I have so many questions, and thankfully there are many cards, and maybe less thankfully or sort of half heartedly, there are many more days. I don’t know, this is just an account of the times because I’ve often regretted when I didn’t write through other things. Next month it’ll be a year since we were in Japan and I regret not writing every single day I was there, constantly, just to have more to go back and drink in!! and to share, oof to share. Well, now I have at least successfully passed an hour. So, there’s that.

#tarot #august #moving journal

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dickd0c · 4 years

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STRIKE

CHAPTER TWELVE — “day one”

Nic woke up thinking it was a normal day.

She stayed in bed for an extra ten minutes, as usual, before forcing herself up. She took a way too long and way too hot shower and laid on her bed using her phone wearing just a towel—as usual. After fifteen minutes of that, she finally got dressed, slipping on her favorite pair of boyfriend jeans and comfortable, loose white top.

Tying her wavy hair up into a loose ponytail, Nic walked out of her room feeling refreshed and ready to protest. She walked to the kitchen feeling her stomach rumble, wondering what was for breakfast. That day it was Tank's turn, so she expected something sweet and sugary.

Nic was met with the welcomed aroma of pancakes, gasping gratefully as Tank (shirtless but wearing a pink apron) slid her a plate. She gave him an extra gracious grin when she saw that he had dropped little pieces of white chocolate into it, just the way she liked it.

As she started digging in, the rest of the people living in that apartment walked in.

"Morning, everyone," Athena yawned, making a beeline to the fridge where she pressed her cup to get cold water.

"What time are we leaving?" Riot asked, sounding grumpy and wanting to be anything but awake.

"Thirty minutes," a deep voice responded, making Nic freeze.

She didn't dare lift her eyes as Alpha walked in, but she saw one of his veiny hands drag across the tabletop, making something in her body churn.

Alpha pulled the chair across from Nic out, seating himself casually. It was an odd sight, since usually he ate his breakfast in his room.

"Good morning, Nic," he said, his morning voice raspy.

Nic glances up at him briefly. "Morning," she said in a small voice, choosing to examine her pancakes with great detail.

"How'd you sleep?"

Nic looked up in shock. That was probably the longest conversation he'd had with her, other than when he was whispering dirty sentences in her ears.

"Oh, um—well, I suppose."

Alpha smiled, which was another new thing. Nic had to admit, she rather liked his smile. It relaxed his face and made those grey eyes look a little less intimidating.

"Good, you'll need energy today."

Nic dropped her fork with a loud clang. "W-what?!"

Alpha tilted his head, giving her a confused expression, but one look into his amused eyes told Nic that he was teasing her. "For the protest. What did you think I meant?"

"Nothing," Nic choked out, picking her fork up. "Yes, the protest, that's what I thought..."

The four were soon suited up in their all black riot gear, making Nic feel awkward in her jeans and red bandana. They hurried into the car, driving off with Athena scolding them for leaving twenty minutes later than planned.

At the protest, all thoughts of Alpha left Nic's mind. A stranger handed her a sign that she gladly accepted, thrusting it high over her head as she matched with the peaceful protesters. Up ahead, Nic could see a massive horde of officers walking their way. She inhaled nervously, wondering what they would do to turn a peaceful protest into a riot this time. The other protesters seemed to have the same nervous feeling, as they all pressed together tighter. As usual, Nic wasn't around any of the specops, but knowing that they were somewhere scattered around the protest made her feel better.

As the protesters and the cops continued walking towards each other, Nic couldn't help but notice a little old man who suddenly appeared from around a corner, turning to walk toward the police. He didn't seem to be part of the protest, but perhaps walking home.

Soon Nic was within a few yards of the cops. She had made her way to the front as the group neared the police, all the lighter skinned people moving in front of the darker skinned without a word. It made Nic smile to see so many people in support of black lives, but that smile didn't last long.

Her brown eyes barely caught sight of a police officer shoving the old man as he walked past them. Her mouth dropped open as the old man stumbled backwards, falling down to the ground with a loud crack. A weak shout left her lips when she saw a blood of blood starting to grow from his ears, her hands flying up to her mouth. Then she saw the cane, and her frightened shock turned into pure anger. The cops really shoved an old man using a cane to walk.

Nic, along with the rest of the protesters, was frozen in her spot. The cops started shouting at them to stay back. It was hard for her to do that seeing the old man on the ground, but she and the others stayed rooted so as to keep things as calm as possible. Nic nearly sighed a breath of relief as she saw a passing cop lean down to help the old man—

Until another cop grabbed him and tugged him away from the old man.

That was it. That was what pushed her and everyone else over the edge. Behind her, Nic could hear everyone's silent shock turned into anger yelling. Before she even knew what she was doing, Nic was charging at the cops, pushing past the first few who were too shocked to react, trying to get to the old man. Before she could even get within a yard of him, rough hands grabbed her around the waist and heaved her away. She thrashed, but the lerson was too strong. A glance to her right showed cops dragging another person away from the man and the protesters.

"Let me go!" she shouted, but the cop dragging her only painfully duh his fingers into her ribs, making her cry out. She looked at the man being dragged alongside her, his floppy blonde hair falling over his brown eyes. His teeth were bared in anger as he put up more of a fight than Nic could bring herself to, but it was to no avail.

As the cop cars came into her view, another pair of hands grabbed her arms. She yelled as she was yanked from a cops grasp and suddenly heaves over a very tall person's shoulder. Shocked, she lifted her head up to see the blond man being dragged into a cop car, still shouting and struggling. Some cops chased after Nic and whoever her savior was, but when they disappeared behind a building, the cops seemed to give up.

The man set her down after running a few more feet. Just as she suspected, it was one of the specops. Probably Tank from the insane height.

"Are you okay?" he asked, panting slightly. His voice was muffled through his helmet.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she said, wincing as she thought about the bruise that was bound to form over her ribs. "Thanks, Tank."

"Don't mention," he said, his breath slowing down. He jogged to the edge of the building, peering out before coming back to her. "Cops forced protesters to go," he said in an irritated voice as he tugged on the straps of his vest to adjust it. "Cmon. Time to get back to the car."

Nic let Tank grab her hand and lead her on a fast paced walk to the car. They walked through several peoples yards and took many winding turns before they reached the black car, parked where no cameras could see it.

When Nic and Tank got into the back, Athena was already in the drivers seat with her helmet off.

"Fuck them," she said in a glum voice.

Tank pulled his helmet off, rustling his floppy brown hair. "No kidding."

Soon enough, Riot and Alpha ran up the car. They plopped down in their seats and slammed the car doors shut panting, most likely having run away from the pigs.

"They wouldn't stop chasing us," Alpha practically growled, crushing an empty water bottle that was cutting in between the front two seats.

Riot nodded, taking his helmet off and moving his dreads off his chest. "We had to take so many wrong turns to shake 'em off our trail."

Nic sighed, shaking her head as she remembered the growing pool of blood around that old man's ears. She wondered if the cops would get him medical attention before he bled to death. She wondered if he died on the spot.

The ride home was silent. Normally, when a protest went downhill, they'd spend the ride complaining and insulting the cops. But this time they barely said a word unless needed.

It was around 7:00 P.M. when they reached the apartment. Nic's stomach grumbles in complaint, but she didn't have much of an appetite. The girl took a particularly large apple from the fruit bowl and brought it to her room, hoping it would be enough to silence her stomach for at least a little bit. The girl crunched away at the fruit as she scrolled through her phone. The minutes ticked by as she watched videos after videos, getting increasingly frustrated with each scene of a cop pepper spraying a minor, or shooting reporters directly with rubber bullets rather than aiming them at the ground, or pretending to kneel with the protesters to take pictures only to whip out their guns and tear gas ten minutes later.

At 8:53, Nic threw her phone down on the ground in frustration. She closed her eyes, trying to calm down her angry breathing. It didn't make sense to her how she could live in a world where twelve-year-olds could get shot killed for holding a toy gun, but cops could get away without even being fired for shooting civilians.

As Nic laid there for minutes, her thoughts boiling in her head, she quickly realized how late it was. She quickly realized that she wasn't supposed to be in her bed, but in his. With a deep inhale, she got to her feet and put her phone to charge. She didn't bother glancing at her reflection despite having repeatedly pulled at her hair in frustration. She turned the lights off and walked straight out to make a beeline for Alpha's door. She felt so much lent up anger in that moment, and she knew only one way to relieve it.

Nic knocked on Alpha's door loudly, waiting roughly two seconds before it opened. She looked up at him with a fierce shine in her eyes. He gave her the smallest smirk, his hand leaning against the doorframe. Without warning, Nic grabbed the back of his head and pulled him down for a deep kiss. She was rough with her lips, catching him off guard, but he recovered quickly.

Alpha picked her up, kicking the door shut with his foot and slowly making his way over to his bed.

Nic bit his lip harsher than intended, making him hiss loudly, but the way his hands squeezed around her told her that he really didn't mind. Nic was sure that Alpha was surprised at her coming on to him so strongly and shamelessly—or her coming onto him at all. But she didn't care. She was angry at the world, and that night, she was supposed to be his in bed.

Alpha detached his lips from Nic's to drop her onto his bed. Nic hissed in lain when she landed, hand flying up to her side. Alpha, who was ready to climb on top and keep going, frowned. He gave her a hard look before drifting his eyes over to where her hand was.

His fingers reached for the edge of her shirt, tickling her just slightly. "May I?" be asked in a serious voice she didn't expect.

Nic modded, heart pounding.

Alpha slowly raised the fabric of her shirt until right before her bra. He grimaced slightly at the sight, moving his fingers to around the big purple bruise. The man glanced up at Nic's face one more time to make sure it was okay before he gently dragged his fingertips across the bruise. It was big and made Nic flinch even though his touch was light. Nic had looked at the bruise in the mirror after coming home. It was really five bruises, though the skin in between hurt as much. Closing her eyes, she could imagine the thumb shape near the back of her right ribs and the four fingers pressed into the front.

"Did I do this?" Alpha asked, his face steely but his eyes confused. Nic could tell that he was thinking about their night after the first half of Strip or Dare, where he had gotten rough on her. But even he knew, no riding crop made that shape or left a bruise that bad.

"Cop tried to drag me away," Nic explained shortly with a clearing of her throat. She carefully dragged her shirt back down over her torso, shivering when her hand brushed up against Alpha's.

"You keep getting hurt," Alpha snapped, referring to her now healed chemical burn.

When his eyes dragged from Nic's torso to her eyes, she saw that they were filled with anger. Her heart skipped a beat, thinking the anger was directed towards her.

"Try to be more careful," he said in a quieter voice.

Nic's heart calmed down, but that fury in her didn't. She reached out and grabbed Alpha by the neck of his shirt, tugging her onto him. Caught off guard once again, he fell, but he quickly scrambled to his hands and knees. Nic looked up to see an unreadable emotion in his cloudy grey eyes, though she was used to not being able to read them. His jaw kept clenching the way it did whenever he was frustrated.

For once, Nic didn't feel terrified or insecure or weak under his gaze. She was filled with an unexpected confidence, or what was really her anger masked as confidence. She leaned up trying to kiss Alpha, but he took one hand to her shoulder and pinned her back down.

"Kiss me," she complained, trying to no avail to take his hand off her shoulder.

Alpha was silent for a few moments, taking his eyes from the tip of Nic's head to the waistband of her pants. He dragged his eyes back up, resting on her eyes. Nic could see he was doing his best to hold himself back, but she couldn't fathom why.

"You're not thinking straight," he finally said, his voice raspy.

And then his word was final. Any complaints from Nic's end resulted in a harsh "shh" from him. He carefully guided her to lay properly in his bed, throwing the covers over her body. Alpha turned the lights off and snuck under his covers. Unlike the last time they slept in the same bed, he turned into his side so that he was actually facing her, their bodies a respectable twelve inches apart. Alpha saw that Nic's eyes were wide open, watching him with confusion.

"Goodnight, Nica," he said in a tired voice, his own eyes falling shut.

"Goodnight," Nic whispered back, watching Alpha in a mixture of awe and confusion as that stony expression on his face melted into peace.

#alpha #riot #tank #athena #specop #specops #specopfic #specop fic #specopsfic #spec ops #anonymous #smut #fanfic #fanfiction

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jeserai · 5 years

Text

burnt sugar (2/8)

“Sorry I’m late,” Catra says, and she knows she doesn’t sound sorry, and she probably doesn’t look it either. She slowly, slowly takes all of Adora in, from her messy ponytail to her varsity jacket, the unbuttoned plaid flannel with the plain shirt under, her shorts and thighs littered with small scrapes and bruises. She’s—kind of really cute. And she’s eyeing Catra up and down too.

A few heads turn as Catra’s phone buzzes once and then again, and Catra stares them down with one brow raised in a silent challenge. While they look on, faces showing their obvious disgust, Catra flips her phone over to check it. Hordak continues speaking as if there had been no interruption, but the look he gives Catra is absolutely murderous, just like always.

[unknown number] (6:55pm): Hi, I saw the post about needing a date for a family dinner? Is that...legit?

[unknown number] (6:55pm): I’m Adora by the way

Catra (6:56pm): Hey, Adora

Catra (6:56pm): And yes, it’s legit

[unknown number] (7:01pm): cool :)

Catra hides her scoff behind a palm pressed to her mouth, now only half listening as one of the shareholders raises yet another complaint. She knows she’s going to get an earful later on about how disrespectful she’s being, but this Adora girl is already endearing enough to make it worth it.

Catra (7:02pm): Hey. Find out whatever you can about an Adora and get back to me asap

Entrapta (7:03pm): when you say Whatever….

Catra (7:04pm): Just. Make sure she’s not a serial killer or something. A last name and a picture would be nice too.

Entrapta (7:04pm): :(((((( but thats so boooring

Catra (7:05pm): I mean it, E. That’s all i need

Entrapta (7:05pm): fine, boss :(((((

With that, Catra slips her phone into her pocket, and begins to doodle on the corner of board meeting program. One hour down, one to go.

When the meeting is finally adjourned, Catra breezes passed everyone else, ignoring Hordak’s half-hearted call of her name in favor of pulling out her earbuds and phone. There’s an email from Entrapta—likely whatever information she’s found out about Adora—and a text from Adora herself that Catra finds herself opening immediately.

[unknown number] (7:29pm): so i was just wondering if we could meet up sometime first?

Catra (8:02pm): What, do you think I’m some kind of serial killer?

[unknown number] (8:05pm): what??? No!! I never saidi that!

[unknown number] (8:05pm): whats ur name btw?

Catra (8:06pm): My name is Catra, but you can call me whatever you like

[unknown number] (8:07pm): sdjfhkkfdgdf>????

Catra finds a grin curving up the corners of her lips; Adora is so easy to rile up. She doesn’t know anything about the girl yet, but this is promising. It also doesn’t seem like Adora knows who she is—another godsend. People always tend to treat her differently once they find out she’s rich, once they know who her family is. Catra’s lip curls at the thought of them: it’s not her fault that they picked to adopt her.

But it is what it is, and being Hordak’s daughter does have its advantages, Catra thinks. She jams the down button for the elevator with one hand, and with the other, opens Entrapta’s email. It’s brief, the subject message a simple sad face, but it’s what she’d asked for. Adora’s full name—Adora Sideris—and a college ID picture of her, smiling awkwardly into the camera. God, she looks dumb, especially with the little hair poof thing going on. Entrapta’s email also says that she’s in college, that she’s only a few months older than Catra, and that she’s the captain of her school’s fencing team.

That makes Catra pause. Looking at the picture, she would’ve guessed prep, or nerd—definitely not fencing team captain. But then, she reminds herself, appearances don’t mean shit. A few of the businessmen from the board meeting around the corner as she steps into the elevator, and Catra takes extreme pleasure in watching the elevator doors close in their faces as they flag her to keep it open. Dumbasses.

Catra (8:16pm): Lol

Catra (8:16pm): You’re cute, Adora

Catra (8:17pm): Anyway, can you meet tomorrow? You pick the place

[unknown number] (8:20pm): i have fencing practice until about noon, so anytime after then. And do you know Bright Moon? It’s a little cafe by the high school

And Catra doesn’t know, but she looks it up and as the elevator doors open, she texts Adora back one last time.

Catra (8:22pm): bright moon, tomorrow at 3:30pm. Give you some time to get cleaned up, princess

Adora (8:22pm): :) okay!

“Lonnie!” Catra calls out as she pockets her phone again. Her driver startles and glances up, expression souring as she sees Catra waiting at the edge of the sidewalk. Catra feels just the same.

“What do you want now?”

“Um, for you to do your job? Wouldn’t want you to get fired, now would we? Now come on, I’m hungry. We’re getting pizza.”

Lonnie heaves a sigh, but she nods and opens the back door, slamming it with more force than necessary once Catra is inside. As the car peels away from Horde Industries’ Corporate Headquarters, Catra busies herself with her phone, drowning out the rest of the world with loud, angry music.

Just like always.

The first person she sees when she gets back to the house is Daemon, sitting on the living room floor with a coloring book in front of him. He blinks up at her when she approaches, and gives her a toothy grin. With the canines that have just come in, his smile looks decidedly fanged, and Catra hates it.

“Hey, imp.” she mutters as she passes. Daemon clumsily parrots her words back, but quickly returns his attention to his crayons, and Catra rolls her eyes at him when he’s not looking. She fucking hates kids, especially this one. But now, all she has to do is manage to sneak upstairs and safely make it to her room before—

“ Catra. ”

Catra freezes, one foot on the stairs, and for a moment, she debates running. But as quickly as the thought comes, she dismisses it and pivots around, pasting her best unimpressed look on her face. “What?”

Her adoptive mother stands in the doorway between the living room and the dining room, distaste on her face as she stares Catra down. “And why did you come home so late? The deal was straight home after your board meetings, wasn’t it?”

Anger rises up like a tidal wave and Catra only barely manages to quash it with a deep breath in and out. “I was hungry. I got food. Get off my back.”

“Now, Catra, you know that both your father and I only want the best for you. Ever since we rescued you from that dreadful orphanage, we’ve only been preparing you for the business you’re going to inherit.”

In the background, Daemon giggles, as if even he knows what a joke that is. For once, Catra has to agree with him. “Okay, well, I’m here now.”

“Then act like it, insolent child.” And with that, Weaver soundlessly sweeps away, leaving behind only her words and the cloying scent of her perfume.

As Catra starts up the stairs, Daemon laughs again and parrots, “Insolent child.” Catra whips around and hisses at him, and reluctantly lets the sound of his laughter follow her upstairs.

Catra (9:02pm): What are you doing

Entrapta (9:15pm): working on a project

Entrapta (9:15pm): Do you need more infomration about Adora??

Entrapta (9:15pm): thats a lot more interesting !!!

Catra (9:16pm): No. And because I know I can’t stop you, just don’t tell me whatever you find out

Entrapta (9:17pm): :))))))))

Entrapta (9:20pm): anyway, did you need someting?

Catra (9:21pm): Not really. The hag was just on my ass again

Entrapta (9:22pm): u know what wuld make ufeel better :)))))

Catra (9:22pm): No to whatever you’re going to suggest, unless it involves me getting out of here

Entrapta (9:23pm): well. No

Entrapta (9:23pm): i was going to say i could tell u about adora !!

Catra (9:24pm): No! I’m meeting her tomorrow, I don’t need to meet her and be thinking about her ugly baby pictures or whatever it is that you manage to dig up

Entrapta (9:24pm): :(((( her baby pictures werent ugly they were actually really cute

Catra (9:25pm): Oh my god.

Entrapta (9:25pm): [image sent]

Catra (9:26pm): I am not opening those.

Entrapta (9:26pm): :(((((

Catra (9:27pm): It is an invasion of her privacy???

Entrapta (9:28pm): they shouldnt have been put online then. ANyone can find them!

Catra (9:28pm): Still. I’m not looking

(Not ten minutes later, Catra ends up looking. And she hates to admit it, but Entrapta is right. Adora’s baby pictures are actually kind of cute.)

Catra shows up at Bright Moon at just after four, slamming the car door shut much harder than necessary before Lonnie can get a chance to throw out some scathing remark in lieu of a farewell. If any of the people around her notice, they don’t show it, and Catra takes a moment to focus on the café, trying to get a sense of what Adora is like before she goes in. Already, she can see that she hates it—too much pink, too much light. Catra knows how well she stands out but she doesn’t care, ignoring the curious looks she gets as she storms into the café.

The inside is just as bad as the outside , and—objectively, it’s nice. It’s definitely Instagram worthy, and there are more than just a few groups of teenagers taking pictures of each other, of their food, of the room around them, but Christ. Catra feels disgusted on a molecular level.

But as much as she hates it, she’s here for a reason, that reason being the blonde ponytail of a girl sitting alone in a booth all the way in the back. She’s looking down at her phone, idly scrolling through something, and as Catra watches, she looks up and around, smiling crookedly at a boy and a girl sitting at a table nearby. She—Adora—doesn’t notice Catra, and neither do her friends, so Catra waits for them to look away from each other before making her way over to Adora’s booth.

“Hey, Adora,” she says, leaning against the booth, and when Adora looks up, eyes wide and startled, “how’s it hanging?”

“You’re— you’re Catra?” her voice comes out a little weak, and Catra can’t help the grin that twitches up the corners of her lips. Adora quickly stands and holds out her hand, still looking just a little bit embarrassed, just a little bit dumbstruck.

“Sorry I’m late,” Catra says, and she knows she doesn’t sound sorry, and she probably doesn’t look it either. She slowly, slowly takes all of Adora in, from her messy ponytail to her varsity jacket , the unbuttoned plaid flannel with the plain shirt under, her shorts and thighs littered with small scrapes and bruises. She’s—kind of really cute. And she’s eyeing Catra up and down too.

“Were we supposed to dress up?” Adora suddenly asks, and Catra looks down at herself and what she’s wearing , and oh.

“No, I was just at a meeting.” Which isn’t a total lie. Lonnie drove her to the meeting and waited to leave until she went inside—and as soon as she pulled away, Catra walked right back out and headed to Entrapta’s.

“Oh, well—you’re here now! Did you want to order anything first?”

Catra shrugs. “You order whatever, I’ll pay for it.”

Seemingly without thinking, Adora reaches out, taking Catra’s hand in hers to tug her up to the front of the shop. She drops her hand as soon as she realizes, cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink as she splutters out an excuse, “Sorry—my roommates, they’re my best friends, and I’m just used to doing that—I’m so sorry!”

And surprisingly, Catra—who hates touching, who hates being touched, who hates any form of intimacy, really—can’t bring herself to mind.

Ten minutes later finds them back in the booth, Adora with an iced blueberry black tea and Catra with a triple mocha frappe. Adora is tracing her finger along the rim of her cup, collecting condensation as she stares down at the table, and Catra knows she should be talking, maybe explaining why Adora is here in the first place, maybe getting to know her, but she’s content to just watch Adora, to take in the beauty of her silence.

Until Adora looks up, of course. She tilts her head a little in obvious confusion when she sees Catra already looking, but she seems content in waiting for Catra to speak. There is a kind of shuttered kindness on her face and in her eyes; from just her face alone, Catra can tell what kind of person Adora is. She sees stubbornness in the rigidity of her posture, kindness in the hint of a smile on her lips, strength in the calluses of her hands. She is soft, but she is strong too, and Catra likes that.

“So, you’ve had the night to think things over, do you have any questions?”

At that, Adora nods. “I guess—” she tugs out a lock of hair from her ponytail and twirls it around her finger before shoving it back behind her ear in what is clearly a nervous gesture, “I just wanted to know what this involves exactly? I know it’s a dinner, but I need time to prepare—if this is going to be a thing —and I just—”

“It’s really just a stupid family dinner. We go in, play nice, dance, eat, play nice some more and leave. You’d get paid after, I don’t care how much.”

“Dance? Like—”

“Fancy dances and shit,” Catra waves away Adora’s concern with a dismissive hand, “I’d teach you.”

“So what, this is like a ball?”

Catra shrugs. “If you want to call it that, sure. It’s nothing to stress out over though, and besides, it’s not for another month or so. Plus, you can always say no, I can find someone else.”

“That’s…” Adora twirls that same lock of hair around her finger, tugging on it hard before asking quietly, “how much would it be?”

“How much do you want? It’s not my money, I don’t care.”

Adora snorts out a startled laugh, tucking her hair back again as she rolls her eyes. “You can’t be serious. See, this is why I thought this was fake—”

“I’m being serious. How much do you want? I’ll write the check now.”

The sudden ringing of Adora’s phone interrupts them, and Catra waits patiently as Adora fumbles for it, checks to see who is calling, rolls her eyes as she answers, and hisses out, “Guys, really? ” before hanging up.

“Everything okay?” Catra asks mildly. Adora twists around and sticks her middle finger up at the boy and girl from before, then turns back, cheeks going pink.

“Yeah, it’s just my friends. They wanted to make sure that—well...”

“That I wasn’t some kind of serial killer?” And before Adora can begin to protest—because Catra can already see it on her face—she says, “It’s okay, I don’t mind. It’s good that they care that much about you.”

Because god knows her friends wouldn’t do the same.

“Anyway, I should get going before Lonnie comes to drag me back to the hellhole. You’ve got my number, if you change your mind, let me know before the end of the week.” Catra says as she stands to go; Adora reaches out as she passes, catching at her wrist and standing hurriedly as well.

“I want to do it.” There is a familiar look of determination in Adora’s steel-blue eyes; Catra grins at the sight of it and nods.

“Then I’ll text you later. Bye, Adora.”

Catra (4:53pm): Does Adora have Venmo?

Entrapta (5:11pm): im guessing it went well then?

Catra (5:12pm): Well enough. I’m coming over.

Entrapta (5:15pm): yoou got it boss

Entrapta (5:15pm): What about adoras venmo?

Catra (5:16pm): Send her a couple hundred bucks from the hag’s card

Entrapta (5:20pm): :)))))

Catra (5:20pm): What.

Entrapta (5:20pm): im glad u found someone nice :))))

Entrapta (5:21pm): :)))

Catra (5:22pm): Don’t push it

Entrapta (5:23pm): :))))

(last | next)

#she ra #catradora #shera #my writing #burnt sugar

47 notes · View notes

cloudyyoonji · 5 years

Text

Secret Panels and Paperwork

Detective! Hwang Hyunjin x Detective! Reader.

REQUESTED BY ANON

Summary: Seoul Police Headquaters is much more interesting then your old job, particularly the detective you’re now shadowing.

Genre; Fluff! Murder mystery case! (Mentions of a hostage situation)

_________________

Seoul Police Headquaters was way more relaxed then what you were used to.

Even though you’d been a crime detective for some 5 years now, you couldn’t help but feel a little anxious coming into a new job, one that was definitely on a smaller scale then what you were used to.

A quick scan of your ID and your past the gates, heading into a newer and exciting job; a new beginning.

You’ve barely stepped foot into the office when you’re greeted. The male beems at you, eyes flicking from your ID that is now clipped to your uniform to you.

“You must be Y/N! I’m Hwang Hyunjin.”

Woah. He’s hot.

Masking your thoughts with a polite smile you nod to confirm your identity, following suit as the attractive male beckons you to walk with him.

“So for the next few week, you’re going to shadow me. They said you’d had a few years of experience, but you’ll shadow me just until you get used to how things tend to run here.”

You’re nodding along to every word he says, wondering just how you’d gotten so lucky to work with such a charming man.

A few years of experience? Would that explain how you were used to things running? Perhaps the boy doesn’t know...

Showing you to a cubicle right beside his, he explains that this is your work station, also adding that there isn’t too many cases at the moment so you’ll just be filling out simple complaints.

“Did you have any questions? Did you want me to go through a few forms with you?”

You shake your head, smiling up at the black haired boy.

“I think I’ve got it all covered. I’m no stranger to rent disagreements.”

He nods. “Okay just give me a tap if there’s anything I can do!”

However, you know for a fact that you won’t be needing his help.

After a week, it becomes adherent to everyone just how experienced you are. You’ve filled out 167 forms, more then most of the detectives you work with combined.

“You know, you’re really good at doing these.”

You look up at Hyunjin, who now stands on the other side of your desk, watching as your hand flicks through the paperwork in quick strokes.

“Thank you. I’ve had plenty experience.”

“So it seems. You learn fast.”

You put the pen down, curiosity eating at you.

“Do we have any cases?”

The boy watches you for a moment, nodding with a sigh as he seats himself on his chair, pulling it towards you.

“Yeah. This murder case about this girl. We just can’t figure it out. There’s something missing, you know? It’s hard to piece together.”

You hum, twirling your pen and taking out a stack of sticky notes, cogs in your brain already turning.

“Tell me about it.”

After looking at you for a second longer, the boy reaches for a file from his desk, handing it to you to flick through as he explains.

“So the victim; Sarah Evans, was found dead in her apartment on Thursday night. There was no sign of any forced entries or exits, and no sign of self inflicted wounds. The autopsy suggested that it was highly likely she’d been smothered in her sleep. However, there’s only a few people that have access to her apartment; this being her mum, brother and her boyfriend.”

“And you’ve interviewed them?” You ask, eyes narrowed as you flick to the autopsy report.

“Yes. Mum and the brother were out of town; she has an alibi witness. And her boyfriend was at home playing his PlayStation. More specifically ‘Skyrim’.”

You hum, flicking to the photos of the body, desperate for sometime of mark.

“A sock is missing?”

“Yeah. It’s not in her house. It’s the only sign that she struggled at all.”

Nodding, your scanning over the body, eyes narrowed.

“Can you send this to me?”

“Yeah definitely. Do you think we’ve missed something?”

Shaking your head, you finally look up at the boy, whose eyes are glued to you.

“I really don’t know, but a fresh pair of eyes might see something.”

The case eats at you into the morning hours. You’re absolutely positive you’d seen a case like this before.

Your old case files are scattered on the floor, clock reading now 5:04am even though it was just midnight a few minutes ago.

Illuminated by the light of your iPad, you’re zoomed into the tiny details of the body.

Missing fingernails? No.

Fresh bruises? No.

Cuts? No.

When you spot it, you can’t look away, zooming in even closer to see the coloured pixels in her dark hairline.

Blue and purple pixels.

A mark.

A love mark on her neck. In her hairline.

Quickly you’re scrolling to the witness statements, flicking to her boyfriends.

“I was playing Skyrim from the hours 5:00pm, till 8:00pm. I was then in bed from 8:00pm till 7:00am.”

The tracking app on his phone seemed to prove that, but perhaps he hadn’t taken the phone.

The boy explains himself to be a worried boyfriend. He was weary about her male friends, and how they treated her.

A motive; worried about her cheating.

Its like all the dots in your head connect at once.

It was him. The boyfriend.

iPad now abandoned on the floor with the countless papers of past cases, your standing, phone pressed against your ear.

“Hello?”

Hyunjin’s voice is rough, indicating that you’d most definitely woken him from his slumber. But this just couldn’t wait.

“Hyunjin. I’ve got it. I know who it was. There’s a mark we’ve missed. One that gives away a motive.”

You’re barely stopping to breathe as you try to explain, the boys brain so tired he cannot comprehend a thing.

“Woah, woah, woah. Slow down. I’ll meet you at the office okay? I need to see this mark for myself.”

And with that you’re running to your car, iPad in hand.

Speeding to the office, you basically run in, barely getting through the barricades with a scan of your ID.

“Hyunjin!” You yell, waving the iPad in your arms.

The boy looks at you rather concerned, taking in your wrinkled uniform and your bun that has miscellaneous pens and pencils sticking through it.

“Have you even slept?”

“Thats not the point. I’ve found a mark.” You tell him, zooming in on the love bite.

He takes the iPad from you, looking close.

“Holy shit, you’re right.”

“It was the boyfriend. Like I said on the phone. He was jealous. He admitted that. But he threw the focus off him to say he was worried her male friends would try something. But it’s him Hyunjin, it’s him.”

He nods, eyes leaving the iPad and flicking to your own.

“Let’s call it in.”

And so, at 5:48am, it is finalized that the murder of Sarah Evans was committed by her boyfriend; Marcus Roberts.

By 3:20pm, you’re suited up in a bulletproof vest; “Seoul Police Department” written in white bold letters across your back.

Armed and ready to go, you’re journeying to the murderers house.

Were you nervous? Definitely a little. Why? You had no idea.

But as the door is flung open, and the swarm of police enter, detectives following, your instincts kick in, adrenaline high.

Pulling open various draws, your on the search for the girls missing sock. His screams of protest seem almost non existent, heart beating so loud in your ears.

“We haven’t found the sock. Maybe he’s disposed of it. Burnt it even.”

You ignore Hyunjins words, walking to the bedside table. You’re sure it’s here somewhere. It has to be somewhere.

Fingers tapping along the white wood, Hyunjin only watches with confusion as you reach behind the table, pulling it forwards.

You look up at him, fingers finding a tiny hole in the wood, something soft stuffed inside.

And there it is. The white sock bright against your blue glove.

Putting it into the plastic sleeve that gets shoved towards you, you manage a small smile, your adrenaline finally wearing off into a tiredness.

Walking back through the house, it’s buzzing with the energy only a solved case could produce.

“Buddy, you’re going to be in jail for a long time.”

An officer tells the guilty male, pushing him out of the threshold as you and Hyunjin trail behind him.

“Please! I never meant no harm! She wanted to leave me. I couldn’t do it! I love her! I love her!”

Hyunjin side eyes the male, looking up at the officer.

“There’s our confession. Take him away.”

Climbing into Hyunjins car, you’re on your way back to the office, accomplishment on both your chests.

“You know, you did really well today. You’re extremely smart Y/N.”

Glancing up at Hyunjin as your working at taking off your bulletproof vest, a light smile gracing your features at his compliment.

“Thank you Hyunjin. That means a lot.”

As the car slows to stop at the red light, he is quick to glance over at you, spotting you struggling with the vest, and quickly unclipping the side for you, one you hadn’t seen. Flicking him a quick smile, you pull the vest off, holster still tight around your waist.

“How did you come to apply at Seoul Police Department? If you don’t mind me asking that is.”

“Oh I actually transferred!” You explain, looking up as the car starts moving again. “It’s a nicer environment trust me.”

“Nicer? Where did you work before? A battle ground?” The boy jokes, eyes turning into crescents.

You can see the mole under his eye a little more clearly now.

“Basically.” You laugh, shaking your head as you reminisce over the countless cases. “I worked for the FBI actually.”

“The FBI!” The boy basically yells, eyes off the road and on to you. “I am so sorry I made you do paperwork for like a week. I had no idea!”

Shaking your head, you explain that you actually like to do paperwork and that it’s like stress reliever for you.

Stopping at another light, he looks over at you again.

“So why did you leave may I ask? It must have been such an amazing line of work!”

Your smile fades as you remember, bitterness replacing the euphoric victory.

“It was amazing. But there was a reason why I left. It was one of those things you know? One you can’t really ever forget.”

You feel his gaze grow concerned, questioning and waiting for more.

“It was a hostage situation,” You begin, images of that day fresh in your mind as you recount the easy version of the story.

“It was a small group; 9 of us. He took my gun, used on it two in the group when things got too hectic for him to handle. I just felt so responsible you know? I couldn’t do anything. He would kill me or someone else the instance I lifted a finger. I’d already lost two, I just couldn’t risk the rest-.”

Your voice cuts off on its own, fingers trembling as you fiddle with the vest. Hyunjin takes your hand in his, his action making you look up at the concerned boy.

“That’s never going to happen again. I’ll make sure of it Y/N. And if it does, you’ve got me. I’ll come find you, I can promise you that.”

Hand tight on his, you can’t but help let a smile onto your features.

“Thank you Hyunjin.”

He smiles, looking back at the road as the light goes green and the car starts moving, one hand on the steering wheel, but the other wrapped tightly around your own.

“Let’s go find another case for you to solve Detective Y/N.”

162 notes · View notes

punmasterkentparson · 6 years

Text

Was Your Date Successfully Crashed?

inspiration from this shitty idea post.

It’s on ao3.

Kent is incapable of going on a good date.

He tries. For the last year, he has tried. Tinder and OK Cupid and even eHarmony for a bit, although the subscription rate was ridiculous. It doesn’t matter; his dates always go wrong.

There was the guy who showed up to dinner and said, “Sorry, I already ate, but it’s cool if you want to order something.”

There was the woman who ran into her ex and spent twenty minutes chatting with him while Kent just stood there.

There was the guy who took Kent to a carnival and had a meltdown over a ring toss game.

There was the woman who got up during a movie and whispered, “I’m going to the bathroom, be right back!” and never came back.

There was the guy who was late and kept texting excuses for over an hour before ultimately sending, “can’t make it, sorry, something came up.”

There was the woman who invited Kent to a house party and then spent the whole time ignoring him in favor of talking to other people, and then had the audacity to call the next day asking for a second date.

And now there’s this guy, Henry, the son of a friend of Kent’s great-aunt, which means Kent is honor-bound to give him a shot. But Kent already knows there won’t be a second date. Conversation is excruciating; Henry gives single-word answers to everything and barely elaborates. When their food arrives, Henry sends his plate back twice with cosmetic complaints. Kent talks about his job as a personal trainer and the night classes he’s taking to be a physical therapist, and halfway through, Henry takes out his phone and starts scrolling.

Kent endures another five minutes and three bites of his steak before he can’t take it. “I have to go to the bathroom,” he says abruptly, and flees for the men’s room.

Hidden in a stall, he grinds his teeth and wishes he was the sort of asshole who would ditch in the middle of a date and leave his companion to foot the bill. He also wishes he wasn’t afraid of what Great Aunt Ruth would say if he did that.

He just really wishes he had an excuse to cut the date short. He shoots off a text.

jeff, help.

bad date? dude i told u to get off tinder

not tinder. blind date. son of a friend of aunt ruth or something.

oh shit. yeah ur stuck.

fuck u i’m in hell. can you call me in five minutes with some work emergency?

uh, no, ‘cause i’m at my niece’s bat mitzvah and my sister would kill me? she’s already glaring ‘cause i’m talking to you!

then what tf do i do???

suck it up.

no wait!!! carl told me about this app last week. i ignored him cause, u know, carl, but maybe u can try it? it’s called hinder. it’s like tinder but instead of finding ppl to date, u find ppl to CRASH ur date.

... that cant be a real thing.

nah i just checked the app store, it’s real. lmfao these reviews are hilarious.

Kent opens the app store on his phone and searches “Hinder.” There’s only one matching result. Hinder: We’ll ruin your date so you don’t have to.

Oh, what the hell, he’s desperate. He downloads it. The main menu is similar to all other dating apps he’s used, although he finds that he doesn’t get to choose a particular person to bust in on his date, he can only make a request. Apparently, it depends on availability. Whatever. Kent ticks as many preference boxes as he can. He hesitates when he gets to scenarios: Ex-partner, Ex-spouse, Spouse, Mistress, Friend, Other.

He checks everything. Again: he’s desperate. He’ll take someone pretending to be a jealous spouse if it gets him out this.

The last step is adding a photo of himself, so his date-crasher can recognize him. Kent takes an awkward selfie and posts it. He realizes too late that it’s obvious he’s sitting on a toilet in a bathroom stall.

Fuck it.

He spends a total of ten minutes in the bathroom. When he gets back to the table, he’s pretty sure that Henry thinks he was taking the world’s biggest shit.

“Sorry,” he says. “What were we talking about again?” He honestly doesn’t remember.

Henry taps a few things on his phone and puts it aside, then reclaims his fork from his plate. “I don’t know.”

“Okay. Um.” Kent wracks his brain for something, anything. “Seen any good movies lately?”

Henry shrugs. “I don’t really go to the movies.”

“What about on Netflix?”

“I have Hulu.”

What Kent wouldn’t give for a bolt of lightning to strike him dead. “Well, I don’t have Hulu. I’ve thought about getting it, though. Can you recommend anything?”

Henry thinks about it. “Everything on there’s pretty good.” He takes a bite of broccoli.

Kent picks up his own fork and digs into his steak. The sooner he finishes, the sooner he can go.

He almost chokes when a loud voice suddenly shouts his name across the restaurant.

“Kent! Kent, you here?”

Kent chugs water to clear his throat, then turns around in his seat. There’s a tall man with broad shoulders and a long face trying to get past the hostess.

“No, no, I’m not want table,” the man says, “just need find—Kent!” He spots Kent and hurries over. “Kent, have to go now!”

Kent stares at him, mouth agape. Everyone in the restaurant is staring.

“Kent, come on, have to go! She’s have babies!”

Kent manages, “I... I don’t know—”

“Your dog! Remember? You ask me watch because she pregnant! She’s have babies right now! I try text and call but maybe you don’t get, so I come! Oh, sorry,” the guy adds, finally acknowledging Henry, who looks as befuddled as Kent feels. “Sorry, I know it’s date, but is important, you know?”

“Um,” Henry says.

“We go, right, Kent?” And then the guy turns fully towards Kent, his back to Henry, and gives Kent a big, meaningful wink. “Yes? We go now, for dog?”

Everything abruptly clicks. Kent shoots to his feet. “Yes. Yes, we should absolutely go. Henry, I’m sorry, but it’s um—it’s an emergency.” He digs through his wallet, thankful that he has cash with him, and puts a few twenties on the table. “I think that’ll cover it.”

Henry frowns. “I thought you had a cat?”

Kent is frankly shocked that Henry was listening to him. “Yeah, uh, I have a cat and a dog. And I guess I’m gonna have more dogs.”

“Oh. Congratulations?”

“Thanks! Dinner was great, thanks for everything, see you!”

Kent grabs his jacket and pulls it on as he leaves the restaurant, with a total stranger hot on his heels. He doesn’t stop until they’re outside and halfway across the parking lot.

Only then does Kent turn to his rescuer. “I, uh, take it you answered my Hinder post?” he asks.

The guy grins. “Yes! I’m Alexei, nice to meet you.” He holds out his hand. “Sorry is confusing for you, I send message but you don’t respond, so I’m wing it.”

Kent laughs and shakes Alexei’s hand. “I’m Kent Parson. And don’t worry about it, you’re my hero. Thanks for saving me.”

“Is no problem!” Alexei keeps smiling, big and friendly. “I’m enjoy. Two months ago I’m start taking improv class for fun, you know? Join Hinder for practice, can be new character every time.”

Kent is impressed. “The practice is paying off. You were really convincing.”

Alexei beams. “Is because story not so much lie. Pregnant dog is my dog, Darya. But she’s not have babies until maybe next month. Improv class say it’s good use little bit your life, easier for make up story on the spot.”

“Oh, good trick. And congrats, I guess, for your dog.”

“Thank you! She’s very good girl, think she be great mama.” Alexei’s voice is full of pride. “You need me see you home?”

Surprise at the unexpected consideration makes Kent fumble. “No, I’m—I’m good. I drove. My car’s over there.” He points. “Do you need a ride?”

“No, I’m come with friends. We having dinner over there.” He points to a bar up the road, his expression turning bashful. “Actually I’m little bit rude, leave them suddenly. But I get notification and see you’re close by, and think you look like nice guy who don’t deserve bad date. You know?” His smile is embarrassed but earnest.

Kent’s face feels warm. This guy ditched his friends just to help him? “Well. Thanks.”

Alexei nods, still smiling. “Hope your next date go better. Go home safe, yeah?”

“Sure.” Kent waves after Alexei as he leaves, and then goes to his car. He opens the Hinder app and sees a message notification of Crash Accepted! on his post. It leads to Alexei’s profile, which just has his name, a counter for Dates Crashed (7) and a picture of him giving a big smile and a thumbs up.

There’s a banner prompt at the top, asking, Was your date successfully crashed? Kent selects YES, and Alexei’s Dates Crashed counter automatically ticks up to eight.

Kent grins, closes the app, and pulls up his earlier conversation with Jeff.

date officially over.

Jeff sends a thumbs up.

thanks for the hinder thing, it saved my ass.

someone showed up?

yeah.

and????

two words: tall & russian.

tell. me. everything.

#patater #preslash #i want to write more #here's hoping i do #omgcp #fanfic #oneshot #or is it #savvy writes

408 notes · View notes

berthastover · 5 years

Text

9 Preheader Text Mistakes that Nosedive Your Email Open Rates

Getting your business emails opened is like threading a needle.

You fail more times than you succeed.

Inboxes are jammed as brands jostle for people’s attention on the most profitable channel of all— email. In such a highly competitive environment you have to go an extra mile to succeed with your email marketing campaigns.

Success starts with subscribers opening your emails; otherwise your campaign’s dead in the water.

But how do you get your nose in front in the tight race for the inbox?

Stretch every element of your campaign, by, among other things, optimizing the preheader. Sidestepping common preheader text mistakes will put you ahead of the pack and hike your open rates.

First, let’s get the basics out of the way.

What is email preheader text?

The preheader is the bit of text that appears under the subject line when an email is viewed in the inbox.

Here’s an example from my inbox.

In the above screenshot, the line ‘Everybody’s doing something. We’ll do nothing!’ is the preheader.

Sometimes it’s called the Johnson Box. This refers to a snippet of copy found at the top of direct mail letters, containing the key message of the letter. Other terms used to describe it are:

Preview Text.

Second Subject Line.

Snippet Text.

Why bother with a preheader in the first place?

5 reasons why you need a preheader

1. The design of the preview pane demands it

The preview pane is structured in a way that affords subscribers a chance to get a foretaste of what a message is about.

It seeks to quickly address three crucial questions your audience might have about an email:

Who is this message from? ( Sender) Is it from a trusted sender?

What is it about? (Subject) Is the subject catchy enough?

Why are they writing? (Preheader) Is the message worthwhile?

If you are like most small business owners, your main focus is the subject line. You probably know that research shows up to 50% subscribers decide to open an email based on the subject line alone.

But what happens to the other 50%?

They linger and then look at the next component that falls within the eyeline of their reading path—the preheader. This gives you a second chance to tease users to open your email.

2. The mobile-first world reality requires it

These days most people read emails on mobile devices.

Not only do mobile users read on the move, but they also check their email 3x more than desktop users according to research conducted by Google.

Preheaders are more pronounced on mobile devices.

That’s good news.

A longish snippet text line gives you a great opportunity to expand your subject line and boost your open rates.

3. The number of preheader characters warrants it

Depending on the email client you are using, your preheader can be anything from 40-100 characters long.

That’s between 8-20 more words to support your subject line or say more about your business.

In fact, preheader text dominates your inbox.

As you can see, the preheader uses up to twice as much space than the subject line in some cases.

Surprising, hey!

Don’t let all this precious space go to waste. Use it to bolster your subject line and market better.

4. The position it occupies encourages it

Mobile users tend to do a lot of scrolling.

The preview text is visible without having to scroll.

Its strategic above-the-fold position makes it a powerful tool for engaging subscribers right off the bat before they are tempted to leave.

5. The role it plays in avoiding the spam folder

If users mark your email as spam, your emails won’t see the light of day.

Good preview text reduces spam alerts.

How?

It sums up what the newsletter is about. Once recipients appreciate the content, they won’t mark your email as spam. You’ll avoid the dreaded spam folder and increase deliverability rates.

Now that you’ve got a good handle on preheader fundamentals, let’s move on to blunders SMB marketers typically make with them.

Mistake #1: Omitting the preheader

What’s the biggest mistake can you make with the preheader?

Underestimating its power and totally excluding it.

By doing so, you miss an awesome opportunity to get more people clicking on your email campaigns. Research shows including a well-crafted preheader can boost opens by almost 7%.

Imagine the difference such a margin can make to your bottom line.

If your email doesn’t have a specially composed preheader:

Your email’s first few words may be displayed in the designated preheader space.

A default phrases like “This email was sent in HTML only, to view it please copy it into your browser” may appear.

An image’s alt-text may appear if your message contains an image.

Your code might be dragged into the preview text place.

The preheader space will showcase placeholder gibberish text like ‘Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet consectetuer’.

Talk about blowing a great chance to craft a well thought out preview text and entice more newsletter subscribers to click on your email.

Still think having a preheader isn’t a big deal?

Well, think again.

Marketing Experiments did a test to see the impact of having a preheader in an email. One email had no preheader. It simply displayed the URL of the first image in the email. Meanwhile, the treatment displayed a specific type of text.

The results were impressive: the treatment saw a huge 104% increase in clicks.

Mistake #2: Duplicating the subject line

Repeating your subject line verbatim in the preheader is a bad idea.

First, it’s just being a lazy marketer. Second, it demonstrates a lack of creativity—not a good attribute for a marketer. Importantly, readers might think you are a spammer and ban you from their inboxes forever.

Your preheader should complement the subject line, not copy it.

It should add more valuable info not contained in the subject line. Combined, your subject line and preheader should tell one complete story. Below are some quick tips on how to nail it:

Use figures to concretize the subject line.

Inject a sense of urgency by adding a deadline to your offer.

Ask a loaded question that piques your audience’s interest.

Highlight your offer’s second benefit.

Personalize the preheader if you haven’t personalized the subject.

Captivate through visually appealing emoji.

Weave fear of missing out (FOMO) into your copy.

In essence, treat your preheader like your second subject line.

Here are a couple of examples of some of the above strategies in use.

Philips Chrysler used personalization to good effect.

Source: Practical Ecommerce

Using the recipient’s name makes her warm up to the message.

Wayfair wooed their newsletter subscribers by using the clapping hands emoji.

Source: Ometria

The emoji adds a touch of color, emulates a certain feeling, and lights up the dull text.

In short, be creative not repetitive.

Mistake #3: Including unsubscribe option

Yes, you must make it easy for people to unsubscribe from your list.

And, yes, the opt-out option should be in a prominent area so people see you’ve got nothing to hide.

But the preheader might not be the best place for it.

In the example below from my inbox, the word ‘stop’ is capitalized, drawing more attention to unsubscribing than to the offer.

One moment you’re excited about saving, then in the next instant you are hit with a message telling you to pull out of the list.

Ugh.

Not inspiring for the reader if you ask me.

It kills the momentum generated by the subject line.

Why not let readers see your offer first and then give them the chance to remove themselves from your list later on inside the email?

Besides, newsletter readers expect the unsubscribe link in your footer. Seeing it much earlier can be unsettling for them.

Editor’s note:

While adding the unsubscribe link in the preheader isn’t providing the optimum experience for your email subscribers, there are times when it pays off to move this link further up in your newsletters.

For example, if you’re having deliverability problems and your emails are often marked as spam – for no good reason – then it’s worth giving your email recipients the option to opt out, instead of reporting your message as spam.

High spam complaint rate may for example be related to the local customer habits. In some markets, for example in Russia, you’ll notice that email campaigns get reported as spam more often, as the users there don’t usually trust the unsubscribe links and have become used to opting out this way.

To make sure your email deliverability is intact, follow the email marketing best practices and make your subscription process as transparent as possible.

Mistake #4: Making a whitelist request

Surely, using the preheader to ask subscribers to whitelist your brand so they never miss an email from you is a great idea, right?

Wrong.

Here’s why.

To begin with, it’s wasted effort. When was the last time you manually added companies you want to hear from to your personal address book?

Rarely, if at all.

And yet you still receive business newsletters. Here’s the thing. Inboxes have become complicated enough to detect the emails you want to receive without you whitelisting the sender.

So whitelisting isn’t the best use of the preheader.

You are better off focusing your energies on crafting an irresistible welcome email. Once subscribers engage with your first email, future emails won’t get stuck in the spam folder. Your deliverability rates will go higher.

A good welcome email:

Urges subscribers to open it ASAP.

Appreciates the subscriber for joining your list.

Sets the tone for the user’s relationship with you.

Quickly establishes rapport with subscribers.

Spells out what to expect in the coming days.

Gives instructions on how to whitelist you.

Describes who you are and what you do.

Delivers the promised information.

Since welcome emails have insanely high open rates, once you get your foot in the door you are guaranteed your audience will see forthcoming emails.

Mistake #5: Too many links

Most people read emails on mobile devices, remember?

Have you ever tried clicking a link on your phone?

It can be quite a challenge, to put it mildly. According to an MIT study, the average width of an index finger is 1.6 to 2 cm for most adults so tapping on a 12pt font can be frustrating.

It gets worse.

In a pioneering study on how users hold their mobile devices, UX Matters revealed that 75% of phone users touch their screen only with the thumb, the fattest finger.

Chances of inaccurate touches become multiplied.

As if clicking on a link isn’t bad enough in and of itself, too many links are worse because:

Readers may end up clicking on the wrong link because links are cramped. This is another reason why putting an unsubscribe link in the preheader is a bad idea.

Readers will be overwhelmed by too many choices and end up not clicking on any of the links, a classic case of analysis paralysis.

Readers might miss the link they’re interested in because it’s been cut off.

Readers may be frustrated by the bad user experience and abandon your email.

Keep things simple.

Trim the copy in your links to the barest minimum. Or, better still, avoid text-heavy links in some campaigns.

And, instead of cramping links into the preheader, try a button CTAs in the copy.

Buttons are bigger, brighter, and nicer, hence they’re more likely to be clicked.

But don’t take my word for it. Test to see which works best for your audience.

Mistake #6: No call to action

Why do you send newsletters in the first place?

To get people to act on your offers, isn’t it?

Whether you want them to try your product, enlist your services or attend your event, one thing is clear – tell them exactly what you want them to do.

Failure to include a convincing CTA is a big blunder that might reduce the success of your campaign.

Like any good result-getting CTA your CTA should be;

Clear, not clever.

Short, not lengthy.

Active, not passive.

Specific, not general.

Simple, not complex.

Cut to the chase by leading with a convincing CTA in the preheader.

Mistake #7: Making it too long

Crafting a lengthy preheader is a big mistake, and here’s why.

Your words get chopped off before you get your message across. This drastically reduces your chances of users checking out your emails. And, with most people reading emails on space-starved mobile devices, this is a real problem.

Litmus released useful research that reveals how many preheader characters popular email clients usually show on mobile devices.

Source: Litmus

To quickly get your message across on most devices before it gets truncated, aim for around 50 characters or 11 words. Since you have very little wiggle room, for best results:

Put the most important part of your message at the beginning.

Lead with an active verb that instantly grabs attention.

Turn the whole header into a CTA and take people straight to your landing page.

Get rid of filler words that take up space without saying much.

Bear in mind also that your preheader length is connected to the size of the subject line. A long subject line means a short preheader and vice versa. Play around with both until you hit the sweet spot.

Still having trouble getting the length right?

Don’t despair.

Take the guesswork out of the equation by using email header preview tools like Zurb to see how exactly your preheader and subject line will look on different devices.

Mistake #8: Preheader and subject line mismatch

If your preheader doesn’t fit your subject, you’re erring.

No matter how nice sounding your preheader is if it doesn’t expand on the subject line, it’ll fail.

A disconnect between the two is jarring for users.

Combined, the subject line and the preview text make up 58% of the first thing people look at when deciding whether to open an email.

By marrying the two so they complement each other and communicate one full story, you raise your chances of getting your email opened.

Here’s an example:

Subject: 50% off our new collection

Preheader: Save big on all latest denim jackets, jeans, and dresses for 3 days only!

The subject line introduces a massive discount. And then the preheader adds finer details about the offer by telling subscribers which items are on sale and how long the special is running for.

These specifics make the offer clearer and add a bit of urgency into the scenario.

Mistake #9: Forgetting to split test

Relying on your gut won’t get you far.

In an age of countless analytics and testing tools and toys, it’s surprising how businesses still depend on what they think will work.

Test, don’t assume.

Carry out A/B tests of your preheaders.

Try out various angles and variants of subject lines and preheaders. Keep testing and tweaking until you see a substantial uptick in opens.

Conclusion

Treating preheaders as an afterthought is a costly mistake.

Take time to carefully optimize yours.

GetResponse has a nimble preheader feature allows you to maximize your preheader with ease.

If you get it right, you’ll lure more recipients into opening your messages. More opens lead to more click-throughs. More click-throughs lead to more conversions. And, more conversions ultimately lead to more money for your business.

Author

According to his cheeky wife’s baseless claims, Qhubekani Nyathi aka The Click Guy, is an irresistibly handsome freelance copywriter. He helps SMBs rapidly grow their income and impact through actionable long-form content that ranks high, builds authority, and generates tons of leads. He is a contributor to top blogs like Crazy Egg, Search Engine People, Techwyze, AWAI, and more.

How to Automate Your Lead Gen with Facebook Lead Ads and Zapier

4 Ways to Align Your Content Marketing Strategy With Your Mission

The post 9 Preheader Text Mistakes that Nosedive Your Email Open Rates appeared first on GetResponse Blog - Online Marketing Tips.

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not-a-space-alien · 7 years

Text

To Ineffability and Beyond!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

On LJ

On AO3

The first thing Crowley became aware of as he drifted towards wakefulness was the fact that he was cold. Damn cold. Surely this must be how cold it was in the depths of space.

The second was the fact that he was drowning.

He had been discorporated in the 1100’s by falling off a boat and drowning in the ice-cold Atlantic Ocean. This is what it had felt like, and his body began to urge him to remedy the situation somehow.

He began to thrash. His hand broke the surface of whatever he was submerged in, only to hit something solid above it. He shoved both hands upwards as hard as he could against that surface, desperate to break through it to whatever freedom he was sure was on the other side.

The glassy surface yielded and swung up and out of the way. Warm air flooded in at him in a wave. Still flailing, he pulled himself upright, retching violently. A viscous blue liquid came pouring out of his mouth, and he heaved, emptying his lungs, blindly grabbing for something solid with which to steady himself.

Air finally rushed into his lungs, and he sucked in one, two, three deep breaths. He managed to grab onto the edge of his receptacle, and he lowered his head onto it, shivering and gasping.

“Are you all right?”

Crowley looked up. Aziraphale was a few feet away, likewise in a pod filled with liquid, looking as befuddled and bewildered as Crowley felt. His lips were blue.

Crowley managed to nod. He looked over at the vidscreen.

WELCOME TO KEPLER-442b, it told him. PLEASE FEEL FREE TO TAKE A WARM SHOWER.

Crowley heaved a sigh, rubbing his eyes. “Christ!” he yelled.

“What is it?” said Aziraphale, wobbling to his feet, splashing.

“Christ!”

“What about him?”

“That wasn’t a nap at all! That was awful!”

Aziraphale stepped out of his cryopod, but slipped as his slick foot hit the floor. He held onto the edge and gracefully descended into a sitting position. “Well, we were asleep. I don’t know what more you expected.”

“Naps are warm! And you have nice dreams! That was a rip-off!” Crowley suddenly realized he was still chest-deep in the freezing cryopod. He stood, liquid draining off his stomach and thighs and splashing back into the pod. That was when he remembered that he was completely naked.

“Christ,” he muttered.

“I thought your kind wasn’t supposed to swear to Him,” said Aziraphale.

“Well it’s not like he can hear me all the way out here!” Crowley said. “God, we’ve been asleep for 500 years and the first thing you do when we wake up is start sniping at me about my language. I’m going to the loo.”

He trailed cold cryo-liquid across the floor as he stepped out and pattered to the bath. He turned the temperature all the way to the red and activated the shower.

“Oh…” he moaned as the scalding water rolled over him. “Ooooohhhh…”

There was suddenly a second body in the space with him. Crowley moved defensively like a snake protecting its sunning spot.

Aziraphale reached past him and turned the flow volume up. “There’s enough water for both of us, you silly serpent.”

They both stood still for a few moments, the enclosed space quickly filling with steam.

“Mmmmm…” murmured Crowley.

He felt Aziraphale’s fingers combing through his wet hair. “I’m glad to see you again, my dear.”

Crowley turned so that he was facing Aziraphale. “Likewise.”

They were both surprisingly tired for two people having just woken up from 500 years of sleep. Crowley made the mistake of leaning into Aziraphale’s shoulder; he ended up falling asleep like that, standing fully upright with the hot water rolling over his back. Aziraphale picked a few stray pieces of goop from the cryopod out of his hair, then did his best to reach the shampoo without removing his shoulder from underneath the demon.

Crowley’s eyes flicked open as Aziraphale rinsed the conditioner out of his hair, but he pretended he had been awake the whole time.

“Your hair’s gotten quite a bit longer,” said Aziraphale.

Crowley reached up and fingered one wet curl on the angel’s hair. “So has yours.”

As soon as he was out of the shower, Aziraphale set about filing his nails down, muttering about how unpresentable they were. Crowley staggered over to the corner of the room where his plant was. The entire alcove was filled with a mass of dry, moldy, ancient leaves. Apparently, in their absence, the plant had exploded in size, flourished—and perished, a potted empire that marched on and then withered without them.

“Nick Jr.,” said Crowley. “Noooooo….”

“Don’t suppose even a fancy container would be enough to keep it alive for 500 years,” said Aziraphale. “Suppose you should have waited.”

Crowley glared at him. He then angrily made his way out of the room.

Aziraphale muzzily continued on with his nails. He then made an attempt at trying to dress himself. The demon returned a few minutes later, a new plant in his muddy hand, the exposed roots trailing dirt behind him.

“Did you… Dear, did you walk all the way to the greenhouse without dressing yourself?”

Crowley looked at him blearily. “Hm? Oh. S’pose I did.”

“Crowley!”

“Well it’s not like I was the only one!”

“What?”

“And you’re one to talk. You’re trying to shove your leg into a shirt sleeve.”

Aziraphale looked down at his clothes as if he had just noticed.

Crowley walked over to the potted plant, took the pot with one hand, and dumped the dirt and dead plant directly onto the floor. “I’m sure Nick Jr. Jr. will have better luck,” he said, shoving the new plant into the pot without bothering to try and cover the roots.

A sound beeped at them. Both looked over at the vidscreen to see that the message marquee had scrolled to say PLEASE STAY IN YOUR CABINS UNTIL THE DISORIENTATION ASSOCIATED WITH CRYOSLEEP WEARS OFF.

“Oh,” they both said together.

Crowley knelt on the bed and touched the vidscreen with one dirt-stained hand. He flipped through all the screens the board had to offer, stopping on the last one.

A video feed of a planet. It was muted purple, homogenous in appearance. There were two moons perched around it. An orange star blazed in the background.

“Ha!” said Crowley. “Angel! Welcome to Kepler-442!”

I’ll get right to the point without mincing words. Kepler-442b turned out to be dreadful.

They found that the atmosphere was not suitable for breathing after all. They had been prepared for this possibility, but it meant that they would have to spend the first few hundred years with gas pumps increasing the oxygen content and filtering out the neurotoxins that laced the planet while the settlers were confined to an enormous dome. And of course since the planet was barren and lifeless with rocks as far as the eye could see, they would have to put down a foundation of soil before any farming could be done. The crops would have to stay under the dome with them until the atmosphere was suitable for growing carbon-based lifeforms. No oceans and an undeveloped atmosphere meant no greenhouse effect and little temperature moderation, so the average temperature was around -40 degrees Celsius. It looked like it was going to take a millennium before they would be walking on the surface of a green, earth-like planet. There was so much work to be done.

Robots were going to be doing most of it, of course, so it was not particularly burdensome on the settlers. But it was a long time to wait. Their children would never know the feeling of grass under their feet. The Aphelion crew began to talk of possibly going against orders from Earth and moving to a different planet that might be a bit easier, but as they turned their telescopes to the sky, nothing more suitable appeared. Even barren, rocky 442b was more hospitable than its neighbors, which were gas giants, had oppressive gravity, rained shards of glass, or had an atmosphere so thick it would burn up a ship trying to enter it. One planet seemed to be made entirely of compressed carbon, and it glittered like a diamond. It was beautiful, and seeing it hovering in the cold, lifeless backdrop of stars really drove home the point of exactly how alien of a world they had stepped into.

They stowed their complaints and sent down the robots in waves to set up the colony. After a while, a few humans would occasionally travel to the surface on one of the shuttles.

It took a few months. Aziraphale and Crowley kept expecting to run into trouble with the other demon, but she kept to herself, mostly. Once they passed each other in the hallway and she had behaved strangely, making challenging eye contact, only to shy away and run in the opposite direction.

They were hovering fairly close over the surface of Kepler-442b, so the dome being constructed was visible from space with the naked eye. The settlers tracked its progress expectantly, not so much eager to get onto the planet as to get off the Aphelion, which was starting to grow even more boring and cramped than it had seemed before they went into cryosleep.

Finally, they began to shuttle the residents down. This turned out to be not as much of an improvement as had been thought.

The gravity on Kepler-442b was 30% stronger than on Earth, and not even the Aphelion’s 1.1G residents were used to such a dramatic pull. As a consequence, everyone was always tired, as though they had been carrying around extra weight all day. The artificial day-night cycles from the Aphelion were gone as well, and on Kepler-442b there would be a few weeks of daylight during which everyone had trouble sleeping, followed by a few weeks of nighttime during which everyone had trouble staying awake. The star was much bigger in the sky than the sun had been, and even though the bubble dome filtered out harmful rays and maintained the atmosphere, everyone got sunburned easily. It also did an inadequate job of maintaining the temperature—it was parka weather 24/7. This combination of factors kept everybody inside most of the time and in a perpetual state of crankiness and low energy. It was a good thing that most of the processes keeping the colony running and expanding were automated, because the humans on Kepler-442b sure weren’t up for the task.

Crowley developed permanent bags under his eyes. Aziraphale fell asleep on his screen while he was reading. In those moments when they slept deeply enough to dream, they both dreamt of Earth. Crowley began to think that even torture in Hell would have kept him more stimulated than this.

Currently, Crowley was sitting on the crest of a rocky hill at the edge of the dome, smoking an artificial cigarette. It was in the middle of the weeks-long night, and he was stargazing, trying to find new constellations in the sky around both moons.

There was a whirr sound beside him. He looked over, raising his head just enough to catch sight of a wheel out of the corner of his eye.

“Can I bum a cigarette?” said the captain’s voice.

Crowley sighed and lifted his box up. She took one.

“Bah,” she said. “I hate these things. Me and my friends always knew where to find the real ones back before tobacco went extinct.”

The fact that her voice was so gravelly suddenly made sense. “And how are you on this fine evening, captain?” he said.

Despite her complaints, she lit the cigarette up. “Fine, I suppose. Yourself?”

“Been better. Been worse, too.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, looking up at the stars.

“Do you miss Earth?” said the captain. “You do, don’t you? I can tell.”

“More than I care to admit,” he said softly. “Don’t you?”

“I can’t say that I do,” she said. “I was getting to that age when all your friends start dying around you. You’d be too young to understand that, I suppose.”

A trail of smoke wisped from Crowley’s cigarette. “I rather doubt that.”

“What?”

He turned his gaze back towards the sky. “The constellations are different. It bothers me more than I thought it would.”

“We can make up our own constellations, now, if we want.”

Crowley was thinking of when the constellations on Earth had been named. He had been there for that event in a few different civilizations’ histories. He still didn’t understand how they picked the shapes out when they looked nothing like their namesakes. He took a drag. “I suppose.”

The captain flicked her cigarette. “We can give them any names we want and our descendants will have to use them. Hah. Wonder what they’ll think of the Aphelion. It’s going to be in orbit long after all of us are dead.”

Crowley shifted his gaze to the circular starship, still buzzing with motion in the sky, looking so close and yet so far away. “You think so?”

“They weren’t joking when they said he was a perpetual motion machine. He’s completely self-sustaining. It’s going to take something really catastrophic for him to stop spinning.”

“He? Aren’t ships usually she?”

The captain laughed. “Oh, no, the Aphelion is definitely a man.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because it’s only good for spreading seeds around where they don’t belong.”

A faint smile lifted at the corner of Crowley’s lips. He took another drag. “I don’t know if I’d say we don’t belong here. Isn’t that what humans are all about? Furthering the edges of known territory?”

“It’s only been a few months and it’s blatantly obvious humans aren’t meant for this place. It wouldn’t surprise me if we couldn’t breed here after all, and we all just died out and left the ghosts of a civilization and a space craft spinning for a million years in orbit.”

“That’d be all that’s left for the aliens to find.”

She gave a chuckle. “Now there’s a thought. It’d take some aliens to liven up this place. Too bad there aren’t any here.”

“You don’t know that there aren’t any.”

She gave another laugh, and then trailed off. “Oh…you’re serious.” She blew smoke out. “Sorry, kid, but if aliens exist, they aren’t on Kepler-442b. Unless you count us, because we could definitely be considered aliens.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Look,” she said. “There is nothing on the surface of this planet but rocks and dirt. It’s so cold out that if you went to take a leak your piss would freeze mid-stream. There’s nothing here but volcanos and—”

“Volcanos?” said Crowley, furrowing his brow. “I don’t see any volcanos.”

The captain gestured to the horizon. “They’re underground. Can’t see ‘em, but it wouldn’t surprise me if we had another Pompeii early in our future.”

“I never heard anybody mention volcanos before.”

“Kind of hard to see them unless you’re close up. Geologists saw ‘em when we scanned the planet from orbit. Nobody else really seemed interested, so we didn’t bother investigating further.”

“But they’re underground? How do they know they’re volcanos?”

“Heat signatures.”

“They only saw heat signatures?”

“Kid, what else is going to make a heat signature that looks like a volcano except a volcano? If the geologists say they’re volcanos, then they’re volcanos.”

Crowley’s attention was on the dark, rocky horizon now. He stubbed his cigarette on the ground and flicked it off into a pile that evidenced he had completed this activity many times before. “You people. I thought humans were supposed to be the imaginative ones. The lack of oxygen must be getting to your brains.”

The captain turned her wheels to face Crowley as he got up and staggered off. “Hey,” she called after him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Crowley didn’t answer, his back towards her. She glowered in the darkness, the tip of her cigarette smoldering, and turned back towards the vast expanse of the empty planet.

Aziraphale was face down on his desk when Crowley walked into the tiny apartment that they shared. “Oh, how was your walk, dear?” he said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Crowley huffed as he sat down on the bed. “Fine, I guess.”

Aziraphale stood and made his way over to Crowley, massaging his shoulders. “A little stressed out?”

Crowley crossed his arms. “Hmph. No.”

“No?” Aziraphale’s hand moved down Crowley’s back to the seam of his waistband. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can’t take your mind off of?”

“Not now, Aziraphale, I’m not in the mood.”

“Are you sure? You could just lie back and I’ll--”

“I said I’m not in the mood!” Crowley stood, leaving Aziraphale on the bed alone. “I swear to somebody you just got hornier after we came down onto the planet.”

“Sorry.”

“…That’s all right.”

“Do you want to talk about what’s got you down, though?”

Crowley crossed his arms. “The captain of the Aphelion doesn’t believe there could be aliens here.”

Aziraphale twiddled his thumbs. “Well, she’s right you know.”

“She’s—Aziraphale! I thought out of anyone, you might believe in the possibility with all that talk about ineffability or whatever!”

“The planet is empty, Crowley. We’re finally here, on the surface of the planet, and it’s still empty. What more do you want?”

Crowley scowled at him. “Well, she said there were heat signatures underground. Huh? What do you make of that?”

Aziraphale sighed. “I’m so sorry, Crowley. I know you’re bored, but this isn’t really a good way to entertain yourself. Why don’t we put on a film and—”

“Heat signatures, Aziraphale!”

“Crowley, those are volcanos.”

Crowley stopped. “They aren’t! It’s an alien civilization, I know it is!”

Aziraphale took his screen out of his pocket, unrolled it, and tapped on it to navigate. “They sent out a copy of the geothermal map to everyone, you know,” he said, rotating it so that Crowley could see. “What does this look like?”

Crowley bent over and peered at the map. It was of the upper layers of Kepler-442b, cross-sectioned and with rivulets of red and yellow flowing and glittering under the surface. Undeniably, it looked like a series of volcanos.

He stuck his nose in the air. “It’s an alien civilization.”

“Crowley, it’s only a few meters wide at certain points!”

“It’s a very narrow, very hot alien civilization.”

“What, inside the volcano?”

“It’s not a volcano!” Crowley yelled, knocking Aziraphale’s screen out of his hand. “Why won’t you admit there could be aliens on the planet with us?”

Aziraphale rubbed his temples. “All right, Crowley, it’s because I don’t think He would have made an entire other civilization of thinking beings separate from Earth, all the way out here where the odds of us ever encountering them are a trillion to one. There’d be no point. You think there’d be little green angels and demons and a separate alien Hell and Heaven? It doesn’t make sense. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Crowley was seething. He lifted one finger and pointed it at the angel. “You know what?”

“What?”

“Fuck you!” said Crowley, dragging his heavy jacket back on. “Fuck you, Aziraphale! I know there are aliens out here!”

“Oh, and you’re going to go find them, are you?”

“Maybe I will!”

“Well, have fun! You’d be walking out alone for days and days! You’ll get bored in a couple of hours and come crawling back!”

“Maybe I will and maybe I won’t!”

“Fine!”

The door slammed shut behind him.

Aziraphale was still incensed a few hours later. He let a few films run in front of his eyes without really absorbing them. He had expected Crowley to come back shortly, embarrassed, and sheepishly cuddle up next to him, and Aziraphale would hug him closer and comfort him and they would fall asleep together. The fact that Crowley did not behave as expected only made Aziraphale more irritated with him, but even when he was angry he could not cease to worry and fuss. He huffed and stomped over to his screen and opened a communication line with whoever was on duty keeping an eye on the dome. Authorized personnel could take atmosphere suits to go out into the open air when they had business out there, and he suspected Crowley would have miraculously convinced them to give him one if he had been serious.

“I’m looking for my partner and I think he might have tried to cross the barrier. Have you had any unexpected personnel come by lately?”

He was informed that one of their atmosphere suits had been taken and was still unaccounted for, and there had been an unauthorized exit from the bubble that was currently being investigated. Aziraphale thanked them and hung up.

He crossed his arms and sat on the couch. There was no reason to worry. Crowley wasn’t stupid, and he’d come back as soon as he realized how silly this game was.

It was still in the middle the night cycle, so Aziraphale ended up dozing on the couch for who knows how long. He was awoken by a demonic presence outside his door.

“There you are!” he growled, swinging the door open. “I was worried about you.”

He stopped, because he was not looking at Crowley at all. It was the other demon, the one who hadn’t really engaged them at all. She looked back at him politely.

“Hello,” she said. “I don’t think we’ve officially met yet. My name’s Lily.”

She extended her hand. Aziraphale shook it nervously. “Ah…hello…my name’s Aziraphale…May I ask to what I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“Angel, I—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“What?”

“Don’t call me ‘angel.’”

The other demon clapped her hands together in a gesture of supplication. “Angel, I am begging you. Begging you. Please, start a fight with me.”

“Ah, I—what?”

She dragged her hands down her face, pulling down her eyelids. “This is so boring. This is the most boring thing I’ve ever done. Please, just a sword fight or something. I can’t stand these mind games we’ve been playing with each other so far.”

Mind games? Aziraphale imagined Lily trying to do subtle things to get his attention and then interpreting his silence as a deliberate response, a game of cat-and-mouse only one of them was aware was ongoing. Did she even know that Crowley was here too?

“Er, well you can forget all that nonsense about a fight,” he said. “Mine is supposed to be a nonviolent mission. You’ll have to find something else to keep you entertained, I’m afraid.”

“Aw, come one!” She threw her hands in the air. “I’m an agent of the evil one! Don’t you want to smite me?”

“Not really.”

She huffed angrily and stomped into the room, pushing past him.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”

She kicked the stand upon which Crowley’s plant sat; the pot shattered as it hit the ground, and she viciously stomped the leaves. “Ha!” she said, continuing her violent onslaught on the innocent greenery. “There, I’m destroying your plant! Doesn’t that just make you mad enough to hit me?”

Aziraphale was still standing with his hand on the doorknob. “Er…that wasn’t mine, actually.”

She boiled over with frustration. “You’re pathetic! Useless! You hear me! What kind of angel won’t even fight a demon?”

Aziraphale stuck his nose in the air and pointed out the door. “One who’s had enough of this! I’ll kindly ask you to leave my home!”

Lily seemed to deflate. She trudged out, and Aziraphale slammed and locked the door behind her.

The angel plopped himself face down on the bed, pulling a pillow over his head. His anger was all gone now, and he just wanted Crowley back to cuddle. He supposed he should be more focused on preparing for a potential fight with the demoness of chaos, but he just didn’t have the energy. So he just lay there in the perpetual dark, under the heavy burden of gravity, alone and morose.

#good omens #my writing #my good omens fanfic #to ineffability and beyond

3 notes · View notes

365footballorg-blog · 6 years

Text

Toronto FC vs. Chicago Fire | 2018 MLS Match Preview

April 26, 20182:20PM EDT

Toronto FC vs. Chicago Fire 2018 MLS Regular Season – Week 9 BMO Field – Toronto April 28 – 3 pm ET WATCH: CTV, ESPN+

Toronto FC will have the difficult task of picking themselves up after their devastating defeat on penalty kicks in the Concacaf Champions League final and shifting focus to the MLS regular season.

Meanwhile, the Chicago Fire head to BMO Field full of confidence after handing the New York Red Bulls their first home loss of the season last Saturday.

Toronto have won six straight in MLS play against the Fire. They had won three of their first 20 matches against Chicago (9L-8D), per Opta.

Toronto FC

After coming agonizingly close to capturing the CCL title, only to have a Marky Delgado sitter sail over the bar in second-half stoppage time, Toronto return from Guadalajara with the grueling tournament behind them.

But what toll did the CCL take? TFC come home bruised and battered, physically and mentally drained.

“I have no complaints for my team,” TFC coach Greg Vanney said in his post-match press conference. “We worked hard. This tournament has been a grind and we battled the entire way, all the way to the end. Congratulations to Chivas, they won. I’ve got nothing to say to my guys other than I’m proud of them.”

Suspended: None

Suspended after next caution: None

International duty: None

Injury Report: OUT: D – Nick Hagglund (hamstring); QUESTIONABLE: M – Victor Vazquez (back spasms); PROBABLE: D – Chris Mavinga (abdominal discomfort), D – Gregory van der Wiel (Achilles), F – Jozy Altidore (foot), D – Justin Morrow (calf strain), D – Drew Moor (undisclosed)

Projected Starting XI (3-5-2, right to left) GK: Alex Bono — Gregory van der Wiel, Jason Hernandez, Jullian Dunn-Johnson — Auro, Marky Delgado, Michael Bradley, Jonathan Osorio, Ashtone Morgan — Jordan Hamilton, Sebastian Giovinco

Notes: Toronto have conceded three goals in the first 15 minutes of games this season, tied for the most in the league. They allowed six goals in the opening 15 minutes of matches in the 2017 regular season. … The Reds have lost four of their first five matches this season (1W), getting outscored 11-4 in the process.

Chicago Fire

Was it the definition of a smash-and-grab victory? Does it even matter? The Fire (2-3-1) conceded possession and were outshot 22-4, but they were more clinical in putting away their chances and came away with a 2-1 win over the Red Bulls Saturday.

Aleksandar Katai opened the scoring with a stunning strike, latching into an Aaron Long headed clearance to beat Luis Robles with a full volley from just outside the 18-yard box. Chicago then hit the Red Bulls on a counter, with Katai being pulled down by Robles in the box and Nemanja Nikolic putting away the decisive penalty kick in the 69th minute.

On the other end, Richard Sanchez was brilliant, making nine saves en route to being named to the MLS Team of the Week presented by Audi for Week 8.

Suspended: None

Suspended after next caution: None

International duty: None

Injury Report: OUT: D – Jorge Corrales (infection), F – Michael de Leeuw (left ACL), M – Djorjde Mihailovic (right ACL), M – Matt Polster (right MCL), F – Luis Solignac (left quad)

Projected Starting XI (3-4-3, right to left) GK: Richard Sanchez — Johan Kappelhof, Bastian Schweinsteiger, Grant Lillard — Kevin Ellis, Mo Adams, Dax McCarty, Brandon Vincent — Elliot Collier, Nemanja Nikolic, Aleksandar Katai

Notes: In the 29 games in which Bastian Schweinsteiger has played in, the Fire have a passing accuracy of 75.2 percent in the opponent’s half, as opposed to 68.7 percent in the 11 games he has not played in since the start of last season. … Chicago have lost just one of their last four MLS matches (2W-1D) after losing four straight (inc. playoffs).

All-Time Series

Overall: Toronto FC 9 wins, 42 goals … Chicago Fire 9 wins, 41 goals … 8 ties

At Toronto: Toronto FC 7 wins, 28 goals … Chicago Fire 4 wins, 24 goals … 3 ties

Last meeting at Toronto: Toronto FC 3, Chicago Fire 1 (April 21, 2017)

Officials

Referee: Alan Kelly Assistant Referees: Brian Dunn, Logan Brown 4th Official: Nima Saghafi VAR: Kevin Terry Jr

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mavwrekmarketing · 7 years

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Elon Musk knows it's awesome.

Image: Lance Ulanoff/mashable

This is how an electric car should feel. Hell, this is how all cars should feel.

Those were my initial thoughts after test-driving one of the very first Tesla Model 3 all-electric cars to roll off the assembly line Friday before the company’s big reveal.

That exhilarating, yet short-lived experience, started inauspiciously. In fact, I was prepared to be underwhelmed. I mean, it’s just a sedan, right?

From a distance, the Tesla Model 3 looks like most other small sedans on the road.

SEE ALSO: We finally know what the inside of Tesla’s Model 3 looks like, and it’s stunning

It was not until I got close to the Model 3 and started examining the all-electric 4-door sedan, which starts at a mid-range-friendly $35,000, that I noticed the mostly subtle differences.

Those handles are flush, but not automated.

Image: lance uanoff/mashable

Moments before I slid into Tesla’s most-affordable sedan and became one of just a few dozen people to test-drive one, I was doing my best to drink it all in. This Model 3, by the way, was not the base-level, but the $44,000 model, which has a longer range (310 miles), goes up to 140 mph and can do 0-to-60 mph in 5.1 seconds.

If the gorgeous Model 3 exterior is only subtly different from your average sedan, the Model 3 interior is like a cockpit from the future.

I quickly noted the snub-nose, grill-free front (no motor up there, so no need) and the mostly glass roof. I’d been told the handles weren’t automated as they are on the $72,000 Model S, so I was surprised to find them still flush with the car body. To open the car door, I had to press one side of the chrome handle, which made the other side pivot out toward my hand. Then I grabbed the extended handle and pulled.

If the gorgeous Model 3 exterior is only subtly different from your average sedan, the Model 3 interior is like a cockpit from the future.

Tesla reps had warned that the interior is minimalist, and they were not kidding.

I entered the car (despite a low center of gravity, I did not feel like I was climbing down into it) and immediately marveled at the comfort. It felt like leather, but the seats and steering wheel are actually covered in Tesla’s own specially-designed material. It felt wonderful under my hands and the seat, which hugged my back and bottom, felt smooth and comfortable.

You only need one dashboard screen?

Image: Lance Ulanoff/Mashable

The most startling thing about the interior, though, is that when I looked right through the steering wheel to the dashboard, there was nothing to see. The only screen is a 15-inch wide-screen LCD panel that extends from the middle (left to right) of the dashboard. I’d say the top third of it is almost at eye level.

Yes, this is where you’ll glance to see your speedometer, battery charge level, and drive distance remaining.

I have to admit, this was a little disconcerting, but Tesla execs insist that most people get used to it quite quickly.

We’ll see.

A new kind of dash

That screen is also home for virtually all your compartment controls, as well as where you’ll find your navigation.

The controls, though, are really something else.

On the Model 3 Steering wheel are two small dials. Each is positioned so you can reach them with your thumbs while still holding the steering wheel. They have a number of uses.

You’ve never seen a dash like this.

Image: tesla

We changed a setting on the screen, and then I used the dials to adjust the position of my steering wheel, scrolling the left side to adjust the height and the right to telescope in and out. It was so cool and, I assumed, a more complex way of handling manual steering wheel adjustment. However, Tesla execs explained this takes fewer parts and is just another way they simplified production.

Those same buttons are used to adjust the side view mirrors; the left controls the left mirror and the right, well, the right one. To tilt the mirrors in or out, I simply pulled and pushed on the dials.

I sat back in the car for a moment and glanced at the natural wood-covered dash. I noticed how far back it sits, giving the impression of a much-roomier car interior, Just below the wood is a dash-wide slot for the ventilation system. I put my hand up and felt cool air blowing toward my face.

The Tesla Model 3 at night.

Image: lance ulanoff/mashable

On the dashboard screen, there was an unusual-looking control: a circle floating above a thin line in a sea of white. I could drag the circle around the screen, above, below, and on the line. As I did this, the angle of the air coming out of the vent shifted. If I moved the circle up, the vent blew the air toward the roof of the car, pulling it down, pushed air toward my lap. I could also slide it along the thin line to point the air stream at me or my passenger. In addition, the stream could be splint into two separate air flows, but only as mirror images of each other. When I pulled out one, the other shifted to the outer edge of the dash.

The air vents are hidden and totally futuristic.

Image: tesla

Above me was the all-glass roof, available only in the long-range model, and behind me and over the rear passenger’s heads was the rear window glass that extends up toward the roof. This makes the rear compartment feel much more spacious, though there isn’t much Tesla can do about the leg room back there which still felt cramped.

Drive time

It was time to drive. I hesitated to tell the Tesla execs accompanying me that I had never driven an all-electric car. I’ve ridden in a few, but driving one is a different experience.

To start the car, we used, naturally, an app. For valet drivers there’s an NFC card you can hand them, that they use to unlock the car, by swiping the card along an area on the door exterior, and then turn it on.

The Model 3 has a transmission control quite similar to the Model S. The tiny automatic transmission stick extends from the steering wheel. A couple of presses down puts the car in drive.

If you’ve never ridden in or driven an electric car, the lack of rumble or movement when the car is idling can be disconcerting.

A closer look at the dashboard screen.

Image: lance Ulanoff/Mashable

I put my foot on the brake and prepared to drive, trying not to grip the steering wheel too tightly. I kept thinking, They’re just going to let me drive away in this thing?”

I pressed gently on the “gas” and the gray Model 3 sedan pulled silently away from the curb.

Then I pressed a little harder on the gas and the car lurched forward. Electric motors can take a bit of getting used to. Unlike a gas engine, there’s no spinning up the full potential, the motor simply responds with a big Yessir! and you’re off. I adjusted my lead foot.

The other big surprise was how the Model 3 felt when I took my foot off the gas. It slowed down like I was applying the brake. This is by design. The slow down is generating fresh electricity for the batteries, which can help for extended drives. Fortunately, you can turn this off, which makes the ride smoother, if a little bit shorter.

Here are the cars that 30 lucky owners got to drive off the lot.

Image: lance ulanoff/mashable

The ride felt smooth and tight, but in a good way, the way all small sedans should feel. I loved the responsiveness and how it seemed to hug the road, which is partially because the Model 3 has a low center of gravity, with the batteries situated directly beneath me.

As I drove, I kept glancing at the center panel to keep track of my speed. It was a little odd, but I started to get used to it. That same screen had a tiny battery indicating remaining battery life. This is not, thank goodness, the final dashboard screen software. Eventually the Model 3 screens will have a large battery readout and miles-remaining.

Apparently those employees getting the first 30 Model 3 cars on Friday will see this version of the software and help beta test dashboard updates as they arrive, before consumers get their hands on the finalized sedans.

Nice profile.

Image: tesla

What I wasn’t enjoying was the turn signal. I could never tell when I had turned it on. It didn’t seem to click in place. I also had a hard time hearing it and not because the car is loud inside. It’s actually quiet. I could barely detect road sounds.

Speaking of sounds, the $44,000 model comes with a custom sound system designed by Tesla, which was excellent.

Park it

After driving around for 15 minutes or so, I returned the Model 3 to Tesla’s Fremont Plant lot, relieved I hadn’t run into something.

Before I left the car, I took another look around. I noticed the rearview mirror, while manually controlled, had unusual-looking glass on it, which turned out to be electro-reflective, auto-adjusting when it detected the shine of headlights.

There were also dual microphones right above in the ceiling for Bluetooth calling.

The rear window extends over your passengers’ heads.

Image: tesla

In between the two front seats was an armrest, which hid a spacious compartment. Under the dash, the center opened to reveal space for two iPhone 7 Plus-sized phones. There were also dual USB ports.

There’s also a pair of all-important cup holders in the center, one on each door and another pair in a foldout center panel in the rear compartment.

I got out and stepped back into the rear passenger seats. While the huge glass rear window does provide more space, it also conducts more heat. It was almost uncomfortably warm back there.

Nice wheels.

Image: lance ulanoff/mashable

Outside the car again, we opened the trunk. It has ample space and even a hidden compartment that opens up to the base of the car chassis. My only complaint is that the trunk opening seems a bit narrow.

Under the hood up front is another space, designed to be large enough for any luggage that can fit in the overhead compartment of an airplane. It even had a little hook shopping bag handles.

Honestly, my drive felt all too short and there’s no way to fully review an electric car without a few extended drives, but my first impression is positive.

The Tesla Model 3 is a well-designed, mid-sized sedan that managed to simplify the Tesla design ethos with luxury in mind and without making it feel any less a part of the Tesla family.

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