#(referring to the drawing not the apple ive never had one of these before)

[saldontdoit]

today's apple is the McIntosh, discovered in 1811 in Canada. they are the namesake of the Apple Inc. computer line, the Macintosh (spelled with an A due to copyright issues). they are the national apple of Canada.

sources: specialty produce, apple scoop (and here's the wikipedia article!)

(i am doing this entirely for fun! that's why you'll see i only do very cursory research. that said, if any info is incorrect, please tell me and i'll update my post!)

[chispas-and-broken-bindings]

Lmao 🤣 I know to which post you are replying about them being besties . That scene always gave me more ominous vibes than actually something that would ignite friendship . Also the title of " Usurper's Dog " isn't something @ry@ is going to take lightly .

Ha! I actually didn't have any particular post in mind. The Dany/Arya friendship is just something that I see float around the fandom from time to time and it drives me absolutely bonkers (not fanon. feel free to explore all your platonic dreams with these two in fanon. Go wild. You do you.)

If we are talking canon though, I can't think of a single character that has more anti-Targ foreshadowing in their chapters than Arya (even Jon comes in second place). I actually started pasting bits of Arya's chapters into a word document awhile ago, because I couldn't believe how much GRRM uses her POV to detail the horrors of fire and burning...it's almost comical how heavy-handed he is with it.

And yet...

After I saw this ask in my inbox, I looked at the Arya Stark tag and immediately found a post about Dany and Arya being best friends.

So.

Here we are:

A Storm of Swords - Arya I

Later they passed through a burned village, threading their way carefully between the shells of blackened hovels and past the bones of a dozen dead men hanging from a row of apple trees. When Hot Pie saw them he began to pray, a thin whispered plea for the Mother's mercy, repeated over and over. Arya looked up at the fleshless dead in their wet rotting clothes and said her own prayer. Ser Gregor, it went, Dunsen, Polliver, Raff the Sweetling. The Tickler and the Hound. Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, King Joffrey, Queen Cersei. She ended it with valar morghulis, touched Jaqen's coin where it nestled under her belt, and then reached up and plucked an apple from among the dead men as she rode beneath them. It was mushy and overripe, but she ate it worms and all.

That was the day without a dawn. Slowly the sky lightened around them, but they never saw the sun. Black turned to grey, and colors crept timidly back into the world. The soldier pines were dressed in somber greens, the broadleafs in russets and faded golds already beginning to brown.

Hot Pie opened his mouth and closed it. He did not fall off his horse. The rain began again a short time later. They still had not seen so much as a glimpse of the sun. It was growing colder, and pale white mists were threading between the pines and blowing across the bare burned fields.

A Storm of Swords - Arya III

That night they sheltered in a burned, abandoned village.

A Storm of Swords - Arya IV

The next night they found shelter beneath the scorched shell of a sept, in a burned village called Sallydance. Only shards remained of its windows of leaded glass, and the aged septon who greeted them said the looters had even made off with the Mother's costly robes, the Crone's gilded lantern, and the silver crown the Father had worn. "They hacked the Maiden's breasts off too, though those were only wood," he told them. "And the eyes, the eyes were jet and lapis and mother-of-pearl, they pried them out with their knives. May the Mother have mercy on them all."

A Storm of Swords Arya VI

"Please," Sandor Clegane rasped, cradling his arm. "I'm burned. Help me. Someone. Help me." He was crying. "Please."

Arya looked at him in astonishment. He's crying like a little baby, she thought.

Clegane tried to stand, but as he moved a piece of burned flesh sloughed right off his arm, and his knees went out from under him. Tom caught him by his good arm and held him up.

His arm, Arya thought, and his face. But he was the Hound. He deserved to burn in a fiery hell. The knife felt heavy in her hand. She gripped it tighter. "You killed Mycah," she said once more, daring him to deny it. "Tell them. You did. You did."

"I did." His whole face twisted. "I rode him down and cut him in half, and laughed. I watched them beat your sister bloody too, watched them cut your father's head off."

Lem grabbed her wrist and twisted, wrenching the dagger away. She kicked at him, but he would not give it back. "You go to hell, Hound," she screamed at Sandor Clegane in helpless empty-handed rage. "You just go to hell!"

(Okay, so she's not exactly sympathetic to the Hound's plight here, but still...another reference to burning, and a pretty graphic one at that)

A Storm of Swords - Arya VII

Jack-Be-Lucky, Harwin, and Merrit o' Moontown braved the burning septry to search for captives. They emerged from the smoke and flames a few moments later with eight brown brothers, one so weak that Merrit had to carry him across a shoulder.

The septry soon collapsed in a roar of smoke and flame, its walls no longer able to support the weight of its heavy slate roof. The eight brown brothers watched with resignation. They were all that remained, explained the eldest, who wore a small iron hammer on a thong about his neck to signify his devotion to the Smith. "Before the war we were four-and-forty, and this was a prosperous place. We had a dozen milk cows and a bull, a hundred beehives, a vineyard and an apple arbor. But when the lions came through they took all our wine and milk and honey, slaughtered the cows, and put our vineyard to the torch.

A Storm of Swords - Arya XI

"Dead," he shouted back at her. "Do you think they'd slaughter his men and leave him alive?" He turned his head back toward the camp. "Look. Look, damn you."

The camp had become a battlefield. No, a butcher's den. The flames from the feasting tents reached halfway up the sky. Some of the barracks tents were burning too, and half a hundred silk pavilions. Everywhere swords were singing. And now the rains weep o'er his hall, with not a soul to hear. She saw two knights ride down a running man. A wooden barrel came crashing onto one of the burning tents and burst apart, and the flames leapt twice as high. A catapult, she knew. The castle was flinging oil or pitch or something.

"Come with me." Sandor Clegane reached down a hand. "We have to get away from here, and now." Stranger tossed his head impatiently, his nostrils flaring at the scent of blood. The song was done. There was only one solitary drum, its slow monotonous beats echoing across the river like the pounding of some monstrous heart. The black sky wept, the river grumbled, men cursed and died. Arya had mud in her teeth and her face was wet. Rain. It's only rain. That's all it is. "We're here," she shouted. Her voice sounded thin and scared, a little girl's voice. "Robb's just in the castle, and my mother. The gate's even open." There were no more Freys riding out. I came so far. "We have to go get my mother."

(heart: broken)

Look, there is a lot to say about fire and about rain in Arya's chapters, particularly in A Storm of Swords. I don't have the energy for it, so I'm just dumping quotes. Draw your own conclusions.

This collection is by no means exhaustive, and I'm sure there is someone more dedicated than I am, who has written something about this symbolism. (If anyone has it, send me a link).

All I'm saying is that GRRM isn't throwing all this devastation by fire and blood into Arya's chapters as positive foreshadowing for how she'll feel when a certain conqueror cross the Narrow Sea with her dragons.

[everyday-is-brighter-with-you]

CRYING IN THE (WINTER)CLUB

Before starting the ID I want to say there are some OC characters in this, and I’ve described their general appearance in this google doc for ref!

[ ID: Wide front view colored art drawn traditionally and colored digitally. Every character is in fullbody except Dr Habit whos drawn till above legs. In the scene many people are gathered out in the winter snow at a backyard. Snow falls everywhere. Overall pic is light blue toned. There is slight pale vignette around it.

Dr.Habit is looking away and wiping a tear, smiling. In the artists interpretation he has yellow fur, pink hair, stitches on hands, deep red nails.He wears long brown fur coat, big white knitted scarf, black fingerless gloves, black fur ushanka with orange fruits and green leaves design. Wears hair in a long plait. A dark grey maine coon leans into him.

Putunia is laying down, hands on cheeks making a ''ooo'' face in anticipation and glee. In the artists interpretation she has long dark brown curly hair. She wears a purple petunia shaped dress, blue pants, short brim straw hat with fake purple flowers,  thick yellow socks. Wears hair in big pigtails tied with pink bobble ties. She is looking at Lil Habby( the puppet) holding a fire gun to a melting chocolate bar, melting into a cup for making a drink. He wears the usual with a pink flower in hair. He has long thin simple shadow arms and legs here.

Marigold is sitting idle on the grass, looks curiously at snow on his petal hair, maybe even irritated. Near him on a pink cushy sofa with green highlights and little yellow flower designs sits Rose playing his flute eyes closed and legs kicking casually. In this picture his hair is longer. His hair tie rests on a sofa arm.

Behind him the Carlas are making a Snow Carla. Fortune Teller Carla is smiling and keeping a camellia on the snow figure. A red sleeveless dress and red gloves are drawn on her, wears hair in double buns with sparkling grey flower bands encircling buns, green eyeshadow. Another Carla laughs heartily, adding more snow.  A green buttoned dress with yellow ''fluff''  and striped brown cap with same fluff is drawn on her. The third Carla's face is away from viewer, she too is adding snow. A blue dress like Elsa's icy dress and a purple flower crown is drawn on her, though the cape is actually worn. The Snow Carla has one swirly eye dug in, a button eye with leaf lashes and branch eyebrow, carrot nose, red wax lips stuck on. From the camellia tree behind the red-clothed one, a pair of green cat eyes with thick brown brows stare.

Farther away on the other side Kamal is walking in, holding a half eaten pitha in hand while approaching. He holds a bag with a box saying ''To Kamal, with love''. In the artists interpretation his face is acne scarred. He wears a blue-black sweater, purple scarf, blue pants, brown winter shoes with white fluff at the top, one gold earring, frog shape chew necklace, hair is in a bun.

At the center Trevor is reaching up  with a stool and fiddling with a giant vibrating hot chocolate machine. He wears his usual coat with added blue jeans, red scarf with yellow and black stripes, leopard print heels, green goggles, mask for mouth, silver ear piercings. Hair is in a mullet and nails are sharp and black. The machine has a funnel streaming black smoke, and many bright devices on it. In the center of it is a radioactive symbol. On one side to its bottom is a part reading ''DEVIL MODE'' in allcaps with fire graphics, a big red button in a glass case is above it with a note that reads ''Never(underlined) touch'', stuck with a smiley face pin. There is a mounted fish figurine on one handle. The hot chocolate is fizzling over the brim.

Behind him a long table laiden with food is seen. There are swirl designs on the wood's sides. There are red and green apples, borscht, three colored drinks, yorsh, glintvein , 3 tier chocolate cake, shchi, cut open peaches, cut round bread, bowl with sweet bread cakes, three small buns, full breasted chicken in aluminium foil. Lily is looking over the table edge, grinning with the aim of stealing the cake.

There are plants around, a winter garden. In some places a green color overtakes the snow with grass growing. All over the yellow fence, to the left side, are huge clumps of winter jasmine.

To the horizon trees in blue-green shades with snow coverings are seen, closer and then farther and farther away. In that distance the silhouettes of Jimothan smiling and waving to Trencil, while dragging Parsley through the snow behind him are seen. Trencil stands and smiles, a little of his towering purple castle with red highlights, many turrets, visible.

end ID]

DESC UNDER CUT 

yisssss MFERS I made a winter piece before winter was FUCKING OVER sobsob

heres my yearly tribute to the season of nosebleeds cracked lips and flies aND SNOW!!!!!!!!(NOT WHERE I LIVE ;W;)

Also my birthdays really soon. Like next week soon

Ermmm ahffjd to talk a little about what I drew...hmmhfhg...well idk if the perspective( god i tried) makes this look different so ill just throw it out there thats Habits not looking at my sonaJDJVNJ hes looking away and crying due to found family feelings. Carlas doing some gay shit. Pabit+Putunia about to start a small localized natural disaster. I mean how else do u make hot choco without setting chocolate on fire tbh. Hotted chocolate. aNd YeS mY fAmIlY SeLf iNsErTs ArE ThErE tOo >:3. The machine will explode tommorow but its OK. They can make bath bombs from the carnage. Hrhggh I had a different idea but then my sis changed my HC so Im just gonna say Habit built it but with Trevors help hence the flashiness nd DEVIL MODE. Now that ive watched hlvrai i cant stop dropping references this series is so quotable .   Sawww those guys in the back? Honestly Trencils probably a winter person with the low light, fog and blocked sun.

---

EDIT: WELL MY BIRTHDAY GOT OVER AND JANUARY ALMOST TOO DAMN..GETTING OVER MY HEAPING ANXIETY AND POSTING

I dont Expect a lot of notes or anything but I suppose its alright, one of the important things to me is just archiving my art somewhere.

I know the IDs long but I’d recommend reading through if u also wanna like know the specifics of what I drew, OVER 15 PLANTS I THINK   I’d be flattered,

If you reblog with tags i’ll be happy though!!

[ID: The same drawing but with no editing- no vignette, snow overlay, blue overtone or color correction. end ID]

EDIT: Shortened the rlly long ID, but if someone wants to know the plants i drew under ‘winter garden’;  The flowers and plants visible at front are virginia rose, red chokeberry, snowdrops, a single frost covered rose, piers japonica in pots. To the middle inkberry, more snowdrops, colored hellebores patch,  glory of snow, black hellebores patch, pansies, cyclamens, yellow aconite, some more snowdrops. A little farther are two winterberry plants, a camellia tree, witch hazel, english primroses, staghorn sumac. 

[heli0s-writes]

IV. The First Taste*

Summary: NSFW Chapter. Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader A/N: Modern AU, Teacher reader, Dad/Baker Steve… lots of pining, slow burn, romance. Enjoy!

Slow Like Honey Masterpost

Since you kissed Steve Rogers in your classroom on that Thursday afternoon, you’ve kissed him again and again after each meeting. It’s been precisely two more lunch dates, one more dinner date, and one long walk in the park on his day off before he was suddenly called in for an emergency pastry situation. That’s five kisses. Five dates. Five moments you lie in bed and think about while trying desperately not to scream.

You scold yourself every time because a part of you is embarrassed that you’re so—thirsty! But good God, the man is a tall glass of water you want to drown in. It’s been two stupid years since you’ve kissed anyone, and when you’re in bed at night, you hope that it’s not your lack of practice that’s been keeping him from moving forward.

You can’t be that bad, right? … Right?

But it’s always you who initiates, and Steve always keeps it short and sweet. Once, you felt the slightest flick of his tongue against your bottom lip, but then as quickly as he’d done it, he pulled away.

Grumbling, you press your pillow over your face and punch it a couple of times before settling back down into bed. You peer at the back of your hand in the darkness of your room and contemplate on trying it just like you used to when you were a kid. God, this feels stupid.

Tomorrow, you’ll just ask. Because you’re both adults and because he was your… boyfriend. You smother yourself with the pillow again, because that was an even more mortifying thought than making out with your own hand.

 In the morning you go for a jog and make yourself a quick protein and fruit shake breakfast afterward. Then you head to the pool for about an hour before coming back home. Everything is quiet, and the world is peaceful, now that you don’t have the lives of twenty-five children hovering over your every waking moment. You shower and lie down on the couch before turning on a baking show. Looking around, you survey your apartment. It is so damn barren and cream-colored. You’re not strong nor brave enough to go get a bunch of furniture by yourself and start arranging.

Sighing, you settle on an easier task: maybe today you’ll go buy some houseplants.

Steve texts you a picture of a cheesecake around noon as you’re spraying water into the soil of two new succulents and a hanging fern. You show him your fern, placing your hand next to it for size reference. The messages between you are short and brief, since you see each other pretty often.

Summer break unravels you a little bit, but you’ll be damned if you let your new (very adult) boyfriend know. You play video games and browse the internet with a bottle of wine on the weekends, and your summer is just a giant weekend. It’s almost troubling, really, because every summer you have to either find a new hobby to keep yourself entertained.

Last year you took up rock-climbing and baked a lot… but with Steve around, that just seemed like a good way to get laughed at. And of course, the summer before that one was spent moving out of your ex’s apartment and trying to keep your head above water. You shudder at the thought. If it wasn’t for the very fortuitous call back from your current workplace, you would have probably had to move back home or continued spiraling into credit-card debt.

You text Steve, asking him to suggest a new hobby to you.

Right away, he responds and recommends that you join his watercolor session at the bakery:

I’m teaching a two-hour workshop Sunday after we close. The sign up sheet is already full but… it helps knowing the teacher personally doesn’t it? I do a ceramics one in the winter, too!

You blink.

Steve… I can only draw if I invoke the spirit of Other Steve from Blue’s Clues.

Oh perfect, now he’s calling.

“Yes?” You answer. His laughter is ringing on the other line.

“Hey! Blue’s Clues is an excellent show! And, I gotta admit, that guy can really draw.”

You huff and sputter at him, ��Stop messin’ with me. Last year I baked a lot but now that you’re here… I really need a new hobby- a doable hobby!”

He chuckles again before his voice grows quieter. Bossa nova plays in the background, and the coffee grinder is buzzing intensely. “Oh honey,” He whispers, and you’re nearly gasping at the way his voice sounds—low, deliberate—like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Come to the workshop, won’t ya? It’s just a beginner’s thing. I think you’ll really like it. For me?”

The quick-draw refusal you were so sure you could unholster on time is nowhere to be found, not with him asking you so sweetly like that. You grouse jokingly and accept, warning him that if he laughs at your unskilled hand, you’ll never take his advice again.

“Me? Laugh at you? Never, sweetheart. I can’t believe you would think that of me.”

“Oh hush, Steven.”

A puff of air escapes him and everything grows quiet. Steve mutters something you can’t quite make out, and then, even louder than before, the coffee grinder screeches. “Everything okay?” You ask, worried.

“Yeah. Um, yeah. Everything’s good.”

You’re suddenly reminded of the way he pulls away after a good night kiss and reach to unholster that gun.

“Hey—uh wha—why do you--- um.” What the hell is the right way to ask this question? Why have our tongues not fought for dominance? Why haven’t both my hands gotten lost in the front of your button-up shirt? Why have you not pressed your hard, broad chest against me?

Maybe you’ve been reading too much Cosmo or Buzzfeed Relationships in your quest to find the right answers.

“Huh?” Steve asks. “What’s that?”

You holster the gun.

“Nothing! Ha! I’ll see you Sunday!”

“Okay, hon… See you then. Don’t be nervous! It’ll be great!”

 You squeeze your eyes shut as you place your phone on the coffee table. Crisis averted. Then, you search for basic video tutorials on watercolors as well as tips for beginning artists on your phone before casting it to the T.V. It’s entirely baffling and when you pick up a pencil and try to draw your new succulent on a nearby notepad, the voice coming through the speaker sternly states that you should “make marks deliberately-- not fiddling about with sketchy, hairy lines like a fuzzy caterpillar!”

What you’ve been working on looks exactly like a fuzzy caterpillar, and your cheeks heat up with embarrassment.

So you try again, erasing furiously before attempting those “deliberate” lines. After nearly fifteen minutes, you sit back and peer at your creations.

“Jesus.”

Your smooth, plump, glossy plant looks like one of those inflatable tubes outside of an auto dealership in the middle of deflating.

You feel deflated, too.

Over your dinner table is a corkboard of photos and postcards, and you walk over to snag Steve’s thank you card from its place in the corner. You study his technique and peer at the delicate forest green line of each stem- just a single, continuous stroke. The petals seem to be merely blobs of color if you’re looking closely, and where the flowers touch, sometimes the pigments bleed over each other.

No, it’s not a perfect thing. But it is gorgeous, still.

So, you try… again. This time, you tear off the deflated succulent drawing and place it on your coffee table in the left corner. Just for good luck, you chant “Steve, Steve, Steve!” as if he’s Beetlejuice, and get to work. Half your brain is thinking of the striped green shirt and oversized crayon, and the other half is thinking of a striped blue shirt and oversized pecs. Either way, both of them could art.

You’ve drawn all year for your students- especially your ESL kids who struggled with codeswitching. Sometimes, when they were unable to find the right word, or you were, you’d draw a picture instead. According to twenty-five first graders, you were an amazing artist, so… what the hell!

Ten minutes later, you tear off the top of the notepad and set it down next to its brother.

The two are stark differences, and your second one is little bit better. You’re almost proud of it—smooth flowing lines, rounded edges, and even a flat plane of the table to ground the pot.

Sitting back, you click around some more, making sure to choose videos that are most helpful to your current ability. Those speed-up painting videos were hella tempting, but you do not want to get lost in the rabbit hole.

Sunday is two days away. At the very least, you were going to be able to draw a damn good succulent.

---

You come in early to help him close before the workshop begins. Cap&Co. closes on Sundays right at six, and the workshop would start half an hour later.

The baristas say hello to you and smile, and you do the same back before you grab a rag and spray a counter down. The leftover pastries and sandwiches are placed on a tray and put in the middle of the room, where the tables and chairs have been pushed together by Steve.

“Snacks!” He smiles, “For the students.”

“Does that make me your student too?” You tease, finding the situation a bit ironic.

He winks at you before hanging up his apron. Between the four of you and the work that’s left, it’s quickly finished in the next ten minutes and the employees leave, wishing you a good night as they go.

Steve lets you choose the music for the night as he brightens the lights, and you randomly scroll through the shop’s selection before picking an old album you used to like as a younger girl—Fiona Apple’s 1996 Tidal. Right away, the singer’s brassy voice catches his attention.

“Who is this?” He asks excitedly, “I think I heard her on the radio the other day!”

You tell him, and he nods along to the music as he sets out sheets of watercolor paper clipped neatly on boards. Then he lays out five travel-sized round palettes already filled with an array of colors. By the time all the paintbrushes are next to each clipboard, people are starting to arrive and Steve is back and forth saying hello and giving hugs. You finish the end of the preparation and fill up heavy mason jars with water and set them at each spot. Then, you take your seat with a cake pop and eagerly and watch him lead the demonstration.

“Thanks for coming, everyone!” He smiles widely at the end of the table. “Good to see some of you again!”

 This must be what your students feel like, you think—you hope, because you are absolutely enthralled with everything that pours from his mouth. Even the way he stumbles over his words fascinates you, and the fact that he is so animated and engaged makes you love it even more.

Steve tells the group that he’ll demonstrate for about twenty-five minutes before everyone can start either trying out various techniques, or if they’ve done it before, can begin on painting whatever they please and he’ll come around to offer help. He suggests the plants for a nice still life, or other knick-knacks around the shop. Some returning students have even brought their own objects and you want to pinch yourself because you could have brought your succulent!

Then, he begins, showing you the right way to load the paintbrush with paint and water, and how water tension is so important to the medium. He shows you the difference between a wet brush and a dry brush. He shows you how to layer the colors. Your brain can hardly keep up with your eyes as they enthusiastically soak up the colors over his paper and the way his wrist moves easily back and forth from the mason jar where he cleans the bristles, to the palette saturated with pigment, to the paper where strokes are being placed.

“Here is a quick and easy way to make a flower.”

Steve loads a fat brush with water and pulls two shades of orange onto the white of the palette. In one swift motion, he streaks a daub of it onto the paper, letting the water gather more heavily on one side.

“We’ll let that dry for just a second— but we can do this for now.” He presses the tip of the brush into a tiny bit of red and makes another mark similar to the first one. The edges of the paint that touches leaks into each other, creating a tiny blossom of red into the first petal.

“This is what will happen when your paint is still wet—but that’s okay!” He makes two more petals—slightly more yellow than the last and touches his finger to the one with the accidental red bloom.

“It’s pretty dry now.” He blows softly on it for good measure and mixes a rosy coral shade into his brush.

The last petal is swept over the first, and the overlapping area where they touch turns into a vibrant shade of ripe orange. Then, quickly, he sticks the wood handle of the brush sideways between his teeth and picks up a smaller brush, wetting it, loading it with a deep purple that’s almost black, and makes a spray of dots in the middle.

“There ya go!” He takes the brush out of his mouth.

A part of you thinks that you are fucked because you may have just fallen in some deep shit here, as you stare at him, grinning widely—so proud of himself and somehow proud of you, too, for listening.

He’s made it seem impossibly easy. An absurdly beautiful blossom from his imagination stares at you from the watercolor pad in his hand as you shakily pick up the brush next to your hand.

“Well… shit, Steve.” You whisper before breaking out into a silly laugh and putting your forehead into your palm at the thought of the herculean task at hand. The woman to your right laughs along with you as she makes scribbly marks and drips globules of blue water onto her paper. Steve beams at you lovingly as you try to imitate the way he made the first petal, steering the water where you want it to go.

It doesn’t.

But you’re determined, damn it. Because one, you really want to impress him, and two, you really need a summer hobby.

The next hour flies by as you paint diligently, occasionally humming along to Fiona Apple’s resonant vocals in the background, chatting with the other painters. They’re all regulars at Cap&Co., and they adore the Rogers family.

Steve circles the room and answers questions, giving pointers, and sometimes putting his hand over yours to lead your paintbrush. He even kisses you on the top of your head when you finish your first flower—a lavender five-petaled ...cephalopod.

The affectionate gesture doesn’t go unnoticed by the others as they smile and quietly ask him questions when they think you’re not listening. Your ears go hot the rest of the night—just as hot as the top of your head because Steve!

Before you know it, it’s time to pack up. The album has already repeated, and it’s back to an early track. No one seems to mind, however, as they take their papers and wave goodbye. You linger in the area, pouring out dirty water and putting the jars back under the sink. Steve puts away the paints, fixes the rest of the tables, and you return to the café area to join him. He’s patting his thighs with his wet hands when you come in, nodding along to the music.

You gaze at the damp spots on his legs, the fabric of his trousers slightly clinging onto his muscles. Quickly, before he sees you, you look away.

“This exact song was on in the car.” He mutters amusedly, “I really like this… she’s got a great voice.”

Steve walks closer to you, stopping a few steps away and leans against the edge of a wooden booth. He crosses his arms and press his lips together, eyelashes fluttering as he smiles.

“What now?” He asks. His voice echoes the same low and deliberate tone you’ve heard before, and you think that the question isn’t really a question at all. But you’re not really sure what to make of it—tonight may have been the most forward he’s ever been.

The lights are dimmed. The piano melody crescendos before the song ends. There’s a pause of silence before the next song begins, and you feel your heart leap as the first few words start.

I lie in an early bed, thinking late thoughts.

“Um…” Your voice cracks.

I do not struggle in your web because it was my aim to get caught. But daddy long-legs, I feel that I’m finally growing weary of waiting to be consumed by you.

Steve cocks his head to the side, also listening—to the music, perhaps to your now uncomfortably loud heartbeat. You run your hand through your hair. The music chimes into a more upbeat tone as the chorus starts.

Give me the first taste. Let it begin. Heaven cannot wait forever.

“Why don’t you ever kiss me first?”

His eyebrows raise briefly before he blinks a couple of times. You tilt your chin to your chest and lace your fingers together, foot tapping anxiously as you stand in wait. “I mean, I think I’m just a little confused. We’ve seen each other for like, two weeks now. I feel like it’s always me who initiates—but tonight you did a little bit more of that. And… I guess we’ve only kissed—Am I bad kisser? Steve? Am I?”

You’re full of rambling, nervous energy but you try your best to play it off. It was such an awkward thing to say out loud, and there was no way you could come out and spit: Why have we not had sex yet?

Steve surges forward and takes your hand in his, “No!” His head his shaking wildly, “You’re a great kisser! The best!”

His blabbering catches you off-guard and the snort of laughter that comes from you is anything but attractive. “Jesus, Steven, that’s too much.”

Steve slaps his palm to his forehead. “Ah… I’m sorry. I think I’m just nervous.”

“About what?” You ask, leaning forward and looking up at him, “Steve, I just… snorted. You can’t be nervous about this. I should be the one who’s nervous! Look at you!”

He takes a step back and puts one hand on his hip, the other reaching forward to signal to you. “Look at me? Look at you!” He gawks.

The two of you stand there, pointing at each other, making scoffing noises of disbelief for a good two minutes before you put up your hand. “Okay. Pause, mister. You look like someone Photoshopped a rugged Ken Doll and then 3-D printed it. Westworld-style. You bake, you paint, you’re a ceramic---ist? Ceramicist? What! Steve!” You throw your hands up in exasperation, “Come on! Your fuckin’ arms!”

He rolls his eyes, “I’m thirty-five and divorced. I sleep four hours a night. I’m a walking disaster.” Then he narrows his eyes at you.

“You’re gorgeous! You’re funny, you’re kind, you’re so sweet…! You’re honest?” He ticks off each adjective using his fingers, “You’re patient? God, Sarah throws half a tantrum and my world collapses. You’re dedicated. You’re---“

“Okay. Stop.” You mutter, cheeks burning hot, “I sleep on the couch next to a bottle of wine and have three pieces of furniture. We’re both disasters.”

Steve laughs and steps forward again, putting his hand over yours. “I just… didn’t want to mess anything up.” He whispers, “I like you so much… and… if we’re… talking about that. I haven’t… been with anyone in … two years. Other than you, I’ve only kissed one person my entire life… So, the question is—am I a bad kisser?”

You giggle as he gives you an apologetic smirk, shaking his head at the way you two have been aggressively complimenting each other. Standing on your tiptoes, you move to nuzzle your nose against his. “You’re a great kisser, Steve. The best.”

Darkness flutters over his eyes briefly before Steve expertly dodges your nose and catches your mouth with his instead. With a half-whimper, half-moan, Steve Rogers grabs the back of your neck in one large, warm hand and your lower back with the other and presses your body flush against his.

Oh.

He’s so tall he has to bend over and you’re so small against him that he’s nearly picking you up. A brief parting of your lips give you a moment to catch your breath, but he’s back again, tongue sliding against yours sweetly, as if asking a silent question.

Is this okay?

With a sigh of pleasure, you ask him to continue in the same, secret language. Your chest his burning hot, tummy quivering with nerves and delight as his hands roam your body. Firm. Strong. Almost desperate. Your own hands rest against his chest before one reaches up and cups his face, trailing your fingertips through his beard.

“D-does it bother you?” He mutters against your mouth before he slides down past your jaw and lands his lips on your neck, “My beard?”

“Mmm—no—” you’re breathless as he kneads his fingers into your waist, moving up to position them just below your breasts, “I like it—mmm-- lots.” You sigh, as his scruff tickles your shoulder, sending tingles all over your body. “I’d like to feel it… elsewhere, too.”

He freezes and pulls away. His hands place you back down on your feet-- back to Earth-- as he swallows hard, looking at you with open, red lips. Steve rolls the bottom one between his teeth and clenches his jaw, eyes half-lidded and lustful. You’re probably a wreck, too, you think as you catch yourself against a table.

“Can we---”

You cut him off. Your purse is already in your hands, keys swinging around your finger.

“God. Yes. I’ll follow you.”

 Steve tugs you from the driver’s seat of your car, hand entwined with yours as he leads you up the walkway and over the step. Once the front door shuts behind him and he’s made sure it’s locked, you’re pressed up against the wall, purse, shoes, keys, clattering onto the hardwood.

“Oh, honey,” he mumbles as he presses his face into your collar, scooping you up into his arms. “Oh, Jesus, sweetheart.”

You’re glad he knows how to navigate his house with his eyes closed because the whole way there, you can’t stop kissing him. Your hands tug his hair and your teeth pinch his bottom lip. Steve responds by growling softly, biting you back, squeezing your thighs before slowly easing you onto his bed.

It’s dark in his room, but you feel the bed dip as he climbs on too. Both your eyes are trying to adjust—trying to find each other. Your hands fumble around until you catch him, his knee. His hands find your stomach. Slowly, he reaches for the hem of your shirt and peels it up over your head. Then he does the same to his own shirt and both of you shimmy out of your pants.

He is hard and hot when your bare skin touches his. Steve lies down on his side to face you, panting slightly as you glide your hand up and down his arm. Oh fuck, it’s been two years and the first man you touch is more like a mythical creature than any man. It should be illegal for someone to feel this good.

Trembling, you touch the hard planes of his torso, the ridges in his abdomen, the swell of his chest taking hard breaths. You shut your eyes and imagine the way he looks right now—breathless and wild. His knee parts your legs easily and one hand descends to feel your center, saturating your underwear.

“Jesus, baby,” Steve sighs into your neck. “You’re makin’ me crazy. This--” He begins to slide his digits up and down, getting the slippery wetness all over his fingers, “Already...”

A shudder rolls through your body upon hearing his words and you arch into his touch, moaning when he rubs your clit in perfect pulsing circles. He moves forward, kissing the tops of your breasts through your bra, nipping at the soft flesh spilling from the cups.

“Steve, you’ll make me come.” You admit, a little shyly even as your hips rock consciously into his hand. You paw at his arms, squeezing the ridges of thick muscles.

The mischievous chuckle that pours from his throat vibrates against your chest. Steve grabs onto your thigh and eases your leg over his hips inching closer and straightening himself until you’re aligned perfectly. He tilts back and guides you against him until your center slides against his bulge.

Just as you find the elastic of his waistband, he jerks away and places himself in-between your legs as he moves you onto your back. You scoot until your head hits the wall, propping yourself up on your elbows, giving him more room at the foot of the bed.

“You wanted to feel this?” Steve caresses your thighs with his cheek, the hairs on his beard tickling your sensitive skin. Your toes curl up reflexively as he moves back and forth, trailing his lips and face all over.

You squeal when the tip of his nose touches your mound, mouth hovering over your soaked panties. His mouth latches on, almost in a bite before he takes them off. Both his hands slide beneath your bottom, squeezing the soft flesh of your ass before he pulls your hips forward. You land on his face, eyes rolling back in ecstasy.  

“Steve,” You gasp, “This is unfair.” Your body jerks with every teasing kiss he presses to your folds. His breath comes out in a smug puff of air that purposefully continues to drive you unbelievably closer to what feels like breaking entirely.

“Baby…” he mutters—right into your cunt, Jesus! You groan at the way his face is nestled there. “Baby---mm— It’s been two years for me.” He whispers, “If I don’t get you off now, in a really good way—it’s not gonna be good at all.”

“Steve—you know—ah! It’s been the same amount of time for me too, right?!”

He ignores you, crawling his hands around onto your hips to keep you from squirming. When you settle finally, he moves one hand to your center, sliding a finger up and down your slippery folds. His mouth latches onto your clit as his finger continues their trail. You fist his hair with both hands at the same time he slips a digit inside.

But he doesn’t move. Other than his tongue’s soft licks on your swollen clit, Steve doesn’t move at all. He happily lets his finger rest inside of you, gathering your juices all over his hand.

You whimper, trying to shimmy against them, anything to create more contact. Its intrusion builds a terrible itch inside of your body, and goddamn it, you want to scratch.

It feels like an eternity passes before he finally lets you have another—adding one more thick finger inside, stretching you as he moves them both around, curling them, pumping them in and out. He sucks enthusiastically on your sensitive bud, fucks you with two fingers almost wildly, and your body responds with fervor. You gasp and moan, arching your back into his hand and face, goosebumps blooming all over your shoulders and down your arms and legs.

“C’mon, that’s it. Thassa good girl. You’re so close. Almost there… Good girl… Good girl.”

With a cry, you come undone, rolling your hips every which way as you reach orgasm on Steve’s hand. His voice continues to praise you, lips kissing your sweat-slicked thighs, beard tickling your sensitive skin.

Instead of pulling away, Steve continues to stroke you with his fingers, slowly prodding at your entrance with a third.

“Just trying to get you ready.” He murmurs, and your heart stills. Ready?

You voice your concern, “What do you mean?”

With a slight chuckle, he sits up, wiping his mouth and parts of his beard with the back of his hand. In the dark, Steve reaches for your arm, guiding you to feel exactly what he’s talking about. A strangled cry escapes your throat as you wrap your fingers around his cock. Hot. Throbbing. Big.

Sweet, sensitive, divorced, baker, artist, ceramicist, father Steve fuckin’ Rogers was packing. And it isn’t until you nervously grip him in both hands do you realize the importance of his last statement.

“Can I get you ready, baby?” He asks again.

For the millionth time that night, your eyes roll back and get lost in your head as you lean against the headboard with a whimper. Steve crawls over on top of you, scoops you up once again in his arms, and places you on his lap. Your legs wrap around his back loosely as he holds you still, previous two fingers pushing inside gently.

You rest your head on his shoulder as your body shakes under his ministrations, already tired and overstimulated. Your hands find their way to grip him, massaging his length tenderly, savoring the temperature of his body, spreading the beaded precum at the tip of his cock up and down his shaft. Steve groans, scissoring his fingers inside of you, spreading your walls.

The third finger meets resistance as you tense up.

“S-sorry,” You whisper, “I’m… I’m pretty nervous…” But you move his hand back and try again. He’s so tender and sweet with you as he turns his head to place kisses on your cheek and ear. It’s a few minutes of this exploration before you feel brave enough to shift and stroke him with determination. Steve takes the message as a confirmation and reaches into the end table for a condom.

It’s slipped on and you follow suit, gasping as Steve guides your hips with one hand, and grips himself with the other. Slowly, he fills you inch by inch until he’s so deep inside you think he could emerge from your throat.

“Oh… my… God!” You cry. There aren’t enough words to describe it— the sweetest sting, an all-encompassing and chilling burn, a mystifying and utter fullness that nearly brings tears to your eyes. You’re afraid to move, to lose this sensation, and afraid to feel what comes next. But you know that you want it.

Steve kisses your lips tenderly, babbling praise, whispering affirmations, soothing the shock that surges up your spine with his warm palm. Slowly, he rocks you back, holding onto your body with one hand, smoothing the hair that falls over your face with the other.

You’re gripping him so tightly it takes some effort to slide even an inch of him out— and there’s many inches of him. Sweat collects on your brow as you grind, dragging against his length, forcing shudders to course all over both your bodies. “Is this okay?” you mutter, delirious, “Steve? You feel so good.”

He flexes within you, grunts into your ear. A dry chuckle escapes him as his hand squeezes your back just a little too hard. He’s holding back, trying to prolong your pleasure, but his own is chasing him down, only a few steps away from pouncing.

You coax it towards him with faster snapping of your hips against his, clawing at his back, nibbling on his ear. “Come on, my love… just a little more.”

With a grunt and a shudder, and a hard kiss to your lips that makes your teeth clack against each other, Steve thrusts one last time as deeply as possible, riding out his orgasm as he pulls your hips against his. The two of you feel welded together, sticky with sweat and so tightly flushed that you’re not sure where he ends and you begin. You body slumps as you drape your arms over his neck. Steve turns his head to kiss your shoulder before making the effort to pull away and clean himself up. He goes into the bathroom first, lying you down and covering you with the blanket.

 When he returns, Steve finds you already dozed off. You palm rests under your cheek as you lie on your side, breathing deeply.

As quietly as he can, he squeezes in beside you, fitting himself against your back. He’s read it somewhere, that falling in love was a little bit like falling asleep. As his eyes slip shut, he feels it happening, just like that quote had said: slowly at first, then… all at once.

In the darkness behind his lids, there is strangely so much light.

Next Chapter

[sevdrag]

dreamwidth update: about art

so, i've always wanted to be able to draw. i've been a drawing person, a color person, since i was a kid, and as an adult ive moved in and out of art. i purchased the giant iPad Pro i have specifically thinking of art (among other things). And this year i've slowly been getting back into it.

i've been doing color studies. sketches. tracing, a bit, mostly to practice how different facial structures translate into my sketchy "style". learning the iPad Apple Pencil. learning Procreate. i absolutely know practice makes perfect and all my problems before have been not practicing.

i want to be able to draw so badly. i want to be able to sit down and make a doodle or a sketch that gets what's in my head OUT of my head. i want to make a comic. i want to draw regularly so that i can see improvement in my own shit.

i'm still not a very good artist. i realize my color studies have come out alright, and i'm pretty proud of them, but they're all done with references. all of them. and yeah, okay, "real artists use references" i absolutely get that and im not ashamed to say i use them but i still rely so heavily on them that i can't really draw anything normal looking without one. i can draw nearly ANYTHING given a reference. that's easy. i can't otherwise.

i'm watching everyone's variations on inktober go and i want to draw. i've never felt this pulled to doing art before. it's like a fucking ache.

but i'm ignoring it, because i am fucking committed to my upcoming writing schedule, and that's far more important than learning to doodle. i'm in two zines i need to get drafts out for soon, writing two halloween GO fics and possibly an MCU one, two CYOAs on Patreon, i have two active WIPs to update and finish and like 17 inactive ones im not yet abandoning; i am outlining what i hope to be a novel i write for NaNo.

i am focused on my writing now.

so it's just fucking ironic that this is the time in my life i want to learn to draw more than anything. no, i want to KNOW how to draw, skip all the steps, but i mean, who doesn't? (a joke; i realize you gotta put in the practice.) i cant stop thinking about it.

BUT: i have really put aside time until my next contract to focus on my words, and i'm not going to deviate from something i've desperately wanted to do for years (write a novel) for another thing i'm not as good at, frustrated by, and have no chance of a future with other than a silly hobby.

i just had to get this out there.

comments Comment? https://ift.tt/3defxHA

[same-side]

hiiii! i just wanna say, i adore your art. second, im teaching myself to draw and while i can draw simple basics (mouths and sometimes eyes if im lucky), im still a beginner. ive watched many art videos and im still a bit confused on wtf im doing. so i just came here to ask if you had any words of wisdom for beginners? could be anything from what tablets to buy to simple mistakes to avoid. ive read some of the other posts here and have found it all extremely helpful so far! Thx for all you do!!

Hey there! Thank you so much!

I would put a read more but tumblr is broken. I’m trying to cover a lot of varied thoughts in little points, so if there’s anything you would like me to elaborate on or otherwise have questions on, feel free to shoot me an ask or dm me!

General

I think the biggest thing to remember is not to compare yourself extensively to others. A little bit of comparison is healthy... But too much will destroy your confidence, motivation, and take the fun out of art. Particularly if you are comparing yourself to someone older than you (life experience and coordination come into play here) or that has been drawing much longer (practice). 

Additionally... If you’re not having fun (and you’re not getting paid to do it), don’t force yourself. If you find yourself being frustrated or bored with art, don’t force yourself to do it. That’s how you burn out and get art block! This applies to parts of a peice, too! If you don’t feel like drawing a face or a hand today? don’t force yourself to finish it. Come back to it later when you aren’t as frustrated or are getting better results. Even if its a week or a month from now. Honestly, at any given time I have probably ten headless bodies in my drafts. That’s okay! I just come back to them when I’m ready to do the face. And don’t be afraid to abandon something if it doesn’t feel right!

Something that also doesn’t get said enough.... take care of your body! I never knew when I started art, but artists are supposed to do warmup sketches and stretches and muscle exercises! I didn’t do any of this, and i went through a period of a few months where I was drawing for 5ish hours every single day. I developed carpal tunnel from it! So remember to take care of yourself. Take breaks, stretch, remember to eat.

Practice

Practice!!!! Even if its just for fifteen minutes every day. Or twice a week. But if art is something you really want to get good at, you have to put in the time and effort!! You can’t expect to draw an hour per month and be on the same level as someone who draws an hour a day!

I know I say this a lot but I think the biggest thing is just reference! If you don’t know what something looks like, look at a picture of it when you draw it! To go hand in hand with that, though, don’t just copy what you see! Learn from it and apply it! So take, for example, a shoe! pay attention to the way the heel is shaped, the location of the eyelets for the laces... how large the toe is, how steep the top! While you’re at it, look at other styles of shoes as well, and compare them! See what makes it look like a boot versus a trainer! And then the next time you draw it, hopefully you’ll remember all the things you learned the first time around!

I do lots of studies that serve no purpose other than to teach me things! I use referencing/studies to learn about color theory, shapes, and anatomy in a real environment. For example, hands or fabric folds! Oftentimes I’ll do them timed (20 or 45 minutes) so that I don’t fixate on perfecting things, just on the process itself and what I can learn from it. This also helps with getting better acclimated to your software and more coordinated with what you’re doing. Repetitive learning, like with playing sports. 

I’ve realized a lot of people don’t quite understand what a study is? Basically you just look at a photo and try to replicate it so that you can learn about lighting or color theory or textures or anatomy or whatnot. So here’s an example of a timed study.

Additionally, don’t avoid!! We, as humans, have a tendency to avoid things that make us uncomfortable or are difficult. But it will make you a better artist in then end. When I first started, I absolutely hated doing fabric. I felt like I wasn’t good at it. So instead of avoiding drawing clothing, I sat down and did studies and sketches of different kinds of fabric. By the end of this learning period, I became comfortable with it and grew to enjoy it. These days, I adore sketching clothes, and it’s why my pants and shirts and things tend to be detailed instead of stylized in line art. If you don’t like drawing hands because you feel like you aren’t good at it? Sit down, look at a bunch of pictures of different hands, and practice it. By the end, you’ll be more comfortable, you’ll have learned something. Even if you feel like the drawings you ended up with aren’t good, you’ll still have learned, and that’s what matters!

Style

I worked on basics before I tried to develop a style. I made sure to start with a very realistic method at first, so that I could be sure I understood how fabric folds, anatomy, and realistic expressions worked before I tried to stylize them. I think in the long run this approach really paid off for me. It also allowed me to be conscientious of what elements I was absorbing into my artwork. I hear from so many artists that they started drawing when they were younger and into anime or cartoons or things like that, and tried to emulate it. Because those styles became so ingrained into their artistic skillset, it becomes near impossible to iron out those influences and get rid of them later. So starting with realism is a way to ingrain proper anatomy and other good practice into your artwork.

One way to develop style is to take a look at the artwork of someone you admire, and try to list out the things you like form their style - perhaps the thickness of their lines, or the way they do eyes. Do this with several artists, take all those little details you like and try them out! See if you enjoy using them in your own drawing process! Think of it like a grab bag or a pick-n-mix, sprinkling in the elements you like here and there to create something new and your own - not just copying another artists style word for word.

Don’t worry too much about it though; don’t allow yourself to become anxious or fixated on “achieving a style”. Its a natural ever evolving process that comes with time and practice. I know a lot of people get hung up on style, but just take it one day at a time!

Also try to keep in mind what style you’re going for as you begin drawing. And I don’t mean that like sailor moon vs. ghibli. I mean that as in, is this piece going to be a painting, a lineart, a lined painting, cell shading...? It will help you in the longrun if you narrow down the broad kind of style you use, and refine from there. 

Workflow

My workflow for paintings is very different from my workflow for lineart and cell shading. A full tutorial on how I do paintings can be found here! A process video for how I cell shade can be found here!

Everyone is going to have a different method that works for them! You just have to experiment and find out how you like to draw! For me, personally, I use color blocking for painting (see the tutorial above) and a spine method for lineart. How the spine method works is that I will draw lines that represent the legs, arms, back, etc. so that I can determine the placement, length, and composition. From there, I’ll add a dark outline that actually shows the shapes of the body. Then, I’ll use thinner lines to add details. This is the method I’ve found that works for me. Another commonly used method that I’m sure you’ve seen is representing body parts with cylinders and cubes. There are lots of good tutorials out there on breaking down bodies into shapes like this!

Something that I do is if I’m not quite happy with a part of a drawing, I don’t just erase it. I duplicate the layer so that I always have the original copy, and then I make changes from there. Sometimes I can end up with five or six different versions of the same arm or face that i’ve made minor changes to. And then I compare and pick the one I like best, or condense all the parts I like from each version to make a “best” version.

Tools

Currently I use Procreate and the standard Ipad with Apple Pencil. Prior to March I was using a Wacom Bamboo Touch and Photoshop Elements 2008. I find its harder for me to do full paintings in procreate, but its made my life a million times easier for lineart and cell shading. The pen pressure is phenomenal, and I also adore that its wireless / active screen instead of plug in like the wacom. The programme itself is intuitive and easy to get the hang of; it simply lacks a lot of the neat tricks that photoshop has, like rendering (lens flares, for example), gradients, and gradient maps. Try testing out different trials of programmes... firealpaca, photoshop, autodesk, whatever it may be! What works for me may not work for you!

[luckyspike]

Eleventh Hour Admission - A Good Omens fanfiction

Hey guys remember when I talked about writing a hospital AU

i did it but no one is a doctor they’re all nurses

title refers to literally getting an admission during the eleventh hour of your shift, possibly a fate worse than death

CW: hospitals, medical procedures, automobile accidents, the joint commission

this will never be continued (probably) or posted to AO3, so enjoy it

--

Ari Fell liked it his job. That wasn’t sarcasm. He really, truly liked his job: he liked helping other people, he liked watching the sickest of the sick get well again and, when he couldn’t do that, he liked being there for them, trying to help them peacefully and painlessly move on. He liked meeting the families of his patients, he liked getting to know his patients when they could talk, and he liked that every day was a new day, something different and unknown and rife with opportunity to learn something new, or to help someone.

He liked his job, but he didn’t like 6am admissions.

Which, he had a feeling, was precisely why his ASCOM phone was going off at 5:55am. The caller ID informed him that it was Gabriel, the charge for tonight. He winced and the other nurse working the east pod with him tonight, Tracy, nodded sympathetically. He picked up the phone, and answered the call.

“Ari!” Yes. Yes, that was Gabriel. By the sound of it, he was in the cafeteria, likely having coffee with the other charges during their morning “bed meeting”. Ari had long since suspected that “bed meeting” was an excuse to get coffee and kvetch for the last hour of their shift, but he’d never really had the opportunity to find out, after he’d refused the offered charge position last year. 

“Gabe.” He stared gloomily at the empty room before him. It had been empty all night, after he’d packed the last patient off to IMC to make room for a possible admit. He had known it was too good to be true, known with a sort of icy certainty that a quiet night would never last, and soon enough there would be some kind of admit rolling up. He’d hoped it wouldn’t be an hour before shift change but, well … 

Maybe it would be an intubated pneumonia. Sedated, even. That would be nice.

“Got an ED trainwreck coming up. You heard them call that level 1 trauma, yeah?”

His heart dropped into his stomach, which dropped all the way to his Danskos. “Yes.”

“MVA, lady was flying and ran off the road into the orchard. Hit like three of the apple trees, Bee told me. Anyway, she’s a hot mess. I told them they could call report and bring her up any time.”

“I’ll need to stock the room -” 

Gabriel ignored him. “I’d love to help get her settled but we’re gonna be in bed meeting until 6:30 and then I have to do the board for day shift, but I’m sure you and Tracy’ll have it in hand. Holler if you need anything!” The line went dead.

“What do you need?” Tracy asked, already half out of the pod, aimed toward the supply room. The supply room, Ari knew, where the housekeeper usually hung around this time of the morning, surreptitiously drinking instant-brew coffee behind the Pyxis. 

Ari sighed. “A whole set-up. I don’t have report yet, but it’s a trauma. Probably need suction and the whole nine yards.” The ASCOM chirped again. “That’ll be report.”

“I’ll get some culture bottles and extra red tops as well.” He nodded to her as she vanished around the corner, and picked up the phone. “Ari Fell, ICU 4 East.”

“Ari!” He might have groaned. “It’s AJ!”

“Great. You’re calling report, I assume?”

“Well, yeah, but also I was just thinking I’m off for two days after this, and I don’t have any plans after my shift, was thinking about kegs and eggs at the place across the street. Care to join?”

“Somehow,” Ari said with rather more chill to his tone than usual, “I think I’ll be getting off my shift late.”

AJ laughed. “Oh, yeah. I’m bringing up the hot mess express.”

“Oh, boy.” He half-sighed, half-groaned. “I’m ready.”

“Right, patient’s still a Jane Doe but ID in her purse said Eve Smith, 22 years old, just waiting on family to confirm. Chaplain called her parents but no answer yet. Anyway, adult female, unrestrained driver in car-versus-tree MVA, GCS of 3 at the scene, flown here, went into SVT on the way but we’ve got her on amio now at 0.5mg/hr, pan-scan showed a left-sided pneumo -”

He rattled on, Ari jotting down notes as AJ moved through the systems. At least there was that: report from AJ was, usually, good, although he did like to linger on the gory details a little longer than necessary sometimes. If he was going to get a 6am admit, at least he’d have a good report to hand off to the next shift when he inevitably presented them with this hot disaster.

Tracy was back from the supply room, a suspicious damp spot on her scrub top. The navy blue shade hid the color of the spot, but if Ari had to guess, it would be the color of Svanka instant coffee. “Enough?” she asked, holding up two bags of supplies and a handful of lab tubes. He cupped a hand over the phone.

“Two straight poles and an IV pole,” he whispered. “And an EVD hookup for the monitor.”

“Gotcha.”

“Anyway,” AJ was saying, “she’s got a Foley, so you don’t have to worry about that, and, ah … Hm. Multiple lacerations and abrasions spread out all over, but no pressure wounds or anything otherwise. Right. Anything else you need?”

“Ah …” He looked at the report sheet, the notes about infusions and lines and testing left un-done, and shrugged. “You’re coming up with her, right?”

“Oh, yeah. It’ll be a miracle if she doesn’t crump on the way up. I’ll probably be bagging her when we get there.”

He grimaced. “Wonderful. I’ll have RT ready. Otherwise, uh … no, I think I should be alright. Whenever you’re ready, we’ve got the room stocked.”

“Okay.” A little distantly, as if he’d moved away from the receiver somewhat, he heard AJ call, “Hey, you ready Erica? Time to move!” And then, back into the phone. “See you in ten.”

Ari ended the call, placed a quick SOS to respiratory for a vent delivery, and tossed the ASCOM onto the desk. One last chance to check his other patient - a post-op heart cath they’d sent for access site observation overnight before planned discharge in the morning - and then he headed into the empty room, fussing around with the lines and waiting. The vent was there, already pre-programmed with the settings, blue screen glowing in the dark room as it waited. Tracy returned with the required equipment, and rolled a pole across the room, around the end of the bed, toward Ari.

“Disaster?”

“Complete train wreck.”

She patted his shoulder. “My two are primped and propped and ready for seven. I can help all you like, dear.” She was always nice like that, calling him ‘dear’. He supposed it made sense, given that Tracy was old enough to be his mother, but he had noticed she never used the term for anybody else. He’d never asked her about it, though, mostly because he was sort of afraid that if he pointed it out, she would stop. 

“I think we just wait, now.”

“Fresh meat coming?” The gruff voice of the custodian drew their attention to the doorway. “I’m off duty at 6:30, so if you think I’ll be coming in here to clean up whatever mess you and those hideous interns make -”

“I’m sure your relief will have it well in-hand, Mr. S.” Tracy fluttered her eyelashes, and leaned across the bedside table, the front of her V-neck scrub top gaping open just enough to draw the housekeeper’s eyes. “You know, I was thinking of getting breakfast and coffee at The Pantry across the street after shift … been craving their waffles.” It was a statement, but it hung open like a question. Mr. S blushed a little.

“I … I’m a little hungry myself. Could go for a nice thick pat of scrapple.” He cleared his throat. At the far corner of the ICU, Ari heard the elevator - the direct-from-the-ED elevator - ding open, and the distant sound of alarms suffused through the early-morning bustle of the unit. 

“Think they might have two seats at the breakfast bar?”

“Maybe.” He smiled a little, and then remembered himself and glowered. “If an educated woman’ll deign to eat with me, that is.”

“Mm, I think I might be able to bring myself to slum it this morning.” She waved a hand. “Here she comes, move over, there’s a love.”

And come she did, in a wail of alarms and machines and, Ari was both relieved and exasperated to see, AJ, who had, as long as Ari had known him, struggled with the concept of ‘reserved’. “Heyo, told you so!” AJ was, as promised, bagging the patient, his arm snaked between various lines and tubes, the critically-ill human attached to them almost so covered as to be invisible. “Ari.”

Ari looked at the lines, horrified, and then to AJ. “What happened?”

“Huh? Oh. She came back from radiology like this. Didn’t have time to untangle everything.”

“Nothing’s even labeled!” He waved his hands at the mess. “You’ve got fluids and pressors and is that blood? What’s going where?”

“Ah. All in the subclavian, I’d imagine.” The redhead added, with scathing sarcasm, “Pretty sure I didn’t hook anything up to the EVD. Got a slide board?”

Tracy had, and she and Ari tucked it under the unconscious young woman as AJ and Erica rolled her to the side. “Hang on, let me check her back while she’s there.” There were abrasions, and lacerations, too many to count or list as part of a specific area, and then, between her shoulder blades, was an apple blossom. He plucked it off. “Really, you couldn’t clean that off?”

“Had bigger fish to fry. You done?” AJ raised an eyebrow at him, visible of the rims of his dark-tinted glasses, and Ari nodded. AJ and Erica let the woman down. “On three -” She was light enough, and with four of them they had her slid into the ICU bed in one smooth motion, still piled with a tangled mess of lines and tubes. 

“You really had to bring this mess up,” Ari griped, trying to decide where to start first. His eyes widened. “You left the EVD lying under her pillow!”

“It’s clamped!” AJ replied with an exasperated groan, gratefully flicking on the vent and plugging it into the ET tube.

Erica rolled her eyes. “You done here? I’ve got to get back to the department.”

“Be right behind you,” AJ said, waving the other nurse off. “I’m gonna help whiny here get organized.” He pulled the EVD from under the pillow, carefully threading the buritrol back through the other lines until the tubing lay neatly over the rest of the tangled mess. Carefully, he hung it on the straight pole, leveled it, and opened the clamp. Pink-tinged spinal fluid started to drip out. “Come on, hand me the cable, I’ll even hook it up for you.”

“How charitable,” Ari grumbled, tossing the cable behind the headboard and bouncing it off AJ’s shoulder. “Bastard.”

“Now, boys,” Tracy admonished from the foot of the bed, where she was busying herself with untangling the Foley and the SCDs*. “Let’s not argue.”

[* Are SCDs really that important in a fragile immediately post-trauma patient, you may ask. To which the answer is: only if the Joint Commission is there.]

“Oh, we’re just having a good time.” AJ was tracing the IV tubing containing the fluids down through the sheets. “Alright, so this is going to the peripheral, just untangle this -”

“You know,” Ari said, as he fiddled with the monitor and the arterial line, trying to check for level in spite of the level being, as always, conspicuously absent. “I’m sure you have patients back down in the department. You don’t have to help. I was just giving you a hard time.” He ended up seizing a length of blood pressure cuff tubing and eyeballing the line between the transducer and the phlebostatic axis.

“Well, what if I want to?” He snorted. “My only other patient down there is a kid with a head lac, and he’s on ice until the LET kicks in and we can do staples anyway. Which will be, fortunately, after shift change. He looks like a screamer.” He smirked at Ari, and passed the IV pump with all of the various central line tubing across the bed to him. “Never let it be said I’m not occasionally nice.”

“You’re not.” 

“Hey.”

At the foot of the bed, Tracy shook her head, tapping in the vital signs as she did. “Did anyone page the fellow to let them know she’s arrived?”

“Not yet,” they replied, in unison. And then exchanged a look, very briefly, before Ari looked away to busy himself with setting the monitor alarm parameters and AJ became absorbed in scribbling labels for the IV tubing. 

“I’ll do it, then.”

It was quiet for a minute while they worked, but after a time, Ari realized the white sheet atop the woman was clear, the lines were meticulously untangled and laid properly, with messily-written but legible labels. It would have done the Joint Commission proud. 

“Think she still needed cultures,” AJ muttered, grabbing the bottles off of the counter. “Where do you keep the tourniquets up here?”

“Here.” He set to checking orders, with the black-clad invader from the ED pulled the first set of cultures on the first stick. Ari frowned, impressed. “Nice one.”

“Eh, you get good at ‘em when you have to get a line in anything.”

“Seriously,” Ari said, more quietly now, noting that for the most part, all of the ED orders had been cleaned up, taken care of, and signed off before the patient had arrived, “you can go. Really, I’m grateful, but I can handle it and you don’t have to -”

“I know. But this is really selfish for me.” He tore the tip of the index finger off the fresh pair of gloves he’d donned, the better to palpate a vein in the opposite arm, where the splint would allow. “Don’t wanna eat breakfast alone.”

Ari stared at him for a minute. Blinked. “Seriously?”

“Well, yeah,” AJ replied, tone flippant. “I think it counts as alcoholism if you drink alone too much. Have to keep up the facade of being a normal, healthy, functional adult.” He winked at Ari over the rim of his glasses. “You know how it goes, choir-boy.”

“I -” he glanced into the hallway, where Tracy and Mr. S were chatting. Mr. S had clocked out - was it past 6:30 already? And Tracy had her ASCOM in hand, although by the looks of it she hadn’t yet called. If she waited much longer, the fellow wouldn’t arrive with new orders until after shift change. He could have laughed. What an angel. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. You want to get a pitcher?”

Aj laughed, although he was watching intently as the second bottle filled. “You know, I have two days off coming up - what the hell? Let’s do it.”

[bigbadredpanda]

Mo Dao Zu Shi Chapter 126 - Yunmeng (part 3)

As promised, the “Put a ring on it” part is here and we still have one more to go!

Make sure to read parts 1 and 2 before so you don’t miss any cuteness :)

(i) Shuttlecock (ii) Restaurant (iii) Ring toss (iv) Boat

A big thank you to everyone who posted a kind comment or tag in the previous parts! (˵ ´♡ `˵ )

After leaving the restaurant, the two of them strolled for a while until they heard a clamour ahead. Many people were crowding around a stall where a multitude of small objects were displayed. Each one in turn tossed a ring towards the stall.

Wei Wuxian spoke, “This is good.” Pulling Lan Wangji to where the stallholder was standing aside, he took the three proffered rings, “Lan Zhan, have you ever played ring toss?”

Lan Wangji shook his head, Wei Wuxian said, “You have never played anything. Let me explain to you, it’s very simple. You take one of these rings, take some steps back and throw it around an object. Whatever is encircled is yours.”

Lan Wangji repeated, “Whatever is encircled is mine.”

Wei Wuxian, “Exactly. What do you want? No matter which one you want, I’ll win it for you.”

Lan Wangji, “As you please.”

Wei Wuxian wrapped his arm around Lan Wangji’s shoulders and gave a tug to the tail of his forehead ribbon, “Hanguang-Jun, make an effort, you’re making me lose face here.”

Lan Wangji said seriously, “Whichever you win will please me.”

Wei Wuxian stared at him blankly, “You… How can you be like this in public?”

Lan Wangji did not understand, “Like how?”

Wei Wuxian, “You are teasing me.”

Lan Wangji’s expression remained unperturbed, “I am not.”

Wei Wuxian, “You are! All right then, I’ll win for you… that one, yes that one will do!”

He pointed at a large white porcelain tortoise displayed in the far back. Having said that, he took several steps back. When he was distant of one zhang [1], the stallholder gestured at him while calling out, “Enough, that’s far enough!”

But Wei Wuxian answered back, “No, not yet.”

The stallholder hollered, “Young master, you’re standing too far away. If you miss your toss, don’t blame me and demand your money back afterwards!”

Wei Wuxian, “I’m not standing that far, you’re the one who should be worried about losing your shirt!”

The crowd roared with laughter, “This young master sure is confident!”

This kind of minor game of skill seemed straightforward but the various objects on the ground were spread some distance apart and one needed to carefully exercise control over one’s strength. It was no small feat for ordinary people. However, for a cultivator this was child’s play. If he stood too close, where would be the fun? Wei Wuxian retreated further away and deliberately turned his back to the stall, drawing hoots of laughter from the crowd. Wei Wuxian weighed for a bit the hoop in his hand and the next moment, threw it behind him. The hoop fell effortlessly on the porcelain tortoise, neatly encircling its head.

The stallholder and the crowd were all rendered speechless. Wei Wuxian turned his head to look and a smile spread across his face. Raising the two remaining rings in his hand, he asked Lan Wangji, “Want to try?”

Lan Wangji, “All right.”

He walked to Wei Wuxian’s side, “Which do you want?”

There were no items of value in this small street stall, they were all roughly crafted and only looked decent at a distance. The large porcelain tortoise Wei Wuxian had just encircled could be considered the best looking item of the lot. Wei Wuxian looked at the stall, the closer he examined, the more he thought the objects were all actually rather ugly. None took his fancy and he was hard-pressed to choose any of them. Suddenly, he glimpsed a particularly ugly stuffed donkey. It was so ugly that once seen you could not ignore it. Delighted, he said, “That one isn’t bad, it looks just like Little Apple. Come on, I want that one.”

Lan Wangji nodded, stepped back one zhang further than Wei Wuxian and also turned his back. With unfailing precision, the ring encircled its target.

The crowd burst into thunderous applause. Lan Wangji turned his head to look at Wei Wuxian who was laughing heartily. Wei Wuxian went to the stall and clutched the little donkey under his arm. Clapping loudly, he exclaimed, “Come on, once more!”

Lan Wangji was still holding a ring, he carefully weighed it for a while before throwing it behind him. This time, he immediately turned round to look.

After his toss, there were cries of disappointment all around. The trajectory of the ring was crooked, missing the stall completely, but instead the ring fell neatly on Wei Wuxian, encircling him.

Wei Wuxian was initially stunned and then he couldn’t help laughing. Although everyone in the crowd thought it was a pity, one after another they offered words of consolation, “Not bad!”, “That’s right, you managed to encircle several.”, “How amazing!”.

The stallholder looked upwards in profound relief, letting out a sigh. He came over and gave a thumb up, “True, that was really impressive. The young master spoke true, if I gave you more rings to toss, I would really lose my shirt!”

Wei Wuxian laughed, “That’s all right, I know you dare not let us play some more. We had our fun, didn’t we? Lan Zhan, come on, let’s go.”

The stallholder amiably said, “Take care.”

After the two of them disappeared in the bustling crowd, walking side by side, the stallholder suddenly recalled, “The third ring! They didn’t give it back to me!!”

Wei Wuxian carried the tortoise in his left hand and held the donkey under his right arm. After walking for a bit, he spoke, “Lan Zhan, how come I didn’t find out earlier that you held such thoughts?”

Lan Wangji took the heavy porcelain tortoise from him. Wei Wuxian removed the ring around his neck and put it on his head, “Don’t pretend you didn’t understand my meaning. I know you’re doing that on purpose.”

Lan Wangji single-handedly held up the large porcelain tortoise, “When we return, where will it be put?”

Wei Wuxian was genuinely stumped by the question.

This tortoise was both large and heavy. The craftsmanship was nothing to boast about and the head looked extremely foolish. It could only be called cute reluctantly. Upon closer inspection, Wei Wuxian saw that the craftsman did a thoroughly sloppy job, the tortoise’s bean-like eyes appeared to be crossed. In short, no matter how you looked at it, it was completely incompatible with the Cloud Recesses. Where should it be put, that was a good question.

Wei Wuxian gave it some thought, “In the Jingshi?”

He shook his head repeatedly as soon as he spoke, retracting his suggestion, “The Jingshi is only fit for playing the guqin and burning incense. A place to find peace of mind while wisps of sandalwood smoke curl in the air. To put that big tortoise there is an eyesore.”

Hearing him referring to the Jingshi as ‘a place only fit for playing the guqin and burning incense to find peace of mind’, Lan Wangji gave him a look as if he wanted to say something.

Wei Wuxian continued, “But if it’s put somewhere else in Cloud Recesses beside the Jingshi, someone will immediately throw it away.”

Lan Wangji nodded in silence.

Wei Wuxian ruminated for a while, it would have been unreasonable to blurt out, ‘Let’s secretly put it in your uncle’s room without saying we did it’. He slapped his thigh, “I know. We’ll simply put it in the Orchid Room [2].”

Lan Wangji pondered a bit before asking, “Why the Orchid Room?”

Wei Wuxian, “You don’t get it. When you lecture Sizhui and Jingyi in the Orchid Room, if you are asked a question about it, you can tell them that this big porcelain tortoise was specially commissioned to commemorate that time you beheaded the Tortoise of Slaughter. A mysterious craftsman with an eccentric side personally made it. Its true meaning contains profound wisdom. It’s intended as an incentive for the young disciples of your Gusu Lan Sect to revere the heroic bearing of their seniors and to exhort them to improve themselves. Although the Tortoise of Slaughter is already dead, there is still the Bird of Carnage, the Tiger of Cruelty, the Dragon of Bloodthirstiness [3] and so on awaiting them. In order to surpass their predecessors, they must prepare for such a tremendously world-shaking undertaking.”

“…”

“How’s that?”

After a long silence, Lan Wangji finally spoke, “Very well.”

Consequently, a few days later, Lan Sizhui, Lan Jingyi and the other juniors were receiving Hanguang-Jun’s guidance. They raised their heads and they could see a crudely crafted large porcelain tortoise with a lifeless look in its eyes lying behind Lan Wangji on his writing desk.

Out of some kind of unspeakable awe, not a single one actually ventured to ask what it was doing there. Therefore the story remained untold…

Having added several trophies from their expedition to their Qiankun sleeves, the two of them retired after their accomplishments.

Translator’s notes

[1] The zhang is a traditional unit of length. 1 zhang is 3.33 meters or 3.65 yards.

[2] The Orchid Room is the classroom in Cloud Recesses.

[3] The Tortoise of Slaughter that Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji encountered is a monstrous version of the mythical Black Turtle, one of the Four Symbols of the Chinese Constellations together with the Azure Dragon, the White Tiger and the Vermilion Bird. Wei Wuxian is basically coming up with ferocious monsters named after these other mythical creatures.

[smartphoneteam-blog]

New Post has been published on Smart Wrist Wrap Watches

New Post has been published on https://www.smartwristwrap.com/the-apple-watch-turns-3-and-its-still-flawed.html

The Apple Watch turns 3, and it's still flawed

The Apple Watch Series 3.

Image: lili sams/mashable

In 2007, Apple changed the act of socializing, maybe forever, with the release of the iPhone. There it was, a perfectly packed 4.5-inch-long computer designed to pulverize boredom like a drill through your skull. You bought one, and now, whenever you have a few minutes of downtime, even if that downtime is shared with your friends or spouse or mom at Christmas, you tap or scroll or swipe something on that little glass screen.

To own a smartphone is to cede some part of yourself to it. The device is too innately fascinating to be conquered by lifehacks, which feel like treating a hernia with vinyasa flow. So, three years ago, Apple released the Apple Watch, promising a better way forward. It’s a mini-computer you strap to your wrist to free yourself of the one you carry in your pocket. Apple’s promises then are worth reconsidering today, after years of modest improvements to the wearable, because the fundamental problem — tech interrupting and shaping our natural lives — remains unsolved.

Indeed, the original sales pitch of the Apple Watch was an admission that something wasn’t quite right in iPhoneland. There was Tim Cook, beginning hour two of a PR gauntlet that had included the announcement of the iPhone 6S, hawking his company’s new “intimate way to connect and communicate.” There was a standing ovation.

Minutes later, Apple screened a commercial narrated by Jony Ive, the corporation’s chief designer. In 2018, we may understand the Apple Watch mostly as a fitness tracker, but in the video, Ive gives it a significantly more nuanced pitch.

“We conceived, designed, and developed Apple Watch as a completely singular product,” Ive says in his silken British hum. “You know, you can’t determine a boundary between the physical object and the software.”

One of the first promotional images for the Apple Watch depicted a romantic embrace.

Image: Apple/YouTube

Throughout all of this, a render of the Apple Watch rotates and shimmers. During this next line, you see chain-link metal flowing like cream and an erotic pan over the bottom of the Watch’s golden wrist strap.

“We’re introducing an unparalleled level of technical innovation combined with a design that connects with the wearer at an intimate level to both embrace individuality and inspire desire,” he continues.

You can draw a message on the 42-mm screen, or try to. You can share your heartbeat with someone. That’s the Apple Watch difference.

The money shot.

Image: apple/youtube

All of which is to say the Apple Watch, at conception, was a very personal response to an already very personal computer — the iPhone, which you can use during a potluck or after 50 sit-ups or whenever, really.

Yes, Apple, like any great company in the business of marketing products, is skilled at creating needs where you didn’t have any, though maybe it was onto something here. The smartphone made personal computers and the internet ubiquitous, but it also moved them into social life, creating millions of invisible barriers between people that never existed before. Perhaps something smaller, with a series of subtly actionable notifications that only alert the human wearing the device, could in some way solve the problems we hadn’t anticipated from the iPhone.

But the Apple Watch doesn’t solve these problems.

Mixed messages

The author (Damon Beres) and his loaner Apple Watch.

Image: Lili Sams/Mashable

Three years after the original device went on sale, I strapped on the newest iteration of the Apple Watch — a “Series 3” model, temporarily provided for review by Apple — and expected to learn something new. Truthfully, I’ve always been suspicious of wearables, for a fairly self-evident reason: Their pitch is to solve data overload by more or less re-contextualizing that data, without meaningfully changing much in the process. Worse, by virtue of the device being strapped onto your wrist, the chances for unwanted technological interjection are quite a bit higher than they are with a phone in your pocket, or in another room.

Say your friend sends you a text message. In Apple’s ecosystem, that message is equally accessible and interactive no matter what device you’re on. Just like your iPhone, iPad, or MacBook, the Apple Watch receives the signal and produces a little blue, text-filled bubble. You can respond to it fully no matter what device you’re on.

Messages on the Apple Watch

Image: Mashable Screenshot

Messages on the iPhone

Image: MASHABLE SCREENSHOT

On paper, that’s impressive. The Apple Watch has a unique user interface, with a digital crown to rotate and different ways of responding to messages by default — write out letters with your fingers, dictate with your voice, use one of many automated responses — but the core functionality mirrors the programs you’re already accustomed to. Especially with the Series 3, which can be completely untethered from your iPhone, Apple has designed a wristwatch that functions like a “full” computer (at least with some applications).

It is unmistakably an engineering feat, but that doesn’t mean it’s good for people. Though they should offer quite different things to a user, the membrane between the Apple Watch and the iPhone is basically nonexistent. When it comes to something like messages, you’re getting all or nothing on your wrist, just as you do on your iPhone.

The Apple Watch’s iMessage settings.

Image: mashable screenshot

I use iMessage a lot. It is, in effect, my preferred social network. Very quickly, the notifications on my wrist became vomit-inducing. When I need to, I can shove my iPhone in a bag or put it in another room or, in a fit of heaving sobs, ask my wife to hide it, but taking the Apple Watch off is another thing entirely. If you’re going to do that, why have one at all?

Yes, you can use the “Do Not Disturb” function, which stops notifications from prodding at your wrist, though again I wondered: If I turn everything off, what good is this thing? At that point, it becomes a glorified fitness tracker — more on that in a second — that I can use like a mini-iPhone when needed. That is literally never needed, because I have an iPhone, and the Apple Watch is no less disruptive to tinker with than the rectangular slab in my pocket.

Remember that Apple’s original pitch for this thing was all about intimate communication. There are two really important but unspoken elements of that pitch:

Unlike the iPhone, the Apple Watch should keep your hands free. Pay attention to the amount of time people spend actually touching the watch in commercials for this device: It’s not very much.

If you have to look at the Apple Watch, you should get the information you need very quickly.

Remember, out of the context of Apple’s advertising, “intimacy” is already a defining trait of the iPhone. It goes with you everywhere, it takes pictures of everything — that’s intimacy! So, the Apple Watch really has to make its case as something that can remove the barrier between you and the people you’re communicating with in real life (and not via gadgets).

I’m belaboring this point to the exclusion of the, like, billions of other little things the Apple Watch can do — I downloaded a game about chewing bubble gum! — because fundamentally, the Apple Watch fails to remove this barrier. When it comes to intimacy between people, the Apple Watch is nothing new. The user interface replicates the functions of your iPhone, and fiddling with its screen or digital crown will be just as annoying to anyone you’re sitting across from.

This 1983 concept for an Apple “wrist and ear phone”  is nuts, but at least it’s not emulating an existing computer.

Image: concept by hartmut esslinger; image via “Keep It Simple: The Early Design Years of Apple, ” published by Arnoldsche Verlagsanstalt

So… it sucks?

Measured against the original promises, the Apple Watch is hardly a success. And indeed, I wanted to experience the device — its latest update, no less — specifically in reference to those promises. We’re more aware now of the potential harms lying beneath our touchscreens, but the fundamental product hasn’t changed much.

That’s probably why Apple has pivoted its marketing for the device. The original commercials were all about subtle interactions between people; many of the recent ones are about exercise. Fair enough: The exercise and health features are great, and certainly better than any of the several other fitness trackers I’ve used over the years.

i will cherish this forever pic.twitter.com/W7xm37rjV1

— Damon Beres ✨ (@dlberes) April 22, 2018

Perhaps unsurprisingly, focusing on fitness seems to have improved Apple Watch sales.

“My theory is that consumers are starting to see a place for Apple Watch in their lives,” industry analyst Neil Cybart recently wrote on his Above Avalon blog. “While Apple’s revised Apple Watch marketing campaign around health and fitness has led to a clearer sales pitch, I think the health and fitness messaging ends up being Apple’s way to get its wrist in the door.”

His full argument is much more involved. The familiar functions of the Apple Watch attract people, but the device introduces new ideas that hint at the future Apple is trying to build. I may not like the screen interface, but Cybart rightly points out that the Apple Watch is packed with additional technology — voice recognition, artificial intelligence, smart sensors — that could become very important to Apple moving forward.

But we’re not in that future yet. I would argue we’re a paradigm shift or two away from the Apple Watch standing apart as a device that most of us would experience as meaningfully different than the iPhone when it comes to most aspects of personal computing, fitness tracking aside. The Apple Watch won’t be “done,” in my view, until you can own it without needing an iPhone — not because Apple’s ecosystem is busted, but because the Watch is too beholden to the iOS framework, warts and all. In an era when many of us dream about being less trapped by screens and notifications, the Apple Watch does little more than pile on.

One could argue that Apple needs to rethink what the Watch is capable of. The fanboys will crucify me for saying so, but maybe reducing functionality would be a step in the right direction — perhaps we don’t need the full, iOS-like iMessage experience on our wrists, for example, though I could only guess at what the right replacement would be.

Until then, here’s what the Apple Watch is for: more of the same.

WATCH: Communicating with people who sign just got a whole lot easier

Read more: http://mashable.com/

[oddlymysteriousphoenix]

#74 (#2) 1:59pm July 14

-October 22 2:56pm Eh, today had been a bit better compared to other days. I realize I’ve been lazy and haven’t been writing much on here. I will promise for now on, it has been pretty rough since last Friday since my sadness hit on of it’s lowest points again. Blegh, this year I’ve lost more than what I’ve gained so far. I don’t plan to live long if the trend continues for the rest of this year and the next. I miss all my close Xbox friends, it’s my fault I’m currently avoiding them. I think they’re happier without me and their happiness is all I care about (for the most part). On the bright side, I’ve managed to get some inspiration to continue my skills on guitar, drawing and ‘’singing’’ (I can’t sing). The motivation came from a reference from an old movie which ‘’predicted’’ October 21 2015. (Back to the Future 2, 1985) The actor who played the crazy scientist recorded a video containing these words: ‘’Great Scott! If my calculations are correct, it is now precisely October 21, 2015. The future has finally arrived. Yes, it is different than we all thought. But don’t worry. It just means your future hasn’t been written yet. No one has. Your future is whatever you make it so make it a good one.’’ His last words probably hit me more than others since I love ‘’Back to the Future’’. It’s one of my favorite movies. I recently watched ‘’Bridge of Spies’’ this past weekend. I thought it was a great movie, especially for not making the Russians the ultimate bad people during the Cold War. (Movie set during the height of it). Asides from movies, I’ve managed to gear from my gf’s voice after weeks of not hearing it. It stuck me to my heart to hear how depressed she was.  Thought the call cut out, I was able to treasure the bitter sweet voice I was able to hear. Like always, she’s my everything. I just hope she can beat her illness… -3:31pm -October 27 7:32pm Today’s the day of my 33rd monthly anniversary with my gf! Plus, today is when Halo 5 is finally out after all these years. I might get it tonight or tomorrow I cant wait to play it. Aside from that I’ve been having a rough week. Ive gotten so much of tests and homework, I’m pretty sure I’m off to a bad start. My depression loves to get the best of me. Sometimes I think my life is useless and Ill never be good enough. Suicidal thoughts? Yes, plenty of them as each minute fades to the past. I’m still waiting if life really does get better, things have been pretty flat with some downs. I still feel numb from the constant bombings of my thoughts. I’m still unhappy with my life, not even improving in my hobbies. I play guitar like a child, I sing like a whale and my drawings would be great to be used as toilet paper on how crappy it is. Ugh, at least all of my friends are doing well. Sosa (basically only school friend) has been doing great since he’s been hanging out with this one girl. She sounds pretty friendly from what I’ve heard of her from him. I’m just concerned things might go wrong between them, resulting them to not to speak to each other (Im sure they wouldn’t have sex, she’s a lesbian, at least for now).  I hope the best for him. He’s a great guy for certain. I don’t know how my other friends are doing, I haven’t talked to them due to my ‘’exodus’’. I hope they’re all okay. Lastly, but for best, I THINK my doing fine. Depressed, still? Yeah. Busy? Yeah. Do I still love her? Always and eternity. Happy 33rd anniversary, my love. My everything… 8:00pm P.S. = Te amo

- November 4 7:12pm Well, this week has been alright. Anyway! I got Halo 5 and beat the campaign on the same day. My opinion for the story: It was alright, I mean, some parts were just great, yet I think the story could’ve been so much better. Cortana… Ugh, I’m speechless, I can’t believe what happened to her. She didn’t seem right when she first appeared. She changed. It pains me to know after what Master Chief tried to do to get Cortana back, he couldn’t. Cortana went off her own path on what she thought was right. Master Chief asks ‘’Where’s Cortana?’’ Spartan Locke replies ‘’She’s gone. He stares at Locke with his broken visor. Then, Cortana causes havoc. More scenes passes by, then the credits. The music plays on only to leaves us guessing what’ll happen soon. (Break) -11:16pm. Well, I forgot to continue, woops. Ill write more soon. I have a lot in mind at the moment. - November 11 6:20pm

Ah, this day had been lonesome. Monday and Tuesday has been alright. Yet, Tuesday after school I realized something. I’m worth nothing. Ugh, I’m basically depressed. On Xbox, Stori has been distant. It’s like she doesn’t like my presence anymore. She’s been hanging out with ‘’Skitz’’ and ‘’G’’ (both Xbox names just shortened) so much. I don’t understand why. I understand G is online all the time and so is Stori, but I guess G has convinced Stori to get away from me. G and I haven’t talked in weeks., he’s a horrible person. If only Stori would notice, it bothers me greatly. I know G wants me dead, he told Seeker and Stori that I should commit suicide. Ugh, he disgusts me. I don’t plan to talk to him, but Ill do it if it prevents me from losing Stori. As of now, my best friends are Seeker, Dj, and Sosa, the school friend. Skitz and G can just be gone, they’re rotten apples to me. Useless and unwanted, I despise them immensely. It’s blatant that G hates me, you can feel the vibe of it. Well, sorta, I’m just exaggerating here. My gf says just to give it time. Which I will, since I can’t be against what makes my friend happy. I just miss Stori and Dj and Seeker being around. Nowadays, it’s just me all alone. Sosa is suicidal, but ‘’his’’ girl should help out a lot. Even though she’s a lesbian, things can change. As for my Erin (GF), she’s doing just fine. I still think she’s fine without me. I still love her. All the time she. She’s my universe. Yeah, she’s happy with me, but I feel I’m not good enough. I never have felt it, I’m nothing. Hell, I haven’t done anything that adds worth to me. Everyone else is just better than me no matter how little they try. I’m invisible, I’m no one and nobody. Suicide has been constant in my mind, but I live for others. Ill keep living until (Break, mom’s here, 7:01pm) 10:43pm They’re all gone from my life and gone from their thoughts. As for now, they’re here and I should enjoy their presence while I can. They’re family. MY family, the one I always wanted… 10:46Pm P.S. I had no school today.

-November 13 6:43pm

Each day of each hour has its sweets and sours. Days and nights where they feel the same. Today is bittersweet. I’ve managed to speak to my Love on Skype. She’s perfect as always, I love her greatly. She’s still largely insecure about our love. She feels like one day Ill send her a breakup text, which will never occur no matter what situation. I love her. Before that, she was talking about her being pregnant with triplets, in her dream. Saying how it went and how our family was there, both friend and biological. She spoiled me with kisses as we  chatted, she’s just perfection. I could never ask for more, only for us to be together soon. T took some screenshots to store the memories for the near future. Yet, as of now, I’m lonely. Erin is off doing something and I’m alone on Xbox as well. A couple of minutes ago I’ve been noticed that France is under terrorist attacks. It’s so interesting to know how everything can change so easily in just one hour. I’m afraid what will happen afterwards especially the refugees. I know most Europeans will be swayed towards anti-Islam thinking gen realizing the enemy and hurting the innocent. I’ve observed many tragedies, I hope this doesn’t lead them to chaos. If it does, time will tell. The choices of the people will determine the future of a country. As for now, I guess I’ll have another lonesome Friday. As my friends have fun, as my love carries on, I’ll be here. Hoping for the best in each of us. 7:05pm

-November 17 10:52pm

Ah, Im here doing homework Ill probably sleep at 12. Quick review of this week from last Friday/ Terrorist attack on France, soon later saw ‘’Forrest Gump’’ for the first time. I loved it. Saturday, I managed to get close to Stori on Xbox. It was just her, Seeker and me. She told me how G was still angry at me from a long ago event. She’s been trying to think otherwise. Plus, she reminded me on how Im still important to her. Oh, before that Seeker and Stori got into a small brawl over her different laughter which he wasn’t used to. Though it kinda killed the party mood, it soon recovered. I just feel bad for Seeker since I’m the only one that knows him seriously. As he said, being a jokester causes people not to take him seriously. He’s a great gut, I just wish he was valued more by people. We all stayed up to around 4 A.M. . It  was great, also my GF called on Skype to 3:11-3:13 to 3:14-28 Am. She mumbled mostly through all. Sunday was all work. This week has been okay besides having a lot of work to do. My Gf and I talked again which made me very happy. She’s perfect. Well, I need to focus on my work now. I’m so sleepy… 11:10pm

-November 24 12:55am

Ah, what a pleasant week it has been Friday. Guitar playing, gaming on Xbox One, talking to my Perfect Love and best friends, as well as drawing. I, for once, feel like I’m making progress in my life. Maybe Ill start writing a song since my mom has been awfully occupied with babysitting. Yet, it leaves the place to me. I don’t mean that as a selfish way, more in a way to be able to express what I love to do. As of now, I’m listening to ‘’FoxBoro HotTubs’’ which is basically ‘’Green Day’’ under another name. As nerdy and childish it sounds, I hope to be as great as them or even more. I love their songs as most would already know. I most certainly would cherish in being in a band and becoming a songwriter along with a couple of hobbies on the side. Even though I contain no pride or self esteem, it’s still something I want to go for. If I’m not able to reach that dream, then I’m not sure what’ll become of my. I’m sure I’ll be married to the girl who I love now, Erin. Skyping her for an hour was fantastic, 11:32pm-12:33pm. She makes me feel complete and I fly with joy knowing she’s beside me at all times. She’s perfection. Aside from that, I’ll update my family. Stori has being doing great compared to her bad things. One of her best friends has come over to visit her for the week. As from latest knowledge, they went to a birthday party. Bubba has been doing just fine, nothing negative that I’ve seen. He’s still trying to get his Canadian girl named Cristina, she’s sweet and happy usually. I wish him luck, even after about one or two years chasing after her. I introduced her to Bubba way back on Xbox, first met her sister then Cristina on GTA V on the Xbox 360. Anyway, Sosa has been doing well, I think. I texted him a bit today, still with his ‘’French’’ girl. Rose is okay, I sadly haven’t talked to her much. I plan to talk to her more, I don’t want to lose her. She means too much to me, she’s part of the family. I’m doing a drawing for her to cheer her up. She’s okay, but not well. I want her to know that I’m still beside her in her hardships. We’ll that’s about it. I’m off to play some Halo 5 or Black Ops 3. I desire for days like this are soon to arrive. 1:45Am

-3:26pm