#Facebook (through their business suite)

[sethabrikoos]

Quite happy with the web scheduling feature of TikTok lately : ) At the moment I schedule everything through the orginal apps, and that works perfect. (Yeah, you can schedule LinkedIn, Instagram, Facebook (through their business suite), TikTok, Twitter, Tumblr etc. content all through the web app.) Still thinking about taking a lincense of Later, Pallyy, Agorapulse or SocialBee. But didn't decide yet which one I want to use.

[artdcnaldson]

aannnyyywwaayyyyy! patrick training your ass but totally not because he has this mental image of him fucking you from behind while art gets your pussy! blame the porno he stumbled upon!

and if we're on the topic! he may have also seen where a girl held two dicks together and tried her best to suck them at the same time. not that he WANTS to be that close to art's dick, totally not the case, but he's just saying he'd be down if YOU'RE down that's all.

Rating: E (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (assplay, anal sex, sex toys, general debauchery)

A/N: Your mind consistently amazes me 🩷🫡 I did NOT edit this I just blacked out while I wrote this then hit send <3

It started when you mentioned Art for the first time.

“I used to have the biggest crush on him,” you said with a grin. You’d been scrolling through Patrick’s Facebook— giving him shit for all the lame things he’d posted in the oughts (and, yeah, after). “Can’t believe that’s your friend.”

You stopped on a picture of the two of them from ‘06, posing with their doubles trophies.

“Well, if you want him that, I can set the two of you up. I’m sure he’d love to meet a groupie. Maybe you could show him just how big of a fan you really are,” he teased, nipping at the exposed skin of your throat.

You laughed and shook your head. “No! Not unless you were joining too.”

It flipped a fucking switch in him, to say the least.

Suddenly, his old-faithful porn vids, saved to his camera roll like a goddamn caveman, did nothing. He found himself scouring through any porn site he could find for threesomes, of which there were fucking plenty. And lots of ways he could imagine sharing you with Art.

You were on all fours while his cock pistoned in and out of you— back arched tantalizingly, ass rippling with each thrust. He tried to be casual about it. “Has anyone ever fucked your ass before?” Subtlety had never been a strong suit.

You’d gone all shy, hiding your face in your arms as you answered no, not yet. Yet being the operating word. He grinned, satisfied by your answer.

His thumb brushed over your rim, making your toes curl at the barest touch. You were so fucking sensitive and so fucking sweet that it would probably kill him, one day.

“You gonna let me do it someday?” He asked, lips twisted into a smirk. Your response was muffled where you hid your face. He grabbed a fistful of your hair, tugging you up slightly. “Couldn’t hear you, baby. Speak up for me.”

A whine escaped you as you nodded. “Yeah, want you to.” When he dropped his grip on your hair, your face fell back into the sheets.

He moved his thumb and spit onto your hole. You cried out as his cock bullied deep inside of your cunt— he could feel your walls clenching around him, could feel how close you were.

“Don’t be lazy, honey. Rub your clit for me, okay? I’m busy.”

You did as he said— pretty manicured nails between your thighs and rubbed at your clit as he fucked into you. His thumb circled your rim, slick with his spit as he pushed his fingertip within you and let his thumb sink into your your tight hole.

The moan that burst out of you as you came was the sexiest goddamn thing he’d ever heard. The feeling of your ass tightening around his finger as you came, feet kicking helplessly as he fucked you through it… he didn’t think he’d ever come harder than that moment.

And Patrick was a fucking degenerate— a dog with a bone— so the next time he got a chance he fucking took it.

He ate your pussy messily— making out with your cunt the same hungry way he kissed. A mess of tongue and spit that left you dizzy and begging more often than not.

Your thighs tightened, squeezing around his head the first time he let himself wander, tongue just barely teasing your ass.

“Fuck! Patrick—“ you cried out, burning hot with embarrassment and arousal from head to toe.

“Just lemme…” he trailed off, using his big hands to spread your legs for him. “Just take it, honey.”

His tongue pressed against your hole, lapping at you messily as your needy cunt spasmed around nothing, craving attention. His nose glistened with your arousal as he buried his face in you, relishing in the squeaks of pleasure you were emitting.

He sat up and grabbed blindly for the lube he kept in his bedside table— half empty and sticky. He coated his fingers in it, warming it up before his middle finger probed at your asshole.

“Relax for me, baby,” he cooed, his voice so sickeningly sweet you wanted to kick him. “Let me in.”

He watched you shakily exhale, letting your body adapt as his finger sunk into the tight heat of you. You moaned, low and breathy as he began working his finger in and out slowly.

“Fuck, there you go,” his words came out on a waver, his voice cracking slightly as he felt you tighten around his finger. “Feels good? You need more?”

You nodded quickly, meeting his gaze with a needy sort of hunger. “Mhmm, feels good,” you practically slurred. “Need more.”

The cutest fucking echo he’d ever heard.

He smiled and let his pointer finger press against your rim, stretching you as he slowly pushed in. You moaned softly, thighs falling open as you relaxed into it. He felt your body accepting the intrusion, sucking him in.

“How’s it feel?” He asked. He pressed a soft kiss to the inside of your knee.

“Full,” was all you could manage. You rocked your hips slightly, grinding against his fingers.

He grinned. “This is just two fingers, baby. How are you gonna take all of me, huh?” He grinned down at you, scissoring his fingers slightly just to watch the way your cunt clenched in response.

His thumb moved on your clit, and it took barely any attention to the nub for you to come for him, leaking slick arousal that he eagerly lapped from your neglected pussy as you squirmed beneath him.

Poor thing, you really needed both of your holes filled.

And you were so eager to let him try. A pretty little plaything whose eyes lit up at his filthiest whims.

“This is embarrassing,” you mumbled the next time it came up. You were on your hands and knees, pouting back at him as he lubed up one of your toys— a clear pink dildo that you’d used plenty before he rendered it obsolete.

He squeezed more lube onto his fingers and gingerly fucked your ass with them to get you all warmed up. It wasn’t lost on him how easy it had gotten since that first time, the way your body wanted him in any hole he could take.

“Don’t wanna hurt you, honey,” he said, watching as your cunt dripped a thin string of arousal onto the sheets as he gave a particularly deep thrust of his fingers. Jesus, you were fucking perfect. “Can’t jump straight to the real thing, you’re too delicate, baby.”

You whined, pouting even as you backed yourself against his fingers, toes curling as he added a third finger.

“Fuck, Patrick,” you gasped, fingers clawing into the sheets. He waited until you were gagging for it— pussy smeared with your own arousal, grinding back against his fingers with desperate need. He withdrew his fingers and smiled at the pathetic whimper you left out.

“‘S okay,” he cooed. He slicked up the dildo with lube once more before he pressed the tip of it against your ass. It was a stretch— beyond the three fingers Patrick had prepped you with— but you took it eagerly.

He thrust it inside slowly— inch by inch by inch until it was sheathed inside of you fully. You let out the prettiest moan, panting where your face was pressed against the sheets.

Patrick thought you’d never looked sexier— lips glossy with spit, practically drooling onto the bed. Arched up so perfectly to take whatever he could give you. He was so fucking hard he could barely think.

“How’s that?” He asked, voice breathy.

All you could manage was an eager nod— an encouragement, a plea for more. He began thrusting the toy inside of you, relishing in your pretty, fucked-out moans. Your eyes rolled back and your cunt ached with need for stimulation.

You were panting and whining with need, slick and wet down your thighs. “Need you,” you gasped, eyes shining with crocodile tears. “Wanna feel full.”

And, Jesus, he really couldn’t deny you. He thrust the toy fully inside of you, holding it there as he lined himself up with your dripping cunt.

It was nothing short of a miracle that he didn’t cum the second he bottomed out within you. You were so fucking tight that he could hardly move, wasn’t sure if he could even risk it without cumming in a pathetically short amount of time.

He brushed your hair from your eyes, found them glossy, lust-hazed. “Feels so good. So fucking tight around me. You’re so good.”

You rocked your hips back slightly, moaning at the smallest amount of friction.

“Fuck, gonna move for you, okay?” He thrust slowly, testing the waters. The moans both of you let out were pornographic. You were so wet that the sound of Patrick fucking into you made heat flood your cheeks. As you grew closer and closer, your legs gave out on you and Patrick had to hold you in place as he fucked you.

Each thrust made stars dance in your vision. You could hardly manage anything except moans of his name and cries for more. All you could do was just lie there and take it.

But he liked you like that— so needy and cockdrunk that you let yourself get used.

“Cumming—“ you cried out suddenly. Your cunt spasmed around him, squeezing like a vise. He only managed a few final thrusts before he was spilling deep inside of you.

You whimpered at the loss of him within you, then again as he eased the toy from your ass. Your body was sticky with cum, lube and sweat. Patrick laid on top of you, peppering kisses onto your back and shoulders.

“I want a bath,” you murmured lazily against the bedsheets.

“I want a million dollars,” he hummed, kissing the spot between your shoulder blades.

You laughed softly, rolling your eyes. “Fuck off.”

ME? Writing ANAL??? Less likely than you think!!! But anything for my pookie wookie 🫶🩷

[mydemimonde]

'Honey, Are You Coming?' (Baby Said, Part 2) — Modern!Aemond Targaryen x Reader

divider is from @plutism

a/n: hello! i'm soooo so sorry for taking too long in doing the second part of baby said, college and work are driving me insane and i barely have time to write. i really hope you like this

Summary: After that mindblowing night after the bar, you find yourself waiting for Aemond's call, growing slightly disappointed.

Words: 4691

Warnings: +18 (minors dni), female reader, no use y/n nor specific physical description, swearing, dirty talk, hand kink, praising, tiddy sucking, oral sex (m receiving), fingering, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, slightly dominant aemond, riding, no proof reading! english is not my first language, i apologise in advance if there are any mistakes.

It’s been five days and you haven’t heard anything from Aemond. Not a call, not even a text message. Nothing. You started to feel a little bit anxious and somewhat offended. Perhaps he didn’t like you that much, or worse, he had a girlfriend and still had sex with you. You shake your head, trying to get rid of those thoughts, focusing on the task at hand.

A year before your graduation, you got a job in a small publishing house, working as an editor. You didn’t earn a fortune, but it was more than enough to make ends meet and pay rent. Still, you were trying to find a job in a bigger place, freelancing didn’t appeal to you and you were actually looking for a new flat, closer to the capital, which meant higher prices.

“For fuck’s sake,” you hear Arianne curse next to you, making you startle. With a frown, you lift your head to look at her. “You have been eyeing your phone for the last fifteen minutes, it’s quite annoying,” she says, half serious, half joking. The brunette tilts her head and places a hand on her hip. “He hasn’t called you yet, has he?”

You shake your head, pursing your lips. “I don’t know why it affects me so much… it was just a one night stand” you explain, running a hand through your hair and sighing.

“Perhaps he’s busy…” your friend tries to reason with you, seeing how defeated you looked. She gets on her knees and grabs your hands. “Hey, I don’t want you to feel like rubbish, you shouldn’t feel like this, even if he was a mindblowing fuck.” She says, quoting the words you said when you told her about that night, giving her all the nasty details over a cup of wine during dinner. “Have you checked his socials?” She asks, to which you nod.

“Yep. Private account on Instagram, no Twitter. Didn’t even bother to check Facebook, no one uses it nowadays” you move your hand in the air. “And before you ask, no, I didn’t ask a following request.”

“What’s stopping you?” She asks with a frown and clicks her tongue in annoyance when you shrug. “I swear to God…” she mutters under her breath before plopping down on her chair, opening an incognito tab in her browser, as if what she was doing was illegal.

You frown and move your chair next to hers. “What are you doing?” You watch as she types his name on the search bar. You read the first few results with narrowed eyes. They scan the many search results populating the screen, but they focus on one particular title. Meet the Targaryens: The Powerhouse Family Behind ‘Valyrian Press’

Oh God. “Click that one…” you point at the title and Arianne immediately clicks. The webpage loads quickly and a big picture pops up on the screen. Your eyes fall to Aemond’s figure in the family picture. He was looking into the camera, a serious expression on his face, his hands into the pockets of his black suit. He wore all black.

Arianne turns to look at you. “You didn’t tell me this snack was the son of Viserys Targaryen…”

“I didn’t know!” You whisper-shout, shrugging. “I had no idea he was the son of Viserys Targaryen, though the surname did ring a bell.” Just when she opens her mouth to speak, you interrupt her, lifting your index finger in the air. “Hey, it wasn’t a date, it was a fuck, okay? We didn’t just sit down to talk about our families” you explain, defending yourself. She lifts her hands in surrender.

“Didn’t say anything at all.” Your friend turns again and skims the article. “Well, my dear friend, you had sex with a single billionaire, son of the owner of one of the most important publishing houses in the country. If you don’t send that Instagram request, I will do it.” Just when she finishes saying that, your phone vibrates. Your head jerks and you extend your hand to grab it, your eyes widening when you see the notification. Arianne frowns. “Is it him?”

You nod, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. Arianne gasps and chuckles as you open the text message.

Hi. I apologise for not writing sooner. May I call you?

You fight the urge of jumping up and down and screaming of happiness, and instead you take a deep breath to calm down the butterflies in your stomach and type an answer, your hands shaking in excitement.

Hi there :) Sure, you can call me.

Just a minute after you sent that message, your phone vibrates once more, and you take the call, eager to listen to his voice. “Hi?”

“Hello, gorgeous.” Gorgeous. You hear him hiss. “I’m so, so sorry for not calling you back. I have been quite busy these days, travelling and accompanying my father to so many meetings…” you can picture him moving his hands around, explaining things to you. “I meant to call you right after that night, but work got in the way. I hope you accept my apologies…”

You smile against the phone. “Don’t worry, Aemond. It’s okay, I suspected you were busy,” you reply, biting your lower lip to try to stop a laugh, seeing Arianne making faces at your words and mouthing ‘I told you’.

“Anyways, I’m in the city right now… are you at work?” He asks after a soft sigh and you find yourself twirling a strand of your hair like a high school girl. How pathetic, you think.

“Yes, but I finish my shift at 5pm. We can grab a coffee or a sandwich, if you want…” you suggest.

“Of course, darling. Give me your address, I can pick you up and we can go to Honeyholt Bakery, they sell delicious lemon cakes.” You beam, lemon cakes were your favourites, but you never told him that. You give him your job’s address before saying goodbye and hanging up.

You plop down on your chair, a dreamy look in your face as you look at the ceiling. You feel Arianne’s gaze on you, and you look down at her. She slowly shakes her head, a smirk making its way on her face. “I sooo envy you, lucky bitch” she jokes, making you giggle.

Knowing that you were hours away from meeting Aemond was all the motivation you needed to get down to work quickly, going over the document you had to edit before sending it to the executive editor. You finish a bit earlier than expected and grab your jacket and purse, kiss Arianne’s head and head towards the exit to wait for Aemond. You leave him a message letting him know you were ready, and not even a minute later you receive his reply. On my way ;)

Less than ten minutes later, you see a black BMW with tinted windows steering around the corner, slowing down and parking right in front of the doors of the building. The driver’s windows roll down and you see Aemond, with his hair combed back and wearing sunglasses. Fuck me.

He smiles at you and you smile back. “Hello, darling.” His voice is smooth and it makes you swallow hard. He steps out of the car, not before shifting the gear level into park mode and pulling the lever so that the car stays right in place.

“Hi, Aemond” you reply, your eyes sweeping over his lean figure clad in some brown polished shoes, black trousers, black shirt and black leather jacket. A lot of black. He looks delicious. He leans in to kiss your cheek, his expensive cologne filling your nostrils.

He places a hand on your lower back and indicates you to get into his car, opening the door for you, which you thank. He closes the door and walks around his vehicle to get inside, and you take a moment to look around, noticing how clean it smells. There’s music playing, the electric guitars and drums echoing in the small space. When Aemond gets inside and closes the door, he turns the volume of the radio down, but the music is still audible. You can recognize the song very clearly.

Meet me there where it never closes

Meet me there, I'll give you your roses

All is fair in love, oh-oh-oh

Honey, are you coming?

He takes his glasses off and begins driving the car at a normal speed as he talks. “How have you been, gorgeous?”

“I’ve been great… I have a lot more work now, but it’s so fulfilling,” you reply, your gaze falling to his hand on the steering wheel. He looks so confident as he drives, and you suddenly feel your cheeks getting hot, so you move your gaze to the window, watching the shops as you pass by.

Aemond smirks and glances at you. “I’m happy for you. The most important thing is enjoying and loving what you do” you hum at his answer, showing your agreement. “You work at a publishing house, right?”

“Yeah, I work as an editor, have been doing it for a year now” he raises his brows and nods.

“So I take it that you’re comfortable in that place…” his eyes are fixed on the road, concentrated on driving.

You purse your lips to the side, humming. “I’m actually looking for other publishing houses. I’m thinking about moving closer to the capital, and the rent is obviously higher in those areas, so I need a better wage.”

Aemond nods, taking in your words. “Well, my father has a publishing house. Valyrian Press, you might have heard of it.” Your eyes widen in surprise —fake, of course,— at his words. “There are some vacancies, and the pay is really good.”

“Your dad owns Valyrian Press?” He hums. “Oh, that’s why your surname rang a bell…” What a big fat lie.

Aemond huffs a laugh. “You’re telling me that you didn’t google my name?” How the fuck does he know things?

“Not me, my friend did.” He chuckles. “It never crossed my mind to google anything… but perhaps I did look up your social media…” you trail off.

Aemond chuckles again, the sound making your heart flutter. “Well, I barely use social media, I have an Instagram account but I’m not very fond of those apps…” You look at him and shake your head, letting out a soft chuckle. He parks the car outside the café. “What do y’wanna eat, darling?”

You. “Uhm, a cappuccino and some lemon cakes would be fine.”

He winks at you and smirks. “Excellent choice. I’ll be back soon” and with that, he exits the car. You watch him as he walks towards the bakery, biting your lip at the sight. You rest your head against the back of the seat, sighing and thinking about that man you barely know. You don’t know why, but you feel so drawn to him and you want to kick yourself because you’ve never felt like this for anyone. Not even your ex, for God’s sake.

You see Aemond getting out of the shop with two cups in one hand and a small white box with a yellow bow on top on the other hand. You stretch to get the door open, making it easier for him to get into the car.

“Thank you, beautiful” he offers you a smile and you sit comfortably in your position. He hands you the coffees and sets the box in the middle of your seats before closing the door and starting the car. “Where would you like to go?” He asks you, grabbing his cup and taking a sip from it.

“Wherever you want, Aemond… is there any specific place you wanna go?” You ask as you look at him, your eyes momentarily drifting to his hand on the steering wheel, the other one wrapped around the cup. Fuck, how is it that his hands were enough to make you go wild, the mere though of having them roaming over your body, pushing your legs apart, grabbing your hips, squeezing your tits, choking you… and his fingers, God, his long fingers.

“Hey!” He calls you, startling you. His glances at you once again, smirking when he sees you blinking and wide-eyed. “I asked you a question…”

You blink a few times more, frowning. “Uhm, sorry… what?” Your voice comes out meekly as you try to gather your thoughts. He stops at the red light.

“I asked you if you wanted me to take you to your apartment…” when you don’t answer, he huffs a laugh. “Cat got your tongue, hm?” He murmurs in a husky voice. He places his cup on the cup holder and extends his arm, his left hand coming up to your face to cup your cheek. “You like my hands, don’t you?” Aemond looks at you, giving you a smug smile when you mutter something inaudible. “You think I didn’t notice how you were staring at my hands, love?” You swallow hard as his thumb grazes your lower lip and you take the opportunity to open your mouth slightly, the tip of your tongue licking his digit before sucking it, the sensation going straight to his cock.

You hear him curse under his breath, his chest heaving. He sees the light going from red, to yellow, to green out of the corner of his eye and, reluctantly, he pulls his thumb out of your mouth, fearing that if you did that again, he might lose control of the vehicle. Before he retreats his hand you take it and guide it inside your jeans, letting him feel you.

“Fuck, you’re soaked” he mutters as he feels your wet folds, his other hand gripping the wheel tightly, his knuckles going white. You keep him there, pressing his hand against your cunt to get some relief. “Holy shit, babygirl, wait…” he retreats his fingers from your cunt and you whine. “Shh, relax…” he shushes you, his fingers quickly undoing the button of your jeans and pulling down the zipper to get more space.

He hisses when he gets his hand inside your lace panties again, his middle finger trailing up your entrance, gathering some of your essence to rub your clit with his digit. “Oh, fuck” you curse, throwing your head back and closing your eyes as the pad of his finger rubs lazy circles over your bud.

“God, love, you’re really wet… thinking about my hands turns you on, huh?” He taunts you, a low growl rumbling in his throat when he feels your cunt sucking his finger in. Aemond slides his finger inside you and you mewl as he starts pumping it. He continues driving, his gaze focused on the road ahead, his mind racing. “Want another finger, baby?”

“Hmm… ngh… yes, Aemond- oh!” You squeak when he inserts his index finger. You grip the grab handle above the window, trying to hold onto something as his fingers continue his work. “Fuck, right there” you moan when his fingers curl up, hitting your sweet spot with ease.

Aemond hums, curling them again and increasing the pace of his fingers. You were thankful the windows were tinted, otherwise passers-by would see what you were doing inside that car. Aemond’s grip on the steering wheel tightens as he feels your cunt tightening around his fingers, you are so close to cumming so he slows down the movements.

“N-no, Aemond, don’t stop, I’m so close…” you complain in a whine, and he groans lowly.

“Baby, I’m so fucking hard right now and if you continue making those beautiful sounds I might cum in my pants and crash this vehicle. I need you to tell me where you wanna go, I can’t focus on the road if I have you squeezing my fingers like that…” he explains, panting a little bit.

“Pull over… drive to a parking lot, I don’t know…” you plead, bucking your hips slightly. You don’t know how long you can last, not when the heel of his palm is pressing against your clit, eliciting whimpers from you.

Aemond drives towards the nearest parking lot he finds, his fingers moving inside you again at a relentless pace, making you gasp. “Fuck, baby, I can feel you getting closer, you’re squeezing my fingers so tightly…” He says through gritted teeth, smirking when you let out a high-pitched moan the moment his fingers reach that rough patch inside you, making you jolt. “C’mon, pretty girl. Cum all over my fingers, wanna feel you…” he coaxes.

He grunts when you press your legs together as you come, head thrown back and jaw open, incoherent words and moans spilling past your lips. His fingers continue working inside you, helping you ride out your orgasm. He pulls them out, and you nearly choke as you watch him, through half-lidded eyes, how he brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean and moaning at the taste.

“You taste incredibly sweet, baby. You have no idea how much I need to put my cock inside you” you moan in response, head spinning at his words. He enters the parking lot and rushes to find a spot, parking the car immediately. “Come to the back” he orders, and he peeks around to check that no one sees you in the almost empty place.

Both of you get to the back of the car, almost throwing yourself at him. His lips capture yours in an intense kiss, his hand cupping your neck to pull you closer and angle your head to deepen it while the other rests on your waist. The tip of his tongue presses slightly against your lower lip and you gladly part your lips, allowing his tongue to explore your mouth. You can taste the strong coffee in his mouth.

Your hands trail down his chest, feeling his heartbeat quicken under your palms. Aemond growls into your mouth when one of your hands cup his evident bulge, palming him through the fabric. “Holy… shit…” he mutters against your lips. You take the opportunity to leave open-mouthed kisses along his jaw, his neck, all the way to his earlobe.

“Want to suck your cock, Aemond…” you purr in his ear before taking his earlobe between your teeth, nibbling softly as you lower the zipper of his jeans, slithering your hand under his boxers.

“F-fuck…” he curses through gritted teeth, closing his eyes for a moment as you pull down his jeans and boxers in one motion. Your mouth waters at the sight of his cock straining against his stomach and you move in your place, bringing your legs up to kneel next to him, your ass propped up in direction to the window. Your index finger grates the weeping tip, making him shudder. “Don’t tease… put your mouth to work, needy girl” he instructs, his hand landing on your ass with a loud smack, making you yelp.

You swallow hard and lick your lips as you lean forward, your right hand wrapping around his base. Like a lollipop, your tongue licks his cock from the base to the tip, eliciting a hiss from him. The hand that smacked your ass comes to rest on the small of your back, hiking up your blouse and rubbing circles on your skin.

Your lips wrap around his tip, sucking it gently and swirling your tongue around it. “God… yes, like that…” he breathes out, his voice rough. You stroke his shaft with your hand in rhythm with the movements of your mouth, up and down his length. Your hair falls to the side but Aemond is quick to grab it, putting it in a ponytail as your head bobs up and down. He resists the urge to buck his hips up, trying not to hurt you.

You stop stroking him and move your hand to cup his balls, which ignites something primal in Aemond. He can’t help but thrust his hips upwards into your mouth, making you moan. “Fucking hell, you’re taking me so deep into that wet mouth… love it” he coos, biting his lip at the sight of your mouth around him and your head bobbing up and down. His cock is covered in your saliva, glistening under the dim lights of the parking lot.

You hollow your cheeks as you go up, your hands wrapping around his base again, adding a bit of pressure. That makes him growl and pant, the sounds he makes going straight to your cunt. He continues praising you in choked, needy moans, telling you how good your mouth feels on his cock, how he’s going to wreck your pussy immediately afterwards, his hand guiding your head up and down his length. You feel him twitch in your mouth, the signal that he’s close to cumming.

“Are you coming, Aemond?” You ask, your hot breath fanning against his length before taking him deep into your mouth, gagging around him.

“Y-yes… s-stop… I’m so close…” he warns, the obscene wet sucking sounds that fill the car making him let out a strangled moan. He pulls you away from his length, a trail of saliva still connecting your mouth to him. You use the palm of your hand to wipe your mouth, licking your lips and looking at him.

“Why did you want me to stop?” Your hand presses on his inner thigh, making him sigh deeply and let go of your hair.

“Because when I cum, I want to do it deep inside your cunt, alright?” He explains as he leans his back against the seat, his words making your jaw drop. “Now, get rid of those jeans and ride me.”

You eagerly do as told, putting your legs down and shimming out of your jeans and soaked panties. You toss them aside and straddle him, your bent knees on either side of his hips, your chest pressing against his given the constricted space you are in. His hands immediately land on either side of your hips, guiding you to sink down on his cock.

Both of you moan at the contact, your eyes close as he lets you adjust to his size. When you open your eyes you find his hungry gaze on you, his pupils dark with lust. He licks his lips, bringing one hand to cup your neck and pull you down to kiss him. The kiss is slow but passionate, sensual. You find support on his shoulders and you start moving your hips, finding the right rhythm.

Aemond pulls back to breath, his lips hovering over yours as you rest your forehead against his. His fingers grip your hips tightly, certainly leaving marks. “Hmm…” he hums, feeling how your cunt sucks him in, engulfing him. “D’you feel me deep inside you, baby?” He murmurs against your lips.

“Y-yes… you’re so deep, Aemond,” you reply in a shaky whisper. You feel his breath against your face due to the close proximity, hearing the low grunts and whines that leave his lips. His hands move from your hips to your abdomen, lifting your blouse to feel your skin, his touch setting your body on fire.

“No bra?” His eyes widen in surprise and he smirks. “Naughty girl, I might have to punish you…” He taunts as he pulls the straps of your blouse down, freeing your breasts. He mutters a curse and dives into your chest, his hands bringing your tits together, squeezing as his tongue swirls around your right nipple, making you arch your back against him. “You fit perfectly in my hands, baby…” he squeezes your tits once more, making you throw your head back. Aemond leans forward and leaves wet kisses on your throat, sucking the junction between your neck and shoulder as his big hands knead your tits.

Your nails dig into his shoulders as you increase the speed of your movements, letting out desperate whines as the tip of his cock bullies the rough patch inside you. You’ve never been this wet before, the squelching sounds making you blush furiously in embarrassment. “Fuck, you’re so wet… can’t wait for when you soak my cock as you come” those dirty words  he mutters against your ear have you gasping loudly and furrowing your brows. Aemond rests his forehead against your shoulder, the sounds escaping his lips coming out muffled.

“Aemond… I’m… fuck, I’m so close…” you speak in a choked moan, your arms wrapping around his neck as you bounce on his dick.

You feel him smirk against your skin, his teeth nibbling your collarbone. “Yeah, I can feel that… you’re so tight, love, you feel so fucking good” he praises, his voice hoarse and deep. Aemond lifts his head from your shoulder, looking up at you, his eyes roaming over your face. “Look at me” he demands in an authoritative, stern voice. You do as told, locking your eyes with his. “Do not tear your gaze away from me, you understand?” You nod frantically, your brows knitted together in pleasure.

His hands lower to your backside, gripping your ass tightly, helping you as you move on top of him. He brings his legs together, plants his feet on the floor and starts bucking his hips up, meeting your movements. Your eyes close shut involuntarily, wanton and sinful moans spilling past your lips as he pounds into you. “I said, fucking look at me” he says through gritten teeth, and you obey, as hard as it is to do so.

His eyes roam over your face, committing every detail to memory. “Y’gonna cum all over my cock, hmm? Can feel you squeezing me.” You nod, unable to speak. His hands grip your ass tighter, his nails digging into your skin. “Come, baby… let go and soak me, c’mon,” he gives your ass a loud smack, and that does it to you. His mouth is agape as he watches you come undone above him, your eyes rolling to the back of your skull and lips parted as you gasp for air. “That’s it, baby… I got you.”

You feel blood rushing through your ears, your eyes flutter close and your legs tremble. You feel Aemond’s hard grip on your ass as he keeps pounding into you, chasing his own release. “Fuck! Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna…” his hips stutter and his arms wrap around your waist tightly as he cums deep inside your cunt, a guttural groan coming out of his lips, the sound muffled as he hides his head in your shoulder.

Both of you stay there, panting and holding each other as you come down from your intense orgasms. You feel like you’re walking on a cloud, feeling boneless. Once you finally catch your breaths, he lifts his head to place a kiss on your lips. He pulls back and huffs a laugh.

“Shit… are you okay?” He asks, placing soft kisses along your collarbone, bringing you back to earth. You struggle to find the words, but eventually open your mouth to speak.

“Yes… I feel amazing…” he chuckles at your answer, your voice coming out croaky.

“I’m glad. Did I fuck your brains out?” He smirks when you nod, and places another kiss on your lips as his hands rub soothing circles on your back. He rests his forehead against yours, looking into your eyes. You untangle your arms from around his neck and place your hands on either side of his face, admiring his features. “I was serious, you know. About the vacancies,” he explains to you. “I can ask my father to arrange a job interview. I’m dead serious, darling.”

You chuckle, the sound of your soft laugh making him smile. You tilt your head. “Hmm… I think you’re just trying to get into my pants…” you tease, to which he chuckles.

“But I already did. Twice” he replies in a low voice, making you giggle. “Oh, and one more thing.” He adds, looking at you, his playful expression turning into a soft one. “Would you go on a date with me?”

Your lips curve into a smile. “Yes. I would love to.”

taglist: @melsunshine @tsujifreya @fan-goddess

[daedalusdavinci]

29

29. Favourite fanfiction(s) of your ship(s)?

you may not know this already, but i have a recs tag where i post exactly this in depth! but i LOVE to boost my favorite fics, so ill do it all again, just for you anon <3 if you want more recs for any of these ships, i promise there are TONS in that tag, (or you can send me another ask for something more specific,) but ill stick to just my absolute top reads in this post

my favorite fanfictions of my favorite (homestuck) ships

starting under the cut bc it got long slkdjnfsjdfn

for halquius, the funniest hs ship-

Second Chances by @mtjester

Lil Hal never said anything about what it meant to be the AI avatar of the God of Heart. After he and Equius had split, everyone had assumed he would go back to Dirk and serve as a sort of spirit companion, the hyper-perceptive Shades of the God of Heart. But to that, he had simply responded, “Nah.” He stayed firmly on Equius’s face, and Equius asked him no questions about it.

this fic is so in character. it captures some of my favorite things about this ship, like how obnoxious they are and the very specific ways they click and enable each other. it also has an absolutely fantastic sequel! its short and funny, and always the first rec i drop for this specific ship.

(the second rec i would drop is my own fic, Hold Me (Accountable). its a space au with mechanic!equius and bounty hunter!AR, and i maintain that its hilarious and a must read if you like this ship at all.)

my resident favorite ship, eridave-

Lee Shore by @jumpingjacktrash

“I asked Egbert to ask you if you have Ampora’s new contact information.” “No, man, I didn’t even know the old info was old. How can you not have a contact for him? It’s not like he changed his chumhandle, email, and phone number all at once.” “As a matter of fact, that is apparently exactly what he did. And deleted his Facebook and his photo blog.” “Dramariffic.” In the years after the game, the twelve trolls and eight humans have tried to stick together, because no one else would understand. When Eridan misses one of their yearly reunions, Dave makes an impulsive decision to go find him.

ive said it before, and ill say it again. this is THE eridave fic. this is the one. if you only ever read one (and its not one of mine), it should be this one. i love how dave takes eridan seriously without enabling him, and how easily they both cut through each others bullshit. the handling of eridans character is DELICIOUS, and i literally think about his relationships with the other trolls in this fic all the time. i dont even know how many times ive read this fic but it goes so hard.

davekat, the classic-

Fait Accompli(cation) by @dragonomatopoeia on tumblr

In Which a Mutant and an Alien Meander Towards a Quadrant of Indeterminate Identity at a Glacial Pace While Examining the Internalized Toxicity Perpetuated by Their Respective Societies, and The Nature of Friendship is Determined to Be More Universal Than Originally Theorized [Banned In Alternia]

this is the quintessential meteor fic. its everything you could ever want in a meteorfic, and deals very heavily with karkat and dave unpacking toxic cultural ideas from their respective planets and coming to a new understanding of who they want to be together. its long, its slowburn, its everything, and the authors put SO much obvious effort and research into getting the voices just right, i still think about and admire it years and years later.

The Eurydice Suite, v2.0 by @callmearcturus

Dream-sharing: a highly illegal little industry in which agents delve into people’s dreams, and unearth their deepest secrets and memories. Within this business, the Strider-Lalondes are known as the best there is — until Dirk Strider gets his fool-ass trapped within the confines of his own subconscious, with his Auto-Responder playing malicious prison warden. To save him, the best and brightest dreamers in the world will have to form a team. Backed by the token rich friend, lead by the surliest extractor ever bribed out of retirement, haunted by the shade of the latest, greatest agent in the biz, and on the run through a dangerous tiered dream in a hostile mind… It’s going to take a miracle to pull this one off.

arc doesnt need any publicity from me, bigname that they are, but i gotta say of all of their fics this one is one i still come back to and reread from time to time all these years later. the au is really cool, and the drama is potent. karkat and dave have a very loaded and complicated, vaguely antagonistic relationship that takes time to get resolved, and you dont see that very often in davekat fics!

davekat, the superior-

Crash Standing by @asukaskerian

It’s been eight days since the end of Sburb and Davesprite is not coping especially well.

IVE SAID IT BEFORE ILL SAY IT AGAIN. BEST. HOMESTUCK FIC. dont look at how many times ive read this dont worry about it. davespritekat is just better than davekat, okay? im sorry. everything is better w davesprite. if youre a davesprite fan i dont even have to say anything else you already know youve gotta read this, but for people who arent- dude, this fic. its such a poignant snapshot of the awkwardness of teenagerdom, especially as a very traumatized teen, and the interpersonal relationships between characters outside of the main two are just so delightful. the john&dave&davesprite dynamic is one i think about constantly, and me and my friend STILL have running jokes about davesprite co< kanaya, which is perhaps the greatest thing to ever be invented, and we have fully incorporated the phrase "sparkle princess alone time" into our day to day vocabulary. i LOVE the gossip chumps, they are everything to me. underrated friendship.

another classic age ship, johndave-

play ball! by spacepuck

When Dave moves to Washington, he expects to spend the summer alone in his room until school starts. But when he stumbles on the sandlot, he discovers a baseball team needing one more player. He quickly gets dragged into the mix, but there's just one problem: he knows absolute dicksquat about the game. Luckily, John, the high school's best baseball player, swoops in to help. (this is basically a sandlot/baseball au. happy summer!)

ive actually been meaning to reread this one, since its been a long time. im adding it to my marked for later rn. i think of all the johndave fics i ever read, this is the one i think about the most years later. ive never read a fic that just. FELT like summer the way this one does. its intimate and sweet and its got the exact feeling of a hot summer night, lying in the grass and staring up at the stars with your best friend. when i read a johndave fic, i want some real fuckin falling in love with your friend as a stupid kid shit, and this is that

dirkjohn-

Vanitas Vanitatum by @oxfordroulette

You've determined the hobbies of the monarch you serve are as follows: 1. Ill-timed pranks. 2. Cooking. 3. Subconsciously pulling elaborate political schemes off perfectly, ad infinitum, every one of which inches his mind closer to some ineffable dark chasm you're curious to find the depth of. Anyway, he makes damn good lasagna.

when i tell you this is the best dirkjohn fic i mean nothing else has ever even COMPARED, and that includes my own goddamn fic. fuck ammfh, read THIS. its political intrigue and messy, MESSY relationships, and a john who is an absolute delightful trickster with serious fucking PROBLEMS. the john/vriska/dirk friendship in this is everything, and the design of the strilondes is so fucking cool??? im ngl i think about those blindfolds everyyy time i make an au. its magic, its kingdomstuck, its dnd, its got illustrations, its EVERYTHING. oxfordRoulette is like a fucking professional at writing fics where everyone kind of sucks and is super toxic and a little bit evil and its THE BEST. LOVE this fic

for bropsii-

just read anything by captorvatiing. just go do that. or read the entirety of the @askpsii blog again?? for the ten millionth time? and cry about how theres like no content.

all of my other favorite ships are too niche to have fics </3 lol. read MY fics, thats what you should do. just go read the fics for the tags that i personally started sldkjfnsdlfsdf

ALSO YOU SHOULD READ LET'S BE OUTCASTS BY @curlicuecal. this is the only time ill ever recommend anything thats incomplete but GOD ITS SO GOOD. i wont say anything else. just that its SO. GOOD. and if you like hal or the exiles you will LOVE this

[ronearoundblindly]

Threadbare (Finale)

Steve Rogers x Fashion Designer!Reader

Part Five: Reversal Point (see previous or series)

Summary: The big day (and date) has arrived. Tonight is the Hellfire Gala!

Warnings for floof, fuff, foofin', double-floofery, and death by fluff. WC 3872

(art by DonAguillo on Facebook)

You’re nervous, but it’s hard not to be.

Steve sent a text five minutes ago saying he’s almost to the shop, so instead of pacing around upstairs, you made your way down and are locking up.

Above you flutters the reflective blue tarp over the window Steve broke into nearly two weeks ago, but that only makes you smile.

The whirlwind of a successful show—one where not only did you kill it on stage, no one actually died—has brought a wave of press and a lovely flood of new clientele, men who would never have thought to bother with your designs when they’d only ever seen you cater to bulky physiques. It’s an honor (and a testament to the efficacy of Tony Stark’s stupid manipulation) to dress more and more unique souls, but you’ve been left no time to handle the ‘break-in’ damage.

The media buzz keeps you busy enough that all four of your employees have been at work at least six days a week, in addition to finishing the trimmings of Captain America’s suit for this Gala and creating an entirely new gown of your own. People can’t stop talking about the fashionable woman fielding bullets with no training. Lately, the press likes to think of you as the amateur engineer version of Black Widow. You’ve been dubbed the ‘Red Weaver’ by some shitty blog that got traction in the messy aftermath of your show.

You couldn’t really care less. You got to spend the night and day after Fisk’s attack isolated in your upstairs bubble of a studio with Steve Rogers.

The new nickname, however, gave you the idea for your dress. You knew you would want to compliment Steve’s patriotic palette, but since you’re not very well going to rewear the gown from your show, you’ve leaned into the Red Weaver/Black Widow persona and built an ombre gown. It has a cheeky casualness compared to your date’s formal three-piece, double-breasted, matching overcoat ensemble.

[Image offered as example, not reflective of Reader's race, size, shape, or skin tone.]

It’s all very fancy and promotable.

In truth, you prefer ‘Button,’ specifically being Steve’s Button, and tonight that is exactly and entirely what you get to be: a button on Cap’s handsome arm.

It’s Hellfire Night.

There’s a crackle of road gravel as the limousine pulls right up to your curb, but you don’t see Steve first. Sam Wilson pops his head and torso out of the sunroof with a beaming white smile.

“Ah yes, the woman of the hour,” he coos before glancing back down into the backseat. “Close your mouth, buddy. You’re gonna swallow a bug.”

You giggle and approach the shiny black car. The door latch opens from the inside.

“You look ama—“

Thud. Steve whacks his head on the door rim trying to step out.

“Oh gosh, are you okay?” You make it to him just as Steve stands up straight on the sidewalk.

It’s easy and instinctive, meant to be, the way his hands settle against your arms and sweep down to hold your delicately gloved hands.

“You’re stunning,” Steve whispers.

“That’s not a concussion talking?”

“He’ll survive,” Sam yells from inside the car. “Pretty sure he ran through several solid walls just to get to the showers after our run.”

“It was one glass door and I didn’t see it close after Davis,” Steve barks over his shoulder. 

You tick your head up toward your apartment. “You and the windows, handsome. Not friends, huh?”

He rolls his glittering blue eyes playfully, huffing, “Don’t you start.” Steve releases your hands and straightens his jacket. “How do I look? Do I have designer’s approval?”

You shimmy his tie a little tighter. “Yes,” you sigh, “always perfect.”

Steve’s grin matches Sam’s as he helps you into the limo. On the relatively short drive over to the venue, since Wilson is there, too, Steve holds your hand over his thigh and runs his bare thumb over your red glove. You can’t for the life of you pay attention to their conversation, so you gaze back and forth from the city lights to their glow and shadow flickering over Steve’s face.

The wonderful thing about this ‘first’ date is you and Steve are already baptized by fire; in every crisis, you’ve complimented each other. He hopes to protect you but doesn’t treat you like a fragile innocent. You admire him but don’t stand on the sidelines. Best of both your worlds, together, in harmony. (Also, you’ve already kissed so there’s definitely chemistry.)

You’re happy tonight is about him. Captain America has been a pillar of the superhero movement and a cornerstone of the Avengers team for over a decade (and famous for a fair few before that), so you squeeze his hand in encouragement when Sam lets himself out onto the red carpet first.

You can hear the roar of paparazzi in the seconds the door is open and shut.

Steve, in no hurry at all, shifts in his seat and studies your face with soft eyes.

“I don’t want to…” his gaze darts down to your lips and back “…mess up your makeup,” he finishes, tongue darting to wet his own.

You don’t let him get away with just a hope this time, cupping his face and planting a huge smooch square on his beautiful pout.

“Waterproof,” you tease. Your finger sweeps over his not-reddened—but not unaffected—lips, and you wait the extra few seconds for Steve to snap out of his distraction and clear his throat.

“Right,” he breathes. “Will you hand me my cloak and I’ll help you out?”

“Sure thing, Handsome.”

Captain America steps out into a flashing sea of people, a navy blue suit with red pinstripes sculpting his frame. His grey vest, skinny black tie, and neutral, muted shirt all harken back to his original army days, and you offer the statement of the whole getup when he turns back around.

He tosses the red satin-lined, bold blue trench coat loosely over his broad shoulders and holds out a hand for your to take.

Steve’s eyes never leave you.

There are questions shouted incoherently in the chaos, but step by step, you two make it to the entryway.

You jump when you hear a voice much closer and clearer than the press.

“Sheers!” Tony wastes no time holding out his hand, but not to shake. In between two fingers is a folded paper, and he peers at you over his trademark shades.

Knowing he won’t lay off until you answer, you pluck the offer from his grasp, read it, and shove the bit into his breast pocket.

“What is this, Tony?” Steve tries to ask.

“No,” you answer simply. You curl around Steve’s arm and nudge him to lead you both inside.

The billionaire playboy is not pleased to lose, his face falling in a flat line of disappointment, but he doesn’t follow. You doubt that’ll be the last you’ll see him tonight.

Imagine the most extravagant and enchanting display. Stark has put that to shame.

You’re practically blinded by the opulence, but of course, everyone in the building knows and loves Steve Rogers, so even the foyer is the start of a dozen conversations. You expect the shaking hands. You expect questions to focus on him. What you don’t expect is how he introduces you to every single agent, mutant, and superhero to cross your path.

This gorgeous lady…this stunner here…this beauty…

This is my genius date.

Then there’s the response.

“Oh, I know who Tovarich is.”

“Don’t worry! She’s already a legend.”

“I’ve watched every show a dozen times on YouTube.”

“I’d just die to be wearing something of yours!”

Whenever someone gushes about your dress or Steve’s suit, he preens and echos every flattery. Steve’s enthusiasm seems directly linked to his obvious habit of ‘bragging’ about you at work, and he easily folds you into conversation like you’ve always been by his side. It’s not fake. He’s animated, comfortable, and downright loving.

Your heart races with a contact high from so much praise.

At one point mid-mingle in the ballroom, a hand lands on your other shoulder.

“Stark,” you say, turning away from Steve and several agents’ small talk. “To what do I owe—oh!”

Another piece of paper. He’s insistent. He waits with impatient arms wrapped over his chest and stares at Steve whilst you mull over his proposal.

“My god, you’ve managed to keep him the second sexiest man in the building while completely covering his ass. That’s talent.”

You open the paper, shake your head, and return it. “I know. How else do I stake my claim?”

Tony, obviously believing himself the first among sexy men in the joint, checks his watch and grumbles.

“One day you’ll call me ‘Tony,’” he mutters. “Alright, Sheers. You drive a hard bargain. Give me twenty minutes,” and he’s off like a shot, phone to his ear.

Steve wraps an arm around your waist. The gesture is a cocoon of comfort with his long coat still on, his grip gentle and steady, fingers fiddling with the layering of black tulle as it puffs out from beneath your thick belt.

“Everything ok?” he whispers in your ear, kissing your temple.

“Oh yes,” you sigh, moving to lace your own hold around him, “man just can’t read a room.”

You’re not sure when or how it happens—given the blur of hundreds of people spread out through a dozen rooms—but as the event wears on, Steve finds you seats, brings over food to share, hangs his coat over the back of the chair, and folds his jacket as well. He specifically asks if it’s ok to take out his cufflinks in order to roll up his sleeves.

“Don’t want to ruin the look,” he jokes.

Carefully, you remove your gloves and offer to style him all over again.

Steve smiles, leans in, and flips his wrist over, letting you deftly remove the cufflink which he just now notices is an exact match to your earrings.

As you fold over one starched sleeve, he smirks.

“Thank you.”

You’re precise with your task, and at first, he doesn’t elaborate. The venue is bustling, people all around, even a trio who sat at the other side of the round table, but Steve’s blue eyes are only on you. Each exposed forearm flexes to aid your work, and during your finishing touches, he lets his fingers brush your lap.

You’re about to ask what he’s thanking you for when the look in his eyes stops you hot.

Steve reaches out, running his knuckles behind your mirroring earrings and letting his skin graze yours. He fluffs up the tulle around your wide collar. “Just…wanted to contribute,” he whispers in the din of the party, blushing, his fingers lingering across your collarbone.

“Capybara,” Stark bursts from behind you again, “I can see the bottom of the lady’s glass. I know I’ve taught you better than that.”

Steve shoves his sleeve up a smidge higher like a nervous tick and winks at you, squeezing your knee gently through your skirts.

“I was just going to refill them, Tony. Cool your jets.” He heads to the bar in the next room over.

Stark unceremoniously drops into the chair behind you, sliding a third, folded paper over the tablecloth.

“Final offer. I think you’ll find it…tempting,” he says darkly.

You open the note and try to keep your face neutral until Stark also points his phone screen at you. He lets you flick through a string of pictures.

“And this is a done deal?” you clarify. “Not a hypothetical?”

“Yes, why else would it have taken me—“ he checks his watch again “—what?—thirty-two minutes to secure? I’m losing my touch…”

You feel light-headed with the possibility. Tony Stark really has outdone himself this time, and yes, he has finally read the room—read you—correctly. It’s perfect. You’d be a fool not to accept.

Stark raps his knuckle triumphantly on the table once you nod.

“Talk contracts tomorrow?”

“No,” you laugh, biting your red lips, “not tomorrow, Tony. But soon.”

“These glasses—“ Stark taps the thick wire and acetate rim of his spectacles “—now have video confirmation of your verbal agreement. So that’s a handshake deal. No take-backsies.” He stands just as Steve returns.

You’re settled by a quick peck to your temple when Steve leans to place two icy drinks on the tablecloth.

Stark hasn’t wiped the smug look off his face.

“What do you want? A pinkie promise?” you bite sweetly.

“Unnecessary,” he scoffs, “but for reference, I want a coat like that—“ he points to Steve’s chair “—in red and gold, obviously, and now, I leave you with the knowledge that I win. You called me ‘Tony.’”

Stark winks and puffs out his chest, smoothing a ringed hand over his velvet lapels.

“Tah-tah. Oh, and don’t you two dare sneak off before my speech.” He holds you and Steve’s gazes for a long, forceful second. “Excellent.”

“What on Earth was that about?” Steve ponders, nudging his chair under the table but coincidentally closer to you. “Everything alright? What’s he been bothering you with?”

You’re too curious to go into it without some confirmation.

Casually, you pick up your drink and clink glasses with your date, thinking about whether you can call him your boyfriend yet, wondering if you’ve just overplayed your hand.

“You grew up in Brooklyn, right?” you start. “Do you miss it?”

Steve sighs and looks longingly into the distance. “All the time,” he says with a soft smile. “I suppose the neighborhood isn’t the same—maybe not even close—but it still feels like home every time I get over there.”

You try not to let the dewy tumbler slip through your clammy fingers. “How often is that?”

“It’s not even far.” Steve knits his eyebrows in shame. “Too long between visits, but…that separation—not being at that Tower and enjoying the feel of normal life—that is nice while I’m there. Why do you ask? You ever been?”

“Of course,” you shrug, “like passing through. Nothing… long-term.”

Oh boy, you’ve got to steel your nerves. You wiggle into the upholstered seat, taking a few fortifying gulps.

“Tony has just succeeded in recruiting me,” you admit.

“Ah, I see.” Except, Steve clearly doesn’t see the connection. He simply gathers his attention back to you instead of his far-off reverie. “How many zeros did you make him add since we walked in the door?”

Here we go, you think. “Words. I made him add words, but he finally got me.”

Steve snorts. “Did you make him change ‘million’ to ‘billion?’”

This could go very well or very poorly. It’s technically your first date, but you’ve defeated a villain together, spent weeks sharing everything from meals to colored pencils to sunset sit-downs, and might be working closely long-term. If you can’t admit what you want for your future now, when can you?

“No—“ you fiddle with one of your gloves on the table “—he changed ‘billion’ to ‘Brooklyn.’”

Steve stops moving entirely, his eyes fixed on the glass in his hand.

“An address,” you clarify. “Tony’s secured me a house in Brooklyn. I’ll have my own place. I won’t live where I work anymore.”

Steve’s expression morphs constantly as if he’s trying to cover up a bad poker face. “That’s wonderful,” he says warily, with just shy of a grimace. “Better than I’ve managed to do in ten years…”

You take a sip and clear your throat. This is hard to fathom saying to Captain America in a building full of people who can do anything and have whatever they want.

“I hope it’s not too forward of me to say…I know it’s…early on…but—“ you scoot in your seat until your knees touch Steve’s thigh “—you’d be welcome to visit—to stay—if you want.”

He’s silent. The music ramps up in time with your heart rate.

“You know, just so you can have that separation whenever. I saw the pictures. It certainly has enough bedrooms that—“

Steve bursts out laughing, shocking himself if how quickly he claps a hand over his mouth is any indication. It’s a bad time for a fit of giggles, but that’s exactly what takes him over. When he moves his hand, it lands on your trembling one, pressing down into your lap. His huge frame continues to shake, racked by contagious jubilee, and after he’s tried to stop, to calm down, to form words—twice—and failed, you break, too.

What exactly you’re laughing at, you have no idea, but apparently, your proposal of sorts is wildly amusing to your date.

“You’re right,” you backtrack in between nervous peels. “It’s ridiculous. Just forget I—“

“No, no,” he finally manages, squeezing your hand again. “That’s not—I didn’t mean to laugh at that. It’s just…it’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

He tilts your chin up to force your eyes to meet his.

“I think Tony might be dangling you in front of me like a carrot.”

“I promise I don’t have an agenda,” you offer.

He shakes his head gently, one of the longer strands of his golden hair falling across his face. “No. Just a job. Button sewing buttons in Brooklyn for the betterment of a billionaire,” Steve jokes quietly, playing with your palm, his rough fingertips tracing every line, callus, and joint of yours.

“Your Button,” you add, “suiting up superheroes in exchange for a Handsome fee.”

“Your Handsome,” he corrects, brushing over the rapid pulse at your wrist.

“Well then…” you’re frozen in his endless sky eyes, thirty-thousand-feet high on possibilities “…my Handsome deserves a home, too, don’t you think?”

Steve’s only answer is to lunge, locking his fingers behind your neck to hold your lips steady when he is anything but.

A few younger mutants start cheering and shouting for Cap to ‘get it,’ but you simply smile into his kiss because Steve isn’t at all concerned about your lipstick anymore.

He pulls back less than an inch, thumbs petting the thin bit of bare skin behind your ears. “We’re really doing this, huh?”

Your breaths mingle, but you don’t open your eyes. “It was always real for me, Steve.”

The pressure of his hold increases as you are pulled back to his lips.

“Me—“ kiss “—too.” Another kiss. “Me too.”

Before you drown completely in the bottomless pit of his affection, however, you remember that you two are supposed to stay decent until after Stark’s speech. You don’t know how long that is scheduled from now, but you won’t last lip-locked with Captain America like this.

You push your forehead to knock you apart. “We should—“

Steve shoots backward, at immediate attention. “Go see the house?!” He bounces with impatience like a kid on Christmas morning.

“I—well, I was going to say dance,” you chuckle, licking the taste of him from your surely faded but  freshly swollen pout, “but I suppose—“

“No, you’re right. Of course.” Steve blushes furiously and scrambles out of his chair. “That was stupid. Forget I said that.”

“I won’t,” you promise, taking his hand to be led off to the open floor.

EPILOGUE

“And then Uncle Tony threw his hands up—“ Steve pulls his baby’s legs into the air playfully while happy shrieks ring out “—and welcomed our teammate, the Red Weaver herself—“ he wiggles the onesie back up a squishy little body “—Miss Tovarich.”

He fake-cheers very, very quietly. “The crowd went wild.”

Enormous blue eyes meet equally joyous cerulean.

“Yeah, well, I know what you’re thinking, but that was before Mommy was Misses Rogers.”

Steve dramatically heaves the freshly changed baby into his arms.

“Gosh, you’re so big.” There’s babbling in reply. “Another story? Okay. I think we’ve got time for one more…”

He returns to the living room where you work at the table, sketches spread out, a shared tin of colored pencils open in the center. “When’s Abby coming?” he asks.

“Any minute now,” you mutter with a wink. “Won’t take too long to get ready after that.”

“Alrighty!” Steve sits in the adjacent chair. “I’ll tell ya the first moment I knew she was the one.” 

Your child faces you, balanced on your husband’s lap as he eyes your work not-so-subtly.

Steve describes the night of your Spring Show, how he expected to be blown away, how he didn’t expect to have his whole life flash before his eyes.

“See, that’s when I knew Momma loved me for everything I am and ever was.” He matches your sweet smile across the cluttered surface. “She had no need to prove herself. She didn’t even know I would be there. She did it all anyway.

“That’s what makes your mom the best,” he says, kissing a soft, fuzzy head. “She makes the only best for your outsides because she sees who’s inside.” He taps the baby’s tummy. “Right there. She sees beauty in there—“ giggles “—and makes sure everyone else sees, too. The whole world. She knows there is no one mold for everyone and celebrates them all. She lets them shine.”

Steve lowers his voice fondly.

“She let me shine through.”

By now he’s told you many times over, but that show—to see how he was born appreciated and glorified—healed a fissure within Steve Rogers he had not known was only connected by a rotting bridge. What he was made into by Erskine’s formula…there’s nothing wrong with him this way, but so few people in his life have ever proved the original truth to Steve.

There was nothing wrong with him before.

“That’s right, little love,” you lean over to tease your husband. “And Mommy lets Daddy wear all the sweatpants he wants because he’s comfy. He deserves to be comfy…and he looks very good in them.”

Steve chuckles, bouncing his tiny charge with the movement. “And Daddy lets Mommy measure him whenever she wants.” 

You gasp in faux scandalization, placing the gray back in the single, shared case of colored pencils between you.

“Also, most importantly—“ you point a finger at a tiny, button nose and crossed eyes “—in this house, we never give Tony Stark credit for anything.”

“Uncle Tony hates not getting credit,” Steve agrees. “And Momma loves driving him nuts.”

The doorbell rings.

You pop up from the table. “It’s the little things in life…”

Abby takes the little Rogers into the family room to play while you and Steve get ready for one of those stuffy events, the ones that are a little less terrible when you suffer through them together, the ones suffered through in style.

With a final shift of his tie and flip of his collar, you pet your ringed fingers down his chest.

“Making this look good, Handsome.”

“Thanks to you, Button.”

“Anytime.” Steve leans his forehead against yours.

“Always.”

After a few calm breaths, you squeeze his shoulders to head out to the waiting car, shutting the front door of your Brooklyn home, leaving the hall light on over the family photo: the Man With A Plan in blue, the Red Weaver, and their beautiful baby in a pure white christening gown.

A/N: *incoherent weeping noises* I don't even know what to say yet, so I'll come back to it. Thank you so much for reading! 💚💜

Taglist: @shelbygeek @rogersideup @eyebagsanonymous @trudy-shams @saranghaey @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp @supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @awkwardgiraffe726 @femefetalelevelingup

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[ixhika-jsx]

## What’s a Cyber Forensic Investigator?

Master post - part 1 • part 2

You must have heard bout forensics yk investigating bout dead people who might have been killed and all

You must have seen shows on those topics too.Cyber forensic investigator is just of same kind but investigating through all types of modern gadgets.

Catching hackers and all but cooler

### The Money Talk: How Much Do They Make?

- **Cash Money**: Expect to rake in about $60k to $120k a year. If you are very much experienced and skilled then you can expect about 150k+ a year.(obv different countries and companies may have different wages)

### Companies That Want You

- **Tech Titans**: Google, Amazon, Facebook—they all have requirement for such heroes

- **Gov Jobs**: FBI, CIA—basically every spy agency wants you.

- **Cybersecurity Firms**: CrowdStrike, McAfee—so every gateway you go you gonna have opportunities everywhere.

### What Other Forensic Investigators Are There?

- **Forensic Pathologists**: Real-life detectives who figure out how someone died. Less tech, more science.

- **DNA Analysts**: The ones matching DNA samples

- **Forensic Accountants**: Following the money to catch fraudsters and scammers

- **Toxicologists**: Poison experts, figuring out if someone’s been covertly poisoned. (Yeaa yk snow white story)

### What’s the Work Environment Like?

- **The Lab**: Imagine a room filled with more screens than your gaming setup. Gadgets galore, maybe even a Red Bull or two

- **On the Move**: Sometimes you’re out in the field, collecting evidence. Think of it like collecting rare items in a game.

- **Remote Vibes**: You could be solving cybercrimes from your bed in your PJs .

### How Long Does It Take to Become One?

- **Time Investment**: About 4 years for a bachelor’s, and then 1-2 more years for a master’s if you’re going all-in. So, 5-6 years total. But hey, good things take time, right?

### What Do You Study?

- **Cybersecurity/Computer Science**: Your main jams. Think of them as the ultimate cheat codes for this career.

- **Digital Forensics**: Specialized courses where you learn to be a digital ninja.

- **Law and Ethics**: Learning how to catch the bad guys without breaking the law yourself. (You yourself don't want to be troubled obviously)

### Subjects You Need to Get Into It

- **Math**: Yep, but not the boring kind—more like coding and algorithms.

- **Computer Science**: Your go-to for everything techy.

- **Optional Nerd Points**: Chemistry/Physics if you’re into hardware forensics or just want to flex those brain muscles.

### Work Hours: What to Expect?

- **9 to 5-ish**: Standard hours if you’re working for a company, but expect some late nights or weekend shifts when big cases pop up.

- **On-Call Madness**: Sometimes you’re on-call like a digital firefighter. Cyber-attack at 3 AM? Time to suit up (or log in) and handle it.

- **Flexible/Remote**: If you’re lucky, you can work from home. Just remember, no solving crimes in your underwear during Zoom meetings!

### Interview with a Cyber Forensic Investigator

**Interviewer**: What’s a day in the life of a cyber forensic investigator?

**Cyber Sleuth**: Imagine rolling out of bed, grabbing your coffee, and diving into cases. I’m talking analyzing hard drives, sifting through emails, or tracking down cyberattack origins. Some days it’s all data, other days I’m working with law enforcement or testifying in court. Never a dull moment!

**Interviewer**: What’s the coolest case you’ve worked on?

**Cyber Sleuth**: Helping bust a phishing ring that was scamming millions. Tracked their digital footprints, caught the culprits, and recovered their loot. Felt like a total legend.

**Interviewer**: Ever seen some dark stuff, like murders?

*Cyber Sleuth**: Yeah, I’ve stumbled across some pretty grim stuff. It’s not all memes and malware—sometimes it’s serious business. But catching those bad guys makes it all worth it.

**Interviewer**: Have you ever been on the dark web?

**Cyber Sleuth**: Oh, for sure. It’s like the sketchy underbelly of the internet. Lots of shady deals. I go there when I need to, but it’s not a fun hangout spot.

**Interviewer**: How dark can a case get?

**Cyber Sleuth**: It can get really intense. I’ve worked on cases involving human trafficking and other serious crimes. It’s tough, but making a difference makes it worth it.

**Interviewer**: Any advice for someone who wants to get into this field?

**Cyber Sleuth**: Stay curious and keep learning. Tech evolves fast, so you’ve gotta keep up. And don’t be afraid to dig deep—sometimes the answers are buried in tons of data, but finding them is like hitting gold.

So if you’re into tech and have subjects like mathematics , chemistry and physics then you are all set to start your journey.i have seen ppl running for a common a job and all and they are not even specified about what they want. So just research and find out what you want.

[dailyanarchistposts]

Author: CrimethInc. Topic: technology

“The future is already here,” Cyberpunk pioneer William Gibson once said; “it’s just not very evenly distributed.” Over the intervening decades, many people have repurposed that quote to suit their needs. Today, in that tradition, we might refine it thus: War is already here—it’s just not very evenly distributed.

Never again will the battlefield be just state versus state; it hasn’t been for some time. Nor are we seeing simple conflicts that pit a state versus a unitary insurgent that aspires to statehood. Today’s wars feature belligerents of all shapes and sizes: states (allied and non-allied), religious zealots (with or without a state), local and expatriate insurgents, loyalists to former or failing or neighboring regimes, individuals with a political mission or personal agenda, and agents of chaos who benefit from the instability of war itself. Anyone or any group of any size can go to war.

The increased accessibility of the technology of disruption and war[1] means the barrier to entry is getting lower all the time. The structure of future wars will sometimes feel familiar, as men with guns murder children and bombs level entire neighborhoods—but it will take new forms, too. Combatants will manipulate markets and devalue currencies. Websites will be subject to DDoS attacks and disabling—both by adversaries and by ruling governments. Infrastructure and services like hospitals, banks, transit systems, and HVAC systems will all be vulnerable to attacks and interruptions.

In this chaotic world, in which new and increasing threats ceaselessly menace our freedom, technology has become an essential battlefield. Here at the CrimethInc. technology desk, we will intervene in the discourse and distribution of technological know-how in hopes of enabling readers like you to defend and expand your autonomy. Let’s take a glance at the terrain.

Privacy

The NSA listens to, reads, and records everything that happens on the internet.

Amazon, Google, and Apple are always listening[2] and sending some amount[3] of what they hear back to their corporate data centers[4]. Cops want that data. Uber, Lyft, Waze, Tesla, Apple, Google, and Facebook know your whereabouts and your movements all of the time. Employees spy on users.

Police[5] want access to the contents of your phone, computer, and social media accounts—whether you’re a suspected criminal, a dissident on a watch list, or an ex-wife.

The business model of most tech companies is surveillance capitalism. Companies learn everything possible about you when you use their free app or website, then sell your data to governments, police, and advertisers. There’s even a company named Palantir, after the crystal ball in The Lord of the Rings that the wizard Saruman used to gaze upon Mordor—through which Mordor gazed into Saruman and corrupted him.[6] Nietzsche’s famous quote, “When you look long into an abyss, the abyss also looks into you,” now sounds like a double transcription error: surely he didn’t mean abyss, but app.

Security

Self-replicating malware spreads across Internet of Things (IoT) devices like “smart” light bulbs and nanny cams, conscripting them into massive botnets. The people who remotely control the malware then use these light bulbs and security cameras to launch debilitating DDoS[7] attacks against DNS providers, reporters, and entire countries.

Hackers use ransomware to hold colleges, hospitals, and transit systems hostage. Everything leaks, from nude photos on celebrities’ phones to the emails of US political parties.

Capital

Eight billionaires combined own as much wealth as the poorest 50% of the world’s population. Four of those eight billionaires are tech company founders.[8] Recently, the President of the United States gathered a group of executives to increase collaboration between the tech industry and the government.[9]

The tech industry in general, and the Silicon Valley in particular, has a disproportionately large cultural influence. The tech industry is fundamentally tied to liberalism and therefore to capitalism. Even the most left-leaning technologists aren’t interested in addressing the drawbacks of the social order that has concentrated so much power in their hands.[10]

War

Nation states are already engaging in cyber warfare. Someone somewhere[11] has been learning how to take down the internet.

Tech companies are best positioned to create a registry of Muslims and other targeted groups. Even if George W. Bush and Barack Obama hadn’t already created such lists and deported millions of people, if Donald Trump (or any president) wanted to create a registry for roundups and deportations, all he’d have to do is go to Facebook. Facebook knows everything about you.

The Obama administration built the largest surveillance infrastructure ever—Donald Trump’s administration just inherited it. Liberal democracies and fascist autocracies share the same love affair with surveillance. As liberalism collapses, the rise of autocracy coincides with the greatest technical capacity for spying in history, with the least cost or effort. It’s a perfect storm.

This brief overview doesn’t even mention artificial intelligence (AI), machine learning, virtual reality (VR), augmented reality (AR), robots, the venture capital system, or tech billionaires who think they can live forever with transfusions of the blood of young people.

Here at the tech desk, we’ll examine technology and its effects from an anarchist perspective. We’ll publish accessible guides and overviews on topics like encryption, operational security, and how to strengthen your defenses for everyday life and street battles. We’ll zoom out to explore the relation between technology, the state, and capitalism—and a whole lot more. Stay tuned.

Footnotes

[1] A surplus of AK-47s. Tanks left behind by U.S. military. Malware infected networked computer transformed into DDoS botnets. Off the shelf ready to execute scripts to attack servers.

[2] Amazon Echo / Alexa. Google with Google Home. Apple with Siri. Hey Siri, start playing music.

[3] What, how much, stored for how long, and accessible by whom are all unknown to the people using those services.

[4] Unless you are a very large company, “data center” means someone else’s computer sitting in someone else’s building.

[5] Local beat cops and police chiefs, TSA, Border Patrol, FBI… all the fuckers.

[6] Expect to read more about Palantir and others in a forthcoming article about surveillance capitalism.

[7] Distributed Denial of Service. More on this in a later article, as well.

[8] Bill Gates, Jeff Bezos, Mark Zuckerberg, Larry Ellison. In fact, if you count Michael Bloomberg as a technology company, that makes five.

[9] In attendance: Eric Trump. Brad Smith, Microsoft president and chief legal officer. Jeff Bezos, Amazon founder and CEO. Larry Page, Google founder and Alphabet CEO. Sheryl Sandberg, Facebook COO. Mike Pence. Donald Trump. Peter Thiel, venture capitalist. Tim Cook, Apple CEO. Safra Catz, Oracle CEO. Elon Musk, Tesla CEO. Gary Cohn, Goldman Sachs president and Trump’s chief economic adviser. Wilbur Ross, Trump’s commerce secretary pick. Stephen Miller, senior policy adviser. Satya Nadella, Microsoft CEO. Ginni Rometty, IBM CEO. Chuck Robbins, Cisco CEO. Jared Kushner, investor and Trump’s son-in-law. Reince Priebus, chairman of the Republican National Committee and White House chief of staff. Steve Bannon, chief strategist to Trump. Eric Schmidt, Alphabet president. Alex Karp, Palantir CEO. Brian Krzanich, Intel CEO.

[10] We’ll explore this more in a later article about “The California Ideology.”

[11] Probably a state-level actor such as Russia or China.

[fischlcatgirl]

Liyue Social Media Use Headcannons

baizhu - facebook but only for arguing in facebook groups against antivaxxers. he is in there 24/7

changsheng - instagram

beidou - never has any signal out on the open sea. has a special elemental pager that ningguang has the button for to let her know when she is thinking of her

chongyun - forum poster. makes youtube videos about hunting down spirits but theyre so boring because where are the spirits. where are the spirits chongyun

gaming - regular grindr. most normal in the world on there. spends his breaks on tiktok. regular stuff

ganyu - part of the qixing work facebook group. twitter which she posts on once a year. master of the google suite. when google+ died so did a part of her

hu tao - has tried 4000 million different viral marketing tactics. is currently making zhongli run a tiktok arg. definitely has a tiktok shop

keqing - qixing work facebook. posts on the anti-archon 4chan board because thats the only place she can find anyone to actually talk to her about it and even then its rancid

ningguang - qixing work facebook. aforementioned pager.

qiqi - none. baizhu tried to give qiqi one of those kid phones that you can only play one game but she immediately lost it

shenhe - has the 1 cell phone she was given 15 years ago when cloud retainer invented them. uses it almost exclusively for calls because she can only text using the speech to text feature. yunjin put her contact in but shenhe only knows how to make calls from the actual phone app, not from contacts

xiangling - runs the intagram for the wanmin resturant. has put recipes up online but absolutely does the thing where she tells a sixteen page long story before actually getting to the recipe

xianyun - inventor of the cell phone. and also the internet. uses facebook to post the same five stories about ganyu and shenhe every year

xiao - thinks karma can travel through radio waves so he got rid of the one cloud retainer gave him when she invented them. occasionally makes calls using the wangshu inn landline but only to other adepti

xingqiu - active livejournal account. the only person commenting on chongyun's youtube videos

xinyan - music twitch streamer. on the worlds most obscure music sharing sites.

yanfei - teyvat version of the lockpickinglawyer

yaoyao - far too busy for any of that nonsense

yelan - has no personal social media but has created 1000 fake people she can become. these are interconnected profiles on websites that go back almost a decade. or more.

yun jin - has no personal social media but has a managed account for her personal brand. was in a documentary about herself once

zhongli - didnt bother remaking any of his accounts after he faked his death. he just deleted his posts and changed the name in his bio. being forced to run a tiktok arg for hu tao. he doesnt know how tiktok works and she is not helping him

[thedsgnblog]

Brand Identity and Packaging Design for Goldmine Gummies by Robot Food

In California, cannabis edibles are big business. Yet all the brands in the category look the same – either following the cheesy ‘stoner’ tropes or opting for an ‘old fashioned boiled sweet’ style aesthetic in an attempt to seem credible. This brand was all about intrigue and escapism so, using the name as a springboard, we created a playful narrative thread to run through everything.

We tapped into the nostalgia of brands we grew up with and loved as kids and reinvented them to suit adults today, encouraging people to find their Goldmine – whatever that means to them. Inspired by the world of cosmetics, we created a whole host of branded displays to inject some much-needed excitement into the in-store experience.

TDB:  instagram  •  linkedin  •  facebook  •  newsletter  •   pinterest

[nonsenseofyesteryear]

r/AmItheAsshole posts are just like:

AITA for causing a beloved family business to close?

I (24M) got a second job at a local bakery last year to help pay off my student loan debt. About a month ago, the owner called all the staff into a meeting and said the restaurant had "fallen on hard times", and that we'd all be expected to work at least one shift for free each week "until the situation improves". I said I wasn't doing that, that I was only working there to help pay off loans, and that getting up at 4 AM on a Saturday to work for free when I already had another full-time job wasn't worth it. The boss told me to leave and I did. Three weeks later I got a call from my former boss, saying my "refusal to be a team player" had caused other employees to follow suit, and that now even the manager was refusing to "do her part" by working for free. As a result, the bakery closed down. The owner posted on the Facebook page and tagged me, basically blaming me for the decision to close. It said "We were hoping our employees would chip in and do the right thing to help us get through this, but [NAME] choosing not to do that caused a ripple effect and forced us to close." The post got dozens of comments, with people talking about how much they loved the bakery, all the fond memories they'd had there over the years, etc. Which is fine. I get being sad when a good local business has to close. Then people started messaging me and posting about me, saying what a horrible person I was for costing the owner his livelihood, saying I should go back and offer to work full-time for free, etc. Somehow they got in touch with my parents, and my mom even asked me why I couldn't "help out a business owner in need". There have been posts calling me an entitled jerk, people have called my regular employer, someone even suggested the owner sue me. I just don't think I should have had to work for free so someone else could keep their business open. AITA for causing a domino effect that resulted in this small business closing?

[mariacallous]

Like Dave and Benji, the oddly matched cousins in Jesse Eisenberg’s new feature film, “A Real Pain,” I recently embarked with five of my American Jewish cousins on an unusual family heritage journey to Poland. We had never traveled together, but we were inspired by a powerful idea: bringing back to Poland a beautiful family heirloom — a Jewish prayer shawl, or tallis, that one of our ancestors brought to the United States nearly a century ago. 

That ancestor was Max Lang, my great-grandfather on my mother’s side of the family. My older cousins had known Max as their grandfather. But like my younger cousins, I had never met him, as he had died before I was born in 1957. Even so, Max’s life story is a thread that binds us together as a family, because it was his initiative that created the basis for our family life in the United States.

Max was born in 1884 into a Hasidic family of bakers in Nowy Zmigrod, a small town now located in southeast Poland. At the age of 17, he emigrated to the United States and settled on the Lower East Side. When he first arrived in New York, he worked for two full years as a beker yingl, an apprentice baker, earning no pay. Instead, he was fed by the baker’s wife and allowed to sleep on a large sack of flour, using empty burlap bags for bedding. 

In due time, Max found work that paid $4 a month and then went into business for himself. From the 1910s through the 1950s, he established successful bakeries across New York City, including one on Brooke Avenue in the Bronx and another on West 117th Street, just off Lenox Avenue in Harlem. 

Prosperous by the late 1920s, Max could afford to travel to his hometown in Poland to visit his large religious family. By that time, Max was no longer an observant Jew. In a photo from that trip, he appears clean-shaven and dressed like a “Yankee” in a fashionable suit and hat. 

Max’s non-religiosity aside, during that visit his observant brother Pinkhas presented him with a gift — a magnificent tallis, which boasted a neckband, or atarah, embroidered with silver thread. Max returned to New York with the tallis, where it was seldom used, as synagogue worship was not part of his or his children’s lives. 

When Max returned to New York, with the tallis in his luggage, he had no idea that he would never see his family again. In 1939, German forces occupied Nowy Zmigrod. On July 7, 1942, they murdered nearly all the town’s Jews, including Max’s cousins, in a nearby forest. After this terrible massacre, almost every physical remnant of Jewish life in Nowy Zmigrod was pillaged or destroyed. Max’s tallis, stowed safely in a dresser drawer in New York, suddenly became one of the few surviving relics from centuries of Jewish life in this town.

In 2023, I “friended” on Facebook some young Poles from Nowy Zmigrod who were interested in their town’s Jewish history. They helped me research my family history and encouraged me to visit the town in July, when local Christians hold an annual ceremony honoring the memory of the town’s Jews, gathering in the forest where the massacre had taken place. When I decided to attend, I remembered that my cousins had Max’s tallis, and I asked them if I could bring it with me to Nowy Zmigrod.

Even though I am not religious, I wore the tallis while speaking at the memorial, so that its beauty could represent the members of our large family who had been killed in the forest where we stood, including Jozef Lang and Raizele Lang. I also read from a description of the massacre, taken from testimony given to the Israeli Holocaust museum Yad Vashem by one of Max’s cousins, Szymon Lang, who had survived this atrocity and the Holocaust. 

Upon my return from Poland, I organized a family Zoom to share the details of my visit. My cousins were moved by my renewed connection to our family history, especially after they read Szymon’s Yad Vashem testimony. I told them that the director of the local museum in Nowy Zmigrod had asked me to donate Max’s tallis to the town museum. My cousins found the idea intriguing, but, as I had seen how poorly this modest, under-resourced museum cared for its collection, we decided it was too risky to donate it there. 

Still, the idea of returning Max’s tallis to Poland inspired us, and we decided to offer it to the POLIN Museum of the History of Polish Jews. Located in Warsaw, the museum is dedicated to telling the 1,000-year-history of the Jews of Poland in all its complexity. For centuries, Jews had thrived there, but they also faced brutal pogroms, blood libels, annual antisemitic pageants and, finally, mass murder.

Given this mixed history, we decided that donating Max’s tallis to POLIN made all the more sense, as the museum believes that sharing the history of Polish Jews makes Poland a more inclusive, multicultural society. Despite intolerant voices in Poland speaking against Jews, gay people, Roma, Muslims and Ukrainians, a significant and growing number of Poles have, for decades, taken a powerful interest in understanding their country’s Jewish past, which they view as a key to Poland’s future as an inclusive, multiethnic democracy. Given our family’s deeply felt commitment to Jewish dignity, to human rights for all people and to multiethnic democracies, my cousins and I concluded that POLIN was the perfect home for Max’s tallis. 

Understandably, historians, journalists and a broad swath of American Jews have focused on Poles’ complicity in the Holocaust and their postwar antisemitism. However, we understand that these Poles’ anti-Jewish attitudes and actions are not the full story. That’s why we decided that, rather than leave Max’s tallis sitting in a drawer in the United States, we should make it available to the Poles who are curious about the millions of Jews who had once been their neighbors. 

We are delighted that Max’s tallis will connect our family history with a new surge of interest in Jewish history among Poles. By sharing this tallis, we are playing a small role in healing some of the harsh history experienced by Polish Jews over the centuries and bridging the divide with contemporary Poles of good will, who are drawn to understanding this complex history.

[aryuenterprises1]

Best SEO tools

Yoast SEO Yoast SEO is a powerful WordPress tool that optimizes websites for better search engine performance, enhancing visibility and helping achieve higher Google rankings. It streamlines the SEO process, making it straightforward to increase site reach and ranking potential.

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Here’s a refined draft that highlights your team’s expertise, affordable pricing, and experience in Yoast SEO and WooCommerce. I’ve organized the information to reflect your strengths and service offerings in a client-focused format. Reach out to us by clicking here

[ellewrites-stuff]

Space Portals

Let’s say, just for kicks, that an interdimensional portal opens in the middle of Times Square.

It pisses a lot of people off, of course. They’re busy people, they’ll tell you, with places to be. They don’t have time for things like interdimensional portals. A lot of people demand that someone get rid of the thing. Pictures of the portal circulate on social media.

Let’s say, the area is cordoned off by authorities (that is, the authorities one usually thinks of when one hears the word ‘authorities’ in relation to things like interdimensional portals, the FBI, the CIA, the Men in Black), who rightfully doubt humanity’s self-preservation instincts. There is a lot of red tape involved, both the bureaucratic kind, and the kind that reads “CAUTION” in bold, black letters. They do not manage to do this before three tourists and someone’s Shih Tzu are absorbed. You read about this on Twitter and see a news broadcast and make a meme and think that it’s a damn shame but at the end of the day its only three people and what can you do.

The portal, of course, vanishes soon afterward, seemingly out of spite. It reappears in Costa Rica and eats another two people. You see this, too, on Twitter or Facebook or Tik-Tok or Snapchat or Instagram. Someone starts a GoFundMe. You don’t donate to it because you don’t have any disposable income. Like an international game of whack-a-mole, the authorities descend once more and attempt to cordon the portal into submission. The portal, which has been looking to spice things up, vomits out a slew of interdimensional space-trash and vanishes again.

Thus begins the game.

It is not long before the space-trash becomes space creatures. A slime monster rampages through Sydney. Prague is assaulted by an army of little green men with laser guns. A group of tourists’ holiday in Havana is interrupted by a cerulean blue sabre toothed tiger

People start getting killed. It isn’t pretty. You don’t know any of them. You don’t mourn.

The portal appears in a country in the Middle East that you don’t know the name of because you never bothered to learn it. An enormous lizard emerges, and hundreds of defenceless civilians die. They are offered a cursory mention in news reports. Some people put up sad posts on their Instagram stories to show how sorry they are. Fundraisers for the victims are created. Not a single one of them reaches their goals.

A general consensus is reached that someone should probably do something.

Of course, its extraordinarily hard to tell where the portal is going to show up next. The portal is not of humanity and accordingly does not obey human rules. Determining what  particular rules it might operate by and how humanity can benefit from the whole thing is a task assigned to a team of eggheads, summoned from across the globe. One of these eggheads is assigned the latter task and takes apart the space trash they send him. You skim a post about him on a blog you sometimes read. The researcher, the blog says, does this so that companies that make phones and cars and, in one case, skin care products can use the space-trash for new innovations. The researcher also does this because he has an irrepressible curiosity about the world around him and an un-squashable love for old, schlocky sci-fi. The blog post does not mention this last part.  

The hard-drive wired into a piece of starship debris is used to make a smart-watch with ultra-fast processing. The little green men’s space suits are reverse engineered and used to make cars. The slime strewn around Sydney is advertised as an exfoliant. You buy the exfoliant because you have disposable income now. It gives you a rash.

People keep dying.

Coordinating some kind of force to combat a portal that is itself a teleporter difficult. There is a brief push to have a specially trained department in every nation’s police force. Training programs are created and rolled out with much excitement and fanfare over the span of several months. There is objections within the police force about this. The military, they argue, should take charge of the situation. The militaries of the world, meanwhile, eye each other suspiciously, waiting for someone to cause an international incident or whip out a nuke. The portal tours the Mediterranean. The Parthenon is irreparably damaged. A tentacled creature is unleashed upon Podgorica. Barcelona is attacked by a flock of birds twice the size of the average person, who have a taste for flesh.

 Civilians independently decide to start taking things into their own hands.

In Sydney there is a girl who calls herself a merc. You don’t know this girl. If you saw her on the street, you probably wouldn’t think that she kills monsters for a living. She is alerted via an intricate network when the portal appears in her designated city, and she drives out in her weather-worn Volkswagen van and shoots down whatever comes out. The girl works part time at Hungry Jacks to makes ends meet because her university got destroyed in the slime creature attack some months earlier. She also has a sword. It’s a pretty sick sword.

In San Francisco, there is  a mathematics professor has been working on a model to predict where the portal will appear next. You don’t know him either, like you don’t know the girl and you don’t know the people who died.  It involves a lot of data, and a lot of sitting at a desk and tapping values into Excel spreadsheets. The mathematics professor was once primed to join the team of eggheads researching the portal before he fucked it all up by voicing his moral objection to the monetization of the portal on a now defunct Twitter account.

The mathematics professor attempts to close the portal with a machine that has been cobbled together with space junk by a man who has not slept in several days. This man is the researcher, who he knows because of a professional rivalry and because they have been sleeping together intermittently for several months. The machine does not work. This will later become a meme that you laugh at while the blue-light of your phone eats away at your sleep schedule.

The eldritch creature that emerges from the portal is stabbed by mercs and the machine is smashed to bits in the resulting staggering around and agonised howling from the creature. The whole thing is captured by a nearby teenager with a Tik-Tok account and a dream of fame. You like this Tik-Tok. The idea of closing the portal is introduced to the public sphere.

The researcher is fired from the egghead team and doesn’t mind it one bit. The President of the United States announces that cutting off the valuable resources that the portal provides would be tantamount to terrorism.

People keep dying. Just in case you thought they weren’t.

Some sectors of the merc network privatise. That is- they charge a modest fee every time their services are required. Often, in the time it takes for the transaction to go through to their PayPal, which is a long time because Wi-Fi is patchy these days, entire city blocks are destroyed. You don’t call mercs and you don’t know who does. More often than not, they just appear.

There is a brief debate over where the portal leads. Some people think the portal doesn’t lead to any one place, but has a variety of source locations, from which things flow into one stream and are deposited out our end. There are a lot of think pieces published and interviews conducted about this until someone points out that this makes Earth sound a lot like an interdimensional dumping ground, and the think pieces and interviews abruptly stop. People begin to talk about the multiverse and quote botched versions of the Many-Worlds interpretation of quantum physics. You retweet some of these because you don’t realise that none of the studies being cited have been peer reviewed.

Another mathematician from the egghead team speaks out. She is both wildly intelligent and the first and only black woman to be awarded the Abel Prize. She claims that the team has developed a set of plans, purely theoretical though they might be, for a means of closing the portal for good. She is subsequently subject to various harassment campaigns on social media. There is talk of taking her Abel Prize away. The egghead team falls into infighting and coups and eventually dissolves. The plans are leaked on Twitter. You don’t know the mathematician’s name. Most people don’t.

Another city block is destroyed. The merc snaps. The next time the portal appears in her designated city, she walks into it without a glance behind her. The portal closes around her, as though it had been waiting. You don’t hear about this. It is only one death, after all, and of a girl that no one knew. Her eulogy is quietly published.

The researcher downloads the plans to his laptop. The laptop acquires various viruses and is reduced to a functionless brick. The plans are redownloaded, with the appropriate digital precautions, and he begins to build them. They are for a machine, much like his own. He feels slightly vindicated.

A blanket ban is induced on circulating the plans. Scientists and experts and people with qualifications and degrees speak out and are ignored in turn. The President of the United States is banned from Twitter after making statements in regards to what he thought of people who wanted to close the portal. The mathematician is doxed. The dox is revealed to be fake, after someone turns up at her house and finds it is instead the address of a nuclear power plant. You make jokes about this with your friends because the situation is inherently ridiculous isn’t it? Isn’t it so fucking funny?

People keep dying.

The professor knocks on the researcher’s door with an apology in his mouth and a computer full of data under his arm. This happens off record in a darkened hallway in a private apartment building, and machine is completed in an equally off record manner. Something that looks like a pterodactyl but isn’t kills ten people in Manila.

The machine is activated when the portal appears in San Francisco, and a luminescent, hot pink flying saucer crashes into the Golden Gate Bridge. The portal closes with a squeaky sound, like a hydrogen pop test. The tail end of the Golden Gate Bridge collapses.

People stop dying. This doesn’t really help the ones who are already dead.

Let’s say the portal closes and stays closed. What do we do? From where will we procure phones and cars and skincare products? What do we do when someone, somewhere, finally tallies up everyone who died? Who do we turn and blame?

Blaming doesn’t do a whole lot of good at this point. They’re in the ground all the same. Someone makes a movie about the portal and you watch it in a cinema. It’s hideously inaccurate and borderline offensive. It makes millions. Then comes the merchandise, the documentaries, the magazines, and interview segments. The list of the dead is soon forgotten. It is messy and inconvenient and makes people feel bad.

Aren’t you grateful, say the authorities and the impeached ex-President and the people who launched harassment campaigns and the people who banned circulation of the plans and the everyday people like you who wanted to help but couldn’t or didn’t, on anniversaries and dedicated days of mourning and whenever it is brought up in conversation. That more people didn’t die? Aren’t you grateful that someone did something, so that you didn’t have to? Aren’t you grateful that you still have your phone and your car and your skin care products?

Aren’t we all so fucking grateful?

[amal-31blog]

Meet Amal Sha - Your Freelance Digital Marketer in Manjeri

In today's fast-paced digital world, businesses must stand out online to succeed. Whether you're a startup, small business, or established brand in Manjeri, you need effective digital marketing strategies to reach your audience and grow. I’m Amal Sha, a Freelance Digital Marketer in Manjeri with years of experience helping businesses enhance their online presence and achieve their goals.

Who is Amal Sha?

As a Freelance Digital Marketer in Manjeri, I specialize in delivering personalized digital marketing solutions. My passion for marketing, combined with my local expertise, allows me to create strategies that are tailored specifically for businesses in Manjeri and surrounding areas. Whether you need to improve your website’s SEO, run targeted social media ads, or develop engaging content, I provide customized strategies designed to meet your unique business needs.

I have successfully worked with a wide range of clients across various industries, helping them boost their visibility and connect with their target audience. My approach is simple: I focus on delivering measurable results that positively impact your bottom lin

Services I Offer as a Freelance Digital Marketer

As your Freelance Digital Marketer in Manjeri, I offer a full suite of digital marketing services to help your business grow:

1. Search Engine Optimization (SEO)

SEO is crucial for ranking high on search engines like Google. I perform keyword research, optimize your website, and implement advanced SEO techniques to ensure your business gets the organic traffic it deserves. My goal is to improve your site’s visibility and help you achieve higher rankings for relevant keywords, including local searches.

2. Social Media Marketing

Social media is a powerful tool for engaging with your audience. I manage your social media platforms, create engaging content, and run targeted ad campaigns to increase brand awareness and drive customer engagement. Whether it's Facebook, Instagram, or LinkedIn, I know how to make the most of each platform for your business.

3. Pay-Per-Click (PPC) Advertising

PPC is perfect for businesses that want immediate results. I set up and manage Google Ads and social media ads, creating campaigns that generate leads and maximize your return on investment (ROI). With data-driven strategies, I ensure that every rupee spent on ads delivers tangible results.

4. Content Marketing

I help businesses in Manjeri create high-quality, engaging content that speaks directly to their audience. From blog posts and articles to website copy and email newsletters, my content marketing strategies are designed to build trust, attract traffic, and boost conversions.

5. Email Marketing

Email marketing is an excellent way to stay connected with your customers. I create personalized email campaigns that nurture leads, increase engagement, and drive sales. With targeted email strategies, I help turn potential leads into loyal customers.

Why Choose Amal Sha as Your Freelance Digital Marketer in Manjeri?

Being based in Manjeri, I understand the local market, including the unique challenges and opportunities for businesses here. By working closely with you, I create marketing strategies that are not only effective but also relevant to the local audience. My approach is results-driven, and I’m committed to helping you grow your business through innovative digital marketing.

[archiepudding]

‘Sorry’ does not stop it from hurting!

Pairing: Oikawa x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Swearing

This is just some drabble I did a while a go and thought I’d post it. I’ve not really been feeling my writing lately and the people I used to share this with aren’t around anymore. So, I hope you guys can enjoy it :)

The main idea for this was rival business and a very persuasive Oikawa... but when is he not.

Summary: What can you do when you work across the road from the most wanted man in the world? Ignoring him seemed like the best bet, but he doesn't like that and has many other ideas.

You had not managed to dodge the incoming attack. The dark coloured liquid targeting your chest like you were its assigned mission. Small splatters peppering your face like bullets. 

“Fuck, fuck,fuck–”

It was not the smartest idea. Idiotic. The silk material you had put on simply this morning clung to every part of you as you ripped it over your neatly tied back hair.

“My apologies.” A familiar voice said. “Oh– I don’t think here is the best–”

“Sorry does NOT stop it from hurting, ass--” You gritted your teeth. “– fuck!”

Half leant over, you used your knees to stabilise yourself, the tingle of heat still dancing across your chest. 

“Not very ladylike.”

After a moment, you turned your head to face the man. Although you recognised the modulated low voice, you hadn’t paid attention to its owner. 

He was wearing a crisped ironed suit, the black blazer jacket slumped over his broad shoulder and his tie loosely hung from the collar of his buttoned down shirt. This was a far cry from the man you recognised him as.

“What’s up with the suit…” Your eyes took themselves up and down the six foot, scowing man, his hand hovering over your back. You swatted it away, “Fuck, what was your name again?”

Is offence was a cologne he was certainly wearing it. “Oikawa.” He stated.

He followed your arms, both of them cutting across your chest when you stood up to face him. Heat burned through your cheeks, giving your crisom, recently exposed bra, a run for its money. A sudden blazer became the saviour of your remaining modesty.

“I’ve worked across the road from you for five years and you still can’t remember my name.”

“I don’t even know the names of the people I work with,” you said, placing the blazer on. “You’re lucky we are in a park, would probably be on someone’s facebook live by now!”

“I take it I won’t be getting the blazer back for a few days then?” He attempted a laugh. 

You didn’t. 

Oikawa cleared his throat. “Do you live far?” 

“Far enough.” 

You pick up your discarded blouse and cross over towards the exit of the park, the soft material pressed tightly against your numb skin. 

It wasn’t until a bald head glided past you that you met the second attack for the afternoon - a solid shoulder slamming into your freshly wounded front. Your feet remained planted and the frantic footsteps plodded in the other direction. Rage turned over your insides. What the heck! One - who drinks hot coffee in thirty-five degree weather… and two! Am I FUCKING INVISIBLE!

Oikawa, meanwhile, glanced around his surroundings, scanning to ensure there were in fact no witnesses to the previous situation. By the time he caught back up with you, you were almost at your intended destination.

“Let me buy you a new top!” 

“What?” You groaned.

“As an apology.”

“Is that your way of picking up women, spilling hot coffee on them?” you asked, your chest suddenly tight.

“You have to admit it is effective in removing clothes.” You gave a short laugh and when you did not answer he continued. “If anything you technically owe me a drink. Given you are wearing mine.”

You threw your head back, removing your hand as you examined the sky above you. There wasn’t a cloud in sight. Why did he have to have a black suit …

“Do I now?” you said bringing your head back down. “How rude of me not to offer.”

“You are forgiven.” You blinked at his braiseness, “And as an olive branch, how about I upgrade my offer to a dress. You can wear it tonight when you buy me my drink.”

Briefly forgetting he’d just scalded you with coffee, a small smile broke through your facade, only to be returned to normal. It was clear women liked Kuroo. It didn’t take a genius to see your colleagues swoon at a simple wave or smile. Of course you weren’t blind, you could understand the appeal; easy on the eyes, a partial gentleman, maybe some of your co-workers would pay for him to spill coffee on them for even a second of his time. Oikawa was certainly different from many of the other men you had met.

“Why do I get the feeling you aren’t the type of guy to take no for an answer?” A strain of impatience grew on your tone. 

There was a pause .He slipped his hand into the inner pocket of his suit, your heart thumped erratically in your chest, only to be quelled when he pulled out a brown leather wallet. He handed you a card. You had not intended to take what he was handing you but your body traitorously accepted his offer. What did it matter if you accept some money for a new –

“What do you do in that building! Money laundering?! This could get me a new car!” Your voice echoed through the street, causing a couple of heads to turn before you lowered your voice, “I’m sorry but it’s too much.”

Oikawa made no effort to accept your return, his hand swallowing your arm as he led you off to the side of the underground building. The chipped and graffitied concrete walls barricaded you both in. It was far from cosy, even with the mid-summer sun beating down on you both, and yet privacy slapped you hard in the face. 

He smiled down at you. A beautiful compliment to his prominent jawline.

“If it’s enough to buy a new car, then do it and you can pick me up at seven.”

“Seven?” You repeated.

“Yeah, I can pick you up for seven. What a perfect suggestion.”

When he gave you another smile, you had to give him credit. He was good.

But as quick as your intrigue had risen, it was cut off by the irritating sound of bells. 

“Are you going to get that?” You said, stepping back out onto the street.

His attention was quick to the screen. 

Doesn’t look good… not that you care…why do you care...

“Is everything ok–”

“I’ll see you at seven.”

He hightailed it out the narrow space, missing your tiny physique by inches. Confused and flustered, Oikawa shrank into the distance. His large frame soon swallowed in the ocean of suits and briefcases until you were left swamped in his thick blazer. 

How someone can work in such heavy material will never cease to amaze you. You turned back to the entrance of the underground, feeling in his pockets.

Damn! He took his wallet.

[asdminstituteahmedabad]

Top 10 Digital Marketing Course in Ahmedabad For 2025

In today’s fast-paced digital world, having a strong understanding of digital marketing is essential. Whether you’re a student, a business owner, or a working professional, mastering digital marketing can help you boost your career and grow your business. Ahmedabad, being one of the fastest-growing cities in India, offers some excellent options for digital marketing courses. In this blog, we’ll explore the top 10 digital marketing courses in Ahmedabad.

1. ASDM – Digital Marketing Institute in Ahmedabad

ASDM (Ahmedabad School of Digital Marketing) has consistently been the top choice for individuals seeking high-quality Best digital marketing Course in Ahmedabad. Established in 2012, ASDM has trained more than 10,000 students and professionals. With a curriculum designed by industry experts, ASDM ensures that their students are industry-ready.

Key Highlights:

100% Job Assistance: ASDM offers comprehensive job placement support.

Industry Expert Trainers: Learn from professionals with over 10+ years of experience.

Advanced Curriculum: ASDM covers all major aspects like SEO, SEM, Social Media Marketing, Content Marketing, and more.

Live Projects: Practical exposure through live projects.

Certifications: Students receive globally recognized certificates from Google, HubSpot, and more.

If you’re serious about making a career in digital marketing, ASDM should be your top choice.

2. Digital Vidya

Digital Vidya is another leading digital marketing training institute in Ahmedabad, known for its comprehensive courses. They have a wide range of programs, from basic digital marketing to advanced analytics and social media marketing.

Key Highlights:

Partnership with Google and LinkedIn

10+ years of training experience

Flexible learning modules

3. Learning Catalyst

Learning Catalyst offers tailored digital marketing courses that are best suited for individuals seeking a more personalized learning experience. Their course covers essential topics like SEO, PPC, and social media management.

Key Highlights:

Personalized mentorship

In-depth content modules

Flexible schedule

4. MICA – Digital Marketing Certification

MICA, located in Ahmedabad, offers one of the most prestigious digital marketing courses. Their programs are ideal for professionals looking to advance their careers in marketing or business development.

Key Highlights:

Renowned faculty

Strategic digital marketing focus

Advanced marketing concepts

5. BrandVeda

BrandVeda offers a practical approach to digital marketing training. Their modules are designed to provide real-world insights into how digital marketing works in different industries.

Key Highlights:

Affordable fees

Hands-on practical training

Focus on live projects

6. iVIPAN

iVIPAN is a highly reputed institute known for its digital marketing courses. They offer comprehensive training on SEO, SEM, and social media marketing.

Key Highlights:

Extensive study material

Live projects

Experienced trainers

7. W3 Marketing School

W3 Marketing School is known for its excellent curriculum and personalized coaching. They offer a wide variety of courses suitable for both beginners and experienced professionals.

Key Highlights:

Flexible timings

Industry-specific projects

Certifications from Google, Facebook

8. Proideators

Proideators is another excellent choice if you’re looking for advanced digital marketing courses. They provide practical-oriented learning and a wide range of digital marketing certifications.

Key Highlights:

Industry-recognized certifications

Real-time projects

Expert trainers

9. Digital Sandip Academy

Digital Sandip Academy is a well-known name in the digital marketing education space. They offer courses that are designed to meet the needs of students and working professionals.

Key Highlights:

Expert trainers

Advanced tools and techniques

Career counseling and placement support

10. IIDE – Indian Institute of Digital Education

IIDE offers an excellent array of digital marketing courses. Their courses are known for their practical approach and are taught by professionals with years of experience in the field.

Key Highlights:

Hands-on training

Career support

Industry-recognized certifications

Conclusion

Choosing the right digital marketing course in Ahmedabad can be a game-changer for your career. With institutes like ASDM offering advanced curriculums, live projects, and job assistance, you can be assured of quality education and excellent career prospects. Whether you are just starting out or looking to upskill, there’s a course in this list that will suit your needs.

So, what are you waiting for? Enroll in the best digital marketing course in Ahmedabad today, and take the first step towards a successful digital marketing career!