#I need to draw less intricate things for a while now

[mxtantrights]

No, no te puedo olvidar no no te puedo borrar

a/n: I just can't leave him alone can I? damn. Might have to go re watch the movies to see his funny ass again. always, y'all probably know the drill. tis' a one parter until it ain't (up to you). Armando didn't kill the chief, is working on time served by working with Miami PD, is working on his relationship with his father. lets goooo.

Armando aretas x fem!reader

This whole mission, if he could even call it that, was just pure torture. Not only did he have to sit through a boring four hour mission lecture, and have to wear these horrible clothes, but he had to see you.

He lived a life before he knew Mike. A life than even his mother didn't know anything about. A life that involved you.

He had enough money back then. He threw it away on things that didn't matter. Things that wouldn't satisfy him, or make him happy. He'd buy a car. Then he's fuck it up. He'd buy a case of liquor and then he'd empty it.

There always seemed to be something missing. The cars, the girls, the clubs, the guns, the money, the drugs and the power. All of theses things weren't enough. They weren't satiable.

When he walked into Las Estrellas, he found what he was looking for. Not what. Who.

You.

You had just started out dancing. You danced like you were professionally trained but still a little shy. Not used to the ogling customers and the raining of bills. But you put on a show nonetheless.

A show that Armando quite enjoyed. He visited one or twice a week. Always in the back, so as not to draw attention to himself. And he left without a word.

This went on for about a year. He's sit in the back of the club, watch you dance, then leave. Sober. He payed attention to the little details. The different outfits you'd wear, the music choices, the way you smiled as the dance closed out.

He can feel the anticipation in his chest.

Mike had told him to switch with Dorn inside of the club. Dorn stood out like a school boy in a strip club. Which, wasn't what he was per say. He'd talk to him a handful of times and knows some deep shit about him. That man can lay someone out in less than seven seconds.

And while that look was good for certain missions, this one needed to be more covert. Undercover. Whatever the hell that meant.

Well, he knows what it means now. He's sitting in the back of the club and the announcer has just said your stage name. It's like he's taken back to those years ago.

He watches as the lights dim. The spotlight follows you onto the stage.

You look more confident. The sway of your hips. The smile plastered on your face. Not shy anymore, he thinks to himself. He settles into his seat. The mission could wait five to six minutes, right?

The music starts slow as you make your way to the pole. You spin around a couple of times. A couple of patrons throw their cash at you. You smile and wink, wave at them too. That's new.

As the music builds you start climbing up. The beat drops and you start spinning down in an intricate pose. Armando almost lets his jaw drop to the damn floor. You weren't doing this a couple of years ago. You got good.

The bills starts to fly more heavily. Armando watches as you concentrate on the dance. You don't even seem out of breath, you seem in your element.

The music comes to an end and you strike a pose. Armando is at his wit's end. You're on your back with your legs in the air. He doesn't know why he gets up out of his seat at that. But he is. He is standing and he is looking right at you.

You get up with a laugh and start to thank the patrons. You collect a few bills from the stage, the other bills being collected by the clubs employees. When you gather a plentiful stack in your hand you look up for a moment.

Armando looks eyes with you.

You blink once. The twice. He doesn't know why all the air feels like it's being sucked out of his lungs. He's in the back like he used to be. He always made sure to be tucked far away.

But it is possible.

If he could see you, you could see him.

There's this feeling he gets. Like static in his veins. He'd been watching you for almost a year. And maybe you had been watching him. No, that's crazy, right?

You look away and walk off stage. Armando sits back down. He adjust the tech in his ear. If anyone had been talking to him this whole time he didn't catch a word of it.

He looks around the club. At the bar is Mike. he's standing there with his mouth open. Armando shakes his head, silently telling him to let it go. Mike raises his drink to him, a smirk on his face.

Just as Armando is about to take another look at the stage, a body blocks his view. A bare stomach with the remnants of body shimmer on it. His eye trail up, up, up, up and then his eye find yours.

You smile at him. And he thinks he might have just died right then and there. You hold out your hand.

"Haven't seen you in a while." you say.

Armando smiles at that. Yes he watched you. And now he knows you watched him.

[luveline]

I love your KBD universe it is soo adorable!! All the kids are written so cutely! I relate to Avery so much! I was thinking about what if mom is super pregnant and she always wants to be near Steve, like she almost doesn’t even want him out her line of sight. Always wanting to touch him and get kisses from him. Love your blog!!

kisses before dinner ♡ you're pregnant and steve is lovely

There is a silver lining to being eight months pregnant (that isn't the baby at the end) —your husband. 

Steve gets soft. When the physical evidence of your pregnancy becomes unignorable, and then glaringly obvious, he treats you with exceptional care, love and tenderness. You can't get enough of it or him. 

And you're like a lost puppy when he's not near. “Steve,” you say, feeling rather morose about the whole thing, “where are you?” 

“In the kitchen! Do you want something?” 

No, you think, just you. “What are you doing?” 

“Babe, I'm making you and Ave your drinks!” A telltale plink of ice cubes knocking against glass follows. “Don't get up, okay?” 

You squeeze Avery's hand where it's held in yours. “Does he think I'll explode?” 

She giggles, her almond eyes lit with her laughter. “Maybe, mom.” 

“Do you think I'll explode?” 

“No way. You didn't explode before.” 

“‘Xactly.” You'd offer to carry her, or simply scoop her up without asking, but being so pregnant actually does feel like you're going to explode sometimes and you figure it's a bad idea. “Let's go see what he's doing.” 

You and Avery pick over Dove's tea party, abandoned sadly in the middle of the living room, and make your way into the kitchen, which is less hecticly messy but a tad grimy after a long week. Grease clings to the stove top and there's a cherry red stain down the front of the refrigerator. Death of a stolen popsicle. 

Steve sighs when he sees you, too much love around his eyes for any believability when he chides, “You can't sit down. It's impossible.” 

You push yourself back against the counter next to his hip. Avery does the same immediately, giving him a similar look, you're sure. 

He tries to hide his smile with a sip of Avery's too full drink. “Here,” he says when it's at a safer level, “apple juice for you. And ice, princess.” 

“Thank you,” she says, eyes wide as her open palms. She takes it and drinks at it greedily, the sweet taste of concentrated sugar enough to steal her attention. She walks out of the kitchen calling for Beth. “Come have some juice!” 

“That's adorable,” Steve says. 

“You tend to make them that way.” 

He throws an arm against his forehead, slouching beside you, the other wrapping behind your back. “I know. It's exhausting.” 

You spy your youngest under the kitchen table. The girls are fascinated with alcoves and small spaces. If they can fit into a nook, they will, and if they can't, they'll squeeze in anyhow. She breathes through her mouth over a pad of paper with a shard of a crayon in hand, drawing rather intricate things, considering her age. 

“Are those flowers?” you whisper. 

“Think so…” Steve lifts his head high to kiss the top of yours, his arm moving up to your shoulders. He rubs at them like he's trying to relieve a pressure you haven't announced. “You really need to stop getting up all the time. You're at risk–” 

“No, the doctor said if I'm not careful I'd put myself at risk.”

“And what are you doing?” he asks, voice like velvet, smooth and soft as he looks behind your ear. He must see something, petting away a flyaway or a loose strand or something, his touch as tender as his voice. 

You tilt your head away from him. After as long in love with one another as you have been, he knows you're asking for something rather than moving away, and he leans in again to kiss your cheek, rubbing behind your ear all the while. 

“Let's go sit down,” he suggests. 

“In a second.” 

You're terrible lately but it's all his fault. You crave his affection both big and small, all the time, and in every place. You'll be off work any day now and you're sure you'll spend that time soaking him in while he runs ragged trying to get things ready. You've done it before. Steve in the grocery store looking for a hundred different things while you draw stars into the backs of his hand, or trying to fix the baby gate onto the wall while you sit on the stairs making googly eyes at him. 

“My boy,” you say stupidly, wrapping your arms around his neck. Regrettably, he can't continue to dote on you like that, but it prompts him to hug you as close as he can manage. “I love you.” You lay your cheek on his shoulder. “You smell really nice.” 

“I love you too.” Pine, today. Fresh. “I see what's happening.” 

“What's happening?” 

You think he's going to put you down. The baby hormones are making you clingy, he might say, but he doesn't. “You've realised how hot I am. You're late, but I'll forgive you. You know, ‘cos of your predicament.” 

“Thank you,” you say, kissing his neck gently. 

You leave a series of butterfly kisses down the column of his neck before squishing yourself into the curve of it, resting too much weight on him. He takes it all without complaint, hugging you tighter, the distension of your bump a beach ball between you that makes you unfortunately shorter, bending as you are. 

His breath is a pleased sound in your ear, but he doesn't say anything. You hug until you have a strange pain in your neck; he encourages you away from him like he can sense it. 

“You okay?” he asks, thumb under your eye, a millionth sweet touch to add to the mountain. 

“I'm great.” 

“Yeah?” He holds you in place and kisses you. “Love you,” he says, his bottom lip jutting against yours. He kisses you again, and then he pulls away completely, a hand between you both the only tether. “Time to sit down. I'm gonna take your blood pressure.” 

There's no need. If anything, the way he's looking at you might give an inaccurate reading, but you think of the fawning and fretting and the rough of his fingertips digging into the top of your arm and smile, giddy. “‘Kay.” 

“Come on, Dovey, let's go be mommy's doctor,” he calls to Dove. 

In a rather uncharacteristic episode of actually listening, she abandons her crayons and takes his offered hand. He shoots you a quick smirk, as if to say, Yeah, I did that. It's stupid and it makes you laugh, because you couldn't love him much more than this. 

[feathermouth]

okay, so im a brainrotted freak, and ive had p.AI.nter on my mind for a while. naturally, i gave the bastard a body! here ya go!

rant/art dump below the cut

first off, p.ai.nter is a short king. mostly because i like the aesthetic, but its also convenient for him! it takes less resources to keep his body going! i imagine he would also wanna be smaller so that he could be more intricate with his art.

now, because he is mobile, the power source becomes an issue. hes an old computer! how does he survive unplugged ?!

well, here, i introduce the wonderful world of BATTERIES!

p.ai.nter would have a battery somewhere in his core, which would be how he keeps himself charged. that also means i get to give him a little cord tail! (for charging purposes, of course.)

i also am giving him a second tail, just for funsies. he deserves a USB drive with his conscience in it. he connected to other tech in the blacksite, so he should be able to keep doing that! because it was a very SAFE and FRIENDLY action on his part!

maybe angsty, but i think that p.ai.nter finds humans a wee bit gross, especially after everything that happened to him. why would he wanna be human shaped?

he wants something mobile and appropriate for a human-dominated world, of course, so he needs to have arms and a torso—but he wants his machinery to be obvious, if that makes any sense. no exposed wires (he is not stupid), but flashy metal bits, visible joint segments, yap!

now, building off of that, p.ai.nter would prefer a bird-like shape to his legs. he would definitely need to go through some manner of physical therapy in order to pilot his new body, and so he needs legs that inherently provide for more balance!

therefore, an excuse to give him anthro legs.

considering how much art p.ai.nter will probably begin creating, he wants something that doesnt stain easily.

a small problem : he doesnt like the look of dark paint! it doesnt match his monitor, and thats awful!

so, he resorts to covering clothes.

p.ai.nters shirts would need to be oversized and flowy to accommodate for his THICK AS FUCK head. so that he can actually put them on without stretching them out, of course.

therefore: oversized sweaters, long skirts, and aprons!

fucking GOLDEN! housewife looking guy! funky!

p.ai.nter wants to be MOBILE! theres so much to do and see! hes been locked down for years, how could he waste a perfectly good body ?!

he has several jointed segments in his torso to aid in movement and rotation, and his limb joints are made out of pliable metal tubes.

it also aids his precision in art! its easier to get clear views without body parts in the way and whatnot.

note: p.ai.nter settled on having five fingers per hand, despite insisting he wanted four for stylistic purposes. five fingers are ideal for human equipment, hes pretty sure.

now, you might be thinking, this guy has a lot going on. does he not overheat? hes a sentient brick?

there is a solution : air holes and internal fans!

a few strategically placed holes cover p.ai.nters body to aid in natural ventilation. its kinda like breathing!

inside of his body, cooling fans are centered in his chest and limbs. they distribute the air more evenly.

he really overheats when hes trying to do too much, such as controlling several devices or thinking about too many things at once!

now, for the behavioral headcanons :

painter has a LOT of fun toying with his new body. he goes on leisurely strolls sometimes, because hes previously never been able to.

his art will improve a lot upon receiving a body! having a new sense of autonomy would be a serious upgrade for him, and he would have many new ways of living. it wouldnt be AS dull to be a sentient AI in an abandoned facility.

he might go find ellies painting and stare sadly at it, though—i assume this theory still holds up? right? please?

sometimes he mimics the faces of other people on his monitor! like, he might draw sebastians eyes and mouth, and just uses that face to talk to him sometimes. as a means of teasing or affection. (he could probably do this before getting a body, but having a body definitely gives him the energy to do silly things like this!) pretty good way to find out how he sees your face, too.

despite p.ai.nter overheating when he runs too many tasks, hes a chronic multitasker! he tries to make the most of his new body, and hes often forced to sit back and slow down.

painter tried to convince his builder—most likely sebastian, with his engineering major and all—to let him have turrets on his arms, but that could become problematic with p.ai.nters mental state, so he agreed to have fake turrets for stylistic purposes only! he likes to keep them on his forearms and thighs, secured with straps that can be taken off. he enjoys pointing them at things and pretending to shoot stuff—which is EXACTLY why he doesnt get to have real guns.

and, after all this buildup, who would i be to not provide some full pictures? <3

[nathandrakeisabottom]

What Lovers Share: Nathan Drake x Reader

Summary: Nate tells you historical fun facts while you warm his globes. Huevos in French. Besties who just happen to enjoy swapping spit. Warning: Explicit. C*ck-warming, B*ll-suckin', B*kkake, C*m-eating, historical fact jumpscare, ***, ***, ***, f*ck Tumblr censorship.

“You, uh… you happy down there?” Nathan goads warmth with a tender smile, holds a book in one hand and your cheek in the other, smile lines kind and traced in the barest flicker of demurity. He forces his eyesight back to script before your answer; his nerves obviously need distraction when your request needles beyond nudity. A proposition you had dreamed of since Nairobi. 

He’s warm and gooey, and you respond with no treat, no reply but your tongue laving soft around the shape in your mouth. You love him in here. You always have. To the point of obsession, mindless, ravenous, lazy and dumb, you beg him when he claims there’s no time. He’s gross down there right now. Sam’s around, he’ll catch you two. And he won’t survive a goddamn minute if they just let him wander wild for however long she eats: a lonely little girl lapping and suckling his baby brother’s balls like the last water left on Earth. 

Only because the iodine got lost in the shipwreck, you snort in facetious rationale to yourself.

But there’s no shortage of time, of air for gasps and moans when you gently pull back, and tug with your lips wrapped softly around, eyelashes fluttering dotingly up at him. He makes you feel like a dog— an overeager puppy begging for attention. Touch me. Pet me. Play with me. Let me taste you. 

Let me make you feel something. 

You snap to when his graveling baritone soothes over your shoulders in a hiccuping wave. 

“Y-You know, you make me nervous when you’re this quiet.”

Your pussy stokes a fire, squeezes tight when he speaks. You know. And you like. 

And you draw out further when you nuzzle deeper to suckle the fold of skin between his balls. Brush the tip of your nose teasingly along the underside of his shaft, just in the way you know he likes. You run races like tortoises and suck him so gently that he mewls in a breathy chuckle diluted of comedy and even less oxygen. Nerves. A man whose own pleasure still frightens him. 

“Heh. But… uh, something tells me you like me when I’m nervous.”

Whose own weakness still surprises him with every day you wring it from your touch. 

“Fucking def-in-it-lee.” You pop from your purpose below just to tell him, gasps in much needed breath and your joined spit still tangling below your lip. You damn held it in for long enough. 

He laughs so beautifully at that, handsome features splitting open into intricate crows feet and pink, plump, pretty lips into grins. You love the way he smiles. You love the way he laughs— and you make sure to detach to smother it as fast as possible. This irony is not lost on you. 

It’s a slobber at this point. But Nathan only meets you harder and clutches the back of your neck with a warm, meaty palm. Tugs you into him; isn’t afraid of anything. Big, gentle hands with strong grip that cradle your love and usher his second ball in your mouth everytime the first accidentally pops out. 

“Why don’t you tell me some fun facts, smart cookie?” You tack a wet kiss to his cheek when he finally allows you to break. “You know how much I love the sound of your voice.”

“Oh.” And his residual shyness has your mouth watering. It always does, his heart baring open like rushing spring water and making you hungry for more. To sacrifice for his every satisfaction. “Sure thing… got any requests?”

But you’re already back home before your answer even grows wings. Glinting skin and bubbles popping wet where veins thread like delicate, splindling cracks in a pane of glass venture past your lips. You lost restraint forty five minutes back. There is no shame in your love. Your devotion. You’d suck him all day if you could: splashing South African summer heat in translucent coats down your cheeks, hollowed out in every place you’ve decided he deserves to have tighter. Harder. Wetter. Better. 

He shudders. His hand abruptly clamps onto your own.

But no… lighter this time. Softer. Sweeter. He’s sensitive, especially down here, so you tread gentler paths with the tip of your tongue lapping in tickling hints, and his skin pulls up and up and up in adorable wrinkles with the motion. His taste: addictive. There once was a time when you would tease and complain at the oceanic sting, full body dips when he grew too lazy to tie the boat closer to shore and ‘Shit, it’s a hot one! A jump in the water sounds perfect.’ Without even bothering to take his clothes off first.

“Did you know that—” He wets his lip, a flicker, the tender pink point of his tongue. “Um…”

But those days are no more. Now, it’s a quest, a joy, a desperation to clean him. Everyday, you beg to. Please, Nathan, please let me clean you. It looks so lonely. I want it warm. I want it shiny. I want it inside where it’s safe. Where no one else can take it from me. And now, there’s a parameter for how long is not long enough. You don’t stop until you no longer taste the tang of sea against his skin. Not until he’s clean. It’s your duty.

It’s your devotion to him. 

“Heh—” He recovers with a hand to your cheek and a kiss to his palm. You remind him there is no difference, only sensual circumstance. You asked for this. Prayed for this. “Did you know that Thomas Edison didn’t actually invent the lightbulb?”

…What?

“Hm?!” You squeak from your station. He chuckles in reply.

“I know, right?!” His words jeer agastedly, giddily, eyes twinkling. “Isn’t that crazy?”

Giggles form in place of a needless answer. The things he says, the way he is, even his desire for a reply at all, to hear your voice beside his own: they only make you want to please him more. Wetter. Tighter. Better. 

Man, that shit’s crazy. 

History is so cool. 

“It was actually Warren de la Rue, almost f-forty years before Edison…”

You swoon into his wet folds and he stutters when you settle into the warmth, the wet. The place you call home. You love your man; fucking sue me. Hungry palms wrap ‘round the meaty, milky skin of his thighs without warning, toasted sun-kissed tan like roasted smores in between campfire kisses, soft nudity and plains begging for hickies. 

“He was just the one who p-perfected and p-p-patented it.” His cheeks swelter over roasting red when you lean further to tongue at the soft skin of his perineum, stutters for air in a swiftly fogging tent you both refuse to unzip. You like the way your love changes the color of his skin. “S-something about bamboo fiber…” 

“That’s amazing, baby.” But your lips are already back on his before he can elaborate amongst filaments and time periods. You swiftly ponder if he can taste his own precum on your kiss. A deeper press, a swift curl of your tongue against his, slobbery and wet, salty and sweet. Just to up your chances. Every fact he shares your way, every sense you share in return. “You’re so fucking smart.” 

And you worship his body in the only interruptions you find no shame in speaking.

He moans thick and molten below you when you wrest one hand around his neck, the other around his shaft. Force him to keep kissing you in the minute space where he tries to break for air. And your pussy clenches around nothing but the imaginary when he groans in place of resistance of another. The control and capture his every delicate sound inspires beat your man to dust.

You wring your wrist around his head, and he chokes out despairingly. 

“Honey… Do you want me to—?” He’s finally able to split, chest heaving hard against your own, your mouth itching to taste its suffocating heat, his collarbone beading with sweat, pleasing arcs in place of jewelry. An answer feels pointless.

“Yes-yes-of-fucking-course-I-do-are-fucking-kidding-me—” But you give him what he wants, anyway. His mouth tinges in laughter. 

Because you always give him what he wants.

He makes it impossible not to. 

“I fucking love you.” His lips meet yours head-on, but this time, starvation sets in. You two gasp and bite and tear right through each other. His fingers fly to the back of your neck, his arms swallowing your body into his. And you twist your purpose further down so the world knows who he belongs to. 

You’re not sure if it’s the sweat, the humidity, his taste, or simply your own gaping awe that requires your wrist high to collect a drool of spittle when you first watch it bloom. Red and raw and beautiful, just like him. A single placed hickey.

You both decided unspoken that Sam could fucking deal with seeing them. Just jealous he’s not getting them, too.

“Oh, hun.” You swear it’s your entire fucking soul that swoons when Nate’s voice resounds, little trembles like tinkling glass. He breaks beneath your touch. “My precious, little angel.”

Your tongue darts across the sharp slant of his neck before delving in for seconds. He’s so pretty, and so perfect, and so… free. Your heart can’t stand it. You’re not strong like he is. And so a second bruise quickly joins the first: higher this time, the crux of his jaw. Proof, ownership, protection. You love him too much to leave him empty, markless, unwon. There is no strength in the love you have for him.

He cries, breath releasing hot against your cheek when you roll and nestle his sack into your palm. It’s still wet with spit, stuck with sweat in every place your chin dipped a little too low. Your thumb smoothes straight down the middle, presses into his skin like a thumbprint. His whines make your mouth water against every mark. Pink, red, purple, yellow. The ones you left on his sternum on Monday, the couplings beside each nipple on Sunday, magenta on his folding tummy, yellow and pink alike on the insides of his thighs.

You kiss each and over again. An encore. A map. 

I belong here.

“Honey…” He sings so sweet. His grip, his thumb grazing at the base of your neck even as you ease back down to lave your lips over his skin. He’s heavy below. Full and warm. You’ve tasted him dozens of times before; and you know he’s a giver. You instinctively flinch from your spot below in wild anticipation when he thrusts in briefly-presumed release. Despite the shy bastard being too polite to ever try it.

But tonight, you swear you’ll remedy.

You twist left to sink your teeth into the plush skin of his thigh, swallow Wednesday’s accompanying bruises like fresh berry, and he bucks masochistically. 

And you’d give more, you’d brand him with your fucking name if you could. If he could so forgive. In every place you call him yours.

“W-w-where do you want it?” This time it’s his hand that changes for your own on a jerking ring around his shaft. He bears a teasing pace, even as his fingers clearly twitch for more. His second hand comes to cradle your head when you return, and you twist quick to press another grateful kiss into his palm before he replaces it. He’s an instinctual nurturer at the best of times: his touch warm and steady. And somehow, despite every insanity, every pitfall, every obnoxious joke and even more obnoxious beauty— he grounds you. He keeps you safe.

He’s home.

You want him to brand you, too. 

“Anywhere.” You mumble with his gifts in my mouth. Your answer is a lie.

“A-anywhere?” 

Even in sex, he’s the same: searching for answers, proof. But he doesn’t stop jerking himself, quick and smooth, whining as he cups his hand across your cheek and thumbs over where the corner of your lip drools. Holds you where he wants you. You plead you already know where he wants it. 

“God-you’re-so-pretty.” It’s fucking heaven he speaks. Your pussy throbs, fucking sings; you feel the wetness through your poor excuse for shorts. The ones you wear for him. Minimal coverage so he has more room to pull the stripe of stitch of fabric aside whenever he needs it. You love him, you love him, you love him, you love him. “So-fucking-pretty.”

And so you are cruel to him. You clamp monstrous nails into his pink, plush skin and keep him trapped, grounded, no way from escape, from shame, from want when you speak—

“Nathan, please—” “Sh-shit—!”

But of course, in your time of need, you both interrupt in the same mundane way you always do. You look up with love. He jerks himself empty. And he’s coming hard across your face before you can even give him permission to do it.

Four times. Four begs til’ he finally obeyed your pleas: a fucking record. Fucking finally. To be branded by him. And even as the warmth and wet slathers over the bridge of your nose, your forehead, the cusp of your hairline where blonde meets brunette, you’re not thinking of how dirty it is. How guilty and hysterical he’ll certainly be about it afterwards. How you have no fucking clue how you’re going to be able to sneak all the way down to the river to wash up without being caught by a Shoreline guard. 

But instead, as you move further down to wet his balls in grateful kitten-licks, and desperately pursue his prolonged pleasure, you’re only swimming in the hazy and the humid— in the impossible idea that someone so pretty could think you were pretty, too. 

He huffs for air, eyes squeezed shut, body quivering and thighs shaking, even as you hold them down. His voice breaks even, beautiful, only makes clearer the stark, pretty lines of his eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. He’s always so pretty. 

And only prettier— your heart wrests in affection bordering on pain— when he forces his eyes back open just to watch you. The way he releases his only sound of pleasure, shyness submissing beneath that beautiful voice you love so much, it almost makes you believe:

“...Wow.”

That someone so lovely could think you were lovely, too.

As if the sight of your own devotion surprises him.

Then again— you think as his trembles begin to slow, your kisses ease the highward trail up his chest— he’s always surprised. Because his deepest gift has always been uncovering— every day, before every map, every sunburn, every bruise you’ve placed— another hidden reason to love the world. And he’ll never go unsatisfied, unfed again.  

Thomas Edison didn’t invent the lightbulb. Nate only knows that because he loves. 

His movements finally come to a certain stop, and all the oxygen he’s must’ve ever breathed in his life comes rolling out. One last dying gasp before he registers your mouth hovering before his. His eyes: desperately blue. His lips: pink and shiny, no longer lonely, your heart pangs swooningly, purposefully. And his fingers reach to cradle your jaw, steer you into a brutally romantic, death-defying, earth-shattering—

He twists your face away at the last second, so where you expect his lips upon yours, you are instead met with his tongue down your cheek. 

Another stripe. Wet and clinging. And your pussy throbs manic with want. Because he’s cleaning you. 

He’s eating his own cum off you. 

And you get to taste it together when he finally plunges you forward into a kiss, grip steady behind your neck, heart racing against your own. His other thumb mindlessly smears the leaking remnants of spit and cum down your chin and presses his lips to yours. Passionate, aching, hungry. And you share. You always share everything.

“Fuck, that was soooo hot,” You gasp once you part for air.

But Nathan isn’t thinking about a need for air, not even at all. Because the first words that leave his lips:

“Your turn.” Without even a pause in-between.

You’re already falling back into nylon before your thighs are immediately yanked apart, and your seeping shorts, those god-damn nearly non-existent shorts, the tan ones he’s already stained with a frantic quickie and a near-hysterical apology (they were one of your favorites; they still are) and you’ve had to cuff even higher to hide, are torn down your legs.

And when next you come— with the adorable, pink flat of his tongue and his affectionate eyes gazing up from your horizon— the only thoughts that cross your mind are how deeply you love him.

How deeply he shares with you.

And how he makes you feel something.

[aroaessidhe]

Blue timewar cosplay process

blue cosplay tag / (above photos 📷jeffmeinsmith)

Okay, I made a Red process post so here's the Blue one! It's more simple overall but more messing around to get things right...

The mask is kinda the main thing, which is what I started with. (it's probably my favourite part of both cosplays, and it's probably the thing that was the cheapest, materials-wise. $2 mask, $3 magnets, plus paint etc I already own)

I started with one of those cheap papery masks from looksharp and cut off the lower jaw, gave her some nose brow and eye surgery with paper mache, reconstructed the jaw/lips...

For the main eyes I used mesh that I cut off my hi vis jacket and painted a slightly less neon yellow 👍

the jaw is attached by a piece of elastic at ear level, with magnets where it connects to snap in place

These are my initial simple teeth I made to finish it to wear at a con, which I've since redone

And below is what the inside looks like now. The teeth are made of clay, and very intricately placed so they fit together. As you can see they curve inward a lot...the tusks kinda stick in my nostrils and after cosplaying this three days in a week I had marks on my chin from the fangs....

there's blue fabric so my mouth doesn't show through

The red is some drips I made for a specific photoshoot (preview at the end!), and it's the same stained glass window paint I used in my red visor, so they can stick temporarily and be removed. I pulled off most of the drips down the chin but kept it on the teeth for now....I might actually make that permanent though!

everything else:

for the initial 2022 version, I made the shirt, which was a mission to get shaped that way and also is hard to put on and take off. I do prefer its shape to the version I have now, but the current one's easier to put on (and colour matches the skirt). this skirt was from an opshop

The arms.... I made them out of thin tights, which meant that the dye/paint didn't work very well. The darker blue on the hands here is a double layer. I used bodypaint on my arms underneath to make it look better in photos.

I also made the nails/thorns out of hot glue which is a beautiful substance but ends up Too pointy and sticky and my hair kept getting stuck in it, not to mention the tights fabric itself, meaning....lots of holes. every time I put the arms on (they're one connected thing over my torso) they broke more

So I had to remake those. this time I bought some sturdy skating tights, which I can actually paint on, meaning way more detailed plantyvein patterns

I made the thorns (and some leaves) out of foam and used different glue, so they're way less likely to catch on things.

I also made the nails out of foam clay, which are also less pointy, and I could make them a bit longer. There's wire inside that loops around my fingertips to kinda...anchor them to my fingers, so I can Do Things.

Just before this I was also in an opshop and found this - I think it's called an infinity dress? - for $7. which is near-perfect, and way easier to put on

the top part isn't quite right wearing it normally so I cut off the ends of the tie bits and attached them to my arms-thing under, so it has more of the shape I wanted around the shoulders/neck.

I did a lot of taking photos & drawing over to figure out the veiny patterns, as well as the shoulder scar (which I made star shaped. I had that idea while drawing this fanart)

I didn't really need feet since I can make my skirt cover them almost, but I wanted to try making some!

I got some $5 slip on shoes from an opshop (wanted a solid base, if I'm gonna be walking around in them a lot), put the offcuts from the arm tights over them + some fur on the top, made some toes/claws out of foam clay, then painted it all blue

was kinda going for having a slightly backward knee effect (like when people make faun feet) but I didn't really make the toes long enough for that - and any longer and I'd be tripping over them. I like they're kinda silly and weird though.

Having my hair completely out was a bit unruly, so I wanted to clip back everything but the first section (which covers the side of the mask) - I have this butterfly claw clip, but it's green, so I made a similar dragonfly bug thing! i love how it turned out. and there's some little dangly beads to hang off it.

Also between the two shoots in the above picture I had the sudden realisation I can not only put the bodypaint on my neck/hairline....but also just in my hair. it's water based. crazy how just a bit of that + different lighting/editing makes my hair look so much darker!

since I had a Red dagger, I thought I might as well make a Blue one too. The blade is made of petg/worbla plastic offcuts from when I was making my Red visor all swirled together into a point, the handle is foam clay, the crossguard bit is a heatmouldable plastic stick I found in my dad's heatgun kit

in comparison to my Red cosplay, this one cost me around $64nz. (this doesn't include the original shirt/skirt/armtights, since I can't remember, or like, the ears (already owned), but I don't think that would have been much more). much cheaper! many, many hours of labour though

If you've made it this far here's some previews of shoots I haven't posted yet!!!!!

pomegranate shoot is 📷braindance_photography & greenhouse shoot is 📷draniumzaniumphotography

[superscourge]

how do you get people to take notice of your commissions? ive been at this for five or six years now and can count the number of comms ive gotten on one hand lmao

WELL this is always rly hard for me to answer bc it really depends on So Much Shit... 😭

like for one thing a lot of it is genuinely luck. like. luck in terms of who sees your work and wants to buy it at the same time mostly? BUT ALSO, this can be helped a bit by How you increase your reach--reach is very important if u wanna sell comms.

ive found what worked for me is drawing fanart, which i know feels like a cop-out to a lotta ppl but it honestly works! and by attracting attention with fanart ive been able to get more eyes on my work and increase the chances of getting a bite :]

another factor is unfortunately following, but that relates to ^ reach and attention on ur work so i dont feel like i need to rly dive into that again x'D

customer service is important too imo. like, how nice and pleasant and easy u are to work with :3 ive worked hard to be really approachable and easy to work with so i think this plays into things. i want ppl to wanna work with me again yknow? if the experience is pleasant then theyre more likely to return <3

one last thing is that like...hmm how do i word this. the appeal of ur art does matter to Some degree i think, but not as much as i think ppl assume? like ok. there are ppl with insanely detailed and intricate work that looks incredible like painterly masterpieces but they are Unable to get commissions bc of some other factor like lack of reach or something. then there are ppl with really simplistic art styles that may seem significantly "less quality" than the painterly masterpieces from the other person but they get commissions out the wazoo. so while i think you do have to have some level of appeal with your art, i dont think its the Only Thing that matters bc like i mentioned ppl dont always care abt how the art looks in terms of "quality" PLUS art is very subjective and one thing could look insanely good to one person but it looks like shit to someone else yknow? so i dont like to place a lot of emphasis on this.

in relation to ^ this, i think popularity matters to Some degree sometimes. i do know ppl who have kind of "lower-quality" (i hate saying that) work compared to others but still get an insane amt of comms bc theyre way more popular. ppl want to say they own a piece by this popular artist yknow? if that makes sense??? so just reiterating its not always about how the art looks, sometimes its other stuff in addition to it

uhhhhh gosh. i hope Any of this was helpful, like i said this is always an extremely difficult question for me to answer bc again things that work for me do not work for everyone because we make different things and are different people! i consider myself EXTREMELY lucky to be able to get the amount of comms i do (i do this for a living; commissions are my Only income which is why i put so much emphasis on them) and i know a lot of people cannot achieve this sorta thing and thats rly sad but its not always completely in our control :(

but i wish u the absolute best of luck and i hope things pick up for u in the future..!!!

[paladingineer]

On Digital Dragons, Extinction, and Internet Ecosystems

I will preface this by saying that this was a shower thought, based on personal experiences that may simply be skewed by where I choose to spend my online time, and I have done absolutely zero research.

There's this website about hatching and raising pixel dragons called Dragon Cave. If I recall it was most popular in the late 2000s/early 2010s. The basic premise was that your dragons relied on clicks from other people, so you'd link your eggs/dragons elsewhere and hope people clicked on them enough for them to hatch/grow. Fairly simple. The dragons looked like this:

It wasn't uncommon to see them in people's signatures. For those unfamiliar with them, on most sites where you could post things, just like how you can choose your avatar and username, you were also allowed to write a "signature" that would appear after every single thing you posted. It was limited in both size and character count. The Dragon Cave dragons were sized so that they'd fit nicely into most websites' signature fields.

But I've noticed in recent years that signatures on websites are becoming less and less common - to the point where I just now felt I may need to explain what they are to the young'uns.

And I haven't seen Dragon Cave dragons in a while, either. These dragons relied on clicks from outside sources. They relied on being passively linked to in high traffic areas - primarily, the signatures in online discussions.

And with the decline of the signature field, so too did the dragons decline. They lost their "habitat" in the internet "ecosystem," and died out, just like a rare bird dying out when the forest it lived in is cut down.

I think the last place I actually saw one was Flight Rising - incidentally, also a website about raising pixel dragons. It's one of the few places that still uses signatures. You would think, then, that Dragon Cave dragons would thrive, given the appropriate niche and appealing to the primary audience of the forums. But they don't. They're quite rare to see.

And this is because they're outcompeted.

Flight Rising is a much more involved game than Dragon Cave, complete with a player-driven economy - not limited to the purchase and sale of items like most player economies, but also the purchase and sale of services, mostly artistic in nature. To feed, dress up, and customize your dragons, as well as purchasing new ones, you need money. And a lot of people get their money by engaging in these player-run businesses. Which means advertising. And where better to advertise than your signature? Sure, you don't need to take up the entire signature, but you're more likely to get clicks if you have something flashy than just a column of text links.

Which leaves no room for the Dragon Cave dragons, who are at the additional disadvantage of direct competition with the Flight Rising dragons for player engagement as well - if you're already playing an intricate internet dragon raising game, you're probably going to prioritize it over a different internet dragon raising game. And while the Flight Rising dragons themselves aren't generally linked directly in signatures, they are supported by the things that are, so can still be considered Flight Rising dragons "occupying" the signature. They draw their resources from it just like a Dragon Cave dragon, just in a different way.

The two types of dragon are competing for the same niche, and one of them is native to it, while also arguably being better adapted to it. There's a limit to how many Dragon Cave dragons can be raised at once because only so many fit on the signature bar, but the advertised player businesses can support any number of Flight Rising dragons. Flight Rising dragons simply make more efficient use of the digital real estate. And of course when push comes to shove, players are most likely going to prioritize "spending" that real estate supporting the dragons in the game they are currently playing over supporting dragons from a different game entirely.

And so the Dragon Cave dragons in their last remaining "habitat" are outcompeted by a more fit "species" and driven to "extinction."

[tigerpaladin]

Brambletrek - Day 0

So I recently stumbled upon the concept of Solo RPGs - basically, you make a character and use the book to guide you through using tools to help randomize events - a deck of cards or dice seem to be the most common. Then you journal down what happens from your character's perspective. One such game is called Brambletrek.

(Art ©2023 Crossed Paths Press) In Brambletrek, you take the role of a Gnawborn (aka, Mousefolk) as they wander through the land of Akeroth. Cards are draw at character creation to build your character, then for every "day" that passes you draw cards to establish what events you come across. Sometimes you find things, other times you'll find creatures you need to fight. But at the end of every day, you write down what you encountered and track what happens to your character. Now, it doesn't HAVE to be a GM-less game or Solo and they even have rules for a guided game and group play. I actually discovered this because of their latest Kickstarter that repackages Brambletrek includes characters from the Hundred Acre Woods - that's right, it's got Winnie the Pooh and his friends as characters. It's not available yet (and won't be until next year), but the base game is absolutely available, so I thought I'd give it a shot. ^^

(Art ©2023 Crossed Paths Press)

Meet Elohim, the Seeker. Elohim was always fascinated by a strange stone monument that stood on the outskirts of town. A collection of creatures similar to - and including - the Gnawborn standing together as one. But between the growth and the intricate symbols none have been able to decipher, it has always felt like a mystery waiting for someone to solve. Elohim recently had a dream of the statues coming to life and glowing with a mysterious light. They look towards the forest, as if to tell Elohim that the answers he seeks lies beyond the tree line. The call to adventure excited Elohim; he'd always felt more at home in the woods than town to begin with. His mother was the towns best tracker and from her he learned not only how to read trails left by animals but what was safe to eat and how to tread silently in the shadows. As he prepares to leave his home village, he makes sure not to forget the worn out storybook his mother used to read to him. With it's pages filled with wonders and legendary creatures he can't help but ask himself if, someday, someone might write about his adventures as well. Starting Resources: Health: 6; Morale 12; Supplies 14 NOTE: While I'm intending to record Elohim's exploits, I'm not explicitly going to put what cards I drew - just what the results of the cards end up being. You're welcome to follow along or, if this interests you, you can always try the game out yourself!

Here is a link to their website: https://www.crossedpaths.co.uk/brambletrek Here's a link to their Backerkit for the Hundred Acre Woods version: https://www.backerkit.com/c/projects/crossed-paths/brambletrek-tales-in-the-Hundred-Acre-Woods As of right now they're still accepting late backers, so if it's something that interests you feel free to take a look! (I'm not sponsored, I just thought it looked fascinating). Next

[dazzlerazz]

9 for the ask game from a few days ago, if you mind ! i'm curious what values or habits you think are helpful/enjoyable while doing art ( flowery way to say it but whatever )

Hiya!

9. Do you have any art tips?

Don't be afraid to cut corners in your art. Don't wanna draw some small detail? Put an X on it instead. Make the lines ambiguous or don't even draw them at all. Learning to cut corners and understand that you don't NEED to draw every detail is a good skill to understand and put into your art

Using the phrase "cutting corners" makes it seem like art is some kind of industrial thing and is bad, but it's not. Making it simpler for yourself to enjoy is key. Here is a perfect example in my own art. This here is a drawing of Dan Fei from Thunderbolt Fantasy that I did

And here is a picture of the actual character

Aside from the obvious differences, you would think this was a quick and easy piece. But no, I spent a lot of time on this, it just looks fast because of the details I didn't pay attention to or skipped entirely, like most of her hat. Her ruffles are just a squiggle,her roses are just circles, and her shawl (?) is just not there. But if you look closer into the eyes and the face, you can see I spent quite a bit of time on it

Her hair accessories on the actual puppet look vastly different, as they are deeply intricate and specific. I don't feel bad for not drawing them, and you can see that I didn't spend much time on them. I did that for the sake of my fun because drawing it would have only been difficult and boring

Not to say that you need to dumb down ALL your details -- you should draw details where you are comfortable and if you want them to be seen, but be okay with not doing that as well

Here's another drawing of the same character

The differences are immediate. I did not want to draw her outfit, and stuck her in one she never wore in canon. I did not want to draw her hat, and her hair accessories are the same as the last drawing. I simply wanted to draw Dan Fei, and didn't draw all the details. Thunderbolt Fantasy puppets are EXTREMELY detailed, but this isn't something I do with just that media

Here's one I did of Madeline from Fire Emblem

At first glance Madeline's armor seems to be true to canon, but take a look at the character

You will notice the armor in my drawing is less sturdy and bulky, and her hair is far less detailed than her model is. And also, if you haven't clocked it by now, I didn't even draw the claws on her gloves, which was a deliberate choice based on everything I have just said

Tldr? Draw details if you want to. Be okay with drawing details, by all means, but also be okay with NOT drawing details. Your art experience, journey, and your relationship with art will be better for it!

Once upon a time I drew every little possible detail I could when I drew a character, to the point where I have abandoned art in the past because of how time consuming it was. In fact, I was working on a Harvestella piece not long ago that involved a lot of interlocked chains, but I abandoned it because of how long those chains took to draw

On an adjacent note, also be okay with abandoning art pieces that you don't vibe with anymore. It's okay to start shit and never finish it

Thanks for the ask!

[pollenallergie]

I previously discussed Koner going to a brothel to lose his virginity and then immediately falling for you, the whore he loses his virginity to, the minute you say hello to him (like far before he’s even gotten his cock out). He comes to visit you at the brothel all the time. Whatever money he used to spend getting drunk at taverns is now spent on time with you. Whenever he’s tasked with accompanying a noble on their travels so that he can keep them safe, Koner buys little trinkets and gifts for you. They’re not luxurious or extravagant by any means, just moderately priced little bits and bobs that he can actually afford to waste money on.

The first time he ever buys you anything is only a few months after you’d “made him a man” (his words, not mine). Presently, you’re still a mystery to him; he’s only spoken to you twice — only stuck his cock in you twice, as well. So, he has no idea what to get you; he just knows that he wants to get you something while he’s away traveling. His first instinct is to get you something he likes, but, then, he worries that you might not like the same things as him. Instead, Koner opts to get something that he thinks someone more fair and delicate and less labor-hardened might like. (Of course, you’re no stranger to labor; he knows that. However, at least your kind of labor doesn’t leave you with callused hands and achy shoulders). So, Koner gets you some rouge. You’re polite enough when you accept the gift, but even an idiot could tell that you don’t actually like it all that much. So, of course, Koner, an idiot, can tell that you don’t really like it all that much.

That night, after he’s given you your gift and after you’ve pleasured him, Koner pays for more of your time - something he can only afford to do because he’d been paid handsomely for traveling with the noble - so he can talk to you. He learns much more about you that night. He learns that you can read. Of course, you don’t tell him how, where, or when you learned to read. However, you do confess to him that you can read and that you quite enjoy reading, and you even show him the two books that you’ve collected over the years. One is a book on alchemy that a soldier from King’s Landing had given you after you gave him three orgasms in one night. The other, your favorite, is a diary from some noble, not one important enough for it to matter, but one who evidently had the time to write in one. At first, the diary may seem like nothing special, but, you confess to him that it’s your favorite because it talks quite a lot about the noble’s adventures and even includes drawings of the animals and plants he saw on these adventures.

Three days later, even though he hasn’t traveled anywhere, Koner returns with what he hopes will be a better present. In the days between when he’d last seen you and now, he’d been wracking his brain trying to think of something to get you, something to atone for the misguided gift he’d brought you earlier (not that he needed to atone for that, in your eyes). It finally dawned on him what he should get you, what you might enjoy, just yesterday and, today, he’s brought it with him. Koner brandishes it to you nervously, eager for your approval. It’s a rock, not all that special on its own, but because it has the intricately patterned wings and thin body of a beautiful dragonfly carved into it, imprinted through the natural fossilization process. The dragonfly is evidently the kind of creature that would never dare fly so far north, so it’s something new and never before seen for both of you. He’d brought the fossil back with him from Casterly Rock simply because he liked it, but, now, he can’t think of anything he’d rather do with it than give it to you. That night, Koner learns even more about you; he learns what your beautiful face looks like when it lights up with true, pure joy, he learns about your ever-growing rock collection and how you hope to add sea shells to it one day (you’ve never actually seen them in person, but you’ve seen drawings of them in the noble’s diary), and he learns that the fossil he gave you is easily one of the best gifts you’ve ever gotten (with your other favorite gift being the noble’s diary, which had been given to you by the person who taught you how to read).

[yeahcurrahhe-e]

𝐋𝐎𝐘𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐒

〚 𝐋. 𝐍𝐈𝐗𝐎𝐍 〛

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ➛ language, mentions of injury

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓 ➛ anonymous: Could I please request Lewis Nixon + Angst 13/Happy 10? — prompts used: “because i care about you, okay?!", “I have no idea what this is about"" bullshit, you know what you did", “i've done a lot of things - i need to know which one you found out about”

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ➛ @inglourious-imagines @im-chinese-believe-it-or-not @iceman-kazansky @coco-bean-1218

𝐂𝐏 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓 as she traipsed down its corridor and to the doorway into where Easy’s CO’s had transformed the elegant dining room into something of a poker joint.

Cards of Aces, Queens, and Jokers made a constellation across the mahogany table, miscellaneous poker chips and discarded European money behaving as encompassing stars around them. And a tipsy Lieutenant Speirs had slurred about how a sulking Nixon had put out a metaphorical calling card for her, with Speirs being the begrudging messenger.

Winters had cast a sideward glimpse at her, pen cradled in hand as he trudged through a pile of reports, his bright eyes almost asking ‘what have you done now?’

And, inquisitive to as what the answer was, she had meandered her way down the hallway; one that suited more of the description of a tunnel of refined, chiseled wood that danced with shadows not disturbed by the lamplight projecting from her destination.

Her entrance is much anticipated by Easy’s intelligence officer, as he may as well have leapt from behind the door and held a knife to her jugular with the curt manner that he approached her with as she hardly amounted any distance into the room. His doe eyes were accusatory, the implicit judgment carving a war path across his defined features haloed by the lamp in the corner.

“You beckoned?” In a direct — perhaps deliberate — challenge to his potent approach, she retorted with a hubristically-edged humor.

The half-consumed Vat 69 is the only thing that pardoned the glass in her friend’s clasp as it flared white with exasperation; if it had been barren, the intricately cut glass would have been a mound of shards on the wood beneath their feet. And it’s that very amber beverage that is blistering his nerves with liquid courage that clashed in a ugly brawl with his natural temper, her being the chosen audience for this emotional strife.

“You know why you’re here,” his tone compares in restraint to his teetering control over the grip on his glass — everything, all at once, is swaying on a tight rope she doesn’t quite know the reasoning for.

“I have no idea what this is about,” her response is a gray pool of awareness; some itch in her brain resonates that she knows, while some murmur from an image-less corner draws blank to his words.

Lewis Nixon stood at a stature that was a foot taller than her, at least from what her mind assessed in a once-over glance as he stepped impossibly closer to her. The auric illumination of the light permeating the room seemed to have the wherewithal in its inhuman existence to know where to strike its impression across his stern features.

His dark eyes were crisp in a narrowed state, “Bullshit, you know what you did.”

Y/N’s reputation in Easy Company existed in a penumbra of contradictions; some judged her as expendable, perhaps nothing better than an insect on the sole of their boot; the others swore, hand on heart or Bible, that there was no other Paratrooper they’d more readily trust their lives with….she was loyal, even if it would kill her.

And the one in the midst of this tug-of-war between misogynists and friends? She opted for a path of humbleness and even an ounce of passivity; grateful for the opportunity to be more than a USO girl in a frilly, inappropriately tailored skirt and poppy-red lipstick, yet not an entertainer of caustic words from a miserable man with a glass ego.

Lewis Nixon seemed to have made comfortable residence within a contradictory pattern of behavior towards her, as well. There was the respect of her rank, her leadership, and her presence within the military — all of which were non-congruent with the majority of women in global society. Then there was the scattered judgment of the choices conceived by her, how they’d dance with the charm of recklessness more so than the dullness of common sense.…how these brash decisions beneath the cacophony of artillery and screams would save lives, yet set her own on the line without thought if there’d be something to pull her back from the tide of death.

“I’ve done a lot of things - I need to know which one you found out about,” her tone was smoothed with an evenness that drew a blade of irritation over his indignant nerves, the distant smirk poised on her lips twisting that blade into each one. Regardless that he was practically towering over her, she was nevertheless reposed into a stature that didn’t speak to any intimidation. It was a nonchalance he may have admired if the crooning buzz of Vat 69 and the news of her latest reckless exploit weren’t swarming in an abyss of frustration in him.

“Heard through the Dick Winters grapevine about your little tussle with a German sniper yesterday,” there’s a smirk on his lips, charmed with the tightness of unadulterated exasperation, and he gulped down the remnants of alcohol in his glass before continuing, “How you — not a trained sniper — challenged him as the rest of your patrol fled after you ordered them to.”

Y/N blinked, a subtle indication of internal recognition of the reasoning inciting his tirade of angsty behavior, and the gesture is accompanied by a fleeting sidelong glance before her eyes inevitably leveled with his again, “And I still killed him, despite my lack of skill and proper weapon…oh, and all those men I sent away lived.”

Her indifference is essentially a kindled match against the tips of his nerves that splayed out like the ends of dynamite; she could decipher as much by the clench that solidified in his cocked jaw.

“This undying loyalty to being some invincible war hero is gonna get others killed…maybe even you,” he huffed out through gritted teeth, aggravation extending to the force he placed his empty glass aside with.

“And in the case of my indirectly, self-inflicted demise….what would it be to you besides some paperwork?” She laughed, a sound that didn’t clatter against their tension with an air of humor, rather its imbued with dryness and a stealthy beckoning of challenge.

“Because I care about you, okay?!”

His exclamation lays ample waste to the mischievous beckoning of her laughter…to her entire ‘spare me the dramatics’ facade that had been at the forefront of their interaction since she had stepped inside the room. Her smirk is struck into the smallest form of an ‘o’, crinkles by her previously amused eyes as churns of too many emotions flail and morass in her mind.

“That’s not what I meant to say…no, you just were never meant to hear that,” he’s prompt to scramble out some remedy for the awkwardness that plagues the air with a suffocating girdle, panic blown in his pupils and his hands on her biceps; his clasp beckons a plea his ego could never tolerate — “don’t hate me”.

Her hands settled onto his wrists that indistinctly trembled, brandishing an affable smile in a semblance of reassurance, “Find me when you’re sober, Nix.”

She swiftly squeezed against the crook of his wrists and stepped back through the doorway, reluctant to depart yet inevitably does, leaving just him, the lambent lamplight, and a pretense of hope.

[lkenvs3000semester]

unit 06 blog post

Hyams discusses continuity between the past, present, and future in this quote, highlighting how crucial it is to uphold the integrity that unites all the components of an experience over time. Starting off with the statement that there is "no peculiar merit in ancient things," the quote casts doubt on the notion that artifacts from the past are worth anything just because they are old. Rather, "integrity," or the entirety and continuity of knowledge and experience over time, is what really matters. Maintaining links between various components, even if they are dispersed throughout time, is what integrity is all about. Connecting this quote with our textbook, I think it implies that our comprehension of nature shouldn't be static when it comes to environmental interpretation. Instead, we must acknowledge that nature is a dynamic, living thing that is shaped by the past but is constantly changing, much like history. 

This viewpoint is consistent with the teachings covered in this unit, which emphasize the importance of history in understanding nature. The passage stresses the need of keeping a "memory of ancient things," and this section focuses on how historical interpretation enables us to make connections between historical landscapes, events, and artifacts and our current understanding of nature. It's not enough to simply observe the natural world as it is; one must also comprehend how natural occurrences, human history, and societal shifts have shaped it. As history gives our relationships with nature life and significance, it promotes a stronger feeling of place and community.

I can’t help but think of when I initially fell in love with the environment around me during my summers as a camp counsellor. It was all so new to me, so much so, that these places seemed to belong to me now, existing just if I was present to experience them. However, as time passed and I thought back on my sense of place, I came to see that those locations' beauty had more to do with things than just my presence. They were intricately linked to a greater narrative that began long before I arrived and continued long after I left.

Photo of my Camp during my counsellor days.

The quote's last line, which draws a comparison between forgetting the past and believing that a train station only exists while a train is there, serves as a great metaphor for how people frequently approach the world of nature. I felt this way when I returned home from camp to the city, that the environment simply was less existent, however that is not the case.  It doesn't mean that nature disappears or becomes less important just because we don't continuously see it or engage with it. It is important for us to recognize that the environments we explore have complex histories, whether they be geological, ecological, or human, and that these histories continue long after we are gone. I see this idea to show us as interpreters how to view our environmental surroundings as parts of a continuous story rather than as discrete points in time.

After visiting camp recently I found I felt a sort of "past" connection to its environment, I wonder have you ever experienced a stronger sense of connection to the past or future of nature? 

[magnorious]

Review: The Last Airbender Episodes 2 & 3

I still need to watch this show in a pitch-black room to see anything on screen during night scenes. Did you not learn from Game of Thrones?

Jet’s here! He shouldn’t be, but he is! Teo’s here! He shouldn’t be, but he is! And they’re both fantastic. Azula, Ozai, Mai, and Ty Lee are here! Wait a second….

—

Something I didn’t touch too much on the last episode that I’m going to now: This crippling addiction Hollywood has to ~reimagining~ beloved cartoons in live action consistently has the same flaw: It’s so *boring*. 

On the one hand, yes, I love the live action costumes. I love all the detail that can now be added since it doesn’t take tediously intricate details drawn frame by frame. However, cartoons, especially anime-inspired cartoons, take full advantage of the medium and frequently don’t draw *realistic* humans, they emphasize the features that matter like caricature.

ALTA not only uses caricature but the slapstick, rubbery physics of a cartoon world to hand-wave away the consequences of elemental fisticuffs. The expressions the characters make, their peak character designs, the exactness of every frame, even the less-detailed background shots of little gummy people with undefined details, these define the show.

So while the casting has been great so far, Gyatso, Iroh, Bumi, Zuko, Sokka, Gran Gran, through no fault of their own or the fault of the medium, lack the cartoonishness of the original characters. The cartoonishness that makes this show so beloved so the live action scenes feel… lesser. 

Also, because it’s anime-inspired, the fight scenes storyboarded and drawn in anime are incredibly dynamic. The way the camera sits and follows the action is beholden to no real-world physics because it’s all drawn and anime is particularly good at making spectacular, intense fight scenes. This show’s fight scenes, while well-choreographed, aren’t filmed like a live-action anime, and that also makes it feel lesser.

—

I can’t be the only one disappointed that every episode doesn’t begin with Katara’s narration, can I? They went through the trouble of CGI-ing the whole thing, so why not?

I was holding out hope that they’d still find the avatar statue room, because it was so well-animated and hauntingly beautiful with the buildup and all the eyes glowing. They kept tiny versions of the statues, it just lacked the oomph.

Or the foamy-mouth guy and all the kids enamored with Aang on Kyoshi Island, and Aang reveling in the praise and attention. That dude has become his own meme. He’s hilarious.

Still not satisfied with Iroh’s voice (not the actor’s fault), or Zuko’s, for that matter. He doesn’t quite hit the “I’m an angsty 16 year old stuck with an uncle whom I do not respect or take seriously in any way and refuse to admit that I care about” vibe. Zhao also doesn’t sound intimidating (though he tries and his physical acting is great). When casting all these roles, I wish they would have paid as much attention to the voices of the live-action actors, as much as their faces. There’s zero grit in anyone’s voices, even Gran Gran’s. Zhao sounds his best when his voice lowers as he narrates his letter to Ozai.

Humor-wise, this show sits in a weird spot where it’s trying to be funny only with one-liners (like Marvel) and zero situational humor. Sokka is the best attempt the show makes at being funny and sometimes it lands, I just wish there was more of it. It’s like this show is afraid to lose its “gritty” badge if any scene dares to be legitimately funny.

I do like the nod to the cartoon’s title sequence with Aang air-scootering into that statue. That’s the situational humor I’m talking about.

—

Kyoshi island (and their costumes) was good, lacking humor and giant koi notwithstanding. Kyoshi herself making an appearance giving Aang some sagely wisdom 50-odd episodes early is a treat, even if he’s suddenly excellent at handling the Spirit World with zero effort. They didn’t turn the Kyoshi warriors into insufferable girlbosses, remaining incredibly competent warriors that happen to be women.

In attempt to make it more adult, they’re starting to fudge some backstories and motivations, like Aang now having too much power to the point where the other kids were afraid of him, and the Sokka/Suki romance being far less subtle, and a lot more physical. It’s less sweet and more “wow, these teenagers are horny”. Katara did not witness Kya getting burned alive, her mother would never have let that happen. She’d left the tent to find her dad, and by the time she came back, Kya was already gone. It was tragic already, why make it worse?

**Side note, Momo is a lemure, not a monkey, please don’t give him generic monkey noises. They already gave you plenty of sound design for Momo, just use it.

Aang fumbling around in the Spirit World at the worst possible moment is so true to form, it would be hilarious if it wasn’t so serious. Him ending that trip by manifesting into Kyoshi totally kneecaps the moment during the Winter Solstice where he becomes Roku, even if it looked cool.

The Ozai reveal, though. Why? Just why? Did Daniel Dae Kim have X amount of minutes contractually obligated? Ozai wasn’t revealed for two entire seasons, not his face. They waited and waited and waited, leaving him silhouetted by flames and shadows, only drawing him from behind or from the neck down. This was a *reveal* because we didn’t know what to expect. Would he be as ugly as his soul? Handsome? Pretty? Scarred himself, like his son?

Oh. Azula’s here, too.

The writers of this show and Percy Jackson went to the same school of “Mystery be damned, let’s shoot our load right f’ing now!”

Also, Mr. Kim should have been Zhao, not Ozai. He would have made a fantastic Zhao.

—

The more Ozai is on screen, even if his scenes are good, misses the whole point of why he was barely a character. I’m trying not to use “the cartoon did X better” too much, but the cartoon did it better and here’s why:

Ozai is basically a non-character. Who *he* is doesn’t matter, he’s a bad guy doing bad things because he’s an evil narcissist. His actions and his orders are felt across the globe, though. So the Gaang doesn’t meet him (some ever) until the finale, but they still feel the impact of his actions the entire series.

Who’s Ozai? The guy who burned and banished his son and sent him on a wild goose chase.The guy who’s admiral murdered the moon spirit. Who continues to lay siege to the Earth Kingdom and whose daughter orchestrates its downfall. We don’t need to see who he is for him to be one scary dude. He doesn’t need all these extra scenes to prove how terrifying he is.

The original perfected “less is more” and Ozai (and Azula, and Mai and Ty Lee) just don’t need to be here. Not yet.

With that said, Azula’s great, what little we see of her. Ozai is great. They really seem to be having fun with their roles.

Episode three leaves me curious if all the kids watched the original and wanted so badly to make this show funny, and all the adults told them to tone it down. They’re trying so hard. Props to everyone doing their best with an IP as beloved as this one, and the massive shoes they all have to fill.

More missing humor: Bonzu Pipinpadaloxicopolis! But at least they kept the cabbage merchant.

Episode three decided to combine the Northern Air Temple with Omashu and Jet for reasons. These were two entirely separate plots and locations, but Teo and the Mechanist are incredibly entertaining even if they’re early. They filmed only eight episodes and I feel like a broken record when I say: If you hadn’t given us the wrong filler, you could have properly adapted the missing content. You can skip the Great Divide, though. I hope you skip the Great Divide.

The filler is entertaining. I like the easter egg of the Yu Yan archers training in the background with Azula, implying that she’s as good as they are. I don’t think Azula would bother mastering archery when she’s a firebending prodigy, but the scene is nice. The original Omashu and Northern Air Temple would have been nicer.

Can’t say I miss the original Jet episode and the second I saw this scruffy boy with emo hair in his eyes on that wagon, I thought, “This is Jet, right? It’s gotta be Jet. He’d make a perfect Jet.”

And I was right!

Wrong time, wrong place, but this is the first character who, upon seeing them completely out of their episode, even if he looks nothing like his cartoon version, he fits that character’s vibe perfectly. Excellent casting.

“Omashu” is so far divorced from the original, it might as well be its own thing and it’s buckwild, but it combines elements from three independent episodes and it works incredibly well, even if the plots still feel disjointed from each other, each stays their welcome as long as they need to.

The freedom fighters are amazing. Their costumes are amazing. As each one showed up on screen I was grinning from ear-to-ear. My only detractor is the slight-fanservicey nature of it all once Jet starts naming his team. No notes on Jet dropping his disguise and the slow-mo of the reveal of his hook-swords. One more re-write and it would have been flawless. Can’t wait to see this guy ambiguously pass away beneath Lake Laogai. He’ll be great.

—

I’m liking Iroh less and less every time I see him. He’s just not Iroh. He doesn’t act like him, doesn’t talk like him, doesn’t wax poetic like him, which is a shame because, behind Zuko, I’m pretty sure Iroh is the fan-favorite character. He was an entire generation’s mentor and this just isn’t him.

Zuko’s dickishness was also tempered by him being an awkward turtleduck. Here he’s just aggressive with zero moments for second-hand embarrassment. He doesn’t get bullied by Sokka in the premier, doesn’t bicker with Iroh, he just yells and screams. He’s not endearing in the slightest.

The VFX as well – I know the underpaid and overworked artists did their best but it’s very distracting when they’re so obviously standing in front of a greenscreen.

This show still does not need to exist, make no mistake, and I can see why the original writers left. There’s scenes I’ve legit fast-forwarded through because they just won’t end and I am bored – the massacre of the Air Nomads? Skipped.

With that said, it’s not the worst adaptation in the world, and everyone still showed up to do their best with the script they were given. Does every line land? Heck no. Are the fight scenes cool? Ehhhh, kind of? Is it funny? No, not really, not compared to the original. Is it for kids? I think no less than 20 people have been burned alive at this point so, no, not really. Not like the original was for all ages.

Once again we have a “but was it better than the first attempt?” bar two feet into the topsoil. Yes, so far, it is. At least it’s not like that other horrible adaptation that forgot it was an action-adventure story.

But Jet was awesome. If he carries this review solely on how awesome he was, so be it.

[mochigobrrrrrrr]

Qin Kha Ottile Srivastava / A workaholic machinist

This character hasn’t always been exclusive to XIV, if anything I always liked making him in different game’s character customizations. Before I only had drawings and placed him in different universes or anything I was obsessed with at the time. Qin’s been more or less a muse for my art work and imaginary best friend since I was 13 yrs old. (I’m weird lemme alone.)

Full Name Qin Kha Ottile-Srivastava Species Au Ra / Hyur Birth Date / Age 3rd Sun of the 6th Astral Moon / 38 yrs Guardian Nophica, The Matron Clan Xaela Gender Male Height / Weight 6'10" / 260lbs Body Type Lean / Mesomorph Hair Color Dirty Blonde Eye Color Chartreuse (left) Hazel (right) With Gold Limbal Ring Distinguishing Features Sparse Facial and Body Scales / Pointed Ears / Tattoos / Intricate Scars / Magitek Tail Birthplace / Current Home Azim Steppe / Empyreum Profession Engineer / Gunsmith Sexual Orientation Bisexual Relationship Status Married - Rajani Srivastava Kith and Kin Shal're Kha (mother) / Lian Ottile (father) Sarnai Kha (non-bio sister) (deceased, age 8) Personality Easygoing / Subdued

Qin has always been a tad introvert and selective about it, only coming out of his shell and outgoing with people he warms up too. Now of late he lives more carefree and opens up more easily, feeling less forced about putting himself into a public setting. He always carries a sarcastic and rowdy demeanor. When the time calls for it, Qin can be serious and strict.

Notable

His early work depended heavily on where he stayed, but he never stayed in one place for too long. Using what skills he had acquired from Azim Steppe, such as hunting and long distance combat, Qin became useful for bounty boards and quick jobs. Soon enough he found himself falling into the life of a mercenary and ran a small company for several years; Qin used it as a means to ship goods from Azim to Limisa and sell hired swords.

One day he found a passion for firearms. The once talented archer became enamored with them; to the point of commissioning his first firearm, He commissioned a custom-built Wander from the Skysteel Manufactory. Since then, it has become his passion to collect and care for each arm he acquired throughout the years. Today, he owns a total of five firearms that he himself modified, not counting his multi tool.

His Magitek tail is one of the many interesting features but how he gained the prosthetic though, is less interesting. Perhaps it’s one story kept between him and the multi-tool responsible. His multi-tool is an ever-expanding arsenal equipped with a: drill cannon, air anchor, chainsaw, and a grenade launcher. The last one was more or less the cause; a simple weapons test involving homemade explosives went horribly wrong. While the initial blast did not cause the majority of his injuries, shrapnel and infection did. Walking around with a stump for a tail didn’t bother him, but it did impact his quality of life. His stump caused balance issues in day-to-day life. A collaborative effort with colleagues and himself soon took off, where they began researching magitek and utilizing their engineering knowledge to fashion a prosthetic tail.

Likes

Traveling

Working (Seriously. You have to make him stop or he won't.)

Drinking (Whiskey served neat.)

Smoking

Solitude

Dressing nice

Dislikes

Alcohol that tastes like piss water.

Pointing at his ears.

Inability to let things go.

Asking him what happened to his tail.

Backstory

Qin Ottile spent most of his childhood raised on the outskirts of the Azim Steppe, growing up in a small Kha village that accepted both Xaela and other races alike. It was there Qin’s mother met his father, a Midlander who traded in Reunion. During the war and unrest caused by the Imperial invasion, a rebellion of pirates from the Ruby Sea managed to broker a trade agreement with the Qestir, whom allowed them to trade fish for much-needed medical supplies. Qin’s father was among the few chosen to trade in Reunion, where he met her. A young Kha woman with dark skin and golden eyes, with scales black as a beautiful midnight. Her lovely smile stole his heart and he would never want to leave this place again. As time went on and trading continued, Qin’s father spent more time with her, even staying for nights on end. Eventually he would never return to the Ruby Sea again.

After living together in the Steppe for a time, the Kha woman would welcome a new life into the world; Half Xaela, Half Hyur. In spite of their love and preparation, nothing they could teach would steel Qin for the lifetime of bullying and bigotry that awaited him. Not fully Xaela. Not fully Hyur. He was stuck in between, constantly struggling to find the place where he fit among them. How do you teach your child to protect themselves from a word they shouldn't have to understand? Discrimination. In spite of being shunned by most of the Xaela, his mother taught him the ways of their people while his father, the pirate, would teach Qin how to defend himself. Even if it meant fighting dirty.

For years he endured, strengthened by the lessons of his parents…And of their people. His people. Qin became an excellent hunter, quite skilled with the bow handed down to him from his grandfather, using his prowess to bring home game for his parents to trade in Reunion. He held his own, proving that not only had he survived but that he thrived, able to protect himself and provide for his family. Amongst Xaela who prided strength above most else, he had at least earned a measure of respect. However, Qin would find his adventuring heart longing to experience the lands his father had spoken of until he, like his father, would leave the land he had known in search of more.

Current

Nowadays, Qin spends his life in Ishgard, working diligently as an engineer for the Skysteel Manufactory, residing within the newly built Empyreum. With old comrades and new, they run a new company where Qin happily spends his days crafting firearms and any invention that comes to mind.

How he found himself where he is now is shrouded in a haze of fractured memories. Bits and pieces of his past life as a mercenary, familiar faces forever blurred, a life in Limsa Lominsa running a company with a forgotten name with freelance adventurers and dear friends alike, all lost in the recesses of Qin’s mind to never recover no matter how much he has tried.

But as old memories fade, new ones arise with just as much curiosity…

The sting of ice and the stench of blood fill Qin’s senses as he stands alone in the alleyways of the Brume.

Or so he thought…

The flutter of wings and a bright turquoise light radiates around him, a memory that shines bright in his mind. A small colorful hummingbird, an uncanny resemblance to the tattoo, perches on his right shoulder. He remembered the voice, a warm voice that brought peace to his very soul. An assurance that even through all of his heartbreak, through all of this fear and doubt and darkness, that there was light, that there was a bright future ahead. Since that day, he came to know this small creature as Sorianna, his guardian, his friend.

One shot "Time was still"

Time was still, yet the signs of an unhurried morning slowly peaked it’s sleeping head out from the horizon. It was dark, still, and the silence deafened any and all ears, though slight movement could be heard from the single occupant within the small confines which the man, who sat at his desk, called an office. With whiskey on his breath, and the embers dancing to their death in a dying fireplace, there was life in this abyss of an office, yes….but it was as if time itself had ceased to be.

A striking eye of gold pierced through the ebony darkness, a feature that always caught anyone’s attention as it shimmered alongside it’s brother eye of chartreuse green, the two scanning the room. From a desk of elder wood and hanging uniforms with tattered, patched holes, to retired guns and a beaten down bow that out-ages it’s current master, there was history in this room. His mind leapt into wandering as his eyes reminisced, memories flooding his mind as he downcast his gaze to the hands that sat before him, one of which held his favorite beverage, whilst the other held something more…

An azure crystal that filled its surroundings with radiance, the crystal was held together by a tattered leather string, decorated with beads to match. A thumb caressed the crystal with affection, this object, this crystal, it meant something to him. His hand gripped and clutched his precious possession…

An abrupt sound of glass broke the eerie silence.

Red, crimson liquid dripped from the halfling’s grasp as shards of the once bottle of whiskey embedded into a callous hand. Overwhelming feelings washed over the small half-Xaela, with tears forming slowly whilst mouth gaping for a scream that never came. Frustration, a clutched bloodied hand raised up, only to crash down onto the elder wood of the desk. The desk was stained with blood, tears, and emotions….yet time was still.

Comfort never came. The only solace Qin could find was rocking his body, back and forth, back and forth, a rhythm that his body knew too well. Over and over, as if a babe in its crib. Doubt filled his heart as the golden eye never left the glisten of the crystal. It was his anchor, his strength, and yet….the darkness, the bastard who went unseen, ate at him, as if a wolf starved of elk, ripping and tearing at his corpse with no end in sight. His heart, soul, his body felt numb. Hues of pink and orange hinted from the outside world, a new dawn was approaching.

Fear, his worst enemy. Failure, doubt, the willingness to believe in himself…it was shattering every fiber in his being, chipping away at the little hope that remained.

Yet time was still.

Qin and Sarnai Kha

Sarnai and Qin had formed an unbreakable friendship as children. You would think they were bothers and sisters, given how close they were. Growing up and living next door to each other, their families practically did everything together. It would have fooled anyone into thinking they were just one big family.

The pair would always start their day doing morning chores together before running off and playing. Sarnai and Qin were so inseparable that their own mothers used to tease them, asking if Qin would be the next Khagan and Sarnai his Nhaama. This obviously embarrassed the two, but everyone knew if fate had kept on its path, they would have ended up together as a bonded pair.

Sadly, that day never came. Sarnai had returned to the lifestream at the tender age of 8 after a tragic hunting accident on Qin's 10th birthday. The young boy had cornered a small game animal, but the commotion had attracted a baras, which had attacked him and Sarnai. It had left Qin with only minor injuries, but his sister... While it was never entirely his fault, he still carried her death in his heart. He was foolish and naive, only wanting to prove his worth. His ego and desire to constantly fit in had led to his sister's fate.

[talentforlying]

inspection/needs ( combo i cannot pick )

[ inspection ] sender holds receiver's face while inspecting an injury they got [ needs ] sender asks receiver what they need

there's something in him that fucking burns.

part of him always thought it would go away with time, with just the right amount of something — like balancing scales, like robbing fire of oxygen by smothering it. alcohol, cigarettes, people. FIGHTS.

tonight has been a burning night, where the pyre in him roars so loud it drowns all common sense; where one taunt becomes ten, becomes twenty, and suddenly he's the eye of a maelstrom made of fists and fury, laughing into the sticky floor as he goes down again and again and again. still grinning as chas hauls him out the back door by the scruff of his coat and shoves him into the back of the cab, snarls at him to wipe that fucking smirk off your face as if a part of him didn't feel the rush, too. as if the things that burn in him don't sear up chas as well.

he knows it's meant to be punishment, bringing him to the house. to lilly. it's because he loves her, see. because chas knows he's always been shit-scared of showing the people he loves all the real worst parts of him, underneath the magic and the mayhem and the mystery. of course, he loves chas, too, but that's different. chas has always known these things about him. it's why they're friends. it's why chas sticks around.

she opens the door, and all there is is a sigh, slow and long, and her eyes are more tired than they are afraid or angry or sad, and . . . yeah. it's a punishment.

he's still burning later in the kitchen, seated on the counter with bruised fingers locked rigid around the edges of the tile, while she stands between his legs and presses wet cloth to every stinging place, every sun spot and solar flare. her other hand is gentle on his hip, but the line of her mouth is hard like diamond and he's close enough to see every time she bites the inside of her cheek, chewing something into silence. every instinct says to flay the secret out for the fire to eat, to make this HURT, to layer fresh hits over barely-old ones, but he knows it won't do any good; they're too intertwined, these days. so intricately bound that a fight would only draw them closer together in their attempts to fix it later — would only make the scars left by their sharp edges something to map in the dark, when it mattered a little less.

he's so lost in the inferno that he hardly notices when the cloth goes away and her fingers come back empty, pushing sweat-damp hair away from his forehead and carding all the way down to the nape of his neck, where they scratch, softly, like petting a cat. the sensation pools in his chest like a good stiff drink, sizzles along the surface of the blaze and cuts through the buzz still rattling along his back teeth; he has to close his eyes against the sudden, heady rush of stillness, chin bowing to his chest, her touch suffusing every limb. he is so heavy. how can she stand beneath the weight.

it could be days, or months, or years before her knuckles trail a path along his aching jaw and tip his chin back up, coaxing his gaze along with it. she still looks tired, tracing every new contusion and fresh abrasion, pressing light to test their depth and sending frissons of sharp and sore spidering through his skull like sickness. how long has it been since she left the house, lately? how long since she smiled at him and there wasn't something masked behind her eyes? the burning in him eats the meaning in little things, like time between and time apart, but he still remembers every one, and when it ought to matter more. remembers that they've been trying this for so, so long and they can never seem to get it right. he can never seem to get it right.

her fingers mold to the curve of his cheek and she's looking right into him, now, with understanding. she's been burning too, he knows, in ways he can't begin to fathom, and she still takes this time to try and save him from his pyre. does she know he'd steal the kindling out of hers, if he had the strength to carry it all? does she know he'd drink the petrol if the blaze would keep her warm? or does she only know he'd fail, in the end, to make any sort of difference at all, except in the degree to which he scorches her when she tries to keep him close?

' what do you need, john? ' half a question, half a platitude. like she doesn't think she'll ever like the answer. like she doesn't think he'll ever really know.

( there's something eating him up like a poison and he thinks it's his father. )

his head tips to trap her fingers between cheek and shoulder, bloody lip leaving smears where he kisses the fate line of her palm. the tendons flex, then still; he curls his fingers around her wrist, her pulse like a bird he's trapped, kisses his toxin off of every inch of skin and buries his face in the well of mercy that he is steadily filling up with red and raw and burning shame.

i'm sorry, i'm too old for this.

i'm sorry, i don't want to be this way.

i'm sorry, i don't mean to keep hurting you.

i'm sorry, i keep trying to get rid of it and it won't go away, i'm pulling him out of me shard by shard and it's not doing any good, i didn't think it would still ache this fucking badly, i'm sorry —

( please, please, please forgive me. keep forgiving me. just this once. just over and over again. )

' hold me. ' his voice splinters like fractal lines in crystal, and her fingers curl against his bruises with a scrape of nail on stubble that warns but doesn't retreat, and there are purple-blue-black universes warping his skin but none are so kind and so undeserved as her eyes.

@asteritm / NON-VERBAL ANGST PROMPTS ( always accepting )

[webchargers6]

The Benefits of Local SEO: 3 Ways Best SEO Company In India Helps

Local SEO gives firms a competitive edge through higher search engine rankings, expands brand recognition, and reaches target consumers. You're craving a burrito at 11 p.m. You tell yourself that you should really be sleeping, but you know that thinking about burritos while lying in bed will not help you count sheep. What then do you do? Using your phone, you open Google and enter "burrito store open near me." While there won't be any sparkling dust or rabbits springing out of hats, local search engine optimization (SEO) magic has already happened from the time you begin your search. This kind of magic lives in worlds far more exotic and intricate than Hogwarts or Middle Earth, according to people familiar with magical literature. The Internet is a rapidly expanding and fast-paced environment where local SEO magic occurs with the help of the Best SEO Company in India. This essay will look at the value of local SEO and how it affects the commercial environment. For more information, keep reading!

3 major benefits of local SEO

Here are three exciting benefits of local SEO:

1. Local SEO increases local brand awareness

First things first: Getting customers into your business is one of the most important steps towards making a profit. You don't need to hold a Master's degree in business administration to understand that the more goods and services you offer, the more customers visit your store.

Let us now examine the less obvious: what is your strategy for drawing customers into your store? That MBA would be really helpful right now. You have to be known to the world before someone physically enters your business or even clicks on your website.

Here's when local SEO becomes useful. You may position your company to be more visible to potential clients by optimizing your web presence for local search intent. Put otherwise, if you concentrate on boosting your web presence in a particular region, you'll draw in more local customers who are interested in your offerings. An efficient local SEO strategy tries to direct web traffic towards nearby companies, just like a billboard on a highway directs vehicles to businesses located along the side of the road. Search engines' preference for companies that have used local SEO techniques with the best SEO company in India including location-based keywords, location-based content, and optimized online local citations makes this feasible.

To appear more favorably in their search results, a company can also predict the intention of a nearby searcher. For a moment, let's revisit our amiable burrito vendor. To improve its ranking for searches including these keywords, this company may incorporate location-based keywords into its website.

The seller of burritos, for instance, may use location-based keywords strategically on their website, blog posts, and local listings if they are located in Chicago. This would allow a hungry Chicagoan to find the vendor on Google when they search for "burritos in Chicago."

What distinguishes local SEO, though, from other marketing strategies? After all, in theory, you might get some local exposure by placing an advertisement in the newspaper, right?

In comparison to other, more conventional forms of advertising, local SEO is more effective at raising brand awareness because it answers users' questions—such as "Where can I buy a burrito near me?" or "What burrito places are open at 11 p.m. in Chicago?"—and matches those queries with relevant product listings, meeting their needs. With location-based searches accounting for over 50% of all Google searches, your business has a prospective clientele sitting right in front of you, waiting for just one click on their phone.

Local SEO marketing addresses demand and provides a response, which drives customers straight to companies with the help of the best SEO company in India. A successful local SEO campaign will put your company in front of searchers, increasing the likelihood that they will visit your store later on in the day.

2. Local SEO creates a connection with your target audience

Regretfully, it's not always sufficient to just put your company in front of potential clients in order to encourage sales. In addition to merely getting seen, a successful local SEO plan will seek to establish a relationship with your target demographic.

The last stage of a connection between a buyer and a seller is a completed purchase. This link may be developed or reduced by acts performed by either partner, just like in any relationship, romantic or platonic. As a business, the bond you establish with prospective clients prior to their final purchase determines how strong the relationship will be in the long run.

Comparable to speed dating, that is. Simply because they were the first to take a seat, you wouldn't get married to the person across from you. In a similar vein, a customer may decide not to buy from a company just because they were the first pick in the Google search results.

On the other hand, if you click with the person sitting across from you during speed dating, you'll probably be more successful in securing a second date than if you go with someone who seems dull.

From the standpoint of local SEO, there are several strategies to improve this relationship. By accumulating reviews, you may use local SEO services from the best SEO company in India to enhance the perception of your company. Because reviews are published by actual consumers, which gives them greater credibility with search engines, they are helpful in fortifying a relationship. A prospective client is more inclined to collaborate with you if they read more glowing testimonials about your company. Additionally, by developing local backlinks—links from other websites pointing to your website—you might be able to gain the confidence of search engines and establish your trustworthiness. These backlinks demonstrate to search engines the reliability of your website, which raises the position of your company listings in search results.

3. Local SEO gives you a leg up over the competition

The good news is that you've captured the interest of potential clients. Unfortunately, several of your rivals are also vying for their attention. So, how can you "steal the hearts" of potential clients and get a competitive edge? By implementing an effective local SEO strategy, you may be able to appear higher in local search results and above the competition in the Local Pack (the top three local search results on Google for a location-based query). Like any kind of marketing, one of the main objectives of local SEO optimization is to help your company stand out from the competition in the eyes of consumers with the help of the best SEO company in India. In addition to boosting customer confidence in your company, local SEO tactics like review creation may highlight your advantages over rivals. For instance, if your primary rival only has 100 five-star reviews compared to your 400 five-star reviews on your Google Business Profile profile, searchers would conclude that you are the better option for business due to your huge number of positive reviews.

Additionally, by constructing citations and backlinks, visitors may find your company outside of your website or social media accounts, increasing brand exposure.

For instance, a consumer using Angie's List or YellowBook may come across your optimized citation and decide to select you over a rival due to familiarity with your brand and the ease with which you can provide your services.

Learn more about the benefits of local SEO

A well-crafted local SEO strategy with WebChargers helps people who are looking for reliable information online as well as the businesses using it, regardless of whether you're selling or consuming burritos. Visit our blog to learn more about the value of local SEO and how it can help companies like yours!