#lamp stack development

[braininventoryusa]

LAMP vs. MEAN: A Comparison of Popular Web Development Stacks

Quick Summary:  Over time, the technology utilized for constructing websites has undergone substantial advancements, resulting in the rise of specific frameworks that have gained popularity in web application development. Two widely used technology stacks are LAMP, comprising Linux, Apache, MySQL, and PHP/Python/Perl, and MEAN, incorporating MongoDB, Express.js, AngularJS, and Node.js. While the specific languages and frameworks have changed, the fundamental approach of combining databases, servers, programming languages, and libraries into a cohesive stack has remained constant. Though the acronyms highlight different tools, both LAMP and MEAN provide proven solutions for building dynamic websites and applications. This article contrasts these two approaches, looking at their characteristics, benefits, and applications to assist developers in making knowledgeable choices about utilizing them.

LAMP Stack Overview:

The commonly used software stack for web development called LAMP is made up of Linux, Apache, MySQL, and a programming language for the server side like PHP, Python, or Perl. This set of open source technologies is well-liked for constructing dynamic websites and web apps. LAMP provides a solid and open source collection of components that is widely accepted for customized web development and hosting situations, especially for dynamic web apps and content management systems. Each part of the stack is a specialized and sturdy open source technology, and when united, they present a complete solution for building and releasing web applications.

MEAN Stack Overview:

The MEAN stack, which comprises MongoDB, Express.js, Angular, and Node.js, refers to a favored collection of frameworks for developing interactive web platforms. MongoDB functions as a flexible, JSON-compatible database that provides both scalability and rapid processing. In contrast, Express.js is a light web framework for Node.js that eases server-side development by managing routing, middleware, and other typical duties. Angular is a different JavaScript framework from React. Google created it specifically for building single-page web app development. It enables capabilities like data binding and dependency injection. Node.js is a runtime setting that allows developers to execute JavaScript code on servers. This allows them to make fast, scalable server apps using event-driven, non-blocking I/O. Together these technologies provide a powerful full-stack solution for crafting robust, modern web applications.

Comparison of Components: LAMP vs. MEAN

Determining which stack is better, MEAN or LAMP, depends on various factors such as project requirements, developer expertise, scalability needs, and industry trends. Both stacks have their strengths and are suitable for different use cases. Let’s compare them based on key aspects:

Language and Ecosystem: The LAMP stack is built of a mix of Linux, Apache, MySQL, and scripting languages for the server side, such as PHP, Python, or Perl. In contrast, the MEAN stack uses JavaScript across the stack, including for the back-end and front-end. If your team is already experienced with JavaScript, MEAN may offer a more consistent development process.

Scalability and Performance: MEAN, with Node.js as the back-end runtime, is known for its event-driven, non-blocking I/O architecture, making it highly scalable and efficient for handling concurrent connections and real-time applications. LAMP can also handle scalable applications but might require additional setup or infrastructure considerations for high-performance scenarios.

Database: LAMP typically uses MySQL, a widely adopted relational database management system. MEAN stack employs MongoDB, a flexible NoSQL database that offers scalability and schema flexibility for agile development. The choice between a relational or NoSQL database depends on the specific project requirements.

Development Speed and Productivity: MEAN’s unified use of JavaScript across the entire stack allows for smoother communication and shared code between front-end and back-end developers. It can accelerate development processes and enhance developer productivity. LAMP also offers a wide range of mature libraries, frameworks, and tools that can expedite development.

Community and Support: Both LAMP and MEAN have active communities and a vast collection of resources and libraries. However, LAMP has been around for a longer period and has an extensive ecosystem with a larger developer community. Conversely, MEAN is gaining popularity and has an increasingly active community.

Industry Adoption: The LAMP technology stack has been commonly utilized for content management systems, online retail platforms, and other conventional web applications. It boasts a proven performance record and is well-entrenched across many sectors. In contrast, the MEAN stack is frequently chosen for modern cloud-hosted apps, real-time interactive apps, and single-page web apps.

Conclusion:

In wrapping up the blog, we’ll provide a concise comparison summary, offering insights into when to consider LAMP or MEAN based on project objectives, developer skills, and industry trends. We’ll emphasize that both stacks have their strengths and are well-suited for different types of custom web applications, ultimately helping developers make informed decisions based on their unique project requirements.

By covering these essential points, the blog will serve as a comprehensive resource for developers and technology enthusiasts seeking in-depth knowledge about LAMP and MEAN stacks, facilitating better-informed technology decisions and promoting the adoption of suitable development tools and frameworks.We provide web development services with many capabilities that allow us to build highly sophisticated web applications. We are extremely discerning regarding the development platforms we utilize, only opting for those that satisfy our rigorous standards. At Brain Inventory, our sole focus is on creating software programs for the web, so we have vast knowledge in coding secure, error-free code. The apps we build enable encrypted data transfers to guarantee the work we provide is safeguarded. Our code is protected from unauthorized alterations or removal because it is only accessible with a private key under our control.

[mobiloitteuk]

Web3 Game Development Services By Mobiloitte UK

The future of gaming with Mobiloitte. Web3 game development services! Dive into a world of decentralized, immersive experiences where players truly own their in-game assets. Our expert team crafts cutting-edge, blockchain-powered games that redefine gaming as you know it. Join us in revolutionizing the gaming industry with innovative technology and endless possibilities. Level up with Mobiloitte.

[mobiloitteinc02]

Web App Development Services - Mobiloitte USA

Mobiloitte excels in Web App Development Services, creating cross-platform applications for a seamless user experience across devices. With a strong track record, we serve a diverse clientele, from industry leaders to startups. Our expert team modernizes legacy systems, ensuring mobile-ready, engaging web solutions.

[onlinewebdevelopment]

Notch-up expert lamp stack developer for online business

AIS Technolabs is a renowned name in the domain of web and software solution delivery. These LAMP stack developers also provide necessary assistance in other aspects related to website development to the firms as well. Firms look up to software development companies for the services of qualified and trained LAMP stack developers to bring them effective software and development solutions. These LAMP stack developers also offer their services in freelancer mode as well.

Call us now at: https://www.aistechnolabs.com/lamp-stack-developer/

[qwikskills]

Advantages of using the AWS Lab

Amazon Web Services (AWS) offers a variety of tools and services to help users develop and deploy their applications. One such tool is the AWS Lab, which is a cloud-based development environment that allows users to easily create, configure, and manage their development and testing environments.

The AWS Lab is built on top of the AWS Elastic Compute Cloud (EC2) and is integrated with other AWS services such as Amazon S3, Amazon RDS, and Amazon Elastic Block Store (EBS). This allows users to easily create and configure virtual machines with the necessary resources and configurations for their development and testing needs.

One of the key advantages of using the AWS Lab is that it allows users to quickly spin up and tear down development and testing environments as needed. This can greatly reduce the time and costs associated with setting up and maintaining physical development and testing environments. Additionally, the AWS Lab allows users to easily scale their environments as needed to accommodate changes in workloads and traffic.

Another advantage of the AWS Lab is that it provides a wide range of pre-configured environments, including popular development stacks such as LAMP, Ruby on Rails, and Node.js. This can greatly reduce the time and effort required to set up and configure a development environment.

In addition, the AWS Lab also provides a number of tools and features to help users manage and monitor their development and testing environments. For example, users can use the AWS Management Console to view detailed metrics and logs for their environments, as well as to set up alarms and notifications for specific events.

Overall, the AWS Lab is a powerful and flexible development environment that can greatly simplify the process of developing and testing applications on the AWS platform. Whether you're a small startup or a large enterprise, the AWS Lab can help you quickly and easily create, configure, and manage your development and testing environments, allowing you to focus on building great applications.

[honeyhenry]

Apple Pie and You and I: A Very Happy Seresin

Ignore the fact it has been over a year since the last instalment...I would offer my life story but it has been HECTIC. Anyways, I have never ceased to think of Dad-to-be!Jake Seresin and since it is now the summer holidays, my gift to you is this lovely part 4 of the APAYAI series!

In the calm haze of what surely would be a sweet summer, you found rest in the peace held within the mid-June evening. Jake would return shortly from his quick job out by Mav's old place, helping Rooster refurbish the old skyline beauty Maverick hadn't had the time for lately. A whole stack of them had taken their turn, and while Jake remained a reliable friend now in the squad, he had really fought it internally, not wishing to leave your side.

Not when he could be snuggled up to his wife, on the porch or resting on the sofa, smelling the strawberry shampoo from your hair, or your shea butter moisturiser. Nor could he kiss you as and when he liked from 4.30pm, the second he got home from work, all the way to bedtime and then again in the morning before you both headed off - him to base, and you to your kindergarten class.

No, he wasn't going to be home until closer to 9 - almost 30 minutes away yet - and the worst part was, he was missing more than just you these days. The swell that continued to grow once you'd left Texas had become his new obsession - the slice of heaven that he already adored because they were going to be just like you, and make you look like the sweetest, hottest little thing this side of the States.

Resting quietly on the sofa, you await his return, knowing he'll ache and sweat and smell on his return - you can't wait to soak him all in and show him the newest development. You swear this baby grows dramatically overnight, a claim you state often whilst Jake just smirks because it's his big Seresin baby that he personally delivered, that grows and nestles inside you.

Your living area is lit by a chamomile candle and a yellow lamp that envelopes the room into a warm glow. The scattered pillows across the sofa and rug are perfect to relax on, and your most recent book "Parenting 101" swapped out for Cosmo magazine led to an idyllic evening. A small cup of tea and the night had gone perfectly.

Sooner than expected, you hear Jake's truck pull up into the driveway. Instead of standing to check and then unlock the door, you wait. Jake much prefers you to stay safely in the house, always alerting you if he has arrived - that you shouldnt be moving a muscle if you can help it. 8.36pm - he's early.

"Lovebug? It's me, I'm home!" he hollers into the foyer of the house, his deep voice carrying through to the living room. Pressing your soft bunny slippers to the floor, you call back.

"In the living room, honey!"

You hear footsteps and then a moment later, there he is, basking in the glow of the lamp above you. Or is it sweat? You can't decide for sure, taken aback by the mixed smells of oil and sweat.

"Hey baby," he finds your lips, leaning over the sofa to not get it marked, "and hey little baby." You smile as he extends a warm hand down to your stomach, smiling softly as he soaks in the moment.

"How was work? And Mav's?"

"Fine, fine. Got a bunch of stuff fixed in the back, Bradshaw got covered in grease and oil so if you see him with a black moustache, you'll know why."

You giggle as he stretches and then quirks a brow. "More importantly, how are you? How is peanut treating you? Being a good and upstanding citizen?"

"I think they grew again overnight. Or through the day, really since breakfast - although it might just be breakfast and my other meals.

"Yeah? Lemme see" he pulls you up carefully and you stand, moving past the plethora of pillows you had build a comfortable place to sit. He smooths his hand down his own shorts first, hoping it would be clean enough, before undoing a little clasp of your pyjama shirt to gain access to your stomach. His hand, warm and firm, rests atop your belly and you can't quite tell if its just butterflies, or that the baby is starting to move within you.

"Oh yeah, i feel it." he rubs softly still. "They're certainly growin'. Good job peanut" he speaks in high praise "and good job Momma...makin' us a baby..."

You have a quick kiss before you usher him upstairs to shower, and you turn the lights off, blow the candle out, and head upstairs to bed. You have your routine set - facial moisturiser, nightly stretches, a warm cup of tea, and belly rubs with your new balm.

You are finishing up your routine, rubbing small shapes into your belly as the smell of coconut fills the room. Jake adores watching you, from the doorway of the en suite. You sit back a little, scooping the balm onto your palm before ever so carefully applying it in small circles, then larger, deeper strokes while still taking tender care of your body. His favourite part has to be when you start whispering sweet words to your belly, realising you aren't alone in this routine. He's caught you a handle of times with; "We love you so much"; "Have you had a nice day in there, hm?" and tonight is no different.

"You're gonna be nice and relaxed in there hm? Me and daddy love you little baby pie. Could just eat you up..."

Moving from the door, he speaks up, hoping to not jolt or surprise you too much.

"Hey, don't go eating up my legacy now"

You giggle, a sound he knows will only ever be beaten by his child's first cry, before halting your laughter at the mere sight of him.

Leaning against the doorway, dripping wet, with a towel barely clinging around his waist. It would be a lie to say that your husband had never looked so good, because this was his standard. Anything he set his mind to, he would accomplish. It just so happened that having a body to die for was the collateral. And here he was, gazing into your soul, heart soaring while watching you treasure and love upon his biggest achievement yet.

"Don't you worry an inch Lieutenant. But I just know they are the cutest, I mean look!" you gesture to his side of the bed. All that sits there is his watch, his alarm clock, and a framed picture of the sweet blob sonogram. "You agree!"

"Yes honey, they're cute I know. Cause they're half you. The other half? Well they'll be the best Top Gun 2050 graduate if they get anything from their Pops."

"You know what, I want them to be all of you."

"Oh really?" Jake shucks off the towel before grabbing his pyjama shorts, grinning cockily as he stretches and flexes, much to your amusement. "I mean I get it, who wouldn't wanna go for a dip in this gene pool?"

"I'm serious, you goof! I have dreams, and the baby...they have your eyes, and that one little dimple like you have your cheek, and, and I don't know. I feel, when I feel the baby, that they're just like you. They feel like home. And-"

You're halted by his physique pressing up beside you, kissing you as if he'd been on an infinite deployment and that holding you was the only sure sign that he was really back home; alive, safe, loved.

"You make me the happiest man alive. You both do. Now, lemme check the house and I'll be right back to hear more about these dreams you're having about me." He winks and you groan, knowing your confession will fuel his ego that little bit more.

As he heads downstairs, you begin massaging your belly again before crying out;

"Oh, Jake!"

You hear the clatter of the teacup he'd taken downstairs, and 5 loud thumping footsteps before he reappears at the door.

"What?!"

With big doe eyes, you smile sheepishly.

"I forgot to tell you, the baby is the size of an apple today."

Jake's expression shifts from one of panic, to utter relief. His chest visibly drops and he runs a hand through his drying hair.

"Baby....don't do that...y'just scared me to death. I'll be right back and then y'can tell me all about it."

On his return from locking up, checking the lights and ensuring he had his uniform laid out for the next day, Jake quietly moved into the bedroom and clicked the door shut. In one hand, he had a glass of water - one you'd never ask for but he knows you'd need through the night. In the other, is a thick, wooden book covered in a multitude of colours and shapes.

You quirk an eyebrow, curious about whatever Jake was holding.

"No Aviator's Digest or Fatherhood 101 tonight?"

"Actually, Bradley gave me this, wanted us to have it at least for now. Something' bout reading to the baby. Then they know my voice... if I'm away." Jake looks down at the book as he shuffles into bed, doing his best not to disturb how comfortable you have made yourself during your nightly routine.

You know that being away now means a great deal more to Jake than before. The issue is sensitive, of course. He doesn't want to be an absent father in the way deployments and time on base can project. You haven't spoken about it too much, but you know it will bother him. Simultaneously, giving up the job he has worked so hard for to be more present is a big sacrifice. One that would also be financially risky to your growing family.

Instead of diving deeper, you keep it light. Jake has no plans to go anywhere anytime soon, or even for very long. It's best to focus on what you can control.

"Oh? What book is it?"

"Something about a hungry caterpillar. Looks a bit demonic on the front, but Bradshaw swore his cousin's kids loved it."

He rests up against the headboard, curling one arm around your shoulders, intertwining his hand with yours atop your belly. Certain that he has you safe and warm in his arms, he unpops your shirt again at your tummy "so they can hear" which has you rolling your eyes. He holds the book right by your belly, and begins.

"Good evening, baby Seresin. This is your father, your Pops. Now you gotta listen - there's a test at the end of this story and we don't tolerate anything but top marks here."

"Jacob Seresin!"

"All right, all right. Now, are we ready? Then let's begin. In the light of the moon, a little egg lay on a leaf. One Sunday morning..."

By the time he had turned to the middle page after his soft southern drawl had recounted a feast of apples, pears, and plums, you - and baby - were fast asleep. Closing the wooden book, he pops the button back into place carefully, sorts your pillows, and turns off your bedside lamp.

He'd finish the story tomorrow evening.

[porcelainseashore]

Into the Ether (2)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire! Toreador! Leon Kennedy x Fem! Reader

Summary: At the all-night events cafe you run, you’ve become acquainted with an elusive patron, Leon, though you can never remember the last moments of your interactions together. After a harrowing encounter, a love-hate relationship develops between the two of you as you grapple with your newfound status in a world of darkness and investigate the reasons behind the untimely attacks.

Content & Warnings: 18+ Resident Evil x Vampire: The Masquerade crossover, horror, mystery, romance, slow burn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, eventual smut, swearing, smoking, alcohol, drug references, non consensual blood drinking, blood bond, vampire turning, violence, injury, mild gore, torture, religious themes, minor character death, RE ensemble, VtM concepts.

Taglist: @admirxation @angelstargel ❤️‍🔥

AO3 Link

Chapter 2: Dead City Blues

Eight years ago…

Claire rapped loudly on an inconspicuous black steel door, one among many within a dreary, gray slab building. The sound echoed off the concrete walls, but there was no answer.

“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath, checking the address written down in marker on the palm of her hand again. Yeah, this was the place, alright.

Banging on the door a second time for good measure, she whipped her head from side to side, skittishly surveying her surroundings while she tapped her foot on the ground impatiently. After what had recently happened, she was on edge, wanting to make sure she hadn’t been followed. Unfortunately, she was met with nothing but silence.

Where the hell was this guy? Trying the door handle, she rattled it and it clicked open, unlocked. Gingerly, she took a step inside, closing the door behind her. Well, she didn’t come all the way here for nothing. Might as well snoop around and see what she could find.

On the other end of the room stood a work desk overflowing with papers, some neatly stacked in piles, others scattered across its surface which was haphazardly littered with sticky notes. The desk lamp shone brightly, illuminating the dust motes circling lazily in the air, and a laptop lay open beneath it, the text cursor blinking on a blank document, seemingly mocking her. Next to the desk were a bunch of filing cabinets with some of its drawers open, as if someone had been rummaging through them but had left in a hurry. There was a worn leather couch to the side, along with a large potted plant and a couple of cushioned chairs. For clients, she presumed.

The laminated wooden floors creaked underfoot as she moved forwards cautiously. She sensed that she wasn’t alone, but wherever she looked, there was not a single soul in sight. Everything was completely still. Too still, she thought, playing with the rings on her fingers nervously. This wasn’t her territory. She was risking her undead skin, but there was no other choice.

“You have some balls, showing your face here,” a voice from the shadows taunted.

With a jerk, Claire pivoted sharply to confront the source of the disturbance, leaping backwards as she bared her fangs and hissed aggressively.

The voice tutted, “Defiant brat.” A man with dirty blonde hair and icy blue eyes appeared from the corner of the room. “You Anarchs really live up to your name.”

Her brows furrowed in confusion. “Leon Kennedy?” she questioned, the name spilling out from her mouth like a foreign object. However, she regained her composure, relaxing her stance as she smirked, unable to resist another one of her sassy comebacks that often got her into trouble. “Tell me, Camarilla pretty boy, how’s it like being the Prince’s lapdog?”

With blinding speed, Leon raced in front of her, holding her neck in a vice-like grip as her feet lifted off the ground. “You have ten seconds to explain before I rip your fucking throat out!” he snarled, while she choked and sputtered, struggling to break free from his grasp.

Summoning her strength, she tucked her chin, raising her arms up before using the momentum to swing her hips to one side, while simultaneously slamming her elbows into his forearm. A deep growl escaped his lips as he let her drop to the ground. “I need… your help,” she coughed violently. “My brother…”

He squatted down beside her, eyeing her with barely masked contempt. “And why should I help a filthy lick like you?”

“Please,” she begged, even though groveling in this manner made the hairs on the back of her neck stand. “They said you were one of the best. That you’d know how to find even those who don’t want to be found.” Tears lined her lashes as she looked away in humiliation, willing them not to fall.

His features softened in reflex action, as he saw brief vignettes of the past flash before his eyes of people coming to him for help, and the despair seeping through their pores. Their silhouettes morphed with Claire’s, blurring reality with fiction. It was inherent in him to help others. He hadn’t forgotten it, even though he was no longer human. 

“Fine,” he managed to make out through gritted teeth. “I only take payment upfront though.” Reaching his hand out towards her, he helped her to her feet, as she dusted off her red leather jacket.

“Yeah, about that…” she scratched the back of her head sheepishly.

“Let me guess, you’re not exactly rolling in riches, are you?” he sighed, his expression drooping suddenly in weariness.

Claire bit her tongue, trying to hold back on making another snarky remark about the elitist Camarilla sect and its bullshit Ivory Tower. Leon cocked his head, staring at her curiously, unveiling his fangs deliberately like a shark. Shit, maybe he was one of those Kindred who could read minds.

“Look, wait—” she raised her hands in front of him as though placating a raging bull. “If you find him, Chris…” There was a long, pregnant pause, as she shuffled her feet anxiously. “I’ll owe you a life boon,” she breathed, sealing her fate.

A life boon. She must be completely desperate, he thought. He’d never been owed one before, seeing as how he was just another mundane neonate in the underworld of upper class Kindred, which meant that he’d graduated from being a fledgling under the wing of his sire without fucking up. He was good enough to be considered a cog in the machine for his elders to use like a pawn in their silly games. But for the past 15 years, give and take, of his unlife, he always played by the rules, or around them, never going beyond the point of no return.

Life boons were rare in these nights and he wasn’t about to say no, but at the same time there was that nagging conscience within him that wondered if he was taking advantage of her. No, the Kindred world worked differently from the Kine’s… well, actually they were pretty similar, but— he shook his head to snap out of it before he could sink deeper into the rabbit hole.

Clearing his throat, he extended his hand again, offering it to her. “You got yourself a deal then, uh, miss…?”

“Claire.” She grabbed his hand and shook it firmly, nodding tersely at him. “Claire Redfield.”

“Right, Claire, tell me everything you know so far.” He gestured towards a pair of seats near his desk.

After he had gathered all the information he needed, he sent her off to the door like the gentleman he had been raised to be. Before heading out, she turned around, unclasping the silvery chain that hung around her neck. Attached to it was a matching pewter feather and a robin’s egg blue gemstone set within it. 

“Take this.” She released it in his hand. “Show it to Chris and he’ll know I sent you.”

With that, she disappeared into the cool, dead of night.

The next time they saw each other was a week later, inside an abandoned motel. There was trash strewn across the entire floor and an overhead light buzzed and flickered.The plaster had been torn apart from the ceiling board and loose cables hung from its opening.

A gruff, bulky man leaned against Leon’s shoulder which acted like a makeshift crutch, as Leon steadied him with a firm grip, half-carrying and half-guiding him to a soiled mattress in the middle of a room. The man patted Leon’s arm, indicating that he wanted to take a break. He slid down against the wall, resting in a sitting position on the mattress. His clothes were caked with mud and half of his face had been severely burnt, as charred black flesh curled at its edges. There was a gaping bullet hole in his thigh, and rusty colored blood soaked through his tactical pants.

Apart from the scratching and scampering of rodents, the place was silent. Though the uncanny peace was disrupted just a split second later, when a screech could be heard from the other end of the room. “Chris!”

In a blink of an eye, Claire dashed forward and knelt in front of her brother, grasping both of his shoulders as tears streamed down her face.

“Some FIRSTLIGHT agents got him real bad, but he managed to get out of the thick of it,” Leon explained. “They were searching for him, so he was stuck there for a while.”

Chris brushed his sooty fingers against his sister’s cheek, leaving charcoal marks in their wake. “Don’t worry, we got them back,” he rasped, shifting his gaze between Leon and him, as he grimaced through the pain.

“Shhh, don’t speak.” She brought a finger to his lips, trying to hush him. “Fucking SI bastards,” she seethed.

The Second Inquisition. The bane of every Kindred’s existence. They targeted everyone indiscriminately, regardless of sect, and had been around in one form or another since the beginning of time. Today, they were a conglomeration of intelligence agencies who made it their life mission to eradicate the undead. Apparently, even the Vatican was involved, Leon scoffed at his internal monologue, before directing his attention back at Claire. “Your brother’s had a blood bag, he’ll need—”

“Shit’s fucking disgusting, 10 out of 10 would not recommend,” Chris warned hoarsely, before erupting into a coughing fit.

Claire groaned, shaking her head in exasperation. “I swear, it’s like talking to a brick wall with this one.”

Leon peered around the room, double-checking to ensure that no one else was there. He shouldn’t stay any longer than necessary. “Since my job here is done, I’ll take my leave,” he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets, as he turned towards the exit sign.

“Leon?” Claire called out and he looked back at her in puzzlement. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” He shrugged, flipping his bangs away from his face.

“I owe you,” she declared, her serious demeanor reflecting the sincerity of her words.

Chris glanced between the two of them. “We owe you,” he chimed in.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Present day…

Jasmine incense and fruity puffs of shisha smoke wafted throughout the room he had just entered. Translucent red silk sheets draped around the ceiling and the side walls, giving off the illusion of being in the hull of a ship, as well as a false sense of security. The beaded curtain he passed through made a tinkling sound as the pearls clacked lightly together, alerting others to his presence. This was a place where gossip was woven, secrets were spilled and deals were made. Leon knew this all too well, especially since he had his share of many such dealings with his sire in the past.

He was in luck today. Apart from her, there were only ghouls here, ordinary humans whom she recruited into her service and imbued with her strength. One of them nodded at him in acknowledgment, offering him a cordial glass filled with claret liquid. “Our finest.”

Clearly, they had anticipated his arrival. How nice of his sire to inform them, he ruminated sarcastically. Taking the glass from her, he swirled it, noting how smoothly it strained down the sides before sniffing the rim faintly.

“We also have live vessels, if you prefer,” she suggested.

He frowned slightly, signaling with a subtle hand wave to decline her proposal as he drank from his glass. She backed off, allowing him to walk past towards a majestic set of marble doors, lavishly decorated with ornaments and intricate figures carved into them. Tracing an outline of a distorted face of a child with his finger, he recalled how in his early years, he’d been so enraptured by everything in this godforsaken place, and most of all, her. He lifted the aged bronze knocker, tapping it twice before pushing open the double doors.

And there he saw her, in all her terrible glory, basking like a queen in an elegant kimono robe on her opulent, plush bed, adorned with a velvet headboard and its frame crafted from the finest woods. Every inch of it was covered in luxurious fabrics, from the embroidered duvet to the pile of sumptuously soft pillows. Kneeling beside her on the ground was a half naked ghoul, lapping hungrily at the crimson fluid flowing from her wrist. A blood-stained dagger lay on the bedside table.

Ada caught Leon’s gaze and smirked at him.

“That’s enough for now,” she commanded, and immediately, the ghoul straightened himself, averting his eyes as he retreated from the pair of them.

The gash on her wrist closed up on its own. “Just the monthly top up.”

Leon made a face at her elaboration; the betrayal and hurt were still raw in his memory, as if they had only occurred yesterday.

“Oh, don’t be so sour, Leon,” she laughed. “You can’t possibly be still hung up about that?”

“You used me, Ada,” he simmered. Despite the infrequency of their meetings in the recent years spent apart, she knew how to push his buttons. “So, I’m sorry if it’s a little hard for me to act like nothing ever happened between us.”

She let out an irritated sigh. “You sound like a child throwing a tantrum right now,” she retorted, picking at her nails in growing boredom. “And tell me, which sire doesn’t use their own progeny?”

He clenched his fists in anger but held his tongue. This wasn’t the hill he wanted to die on. He reminded himself of the purpose of his visit and chose not to let her snide comments ruffle him.

“Good boy,” she cooed approvingly. “I see you haven’t lost all of your manners. Blood bond, or no blood bond.”

He winced at the term, as a sudden wave of nostalgia, combined with ensuing nausea, hit him. The visions were so vivid:

“Do you love me?” She stroked the side of his cheek tenderly as he lay naked and panting on top of her pale breasts. 

“Yes, yes, of course,” he fawned.

“Prove it.”

Cradling her hand, he brought the underside of her wrist to his lips. “I’ll do anything! Say the word and I’ll die for you, a thousand times over.”

“Then drink, my love.” Her eyes glowed violet as her mouth shaped into a cruel, yet alluring smile.

And he sank his teeth into her, like a good little boy.

Back then, she only needed to say “Jump,” and he would ask, “How high?” without realizing that drinking from her so often would result in a nearly unbreakable blood bond. He committed despicable acts in her name, things he would rather scrub from his mind and forget about, but they continued to haunt him.

When he lost his shine and the appeal of being something new, she discarded him like yesterday's newspaper, chasing after the next high she could find. The problem with the bond was that he was obsessed with her, often breaking out into insanely jealous fits that tormented him for days when she took on a new lover. He had almost killed one of them, which, in turn, could have resulted in his Final Death at the hands of the Prince, had he been successful. Time away from her was all it took for the bond to wear off, though it was not without its difficulties. He whined like a lovesick puppy during the moments he was alone, rotting like waste on the stone cold floor. His vulnerability was like a disease; he hated every bit of it and swore never to descend to such a state.

When he returned to the Court like a new man after an agonizing period of being weaned off the bond, he suddenly found himself no longer in vogue and stumbling his way through the dark, seeing as how it was always his sire who called the shots around town. In a twisted turn of events, he ironically ended up falling back on the career he had originally given up to be with her, in order to be of use to the Camarilla, or polite vampire society, if you will. 

And then, there was the vessel business. To keep up with the expectations and obligations impressed upon him due to their formal relationship as sire and childe, he continued to bring her the vessels she requested. The only requirement was for them to be of ‘exquisite taste’ and he obliged whenever he could, though this time, he put in just the bare minimum to get by. Yet, some part of him still cared for her, in spite of what she had done, even if he would never let himself admit that.

Coming back to his senses, his eyes adjusted to the scene before him. Leaning back on her bed and propped up by the pillows, Ada patted the empty side next to her, inviting him to take a seat, and he followed her lead.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Negotiating was never one of his strong suits, especially not with Ada, but he had to try. He gulped the rest of the liquid down, fiddling with the glass in his hand. “Ada, since I joined you, you know I’ve never asked you for anything…”

She cast him a prolonged sideways glance. “You’ve piqued my curiosity. Go on.”

“I want to Embrace one of my own.” The words tumbled out of his mouth in a rush. Better to get it done and over with.

“You? Becoming a sire?” she snorted in disbelief before bursting into giggles. “I mean, you’ve always been a bit of a mommy’s boy, haven’t you?”

“I can handle it,” he responded curtly with a cold and unbroken stare.

“Hmph.” Pulling herself into a seated position against the headrest, she folded her arms and turned to face him. “I have to say though, this is even more interesting than when you joined the Anarchs.”

A disgruntled noise escaped his throat. “I didn’t join the Anarchs—”

“No matter.” She raised a hand to silence him. “Wesker seems to think it useful of you to be our unofficial emissary. And what the Prince says, goes, after all.” A sly grin spread across her cheeks, barely concealing her fangs.

Clearing her throat, she continued her line of questioning. “So, who is this prospective childe?”

“One of the owners of Café Noir on Blake Street, just east of Circular River,” he mentioned, racking his brains for any viable excuse to make you sound like the best possible candidate for the Clan of the Rose, the Toreador. His and Ada’s clan. Like sire, like childe.

There were some who thought of them as divas and perverts, but these Kindred were wrong — they were so much more than that. Passion and obsession were their greatest strengths. They could make or break minds with it, crushing you until you were nothing but a tiny speck on the Earth, to be shunned and forgotten. Everyone had something to bring to the table, and let’s just say what counts as an art has always been a purely subjective matter.

“I was tipped off that the Anarchs are looking for ways to claim the area as their domain,” he explained further. “She’ll give us the edge we need to prevent that.”

“Anything else?” she probed.

“She’s young, idealistic—”

“A lot like yourself, back in the day.” A rueful laugh escaped her lips.

Leon continued forward without missing a beat, he needed to convince her without letting her statement get to him. “Hot-blooded, but not to the extreme like those Brujahs, just the right amount of fight in her. I’m sure you’ve heard of the events they’ve hosted over there—”

“Ah, yes,” she nodded. “Very underground and avant-garde.” There was a twinge of dismissiveness in the way she said it.

“Yet pandering to the people,” he added quickly, attempting to cram in even more noteworthy achievements he had recognized in you. “Well, you can’t deny that she can stir quite a crowd—”

“You’re in love with her, aren’t you?” Ada interrupted him for the third time in a row, and he was struggling to maintain his composure in response to her accusation. “How predictable.”

“That’s besides the point,” he snapped, turning away from her to avoid her mocking scrutiny.

She tutted, stretching herself out leisurely like a cat who had a mouse trapped between its claws. “The real question is, why don’t you ask the Prince yourself?”

“You know why,” he muttered, still unable to look her in the eyes.

“Say it.”

Swallowing his pride, he pursed his lips before speaking. “I’m just a simple whelp. But you, as an esteemed Harpy, know how to please him.”

“Very good.” She reached out and ran her lithe fingers through his silken locks of hair as he shuddered at her touch. “Just like I taught you.”

Curling her fingers under his chin, she turned his face back towards her. “You know this won’t come for free…”

“I am well aware.”

The look of determination in his eyes nearly startled her. She hadn’t seen that fire in him for a while. “Sometimes, you surprise me,” she admitted. “No wonder I keep you around.”

“Do we have a deal?” he pressed, trying to keep the conversation on track.

“If I were you, I’d be careful what I wished for.” She trailed one of her taloned nails along his bottom lip. “In any case, I’m counting this as a major boon, so you better be ready to pull your weight when the time comes.”

She was always playing games. With him. With everyone. It was what she thrived on. But his choices were limited. “Have I ever failed you?”

“Don’t make it the first,” she warned, a gleam of danger flashing across her eyes. “Well, come then, kiss me.”

Suppressing his reluctance, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers as she asked, submitting to her entirely as the deal was sealed.

━━━━━━━━━━━

“Leon?” he heard you call out from behind the bar the minute he’d stepped through the entrance. You looked like you had seen a ghost.

It had been a while since he had returned, but there were other more urgent matters he had to attend to in the meantime. Did you miss him? Was this what it was all about? He strolled over, watching you chew your lip apprehensively.

He tried to place his hand on your shoulder in concern, but you shrank away from him like a wilted flower. There was a pang in his chest. He didn’t know how you had the power to unintentionally hurt him in this way. “Is something wrong?”

You were trembling so badly, the cup you were holding rattled noisily against its saucer. “What did you do to me back then?”

A pained realization swept across his face. You had remembered the last words he had said this time, waking up confused to find yourself unsullied, not a hair out of place, wondering what on earth he meant by his remark. God, he wanted to hold you now and beg for your forgiveness, but it was too late.

“You know, I liked you…” Your mouth had contorted in anguish. “If you wanted something, you could’ve just asked.”

“Please, I can explain,” he pleaded, finding himself on the opposite end of the table for once. “I swear, I won’t do anything to harm you. I just need you to trust me, please.”

Your forehead creased as you pondered your next move, eyeing the man in front of you with suspicion. He seemed so earnest and had treated you with nothing but kindness before. Yet, beneath the surface, there lurked a predatory nature intrinsic to him. Although it scared you, you found this side to him fascinating, and it drew you in at the same time.

Finally, you came to a decision. “Patrick?” you motioned towards your curly-haired brunette colleague while not once shifting your gaze from Leon. “I’m gonna take the night off and spend some time with this gentleman here.”

Sliding Leon’s business card along the counter towards him, you made sure to talk loud enough for the blonde man to hear it. “If you don’t see me in the next day or two, you know what to do.”

You tried to laugh it off as a half-serious joke, just so they wouldn’t worry… too much. And with that, you grabbed your jacket and headed off into the night with him.

[kekaki-cupcakes]

Heyyy can you please write something for Nico x male reader where Nico has seen reader around camp and reader is friendly and always laughing and talking with everyone. And Nico develops a crush on reader and eventually he decides to confess to reader when he sees them in the woods. Fluffy mainly but like a little spicey at the end if u do that stuff? :)

hey there bestie, let's pretend it hasn't been two months. this fic is also for @golden-boy-muda 's request for nico x transmasc reader <3

I couldn't find an idea in my empty ol head for this request but then I was looking for old oil painting wallpapers for my phone and now you have this incredibly sappy 3.2k of art references [I advise you keep another tab open for cross-referencing if you want the fUlL eXpErIeNcE]

Oil on Canvas--- Nico di Angelo x transmasc reader [3.2k] »»————-　★　————-««

Nico definitely isn’t a stalker, he understands boundaries [once Jason explains them to him, of course], but he might have a bit of a staring problem. 

Sometimes he’s just eating gluten free waffles with Hazel in the dining pavilion and ends up watching you shove your siblings around and plait your little sister's hair so it doesn’t get in her face when she goes Pegasus riding.

He spooned some blueberries onto his plate. 

It’s not his fault.

It’s yours, if anything. What is he supposed to do apart from feel like there’s moths beneath his ribcage when you pose, your nose scrunched, up for photos with Drew’s polaroid camera that’s covered with inappropriate stickers? 

Hazel elbowed him meaningfully in the side when he couldn’t help but grin because Holy Hades, a single person shouldn’t be able to look that much like the painting Ophelia [by friedrich heyser, to be specific], just because they wore a green camp shirt and a pearl necklace. 

Maybe it was his fault that he was comparing you to beautiful paintings. 

He scooped the blueberries onto his half eaten waffle and reached for the maple syrup Hazel had finished drowning her breakfast in. 

The Stoll brother’s mortal mum had sent a stack of paintings from art galleries all over the world last Christmas, and they’d let him pick out a few of the older more poetic ones that didn’t have enough blood and guts for their taste. 

Now the oil paintings of lakes and birds and crying angels and… mainly cats, actually, hung around the dark walled Cabin he slept in. 

Your laugh when you threw strawberries at Kayla and Austin while they worked in the infirmary reminded him of Angel [carl von marr, of course] and he felt like Chat a difficult catch [charles van den eycken] when you walked right past him without even glancing back.

So he’d made peace with watching from afar how you would forget daily to put sunscreen on but somehow always remembered to wear this pair of white crocheted gloves that looked like cat paws. 

On a completely irrelevant note, Nico was learning to crochet. 

Hazel made eye contact with him again when he looked from you to her, and he plugged his ears and glared before she started kicking him in the shins and begging him to pluck up the courage to walk over and even just make eye contact. 

Not that he didn’t want to. 

He may have lined up in his catalog of daydreams, this scenario where you both went down to the beach. Any beach, really. You’d collect shells and eat popcorn and grapes and lemonade and squish sand between your toes and pick up crabs with him. 

PROMENADE ON THE BEACH [Charles Atamian, obviously].

There was another scenario where he’d take you to the farmers market. It had the biggest bouquets of flowers, and rows upon rows of fruits and vegetables and incense and beaded jewelry. 

When he was laying in bed underneath the fluffy zebra patterned duvets that Piper forced him to use, mainly because they matched the dark reds of the cushions and browns of the bookshelves and antique lamps in the cabin so well, you were walking down the rows of little stores with him.

You were holding his hand with those soft cat paw gloves and you liked the feel of his rings [he’d read that people liked rings in a book, somewhere] and you’d filled the Studio Ghibli tote bag you had with berries. 

He’d watched most of the movies after he saw your bag. He liked Arriety the best. 

Clarisse stomped past the Hades table, leaving bloody footprints no one asked about, and smacked him in the back of his head. Nico went back to eating his waffles and daydreaming about your smile. 

In the farmers market you would sniff candles and never buy them because Hazel had far too many for all of her spells and the such that he would never run out. And what was Hazel’s was his and what was his was hers, meaning that what was Hazel’s was yours. 

Because Nico would give everything he owned, even his favorite jacket, for you to look his way. 

And he would buy you flowers, whichever were your favorite. 

Maybe the ones from the painting Hazel forced him to take because ‘you can’t just not hang a painting that literally is you, Neeks’. 

Italian Girl with Flowers. Joaquin Sorolla. 1886. 

He didn’t see the resemblance.

But it didn’t really matter, because he’d get to watch you looking at all the cool things for sale and then he’d take you to the best gelato he’d found so far [he was making a list] or just use the shadows, and take you to a proper gelato shop. Whatever you wanted to do, really.

Nico blinked. He huffed, mainly at himself, and stabbed his waffle. It fell apart on the fork.

“Why’re you angry?”

He looked up from his plate, to Hazel. She was sitting opposite him with a mustache made of orange juice. “...I’m not.”

“You’re not supposed to be pushing down your emotions, remember?” she said sternly, and started picking the green bits off a strawberry. She was eating as many berries as she could, since she wasn’t allowed lollies anymore. The perks of braces. 

Nico looked away. “I’m fine.”

“You’re thinking about the cat glove girl, aren’t you?” she asked with a smirk.

“Cat glove boy, remember?” he muttered, and took a bite of his waffle, wiping squished blueberries off his chin.

Hazel’s golden eyes widened, “Oh yeah. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me,” he said, and was grateful for the excuse to peek your way. You were eating toast. Very pretty-ily. He felt his face heat up.

Hazel perked up, a mischievous grin he didn’t appreciate on her face. “Okay! I’ll go apologize to your boyfriend then-”

Nico stared at her. Why was she like this? She actually went to stand up, and then he yanked her sleeve, pulling her back down to the table. “No! Don’t just… you can’t… stop!”

“You didn’t deny that he’s your boyfriend,” Jason chuckled, sitting down next to Hazel. 

“I hate you all,” Nico said. 

It was torture. 

He felt like Sleepy time potion [Vanessa Stockhard], stuck in the middle of your loveliness, unable to do anything except stare and hope that his face wasn’t too as red as the mushroom he was sitting on. 

In the painting. 

Not in real life. 

Obviously. 

»»————-　★　————-««

Nico stared down at the hat in his lap.

He’d done it. He’d actually finished one of the hundreds of projects he’d started in Piper’s efforts to find him a hobby that wasn’t sitting on the fences of cemeteries or standing in line at Mcdonalds. 

He had lots of other hobbies, he just… couldn’t come up with them when she was arguing with him. 

So they’d gone through writing, painting, records, sleeping, which he excelled in, and then crocheting. None had lasted very long, but he may have had an idea half way through trying to stab Piper with the crocheting stick.

And now he had a white bucket hat with cat ears.

He threw it to the end of his bed, and hid underneath his duvet. Fuck. 

Repose. Malcolm Liepke. 1953. 

What on Olympus was he supposed to do about the way he wanted to hold you so badly he felt like throwing up and tearing his hair out?

He lay underneath in the pocket of stuffy darkness for a moment, before sitting up, untangling his blankets and teddies from him, and then standing. He may have just had the greatest idea anyone had ever thought of before.

Hazel was still in the shower, singing, most likely, so he grabbed his jacket from the coat rack that was actually just a skeleton, and then stomped out of his cabin, the stupid hat in his fist.

His heart was beating wildly. Stupid heart. 

The Wedding Dress. Fred Ellwell. 1911.

He rubbed his face and groaned at the sky. The stars were just peeking out, but it was still pink and yellow, and the sun hadn’t dipped yet. It was hidden by the trees he was trudging through, though. 

Fuck.

His chest was hurting. 

Nico scrunched up the stupid perfect crocheted hat that just had to stupidly perfectly match your stupid perfect cat gloves because Nico was stupidly perfectly obsessed with you. 

You, who was stupidly perfect.

Fuck. 

Psyche Weeping. Kinuko Y Craft. 1995.

He trod on twigs that broke underneath his boots and weaved through the tree’s that slowly became more and more laden with hanging pendants and wind chimes and ruins carved into the bark.

He stepped over a thin stream. A frog croaked at him like it was dying. As if it could ever feel like it was dying. As if it could ever fall in love.

Nico groaned at the sky again. 

“Just let it all out.”

He turned, and glared. “Do you mind?”

“Yes, actually,” Lou Ellen said, raising a purple eyebrow. It matched the undersides of her curly hair. She pointed to the cabin concealed in shadows and moss and stones behind her. “This is my house. And you are yelling very loudly.”

“I’m not yelling,” Nico argued. “I’m groaning.”

She stared at him for a second. She rolled her eyes. “Just come in, what do you need?”

“I need a spell. Or a charm. Or hex,” Nico said, following her through the wooden double doors. A wind chime tinkled even though the air was still. There were a few bunks lined up against the wall to one side. “Or a magic thing. I don’t care which one.” 

The rest of the cabin was filled with small coffin shaped pet beds and empty pink soda cans and voodoo dolls hanging from the roof and rugs with cats wearing strawberry hats on the fluffy material and misty crystal balls. 

Lou Ellen lent back on a desk stacked high with papers and paperweights that were actually jars filled with things. “Okay. I have three rules. I don’t kill people, and I don’t make people fall in love.”

“...And?”

“I’ll break both if it’ll be fun?”

Nico frowned. “No. Aren’t you supposed to say you won’t bring people back from the dead? That’s always the third rule.”

She squinted at him. “Uh…no. I send those people to you.” 

Nico squinted back at her, sticking his tongue out. He fiddled with the stupid perfect hat and looked around. There was just more creepy things and stuffed animals. “Whatever. I need your help.”

“With what?”

“I need you to… like,” Nico started. He sighed. He looked away. 

This was awful. 

He was not about to admit that he might be in love, even if it was to reverse the feelings in the first place with whatever heart ripping out brain altering magic was necessary. 

The Apollo cabin would find out through the witch in less than thirty seconds. He would never live it down. 

Nico groaned again. “Oh for fucks sake, do you need me to fic your voicebox or something?” Lou Ellen hissed. 

Nico glared at her. He groaned again, and then whirled around and stomped out of the weird mossy mushroom cabin. “Nevermind!”

“Fine! Have it your way!...weird little emo.”

Nico glared at the frog croaking at him, and kept walking through the forest. 

He followed the little stream through the woods until he could hear wind chimes or Taylor Swift’s latest album anymore. 

The little stream widened into a proper stream, filled with a lot more frogs. Why were there so many frogs? He nearly stood on a green one leaping across the path. Stupid frog.

Nico stuffed his hands into his pockets, along with the hat. He was tempted to just toss it into the river. Then he wouldn’t have to deal with all of the silly feelings that felt like the biggest things in the world to him and his silly head full of thoughts about your lips.

Maybe the frogs could use the hat as a home.

“Here froggie… Come here… I said, come here... No I am not taking a tone with you!” 

Nico froze. 

Fuck. He took a deep breath, probably too loudly. He glanced to the side. 

Of course you were catching frogs, knee deep in a river.

You looked over, making eye contact, and Nico realized the moths underneath his ribcage were turning into bats. You squinted at him, hands on your hips, while water swirled around and leaves drifted from the trees above. A bucket was wedged between two rocks next to you.

A frog jumped out of it and landed near your leg, on a lillypad. 

“Look Albert,” you said, turning to the frog. “It’s a little Victorian ghost.”

“...I’m Italian,” Nico said quietly. He stared at you. He couldn’t help it. Wow. Fuck. Leo was right. He really was pathetic. “And I’m not a ghost.”

“Okay, Victorian ghost.” 

Nico stared at you. Fuck.

After that exchange, he should be able to hate you. Right? Right. He now resented you, and the moths turned bats would stop clawing at his chest and he would go back to having a normal life. 

Right?

Wrong.

You squinted at Nico, and then slowly turned to Albert. “I think the cute Victorian ghost is having a stroke.”

Nico blinked once, gulped, and then marched forward through the cold water and frogs, his shoes squelching loudly. Gods. This was so embarrassing. But you thought he was cute, even if you also thought he was a dead english boy, so he would be content with dying from embarrassment. 

He shoved the stupid perfect hat into your stupid perfect hands.

And then left in about 0.3 seconds. 

»»————-　★　————-««

You stared down at your pancakes. Why were they so gray looking? Had someone poisoned them? You figured that it would be a pretty good way to die, and tipped extra maple syrup onto them before you dug in. 

To counterbalance the poison, of course.

You scratched at the mosquito bite underneath the strap of your binder. It had flowers embroidered into it. Your binder. Not the mosquito bite.

One of your siblings across from you kicked at your shin, probably on purpose, but you continued to eat your odd tasting pancakes and picked blueberry grit off your white cat paw gloves. They were your favorite gloves. 

They also matched your new hat. The new hat that the cute Victorian but actually Italian ghost boy had given you before he teleported away with whatever dark magic he had stored in all that goth-ness.

You tossed a blueberry at Clarisse when she walked past and tried to bash you over the head. 

She wasn’t allowed to ruin your new hat.

You turned to see her flicking the blueberry over at someone else, and your eyes flicked past that too. Now way. You stood up, but you’d lost sight of the mess of dark hair when the Hermes cabin barrelled past.

You clambered onto your seat and stood up there. “Oi! Victorian ghost hat boy!”

The dining pavilion went quiet pretty quickly, and everyone turned to the cute guy with a skeleton hoodie and wide eyes. He pointed at himself when you pointed at him, and then went pink. 

Clarisse stuck her arm out so you didn’t faceplant when you jumped down from your seat, and you held onto your new hat as you traipsed across the cracked floor. 

You’d never figured out how that crack had got there. But there were bigger mysteries. 

Like this cute goth. 

His face just pinker when you grabbed his sleeve and tried to tug him out of the entire camp’s curious eyes. A dark skinned girl with a lot of butterfly clips and a Steven Universe t-shirt sent a thumbs up in your direction. 

It was only when you were standing by the low burning fire pit in a patch of daisies did you realize you hadn’t really planned far enough ahead. 

You took off the cat-ear hat and looked down at it. “...Uhm…”

“Sorry,” the goth said quickly, and when you made eye contact he looked away even quicker. “It’s creepy. Boundaries and stuff, I just… saw your gloves.” 

“It’s not creepy,” you argued, putting the hat back on with a grin. He was really cute when he blushed. “I mean, I don’t even know your name, and I have no idea who you are but your eyeliner is really really great and… Holy Hades if you smile like that again can I… please kiss you?”

The goth with no name stared at you, and then nodded about ten times too many. “Yes please. But, uh.. If you’re gonna kiss me, please, maybe don’t get my dad involved.”

“...Wut?”

»»————-　★　————-««

Nico could feel his cheeks growing hotter.

Not because of the sun, specifically, but it was hot and bright in the woods. He’d worn sunscreen though. And forced you to put it on too, once he’d found watermelon scented sunscreen, because you refused to smell gross no matter how sunburnt you would get anyways. 

His face was hot and red because of you. 

You, who was stupidly perfect and also possibly kind of Nico’s stupidly perfect boyfriend. 

“Psst, Victorian ghost boy,” you said with a sing-song voice, quietly, and waved your hand in front of his eyes with your pink, blue, and white painted nails. He blinked. You smiled. “You zoned out again.”

“Sorry,” Nico said, and pulled a daisy out of the ground. He handed it over. “I was thinking about you.”

He hadn’t realized the effect that saying that would have on you, but it was worth it when you opened and closed your mouth like one of the frogs you kept as pets. 

“I.. well, what were you thinking about?”

Nico had played his cards right. He smirked, and you shuffled forwards on the checked picnic blanket Piper had stolen from Drew, who’d probably nicked it from poor unsuspecting Demeter or Iris kid. You knocked over the basket of strawberries too, and then took your bucket hat off and stuffed it in your lap with a grin.

He tilted his head down. You were both following a very well rehearsed script. “...Kissing you?”

You launched yourself forwards then with a laugh, your cat-paw gloved hands landing on either side of his waist and probably squishing some of those strawberries at the same time. 

The sun reflected in your eyes and Nico held the sides of your face as he pressed his lips to yours. 

You kissed back, and once you both stopped smiling widely, you could kiss back. 

Properly. 

He scratched his fingernails, the ones you’d painted rainbow that afternoon after catching more frogs and complaining about sunscreen, along your jaw when you bit down on his bottom lip.

Not as a complaint, certainly not, and you knew that too because you just sat back on your knees between Nico’s lap and tilted your head to fit deeper against Nico’s bruised lips. 

The ones that hadn’t had a single day off since you jumped up in the middle of breakfast with your gluten free waffles you hadn’t realized were gluten free until he had explained it to you later. 

It was intensely crazily unbearably romantic but it also meant whatever cold one of you managed to catch, the other would come down with only minutes later. 

And Nico felt like that smug little cat from Julie Manet’s Auguste Renoir.  

»»————-　★　————-««

[braininventoryusa]

What Is the Importance of a Domain Extension? .Com Vs .io

Quick Summary: In the digital landscape we inhabit today, a website’s domain name is more than just an address. It plays a crucial role in cultivating and broadcasting a brand’s distinctive identity online. When picking a domain, the extension you opt for is critical, since it can sway perceptions of a site’s legitimacy, findability, and intended viewers. This article will dive into why domain names matter, specifically contrasting the ubiquitous .com extension against the increasingly popular .io extension. Though their technical purposes are identical, the connotations each evokes can greatly influence a company’s image and goals. By understanding the nuances between the two, brands can make an informed choice when claiming their corner of the internet.

Why the Right Domain Extension Matters

Diving Deep into .io and .com Extensions

The .com web address ending, indicating “commercial,” is one of the most widespread and familiar choices of suffixes on the internet. The .com domain was originally designed for commercial entities seeking to make money. As time passed, .com has become the universal preference for websites of all varieties, regardless of whether they have a commercial intention. Although the letters c, o, and m represent “commercial,” .com web addresses are no longer only used by companies and firms. This favored web address ending has become the standard for organizations and people as well when building an online profile. Here are some key qualities and details about the .com web address ending:

Credibility and Trust: .com domains are often perceived as more credible and trustworthy by internet users due to their familiarity and widespread usage.

Global Reach: .com domains have a global appeal and are suitable for businesses targeting an international audience.

Brand Recognition: Many established brands and companies prefer .com domains to reinforce their brand identity and ensure consistency across digital channels.

Availability: Due to their popularity, .com domains may have limited availability, especially for desirable keywords or brand names.

Io Domain:

The .io domain extension is a top-level domain (TLD) that has gained popularity, particularly within the technology and startup sectors. While the .io extension was originally intended for domains associated with the British Indian Ocean Territory, it has garnered attention for its alternative usage in the tech community for various reasons. Here’s an overview of the .io domain extension:

Tech-Focused: The .io domain extension has become synonymous with technology, innovation, and startups, making it an attractive option for tech companies, software developers, and online platforms.

Trendy and Modern: The .io extension is perceived as trendy and modern, appealing to tech-savvy audiences and signaling innovation and forward-thinking.

Availability: .io domains may offer greater availability compared to .com domains, making it easier for businesses to secure their desired web address.

What Is the Importance of a Domain Extension?

A domain extension plays a crucial role in a website’s online presence and can impact various aspects of a brand’s identity. Here are some key reasons why domain extensions are important:

Brand Identity: The specific part of a website’s address that comes after the dot is a crucial element and plays a role in the total image of a company. It can reflect the nature of the organization, its industry, or its purpose. For example, a .com extension is widely recognized and associated with commercial entities, while extensions like .org indicate nonprofit organizations and .edu represents educational institutions. Choosing an appropriate domain extension helps establish and reinforce a brand’s identity.

Credibility and Trust: Certain domain extensions, such as .com, have a long history and are universally recognized. They have become synonymous with credibility and trustworthiness. Users often feel more confident interacting with websites that have established and well-known domain extensions. A reputable domain extension can enhance the credibility of a brand and instill trust among users.

User Perception: The domain extension can influence how visitors perceive a website. It may subconsciously affect their judgment of the website’s relevance, professionalism, and authority. People are generally more familiar with traditional domain extensions like .com, .net, and .org, and therefore, these extensions may be perceived as more authoritative compared to newer or lesser-known extensions.

Search Engine Optimization (SEO): While search engines do not prioritize specific domain extensions in their algorithms, choosing a relevant and recognizable extension could indirectly impact search engine rankings. Users often trust and click on websites with popular extensions like .com, leading to higher click-through rates. Additionally, having a domain extension that aligns with the website’s content and purpose can improve user experience and increase the likelihood of organic backlinks, positively influencing SEO efforts.

Target Audience: Different domain extensions have varying levels of popularity and recognition in different regions or industries. It is essential to consider the target audience when selecting a domain extension. For instance, country-code extensions (such as .uk for the United Kingdom or .de for Germany) can indicate geographic relevance and help target specific local markets. Choosing an extension that resonates with the target audience can improve brand perception and reach.

Availability and Memorability: With the popularity of .com domains, it can be challenging to find an available and memorable name. Alternative domain extensions, such as .io, .co, or .app, offer more possibilities for securing a unique and brand-relevant domain. By choosing an extension that aligns with the brand’s identity and purpose, businesses can create a distinctive online presence and enhance memorability among their target audience.

Conclusion:The choice of domain extension holds substantial implications for a brand’s online presence, encompassing considerations of credibility, recognition, visibility, and differentiation. While the .com extension continues to reign as the gold standard for domain names, alternatives like .io present opportunities for innovation and industry-specific identity. Ultimately, the selection of a domain extension should align with a brand’s goals, values, and target audience, bearing in mind the impact it may have on online credibility, search visibility, and overall brand positioning in the digital sphere. Whether opting for the tried-and-true .com or exploring niche-specific extensions such as .io, careful consideration of the importance of domain extensions is essential in shaping a brand’s online identity and establishing a strong presence in the ever-evolving digital landscape.

[anamelessfool]

Bored around the Ministry HQ (Young Copia HC)

Copia is usually very good at finding ways to entertain himself. He currently has a little colony of five rats, which is a big responsibility and a good way for him to bond with the other three or four children his age. He spends a lot of time making little houses and obstacle courses for them out of paper and toilet paper tubes. He is surprisingly responsible for a 10 year old. He keeps his room tidy and finds organizing his desk drawers to be a soothing activity. But sometimes he does get a little restless. So he puts his pets back in their cage and does a wander. Before he leaves his room he touches the doorknob three times: once to protect his rats. Twice for bravery. And the third time for luck. After his little ritual he is good to go.

There are rules about who to run into and what to expect. Copia thinks rules are important especially his own.

Primo

Primo is a very engaging, friendly conversationalist. Copia often goes to him for advice. Primo will answer any dumb question with kindness and no judgement. But you have to be working. If Primo's chopping wood, Copia has to stack it in the woodshed. If he's off for a jog Copia has to be out jogging with him. Primo will listen to any concern at all as long as you're pulling hornworms off the tomato plants while you do it. Copia thinks that Primo's mind only works when he's doing something with his hands.

Secondo

Never, ever, ever mentions his boredom to Secondo. He will find something for Copia to do. There's always Latin to study. There's always piano scales to practice. Copia loves playing piano but Secondo is ruthless about technique and form. If one wanders into the common room and Secondo is there at the piano, back away slowly unless one wants an impromptu extra hour of practicing scales.

Sister Rebecca

Doubly so for the Ministry's schoolmarm and Secondo's mother. Avoid her at all costs. Where do you think Secondo gets it from?

Terzo

Copia has been coached to never seek out Terzo. One, his third adoptive brother prefers solitude and is usually holed up in his cell developing photos or repairing something. There is also a Secret Second Reason to never seek out Terzo but Primo is pretty vague about it. Copia is often curious about why someone who likes solitude also has lots of friends. And Terzo inexplicably has many, many, many friends. Sometimes new ones each week.

Sister

No. Absolutely not. Not ever. Also he would need to make an appointment first.

Nihil

Surprisingly not a terrible experience but Copia is locked in for an hour or two before attempting to squirm away. Nihil is always up for a visit. He will give anyone some snacks and drinks, although they are the snacks he likes. He will talk Copia's ear off but only about what he wants to talk about. Nihil's going to have a stream of consciousness conversation with himself about Peter Fripp or tree roots or something. At least Copia can sit in a giant nest of pillows and watch the soothing undulation and warm glow of Nihil's lava lamp collection.

My Fic List

[mobiloitteinc02]

Web Applications Development Solutions in USA

In today's digital age, a robust web application is essential for any business seeking to thrive in the competitive online landscape. Mobiloitte, a leading web application development company in the USA, offers comprehensive services to transform your business vision into a seamless and engaging web presence. Contact us today to explore how we can transform your business vision into a powerful online reality. Empower Your Business with Mobiloitte's Web Application Expertise.

[rubyroboticalt]

Minecrafters grab your pickaxes, and catch up on the QBLR QUATERLY!

What's up guys, update just dropped! It sure is something to try and decipher, huh. We've got pages of new stuff to go over, so let me learn you a thing about all the events and mishaps that happened on the server this week!

Efforts are made to develop the nether, and increasing its safety. It doesn't hurt that it's pretty, too. It seems Splat has built a temple! It has beautiful greco-roman pillars with lovely blue accents, lit by lanterns with snowblossom and magic trees growing in the center. I sure hope nothing ominous happened there.

Grif and Simmons from Red vs Blue visit! Looks like they're still very good friends. Unless… dear g-d… these soldiers gay! They've gotten gay married! Pride wins! So do Naturalist collectors, who have gotten so many butterflies! And a brown panda. Autism wins!

More Nether expeditions come, with residents exploring significant chunks of the nether very quickly. The thang in the nether, currently named the angel or the bird by residents, seems curious about these expeditions.

And now, the Gubby.

A stick fighting ring pops up, where folks can PVP with sticks as the only weapon. This fight, between Neon and Qrth, occurs in the middle of the path. This isn't the only fight that happens, does anyone else smell something burning? We may be fighting the server itself very soon.

What's that? A new egg? It's Saoirse! And Splat's temple receiving some koi ponds.

And now, a reading from r/MaleLivingSpaces. Purple peeling wallpaper. Wooden tile floors. Matching wooden tile ceiling. Five windows on the rounded back wall of the room. Double bed placed directly under the center double window, with foot facing the door, going against two feng shui rules: do not put the foot end of the bed facing the door, and do not put the bed under a window. Cobwebs in the upper right corner. Massive stack of boxes on the left side of the room, taking up most of the space. Papers strewn about the floor. Lamp placed on the floor next to the bed. Papers surrounding the bed. Two mugs on the floor. Pile of ash next to the bed. Red lamp placed on cardboard box next to the door. Single torch on the floor providing the only light in the room. This has been a reading from r/MaleLivingSpaces.

The food diversity mod has been replaced with one that doesn't bug out and duplicate hearts every login, and of course residents are totally normal about it and have not invented Foodmaxxing, where they try to eat as diverse a diet as possible. If only this was possible in real life, as well.

Inc builds a mushroom room at CEL labs, a location that has not yet appeared in the news for NDA and classification reasons.

And, of course, find a new egg while having a creature party. Hi, grunk! And hi, Berry's storage room! And hi, angel's garden! Hey, the egg doesn't belong in the frying pan! Not while it's a sentient being! C'mon.

Ghostly comes back from the dead, it seems. "And in the death of her reputation did she feel truly alive" -Why She Disappeared, Taylor Swift.

I know alcoholism is fairly common due to liver disease being disabled on the server, but the alcowallism might be taking it a little too far. Please set a good example for the creatures. Wait a minute. Is that a brain baby?

Good thing an orphanage is opening! Parentless creatures and creatureless parents can now apply to be assigned family members by the Dark Magician's lackeys. I mean, the admins, who we all love and cherish. Of course. And Mae is living up to Mae's name by building a Maez. Peace.

And with that, this week of the server closes with -- Good gravy what has happened to Levlies?

[onlinewebdevelopment]

Hoist complex solution via full stack lamp developer

AIS Technolabs offer you LAMP stack based web development services as per your business needs. Custom modification and need-based services is something that we commit you to deliver as a part of our services. Since Full Stack LAMP developer provide cost-cutting in terms of no-requirement of hiring a back-end coder/developers hence firms look for their services at the first instance. The open source nature of LAMP makes it a preferred choice for web development platform among firms looking for web development solutions.

Get Info from us : https://www.aistechnolabs.com/lamp-stack-developer/

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1970 Pontiac Formula 400

1970 Pontiac Formula 400 – The Other Performance Firebird

The story behind the development of GM’s F-body ponycars has been well documented. When Ford’s groundbreaking Mustang debuted in 1964, it tapped an emerging youth market that was hungry for a new type of car geared specifically to them. GM misjudged the public’s response to the Mustang and then scrambled to develop a similar style car after witnessing Ford’s unprecedented first model year sales success. Chevrolet was the lead division in engineering the F-body, and Pontiac grudgingly accepted the platform for their use in March 1966, only after GM management turned down PMD General Manager John DeLorean’s proposal for his own Mustang fighter.

Pontiac didn’t have much time to transform the Firebird from its Camaro configuration before releasing it in February 1967. Their design and engineering lead time was significantly reduced and consequently, the Firebird was forced to use quite a bit of Camaro sheetmetal and other components. Competition between Pontiac and Chevrolet was intense, and having to use the other division’s engineering and design was a bitter pill for DeLorean’s maverick staff to swallow.

The circumstances surrounding the second generation Firebird were another story. Pontiac actually began working on their second generation just as the first Firebirds were hitting dealer showrooms. From design to engineering, Pontiac dominated the divisional rivalry, and this time around the Firebird would be all Pontiac from roof to road. There was little carried over to the second generation with the exception of the Trans Am nameplate and basic engine configurations. The suspension was tuned for more responsive handling with little compromise to ride comfort. Computer aided engineering chose the proper front and rear spring deflection rates predicated on model and usage. Stabilizer bars were used front and rear and the steering box was mounted ahead of the front axle for better response.

The sexy new body was rooted in GM styling chief Bill Mitchell’s infatuation with Italian sports car design. GM chose heavily from the rounded shapes of Ferrari and Maserati, and it showed in the smooth flow of fender lines, the curved window glass and raked windshield. One remarkable difference from pervious GM designs was the lack of a quarter window. Instead, the doors were lengthened to take up a larger portion of the quarter. The massive doors were heavy, however the side appearance was cleaner and far sportier. A lift bar door handle added to the smooth side look. Chrome was distinctively absent. The Native American-inspired Firebird emblem was on the decklid and the nose of all but base model cars.

Up front, the twin nostril grille and single headlamps provided a clean appearance, thanks to the use of Endura to create a bumper-less front end with a valance that cleanly rolled beneath the grille with large cross hair parking lamps mounted in the lower corners of the valance. At the rear, the smooth tumble home enhanced the Firebirds fuselage shape. The tail was flat and filled with twin tail lamps that met the quarter panel’s round rear profile. A recessed tag housing, thin blade chrome rear bumper, and rounded lower valance completed the rear end’s clean look.

Inside, the Firebird’s wide, expansive dash housed the instrument panel consisting of three center nacelles for gauges, with smaller gauges at the right and room for the heater controls and additional switches and knobs. Directly below the center of the dash was another stack that contained the radio and ashtray. Even the base interior was sumptuous, with Pontiac’s indestructible Morrokide vinyl upholstery covering the bucket seats and door panels. The quarter trim panels and headliner were composed of molded polymeric material that provided a smooth surface and absorbed sound.

The 1970 Pontiac line up was composed of the base Firebird with 250 cid six, the mid range, 350 cid Espirit, the 400 cid Formula 400, and the 400 cid Ram Air Trans Am. Of the four, perhaps the most intriguing was the Formula 400. While the Trans Am was loaded with visuals like a shaker hood, fender mounted air extractors, wild front air spoiler, rear wheel opening air spoilers, and wide center stripe, the Formula had none of these. For those who preferred to have a muscular pony car sans the exterior adornments, the Formula 400 was just the ticket. Outside, the only difference between the mild mannered Espirit and the Formula was a special fiberglass hood that sported a pair of front reaching hood scoops (first considered for the Trans Am), sport style dual outside mirrors, and a pair of Formula 400 scripts below the Firebird nameplate on the fenders.

Under the sheetmetal, however, is where the $3,440 Formula’s credentials lay. Standard engine was the 400 cid V8 which generated 330 horsepower @ 4800rpm and 430 lbs.-ft. torque @ 3000rpm. Car & Driver tested a Formula 400 with this engine and automatic transmission and recorded a 0-60 acceleration time of 6.4 seconds and quarter mile performance of 14.7 seconds at 98.9mph.

The optional engine was the Ram Air III V8, which produced 345 horsepower @ 5000rpm and 430 lbs.-ft. torque @ 3400rpm, thanks in part to a higher compression and a more aggressive camshaft profile. While Pontiac offered a 370 horsepower Ram Air IV, it never found its way into a Formula 400. On the Ram Air III equipped Formulas, the hood scoops were opened and a pair of rubber “boots” were fitted to the hood’s underside. They snugged up to holes in the air cleaner snorkels and fed cold outside air to the Rochester Quadra Jet carburetor. Subtle “RAM AIR” decals were affixed to the outboard sides of the hood scoops. The Formula’s 400 engine was dressed up with chromed air cleaner lid and valve covers. Dual exhausts with chrome tips were also standard.

Standard transmission was the M13, a heavy duty Dearborn three-speed manual box. A pair of Muncie four speeds was offered optionally, the wide ratio M20 and close ratio M21. Also optional was the M40 three-speed Turbo Hydra Matic transmission. A 3.55:1 rear axle ratio was standard, while air conditioned models received 3.31:1 ratios. Optional ratios were 3.07:1 and 3.73:1.

The Formula received a firmer suspension with 300-pounds/inch deflection in the front springs and 103 pounds/inch in the rear. The front stabilizer measured 1.125 inches in the front and the rear bar was .620 inches with firm control shocks mounted at all four corners. Front disc brakes were standard with rear drums. Standard tires were F70 x 14 on six-inch steel rims. The Trans Am’s tighter suspension was offered optionally. It consisted of 300 pounds/inch front and 126 pounds/inch springs in the rear, 1.250 inch stabilizer bar at the front, and fat .875 inch bar aft. Wider F60x 15 Polyglas tires mounted on 15 x 7 Rally II wheels without trim rings rounded out the package. Add the variable ratio power steering and power brakes and the Formula responded right now! to steering input and could dive deeper into corners and come out faster. Its only competition was big brother Trans Am and the Corvette.

Inside, the Formula’s instrument panel was faced in a wood grained appliqué. Optional was a Rally Gauge that placed an 8000-rpm tach in the left housing along with a small analog clock. In the smaller center housing was the engine temperature and oil pressure gauges. The right housing contained the 160mph speedometer with the smaller fuel gauge and voltmeter to the far right. Two consoles were offered, one between the front buckets that contained the transmission shifter, the other between the optional rear buckets.

Of the 7,708 Formula 400s produced in 1970, 2,777 were equipped with manual transmissions. Exactly 4,931 were fitted with the M40 automatic transmission. One of those M40 equipped Formulas is owned by Jack Nichols of Orlando, Fla. Jack performed a complete restoration on the Formula several years ago, bringing it back to correct factory standards. The Atoll Blue Formula is fitted with the optional Ram Air engine, open scoops and underhood induction system. Inside, the tan Morrokide interior features console, optional three-spoke Formula steering wheel with padded rim, Rally gauges and air conditioning.

Text and Photography By Paul Zazarine © Car Collector Magazine, LLC. (Click for more Car Collector Magazine articles) Originally appeared in the March 2008 Issue