#studio VINO

[mobageheroine]

Raeliana McMillan - 레리아나 맥밀런

【The Reason Why Raeliana Ended up at the Duke's Mansion】

[carii-png]

Feliz día del trabajador te desea el líder del Sindicato de Medianos de Kahka Brud, Chilchuck Tims

🗝️🤝🛠️

Happy Labor Day wishes you the leader of the Half-foot Union of Kahka Brud, Chilchuck Tims

📷on insta

[pier-carlo-universe]

Festa del Vino del Monferrato Unesco: oltre 22 mila euro per aiutare la ricerca del DAIRI

Con il piatto e la bottiglia della ricerca, Pro Loco e Produttori vitivinicoli ancora una volta permetteranno di attivare a Casale una borsa di studio sulle patologie ambientali

Con il piatto e la bottiglia della ricerca, Pro Loco e Produttori vitivinicoli ancora una volta permetteranno di attivare a Casale una borsa di studio sulle patologie ambientali Sono oltre 22 mila gli euro raccolti in occasione della 63a Festa del Vino del Monferrato Unesco di Casale Monferrato per aiutare la ricerca portata avanti nella sede di Casale Monferrato del Dipartimento Attività…

[capitale22]

The three guys, Vino, Jacob, and Orsel again- this time in a slightly angular style

[seonghwaswifereal]

Hongjoong

(I'm putting this at the start of every list, so ignore it if you want)

Just wanna say that this is pretty much just for me to catalog all the fics and random things that I like, so idk, just enjoy it if you want lol

Stoned And Boned

Weed shmokin, high shmex, lowkey really cute, this just scratches the studioJoong part of my monkey brain lol

In Vino Veritas

Dad's best friend, high class, cabin fucking, ART

Tell Me To Stop

The camping one, best friends, kinda exhibitionism, forced proximity

Nasty(nasty freak mcnasty...)

He be fuckin nasty, Pirate Joong (nasty freak mcnasty...)

If It's Not Too Much To Ask

Jongho's little sister, couch sex, mutual pining ig

Mine

SeongJoong... are we surprised? Breeding, kinda rough

Sharing Is Caring

MinJoong, possessive Joong, WHIPPED Mingi, kinda desperate Mingi

Mean Dom W/ MATZ

Hwa's kind of the main feature here, but Joong's still a part of it, choking, spit, all of the fun things

Coachella Rut

Joong's ROUGH, only chasing after his pleasure tbh, very much so just mmmm....

Feconder

Witch reader and assistant Joongie, potions hehe

Punishment

We bein bratty lol, ruthless Joong, fluffy at the end, oh yeah, at the studio

Tutoring

Nerdy glasses Joong, audio, Whimpering fdskjlfskfajk

Studio

Givin' him a handie in the studio, audio, more Whimpering- I'm WEAK

Chained

Subby Joong, chained up, audio, kinda whimpering, clearly desperate

TV

Another desperate Joong, on tour, wants you so bad, audio

Breath

Him Literally choking Wooyoung, both hands over his mouth- literally dead

Matter Of Pride

... I'm ashamed to even type this, lion-hybrid Joong, gazelle-hybrid, rough, literal Spines on his schlong, multiple rounds

Tongue

This what Joongie looks like when he's waiting for you to cum on his tongue

[raccontidialiantis]

Self control e ragione perduti

Anni di studio: prima laurea conseguita giovanissima, poi la specialistica, tantissimo duro lavoro e infine quotidiana pazienza e applicazione per diventare finalmente Antonia, la professoressa dolce, discreta, colta e molto educata che è. Luca, il marito medico ignaro e felice, l’ama sempre tantissimo e la porta in palmo di mano. Poi il mese scorso suo figlio Antonello, tornando dall’università in una città vicina per una breve vacanza, si tirò dietro Pietro, un suo amico. Che rimase ospite in famiglia per alcuni giorni. Caso volle che quel pomeriggio stesso Luca avesse un’imprevista, grave urgenza medica in famiglia e dovesse immediatamente recarsi a distanza di un centinaio di chilometri per prestare assistenza alla sorella che viveva da sola.

Antonello non lo mandò certo da solo e decise di accompagnarlo, in caso fosse servito qualcosa di imprevedibile per le cure della zia Marta. Si scusarono entrambi con Pietro e lo affidarono alle cure di Antonia. Caso volle che per la serietà dell'incidente occorso, dovettero anche restare lì in ospedale per la notte. Poco male: Antonia rimase sola con Pietro. Gli preparò un’ottima cena e poi, sbrigate le faccende, essendo ragionevolmente presto, decisero di guardare un po’ di tv prima di dormire. Un bicchierino di porto contribuì ad aumentare la confidenza tra loro. C’è da dire che Antonia è una donna bellissima e Pietro un vero fotomodello. Superato un iniziale imbarazzo, iniziarono da subito a entrare in maggiore intimità. A cena avevano già riso e scherzato un bel po’, complice un ottimo vino rosso.

Si confidarono a riguardo di argomenti anche molto personali e lei poté apprezzare la maturità di quel bel pezzo di ragazzo. Poi all'inizio del film, sul divano Pietro disse ad Antonia di mettersi pure comoda e poggiare il capo su di lui, che sarebbe stato un onore servire una donna così bella e raffinata. Ad Antonia tremarono un po’ le gambe e il seno. Iniziò a perdere l'usuale lucidità e l'autocontrollo andò in soffitta. Seppellito sotto una coltre di desiderio. Tanto che, accusando un inizio di giramento di testa, approfittò e gli posò il capo sulla spalla, mettendogli la mano sul petto. Lui iniziò a carezzarle i capelli. Lei, stordita dal profumo di quel bellissimo giovane uomo, apprezzò moltissimo. E cominciò quindi a sua volta a carezzargli il petto; lo fece lentamente: e che sarà mai! Potrei essere sua madre, figuriamoci…

Poi la situzione si fece decisamente più intima: lui dalla testa passò a scivolarle con la mano lungo la schiena e a infilarsi nella gonna. Arrivò a metterle un dito nel solco delle natiche, per stimolarla. Lei ne godé. L'altra sua mano sollevò la gonna da davanti e arrivò a toccarle l'interno coscia ad altezza inguine. Lei accennò solo un timidissimo: “n-nno… ma che fai…” però lo disse aprendo le gambe un po’ di più e alzando il bacino per facilitarlo. Lo lasciò fare, gli permise di entrare con le dita nella fica e poi lo guardò negli occhi improvvisamente, totalmente appassionata. Unì le sue labbra a quelle sensuali di lui. Le loro lingue giocarono e si rincorsero felici. La cosa si fece molto seria.

Si accarezzarono molto sensualmente e si esplorarono: dapprima quasi con un sentimento di esitazione e rispetto. Poi però le barriere caddero e le carezze si fecero decisamente più sfacciate, impudenti: le dita penetravano ovunque nei loro corpi e i respiri si facevano affannati. Gemevano rochi: si desideravano entrambi da impazzire. Si spostarono rapidamente in camera da letto, con l'urgenza di fare l'amore: lei a questo punto era pazza di lui. Non si sa per quale motivo, a un certo punto tra un uomo e una donna scatta un interruttore nascosto in cielo e inizia un’attrazione inesorabile: sarà la routine della signora matura che forse inconsciamente desiderava da sempre conoscere un altro uomo oltre al marito, unico uomo mai avuto dentro di sé.

Sarà che a Pietro le donne cascano sempre davanti senza che lui faccia nulla. E lei quella sera se l’era trovato lì, servito su un piatto d’argento: da soli in casa e con la notte tutta per loro. In breve, finirono per scopare. Lui le aprì finalmente orizzonti nuovi, che vanno ben oltre il frettoloso amplesso mensile con il coniuge, sbrigato sempre nella canonica posizione del missionario. Il giovane le insegnò infatti a prenderlo diligentemente in bocca, a rilassare la gola e inghiottirlo per intero, a stimolarglielo con la lingua. Poi a lavorarlo fino a farlo venire, ingoiando diligentemente tutto. Quella stessa notte, per la prima volta nella vita Antonia fu inculata.

Pietro la penetrò piano, molto dolcemente e lei ebbe infine un orgasmo anale che la portò a gridare e piangere lacrime di vera gioia. Capì subito di amarlo. E per quel ragazzo da quella sera iniziò a perdere la testa. Oggi i due si incontrano clandestinamente a metà strada tra le due città dove vivono; prenotano ogni settimana sempre nella stessa pensioncina, muta testimone dell'amore illecito più soddisfacente che esista. Lo fanno per fondersi le anime e donarsi reciprocamente in modo totale. E lei adesso è lì che lo aspetta. Guarda: c'è una donna stupenda seduta sul muretto, al parco dove lui fra un po' arriveà.

È letteralmente affamata di Pietro e desiderosa del suo sesso. Entrare nel corpo di una femmina è impegnativo; uscirne dopo un po’ è normale. Se però entri nella testa di una donna matura, non ne esci più e lei ne può restare sconvolta. La sua vita ne viene in ogni caso rivoluzionata. L’amore la istupidisce. E per lei mantenere un equilibrio tra la famiglia e il segreto da tenere, può essere una sfida molto impegnativa. A volte, un rapporto clandestino porta alla disgregazione della famiglia. Ma Antonia è una donna capace e intelligente. Non sa e non saprà mai nessuno del suo amore maturo con Pietro.

RDA

[irestantimari]

Pensavo, in questa sera di fine anno, alla meravigliosa complessità della vita. Pensavo a quanto sia difficile raccontarla. Che siamo fatti delle persone che abbiamo incontrato e che incontreremo. Di quelle che abbiamo perso, di quelle che stimiamo e amiamo e di quelle che nemmeno si accorgono della nostra esistenza. Di quelle che a cui ci affezioniamo, di quelle che dimentichiamo in un nulla, e quelle che salutiamo solo per educazione o circostanza. Siamo fatti di libri e delle storie che ci sono rimaste dentro e che sono diventate parte di noi. Siamo fatti di canzoni e musica, di circo e di balli. Di film e attori, di sport e di campioni. Siamo fatti dell’arte di Velasquez, di Caravaggio, di Klimt, di Rothko, Botticelli, Gauguin, Van Gogh, Monet, Picasso, Vermeer.. Siamo fatti di scuola, di studio e di insegnanti, di lavoro, di viaggi, di paesaggi e di ritorni. Siamo fatti di mare, cielo, nuvole, pioggia e sole. Di sere e mattini e lune calanti. Di madri e padri e figli e nipoti e nonni e amici. Di cene, colazioni, caffè, vino, regali Di eventi politici, tecnologia, religione, proverbi e miti lontani. Di follie quotidiane, di malattie e paure, di cattiverie e violenza e di gesti bellissimi. E poi siamo fatti di sogni, di aspirazioni e fallimenti, di traguardi raggiunti e di quelli mancati per un soffio. Siamo fatti di speranze, di consolazioni, di lacrime e risate. E siamo fatti di tempo, di tempo che passa e di tempo sospeso. E di tempo che verrà.

Tanti auguri allora, per questo nuovo pezzo di vita. Tanti auguri per un anno che porti nuove speranze e meno paure. Un tempo con più dubbi e curiosità e meno certezze. Che faccia guardare e sognare e pensare e provare ancora meraviglia. Tanti auguri per un anno che sia un po’ da raccontare e molto da ascoltare. Perché, per usare le parole di Danny Boodmann T.D. Novecento, “non sei fregato veramente finché hai da parte una buona storia, e qualcuno a cui raccontarla”. Buon anno.

V. Buccino. (immagine di Janine Niepce)

[johnwickb1tsch]

Vino Veritas - Part VII

A Destination Wedding Frank x Fem!Reader Fic

Attending the wedding of your ex-fiancé gets slightly better when you meet someone having just as miserable a time as you... Warnings: Nothing too serious holy shit. Cursing. Broken engagement. Nihilism, existential bullshit, copious amounts of sarcasm. NSFW. Angst. Grump/sunshine trope. Loosely based on the movie but I'm not that smart. Or bitter. 😆 chapter map.

VII. Everything’s On Fire And It’s Perfectly Fine

You cannot exactly claim the next few weeks go well for you. 

You do a lot of cliché sunset beach walking, heavy sighing, and general wallowing in self pity.

You’re simply miserable, without him, and the feeling does not fade with time. 

Usually you are pretty content with your stupid little existence. Yet now, you feel like something is genuinely missing that you need. There’s a Frank-shaped hole in your heart–and you are bleeding out. 

It’s so bad that your regulars notice the change in your demeanor, when they come in to browse. They ask what’s wrong, and all you can do is shrug and make a lame excuse. It’s just not professional, to tell your customers that you're dying inside.

Anytime you try to coax yourself into just moving on, trying someone else, anything else…the thought dies a bitter death on a sword sharpened to a killing edge on the memory of that hilariously acerbic, utterly singular, wonderful grouch of a man. He hated everything, but for what felt like just a fleeting moment…he’d liked you. It certainly doesn’t help either, that he’s the only man you’ve ever felt comfortable enough with to really connect with on a carnal level. There was no putting on a show for Frank. No possibility of lying to him. He saw through everything, and that man just had your number in a way that you fear you’ll never encounter again. 

You’d be a liar, if you said you didn’t consider driving up to J.D. Power with that boombox. You even looked it up on Google maps. One hour, forty-five minutes, up the coast, if traffic was good. Of course in L.A. traffic was never good.

You would have braved it anyway.

Except, it turns out you are a total coward, and you know that if he rejected you, you really would want to die.

Then, you start to think you’re actually losing your mind, when you keep thinking you see him around. On the beach, a stranger in the distance is his very doppelganger. Then in town, you think you see him around a corner. By the time you rush down the block to look, he’s gone. 

You try to exorcize him by sketching his face from memory instead, at your tablet on the easel by the window that faces the ocean, up in your live-in studio above the store. It soothes you and agitates you all at once. You wonder what he thought, when he realized you slipped your possum shirt in his bag, in the airport when he wasn’t looking.

On a slow day due to rain, you decide to retreat back upstairs to your nest. The gray skies match your mood, and it won’t be the first time you’ve curled up and let the day go by, watching the relentlessly breaking waves.

Of course, just as you get settled in with a soft blanket, you hear the bell above the door downstairs chime. Usually the promise of a new customer fills you with a thrill of excitement, even after all these years, but today…you half regret not turning the OPEN sign in the window.

You check yourself briefly in the mirror, deem yourself half-passable, which is as good as it gets these days. Your hair is wild, and your eyes are sad. At least your clothes are clean, your time-worn ruffled sundress and oversized cardigan against the chill coming off the waves. You make your way down the stairs–and you almost eat shit on a cluster of colorful rocks left right in the middle of the runner. You catch yourself with a few choice words, gripping the bannister white-knuckled.

How the fuck did those get there?

Then you realize they’re similar to the ones you sell in your shop–but not exact.

You examine them, realizing that the one closest to your foot has a word engraved on it in curly slanted script: Fuck.

You look more closely at the other rocks in their now somewhat jumbled order. “I Miss Fuck You?” you read to yourself aloud, puzzled.

“You have got to be the clumsiest person I’ve ever met.”

Startled, you look up, scanning what you thought was an empty shop. But then you see him attempting to conceal his obscenely tall form behind an art card rack. It’s ridiculous–and your heart does its best imitation of a supernova.

Boom.

“You asshole!”

He frowns, but has no time to deliver a scathing retort, because you have leapt the remaining stairs and bound the short space to throw yourself into his arms–or more truthfully, just at him. An onlooker might have testified assault over ardor, in your frenzied tackle, as you throw your arms around his neck. He catches you with a surprised, “Oomph,” solid as a wall. You take heart in that his grip is just as desperate as yours. He still tries to get in that riposte, but you head him off again with your mouth on his.

You actually feel the tension leave his body, as you kiss him, and he kisses you, practically picking you up with his arms like iron bands around your waist.

“That’s your big gesture?” you finally demand. “Booby trapping my stairs with profane rocks?”

He honest to god growls at you, and it thrills you to your now curling toes. “It was supposed to say Fuck I miss you, but you had to ruin it.”

“Sorry I almost died?”

Then he is smiling down at you with that glitter in his dark eyes, and you are simply overcome with emotion, your fingers curling in the lapels of his jacket. “I fucking missed you too,” you admit, unable to stop yourself from tugging on him for emphasis.

He is breathing through his nose as he looks down at you, his expression somewhere between affection and constipation. It dawns on you that it’s more than a little likely he was terrified up until two seconds ago, and you soften even more for him, reaching up to stroke his beard. He leans into your hand, closing his eyes, and you know this is it for you. You are done for, and there is no further hope for your sanity. 

“Come upstairs,” you say, pulling on his lapels back in the direction from whence you came. You’re not sure how it’s possible for those midnight black eyes to darken more as he looks down at you, but he follows you without a word with his hand in yours. You flip the Open sign on the door as you pass by, turning the deadbolt without breaking stride. 

You have something important to do. 

***

Between kisses he looks around your second-floor apartment, smiling to himself with that judgy amusement in his eyes. It’s an open space, and there’s no hiding anything really, from your brightly clothed bed to the living area with its mismatched seating draped in bright fabrics, to your little studio space by the window to the miniscule nook of the blue-painted kitchen cabinetry.

“What?” you ask, poking him in the ribs, certain he’s going to make fun of you for your hippy-dippy boho decor. 

“Nothing,” he grunts, smiling against your mouth, assisting you in pushing his jacket from his shoulders. You’re tempted to throw it across the room, but you behave yourself and drape it nicely over the back of a chair. 

“Let me guess. ‘It looks like Pier 1 vomited in here.’” 

He snorts with laughter. “You said it, not me.” 

With a feral little growl you push him to sit on your bed. He’s so tall it just puts you eye to eye, and you cannot stop yourself from crawling into his lap. He gathers you closer greedily, his big hands engulfing your backside. God how you missed this man, and the way you fit together.

“Honestly? It’s exactly what I pictured,” he tells you gently, that tenderness in his dark eyes that utterly melts your last brain cells.     

“Does that mean…you’ve been thinking about me?”

He makes that strangled huff of a sound that passes for laughter, steeped with self-deprecation. “Yeah. You could say that.”

For a long few moments you just look at each other, caught up in the unlikely miracle that you’re here, together, once more. 

You really had believed you would never see him again. You’d believed it to the bone, and now this feels more than a little surreal. 

You consider what to do. Do you play the game, and try not to let on how absolutely bat-fuck insane you’ve been, without him? Would it be unseemly, to clamor with all your affection worn proudly on your sleeve, now that this man has dared to give you a second chance? As you look at him now, moved to the bottom of your soul that he swallowed his pride and his fear to appear at your door–you are done with games. You’re not going to hold a piece of yourself back, just in case. If this man breaks your heart again–at least you’ll know you gave it your all. 

“I’ve really missed you,” you tell him again, cupping his bearded cheeks in your hands, holding him lightly. 

He flinches at that, his eyes narrowing as for once, it seems like he is at a loss for a reply. He did good with the rock schtick, but saying it out loud in actual words from his mouth seems to present a problem for him. With his truth stuck on his tongue, he settles for pulling you into his embrace, burying his face in the bend of your neck with his arms wrapped tightly around you, like you might disappear if he lets go. And then his lips are on your neck, and his big hands are dragging down your ribcage to your hips, and you feel the circuits in your brain spark and melt for this man’s touch. 

You’d be a liar, if you said you hadn’t put yourself to sleep more than a few times, thinking about him with your hand in your panties and his name on your lips like a prayer. Straddling his lap now with his warm palms smoothing up your thighs, underneath your skirts to cup your ass–you are a one-woman stick of dynamite ready to explode. The way he squeezes your flesh with a groan from deep in his throat–you are soaked through your panties, your empty pussy clenching to the point of pain. 

Maybe it would be better, in the long run, to sit and talk this out a little bit before jumping into bed. Your libido, however, seems to find this rational suggestion from your higher brain utterly laughable.  

The pure longing this man calls up from within you–it really should be illegal, and you almost wish it only had to do with the fact that he’s the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. That would be simpler. Safer, somehow. Less painful, maybe, if and when it all goes to shit. But you know it’s too late to pretend. Where your body goes with this man, your heart follows, skipping blithely off to its doom. 

This is fine, you think, as he lowers you onto your back, his delicious weight pressing you down into your soft bed as he claims your mouth with his. 

Everything’s on fire, and it’s perfectly fine. 

“Y/n…” He sits up on his elbows, looking down at you with that haunted, totally lost expression again. You reach up to run your fingers through the silken waves of his hair. It’s obvious there’s something he wants to say, but the words keep sticking on his tongue. 

“It’s ok, Frank,” you try to assure him. Like allowing him to lay on top of you in your bed isn’t indication enough of your happiness with his presence. 

“I can’t say I didn’t hope this would go this way. But I’m not such a narcissist as to think it’s the only way it should have gone. I absolutely deserve a kick in the balls for the way I treated you.”

You raise an eyebrow to this, trying not to laugh at the mental image. “I hate to tell you,” you inform him, twining your leg with his. The bulge pressing against your center practically makes your mouth water. “But that’s not the plan I have for your balls.”

“Very kind of you. I’m serious though.”

“Me too. Believe it or not…” You brush his hair behind his ear. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You realize this might be a foreign concept to him.

“Y/n…” He closes his eyes momentarily, maybe because you are petting him, and maybe because this is all too much.  “Aren’t you angry at all?”

You think on it. Really think on it, rather than give some off the cuff answer that maybe isn’t exactly true. “No,” you finally answer, and you mean it. “I’m just…relieved. I really thought I’d never see you again, and I was too chicken to go after you. I was afraid you’d say mean things to me and turn me away.” You blink back the moisture that gathers in the corners of your eyes.

“I probably would have,” he admits with a frown, more for himself than you, you’re beginning to realize. His eyes widen as he looks down at you, his long fingers stroking the hair at your temples. “I’m a fucking menace, y/n. I…if we do this, I’m going to hurt you.” The realization at saying it out loud really seems to drive it home for him. He bows his head to rest on your chest, as though ashamed of something he hasn’t even done yet. “Fuck.” 

He shifts as though he means to extricate himself from you, abandon you, again. You thwart him at least for the moment by wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him back to you. You know if you have a real wrestling match, this man who is twice your size is so going to win, but maybe, just maybe, he’ll listen to you for another five seconds. 

“Please don’t leave me over something that hasn’t even happened yet.” You know you sound more than a little pathetic–but you also know if he walks out the door again like this it will destroy you. 

“Y/n…” He growls your name, and the sound does unmentionable things to your insides. “You’re so sweet and pretty and talented, and you deserve good things in your life.” It seems more than a little surreal to you, that this man, who sees the world exactly for what it is and pulls no punches, puts you of all people on a pedestal. That tingling electric feeling is coursing through your limbs again, to your very bones. It’s the most alive you’ve felt in a long while. 

“Excellent,” you inform him brightly. “I’ll start with having you.” 

“You’re not listening to me.”

“You’re not listening to me. We’ll take it day by day,” you think out loud, stroking his cheek with the blade of your thumb. “And if you hurt my feelings, you’ll say you’re sorry, and I’ll forgive you. And hopefully you’ll have the same patience for me, because fuck knows I’m no picnic either.”

With a sigh that comes from the depths of his soul Frank rests his head on your chest, finally relaxing a little. 

“You have so much hope,” he grumbles at your breast, like he’s annoyed about it.

“Only as of fifteen minutes ago, I assure you,” you tell him honestly, running your fingers through his hair. You can’t seem to stop yourself.

He makes that animalistic sound in the back of his throat, snarling at all the doubts and contingencies running at breakneck speed through his over-analytical brain. His next words come so quietly you almost miss them. 

“I think I need you.”

A long breath made of pure relief escapes you,  and you keep running your fingers through his hair. “You’ve got me.”

“That easily?”

You snort. “You call this easy?”

“I don’t even know anymore. I feel like I’m losing my goddamn mind.” 

You don’t get a chance to make some pithy reply, because suddenly his mouth is on yours again, and your ability to produce coherent thought evaporates into a red cloud of desire. Somehow between kisses and urgent, fumbling fingers you manage to divest each other of your various garments, until the world is right again, with your bare skin against his, and his cock buried deep in your needy little cunt. Frank makes love to you while looking into your very soul, and you know that thing you told him what feels like a lifetime ago was absolutely true:   

What’s it like to fall in love? 

It’s like going insane. 

What you didn’t know to add at the time, is how absolutely wonderful it is. 

***

When you wake from your post-coital snooze you panic a little when you don’t feel him right beside you, shooting up in bed. Did he decide he’d made a mistake after all and flee the scene?

But then you realize he is sitting by the window, in the comfy chair in front of your easel with a blanket wrapped around his otherwise nude form. He is staring at your tablet, where you have sketched his face umpteen times in your miserable longing. You freeze at seeing him sitting there, certain he will make fun of you for being a lovesick little fool. 

Instead, he could have pushed you over with a feather, when he just shoots you a soft smile. “You’re very good,” he says quietly, as though afraid of breaking the sacred hush of the room. You’d be a liar, if you said your best work hasn’t always been fueled by longing of some kind. If you were a happy and content individual, you’re not sure you’d create anything of merit at all. 

“Thank you.” 

Then he smirks at you, picking up a pencil. “I’ll draw you,” he says cheekily, making a show of measuring your angles with the instrument, putting down bold marks. “Voila. My masterpiece.” 

You slide out from the covers to join him in the chair, snuggling into the warm curve of his large body behind you. When you look at what he drew you burst out in laughter, hiding in the dip of his neck. It’s a stick figure…with two emphatically drawn circles in the chest area. “Oh my god. Frank…” 

“You don’t recognize my raw artistic talent?” he teases, resting his chin on top of your head. 

“I see you’re not into the graphic design side of marketing at JD Power.”

He snorts at that. “What do you mean? I’m putting this on our next campaign.” 

You are chuckling so deeply it hurts in your core. This man. This man brings you such joy, and you’ve been withering without him. It’s not good–but it’s true. 

“Great. When they fire you, you can come shack up with me.” 

It’s a relief when he snorts at your joke–you didn’t mean to invite him to move in with you within the first few hours of seeing him again, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He even holds you a little tighter, which plays unfair havoc with your insides.

“Frank?”

“Present.” From the angle of his head, you’re guessing he’s looking out the window, at the ocean. It’s a pretty killer view–if you hadn’t inherited this place from a great aunt, you never could have afforded it. You nearly die of a heart attack every year when the property tax bill comes. 

“What…made you change your mind?”

He grumbles behind you. You feel it more than hear it, with his chest pressed to your back. Maybe you shouldn’t have brought it up just yet, but god. You need to know, as a matter of keeping your sanity.

“I realized…that every time I walked through the lobby of my office building, I was hoping to see you there, ready to terrorize us all with Peter Gabriel playing at ear-splitting volumes.”

“Oh Frank…” 

“Then for a week or so I resented you for not being there, for not coming after me even though I pushed you away in no uncertain terms.” 

You listen to him speak, quietly tucked under his chin. You would never guess from the level of his tone, but you can feel the thundering of his heart against your back, feel it in the slight way his grip tightens on you. Maybe it’s ridiculous, but your eyes blur with tears, that wonderfully uncomfortable electric feeling coursing all the way to your fingertips. 

“Then I realized that was pretty fucked up, to be mad at you for respecting my wishes, even though it clearly hurt you to do so. So…here I am. I am…a goddamn mess, y/n. I’m a grouchy old man, and I still don’t understand why you seem to like me, but if you do…?”

You think on how those three little words, here I am, actually involved this no-nonsense man remembering that ridiculous little conversation you’d had ages ago, dreaming up the scheme with the rocks, hunting them down or ordering them custom engraved online, and driving all this way in the rain having no idea if you would actually be happy to see him or if you would tell him to go to hell. 

You don’t think it’s just blind optimism, that makes you think he’s not half as broken as he thinks he is. You’re smart enough not to call him sensitive to his face, but he has just been kicked one too many times by people near him who go through life with a lot less thought about how their actions affect those around them. He’s hardened himself as a matter of survival–and that you understand all too well. 

“I do like you, Frank. I really, really, do.” You punctuate each word with a kiss until your mouth is pressed to his, and the grumble of his approval vibrates on a wavelength through your body, to the depths of your very soul. 

“And,” he adds with a wry note, just in case things were getting too sappy, “Your rat shirt is starting to smell more like me than you now. It needs a recharge.” 

This does make you giggle. “What have you been doing with my possum shirt, Frank?”

“You probably don’t want to know,” he answers with that rogue glitter in his dark eyes that curls your toes. 

You scoff–and wonder how many grains of truth are hiding in the lie. The thought of Frank snuggling your shirt at night wishing it was you…you really might melt into a puddle.  

“I still have your black t-shirt under my pillow,” you confess in the spirit of solidarity. 

He looks down at you with a raised brow, amused. “I wondered where that went. You sneaky little thief.” Suddenly he is standing with you in his arms, carrying you towards the bed again. He drops you on the foot of the bed, and you have no zero time to regroup before he is on you, pressing open mouthed kisses to the insides of your thighs, up to eat your pussy like he means to devour you. 

“Fuck!” you gasp, writhing against him holding you down as he wrecks you with his tongue. “How are you even better at that than I remember?”

He withdraws with a long hard lick that makes you see stars. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” he admits, manhandling you to the edge of the bed with those big hands on your hips, plunging inside you with a groan that lifts every little hair on your body, fucking into you like you belong to him. 

And maybe, you do.

“And how is this sweet little snatch even tighter than what I remember?” he pants back, trembling with the effort to keep his thrusts slow and deep, like he knows exactly what you need to climb that shining peak–you are running up that mountain with his beautiful manhood teeming inside you.  

“I’ve been working out…” you answer with a laugh that comes out half moan, so happy you could die as he lowers his weight down on you, cupping your head in his hands, his long fingers in your hair. 

“I’m not sure I know what that means…” he answers, losing himself with his eyes closed as he bottoms out against your cervix, catching your mouth in a sloppy kiss that makes you clench and pulse around him. 

“Just say thank you.” You don’t know how you have the courage to tease this man, while he’s inside you. But you feel like your heart is made of pure sunshine in that moment, and nothing bad can touch either of you. 

“I’m trying to,” he chuckles, having just as much fun trading pithy remarks during this intimate moment as you, his thumb sneaking between you to rub your aching button to the rhythm of his body moving inside yours. You’re going to cum, to know it in your bones, but even if you weren’t this perfect handful of seconds of connection with Frank would be purest bliss. Those three dangerous words are dancing on the tip of your tongue, and you bite yourself until you taste blood to keep them in. 

I love you. 

You’ll tell him soon enough. 

The pleasure of your orgasm blindsides you like a truck t-boning you in a four-way stop–it’s as mental as it is physical, this absolute, all consuming rapture for having this man in your arms again, in your body, in your life, if you dare to believe it. 

Frank is not far behind you, moaning into the bend of your neck as he cums, filling you to the brim with his hips locked against yours. In the aftermath he sighs something softly into your hair, something utterly inaudible over the sound of your heart pounding in your ears and your heavy breathing. 

It’s something short though. Something three syllables. 

“What?” you whisper, sweeping the hair from his face with a trembling hand. 

 “Nothing,” he answers, pulling back with a sleepy smile. He shifts to the side and drags over the comforter, wrapping you up in his arms and the cloud-soft blanket. “You know,” he says sleepily, “I was miserable for so long, I think I forgot what happiness feels like. So thanks for scaring the shit out of me, I guess.”

“Anytime,” you chortle, snuggled under his chin. 

Everything is on fire…and maybe it will be perfectly fine. 

----

Epilogue coming soon...

[deke-rivers-1957]

Fun In Acapulco Review

Elvis Presley never set a single foot in Mexico. And yet he was deemed a persona non grata due to a controversy involving quotes Elvis made that legitimately never happened. Unfortunately, because of this official status disallowing Elvis from entering the country all on site shooting had to be done with a body double. Elvis himself filmed the rest of the movie entirely on a Hollywood studio.

This movie marks the beginning of the rivalry between Elvis Presley and The Beatles. Beatlemania had taken hold in the UK in 1963 with the US quickly following behind it. While their appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show wouldn't be until another few months, Elvis' place on top of the pop culture pyramid was being challenge. Does this movie put those fears at ease, or is this an early indication of Elvis' irrelevance? Let's find out.

"Fun in Acapulco" is surprisingly low key and pleasant. It genuinely gives you vibes that you're waking up in Acapulco at a resort by the beach. Then you see Elvis on a boat as a small group of Mexican singers come up and immediately realize none of his scenes will be in Acapulco. Instead, we're stuck with very obvious rear screen projections and Hollywood soundstages throughout the whole movie. There's a small moment of humor when Elvis just yells at the top of his lungs for the Mexican band to be quiet. It's not loud at all but you can tell he had to project to be heard.

Meanwhile we get a very uncomfortable interaction where a heavily implied teenaged girl named Janie is flirting with Mike Windgren. I don't like this plot point especially when we get a male gaze shot of her skirt as she walks away. Again she's heavily implied to be a minor and even in the movie it's seen as being inappropriate for an adult to show interest of any kind. It simply feels unnecessary to include that and doesn't age well at all given what we hear about Hollywood.

Mike goes to a Mexican tavern to meet up with the musicians wearing the ugliest shirt I've seen. Usually the wardrobe does a good job of making amazing outfits, but this is personally a miss. Along the way he meets a young Mexican boy named Raoul in an act of foreshadowing about the relationship they're going to have. "Vino, Dinero Y Amor" and "I Think I'm Gonna Like It Here" are both ok. This is when you realize the main goal of the movie is to sell a soundtrack. Mike also meets Dolores for the first time and I think this was a great way to establish their character dynamic since you easily believe that she's just looking to have fun while she's in town. It's also incredible how so many people smoked back then, to the point where the whole room looks hazy.

Before they get too involved in their dance, Mike sees Janie at the tavern drinking alcohol. I have no idea what the drinking laws in Acapulco was in 1963, but everyone treats this as being illegal. Janie's dad sees her at the tavern despite having no idea that she'd be there. She blames Mike for bringing her there and buying her the drink and of course gets him fired because that's the most obvious set up in the world. There are so many issues with this scene I won't take the time to explain it all. It's just so pointless to even have this plot point since we literally never see anyone outside of Dolores' camp ever again and only exists because we needed to have some reason to have Mike leave his job to team up with Raoul.

Raoul informs us with something that will never lead to anything important plot wise. Mike would need to have a very specific VISA to work in Mexico. This actually makes sense given that Mr. Harkins isn't a Mexican citizen and therefore didn't require Mike to have a VISA. But since Raoul has an insanely high amount of connections he's able to get Mike a singing job while he fills in for a singer we literally never see in person and is always "out".

The logic of this surprisingly works since it's clear Raoul has genuine connections with numerous businessmen, but I'm just bummed that we never see who the actual singer is since it could've added conflict. You would think that the conflict would involve Mike working without a proper VISA and his rival planning to reveal that fact. But no, it's never brought up in a way that makes you think Mike has to worry about possibly being deported.

Raoul picks up Mike on his bike. As much as it's cute to have them sing "Mexico" Raoul's singing vocals just didn't sound right. I know he's a pre-pubescent boy but at times you just cringe when he hits the high notes. So we get introduced to Moreno but uh oh Mike looks nervous about seeing him jump off a diving board because we need foreshadowing. Mike agrees to work as a lifeguard during the siesta so no laws are being broken. Mike gets on top of one of the diving boards and we surprisingly get a backstory. Mike is a trapeze artist and we see with no dialogue how during a performance he dropped his brother. The silent horror on his face when he saw his brother lying on the floor dead, was so well done by Elvis. It isn't realistic to have everyone react to a trauma by screaming. With Mike he felt instant shame to the point where he had to look away.

That memory was so brutal, Mike of course stepped down from the diving board feeling haunted. The worse thing about the incident is that it could've been avoided. Circuses started using safety nets in the mid 19th century, so the fact that you never saw one indicates overconfidence. Sadly when you're a trapeze artist, there are people who are so confident in what they do, basic safety precautions are neglected. In Mike's brother's case, it sadly costed him his life and Mike now has to live with that guilt. He sends a telegram to his parents and it's obvious that this is a deep trauma that he couldn't recover from at home. This should've been the focus of the whole movie because it's the only thing I feel invested in. The aftermath of someone's death, especially in avoidable circumstances, rarely gets to be the focus and this would've been the perfect way to change that.

Mike sees Moreno and a woman named Margarita Dauphin. Moreno has a lot of issues with Mike being interested in her, and it's genuinely reasonable since they're actually dating. Mike meets Margarita and her father where he works as the head chef. I'm impressed he can cook so well knowing that he's a former Duke. We get a brief history lesson that they came from an unnamed European country (I personally believe it was Hungary since their monarch was abolished in 1946). This basically means that Mike is talking to a Duchess despite no longer having the title.

"El Toro" is a great song with an even better outfit. In a way it really honors the history of bullfighting and the bravery bullfighters have to possess. After his performance, he turns down publicity pictures. As much as it's rude, you understand why he doesn't want the attention. He's still working through his grief and doesn't want word getting out that he's in Acapulco since that would result in people asking him very uncomfortable questions. Mike runs into both Dolores and Margarita. Despite dating Moreno, Margarita is clearly jealous that Dolores has Mike's attention as well. Mike goes to see a man dive, and he's clearly traumatized from looking over the railing. Raoul organizes for Mike to sing a song at the restaurant. "Margarita" while good, is just a drag in terms of the story. Mike tries again to dive, but of course is too scared. He climbs back down and I love that Margarita and Raoul don't make fun of him. They surprisingly handle his trauma with respect.

Mike performs "The Bullfighter Was a Lady" and he looks even better in this scene than "El Toro". This time he's specifically honoring Dolores since she's one of the best in the business. Female bullfighters even to this day are rare because of how dangerous it is. Margarita of course is jealous despite outright being on a date with Moreno. Dolores of course knows this and doesn't care. Because at the end of the day, Dolores isn't doing anything wrong. Margarita is the one who wants to 2 time with Mike.

So the two leave and we get a "serious conversation". Dolores makes it very clear that she has no interest in marriage and only wants to have casual relationships. I love that openness since for the 1960s, a career girl wasn't as well respected. "(There's) No Room to Rhumba in a Sports Car" is the clunkiest song ever. You could just cut it and nothing is lost.

"Bossa Nova Baby" is great and there's a reason why it's so iconic. If you slowed down the playback you would see that the average person couldn't replicate this. After his performance, he wants to go see Margarita but notices Dolores is there too. Dolores is tied up with a tourist couple that I wanted to be Mike's parents so bad. Instead we never see them again. It just makes you wonder, what was the point?

In the morning, Raoul asks Mike what club he wants to work for. We see a different filming technique by showing these phone calls in a split screen which I thought was a neat touch. Mike however stalls since he still wants to get with Margarita. He meets with Moreno and Moreno things happen. Moreno meets up with Dolores manager, Jose. Jose reveals that he knows about the Flying Windgrens. Absolutely nothing important will happen because of this. Dolores arranges for a party to be arranged the next day. Margarita of course doesn't like it and makes an offhand remark to her dad that he should poison Dolores. The former Duke though has a dream to have her get married to an American so they can both get VISAs.

This is when the movie drags. Even though he reveals his trauma to Margarita it's just so shallow because the scene quick cuts to Moreno finding the truth. That's also so rushed since as soon as he finds the newspaper article we immediately cut to Dolores' party. This is the only time we see Mike's family and it's such a waste of a good story to not see them interact with Mike in person.

"You Can't Say No in Acapulco" is pretty good for a poolside ballad. In a way it really reflects the sadness Mike feels. We see Moreno dive in preparation for his upcoming cliff dive and to entertain Dolores' guests.

Raoul tells Mike about Margarita's desire to get a VISA, and Moreno tells Dolores about Mike's traumatizing past. Dolores becomes cold for no reason as she acts so disappointed that Mike is a "chicken". Mike despite feeling very hurt just walks away. Raoul meanwhile never leaves his side and it's pretty sweet that he does care about Mike beyond what he could do for him.

The former Duke clears things up with Mike. He explains that it was really his idea to get the VISAs. It was never meant to hurt anyone. He tells Mike that Margarita has gone to see Moreno dive for a famous astronaut.

As he leaves, Moreno somehow knew he would be there and follows him out of the staff's kitchen. He keeps making fun of Mike for being a coward and I have no idea what this is meant to accomplish. Moreno was already a jerk so him knowing this information doesn't change anything. While I can see how it'd be him going too far, the timing is so off. Mike should've confronted him about it as soon as told Dolores.

We see Red West in the background who cameos in a couple scenes and it's amazing that he doesn't interact with Elvis at all since usually Elvis' friends had a line or two when they did cameo. They get into a fight and I have no idea why no one's stopping them. This is essentially a crowded entrance so you would think security would break it up because of the other guests possibly getting hurt from it. Moreno gets badly injured and Mike is able to just walk away with no resistance which would never happen in real life. Unable to see Margarita he goes around the club and hears from Raoul that the dive would otherwise be canceled. I understand a lot of people think this was a cheap way to resolve his PTSD, but given how the 1960s didn't really acknowledge it outside of the military I thought it was a good shot.

The cliff scene is one of the best scenes in the movie. Mike had no obligation to fill in for Moreno, but he did it anyway. This wasn't a rash decision where in an act of heroics he stepped in. He knowingly did it with the full knowledge that it could get him killed. The near silence that comes with watching him ascend even though it's a body double for most of the scene is beautiful. Everyone watching this knows it's a risky thing to do.

Even though I'm not religious, it's very important in Mexican culture. Seeing Raoul cross himself and Mike pay tribute to the shrine on top of the cliff was absolutely necessary. Given the danger involved, it makes total sense to send a prayer. Mike had to do this before he made his jump. Symbolically speaking, he's asking for his brother's spirit to keep him safe and him diving into the water served as his baptism or rebirth. He's no longer consumed with the grief and guilt of his brother's death. He's a new man that's willing to go back to his family with his new love Margarita and his friend/manager Raoul.

"Guadalajara" is a well deserved happy ending. Moreno at least admits he was wrong to call Mike a coward. I guess with him being interested in Dolores, his relationship with Margarita is over. The song itself is good but it does drag a bit. It's almost like they didn't know how to fill in the runtime which is so weird.

Margarita despite somehow getting back with Mike still looked a little jealous when Dolores kissed his cheek. I don't think this couple will last. Mike had more chemistry with Dolores but she out of nowhere turned standoffish. It's all boring and forced to the point where Mike has his best relationship with Raoul who's a 10 year old. I just really wish that Mike's relationship with his family had more focus. The pieces were there. It's just very unfortunate that a man expressing grief wasn't something worth focusing on back then.

I think this is the first time reviewing these movies where I felt bored watching it. As much as I love the diving plot, the romance is a drag. It feels like the writing took a step backwards regarding what makes an Elvis vehicle interesting. Instead of making the romances engaging they're instead so forgettable that it's like they just included it because it's part of a checklist. I will say that it did do a good job highlighting La Quebrada Cliffs by making them integral to Mike's character arc since to this day it's a popular tourist attraction.

Because the diving plot gave me something to feel invested in, with the final dive providing a genuine sense of tension I give it a 7/10. If you're a new Elvis fan this should not be the first one you see since the songs can be very distracting, and nothing is developed enough to keep your attention. Now if you're a seasoned fan is it worth re-watching? Yes. I think you can watch it every now and then, but it's definitely the film equivalent of cotton candy: something you consume and forget relatively fast. Genuinely the first stumble in the road for Elvis' movie career where I didn't feel overly passionate about anything. And for someone in the entertainment industry, that's practically a death sentence.

Tagging: @thelonelyheart @whositmcwhatsit, @hooked-on-elvis, @smokeymountainboy, @atleastpleasetelephone,

@stitchlover0112, @tupelomiss, @vintagepresley, @eapep, @almightybigbrain,

@coltswael, @cieloestrelladoluna, @huhhhhsthings, @arrolyn1114, @peaceloveelvis,

@peskybedtime, @mercsandmonsters, @tacozebra051, @valloos, @ilovequeen978,

@elvisvideos, @presleyhearted, @depressedfairie, @kawaiiwitchy, @swingdownsweetchariot,

@ruggednessworld, @southcarolinawoman, @atrophyingaphrodite, @jrbrandi13, @summer56,

@elvismylove04, @eptodaytommorowforever, @lookingforrainbows, @araiarts, @fharysa,

@lett-them-eatt-cake, @fryb0rg, @wanderlustingtomboy, @slayingjd, @wildhorseinkansas,

@somethingaboutelvis, @jhoneybees, @elvisbooty76, @iloveelvisss, @presleyheart,

@anakinsvault, @illtakeyouhomeagain, @callieselvisobsessed, @50sexyshadesfashionista, @memphisflash,

@arianatheangel-girl, @madslovesmaws, @lucy114505, @presleygarden, @earthbaby-angelboy,

@nicferg068, @xanatenshi, @elvispresley1935, @iloveelvisss, @underthememphissun,

@cccayliexx, @thelonelyheart, @theelvisprincess and @ilovemyrockstarboyfriends.

[xjulixred45x]

While browsing the internet I realized that something quite common and popular in the fandom of Studio Investigate games is to make Married in Red AUs with the Dead Plate characters.

especially Vincent taking Bok-su's place, and Rody taking Da-jeong's place.

and while I quite like these AUs, an interesting idea came to me that, personally, I think fits better with the Dead Plate characters.

What if Rody took Bok-su's place?

I mean, think about it, Rody could have gone through the same thing as the first ending of Dead Plate, but realizing that Vincent had to do with Manon's disappearance. So although he walked away from him, as soon as he had the opportunity to take revenge on Vincent weeding, he took it.

Taking away Vince's partner like he did with Rody's.

I think that here it not only applies better to the theme of revenge, but also in general I find several parallels with other characters.

Vince and DaJeong are selfish people who, while they may be decent, don't see the bad/regret their past actions. nor how that affected others so horribly (Rody/Bok-su).

and Rody, instead of having been someone dedicated to a career like Bok-su, was very dedicated to Manon, and both of them, upon losing that something/someone that stabilized them, lost their minds and took justice into their own hands.

I don't know, I just want to see Vince suffer and Rody have a satisfying revenge.

_________

(ESPAÑOL)

navegando por internet me di cuenta que algo bastante comun y popular en el fandom de los juegos de Studio Investigate es hacer AUs de Married in Red con los personajes de Dead plate.

especialmente Vincent tomando el lugar de Bok-su, y Rody el lugar de Dajeong.

y si bien me gusta bastante estos AUs, me vino una idea interesante y que, personalmente, creo que encaja mejor con los personajes de Dead Plate.

¿y si Rody tomara el lugar de Bok-su?

digo, piensenlo, Rody pudo haber pasado por lo mismo que en el primer final de Dead Plate, pero dándose cuenta de que Vincent tuvo que ver con la desaparicion de Manon. por lo que si bien se alejo de el, en cuanto tuvo la oportunidad de tomar venganza de Vincent, la tomo.

quitandole a Vincent a su pareja como el hizo con Rody.

creo que aqui no solo aplica mejor para el tema de la venganza, sino que también en general encuentro varios paralelismos con otros personajes.

Vince y Dajeong son personas egoistas que si bien pueden ser decentes, no ven lo malo/no se arrepienten de sus acciones del pasado. ni como eso afecto tan horriblemente a los demas(Rody/Bok-su).

y Rody en vez de haber Sido alguien dedicado a una carrera como Bok-su, estaba muy dedicado a Manon, y ambos al perder ese algo/alguien que los estabilizaba, perdieron la cabeza y tomaron justicia por sus propias manos.

no se, simplemente quiero ver a Vince sufrir y Rody tener una venganza gratificante.

[leibal]

Vino Chair is a minimalist chair created by Seoul-based designer KUO DUO. Korean furniture brand Wekino has introduced the VINO collection, its latest line of furniture developed in partnership with the industrial design studio KUO DUO. The collection comprises four key pieces: a chair, table, sofa, and low table, all made from solid beech wood.

[fatalquiete]

...e questo vale per tutto. ruboeincollo da un amico di fb -------------

Mentre là fuori tutto sta diventando low cost perché manca la qualità (abbonamenti e servizi in palestra al ribasso, lezioni di personal training scadenti, programmi copia e incolla), tu vai controcorrente: aumenta ancora di più i prezzi.

Se sai di offrire, almeno nella tua zona, il prodotto migliore, non c’è alcun motivo per non essere quello che costa di più.

Se un cliente paga un servizio a basso prezzo, avrà sempre la percezione che chi glielo ha venduto valga poco o niente (ad esempio, che abbia poche competenze, nessuna laurea, poca esperienza, nessun traguardo rilevante raggiunto, ecc.).

Ma…

I brand più desiderati, come Gucci, Porsche, Rolex e altri, sono ambiti da molti, ma accessibili solo a pochi. E questo principio non vale solo per i grandi marchi, ma per qualsiasi professione e professionista. Il valore percepito non dipende solo dal prezzo, bensì dall’esclusività, dalla qualità e dall’identità di ciò che si offre.

Se punti a un pubblico disposto a pagare per il meglio, devi posizionarti in modo coerente: non inseguire il mercato al ribasso, ma dimostrare ogni giorno di valere il prezzo che chiedi.

Tanti brand e veri professionisti non si preoccupano di essere accessibili a tutti. Anzi, non vogliono esserlo, perché il loro prodotto o servizio deve conservare valore con unicità ed esclusività.

Se punti alla quantità, inevitabilmente la qualità ne risentirà. E quella stessa quantità, tra pochi mesi, ti abbandonerà per risparmiare poche decine di euro.

Ovviamente, offrire qualità e avere il miglior prodotto o servizio non è per tutti. Nel nostro campo, significa investire davvero anni in studio, formazione, aggiornamenti, pratica. E tutto questo senza mai fermarsi.

Ora, provate a paragonare ogni cosa che vi piace o che vi appassiona: la moto o l’auto dei vostri sogni rispetto a un modello economico, un pasto in un ristorante medio-alto rispetto a un menu da McDonald's, un libro di valore rispetto a un testo qualsiasi da pochi euro, una bottiglia di vino pregiata rispetto a una dozzinale.

La differenza è sempre la stessa: qualità, esperienza e unicità.

È il mercato, è la vita. Il resto è ipocrisia.

[vrnicky]

Finally... I present thee

All Jobs!

Sans- college teacher, science

Papyrus- carpenter (hobby) and architect

Blue- cop

Miere- muffet's bakery cashier

Rojo- mechanic

Cap/tain- chef and also culinary teacher

Orion- works in the planetarium but is also a sustitute teacher

Perseo- cop

Atlas- waiter in different restaurants

Orbit- secretary of the boss of the casino

Meteor- writes books, hides his image tho

Sirius- police officer

Zen- works in a restaurant, he makes the meals

Max- works in a restaurant, he makes the dessert

Odiseo- mechanic but more in the area of fixing bikes for people with disabilities

Hator- from home translator

Loan- works in the same restaurant as Zen and Max, he makes the meals

Nayer- works in the same restaurant as Zen and Max, he makes the desserts.

Azrael- library’s receptionist and translator

Deus- owner of the library, also the one to organize everything, books from his universe

Angelus- vet

Daimon- not a vet but works with Angelus, calming the pets

Astarte- blacksmith

Morpheo- cashier in a coffee shop

Bonnie- works in a casino, either guard or with paperwork

Clyde- doesn't have a main job in the casino

Shark- hitman

Gorilla- matón/bruiser

Patrone- security guard of the casino

Chief- head of the casino along the royals

Devonte- informant to the royals

Sargent- security guard of Iron, ex-mafia member

Wine- makes clothes, often in Black's store but makes his own designs

Coffee/Cofi- freelance artist, webtoon artist

Berry- lawyer

Money- candle maker

Black- manager of fashion store, mind behind the designs

Slim- fashion store, jewelry

Edan- daycare

Hans- animal shelter

Butcher- works at an antique shop as an employee by a nice old lady

Twister- doesn't work

Disco- dance studio, teaching kpop sometimes (forced)

Tango- dance studio, teacher of more traditional dances

Swing- waiter in a cafeteria

Regga- works in a dance school and as a DJ in the weekends

Caramel- owner of a bakery

Sweet- waiter or Caramel’s bakery

Vino- full-time model

Cappuccino- full-time artist, sometimes anonymous modeling

Lur- owner of the market in the farm district

Farren- he harvest everything for the market while also taking care of his animals

Vega- mailman of the neighborhood and carpenter

Carrot- beekeeper

Nicte- foreman

Balam- horse tamer but also a furtive hunter

Garo- forestry and floriculture

Bosco- woodcutter

Sugar- vet

Cherry- doctor

Lemon- dog herd

Lime- soil and plant scientist

CC- agricultural engineer

PJ- winemaker

Gent- General surgeon

Lupin- college teacher, physicist

Aloe- head of the department of chemistry

Lion- mathematician

Cempa/súchil- Quantum control, annealing and computing. Mathematician.

Velvet- Fashion and interior design (hobby). Nature preserve ranger.

Allen- flower shop

Bliss- freelance painter

Nolan- in the police as a detective

Eros- model

Phew, long text

[delhe-dalim]

HOLA, tu arte esta super mega bonito, se ve como uno de esos cuentos ilustrados que veía en la primaria!!

He venido a preguntar, que pinceles usas? ;0 Hace que se vea como si fuera crayón o algo! Tiene mucha textura (my beloved) entonces quería preguntar ;DD

Utilizó uno parecido también, aunque no tan texturizado (lamentablemente)!!

De todos modos, tu arte es muy bonito! Los colores y tus líneas y la forma en que coloreas me hace muy feliz! lo veo y digo hehehehjejejeje, jsjsjs

También, omg una camisa de las tortugitas? Super bonita, una muy buena idea e inversión! 🌟🌠✨

Holii qué taal 💛 Muchísimas gracias por tus comentarios, los aprecio un montón!!🥰 y efectivamente, los cuentos de la infancia siempre han sido una gran inspiración para mí! Su calidez y ternura son lo que más me encanta:) Sobre los pinceles, en general uso cualquiera con textura de tiza y pastel, pero el que principalmente uso es uno que vino en el Clip Studio, apenas lo encontré me enamoré de él! Si tienes el Clip lo ubicas como Carboncillo 2

Y sobre la camiseta, muchas gracias!! Espero en un futuro poder mostrar mi trabajo en ferias jeje 👀

[bookhunter-92]

Che spreco passare la giornata chiuso in studio quando, con questo meraviglioso temporale, potevo essere davanti ad un camino con un buon vino e un ottimo libro

[t-annhauser]

bio

Non mi piace il vino, non mi piace il caffè, l'alcol solo sulle ferite, non fumo perché non mi dà quel sintomatico mistero, anche solo mettermi gli occhiali da sole mi dà un senso di impostura, finalmente posso evitare il sole per prescrizione medica dopo il problema che ho avuto alla pelle, non mi piacciono in generale le grandi mangiate, la convivialità forzata, i salamelecchi di circostanza, i viaggi organizzati, quelli disorganizzati, i concerti pop, i Depeche Mode dal vivo (solo quelli in studio), le condivisioni su Instagram, le banalità del pensiero prevalente in un dato momento, mi piacciono tantissimo il pane e la pasta eppure sono magro, non è vero che fanno ingrassare, mi piace scrivere, la filosofia, disegnare, le donne, disegnare le donne, suonare la chitarra, mi piace ascoltare con le cuffiette i miei pezzi darkwave preferiti, mi piace quel tizio che suona tutto l'album dei Duran Duran col basso in una sola sessione (link), mi piace l'opera, mi piace leggere il Viaggio al termine della notte, sono l'ultimo dei mohicani in un mondo di colonialisti britannici e mi vado bene così.

Sto traducendo l'Ulisse di Joyce.