#I might be para phrasing here but you get the idea

[nohoperadio]

Here's a little breakdown of my personal relationship/non-relationship with various types of aesthetic self-modification (?, I feel like there might be a word or at least a more elegant phrase to denote this category). The point is not to offer my "take" on each thing but to express the different feelings/desires/inhibitions my psyche manifests around them. Some of these will approach awkwardly personal territory, fair warning! You may notice that basically none of them are especially positive; I'm going to leave off from analyzing that pattern for this post.

Tattoos -- I think tattoos as a concept are extremely cool, frequently they're cool in practice also and I like seeing other people's, but I don't think I've ever had even the smallest urge to get one for myself. I'm not totally sure why. The lack of an obvious thing to get is one factor, I feel like "band tattoo" would be the most likely thing for me to have but I don't like the idea of directly lifting a band logo or album art and I really don't like the idea of a lyric tattoo (I offer no justification for these prejudices), so I'd have to get clever with it if I'm doing that and I'm not very clever. More broadly, I predict that my enthusiasm for any artwork I put on my body would fade through overexposure in a matter of weeks if not days--other people describe "barely knowing it's there" after a short time--which on top of making the value of the project seem dubious, I feel like having a permanent image on my skin that I don't actively love would be something I'd feel bad about rather than neutral. Like "man, that thing's on my arm and I don't care about it at all, that sucks" rather than just not noticing it. Maybe I'm wrong about that.

(Tattoos are the one that got me thinking about this whole subject I think, it feels like they're reaching a ubiquity in the culture where it's almost like you're expected to have a reason not to have one rather than a reason to? Maybe that's just a people-I-know thing, anyway it got me thinking about why I don't want one.)

Piercings -- An interesting thing about me and piercings is that it's virtually impossible for me to notice when somebody has them unless I'm like, actively consciously scrutinizing their face (or whatever it is). When I was about ten months into my current job I asked my co-worker who I worked closely with almost every day "hey when did you get that septum ring" and she was like "well way before I met you". That is simply how it is with me and piercings and I make no apology.

If my inability to perceive piercings (perceirvings...) makes me indifferent to the idea of getting one, what makes me actively hostile is the total certainty that I would fiddle with it constantly if I did. I know these hands and their ways and there would simply be no dissuading them, it would be so bad you guys, oh my god. This is probably the hardest no on the list I think, although I haven't finished the post yet so idk maybe I'll think of a worse one.

Makeup -- There's undeniably a lot that's very beautiful in the universe of makeup and there's also the weird dark side, I have dabbled a little in this area and in my heart I feel more positively than not about it, but it's just never going to be a sustainable part of my life because (not unrelated to previous para) I am a perennial and unrepentant face-toucher. I will be itching and rubbing my face-skin and also inflicting other hard-to-characterize punishments upon it (is this "stimming"?) until the day I die and anything that wants to be on my face has just gotta deal. It would probably be better if this was not the case but I don't make the rules, sorry.

Haircuts -- When I was a child I haaaaaated getting my hair cut, like the physical sensation of it? Was so horrible and would usually make me cry and always ruin my day (is this "sensory overload"?), I didn't understand why I was being made to go through this ordeal and basically as soon as I reached an age when I realized my mom couldn't literally force me to do it if I just stubbornly refused hard enough--that age was 13 I think--I stopped. I haven't had a professional haircut since that time although I'm sure I could cope with the sensory aspect at this point, it's just not a habit I ever picked up again (I've had a couple of non-professional ones from my ex who just kind of wanted to try it, in a not particularly ambitious or dramatic fashion). Sometimes I feel like I should, but idk. My hair as it stands is not optimized for making me look hot but I don't think it looks especially horrible either, it's just kind of whatever I think.

Complicating factor here: I've had trichotillomania since I was 15/16, and it's hard to imagine it going away at this point but it's a lot more under control than it used to be, to the point where you can't really tell just from my appearance that something's up now. I say "under control", I have very little conscious control over it and usually no conscious awareness that I'm doing it, but over the years the compulsion seems to have unconsciously settled into a routine where it's just kind of... sculpting my hair into a more-or-less normal silhouette? Like I sort of have a fringe and stuff despite no haircuts. Oh I guess this doesn't make sense unless I clarify that I mostly break rather than pluck the hair nowadays, that's a big part of the gradual unconscious shift that's occurred.

A fun thing about trichotillomania is that it often makes people really uncomfortable when you talk about having it, which sucks for me because it makes me feel lonely, but I guess it sucks for the person feeling uncomfortable too in a smaller way. If you're one of the people who feel uncomfortable around this topic, sorry! Quite genuinely.

Gender transition in general -- I feel like I'm just, just on the boring side of cis-by-default. I think about transitioning shockingly often for someone who's never gonna do it, like it's not searing a hole in my heart or anything like it is for a lot of people but it occupies that "it would be cool to learn an instrument" kind of niche in my thoughts, if that makes sense? (Probably a bit stronger than that analogy makes it sound, it's on my mind frequently but not with a massive sense of urgency attached I guess is what I'm getting at.) I can see myself taking the plunge if the medical technology was like 10% better, or the social technology was like 20% better, or with some medium-sized changes in how my personality was configured, but this life being this life there's no way in heck the juice would be worth the squeeze. If I had one fifth of the executive function required to do all of that lying to doctors and learning how to clothes shop and having awkward conversations with people in my life and all the rest of it, well I can list like ten things I'd rather spend it on first. And I don't!

Glasses -- Love wearing glasses, 10/10 no notes. I knew since I was like 11 that my face should have a pair of glasses on it and I was very smug when the optician agreed (I did not cheat on the eye test in any way for what it's worth). The only times I'm not wearing glasses are sleeping and showering. I don't even carry a case because there's no point because I simply don't ever take them off. This is probably overkill, I think as a kid I was instructed to only put them on when I need to see something in the distance, ignoring that and just wearing them permanently has probably led to my vision weakening to the point where they're now pretty much mandatory in every situation, but I don't give a shit about that because just let me wear my goddamned glasses okay, fuck off. It's actually crazy how much I like wearing glasses, this is the only true thumbs up on the list.

I remembering trying to explain how I like my glasses to a then-close friend of mine many years ago when the subject of laser eye surgery came up in conversation, he said I should get the surgery and then just wear glasses with non-prescription lenses. When I tried to explain why that wouldn't be the same at all he was adamant that I was just being stubborn. That guy was a wonderful person in many ways and I loved him very deeply, but man what a dumbass thing to say.

Facial hair -- There are so many great beards and moustaches in this world, there are few more cheering sights than someone bearing some swish whiskers who's pleased about it, but personally I don't wish to be involved in that business at all.

I never learned how to ride a bike -- Obviously this one doesn't belong on the list, it doesn't fit with any of the other categories, and yet I feel compelled to include it here. And why should I resist that which compels me? This is my post. Yeah, I'm the oldest of four siblings, we were all given bikes at the appropriate kid-on-bike age, the others picked it up but not me. I liked it when I had stabilizers on my bike, then they took them off and I started falling off the bike, and after a very short amount of time I gave up. Like I didn't get mad injuries or anything, it just felt like I wasn't improving at it quickly enough and I didn't feel like keeping it up so I didn't. Early indication of my bad personality.

Fashion in general -- Clothes shopping has always been extremely aversive to me for whatever reason, it's gotten a little better in recent years, I have been able to exist inside clothes shops for long enough to purchase a small thing or two, but eh. Most of my tops are band t-shirts I bought at gigs, most of my bottoms are exactly identical pairs of jeans, there's just not much going on you know? But unlike with most of the items on this list I would really like to be doing this properly. I would like to wear cuter things with prettier colours and designs. This one's an actual goal. But so far I haven't really made progress. The aforementioned shopping sucks thing, plus a fear of being so aesthetically clueless that I just make myself look like a big idiot if I try anything risky, plus the fact that doing things that are not my established routine is tricky in general--these are barriers for me. I guess another barrier is that the things that would be most interesting to try out and therefore most potentially motivating fall into the wrong-gender-clothes category and therefore bring into play some of the barriers from that other category a few ones up. I did actually somehow get myself to dabble in that area some years ago to a modest but positive degree of satisfaction. It'll probably happen again. The patterns and causes that determine whether I can or cannot find motivation to engage in a thing--they are mysterious indeed.

Like horn implants or whatever other crazy miscellany -- I don't want anything in this category and don't have any non-trivial thoughts about it either. Including this section for completeness only.

---

Well, there you have it, that's the post. Now you know a bit more about some of my little weirdsies. If you actually made it through the whole thing, a) how interesting and b) why not tell me a little weirdsy of yours in return, whether it pertains to the above list or not? Why not get all antiphonal on my post, that way I'd get to know a thing about you as well, it might be a whole fun kind of deal. You don't have to though, I didn't make this post to try to snare people into letting themselves be known, I just kind of made it to be a post mostly. I make all sorts of kinds of posts you know? And so I thought I'd try one that's like this.

#selfposting #uninteresting #more uninteresting than average #and a bit too long #and yet putting it in a readmore didn't feel right for some reason; sorry all! #have you ever tried listicle oversharing? it's weirdly freeing

[chaosmultiverse]

One of of my fav quotes in relation to Danny is from @playedbetter's Norah in our prav rps which would be, after Danny talked about how he is most himself as Ghostface

"You must really hate the person under the mask."

#I might be para phrasing here but you get the idea #Danny Johnson ☆hc & Meta☆ #Our Friends Say It's Darkest Before The Sun Rises We're Pretty Sure They're All Wrong; Danny & Norah ☆Playedbetter☆

[jackleg-penwright]

Universal Translator head-canon

In case you’re actually coming to this post because you like my Tumblr, instead of coming from the AO3 link in my fic, I should probably mention that I’m kind of hijacking my account here in order to break down some of the quite frankly ridiculous amounts of worldbuilding that goes into the stuff I’m starting to write. I’m autistic, which in my case means that I was the kid who sorted her legos for hours (by color, by width, by length etc) and never did get around to building anything. For me, the worldbuilding is the fun part, while writing the story is the work (though I do hope I’m pretty decent at it too, or at least getting better). 

I don’t want to put the worldbuilding itself into the fics, that would just distract from the story (my acting teachers would always say, never act your homework. When you’re on stage/camera, you have to be in the moment) - but just in case you’re curious, or if you want to use my aliens in your fics, or if you’re just a nerd like me who loves sorting details for their own sake, here it is.

This one is my head-canon for how the Universal Translator works. 

Well, actually I don’t have any idea how it works - do you hear a real-time voice in your head translating, does a text-based translation pop up in your field of vision, does your brain just know what they mean? Not a clue.

But what I do figure is that you can choose how it’s translated - both for words, and for numbers and systems.

There are a number of levels that are preset for you to choose.

There’s translate everything, where everything you hear is turned into the closest approximation that you would understand. If someone said “para mi es chino,” you would hear “it’s all Greek to me,” even though the Spanish version actually references Chinese. Idioms are converted to the closest with a similar meaning.

Then there’s the level where you get the meanings at the level of phrases and expressions, but idioms are left intact. So if someone said “me gusta pasta,” you would hear “I like pasta," but if they said "para mi es chino," you'd hear "for me, it's Chinese" instead of the closest English idiom.

At the next level down, you would instead hear “pasta is pleasing to me.” The literal meaning of the words is preserved, although the word order is rearranged to make the most sense grammatically.

That’s probably as minimalist a translation as anyone who’s interested in the unique beauty of a language would choose to go, and that’s the most minimalist of the pre-sets available.  

If you actually want to LEARN the other language, then you’ll switch to manual settings. Ok, there’s one more pre-set, which is the “vocabulary only” setting. Every word is translated literally, and left in the exact order of the other language. So if someone said “me gusta pasta,” you would hear “to me, pleases pasta.” 

From the vocabulary-only setting, you can manually adjust all sorts of things - you can set specific words or phrases to be entirely untranslated whenever you hear them, you can have a literal translation but use the native-speaker’s original prefixes or suffixes. You can have the parts-of-speech information that’s embedded in the grammar be added to the translation (so “me gusta pasta” might include information like reflexive verb first person singular etc). The sky’s kind of the limit with the manual settings - you can even take a preset level and modify it so that you hear the native suffixes to your own words (which I suspect is where fan-terms like “federaji” come from). 

My headcanon is that when they recorded the episodes, there is a universal translator embedded in the recording equipment, and which settings it is on is chosen by the director for the purposes of his or her artistic vision for the episode. That’s why we hear Klingons speaking English - except when we don’t. 

There’s a whole other set of settings when it comes to numbers and units of measurement etc, which I may or may not get to in another note. For now, suffice it to say that the settings that both Garak and Julian use translate numbers automatically, but leave the units untranslated. So if I had those settings, and I were to travel from the US to the UK and hear people talking about a heat wave of 39 degrees, my translator would not automatically translate the centigrade to the 102.2 degrees fahrenheit I’d be able to picture - I’d hear 39 degrees and have to learn just how hot that actually is. 

I think, as xenophiles, both Julian and Garak would find that appealing.

#Anzoni worldbuilding #excessive worldbuilding #I know you're coming from AO3 #Universal Translator #star trek headcanon

[peaxhcringe]

Katsukoia Headcanons

This is for my lovely mutual @vhskenma for Christmas. I absolutely love you so much and I’m so happy we became friends. I love our simping nights and talking about anything and everything. You are so sweet and I love you so much! 

Genre: Fluff and smut (the last scenario) 😈

Paining: Bakugou and Sequoia ♥️

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Songs and Lyrics:

I see us dancing by ourselves

We do it better with

No one around, yeah

Just you in my imagination, yeah

In my imagination, oh, oh

'Cause I loved you dangerously

More than the air that I breathe

Knew we would crash at the speed that we were going

Didn't care if the explosion ruined me

Baby, I loved you dangerously

Cooking w/ Katsukoia

Will always end with one of you covered in flour

No matter what you’re trying to make flour will be EVERYWHERE

There will be a few stolen kisses here and there

The first thing you guys try to make will be a cake as in Bakugou’s words

“It’s simple enough for a dumbass like you to make”

Well...it wasn’t

A few dropped eggs, spilt sugar, and some stray bowls later you had a pretty good cake

He wouldn’t let you eat the cake batter though 😔

Every time you tried he’d knock the spoon out of your hand and call you a dumbass

Now there was a time where you guys ended up burning cupcakes

It totally wasn’t because you guys ended up making out on the counter top and forgetting about the cake....yeah totally not that

Just...don’t remind him about it unless you want to tease him of course 👀

Study Sessions

Study sessions could go 1 of 2 ways 

A typical study night that ends in cuddles 

or 

With you underneath him covered in marks littering form you neck down to your thighs 

It all really depends on how you do during your studying

Remember that scene with him teaching Kiri? 

Yeah, he’s like that

It doesn’t matter that you two are together 

He is here to help you learn 

Typically study sessions consist of him drilling the questions and answers into your brain until you could say it in your sleep 

He can be a bit harsh at times, but he never means it truly

On the nights where he’s a bit horny though? 

He’s completely different 

He makes rules for you to follow 

For every question you get right is one orgasm

but

For each wrong one is one taken away 

Best expect him to pick a hard subject some days, but then a very easy one that WILL leave you overstimulated by the end of the night 

And on those nights...

You will not be able to walk for the next day 

Clumsy

When you told him that you were clumsy he didn’t think it was that bad 

It was that bad 

You’d trip over air or bang your fingers in the cabinets as you grab a bowl 

Mans really thinks of you as a child sometimes 

He’s always bandaging you up

He’s also very rarely seen you without a band-aid on your face or ever around your fingers 

He’s very carefully around you sometimes, because you seem to always have a new bruise on your body 

You really hit the limit though when you showed up in his room with a cast on your arm 

He just looked up from his phone and rolling his eyes at you, before opening his arms

He didn’t bother to ask what happened, knowing it most likely something stupid 

Which is was 

He was very correct 

You had actually broken your arm from falling down the stairs at UA 

How did it happen?

You blame it all on Denki and Kirishima 

You all were running through the halls (much to Iida’s dismay) and you didn’t watch where you were going and fell down the steps

Of course you all laughed after you got up

that was until the pain set in 

Recovery girl was not pleased so she only healed you halfway 

Bakugou might act like you get on his nerves, but he does love taking care of you 

He does like cuddling with you for hours when you get hurt 

Mans is just touched starved

Spanish Bakugou Smut 

When Bakugou began learning Spanish you though it would be great idea, him focusing more time on that than training almost all hour of the day. Well that was until he began using the Spanish in more way than just typical conversation. You blame all of them on Sero, that man knew exactly what he was doing when he agreed to help Bakugou.

It was about a month after he began learning the language when he started using it in the bedroom. Although you didn’t understand what he was saying much, the tone and his voice said it all. His deep voice speaking in such a fluent and smooth way made your stomach flutter every time his whispered or growled words into your ear.

You still remember very vividly when he first used it in bed. Your head was pressed into the mattress, your hands trying to grasp onto anything to ground yourself. One of Bakugou’s hands was placed on your lower back while the other was holding down your head, his fingers tangling themselves into your hair as his cock was burrowed deep inside you.

You could barely speak, your brain turning into mush as his cock hit your g-spot at every movement he made. Your legs trembled as you held your ass high up into the air for him, your toes curling at the pleasure.

“Katsuki~” You moaned, his name being the only thing your brain could comprehend

In a swift motion the hand that was deep into your hair, pull your body up towards his your back now pressed against his sweaty stomach as his other hand came and wrapped around your stomach, his fingers tilted downward towards your clit.

“Te sientes tan bien princesa (You feel so good princess) “ He mumbled into your ear, his lips pressing against the shell of your ear 

Your pussy clenched against him when he spoke, the deepness of his voice and the words making your body feel 10x hotter. You felt him smirk against your, before his lips kissed along the shell of your ear down to you neck.

“Oh? A mi princesa le gusta mi español? (Oh? Does my princess like my spanish?)” 

Although you had absolutely no idea what he was saying, the words lit a spark inside of you. You body keened forwards as you felt his fingers brushes against your clit, one of your arms raising up and wrapping behind his neck in order to keep your body up, your fingers tangling into his unruly hair. 

“Answer my question princess” He spoke, his fingers pressing softly against your clit, careful to not add enough pressure to send you over the edge 

You bit your lip, unsure of how to respond as you couldn’t understand. You eyes fluttered closed as his began to place careful circles around your clit, your climax so utterly close. 

“Yes! Yes! Whatever you asked yes~” You moaned, your hands tightening in his hair causing a deep groan to leave his throat 

“Buena niña (good girl)” He said, his hand removing from your hair to travel down to your breast, his fingers finding your nipple and twirling it 

Your eyes closed at the pleasure, your heat beating heavy against your chest. 

“I-I”m gonna cum” You moaned, your head leaning back against his shoulder, your legs trembling as your feel your high on the tip of your tongue 

“Cum para mi princesa (Cum for me princess)” 

At his words you felt your body keen forward, this being the hardest you’ve ever cum. Bakugou groans behind you,as he cums, his hand move from your breast to your face moving your head towards his. His lips press against yours into a  loving kiss, the room falling silent, only the sounds of your breathing filling up the space.  

Ever since then Bakugou has always made sure to tease you, whispering random phrases into your ears while your doing homework or just randomly in class, which of course always ends up with your bent over something and his cock shoved deep inside of you. 

#sequoia 🧡 #beth's moots 🥰 #mha #bnha #mha smut #bnha smut #bnha fluff #mha fluff #bakugou #bakugou headcanons #mha bakugou #bakugou katsuki #bakugou fluff #bakugou smut

[tarlosprompts]

could you do something like tk is learning Spanish and carlos is helping him and just dying over how cute tk and his lil accent is

Learning Español

Claimed by Red💋

*FEEL FREE TO CORRECT MY SPANISH-I took French all throughout High School and part of College...I know some basic phrases/words in Spanish, but the rest I’m using Google Translate for*

Warnings: cursing, teasing, a smudging of implied sexual themes

All TK wanted to do was be able to communicate better with the Hispanic population of Texas. Considering the amount of times they’ve been called to kitchen fires or other emergencies revolving around the Hispanic population, he needed to learn how to communicate with them because they wouldn’t be able to always rely on Mateo to be there to translate...plus he thinks that Mateo probably doesn’t always tell them everything that the callers say. But the point is that he was not learning Spanish because of his boyfriend-it wasn’t because he wanted to be able to surprise his boyfriend by being able to communicate with his family in two months when they went to his cousin’s baby shower.

TK also refused to tell the team that he was learning Spanish, he was absolutely not asking for help. He’d rather die than feel the embarrassment of stumbling through his totally true excuse of wanting to communicate with the people they were called to help. So he had Duo Lingo...and he swears that he’d be haunted by that little Owl by the time two months-he means when he finishes learning what he needs to learn to communicate with the Spanish speaking population of Austin. 

Logically, TK knew he would eventually be caught in the act...he just thought it’d be closer to the deadline-he means closer to the time he was more fluent in Spanish...for the population of Austin that spoke primarily Spanish. 

TK had been practicing with his headphones in. Since he’d finished his chores early and everyone else still had a while to go, he thought he’d be safe in practicing verbally on his bunk. Listening to the audio, he repeated the sentences quietly, “Buenos dias. ¿Cómo estás?*” He cringed at his obvious northern accent with the words. 

He passed the audio, having to type out a few sentences on his phone before the next audio appeared. TK rolled his eyes at the sentence. He’d known that one from the amount of people they got coming into the station having an emergency regarding not being able to hold their bladders. “¿Dónde está el baño?**”

“¿Seriamente? Sabes dónde está el baño, TK,***” Mateo called as he and Marjan entered the room. 

TK will forever deny the fact that he shouted in surprise. He shut his phone screen off, stuffing it, and his headphones, into his pocket. He could feel the blush rising up his neck. “I-I know where the bathroom is,” TK stuttered.

Marjan raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you trying to learn Spanish from an app on your phone, TK?” He could already see the teasing glint in her eyes.

“What? No. What makes you think that?”

She smirked, “Creo que es lindo que estés aprendiendo español para Carlos.^”

TK didn’t know exactly what that meant, but he could make a few guesses based on the words he’d already learned. “I’m not-it’s not for Carlos. It is definitely not for Carlos. Like, over 50% of the population in-in Texas is Hispanic. I want to-I want to be able to communicate with them in case-in case Mateo isn't here...hey, I didn’t know you spoke Spanish,” he tried desperately to try to force the focus off of himself...but that was a no go. 

“That’s sweet...but we know you’re learning for Carlos.”

“What’s TK learning for Carlos,” Judd asked as he walked in, followed by Paul. 

“Nothing,” TK answered quickly.

“Él quiere poder hablar español a su amante,^^” Mateo smiled widely.

“For the non fluent Spanish speakers in the room,” Paul asked. 

“TK wants to be able to talk to Carlos in Spanish...Mateo and I think it’s cute.”

“Oh my God, I didn’t even know a person’s face could get that red,” Paul chuckled as he looked at TK. 

In a fit to get out of the room and hopefully throw them off their game, TK growled out, “Cállate, pendejos^^^.” Thankfully, the alarm sounded. Soon enough they would have to work and they wouldn’t be able to think about the fact that TK was learning Spanish. 

___________

Shift couldn’t end soon enough. He had dealt with the team teasing him all day. His dad had stepped in at one point, wanting to know what had the crew in stitches. To say his dad was amused would be an understatement. He could blame it on the embarrassment for forgetting to beg the crew not to mention it to Carlos...and God was he beating himself up about that slip of the mind. 

“~Mierda,” TK groaned to himself as Carlos beamed at him from where he was standing with Mateo and Marjan. TK had decided that if he was going to be teased by his crew, he might as well learn the important Spanish words: the swear words. “I hate all of you,” he growled as he walked past Marjan, Mateo, and Carlos.

The way to Carlos’s place was quiet. TK could tell that Carlos had many questions, but he was respecting TK’s privacy. TK knew that he would come clean once they got home, but he let himself have this moment to prepare for Carlos’s reaction later. “/Tan estúpido,” he muttered to himself, “should have just kept it on written and matching.”

“How long have you been studying Spanish? You seem to be switching between Spanish and English easily,” Carlos quietly spoke, as if afraid to broach the subject because he thought he might scare TK off. 

“Not long enough,” was the response. 

That raised many questions but Carlos kept his mouth closed. He bit his lip, trying hard not to continue on the subject...but it was just so cute. It was clear that TK had a good ability at learning quickly and being able to remember the vocabulary. But the best thing about the whole experience of TK speaking Spanish was his accent. The little lilt in his words from growing up in New York absolutely had Carlos’s heart beating faster. “I could teach you,” it slipped out before Carlos had the chance to stop it.

TK went even more tense than he had been. “I’m not in the mood to be made fun of by my own boyfriend,” he bit out.

“Amor, that’s not what this is. I want to help you learn...hearing the words fall from your lips...it’s cute and sexy as hell,” Carlos chanced a look over at TK as they pulled into the driveway. 

TK was biting his lip, seeming to think over the idea. “¿Seriamente?,” he finally asked. “You’re not going to make fun of me when I can’t pronounce the words right...or when the accent isn’t right?”

“//Soy tan serio como puede ser. The accent is cute, Querido.”

TK’s eyes narrowed at Carlos as if looking for a lie. “///Lo que digas Papi.”

Carlos felt the arousal course through his body. From the look on TK’s face, he could see just what he was doing to Carlos. If the smirk was anything to go by, he had already planned out the night. “Say it again,” Carlos whispered. 

“Lo que digas,” the smirk widened. 

Carlos growled, “you know that’s not what I meant.”

“I think you’ll have to be more specific next time, Papi…”

____________

*Good morning. How are you?

**Where is the bathroom?

***Seriously? You know where the bathroom is, TK.

^I think it’s cute that you’re learning Spanish for Carlos

^^He wants to speak Spanish for his lover

^^^Shut up, jackasses

~Shit

/So stupid

//I’m as serious as can be

///whatever you say daddy

#Anonymous #tarlos #tarlos relationship #tk strand x carlos reyes #carlos reyes x tk strand #tyler kennedy strand x carlos reyes #carlos reyes x tyler kennedy strand #tk strand #tyler kennedy strand #Carlos reyes #spanish speaking #by red #prompt fill #Learning Espanol

[smileystudies]

Five tips to write better papers in Spanish

With a new semester coming up, I thought I’d share a some tips for getting your Spanish writing to the next level, whether you’re going to be writing your first or twenty-first Spanish essay next semester. A lot of these are strategies I use myself, and when I share them with my students (I tutor Spanish at my college and help with a lot of papers) they always seem to find them useful so I hope you do too! 😊✨

1. don’t be afraid to outline in your native language. Odds are, you’re probably doing this already. You can outline however you want, so long as your ideas are organized enough that, when it’s time to put pen to paper (or fingers to keys), all you need to focus on is choosing the right words. If you draft your thesis statement in your native language, don’t get stuck on the exact phrasing when you put it into Spanish. The danger is that you’ll struggle to say something that doesn’t quite make sense in Spanish, so your paper might be difficult to understand and therefore grade. You can play around with structures or phrases you know and see how close you can get. If you are 100% committed to your phrasing but are struggling to get it right in Spanish, try DeepL instead of Google Translate. My translator friends introduced me to it and it always gives me much more natural sentences.

2. lift academic terms from your sources. One time a professor for a Spanish seminar (the highest level Spanish classes at my college) straight-up told me she wanted to see five terms from the reading in my midterm essay. Challenge yourself to do the same! Verbs, adverbial phrases, adjectives, nouns...everything is fair game. If you’re not working with readings on your current assignment, find any sort of reference and choose a few terms from that. For instance, if you’re writing a short story, look up a short story online and use short phrases that “pad” the writing, like “Érase una vez” (Once upon a time). A few of my personal favorite academic-style phrases I’ve learned like this are:

al hacerlo - in so doing or “in doing this”

carecer de - to lack

circunscribirse - to be confined to specific borders

conllevar - to entail, imply

destacar - to highlight or emphasize

encajarse con - to agree with, as in an argument (with the preposition de is a slightly different meaning, so be careful!)

hacer cruces con - to intersect with 

lo dañino que es - how damaging or harmful something is

plantear - to pose or suggest, as in an argument

3. mix up your connectives. Using words like también, entonces, además, luego, en conclusión, primero, siguiente etc is great, especially if you’re just starting to write in Spanish. However, there are loads more connectives out there and sprinkling a few in will really help your writing look more polished! Here a full list, and some ideas for how to mix it up: 

instead of también: aún, incluso, además, en adición, asimismo, igualmente

instead of entonces: a continuación, así que, por (lo) tanto

instead of porque: puesto que, ya que, dado que, debido a, por consiguiente

instead of pero: no obstante, sin embargo

4. don’t be afraid of the passive voice. At least in American high schools, English teachers caution us to avoid using the passive voice (e.g. “the door was opened by her”) at all costs. While it’s true that you want your academic writing to be active and make strong claims, the passive voice is incredibly useful--and in Spanish, it’s not something to shy away from! The impersonal se is a great way to sound more professional in your writing:

En Cien años de soledad, se utiliza el motivo del tiempo cíclico para romperse con las nociones eurpeas del tiempo.

If you’re not familiar with it, the impersonal pronoun se here has a meaning more along the lines of “one uses the motif” or “the motif is used.” It’s super elegant IMO and I miss it a lot when I’m writing in English 😅

5. lean away from using ser as much as you can, especially in topic sentences. There’s no denying that ser is an incredibly useful verb. However, a lot of the time you can make your writing stronger and tighter (i.e. neater or more succinct) by looking for different verbs instead. Here’s an example:

a.  La imágen del agua en esta película es importante porque enfatiza la feminidad de los protaganistas.

b. La imágen del agua en esta película enfatiza la feminidad de los protaganistas.

Basically, when you find yourself using ser in a topic sentence, you need to ask yourself, “What claim am I making?” In the example above, I realized I actually was actually trying to make a point about the effect of the movie’s imagery. The porque here is another good hint that I don’t need the ser. It’s just softening my claim--and you always want to be bold when you’re writing! This means that a sentence like (b) is much stronger than (a). 

6. you got this. I promise that any mistakes you make are NOT a reflection of your worth as a writer, student, or person. So go ahead and turn on spell check, assert your opinions, and ¡no te olvides diviértete mucho! 🎉💃🏽

#studyblr #langblr #spanish #essay writing #writing tips #academic writing #trabajo escrito #escribir en español

[shalebridge-cradle]

Historical References in What Are You Going to Do With Your Life - Chapters 10-12

Chapter 10

Boleyn mumbles something about a priest. W. S. Pakenham-Walsh (1868 - 1960), Vicar of Sulgrave, Northhamptonshire, had a strong interest in Anne Boleyn. He claimed to have a series of spiritual experiences after praying at Boleyn’s burial site, and contacted clairvoyants to channel her spirit in the hopes she might become his guardian angel. He also claimed in his diary that he had contact with Henry VIII and other notable members of the Tudor court.

While witchcraft was often punished via the death penalty, Henry VIII made the law explicit in 1542 (though it was later repealed no later than 1547, under Edward VI). Several witchcraft laws were made in the UK over the years, in 1563, 1604, 1649 and 1735. These were all repealed and replaced with more general consumer protection laws, and the last person to be indicted for witchcraft (under the 1735 act) was imprisoned in 1944.

Tarot was a regular set of cards for most of its history, used in various, but similar, trick-taking card card games. It became associated with ancient wisdom in 1781, when Antoine Court de Gébelin wrote an essay claiming (with no evidence) that ancient Egyptian priests had distilled the mystical Book of Thoth into the cards.

“Psychic is Greek, and clairvoyant is French. One is about thinking, and the other is about seeing.” Psychic comes from the Greek word psychikos (‘of the mind’) and clairvoyance is a combination of two French words (‘clear’ and ‘vision’). Catherine of Aragon was known to speak both French and Greek, as well as Latin, her native Spanish, and English.

Cunning man (or woman) was another word for folk healers.

In 1532, Catherine Parr’s brother-in-law from her second marriage, William Neville, was accused of treason for allegedly predicting the king’s death and his own ascension as Earl of Warwick (a title made extinct during the Wars of the Roses, but would be recreated in 1547 and twice after that). He went to at least three magicians to confirm this prediction, all of which agreed that it was meant to be true (it wasn’t). One of these magicians was Richard Jones of Oxford, who was imprisoned and questioned on the matter. He did his best to exonerate himself of responsibility. I have found five references confirming his existence – but many of them claim he had a sceptre he used to ‘summon the four king devils’, which he used for divination purposes.

Chapter 11

Jones of Oxford was taken in for questioning as part of the Neville affair, and he did his best in his confession to exonerate himself. Neville’s claims of a prophetic dream showing himself as Earl of Warwick were now a “fair castle” which Neville assumed must be the castle of Warwick, and a shield with “sundry arms I could not rehearse”. He did admit to writing “a foolish letter or two according to [Neville’s] foolish desire, to make pastime to laugh at”. No treason, just jokes, please don’t execute me Thomas Cromwell. Jones claimed to take his alchemy seriously, however, and wrote that “To make the philosopher’s stone I will jeopard my life, so to do it,” if the king so wished. He would require twelve months “upon silver” and twelve and a half “upon gold”, and was willing to be imprisoned while he worked. Jones made a similar offer to Cromwell, but there is no evidence either man accepted. Jones was released in exchange for revealing incriminating evidence against another figure of interest. The other magicians caught up in this incident, William Wade and a man known only as ‘Nashe’, had perfected their disappearing act and were not sent to the Tower.

There is a story that Elizabeth I attributed the destruction of the Spanish armada in 1588 to John Dee’s wizardry. Given that, as mentioned, Dee was out of favour with Elizabeth at the time, this is likely untrue.

Elizabeth I’s death was in March of 1603, after she became sick and remained in a “settled and unmovable melancholy”, sitting on a cushion and staring at nothing. The death of a close friend in February of that year came as a particular blow – that of her second cousin and First Lady of the Bedchamber, Catherine Howard.

James I (or James VI, depending on where you’re from)… James I of England was also James VI of Scotland. His mother was Mary Queen of Scots, who was executed by Elizabeth I, and his great-grandmother was Margaret Tudor, Henry VIII’s sister.

“Anna, born Duchess of Jülich, Cleves and Berg.” This was how Anna signed hers’ and Henry’s marriage treaty, known as the ‘Beer Pot Documents’, because someone drew a stein at the bottom.

Bowling, as a game, can trace its origins back to ancient Egypt, and has been quite popular the world over throughout history. Henry VIII was an avid bowler himself (when Hampton Court was remodelled, bowling alleys were included with tennis courts and tiltyards), but banned the sport for the lower classes. The law against workers bowling (unless it was Christmas and in their master’s presence) was repealed in 1845.

We return to the ground, because from it we were taken. Paraphrasing of Genesis 3:19.

The (possible) first appearance of the word ‘alligator’ in the English language is from Romeo and Juliet. The description of The Apothecary’s shop mentions “a tortoise hung, an alligator stuff’d, and other skins of ill-shaped fishes”. Traditionally, medieval apothecaries and astrologers kept skeletons, fossils, and/or taxidermied pieces on display to demonstrate their worldliness.

The anger over calling the alligator ‘William’ could come from Parr, or from Anna. Her brother’s name, Wilhelm, is often anglicised as William.

Midsomer county does not exist and never has. It’s the setting for the long-running mystery TV show Midsomer Murders. Incidentally, Catherine Parr’s native county of Westmorland existed at one point, but no longer does (the area is now in the county of Cumbria). She is not the only English-born queen who this applies to; Jane Seymour’s Wiltshire and Anne Boleyn’s Norfolk still exist (and have since antiquity), but Katherine Howard was most likely born in Lambeth, which would have been in the county of Middlesex at the time. The area is now under the ceremonial county of Greater London.

“Honestly? Margaret Pole’s was worse.” Margaret Pole, Countess of Sailsbury and the last of the House of York, was kept in the Tower of London for two and a half years for her supposed support of Catholicism’s attempts to overthrow the king, before being informed of her death ‘within the hour’ on the 27th of May, 1541. She answered that she did not know the crime of which she was accused (and had carved a poem into the wall of her cell to that effect), but went to the block anyway. It allegedly took eleven blows from the inexperienced axeman to separate her head from her body. There is another story that she tried to run from the executioner and was killed in the attempt, but this is likely a fabrication. Regardless, pretty much everyone thought this was not only a bad idea on Henry’s part (killing Margaret removed any leverage the king had on her rebellious son, Cardinal Reginald Pole), it was also pointlessly cruel and a painfully undignified end.

(She was also Catherine of Aragon’s lady-in-waiting, and governess to Mary at several points.)

That everyone around her, bar a few visitors, would actively benefit from her death… Yet another quote of Elizabeth Tyrwhitt’s testimony: Parr, on her deathbed, claimed she was “not well-handled” by those around her; “for those that be about me careth not for me, but standeth laughing at my grief, and the more good I will to them, the less good they will to me”.

Chapter 12

According to a lady-in-waiting, Anne Boleyn claimed she would rather see Catherine of Aragon hanged “than have to confess that she was her queen and mistress”. This incident is probably the origin of the lyric “somebody hang you!” from Don’t Lose Ur Head.

Catalina uses a few Spanish phrases in this chapter, which don’t get directly translated. The first, No se hizo la miel para la boca del asno, directly translates to ‘Honey is not made for the donkey’s mouth’, and essentially means ‘Good things shouldn’t be wasted on those who won’t appreciate them’. Lavar cerdos con jabón es perder tiempo y jabón is ‘Washing pigs with soap is a waste of time and soap’, and is meant to indicate some things aren’t worth the energy.

…like that dream she has where she is cut up by a servant… An autopsy was done on Catherine of Aragon as part of the embalming process, which revealed the growth on her heart. This was done by the castle chandler (a dealer or trader) as part of his official duties.

Jane Seymour got rid of most of the hallmarks of Anne Boleyn’s tenure during her own queenship. The extravagance and lavish entertainments were banned, along with the French fashions Boleyn had introduced – including French hoods, which Boleyn is wearing in the portrait we have of her. Jane, as mentioned, wore a gable hood in her portraits.

“I don’t know why I’m so surprised that people care about what I say.” In the words of nineteenth century proto-feminist Agnes Strickland, Jane “passed eighteen months of regal life without uttering a sentence significant enough to warrant preservation”, which is kind of a mean thing to say. Seymour certainly said things during this time, we know this from reports, but there aren’t any direct quotes from her during her time as queen.

Here’s the painting mentioned, from 1545, during Catherine Parr’s tenure. Jane is on Henry’s left.

It was only after her death that Henry ‘loved’ her, but she is certain that he mourned for only for his own loss. There are reports that, during Jane’s labour, doctors advised Henry he might lose either Jane or Edward. Henry is claimed to have replied, “If you cannot save both, at least let the child live, for other wives are easily found.”

Countdown is a British television game show that revolves around word and number puzzles. It has been going for almost forty years, and is one of the longest-running game shows in the world, with over 7000 episodes.

“I saw a ghost bear kill someone, once.” Anne isn’t making this up. Supposedly, the incident occurred in 1816, when a Yeoman Warder saw a ghostly bear somewhere in the Tower of London. Terrified, he tried to stab it with his bayonet, only for the weapon to go through the image and strike the door behind it. The guard died of shock later on. A similar event happened in 1864, where two guards witnessed “a whitish, female figure” gliding towards one of the soldiers. The soldier in question charged this figure, only to go straight through it, upon which he fainted.

Elizabeth was imprisoned in the Tower of London for a little over two months in 1554, as a result of Wyatt’s Rebellion against Queen Mary. The rebellion was also the likely reason for the execution of Lady Jane Grey – both she and Elizabeth were Protestants in line for the throne, and therefore ‘more suitable’ as ruler. Both Elizabeth and Jane Grey denied any involvement, but the latter’s father and brother (also executed) were direct contributors.

“… you did die, Elizabeth was really upset about it…” Elizabeth took the news of Parr’s death badly. She refused to leave her bed, and was unable to go a mile from her residence, for five months following Parr’s passing.

Not because she liked that bearded potato man, God no… I found this deeply cursed engraving (first produced in 1544) in one of my books on the six wives, and now I want you all to suffer with me.

Anne of Cleves reacted poorly to being told her marriage would be annulled – some accounts say she fainted, others says she cried and screamed. Both could be true. The reasons given were threefold – One, the marriage was unconsummated (From testimony given by two servants, Anne thought a kiss goodnight counted as consummation – likely untrue, but this is the only reason that actually has merit). Two, Anne was precontracted to Francis of Lorraine (Untrue – the betrothal would only take effect if Anne’s father paid the dowry, and he didn’t). Three, Anne was not a virgin as claimed, based on the description of her ‘breasts and belly’, a Tudor way of saying Anne had previously given birth (untrue, and conflicts with the testimony for reason one). The annulment went through without Anne’s involvement, but (probably looking at the examples of her three predecessors) she accepted the ruling and kept herself from being banished, beheaded or otherwise.

(Other fact that has no bearing on reality – while researching Anne of Cleves, one of the pages that came up was The Simpsons Wiki. Apparently she’s the only wife who can claim the honour of having been in two episodes. :/)

Dogs don’t need to answer for their sins, they don’t have any. Katherine Howard was reportedly fond of animals in general, but had a particular soft spot for dogs.

She did the right thing. She told the truth. She died for it. Katherine Howard insisted, to the end, that she had no pre-contract of marriage to Francis Dereham. Would she have survived if she said she did?

#the cradle will write #What Are You Going to Do With Your Life: Work

[indomitablemegnolia]

Languishing at the bar, ruby lips caressing my glamorously green margarita; the midnight purple dress hugged my body like a sports cars paint, black beaded fringe thrummed on my thighs as I moved my hips to the music, all road signs spoke of warning hazards; my goal, mayhem; I am tired of being this good reliable human; I have a deeply hidden and inarticulate desire for something beyond this daily life; I am here at this lovely bar, to test the morality of a priest, I am prowling, wanting, needing desperately to have an itch scratched, and finding; and needless to say, oh Lordy he was no priest. The single purple jeweled flower pinning my hair slipped making the picture perfect, exquisite, glittering in the sunshine of preening laughter showing the dulling edge of my personal lack of compunction and slipping morals. I watched his dark eyes watch me in the mirror, why him, I licked my lips, he was just the kind of naughty I had in mind; oh yes, there he is, exactly what I was hoping to find; I was just thinking, I am in the mood for some Latin spice. He watched me from a distance just waiting for his opening and here it was, I swilled the last of my drink through the red straw, reaching my tongue out to lick seductively at the salt; the song changed my laugh was unstoppable as the bartender flirted with me; he pounced sliding next to me; “Dos margaritas por favor” he held up two fingers; the bartender waited for me to approve before starting assemble the drinks in a shaker; he stood there smiling that suave smile at me sliding in close to me, running a hand along my back, I didn’t pull away “It is too beautiful of a night to be drinking alone.”

I took it, shrugging evocatively, dipping my top lip over the edge I took in a fair-sized drink, “So, how is the weather in Albuquerque?” I settled closer to him but not touching, never taking my eyes off of him in the mirror, he expected me to turn and look at him, I smiled a half smile and waited swirling my drink slowly.

Oh, the way he just let his full bottom lip lower, then hang still a little knocked askew; god that lip, so provocative, so titillating, so kissable; it was the perfect mismatch for his shaped cupids bow top lip; God though, the way his sensuous, heavy, pouty bottom lip hanging slightly ajar, showing interest and the evaluation that was being made; so enticing, seductively evocative; when his assessment was finished the muscles tensed in his cheeks pulling that mouth into the most provocative suave smile; given the deep, wildly dark abyss of his eyes that were swimming with approval and temptation; lord with the light crinkle to the corners and that smile sharp teeth and delicious dimples a belying innocence it was a dead certainty that he may well be Lucifer himself; solidifying my assumption as he spoke dropping the delicious sound-sex of his carnal voice down a full octave; letting it rumble through his chest; his simple words not seductive in and of themselves; goddamn, the concerted effort together all served to bring my pulse to life; his chuckle danced on my skin. I watched his satisfied lazy smile draw his lips as the offhand phrase that taunted like a dare. “Perhaps, we are lost in translation.” God that Latin lilt at the end of his words. The Oxytocin running through my veins thick as honey; “though as long as you stay, I hope that we are never found.” He clinked the rim of his glass on mine.

My eyes drawn away from those lips’ reflection; “Oh, darlin’, there is no translation for this, just instinct.” I licked the salt, snagging the cherry stem from the rim I pulled it into my mouth; I watched those terrible, sexy fingers rolling deliciously, accentuating the dare, telegraphing a none too subtle promise of delicate fiddling with my vivid, hungry nerves. Yes, this might be a mistake, but if all I do is all I have ever done, nothing will ever change; I have to break the cycle; nibbling the fruit from the stem my mind wandered from those hands.

God, this time of year, this season, there is not much in it to make me smile; it is not yet, not quite yet, the saddest time of the year; yet, there is a haunting sense of the imminent doom, like a bleak abeyance of life; it’s not stark introspective weather, grey and bleak, but none the less the blue skies, fresh green, seemed to be festering, suppurating, killing my soul, I know that time had run out; that horrible clock with the second hand ticking tightening the garrote around my neck painfully, slowly; Jesus what a sick suffocating weight; there are too many things that I wanted to feel, wanted to do and always time… that small hyphen between birth and death the ultimate cause of death… that time; I tied the stem into a knot using my tongue, pressing it back between my shiny lips, pulling it cleanly from my lips with a thumb and forefinger. The time to hesitate was through; my hand shook as I watched a delectable twinge running along that delicious bottom lip, like a smile still trying to hide; waiting for the trap to spring when I ask a simple single syllable question, the ubiquitous air of his words raised several; or did I miss part of the conversation? Should I ask… mmm why, or what, but no, I so not want to play his game; I double down and call the bluff, answering with a simple whispered. The trap is sprung, I really have no idea if it is, he who is caught or me.

“Yes.” My whisper much huskier than I had intended, my margarita wavering in my hand, my hip bumping his; his delicious thick brow shot up tilting his head slightly to the left, he let out a silent ‘what?’ I watched him in the mirror behind the bar, he hovered those dark delicious eyes staring into mine; I nodded, and again “Yes.” I smiled chewing lightly on my straw; I took joy in his face caught off guard, lazy smile pulled the edge of his lips; again, his lips waved in a silent, ‘what?’

“Oh, come on, I answered your real question, the one written in your eyes and on that sensual pouty lip, the answer is yes.”

He looked even more confused, “What is the question are you are answering?”

“Well, I have read promises written loosely in your fingertips, I saw previews of plans in your eyes, and lies you will tell to get there, on that lip.” I turned and stepped to him, running my thumb along that bottom lip. “Why go with pretense, so simply, I said yes, should I include a please?”

He chuckled and edged behind me turning me back to the mirror, pressing his forehead to the back of my head, his cool fingers sweeping my hair out of the way, he kissed the back of my hair, “Then no, mi cariño don’t say anything.” His eyes so lusciously dark and turbulent never looking away from mine in the mirror; “I want to watch you revel in the feel of my hot breath against your ear. Now I ask you;” he breathed in deeply, the cool air passing my skin into his lungs sent a shiver down my spine; the contrast in temperature mind blowing, my skin prickled into Goosebumps; “do not move.” He let his breath excite yet again, the warmth had all those tiny hairs stand to attention, his lips touched feather soft, moist warm breath, my heart kicked a little each pass of his lips, then words. “Te amo sin saber cómo, ni cuándo ni de dónde.” I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. His lips caressed the skin just behind my ear, “Te amo simplemente, sin problemas ni orgullo.” I love you simply, without problems or pride, his hands with those delicious rolling fingers danced down the satin at my sides, my breath shuddering; “te amo de esta manera porque no conozco otra forma de amar sino esta,” I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, his lips ghosted just along the edge of my ear sending small shivers through me, “en la que no hay yo ni tú, tan íntimo que tu mano sobre mi pecho es mi mano. Tan íntimo que cuando me duermo tus ojos se cierran.” so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close. My eyes reflexively flutter closed, and I lean back into him. I took a long breath, pulling away looking right into his

“Coelho?” Arching one eyebrow, I downed my margarita looking somewhat the part of the provocateur

“Si.” He looked cocky, he looked far too self-assured, so much so that I almost forgot my goal.

“Esto no es amor, es lujuria.” this is not love but lust… hmm, in my current state lust even the delectable word sounded so much more alluring en español.

“En este momento la lujuria functiona para mi.” in this moment lust works for me, oh yes it does for me as well. Good lord that word in his Spanish just added a delicious wanton edge to the overdose of libidinous delight that he wrought in me, making my head literally spin. His soft cool fingers delectably caressed the other side of my throat, his tongue ran lightly along the rim of my ear; I shivered still our eyes connected in the mirror, I was putty in his hands.

His lips danced along my neck commanding my already tittillated nerves into a frenzy; nuzzling with intent, his cheek pushing my head to a delicious angle, he feasted on the left side; his lips and teeth acting in a beautiful tango so delicious that I leaned back into him reaching behind me for an anchor; he gripped my wrists in one hand, using his other to sweep my hair such as it was to the other side as his libertine lips began to such and feast on the right side, “Ser mío no es fácil. Tengo expectativas Yo hago demandas.” Being mine is not easy. I have expectations. I fell back into him, his warmth reminding me that I was indeed alive for now, his tongue caressing the side of my neck. “Cuando ofrezco mi corazón espero devoción.” I make demands. When I offer my heart, I expect devotion, he devoted his tongue and teeth to appreciating my flesh, and I accepted. “Insisto en la pasión, cruda y completa, necesitada y fuera de control.” I insist on passion, raw and all encompassing, needy and out of control. He pulled me roughly to him, his hands claiming parts of my soul, “Quiero que me duela el corazón cuando estamos separados. Quiero que mis manos sean incapaces de no tocar su piel cuando esté cerca.” I want my heart to ache when we’re apart. I want my hands to be incapable of not touching your skin whenever you are near. His hands seemed to somehow bypass the satin of my dress and let him feast of my skin directly, I shivered; “Quiero que nuestros cuerpos se quemen cada vez que nos besamos. No puedo y nunca aceptaré nada menos. Por eso ser mío no es fácil, pero créeme, vale la pena.” I want our bodies to burn every time we kiss. I can’t and I will never accept anything less. That’s why being mine is not easy, but believe me, it’s absolutely fucking worth it. Needy and out of control I could do, I was on a mission for exactly that; I let myself ease into the moment, feeling as much as I possibly could devouring it as if it was my last chance at living, enjoying the sweet and the salt and … oh gosh, my eyes flared as he kicked it up a notch his tongue sliding from just behind my ear to the spot where all nerves collide where shoulder and neck meet, my eyes fluttered; apparently to get my attention back his free hand traced across my bare flesh just above my modest neckline, dipping lightly between my breasts.

Jittery my attention came front and center back on his eyes; I raised a single eyebrow; "¿Quién dijo que era tuyo?” Who ever said I was yours? His lips again moved along my neck to the place where neck meets shoulder, I became soft in his hands; his free hand caressing up to the edge of my chin, coaxing my head turning it, he kissed along my clavicle; my eyes finally rolled closed as he kissed my lips, he tasted of strong tequila, lime and dreams; I moaned softly.

“Oh, you just did, right there. No translation needed for that…” his hands more licentious pushing farther “Voy a probar, disfrutar del calor de su sabor embriagador.” I want to breathe in your sighs. He kissed me roughly, my breath leaving in a sigh, “Quiero respirar tus suspiros; quiero sentirte desde adentro,” I’m going to try, to enjoy the heat of its heady taste; he kissed me deep again, “I am drawn to you, like a moth to fire, he kept his glorious mouth moving, all tongue and teeth and temptation, “I see a frantic almost panic on you;” his hand still holding mine in check, “I have you safe here,” his loose hand pulling me to him; “I hunger for your touch after get you excited and how easy it is.” Neck kissing, is honestly the most sensual, seductive things that I have ever known, but when it is done as well as this gorgeous man is… it is not just a syllogy for sex, I feel his talented tongue slide on my skin, we may as well be going at it right on the bar. “Deliciosa, caliente, con una gota de salsa picante” Delicious, hot, like a drop of hot sauce. He gripped my wrist spun me on the stool, taking off at a run.

We made it as far as the dance floor where he stopped suddenly, turning with accentuated drama. The smooth rolling bass, guitar plucking with an ironic blusey twang; my soul soaked deep in the delicious vibrations; the difference in the textures of the sound, graceful single plunking guitar with that light percussive slap, reverent, erotic. He closes the distance of those few inches between us, his dark deep eyes searching my face; I stretch my arm up above my head, arching back, his hands pulling me closer. At that second the song hits a soaring note, my pulse kicking up making me dizzy I confuse the feeling and I set myself soaring; my hips tolling into his, arms dropping to drape around his neck; we spun in tight circles; I laugh, his face intent; I watch the gentle subtle light refract through the beads of sweat that graced his brow. His grip on my waist strong, lifting me high on the music and we sink into the slower rolling bass again; a natural rhythm to our clashing hips, searching hands in this pulsating dance. His steps now slow rocking, like a playful cat pounce back and forth, rocking up onto the toes; delicious salty perspiration bonded his heather gray shirt to his glorious chest. Then closely he held me as we spin in small circles in a circuit around the room, he spins me out, only to retract me even closer to his tall frame. The music builds again soaring, romp of cross over foot work and dramatic hip work, our bodies meeting and clashing lending a dramatic friction between bodies, two souls.

Slowing again to that now extremely sensual bass roll, spinning in wide circles this time rolling me back into almost a dip on each half revolution, every time he pulls me back up we make a sizzling eye contact, the zing of it traveling my entire body making it to the tips of my toes. He spins me out pulling me back, his front to my back.

The pace picks up again, we step in a syncopated pattern, he pulls my arms in tight holding my body so close to his we may well become one, then spreading my arms wide, our hips taking a wide swinging cadence as we step, step, then spin. He spins me out leaving us at arm’s length from each other, the music slows rolling. He lowers his head; I take retreating steps as we keep to the sensuous rhythm. He pulls me in and close then out spinning me so many times I leave the earth far behind. Pulling me to him tight we keep the playful foot work a back and forth pounce, my face tucked close to the collar of his shirt, his fresh lavender and tea tree scent relaxing the last of my senses.

“So if you wake up with the sunrise;” he sang along with the music, “with all your dreams still brand new;” his lips caressing my neck, my ear; “happiness is what you need so badly…” his hands lifted me again, “girl you know it’s up to you…” he spins us again

Soon it feels as if my feet leave the earth, slowly using a foxtrot step on a delicate cloud, the rest of the world disappears and it’s just the riot of music, his hands and the feel of my soul on the melody singing my own vow of love, the moon and all the stars. The soft strum of guitars transports us away. His lips finding the rim of my ear caressing it sweetly whist we are spinning in small circles, making a completely transcendent feeling. We continue dancing for endless moments close, held in a spell. Slowly the world returns and finally I notice there is no longer that melody cradling us in its soft arms. I look up at his classic beautiful face; the world comes back into focus but the ethereal feeling still there. We smile softly at one another.

He danced me in circles, whirling me making me feel as if I were flying. He dipped me and lightly kissed me as the song ended. An argentine tango starts. He stops in his tracks and spins me to face him, a motion soaked with drama. I chew my bottom lip unsure of my ability; he wiggles that delicious eyebrow, giving me a new amazing smile. His beautiful straight teeth taking on a Big Bad Wolf glint as the look in his eyes goes from that ever-charming cavalier to dazzlingly predatory. My stomach drops out like the upswing on a roller coaster completely titillated, entranced by this new facet of his nature. With that smile he pulls me tight to him, our frames lock, we step and we are gone. My chin lowered nearly touching my chest a coquettish shyness over taking me. My eyes looking up into his gloriously seductive gaze, his face looks as if to say, all the better to eat you with my dear, a provocative and risqué promise to me, body and soul. His pearly white grin showing more of his straight sharp teeth than usual, my heart speeds its rhythm, thumping hard in my chest. Spinning in tight circles we make a circuit of the floor, the background swirls the only thing clear and constant in my vision was his fantastically angular face enveloped in secreted promise. As I step into him, keeping pace, not being shy of how our bodies are clashing and rubbing, one of his fantastic eyebrows slowly rose. The look on his face now completely Big Bad Wolf thrilled that Red Riding Hood snapped up his challenge. I tenaciously add flair as I keep step with him and boy did he step.

Our gazes locked, he spins me out to arm’s length, inertia and drama send my outer arm and leg flinging artfully as he retracts me like a yo-yo.

He pushes me around the floor his chin lowered a predatory look to his eye growing deeper, darker. He spins me twice under his arm and out and leaves me out there. I wrap my arms around myself and sway he adds a little light stepping pizazz. Suddenly he stops looking straight into my eyes. He hesitates one, two, three, beats then slowly stepping with a stalking intent towards me, I retreat, stifling a welling up giggle. I gather my skirt in my hands not entirely sure if it is just part of the act of the dance or if I truly was about to bolt. That look in his eyes tied my stomach in knots, I retreat two steps but his beautiful legs eat up the ground between us. His lovely long legs moving to a sensual rhythm he catches me around the waist, I freeze. He steps between my separated feet, pulling me tight to his chest. Our eyes, hips and arms locked. My insides nearly gelatin, the rhythm, the dance and his looks affecting me drastically, my breath coming out in short pants, desire kicking up to amazing levels. He pushes me around the dance floor our legs stepping in the syncopated pattern he draws us in. Spinning me under his arm holding my back to his front, I hear his faint growl in my ear, the hair on my neck stands on end as we again spin in tight circles around the floor, a high note on the accordion signals him to spin me out again. Retracting me, pulling me tight to his chest face inches from mine my heart roaring in my ears. We undulate together, hips colliding adding drama to the dance. My eyes lock onto his beautiful blue green depths and he sweeps me away, sparking my truly libidinous nature. Sensuality and passion overtaking me, I had never felt as free or as alluring as I used every ounce of my soul to keep up with him, dips, twirls and some of the sexiest looks I have ever seen.

As always the entire world fell away as we danced, nothing existed but he and I and the music, desire racing through my veins, ratcheting up every time our hips touched, I had only eyes for him. Our bodies match in a fantastic unison he anticipates my foot falls and I knowing when he is going to use me for a frisbee. This was the most intimate and carnal experience, fantastically delicious nearly out of body moment in my life. As the music spools up for its dramatic end, my cheeks are cramping from the smile. A laugh escapes me as we crescendo, nearly hitting an erotic plateau. A sudden sexy spin sets me out and retracts me, my back to his front. The last pose full of drama, his arms wrapped around me, holding my one my hand pulling my arm across my torso to my hip, as the last keening note peals across my ears; my arm tossed up and behind his neck, my palm caressing his cheek. My eyes closed, breath coming in heaves. I enjoyed his delicious rasping breath on my neck a step above a growl. I turn my face to him, our gazes lock; slowly our faces magnetically nudge closer, our lips all but touching in a kiss before the applause breaks into our private universe. Confusion floods my brain as he chuckles the cavalier returning to his face. He spins me out, and bows, I take his cue offering an awkward curtsy, laughing like mad.

He pulls me tight to him his hands delicious on my skin he pulls me to a dark corner and pressing my back to the wall he kisses me with a passion I had never felt, hot, searing like kissing the sun; he pushes for more my hands greedy grabbing him deliciously, one finding his rump, the other pulling his lightly sweaty hair. He leaned in closer, his hand ghosted my face, his finger ran along my cheek, his tongue playing merry hob in my mouth, his warm, fingertips lightly whisper along my throat, coaxing me, and honestly it didn't take much coaxing; I surrendered, returning the kiss, my breath now coming billowing pants, he frames my face with his hands. His jittering hands held a desperation that ratcheted up my own to a frenzy; the hip that had cocked toward mine pressed delightfully as it came to meet mine dominating, rocking lightly; a knee nudges slyly between mine making my skirt wrap tightly around my thighs. I bite his full bottom lip playfully, his hands glide down the sides of my neck tickling, he nips me back, my hands gathering his suit jacket tight in my fists; I slide my body along his, rising on my tip toes, flicking my tongue along the roof of his mouth; the clean sweetness of margarita and his flavour making such a heady delicious cocktail.

My hands loose themselves from his lapels, hunting for more of him; caressing along his jaw; his fingers finding their way beneath the edge of my blouse, flitting along my waistband; the small tickling caress sending shivers through my body; my hands pushing into his curls, they wrap around my fingers invitingly, I fist my hands pulling lightly; pressing into me, bending me slowly backward, his kiss deepens, air and breathing become elective, superfluous. He growls, his fingers now gripping, pulling, demanding; I am overcome, letting out a breathless whimper. He slows. He sighs, dropping his chin to his chest, emerging from the throughs of passion.

God do I want him… I want him so badly; I try to clamp my legs together until the wanting passes, but I find his knee there, keeping me from relieving pressure; in fact, he added to it. He grips both my wrists swinging them above my head; I am lost in feeling, watching his hands, those fingers, feeling his determination; I shiver as he chuckles, letting it rumble deep in his chest; the thrill of his gasping breath dancing across my face with the delicious sweet libidinous sigh making the loose hairs at my forehead dance; his scent exhilarating, and so intoxicating to me. I watch a surge of electric passion wash over his features like an ocean wave, intention evident in his every motion.

He slowly presses into me, holding me securely in place; he stood close, but not touching, simply dominating with his presence, using that delectable knee pressed between my own; he pressed it higher adding even more libidinous pressure to my need; my slim fit skirt worked like hobbles holding my thighs in place for his teasing; his posture holding me lightly suspended secured, but freely dangling in his grasp pressed against the wall for his rapacious perusal; he raised that knee higher, eliciting a shiver from me and a full smile from him, all locking us into place, using his muscled thigh pressed deep between mine coaxing, caressing, keeping me bent to his will. My breath escaped as a ragged sigh, my heart hammering in my chest feel my pulse surge," yeah, no kidding, I was a rabbit being toyed with; he dips his head, his lips and tongue dancing along my neck as my blood thrums along the column of my throat under his lips, my body reacts as I try to regain control, but I am simply left to move against him.

His voice quivered, his hands shook: I, myself was a leaf in a hurricane. His breath was shaky as he went on, caressing the place where neck meets shoulder. God it’s hard to admit this, but the feeling of him holding my wrists above my head with one hand, trailing the other lithe fingered, free hand flowing down the inside of my arm, tracing the edge of my blouse, dipping a single sticky finger in deeply caressing the edge of the lacy black longline bustier and the side of my breast. Lifting my chin with that same reverent fingertip, tilting my head back. Gently, pushing my hair from my forehead, tucking it behind my ear, letting his hand slowly softly caress down my neck. Finally, I look up into his wide exotic deep dark soul-searching eyes, he peers down into mine… into my soul, his holding a particularly delicious intensity that changed his from a tranquil, reflective, mirrored abyss to a raging blackhole pulling me in. As those fiery orbs, searing with the desire I am sure matched the one burning deep in mine. I barely stop myself from devouring him whole.

He leans in close letting his shaking, raspy breath tickles my face, caress my ear. He almost inaudibly whispers his wanting wish so close, so low; “Ah, dios mio is that answer still, Yes.” It may as well have been coming from my soul, speaking in that delicious rumble of rolling thunder voice adding to the evocative question.

“Si.” I feel him shiver as I become boneless in his hands, His long-lashed lids flutter closed as he finally leans into me, his hand softly finishing the descent to my hip. Then, only then does he softly brush my lips with is sweetly supple soft lips, I feel him sigh, warm against my lips. I kiss him slowly, intently, but playfully, it will be a dance, a dance of caress, a give and take, a feel and respond. I never would be the first to break that kiss. My hands strain against his hold, but he never lets loose. Not even when the passion notches up quickly in this kiss.

@keeper0fthestars @pedeka @writernotwaiting @iamhisgloriouspurpose @freudensteins-monster

Last try at regaining my words.

[saltfics]

Five Lines from 2020

Thank you so much to @caitybuglove23 for the tag (though bold of you to assume I like my own writing)! According to AO3 statistics I wrote 227169 words this year (and that's not including original writing or the 9k alt ending for apocalypse that I haven't uploaded yet XD) so figuring this out was hard.

Thanks to all the lovely readers who mentioned these excerpts in their comments because I would have had no chance of figuring these out myself!! XD

Have some overdrawn metaphors:

Think of me love between the words they tried to steal from us but never truly managed to take. Between statues and landmarks, in quiet halls of empty museums, where pieces of history stopped to watch as we took our place amongst them before we even knew what we were doing.

From those markings on your skin.

Henry smiles at him and Alex wants to lift his shoulders up himself, even if he has to hold the entire weight of the sky like a goddamn modern Atlas just to make sure it wouldn’t crush his person, the whole world be damned.

From at least it was here.

He secures him in the crook of his arm and rocks him ever so gently, soothing him first in English, then switching to a few phrases in Spanish. Henry has no idea what they mean. “ Shh, bebe, shh. Nunca eres demasiado joven para rebelarte. Calmate para mí para que podamos molestar a tu papá. ”

From in white (no regrets XD).

"You thought you were still holding. And when you realized my body is not made like yours, in your attempt to fix it, you thought ‘I’ll just make him like me, then I’ll know what to do.’”

Also from in white. (I actually both like and hate this line because it feels very ooc but damn if it wasn't a good line XD)

It brings with it both a sense of loss and wonder, of how two people can get so close and entangled in each other’s lives then leave like they were never there at all. No marks but memories that will fade and fold in on themselves until they say what his mind wants them to say, until his memory of her might not be her at all.

From volatile times.

Tagging @hms-chill @floatingaway4 and whoever else wants to play!!

#saltreplies #saltfics #rwrb #thank you so much for the tag! #this was... interesting to figure out hahah

[ofclaires]

SELF PARA.

Date: April 18, 2020, noon in America.

Location: Room 102

Brief summary: Claire calls her mom ! They talk about sheep. This is the happiest thing I’ve ever written and I hate it.

As Mary suggested, it was Claire who made the room look like no one lived in it – spotless, like a hotel room. However, it was not just a coping mechanism to keep her mind off of the way things had happened between her and Kass, she'd been looking for something. It had taken ages, but she'd found it, tucked back behind her desk, precariously perched above an outlet: a postcard. Claire doesn't do anything with it for days, just keeps it under her pillow, but she thinks about it. She's been rereading it a lot.

Claire –

Hope everything is well at your school. You have no idea how thrilled I was so excited to hear from Callum that you were attending college – I never got to go myself, you know, so...you're a first generation! I think they do scholarships for that, you should see what's available. I know it's been a while since we've talked, but Olaf's mom is very sick, so we'll be moving back here to be with her. And we're getting married! We'd love for you to be here, if you can.

Miss you, Your mom [phone]

The postcard is about a year old and worn at the edges. Claire never made any plans to go to Iceland. ( She never liked horses all that much anyway. ) When Claire first got the postcard last year, she’s pretty sure she broke not one but two of the punching bags in the gym – because after everything that happened, her mom wasted little time getting hitched with some guy. Some guy that was gonna treat her like shit, and Claire resolved she was DONE. She has too many memories of laying in her twin bed in the trailer, holding her hands over her ears as she waited for the screaming to stop, unable to sleep until she was sure her mom was getting into bed safely. Sometimes, she would sneak into the next room, crawl into her mom’s bed and wait.

Claire’s tired of waiting for people that don’t come back. After all, she’s been one of those people.

She doesn't know why she's started thinking of her mom so much now. Maybe it’s a result of allowing Callum back into her life or the fact that so many people are thinking of their parents, with the email that came out recently. She feels glad that her mom is semi-normal and clueless about what she does. Claire hopes that keeps her mom safe, from everything that's been going on at Gallagher. It's been a hard year on everyone, that should not be undercut, and while she'd like to say that her fight with Kass is the biggest thing on her mind...terrorism is just a tad more daunting.

Claire keeps her distance from the witness protection students for good reason. But she worries about Francis and his close friendship with one of them, and she worries about Kass, who has a tendency to form friends and attachments everywhere. She never thought she'd be glad about Nudge being totally preoccupied by a boyfriend, but at least it makes her feel like Nudge is safe.

After all, hanging out with one of those kids is what cost Amelia.

She taps her foot anxiously, whole legging shaking, which rattles the desk that she's sitting at. She knows there are things she doesn't want to die without doing, she just doesn't know if she's brave enough to do them. Claire doesn't even notice her own nervous tick until Tilly rolls over and looks down at her from her bunk. She gives Claire a look.

"I'm fine."

Disbelief. Tilly is too smart for that, and Claire has never been great at masking her emotions.

"Well, mostly fine. Do you mind leaving the room for a minute? Nothing freaky, I just want to make a phone call," Claire asks, and Tilly's not the type to be difficult, so she agrees.  But now that Claire's said the words out loud, she realizes that she wants to follow through with them – she's just scared. Granted, she should feel lucky that her mom is some regular lady in Reykjavik rather than some hired assassin or secret member of a terrorist organization. It's the little things.

Claire is pretty sure the dial tone is the worst sound she’s ever heard. She grips her phone tight, like...she might break it, if she squeezed hard enough, and she has to physically calm herself down, remind herself to breathe.

“Halló?” An unfamiliar voice answers the line. “Hver er þetta?”

Claire does not speak any Nordic languages, so she just stutters. “Um, hello? Is Maggie there?”

“Oh, hello! Yeah, she’s around here somewhere...in the garden, probably,” the man chuckles, switching to English without a second thought. “Who should I say is on the line?”

Claire likes how he phrases that, like she can make up anything for him to say and he’s happy to go along with it. She considers it, but shrugs, “You can say it’s Claire.”

The line goes silent for a moment, and she has to assume that this is her new husband – Olaf. He has a nice voice, but the last husband had a nice voice too. She’s met lots of boyfriends with nice voices, and by now, she’s realized there’s no way to really know a person until you get to know them. Instinct means next to nothing, you can’t trust it.

“Yes, of course. Hi – Claire.” He emphasizes her name, like he’s shocked that he’s gotten to say it, and then Claire spends the next ten minutes waiting in anticipation. She starts biting her fingernails, a habit she thought she broke years ago, but waiting on the line for her mom makes her FEEL like a child again.

“Claire, sweetie? Is that you? Oh my god, are you alright?” Her mom’s voice is like honey to Claire’s ears, bringing back memories she thought didn’t exist. Curled up in bed after long nights, pushing Claire’s hair back away from her face as she tells extravagant stories of pirates and vikings, eating junk food until the sun comes up.

“Hi, mom.” Ever reticent.

“How are you? I mean, I’ve heard from Callum a bit, he’s such a nice boy, but really, how are you?”

“I’m fine. It’s – it’s just been a while, so I thought I might...try your line,” Claire’s voice gets choked up near the end, and there’s tears in the corners of her eyes. She used to never cry, but she’s been doing it a lot lately, for some reason. Maybe she’s getting more in touch with her feelings, which is a horrifying thought.

“Well, it’s good to hear from you! It’s the first nice day we’ve had in a while, so I’ve just been out in the garden – I’m making Olaf fix the dishwasher, damn thing is ALWAYS acting up,” she laughs, and Maggie talks fast – it’s apparent she’s nervous, trying to fill the noise with some chatter. “And we’ve got sheep, and chickens, you would love these little guys.”

Claire furrows her brow. “Mom, you...you HATE gardening. And you also hate dirt. And chickens,” she adds, and she can already feel her heart sinking, because it’s just like her mom to meet a guy and completely reinvent herself into someone new. Claire’s seen her mom go through phase after phase – granted, gardening is a bit better than psychedelics, probably.

“Not any more! I’m a changed woman!” Claire can only nod emphatically at that, because, well, of course she is. “What are you studying again?” It’s also just like Maggie to act like it hasn’t been, oh, five years since they’ve spoken. Just launching into conversation like it’s normal, skirting around the rough stuff. Maggie always did that – avoided the tough conversations until it was too late.

“Listen – Mom, I just...I wanted to call to say I’m sorry. About everything that happened, I shouldn’t have...and I should’ve called sooner too, but I couldn’t stop thinking about what happened, and I still can’t – I –”

“Claire, honey, please. It’s alright, I’ve – I’ve moved past all of that, and...sometimes I do think about it, you know? And I wonder what my life would be like if you hadn’t stepped in when you did, or...if I’d even have one. I made some mistakes too, we both did. That doesn’t matter now.”

But to Claire, it still matters, at least a little. As long as she still dreams about the blood on her hands, it will matter. But it’s nice to hear her mom say it, and it’s a comfort to know that her mother’s life isn’t ruined by what she did – that things go on. She’s spent years imagining worse case scenarios, the turmoil she’d put her mother through, too afraid to reach out for fear of hearing the worst. This, at least, is some comfort.

“It’s okay, I know it can’t have been easy – forced to raise me on your own, and all. If I had a kid I’d probably drop it off on the doorstep of a nunnery or something.” Was that a thing? A nunnery?

“Don’t give me too much credit, I sure tried to get out of it – and god, your dad had it easy, doing God-knows-what in God-knows-where with his shitty band.”

“Is this the part where you tell me my dad is like, Mick Jagger or something?”

“Jesus, Claire, how old do you think I am?”

This makes Claire laugh, and after a moment, they’re BOTH laughing, and if it weren’t for the miles between them, it’d feel nostalgic – like coming home after school and throwing her backpack across the floor of their trailer. She’d sit at the kitchen table, eat dinosaur nuggets and Kraft mac & cheese while her mom would put on the radio, sing along to Dolly Parton in some ridiculous outfit. Claire remembers the bad days best, but when she remembers the good days, they’re really good.

“You’re happy though?” Claire asks, “I mean, you like this guy?”

“Yeah, I really like this guy – and I KNOW I don’t have a great track record, but he’s good. He’s really good. I mean, I’m out here gardening! I have chickens! He’s the real deal, and...he’s a great cook. I know it seems sort of crazy, packing up and moving to another country, but I really love him. You’ll get it someday, when you meet the right person.”

Claire rolls her eyes at that, in spite of herself. She’s glad her mom can’t see her face. She still doesn’t know what to think about love, but she has a feeling that it’s not really for her. She’s the metaphorical equivalent of Iceland – too distant, too much effort.  

Then again, some people seem to think moving to Iceland is worth it.

“Okay.”

“Wait! Oh, Claire, what are you doing this summer? Do you want to come stay with us?”

Claire wrinkles her nose, “And what? Shear sheep?”

“Yeah!” Maggie replies enthusiastically, not picking up on the note of disgust in Claire’s voice ( or choosing to ignore it. ) “It could be fun, and I’d love for you to meet Oly. It’s a great little place, and summer’s really the only time worth visiting because it’s pretty much all darkness from September to March. You’ve seen that little video on the Youtube, with that guy–”

Claire cannot recall the little video on the Youtube. “I don’t know, I’ll think about it. Summer classes and stuff, you know.”

“Oh, of course, I’m sure you work so hard!” Maggie sounds so PROUD over the phone, and Claire wonders what her mom would think if she knew the truth about everything. Claire doesn’t know whether to be happy or sad about the fact that her mom blissfully ignores everything that’s difficult, inviting Claire for the summer as if no time has passed.

“Yeah, so, um...tell me more about the chickens and sheep and stupid dishwasher, I guess. And the city? What’s that like?”

Claire’s happy to sit on the line for thirty more minutes, listening to her mom describe her new life, and they chat animatedly, like they’re at that kitchen table or laying in bed ‘til dawn, uninterrupted by the rest of the world. For thirty minutes, there’s no Blackthorne, no terrorist attacks, no witness protection students, or interpersonal drama. There’s only Claire and her mom ( mostly her mom, going on as Claire shakes her head and interjects, rolling her eyes as her mom teases. ) Although Claire knows better than to trust a calm before a storm, than to believe that nice things like this last. She won’t get her hopes up about the summer, because knowing Maggie, there’s a last-minute cancellation already in the works.

But she’ll enjoy this moment, right now, curling up on her bedspread like she’s a little kid again. So, when they get off the phone after a while, Claire just – she looks up at the slats of the bunk bed and smiles, so wide that it makes her face hurt a little – does smiling usually hurt like that? Now she’s pitying all the happy people.

Claire gets up to pin the postcard above her desk, deciding that there’s no point in hiding it underneath everything again. It’s probably not a good idea to get excited about even something so fleeting as weekly calls, but Claire is a glutton for disappointment, it seems. Lately, it’s felt like a big piece of her life is missing, and even if this one doesn’t fit perfectly in its spot, it’s still pretty damn good, because it fits perfectly in a different place – one she’d stopped noticing because it had been empty for so long. Optimism is a feeling she’s never really afforded herself before, but it feels good.

Well, as they say in Iceland:

Þetta reddast.

#* #i redid claire's theme and its cute tho

[stressed-depressed-emo-mess]

Hyper Thrust- Day 1: Static Spider and his upcoming heatstroke

Black/brown- Also on AO3

HELL YEAH, A NEW WEEK, NEW PROMPTS, NEW FUCKERY THAT I AM CURSING Y’ALL WITH!! For @killjoynest and their Hyper Thrust Pride week- here is a new oc of mine named Static Spider- with his all black outfit. In the zones, this isn’t a very good idea. There are a few Spanish phrases, so if you need to, go pull up google translate, but they aren’t that advanced lol. Also @snails-and-satellites if you wanna take him from here, you can adopt him, you said you liked him, and I’m sure you’d raise him better than I could.

Static Spider was well aware of the advantage he had. His Hispanic heritage and desert upbringing made sure of that. His mamá and papá had escaped with his older sister before he was born, so he was the only one in the family who had a rebel birthname. His sister had left about three years ago, running with her partner, Money Lighter, and their gang, changing her name to Águila, eagle, in the process. That was when Spider was 12, and now that he’s 15, he gets to choose whether or not to stay with his familia or set off into the zones. They lived in a rebel-friendly zone town just off the fence of Zone two, tucked away in the side of a mountain. It was quaint, with enough twists and turns to throw off the patrols, it was the perfect place to settle down and raise a family. His mamá was keen on keeping it that way.

“Hijole, I know you want to go out and live your wild fantasies, but are you sure you’re ready?” his mamá questions him as she passes out her home-famous tamales; it was his birthday after all.

“Esperanza, he is ready,” Papá says, winking at me, “That’s why we gave him a rebel’s name, remember? We knew he wasn’t going to stay with us forever, just like his hermana.”

“Pedro, I just don’t know-” Mamá begins, but a figure appears in the doorway and cuts her off.

“Did someone say sister?” Águila says, leaning up against the door frame.

Static’s head jerks up, “Ila!!” A stream of adrenaline shoots through his body as he darts over to his sister and hugs her tight. He can hear her laugh reverberate in her chest.

“Feliz cumpleaños, little brother, I have a present for you,” she says

“You do?” Static pulls away, wide-eyed.

“The gift will have you wait, Águila, come eat. You look half starved.” Mamá shakes her head. “Ninos, dios mio.”

“Oh, mamá, come on now,” Ila slides into the chair next to Static, pilling tamales onto an extra plate, “You of all people should be except to the gift rule.”

“Eat, hija!” Mamá rolls her eyes, and unwraps her own.

“So, what’s new? How many patrols have you fought with? Are you still holed up in that old-” questions start flowing out of Static, and Ila puts up a hand up to stop him.

“All in good time, hermano, all in good time. Tell me about you. Do you have everything ready?” she says, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

“Oh does he,” Papá sighs from across the table, “he wouldn’t keep quiet about his outfit he plans on wearing- you’re gonna hate it, hija. Just be warned, it is atrocious.”

“Can I go show her??” Static asks, and mamá nods and Static shoots out of his chair, dragging Ila away with him, and beelines toward his room. Only once they get there does Static let go of his sister in exchange for his closet doors. Throwing them open with a flourish, Ila comes up behind him and messes up his styled black hair, ruffing it up into a frizzy mess. Static brushes her off and produces an outfit consisting of black skinny jeans that he can hardly fit in, a black undershirt that had a few holes in it, and a black leather jacket which was adorned with spikes and pins and buttons. Static looks back at Ila, waiting for her approval, but just sees a look of disbelief on her face.

“Stat. You’re kidding, right? All black? Hermanito, please tell me you’re smarter than that.” Ila says, shaking her head

“Yes, I know, I know, it’s all black, but I have been conditioning myself-” Static begins before Ila cuts him off.

“Static, how the hell do you ‘condition’ yourself- you know what, I’ll take your word for it. Here, this is what I wanted to give you. Un regalo de mi para ti.” She retrieves a small wrapped package from inside her jacket and hands it to him, a sad smile on her face.

Static rips off the paper and his heart soars. It’s a mask- with diagonal rainbow stripes, very colorful and very familiar. He knows this mask. “This is- this is Money’s mask? Oh, Ila… I am so sorry- why didn’t you put it in the mailbox?”

“Don’t be- they wanted it to keep going, we put their jacket in instead. They said that they wanted to give you their mask the next time they saw you, so I’m doing that. It’s yours. Of course- it might not work with your outfit-”

“No, no. It’s actually perfect! I was planning on getting a white mask or something but this works really well- you wanna see the full thing?”

“Oh! Yes, of course, let me go finish eating. You know how mamá gets.”

“ Sí, sí, go eat.”

Static pushes his sister out of the room to get changed into his outfit. He struggles a bit with the pants, misses the hole in the undershirt, and pokes himself with a jacket spike, but eventually he gets on his all black outfit, and he combs down his dark hair. Picking up the rainbow colored mask, he thinks about how much this little piece of plastic means to his sister. He puts the thin mask around his neck- he’s not ready to actually see himself in it. He straps himself into his boots and takes one last look around his room. It wasn’t planned- but he knows he’s going to be leaving. Picking up a backpack, he shoves a few sentimental items in, some extra socks and stuff, and a blanket.

‘If I can’t take the whole house, I guess I’ll just take this.’ He folds the blanket as small as he can make it before zipping up the backpack and slinging it over his shoulder. He looks in the mirror one last time before leaving his room, leaving the house, leaving the town, a black figure under the desert sky- with a rainbow mask.

#hyper thrust pride week #I think that's what it's called lol #static spider #killjoynest

[sxmbinha]

CHAPTER I

Summary: Roman tries to recover the friendship he had with Peter. At the same time, Steve Rogers leads the Avengers on another mission, but it has colateral damage.

Warnings: slightly description of anxiety, but nothing much

Word count: 2776

I guess we could use one of those classic story-beginning sentences. It was the best of times; it was the worst of times. But what does that even mean? Obviously, somewhere in the world, it is the best of times for someone.

Roman Vidal has made a nest of himself on the sofa. He keeps doing that - covering himself with blankets and oversized t-shirts. It is summer, though, and he is sweating, but he feels pretty well and safe in his own personal claustrophobia, thank you very much.

His brother had promptly suggested that Roman went to spend the summer vacation at their abuela’s house. Specially after the new wave of miseducation he presented during this first semester. Alícia Maria, his younger sister, decided to make him company, leaving Nicolás to have some peace since he gained their guard two years ago. Since their parents died and Roman didn’t.

His abuela (do not mistake with the long deceased abuelita, God bless her) reads young adult novels (she loves Six of Crows), has determined that she is a Ravenclaw and shows her middle finger to Trump whenever he is on TV. It is a breeze of fresh air.

What he really likes is that no matter what high-stress thing is going on in his world or in the world as a whole (Christmas, SATs, natural disasters, car crashes, disappointing someone he cares about and being worried to death he might puke), there she is, his abuela and her noisy chanclas, doing her thing.

His legs are bent, aching knees close to his chest, and while his whole body is supposed to be hidden, his left arm is partially out of the cover so he can see the bright screen of his phone. A name jumps out of it - a cherry-red name with flecks of silver, one Roman had always loved. No one else is that biased towards a color like Peter Parker.

“Are you sure you’re not sick?��� Ali asks without taking her attention from the television. She grabs a spoonful of ice cream and shoves in her mouth.

“Have you ever seen me sick?” He retorts, knowing, before she shakes her head, that the answer would be “no”.

That is because he never gets (physically) sick, although the sentiment of sickness is very familiar. No annual spread of the flu, no bellyaches. While his sister is allergic to dogs and needs to use glasses, and his brother has broken the same arm twice playing baseball (how he managed to do that, though?), Roman has a perfect - and slightly better than average, if you must know - vision, and once has accidentally broke someone’s nose during a volleyball class when he was in 6th grade.

Mami had always said to keep his powers hidden - you never know what can happen to you these days. She, though, didn’t call it powers. They were gifts. And if it wasn’t probably blasphemy, would have called this God’s given miracle. Everything weird with Roman’s super resilience and crossing of neural connections was a gift. Oh, there is this other thing… Roman see and feel things most people don’t, and for a long time it didn’t occurred to him that no one else could sense it too.

It’s not something he thinks with frequency, sometimes he even forgets it’s not the norm. It feels like the world is playing some sort of joke on him. A Mourning Dove’s song is yellow and there’s no better way to explain it; the teacher’s obsession with capslock on PowerPoint presentations makes everything too bright to read. But at least there’s always an agreement about how ugly the National Anthem is.

Ali finishes her ice cream and sets the bowl over the table. Roman runs his fingers over his hair - during summer he had let it grow, now the dark curls are fluffy and too rebel. The motion helps him go back to his original anxiety.

Roman has always had a really hard time apologizing if he’s forced to do it. He laughs and giggles, he smiles even when he tries not to because the idea of this forced, fake apology is so off putting he can’t comprehend taking it seriously - what for sure has got him into trouble multiple times. The point is: Roman loathes fake apologies, and he has heard so many of them and actually believed and hugged and cared them, that now any apology coming from himself sounds like a poor copy.

But if he could, if he was at Peter’s door right now, he would cry himself numb to deserve his pardon. But again, if he was at Peter’s door right now, he probably wouldn’t have to do that at all.

So he sends a message. Don’t take it wrong, he wishes he didn’t have to make such a shitty move, but here we are. He did previously thought about calling him, but apparently Peter is “kinda busy”.

It ended up a well balanced apology with equal measures of regret and understanding that speaks honestly from his heart (and overthinker brain). Nothing with “I hate myself for doing it, but I did it because of whatever reason” or any other gross victimization Liam thaught him - we will talk about Liam Reed later, he’s not important at the moment.

Peter has visualized it fifteen minutes ago and doesn’t seem willing to give an answer any time soon, what is a very non-Peter thing to do - he’s not one to embrace passive-aggressive attitudes. Maybe Roman finally got the worst of him.

“Pues mira, Andy-” says his abuela noticing his worried expression. “-al mal tiempo, buena cara.” Then she caress the right side of Roman’s face where the light-colored scar stands as a reminder: a line from his forehead to cheekbone.

He smiles with fondness, noticing the use of one of her catch phrases. His family has many of those. His abuela is also not the only one in his family to call him by his second name (in case of forgetting one, don’t worry! You got three more spares), but that, Roman can’t explain why.

“¿Qué es esto?” The elderly woman points at the movie they’re watching before turning to Ali. “¿No sos demasiado joven para ver esto?”

Certainly, the preachy girl couldn’t just answer the question. “I don’t speak Spanish, aunty. Why don’t you try English?”

Well, their abuela can speak English, but she won’t because she has a point to prove. And so does Alícia.

Roman doubts she can’t truly understand Spanish. From all their close relatives, the only one without Colombian heritage was their father and only him, as he grew up on an orphanage and wasn’t able to share his whatever-european legacy. Sure, just a low handful of cousins could actually speak a second language and their mother did a great job at dousing off her sing-song’d words, but Roman believes the reason why Ali pretends not to know the basics of Spanish is to keep herself unaffected by curses and fights (the bigger the trouble, the sharper the Paisa accent).

People have always compared her to their father, probably just because of the lighter skin tone and, again, the lack of Spanish. But Roman always thought he was very similar to him, more than to their mother. Okay, fine, he does looks a lot like their mother, but he has the “sensibility not praised by the family” - what isn’t praised is not the sensibility per se, it’s the obviousness.

“Usted estás fuera de mi herencia.”

He stays silent until she forgets the question and walks away. Roman could explain the whole concept of ‘Bring It On’ and the politics on Cheerocracy to his abuela, only that talking that much right now would be like moving furniture.

His cellphone shakes sparks in his hand. It joins the others two hundred thirteen (at least a hundred and seventy are from the Vidal family group chat) unread messages he’s received over the course of the day. He leaves them to later.

PETER PARKER

It’s okay

Just move on

There is no sigh of relief or jump of enthusiasm. He would move on, eventually, and act like nothing ever affected his bright personality. But the dread feeling of guilty and danger needed to stop bursting first - it always starts before the actual confrontation and ends a lot after the resolution, like a cup of soda with bubbles brimming at the top. So Roman has to wait until the bubbles seize and leave a bad taste at the back of his throat.

“It’s like the desert in Oz here,” Ali says.

Roman looks over at his sister, who’s already looking at him with a wrinkle between her brows. He takes a deep breath. Things keep on happening, he thinks under her cautious gaze.

“There’s no desert in Oz,” he says instead.

“Yes, there is, in the books. There’s this desert that you have to stay away or it burns you up.”

He tilts his head, blinks, and swallows his self-pity, replacing it by a mischievous look and the edge of a smile. “What if I ask abuela to turn on the backyard tap?”

Alícia’s face lit in excitement. They never had a swimming pool at home and neither does their abuela, so when Nico was younger and less cynical, he and some cousins would use a garden hose to splash water everywhere, pointing it to the sky and pretending it was raining. A tradition - or a romanticized improvisation - passed down through generations.

He smirks. “But only if you bring me ice cream.”

“No.”

“Oh, I see, so that’s how you treat me? If you ever ask me a favor again, anything, I won’t-”

“Fiiiine!” Alícia drags the word just like she draws her body out of the couch.

Roman looks down once again and taps a reply: 'I miss you’. His hand reaches up and grabs his cross necklace, pulling the metal chain against his lips.

PETER PARKER

We’ll see each other when summer ends

Happy birthday, btw

Roman wraps himself tighter in the blanket.

It was the best of times. It was the worst of times.

“Anybody ever tell you you’re a little paranoid? ” Teases Sam Wilson.

Natasha’s controlled voice answers. “Not to my face. Why? Did you hear something? ”

The presence of his partners is only noticed by their cheap talk. Steve Rogers hears through the earpiece the analysis of the new Avengers’ case. “Eyes on target, folks. This is the best lead we’ve had on Rumlow in six months. I don’t want to lose him.”

On an apartment in Lagos, Nigeria, Steve observes the busy streets hidden by the curtains. He spots a garbage truck pushing its way through traffic, with no regard to pedestrians or other vehicles.

“Sam, see that garbage truck? Tag it.”

In a minute, Sam is able to scan the truck with a small drone he treats as a pet, and report the analysis. “That truck’s loaded for max weight. And the driver’s armed.”

Nat is fast to formulate their intentions. “It’s a battering ram.”

Without hesitation, Steve gives the permission to action. They all hear through the communicator when Wanda - the last, but not least component of the task force - exclaims surprised by the sudden order.

“He’s not hitting the police.”

The grasp of his hand on the shield reinforces the mentality of now being, not Steve Rogers, but the Captain America. Soon, he’s at the courtyard of the Institute for Infectious Diseases, fighting against the soldiers in black armor who successfully broke into the place driving the garbage truck. “I make seven hostiles.”

“I make five,” replies Sam. The mayhem keeps sounding over the speaker. “Four.”

Sam scans the inside of the building, in time to Steve reach him and Wanda. “Rumlow’s on the third floor.”

“Wanda,” calls Captain, “just like we practiced.”

Her Eastern European accent tingles in his ear. “What about the gas?”

“Get it out.”

Wanda hex Steve to lift him up and through the window. He uses his shield to break the glass and quickly immobilize a soldier, pulling off his gas mask. Thanks to the serum, Captain America is conveniently immune to such toxins, but the whole intervention takes longer than he planned, with soldiers shooting in his direction from various corners. Wanda starts to dilute the gas with the air, and by the time Steve gets to the target room, the building is clean of the toxins. Just as the room is empty and the biohazard is out of sight.

“Rumlow has a biological weapon.”

“I’m on it,” replies Natasha on the radio.

An explosion rumbles at the courtyard, Steve runs out onto the balcony and spots Rumlow. A skull mask stares back at him while the man prepares and aims a grenade launcher. The grenade slams into the Captain’s shield and he is thrown back inside. He scrambles to his feet as Rumlow fires two more times, throwing him out of a window, onto a truck, and finally the ground.

The burn sensation on his chest and the ache on his back cause Steve to struggle to get up, but are far from stopping him. “Sam. He’s in an AFV heading north.” With that, the super soldier is running once again into the commotions’ direction.

Sam is the first to locate the vehicle, now crashed over a marketplace. “I got four, they’re splitting up.”

Natasha rides through the crowd on her motorcycle. She abandons it and runs over the hoods of cars, in pursuit. “I got the two on the left.”

Steve is also running across cars when he spots a vest in the middle of the crowd. “They ditched their gear. It’s a shell game now. One of them has the payload-”

Something crashes against the Captain’s shield - a bomb, ticking incessantly. Promptly, Rogers throws the shield in the air and the bomb blows up safely away from the citizens. With the seconds of distraction, Rumlow comes up behind Steve and punches him hard in the back, who collides with the stalls set on the street.

“There you are, you son of a bitch,” says Brock Rumlow approaching the fallen man. “I’ve been waiting for this!”

Another huge strike hits Steve before he can reach his shield. His stiffened back crashes over wooden and his face throbs against the arid ground.

Sam’s voice echoes from the radio. “He doesn’t have it. I’m empty.”

Steve gets up and puts the pain aside, keeping up with the fight and overruling the HYDRA soldier for just a moment, before being cornered.

“This is for dropping a building on my face,” snarls Rumlow. He extends a blade from his gauntlet and knocks on Steve’s direction, who’s able to deflect the blow, hitting the wall instead.

Steve grabs Rumlow’s arm and pulls the gauntlet off, only for him to reveal another knife. But Steve bests him, with a fierce kick to the chin Rumlow is brought to his knees. The man removes his mask, revealing a severely scarred face. “I think I look pretty good, all things considered.”

Captain pulls him by the collar. “Who’s your buyer?”

“You know, he knew you”, Rumlow smiles maliciously. “Your pal, your buddy, your Bucky.”

Steve clenches his fists harder and pulls the man further with a rage he couldn’t blame on the Captain America’s professionalism. His fast-beating heart shouts through his ears. “What did you say?”

“He remembered you. I was there. He got all weepy about it. 'Till they put his brain back in a blender.”

Steve feels a sharp pain in his throat, closing his lungs. A bitter taste in his mouth.

“He wanted you to know something. He said to me, 'Please tell Rogers. When you gotta go, you gotta go.’ And you’re coming with me.”

A second, and the HYDRA agent activates his bomb vest. Steve flinches as Rumlow’s armor ignites, but Wanda shows in time to keep the blast contained, trapping Rumlow in agony. She lifts him into the air; her hex, however, runs from her grasp and gets out of control, as the explosion finally blossoms, devastating entire floors of a nearby building. At the terrifying scene, Wanda covers her mouth with trembling hands.

“Oh my…” Steve gasps. “Sam, we need- Fire and Rescue. On the south side of the building. We gotta get up there.”

The bitter taste in his mouth, he knows, it’s his own sorrow.

Taglist:

@starlight-starks

@dreamofaprilsblog

@everydaymj

@captainamericasdaughter

@intoomanyfandomsstuff

#peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x oc #peter parker angst #peter parker fanfic #peter parker #marvel fanfiction #mcu spiderman #steve rogers #bucky barnes #mine #Icaro

[articlewritingbd]

5 Steps of Writing a Business Article Like a Pro

Does the prospect of writing a service article make you worried? Company writing can feel daunting, but if you damage down the process right into actions, you will certainly recognize that writing a business article is like writing for any kind of another style.

What is Business Article?

A business article writing is any content you create to directly or indirectly share details regarding a service. The different kinds of organization writing consist of blogs, news releases, newsletters, brochures, flyers, emailers, and also presentations.

Business writing entails a range of writing designs.

The content writing design will certainly vary with the sort of company content you have actually been asked to write. For example, compared to a blog, an emailer should have a much more concise pitch. Likewise, a flyer will certainly have to offer a concept really quickly, while in a company sales brochure, you have the deluxe of being extra descriptive.

I have been writing for medium-sized and also tiny companies for practically seven years currently. In that time structure, I have created business articles on myriad markets, such as modern company technology, software advancement, sustainable energy, educational working as a consultant, childcare service, online assistant solution, as well as clinical invoicing.

Over the thousands of short articles composed, I have developed a company article writing approach that I'd such as to show you today. My method of writing a company and looking into the article may not function for you, but it is one you might definitely use as a start point to create your own variation of a writing system.

For this post, I will adhere to the prep work, looking into, structuring, writing, and editing stages of writing a service article.

Here goes.

5 Steps to Writing a Business Article

Let's repaint a lovely picture ... but with words.

STEP 1: PREPARE - Understand what is expected of you.

Allow's think that you are working for a customer for the very first time, and also, you have actually been given a topic 'X Reasons to Have a Blog.' As soon as you tackle this job, you need to get answers to the complying with inquiries:

1. Who is the target audience of your customer?

Understand that you are writing for and also what the customer desires

Is your customer targetting companies or people? The target audience will influence the means you create. A company targetting individual customers will certainly prefer a writing style that is much more conversational, individual, as well as perhaps also tied with wit. On the other hand, a B2B customer might desire an article that is interesting and also highlights the business's expertise.

When we say business article, of training course, do not assume that you require to create content that appears like a monitoring publication remove. Today, every web content you compose needs to be simple to review and have to communicate the benefit the viewers will originate from the 10 mins they invest in reviewing what you have actually written.

2. Does the customer have key phrases in mind for the article?

In my experience, most clients will certainly enjoy letting you organize this and choosing the most effective keywords phrases for an article. Once you have picked the search phrases, make certain that you include them in the article heading, subheadings (where feasible), as well as at a regularity of 3 to 4 times every 500 words of the article.

3. Anticipated format and also the design of the article.

A lot of clients will certainly share an example of the sort of article they wish to create. Look at previous messages on their web site and clarify if the client wants you to maintain a comparable writing design if they do not.

Also, settle on the format of the entry. For example, a customer that I have been writing for a long time is a digital solution supplier called Virtasktik. All blogs submitted to the customer has to contain a meta summary, along with material for social media blog posts on the article for Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, Instagram, as well as Google+.

ACTION 2: RESEARCH-- Evaluate the Available Information as well as Extract the Pertinent Bits

You need to be a master at both trying to find details online as well as selecting the most pertinent bits.

As you start researching the subject, think regarding the 2 to three key factors your article needs to consist of. After that, these concepts end up being the beginning point for research on the online search engine.

Alternatively, various kind expressions associated with the blog site subject you have been provided. For instance, for the topic 'X reasons to blog site,' your keywords can be--.

- Benefits of organization blog site.

- X Reasons why every business needs to have a blog.

- Statistics / Data on the benefits of having a service blog.

As you can via the appropriate posts, Google (or other search engines) will certainly toss-up tips on various other similar search expressions; appearance at those.

While looking into the details readily available online, I suggest doing the following:

1. Stay existing: Reference articles published no later on than 3 years earlier. Because understanding and technology are evolving quickly, you have to publish material that is relevant and progressive.

2. Usage reliable sources: Extract your content from reputed internet sites or blogs of well-known firms in the sector.

3. Provide credit rating: It's important to give credit report where debt is due, so include a minimum of 1 or 2 web links to reputed internet sites within the article.

4. Include information: Where feasible, try to find recent advancements, market stats, or infographics pertinent to your topic.

5. Essence, as you read: Highlight or draw out one of the most pertinent portions of web content as you check out the short articles. Some writers use devices like Evernote to do this, yet I like to do it the old-fashioned way and also paste all the appropriate material right into a solitary word document. Let's call this the 'base file.'.

6. Review several articles: As a thumb policy research study, at the very least 5 to 6 trustworthy sources of info for every single web page of 500 words that you need to write.

7. Include a quote: Depending on who you are writing for, including a genuine quote for your article is a terrific suggestion.

For an article on blog writing, you can approach prominent blog writers for their guidance or reach out to internet marketing experts to contribute to your article. You can contact them with their website, via e-mail, or perhaps their Facebook service page.

Tell them who you are, the customer you are writing for, the subject, searching for a 2 or 3 line quote, and when you require the return. I often use this technique and have a 25 to 30 percent success rate, which means I come close to, at the very least 4 potential contributors to get a solitary quote. The study stage will take you anywhere between one to one hr thirty mins.

ACTION 3: STRUCTURE - The Information as well as Your Thoughts.

Identify essential points and also determine which item of info goes where.

If you are writing a 1000 word article, you should contend the very least a base record of 2500 to 3000 words by the time you have researched the information. As soon as convinced that you have actually collected all the appropriate information, begin reading your base file.

Having actually experienced the paper, open one more word data and begin writing the crucial points, or have to have information for your article. I such as to reorganize as well as highlight the content in the base record, making use of different shades. The material that I want to consist of in the opening para is highlighted in yellow, the primary body in pink, as well as article referrals in environment-friendly. What you are doing at this step, is structuring the details as well as your thoughts prior to you start writing.

By the time you are done, you will certainly have your article skeleton-- opening, subheadings, bullet points under each, and also takeaways from your article (or the ending paragraph), in addition to the information that needs to come under each area.

If you are dealing with a word limit of say 1000 words, you can choose to create 150 words for the article opening, 800 words on the text, and an additional 100 for writing the conclusion. Naturally, it's a good idea to write the initial draft of about 1200 to 1300 words. As you boost the web content throughout the editing and enhancing stage, word count will immediately be minimized.

Structuring the article prior to you begin writing will certainly take you 25 to 30 minutes.

You have, by this time, already invested 2 hours in your article.

Currently, allow's start writing.

ACTION 4: WRITING - Write, Don't Edit

It's time to just compose. Create as you believe as well as talk.

The number one tip at this stage is to create as you assume. Compose as fast as you can type but keep referencing the base record to see the sub-points as well as the details you want under each point. Be careful as to not 'copy-paste' web content from your base documents.

As you write the initial article draft, I highly suggest that you use a distraction-free full-screen editor such as Write Box to aid you to compose without diversions.

Right here some extra tips on writing a business article:

1. Share the article objective in the opening para: Write an appealing opening paragraph that shows the main concern the article is going to answer. To put it simply, why should someone review your blog site? As an example, here's an opening I wrote for an article on task delegation:

" Are you a star at entrusting things to do in your business? Or are you one of the numerous local business owners that shy's far from job delegation due to the fact that you are the afraid job will not occur as expected, or that you will not' understand exactly how points are advancing when you have handed off the job?"

2. Consist of key phrases: As you write, attempt to consist of the essential expression(s) where feasible, however specifically in the article opening paragraph, subheadings of the article, and also within the web content with a frequency of concerning 3 to 4 reps for each 400 to 500 words.

3. Consist of interior and also external links: Add 2 to 3 hyperlinks to posts published on various other reputed web sites, along with links to related content within your customer's internet site. When you include weblinks, use appropriate 'anchor expressions' to explain them. Rather than stating 'visit this site for additional information,' include the links within your text.

4. Encourage readers to do something about it: Close with a takeaway paragraph of what the viewers ought to learn or the final thought you intend to entrust the viewers. For instance, you might invite visitors to sign up for a monthly company newsletter, leave a discuss their very own experiences/ expertise of the subject, or load the sales call type.

5. U.S vs. U.K English: Write in the U.S or U.K English depending upon which country your client is based.

6. Compose in energetic voice: Minimize the usage of passive sentences, write in 'active voice' to the extent feasible.

Writing a 1000 word article can take around 2 hrs. At this stage, depending on your research study and writing performance, you have actually already invested in between 3 to 4 hours in your article.

ACTION 5: EDITING - The Most Important Part of the Writing Process.

Modifying is important to producing a top-quality article, just like polishing a diamond to bring the sparkle.

Consider your article (written thus far) as a harsh ruby that requires sprucing up. Spending significant effort in editing an item is vital to producing quality work that will certainly make your customers coming back for even more.

Paste the content from the message file to an MSWord data. Review the article you have actually created until now. I find that checking out the web content aloud on your own or utilizing the 'Read Aloud Speech' function under the Review tab in Microsoft Word is valuable in recognizing sentences that must be re-written or re-arranged to improve the article flow.

Examine your material on web content editing and enhancing tools such as Grammarly or Hemingway App to boost readability once you are completely satisfied that the article circulation is good. These apps can aid in identifying easy sentences (which you may desire to reword in an energetic voice), recognize expressions with a much more simple expression, or rectify the inaccurate use of spelling. You can reduce wordiness-- as an example,' you have to choose' can be created a lot more concisely as' you need to make a decision.'

Cross-check the performance of the article header using devices such as Coschedule's Headline Analyzer when you find yourself stuck for concepts on writing an engaging headline, attempt the blog site title generator by SEOPressor.

Focusing on the tiniest details at the editing stage will certainly make it a lengthy process. However the end, the outcome will be worth it. For a 1000 word article, I can conveniently invest an hour attempting to modify as well as improve it. On the other hand, there is no end to the quantity of modifying you can do in an article. Past a factor, you should decide if the existing variation of the article is excellent to go. Prior to you release your organization article or send it to the customer, guarantee that you do a plagiarism check. I like to utilize Copyscape.

So there you have it, my tell-all article on writing organization write-ups. As well as would you know it, it also occurs to be the lengthiest blog post ever published on my blog site.

#article #article writing #content writing #content marketing #content #guest post #web2.0