#Conversion-focused website design

[biz-branding]

visit: https://maps.app.goo.gl/YWHx1HvippLFtXmx5

[empty-movement]

Welcome to Something Eternal: A Website Forum in 2023 wtf lmao

It's 2023, and a single belligerent rich guy destroyed one of the primary focal points of uh...global communication. Tumblr is, shockingly, kinda thriving despite the abuse it gets from its owners, but that I will call the iconic refusal of Tumblr users to let Tumblr get in the way of their using Tumblr. Reddit killed its API, removing the functionality of mobile apps that made it remotely readable (rip rif.) Discord, our current primary hangout, has made countless strange choices lately that indicate it has reached the summit of its usability and functionality, and can only decline from here as changes get made to prepare for shareholders. (NOTE: WROTE THIS POST BEFORE THEIR MOBILE "REDESIGN" LMAO)

The enshittification is intense, and it's coming from every direction. Social media platforms that felt like permanent institutions are instead slowly going to let fall fallow incredible amounts of history, works of art, thought, and fandoms. It kinda sucks!

A couple years ago, I posted about a new plan with a new domain, to focus on the archiving of media content, as I saw that to be the fatal weakness of the current ways the internet and fandoms work. Much has happened since to convince me to alter the direction of those efforts, though not abandon them entirely.

Long story short? We are launching a fucking website forum. In 2023.

If you remember In the Rose Garden, much about Something Eternal will be familiar. But this has been a year in the making, and in many ways it's far more ambitious than IRG was. We have put money on this. The forum is running on the same software major IT and technology businesses use, because I don't want the software to age out of usability within five years. It has an attached gallery system for me to post content to, including the Chiho Saito art collection. It has a profile post system that everyone already on the forum has decided is kinda like mini Twitter? But it is, fundamentally, a website forum, owned and run and moderated by us. We are not web devs. But we have run a website on pure spite and headbutting code for over twenty years, and we have over a decade of experience maintaining social spaces online, both on the OG forum, and on our Discord. Better skilled people with far more time than we have can and will build incredible alternatives to what is collapsing around us. But they're not in the room right now. We are. And you know what? Maybe it's time to return to a clunkier, slower moving, more conversation focused platform.

You're not joining a social media platform with the full polish of dozens of devs and automated moderation. Things might break, and I might need time to fix them. The emojis and such are still a work in progress. Because e-mails no longer route in reasonable normal ways, the sign-up process instead happens within the software, and has to be approved by mods. Design and structure elements may change. Etc. The point being, that the forum isn't finished, but it is at a place where I feel like I can present it to people, and it's people I need to help direct what functions and things will be in this space. You all will shape its norms, its traditions, its options...choices I could try to make now, but really...they're for us to create as a group! But the important stuff? That's there. Now let's drive this baby off the damn lot already!

Come! Join us!!

PS. As always, TERFs and Nazis need not apply.

[honeydippedfiction]

Joe x Angel prompt “This is wrong.” “So wrong.” While continuing to pull at each others clothes, mind fogged with nothing but lust and arousal.” With prompt #7 “finding a somewhat private area at a fancy party to fuck (coat closet, empty office, secluded corner on the big balcony, hedge maze if we wanna get dramatic, etc)”

1k & Birthday Bash nav | main navigation | reqs | table of contents

#7. finding a somewhat private area at a fancy party to fuck (coat closet, empty office, secluded corner on the big balcony, hedge maze if we wanna get dramatic, etc). & “This is wrong.” “So wrong.” While continuing to pull at each others clothes, mind fogged with nothing but lust and arousal

Joe Burrow x Angel

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

The early spring air just outside Cincinnati carried a faint breath of warmth—an early promise of summer yet to fully arrive. Trees stood in soft bloom, the scent of magnolia teasing the edges of the breeze. But inside the Burrow household, the atmosphere radiated something far more potent than seasonal change. Not sunlight, not warmth from the weather, but from something else entirely: anticipation.

The Met Gala was just five days away.

In the heart of the sun-dappled living room, a tranquil sort of chaos had settled. Plush cream-colored rugs blanketed the hardwood floor, and in the center of it all sat Joe Burrow, cross-legged and relaxed, his gaze entirely focused on the tiny queen commanding his world. Zariyah Jasmine Burrow—six months old, round-cheeked and ruling their household with a dimpled iron fist—was far too consumed by her current obsession to notice the bright neon-green teething ring her father waggled in front of her.

Instead, she had discovered her toes. Soft, chubby, impossibly bendy feet that she had brought triumphantly to her mouth and was now gnawing on with intense, drool-heavy concentration.

Joe chuckled, brushing a hand across his jaw as he watched her. “Z,” he murmured, leaning in closer. “You’re about to have the coolest parents at this whole thing.”

She responded with a gurgle and a kick, not breaking eye contact with her beloved toes.

Joe kissed her cheek—slowly, intentionally—his lips lingering a second longer than necessary as he breathed in her scent: baby lotion, milk, and something tender and unmistakably hers. The kind of smell that could ground you. That could eclipse headlines, game stats, and award buzz in an instant.

“Not that I think you care,” he added with a crooked smile. “You’re gonna sleep through the whole red carpet anyway.”

Her grin came then—big, toothless, and dazzling, the kind that could melt glaciers. It broke something open in him, as it always did. For a moment, it felt like the world was just the two of them, sun pouring through the windows, time suspended in a golden hush.

Then came the sound: a faint giggle echoing down the hallway, followed by the muffled chatter of yet another FaceTime call.

Joe tilted his head toward the guest room. Behind the closed door, Angel was in her element.

Her voice filtered through in snippets—bright, animated, decisive. “No, no, we are not doing that lip.” Laughter. “Yes, that train, not the one from last week. What? Girl, no. This is Met, not a brunch.”

She’d been camped in that room every morning for the past week, turning it into mission control. The door remained locked without exception. Inside, racks of fabric and sketches lived beside shoes that cost more than some of Joe’s rookie-year suits. Her stylist, makeup artist, and designer had created a mobile headquarters, and Angel? Angel had taken the helm like a seasoned general.

Joe could still picture the conversation that had set the boundary in place.

It was two nights earlier. Zariyah had been balanced on Angel’s hip, blinking drowsily at the TV while Angel pointed a perfectly manicured finger at Joe with all the seriousness of a coach delivering a fourth-quarter play.

“We are not seeing each other’s outfits until the night of,” she said, brows raised. “No hints. No sneak peeks. I want the reveal to hit, you hear me? I want drama.”

Joe had raised both hands in surrender, laughing. “Alright, alright. We’ll do it your way. No spoilers.”

“And no cheating!” she added over her shoulder as she disappeared into the guest room with Zariyah and a swath of silk.

He hadn’t seen her dress. Still hadn’t. She meant it when she said she wanted a reveal.

And honestly? He loved her for it.

Joe sat back on his hands now, glancing at the hallway door with a quiet sort of pride. This wasn’t just about fashion or photos. Not really. This was Angel’s first Met Gala. Her first moment on a carpet that shimmered with legacy and legacy-makers. She was building something—her story, her identity—one stitch, one silhouette, one fearless beauty choice at a time.

And Joe? He was content to be the man beside her when she stepped into that light. Not as an accessory, not as a headline, but as her partner. Her anchor.

Behind him, Zariyah let out a triumphant squeal—either because she’d managed to fit three toes into her mouth or simply because she could.

Joe laughed softly and scooped her into his arms. She squirmed a little, making a sound that might’ve been protest or might’ve been joy. With Zariyah, the line was thin.

“You gonna let Mama finish getting famous?” he asked her as he cradled her against his chest.

Zariyah gave no answer, her eyes already starting to flutter shut, soothed by the warmth of his body and the cadence of his voice.

Joe stood, swaying slightly with her in his arms as he looked once more toward the hallway. The door remained closed, the laughter still drifting through in bursts. Somewhere on the other side, Angel was plotting something brilliant.

And here, in the quiet glow of morning, Joe held the future in his arms, waited on history to unfold, and smiled.

❀. ˚◞❤ ⃗ ೃ༄.·:¨༺༻¨*:·.❀

Friday Morning – Fittings and Feels

The morning sunlight filtered through gauzy curtains, casting gold-tinted streaks across the bedroom walls of the Burrow home. Outside, the world was waking up slow and soft, but inside, the energy was anything but sleepy. It buzzed like an amp turned too high, all nerves, excitement, and caffeine-fueled adrenaline.

“Hold still, baby,” Angel murmured, gently nudging Zariyah’s chubby leg into place as she fastened a tiny silk bow onto the shoulder of her onesie. The fabric was smooth, almost absurdly elegant for infant wear, but Angel insisted: her daughter was going to be Met Gala ready even if she only lasted ten minutes in it before spitting up.

Perched on the edge of the bed in one of Joe’s oversized white t-shirts—bare legs crossed, her makeup half-done—Angel moved with the fluid precision of a woman balancing three things at once: a baby, a beauty routine, and a transformation.

The Dolce & Gabbana suit hung nearby, suspended on a brass rack like an exhibit. It was a vision of sharp tailoring and cultural boldness—bold turquoise embroidery cascading over rich black pinstripes, cut to slice through air and doubt with equal force. The pants were tailored to the inch. The jacket, slightly oversized in a deliberate, almost masculine nod, still cinched at the waist like it knew who it was dressing. There was a matching wide-brimmed hat, sitting on the dresser like it had opinions of its own.

“It’s giving power,” Monica declared from the chaise lounge by the window, one hand clutching an iced coffee and the other scrolling through a playlist she was curating for the car ride to New York. “You’re gonna have Vogue calling you Revolution in Heels by midnight.”

Angel glanced up in the mirror, one eyebrow lifting. “I’m not even wearing heels.”

“Even better,” Monica said, grinning. “Makes it revolutionary and practical.”

Karis, her stylist and now spiritual life coach by default, stepped in from the hallway, a roll of garment tape in one hand and a critical eye already scanning the room. Her dark curls were piled high in a silk wrap, her all-black outfit punctuated only by the diamond studs in her ears. She stopped in front of Angel, arms folded.

“The tailoring came back even cleaner than we hoped,” she said, approvingly. “That silhouette on you? Lethal. No one’s ready.”

Angel exhaled through her nose, looking back down at Zariyah, who had, in true diva fashion, already wriggled halfway out of her onesie and was now trying to stuff her entire fist into her mouth. Angel smiled faintly.

“You think it’s too much?” she asked, her voice quieter now. “The hat, the grills... I mean, it’s kind of loud.”

“It’s the Met, Angel,” Karis replied, her tone firm but not unkind. “Loud is the dress code. Besides, this year’s theme? Superfine: Tailoring Black Style. You’re not just dressing for the carpet—you’re honoring a whole legacy. Black women in suits? That's protest and poetry in motion.”

Monica nodded in agreement. “Exactly. You’re channeling Donyale Luna, Diana Ross, Solange in that Thom Browne moment. You’re walking in with all of them behind you. And in front of you? Girl, a moment.”

Angel looked at herself again. The mirror didn’t lie—it rarely did. Her long, black wig fell sleekly down her back like a silk waterfall, not a strand out of place. Her real hair was wrapped beneath it, her natural coils nourished from hours of deep conditioning and tucked away like sacred history. But tonight wasn’t about reality—it was about image. Illusion. Control.

She ran a finger across her bottom lip, touching the grill that spelled out a single word: Zari.

The name shimmered in silver and ice, cut in sharp cursive, a tribute and a talisman.

“I want Joe to be surprised,” she said softly, almost to herself.

Karis didn’t miss a beat. “Girl, he’s gonna faint.”

“Not faint,” Monica said, waving a manicured hand. “He’s gonna cry, propose again, and call you by your full government name.”

Angel laughed, and the tension finally cracked. She let her shoulders drop and reached for the lip gloss sitting beside the mirror. “It’s just... I don’t know. I want it to feel like me. Not like I’m trying to do the most. Not like I’m putting on for someone else.”

“You’re not,” Karis said gently, stepping forward and meeting her eyes through the mirror. “This is you. This is just you turned all the way up.”

Zariyah let out a squeal at that moment, perfectly timed, as if seconding the statement. Angel glanced down and grinned, pressing a kiss to her daughter’s forehead.

“You approve, huh?” she murmured.

Zariyah responded with a bubble of spit and a noise somewhere between a giggle and a growl.

“She said, ‘Slay, Mommy,’” Monica translated, sipping her coffee. “In baby language.”

Angel stood slowly, brushing imaginary lint from her t-shirt as she approached the rack. She ran her hand over the jacket’s fabric—smooth, structured, unyielding. She’d fought for this version of herself. For the right to stand in a space like the Met and not shrink. To be more than someone’s plus-one. To be seen.

Joe didn’t just get that—he backed it. No questions asked.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. A text from Joe.

You got Z? Or did she run off to plan her own outfit?

Angel smiled as she typed back:

She’s fine. She said you better bring it.

❀. ˚◞❤ ⃗ೃ༄.·:¨༺༻¨*:·.❀

Meanwhile

Across town, on the twentieth floor of a glass-paneled boutique hotel that caught the morning light like a spotlight, Joe Burrow stood in front of a full-length mirror, arms slightly lifted, posture straight, eyes calculating.

The suite was modern—sleek furniture in tones of slate and cream, designer water bottles stacked neatly by the minibar, a Bluetooth speaker humming lo-fi jazz in the background. Still, it had the clinical energy of a pre-game locker room: quiet tension, nerves held just beneath the surface, clothes laid out like armor.

Joe’s reflection stared back at him: a sharp silhouette in blue-gray. The suit’s tailoring was impeccable, the fit leaning slim but not tight, precise in the way a quarterback liked his routes—disciplined, smooth, with just enough flair in the shoulders to say I showed up to be seen, not just play support.

The fabric moved like liquid when he adjusted the lapel, catching the morning light with a soft gleam. The buttons were jet black, understated. The collar had a slightly exaggerated peak, modern, almost architectural.

“Stand still a sec,” said Remy, his stylist, crouched low and tugging gently at the hem of his pants. She had a pencil tucked behind one ear, a tape measure draped around her neck like a stethoscope. “I’m going to lift the cuff just a touch more. These shoes are loud, and they need room to breathe.”

Joe grinned as he looked down. The Gucci-printed sneakers—ice white with deep blue accents—were a deliberate choice. Not everyone’s idea of Met Gala footwear, but they were his. They felt like home.

“You sure about the sneakers?” Remy asked, rising to full height and tilting her head like she was framing him through a lens. “I mean, it’s still the Met…”

Joe chuckled, that low, gravelly laugh that managed to be both easygoing and unshakably confident. “Yeah. I’m sure. I’m not trying to pretend I’m something I’m not. It’s Black style we’re celebrating, right? This feels more real to me. I’m not showing up in tap shoes and top hats.”

Remy gave a small, approving smirk. “Fair. And honestly? You look sharp, man. Relaxed, but present. Like you belong.”

Joe nodded, but his eyes drifted back to his phone on the windowsill. One missed FaceTime call. From Angel.

He swiped to redial, stepping away from the mirror as the screen rang. It cut to voicemail before the second tone.

He exhaled. “Classic,” he murmured, pocketing the phone.

She’d probably gotten distracted wrangling Zariyah or fine-tuning some last detail of her look. He hadn’t seen the outfit—by strict instruction—but he could feel its presence, like some massive cosmic event building in the distance. It was Angel, after all. She didn’t just step into rooms; she ignited them.

Joe paced slowly to the window, taking in the skyline of downtown Cincinnati. It stretched beneath him like a living grid—quiet now, but beginning to hum with Friday movement. He placed one hand on the glass, the other brushing lightly against his Cartier frames—deep blue lenses that matched the suit’s undertones.

He remembered when she first told him about the invite.

They were in the kitchen—Angel in leggings and an oversized hoodie, Zariyah in a bouncer seat kicking wildly at some hanging giraffe. Angel had said it so casually, like it wasn’t the biggest deal in the fashion world.

“I got confirmed for the Met Gala,” she’d said, spoon in hand as she stirred oatmeal on the stove.

Joe had blinked. “Like… the actual Met Met?”

“Yes, Joseph. The one with the stairs and Anna Wintour and the paparazzi screaming for Rihanna.”

He’d smiled then, slow and wide. “You’re gonna burn the place down.”

Now, standing here in his finished look, he felt the weight of that moment again—but it had evolved. It wasn’t just about glam or spectacle. It was about Angel stepping into a space that hadn’t always been built to welcome her. And about him standing beside her, not in front of her, not above her—just beside. Equal footing. Matching energy. Proud support.

He was already imagining the first look. Her stepping out of that car. The gasp. The silence that always came before the flashbulbs started.

Remy walked back into view, holding a lint roller like a weapon. “Don’t move.”

Joe laughed again but froze in place obediently as she did one last once-over. “You good on timing?” she asked. “We’re set to head to the car in forty.”

“Yeah. I’m good,” he said, checking his watch. “Waiting on Angel anyway.”

Remy grinned knowingly. “Bet she’s making it worth the wait.”

“Oh, no doubt.”

Joe checked his phone one more time. Still nothing.

So he opened their text thread and sent one word:

Ready.

No punctuation. No emoji. Just the word.

Then he picked up the baby-blue pocket square from the bed—embroidered with Zariyah’s initials—and tucked it into his breast pocket. A quiet nod to the most important girl in his life.

Until tonight.

Tonight, Angel was taking center stage.

And Joe? He’d be right there in the wings. Smiling, steady, hers.

❀. ˚◞❤ ⃗ ೃ༄.·:¨༺༻¨*:·.❀

Monday Evening – The Reveal

The hotel lobby was a study in understated elegance—sleek marble floors, tall gold-framed mirrors, and soft jazz curling through the air like smoke from an expensive cigar. The kind of place that whispered instead of shouted, where even time seemed to slow out of respect.

Joe stood at the bottom of the grand staircase, his hands tucked loosely in his pockets, shoulders relaxed—but his heart was doing something else entirely. It thudded, steady but sharp, like the low beat of a halftime drumline. He'd stood in tunnel entrances before Super Bowls with less adrenaline. This wasn’t the roar of a stadium or the hum of a crowd.

This was the stillness before something holy.

The elevator dinged softly.

He turned.

And for the briefest moment, everything else ceased to matter. Noise, nerves, expectations—they fell away in a single blink.

Angel stepped into view.

She moved like time itself slowed to let her pass—each stride measured, intentional, like she’d rehearsed her entrance in dreams. The turquoise and black suit clung to her like smoke and thunder—tailored to perfection, with every seam whispering power. The embroidery glimmered under the golden chandelier light, intricate turquoise thread swirling like jazz riffs across the sleek fabric. Her hat was tilted just slightly off-center, a nod to ‘70s noir and unapologetic cool. Her wig, smooth and sharp, framed her face like a sculptor’s final touch.

And those nails? Lacquered, flawless, catching the light like tiny mirrors. The grill on her bottom lip caught him next—Zari, spelled in silver. Every inch of her was curated with the kind of vision that made fashion houses write odes and photographers lose their breath.

Joe did exactly that—lost his breath.

His mouth opened slightly before he even realized it. He blinked once, twice.

“Angel…” he exhaled, voice low, reverent. “You’re not playing fair.”

Angel grinned, sauntering down the last few steps, hips swaying with unapologetic rhythm. “And you’re still breathing, so I must’ve held back.”

She didn’t stop until she was in front of him, her eyes sparkling like she’d known he’d be speechless. Joe reached out instinctively and took her hand, spinning her gently. She let him, her coat tails flaring slightly, her eyes never leaving his.

“You look…” He stopped. Words failed in the face of her. “Incredible. That suit? That hat? I’m not gonna be able to keep my eyes on anything else tonight.”

“And you,” she said, voice velvet-dipped with teasing, tugging lightly at his lapel as she circled him with mock scrutiny. “Look like a Cartier ad and a quarterback had a baby.”

He raised an eyebrow, grinning. “You roasting me at the Met?”

She didn’t blink. “Joe, you showed up in Gucci sneakers. You're lucky you’re fine.”

He let out a soft laugh, running a hand over his hair. “Told you I wasn’t showing up in church shoes.”

“Mm,” she hummed, stepping closer, tapping his glasses lightly. “And the blue shades? You trying to be mysterious now?”

Joe shrugged, lips curving. “They match the suit.”

“They also scream, ‘Hi, I just came from a GQ shoot in Milan, but I still drink Muscle Milk.’”

He laughed louder now, the tension rolling off his shoulders. He loved this part of her—the way she could cut him down and lift him up in the same breath, keep him grounded even while they both floated.

Angel leaned in, resting a manicured hand against his chest. “You clean up well, Burrow. But tonight?” She raised an eyebrow, eyes gleaming. “I’m the one they’re gonna fall for.”

He looked at her, pure affection radiating in his expression. “They’ll be lucky just to catch a glimpse.”

She softened for a heartbeat, then kissed him on the cheek. “Good answer.”

They stood like that for a moment—just the two of them, quiet inside the grandness of it all. The lobby felt distant now, like a movie set. Outside, black SUVs were already pulling up to the curb. Paparazzi were assembling behind velvet ropes. The Met carpet was waiting. Cameras. Flashbulbs. A thousand eyes.

But here, in this moment, it was still just Joe and Angel.

He leaned down, kissed her forehead gently. “Ready to shut it down?”

She stepped back, adjusting her hat just slightly, her expression poised and unreadable in the way only true stars manage.

“Let’s go,” she said.

They walked out together, hand in hand, their silhouettes sharp against the marble. And when the doors opened and the cameras began to pop, Joe didn’t even blink.

Because he knew.

Tonight didn’t belong to him.

It belonged to her.

And he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

❀. ˚◞❤ ⃗ ೃ༄.·:¨༺༻¨*:·.❀

Monday Night – The Met Gala

Outside the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the night bloomed electric.

The blue carpet shimmered beneath the blaze of strobes, stretching up the grand staircase like a path into Olympus itself. Photographers shouted names like spells, summoning celebrities in silks, sequins, plumes, and impossible couture. Each arrival was a moment—tailored spectacle timed to the flash of a thousand bulbs. The air was thick with perfume, high fashion, and the breathless energy of culture in motion.

And then, just as the rhythm seemed to settle into predictability, a new presence stepped from a sleek black SUV—and the atmosphere shifted.

It was like a sudden intake of breath.

Angel Burrow.

She stepped out first, boots clicking against the stone, each stride measured and regal. Her turquoise and black suit gleamed beneath the floodlights, the embroidery catching the flashes in flickers like firelight. The wide-brimmed hat sat tilted just off-center, casting a shadow that danced across her cheekbones. Her grill sparkled as she smiled—Zari, the name of her daughter, refracting in silver.

She wasn’t just dressed for the theme.

She was the theme.

Black elegance. Black legacy. Black resistance tailored into fabric, walking forward like it had something to say—and it wasn’t asking permission to speak.

Joe followed her, a breath behind, his fingers naturally slipping into hers. He was every bit the calm to her storm: minimalist in his blue-gray suit, a Cartier coolness radiating from his frames and the quiet confidence in his stride. The Gucci sneakers—his one defiant wink—grounded him in authenticity.

Together, they were contrast and complement. Fire and water. Sharp edges softened by shared grace.

“Angel Burrow! Joe! Over here! Over here!”

The shouts came in waves from every direction. Flash, flash, flash.

They stopped, posed. She tilted her hat slightly, her smirk radiant but restrained. Joe stood beside her with an arm lightly at her back, smiling, relaxed, but visibly proud. Not performative. Just present.

And inside her chest, under all the silk and steel, Angel’s heart beat faster than any camera shutter.

Joe adjusted his cufflinks with one hand and ran the other across his buzzed hair. The nerves weren’t game-day level, but they hovered somewhere between “post-season overtime” and “the first time he met Angel’s mother in her church heels.”

Beside him, Angel stood tall—shoulders back, hat tilted just so, her turquoise and black suit catching every flicker of light like a living sculpture. Her hand found the inside of his elbow, grounding him with the smallest touch.

The Variety correspondent approached them with a wide, practiced smile, heels tapping lightly on the carpet. “Joe Burrow! NFL’s golden arm on the blue carpet tonight!” Her voice sparkled beneath the LED rig. “Tell us—what went into this look?”

Joe gave the same quiet smile he wore in post-game interviews, the kind that said I know what I’m doing, but you don’t need me to say too much about it.

“Well,” he started, glancing briefly at Angel, “I wanted something that felt like me, but still respected the theme. Tailored, but relaxed—kind of a streetwear elegance. If that makes sense.”

The reporter gave an approving nod, eyes moving over the crisp lines of his slate-blue suit and the Gucci sneakers anchoring the whole thing. “It definitely does. You didn’t go too flashy, but it’s smart. The textures, the glasses—very clean. Very current.”

Joe looked down at his shoes with a soft shrug. “I wasn’t gonna come out here pretending to be something I’m not. I love suits. I also love sneakers. Felt like the honest version.”

The reporter smiled, then shifted slightly. “And are you here solo tonight or—?”

Joe didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stepped aside half a beat, one hand gently resting at the small of Angel’s back as if to frame her. “Solo?” he repeated, feigning confusion. “Nah. I brought the real headliner with me.”

Angel lifted her chin slightly and offered a coy smile, the brim of her hat casting her eyes in a dramatic half-shadow. It wasn’t the spotlight she sought—but when it found her, she knew exactly what to do with it.

The reporter's jaw dropped slightly, audible even through her grin. “Oh my God. Angel Burrow, you look absolutely unreal. This suit—this whole moment—it’s giving classic, power, movement… like you just stepped out of a Gordon Parks frame.”

Angel chuckled softly. “I’ll take that,” she said, adjusting the cuff of her sleeve with a glint of silver on her grill. “Tonight’s about legacy, so… I wanted to show up like I belong to one.”

Joe glanced at her like he’d just heard a highlight reel in real time. “She’s the main event tonight,” he added, voice low, proud.

The reporter beamed. “Honestly? I believe it.”

Flashbulbs went off again, a fresh wave. Angel tilted her hat just enough for the light to catch her grills—"Zari" spelled across her bottom lip—and Joe’s hand stayed at her back, a steady presence.

They were only minutes into the carpet, but it was already clear: they weren’t just attending the Met Gala—they were carving out their place in it.

The air along the steps of the Met was heavy with flashbulbs and whispered awe. The crowd was swelling again—paparazzi clicking in rapid staccato, reporters angling for quotes and candids, assistants whispering touch-up notes. Through all the shimmer and shuffle, Joe Burrow stood calmly beside Angel, one hand resting on her waist, thumb brushing over the fine lines of her tailored jacket.

Angel adjusted the tilt of her wide-brimmed hat ever so slightly, lips parted in a soft smile that never quite left her face. She wasn’t performing; she was owning.

Joe leaned in, eyes scanning the clusters of velvet ropes and couture chaos up ahead.

“Yo,” he murmured under his breath, lips near her ear. “You see who just pulled up?”

Angel turned slightly, following his gaze as he dipped his chin toward the far end of the carpet.

There, walking like he owned the runway and had the stats to back it up, was Justin Jefferson—draped in a bold, oversized gray suit with dramatic puffy shoulders and a flower broach. Clean, sharp, intentional.

Angel smirked instantly, her eyes lighting with recognition. “Mmm, of course he showed out.”

Joe chuckled, nudging her gently. “You wanna go say hey?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” she said, already stepping forward.

They moved in rhythm, gliding past a swirl of stylists and soft-spoken photographers. Joe’s stride was relaxed, but there was a quiet energy in his eyes—a genuine excitement. And beside him, Angel’s presence sharpened like a blade. They didn’t just walk together. They arrived together.

As they approached, Justin looked up—mid-conversation with Tasha Riley, who stood in front of the ESPN camera crew, mic in hand, face radiant. Her Sergio Hudson gown hugged her like royalty. Her box braids framed her face perfectly, and her eyes sparkled with warmth and wit. To viewers, she was one of the sharpest minds in sports media. To Angel, she was family—one of the few women at ESPN who had taken her under her wing early on. His grin widened like someone spotting family across a busy street.

“Ayyeee!” he called out, breaking away with open arms. “Look who it is!”

Joe stepped forward, and the two locked into their signature handshake—quick clasp, pull, shoulder bump, fluid like they’d practiced it the day before. Which, of course, they hadn’t. That’s just what years of brotherhood did.

Then Justin turned to Angel with warmth and swagger. “Angel, stop. You didn’t have to end the whole carpet like this.”

Angel laughed, hugging him like they were back at a post-game celebration. “You know I had to balance the quarterback energy. Can’t let him get too comfortable.”

Justin looked between them, nodding. “Y’all look good—real good.”

Joe clapped a hand to Justin’s shoulder, still grinning. “You’re not doing too bad yourself, man.”

“You two better stop,” Tasha teased as they walked up. “I had to tell my producer to zoom out so we could get both y’all in the frame. Joe, this suit? And Angel, this hat? Listen…”

Angel laughed, reaching out to hug her. “You know we had to show out a little.”

“A little? Girl, you walked out here looking like you write fashion commandments in your sleep,” Tasha said, stepping back and grinning.

“I was just asking him,” she said, gesturing at Justin, “who’s the best-dressed NFL player outside of himself. And our boy was… struggling.”

Joe raised his brows and looked at Justin. “You having a hard time?”

Justin laughed, giving Joe a once-over. “I mean… you’re definitely sharp. You always put it on.”

They both looked down instinctively. Justin clocked the Gucci sneakers, jaw ticking with amusement.

“Ooooh—look at the kicks,” he said, stepping back slightly.

Joe took a cool half-step to the side, just enough to show them off. “You like that?”

The whole circle cracked up.

Justin dapped him again. “Every time, man.”

Joe turned back to the camera with a mock-serious expression. “He says me. You don’t even need to ask him.”

Tasha raised a brow. “Now Joe, would you say Justin?”

Joe didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely. Since college. JJ’s been consistent. Man dresses like he’s got GQ editors in his group chat.”

Angel leaned in, a teasing grin on her lips. “That’s facts.”

Then Tasha turned the question to her. “Okay, Angel. Let’s settle this. You’re the real style expert here. Who’s winning the fit game tonight?”

Angel tilted her head, eyes dancing between them like a judge on a runway panel. “Joe’s giving luxury streetwear. Confident, controlled, vibey. JJ’s serving tailored power, like he's about to close a deal and hit a gritty in the same hour.”

They waited.

She smirked. “It’s a tie. Y’all can fight it out later.”

Justin laughed, throwing his hands up. “That’s fair. That’s love.”

Joe nodded. “We’ll allow it.”

Tasha turned to the camera, laughing. “There you have it—clean cuts, elite shade, and fashion chemistry. Joe and Angel Burrow, Justin Jefferson—looking like a first-round draft pick for the Met.”

As they shared one more laugh and a few more pictures, the cameras didn’t just capture three NFL stars and a rising ESPN icon—they captured culture in motion. Style with soul. Brotherhood. Black excellence stitched into every thread.

And Angel? She stood in the middle of it all—smiling, steady, exactly where she belonged.

As the interview wrapped, Angel leaned into Tasha again, lowering her voice just enough. “You look stunning, sis. We need a girls' dinner soon. Somewhere without cameras.”

Tasha squeezed her hand. “Absolutely. After this madness.”

As the ESPN crew moved on, the three stood together for another moment—friends, colleagues, culture-bearers—and the lights flashed again like stars being born.

They moved up the steps, then through the great glass doors and into the Met—where the world shifted again.

Inside, reality gave way to surrealism. The main exhibit hall had been transformed into something dreamlike: floating tapestries, curved metallic sculptures, curated tableaus that celebrated Black artistry and heritage in every stitch and panel. There were dancers performing slow, rhythmic movements in custom-made suits from Harlem ateliers. Lights cast shadows in deep blue and gold.

Angel felt it all—the awe, the scale, the history being both told and made around her.

The cameras were outside. Inside, it was artists and peers. Her people.

Well—almost.

Once inside, the museum transformed from architectural wonder into a living canvas. The galleries had been repurposed with fashion installations, light sculptures, and soundscapes echoing with Nina Simone, Kendrick Lamar, and Fela Kuti. The air felt rich with history and heartbeat.

Angel had just exhaled a quiet breath of awe when she felt a ripple of energy beside her. She turned—and froze.

Zendaya. Coco Jones. Janelle Monáe.

They moved like constellations in orbit. Three women who were less “celebrities” and more forces.

Zendaya floated toward them in a custom Louis Vuitton white three-piece suit. The vest was cinched to perfection; the flared trousers moved like smoke as she walked. A wide-brimmed white hat completed the look—Pharrell’s design—and gleamed under the overhead lights. Her Bulgari jewels glittered at her throat and wrists, elegant and unbothered.

Coco Jones followed, a vision in a cream and white Manish Malhotra two-piece with intricate embroidery that seemed to shift with every breath she took. The long-sleeve coat trailed behind her like royalty, and the matching trousers balanced the drama with grace. Her floor-length braided ponytail was practically a myth in motion, and the oversized jewels on her neck and fingers shimmered with untouchable confidence.

Janelle Monáe stood just to their left, dressed in a conceptual masterpiece by Thom Browne and Paul Tazewell—a celebration of Black dandyism and diasporic identity. Her trompe l’oeil overcoat depicted a full suit and briefcase, and her bowler hat was adorned with a working clock monocle. The diamond brooch at her lapel? Crafted from 1800 Tequila, because of course it was.

And they were all—smiling at Angel.

“Oh my God,” Angel whispered, her fingers tightening slightly around Joe’s. “Babe, that’s... that’s all three of them.”

Before Joe could answer, Zendaya reached them first, her eyes gleaming.

“Angel Burrow,” she said with a knowing grin. “It is so good to finally meet you.”

Angel blinked. “You—you know who I am?”

Zendaya laughed softly. “Girl, I follow your ‘Game Day Chic’ posts with Zariyah like they’re runway drops. Half my inspo folder is you in sunglasses holding that baby like a fashion accessory.”

Coco laughed, stepping in for a hug. “Same here. The matching headwraps? The sneakers and stroller combo? Obsessed.”

Angel’s eyes widened. Her mouth opened slightly before she could remember how to close it. “I... I don’t even know what to say. You ladies are literally on my vision board.”

Janelle leaned in, her voice lower, more intimate. “And I love how you speak up. ESPN can be loud with a lot of noise—but you cut through all that. When you talk, people listen. You bring culture into sports coverage in a way that honors who we are.”

Angel flushed, touched beyond words. She wasn’t used to this. She had faced stadiums, critics, trolls in her mentions—but here she was, shy in front of three women she’d admired for years.

“I just… I never thought y’all would know me like that,” she said finally, her voice softer now. “I’ve looked up to all of you since... forever. You paved the way for women like me to even be at something like this.”

Zendaya stepped in, touching her shoulder gently. “That’s the thing. Now you’re paving the way. This look?” She nodded at Angel’s suit. “This is history. You are the moment.”

“Period,” Coco echoed, giving her a gentle wink.

Janelle tilted her head, admiring the cut of Angel’s suit. “The tailoring? Precision. And that hat? Criminal. You’re giving protest and pageantry, sis.”

Angel blushed—actually blushed—and laughed again, softer this time. “Coming from you? That means everything. I’ve had your music in my college playlists, like, permanently.”

Zendaya stepped in closer, eyes kind but electric. “It’s giving story. Like, you didn’t just dress for tonight—you came to say something. That’s what this whole thing is about.”

Angel tried to breathe evenly, her voice steady even as her knees threatened to betray her. “I just… wanted to wear something that felt like me. Something my daughter could see years from now and know her mom didn’t shrink.”

All three women paused for a moment, then nodded—an unspoken exchange of sisterhood and knowing.

“I’m glad you showed up like this,” Coco said, smiling. “You remind us why we keep showing up too.”

Angel swallowed, the moment bigger than anything she’d imagined. She offered a grateful nod and a quiet, “Thank you. Really.”

Janelle tilted her hat. “Glad to finally be in the same room with you.”

The women offered hugs and cheek kisses, brief but genuine, before they were swept away into the current of curated chaos again.

And just like that, they were swept away, carried into the buzz and brilliance of the night. Angel stood frozen for a beat, blinking like someone trying to remember how to breathe.

Joe leaned closer, whispering against her temple, “You okay?”

She turned to him, dazed, her voice high with disbelief. “They knew who I was. I thought I was gonna pass out when Zendaya said my name.”

He grinned, eyes full of affection. “You looked like you were trying to levitate out of your body.”

“I was! I did!” she laughed, then looked down at herself. “Do I look like I belong?”

Joe didn’t even hesitate. “You look like this entire night was built for you.”

Angel exhaled slowly, brushing her hands over her hips, gathering herself.

She turned toward him fully. “Alright. Let’s go be legends.”

She turned toward him, her voice quiet now. “Think we did okay?”

Joe didn’t answer immediately. He looked at her—really looked. Not just at the suit or the hat or the shimmer in her grill, but her. The way she held herself now, taller somehow, fuller.

“You didn’t just show up tonight,” he said. “You told a story. I’m proud of you.”

Angel softened, her hand brushing his cheek with quiet affection. “You’re part of that story.”

They stood together for a moment, right there amid fashion’s most elite and the hum of curated glory, their fingers intertwined, eyes speaking in a language of their own.

And together, hand in hand, they stepped further into the magic, surrounded by legacy, light, and the quiet revolution they’d come dressed to honor.

And then, together, they walked deeper into the dream.

Angel had arrived.

And the world was finally watching.

Angel kept one hand tucked into the crook of Joe’s arm, her other occasionally lifting to wave, to hug, to accept compliments with a graceful smile that never slipped into pretense. It was her, just dialed up—a little sharper, a little more golden, but still unmistakably Angel.

And Joe? Joe was barely holding it together.

Not in a bad way. In a how did I end up marrying the most incredible woman in the room kind of way.

Every time Angel laughed—really laughed, head tilted, dimples flashing, grill catching the low light—Joe felt his chest do this warm, dangerous squeeze. It had nothing to do with the setting and everything to do with her being so fully herself.

They were mid-conversation with Michaela Coel—who’d stopped to tell Angel, “Your suit? A sermon. Honestly, I want to frame it”—when Joe’s mind began to wander.

Not far. Just enough to feel his pulse quicken.

It was the way Angel’s suit hugged her waist just right, how the lapels drew the eye to her collarbones and the chain resting there like punctuation. The hat sat tilted like a wink, and Joe couldn’t stop picturing how she’d take it off later—slow, with a look in her eye that said she knew the effect she had.

And Lord, her confidence. That sharp, effortless fire. The way she moved through the space like she was born for it—spoke up with grace, gave out compliments like confetti, held her own with Zendaya, Gabrielle Union, Yara Shahidi, Tracee Ellis Ross.

She was elegance with edge. A walking contradiction. A quiet storm.

Joe leaned in, lips brushing her temple. “You know you’re killing me, right?”

Angel smirked without turning. “Good.”

He chuckled low, letting his hand drift briefly to the small of her back. Not quite inappropriate—but definitely more possessive than before. A whisper of later tucked into the gesture.

She turned to him with a slow once-over, and for a beat, her eyes softened. “This suit,” she murmured, fingertips brushing the crisp line of his lapel. “It brings out your eyes. Like… a lot.”

Joe raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

Angel leaned in just enough so her breath grazed his jaw. “If I didn’t have to worry about messing up my makeup, I’d be dragging you into one of these ancient marble corners.”

His jaw flexed slightly. “Say the word. We’ll find an exhibit with low foot traffic.”

She laughed, swatting his chest with her gloved hand. “Behave.”

“I’m trying. You’re making it real hard.”

“Literally?” she teased.

He grinned but didn’t answer. Just dipped his head close again. “You are... everything tonight.”

“You say that like it’s new.”

“It’s not. But it’s louder now.”

Before Angel could offer a smug reply, they were interrupted by none other than Pharrell, trailed by Keke Palmer and Donald Glover in matching earth-toned tailoring.

“Yo, Joe,” Pharrell greeted, offering a handshake and nodding toward Angel. “And you—man, I saw your look on IG before I even got here. Y’all came to represent.”

Angel offered a warm handshake. “It’s an honor, truly. Your work’s been a blueprint.”

“Likewise,” Pharrell said, gesturing to her grills. “That detail? That’s love.”

Donald Glover dapped Joe up with an approving nod. “Quarterback who knows how to wear a suit. That’s rare.”

Joe glanced sideways at Angel. “I’ve got good taste in stylists. And in wives.”

Keke let out a smooth, impressed hum. “Whew. That’s the right answer.”

As the group continued through the hall toward the first installation, Angel reached for Joe’s hand again, threading their fingers together like it was muscle memory.

“You alright?” she asked softly, her tone changing for just a breath.

He looked down at her, blue eyes brighter than the diamonds pinned at her collar.

“Yeah,” he said, voice low and real. “I’ve never been better. Watching you do your thing? I’m just trying not to make it obvious how gone I am for you.”

She smiled, then kissed his cheek just below the glasses. “You’ve never hidden it well.”

“Good,” he said. “I don’t plan to start.”

❀. ˚◞❤ ⃗ ೃ༄.·:¨༺༻¨*:·.❀

The soft chime of jazz filtered through the suite speakers, the kind of low, velvety music that wrapped around the room like silk. Outside the Met Gala madness had begun to melt into memory, but inside their hotel suite, a different kind of energy buzzed—intimate, playful, and unmistakably them.

Angel stood in front of the full-length mirror, slipping a delicate gold bracelet around her wrist. The corset-style bodice of her dress hugged her like a second skin, the smooth black velvet drawing the eye to her waist, while the dramatic rosette skirt gave her the kind of silhouette that could stop a clock. She tilted her head, letting her loose waves fall over one shoulder, and caught her reflection smiling.

Behind her, Joe emerged from the bathroom, toweling his curls and wearing nothing but a white hotel robe—loosely tied, of course, because of course. His sleeveless sweater vest and pleated trousers were laid out neatly on the bed, along with his chain and wristband. But he was in no rush.

He leaned against the doorframe, towel slung over his shoulder, and let out a low whistle. “You’re really gonna make me walk into that party looking like your plus-one?”

Angel turned slowly, lips curving into a sly grin. “You are my plus-one.”

“Nah,” he said, shaking his head as he walked toward her. “I look like the dude who drives the woman in that dress.”

She laughed, stepping toward him, heels clicking softly on the polished wood floors. “You are so dramatic.”

He didn’t flinch. “You’re the one looking like an editorial spread came to life. I’m just trying to keep up.”

Angel smoothed a hand over his chest through the robe, eyes playful. “Please. You’re about to have the internet breaking down your outfit piece by piece. The curls? The chain? Those trousers that hug just right?”

Joe smirked, a brow lifting. “You noticed that, huh?”

“Oh, I noticed,” she said, letting her fingers slide from his chest to the knot of his robe. She gave it a little tug—not enough to undo it, but just enough to make her point. “You’re wearing dangerous energy tonight.”

He leaned in, close enough that his voice dropped to a murmur against her cheek. “You talking about my outfit or something else?”

Angel gave him a slow once-over, tongue peeking out as she smiled. “Both.”

Joe backed up a step, finally dropping the robe to change. “You keep talking like that and we’re gonna miss the whole party.”

“We already won the party,” she said over her shoulder, returning to the mirror. “This is just the victory lap.”

He pulled the sweater vest over his head, adjusting the deep V just so, the subtle fraying at the armholes giving his look a rough, designer edge. “You like it?” he asked, turning toward her once the light gray trousers were on.

Angel turned again, this time genuinely taken aback.

Her voice softened. “It brings out your eyes.”

Joe blinked. “What?”

She stepped closer, adjusting the lay of his chain against his collarbone. “The black makes your eyes pop. You look… stupid good right now.”

He tilted his head, smiling slowly. “Stupid good?”

“Dummy good,” she repeated, placing a kiss on the side of his neck. “Like... it should be illegal for you to show up this fine without a warning label.”

He laughed, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her in gently, careful not to crush the volume of her skirt. “So what you’re saying is... I should be worried about you trying to drag me back to bed after the party?”

Angel gave him a faux-innocent look. “Oh, I’m not dragging you anywhere.”

Joe kissed her, slow and sweet but with that familiar heat just beneath it. When they broke apart, he whispered, “Let’s give them something to talk about.”

Angel smiled. “Let’s give them something to remember.”

She grabbed her clutch, Joe tucked his chain just so, and with one last look in the mirror—her dramatic nails catching the light like tiny chrome sculptures—they stepped out of the suite, hand in hand, ready to shut the night down again.

Together.

❀. ˚◞❤ ⃗ ೃ༄.·:¨༺༻¨*:·.❀

The rain had softened to a mist by the time Joe and Angel arrived at the Cartier-hosted after-party at Bemelmans Bar in The Carlyle Hotel. The venue, renowned for its old-world charm and timeless elegance, was aglow with the soft shimmer of Cartier jewels and the hum of jazz that filled the air. 

Inside, the atmosphere was intimate yet electric, a blend of Hollywood glamour and high fashion. Celebrities like Rihanna, Halle Berry, and Bad Bunny mingled effortlessly, their laughter and conversation adding to the night's allure.

As they entered the bar, heads turned. Joe couldn't help but feel a surge of pride as Angel moved gracefully through the crowd, her presence magnetic. He leaned in close, his voice low and teasing. "You know, every time I see you, I think you couldn't possibly get more beautiful. And then you do."

Angel shot him a playful glance, her lips curling into a smile. "Flattery will get you everywhere."

They made their way to the bar, where Joe ordered a classic Old Fashioned, and Angel opted for a glass of champagne. As they sipped their drinks, they exchanged lighthearted banter, their chemistry undeniable.

"How do you do it?" Joe asked, his tone genuine. "Every time we step out, you steal the spotlight."

Angel shrugged modestly. "Just trying to keep up with you."

Their laughter was interrupted by a familiar voice.

"Well, well, if it isn't the power couple of the night."

Turning, they were greeted by Jon Batiste, who was holding court at the piano. He flashed them a charismatic grin. "You two are lighting up this place. Mind if I steal a moment?"

"Of course," Angel replied, her smile warm.

Jon leaned in, his eyes twinkling. "You know, I was just telling the crowd—if I had a dollar for every time I saw a couple as stylish as you two, I'd be able to buy this hotel."

Joe chuckled, raising his glass. "Well, if you do, make sure you get us a room with a view."

Jon laughed heartily. "Deal. But only if you promise to keep bringing that energy."

As the night unfolded, Joe and Angel continued to mingle with the who's who of the fashion and entertainment world, their bond evident to all. They shared stories, laughter, and moments of quiet connection amidst the glamour and glitz.

Later in the evening, as the crowd began to thin, Jon returned to the piano, his fingers dancing over the keys. The soft strains of a familiar melody filled the air, and Angel leaned into Joe, her voice barely above a whisper.

"This night... it's perfect."

Joe kissed the top of her head, his arm around her waist. "As long as you're by my side, every night is perfect."

They stood there, lost in the music and each other, a testament to their enduring love and the magic of the evening.

The velvet walls of Bemelmans Bar glowed gold in the candlelight. Laughter clinked against the rims of crystal flutes. The scent of rare perfume and aged bourbon lingered in the air, mingling with the notes of a live jazz trio that had just slipped into a dreamy version of Let’s Stay Together.

Angel stood near one of the banquettes, her drink in one hand, her free arm looped casually over Joe’s shoulder. Her nails caught the light every time she moved—each chrome swirl reflecting a kaleidoscope of candle flames and chandelier gold.

Joe hadn’t stopped looking at her since they walked in.

And not just looking—watching. Like someone trying to memorize something sacred.

They were deep in conversation with Zoe Kravitz and Lenny S., both of whom had just praised Angel’s look. Zoe tilted her head and said, “It’s giving Harlem couture meets warrior goddess,” while Lenny pointed at Joe and said, “I ain’t gonna lie—you’re holding your own, but your wife is outdressing you.”

Joe didn’t blink. “She outdresses me every day. I’ve accepted my role.”

Angel just gave Joe a side glance, subtle but unmistakable, as she took a sip from her glass. Her lips closed around the rim with slow deliberation, and she let the silence between them stretch for just a beat too long.

Joe caught it. Oh, he definitely caught it.

When the conversation shifted and the group moved toward the piano, Angel brushed past him—lightly dragging her hand across the back of his neck as she passed. Barely a touch. Just enough to raise the hairs there. Just enough to say I know what I’m doing.

He swallowed once, slowly. Smirked. Followed.

The room buzzed with more familiar faces now. Bad Bunny, dapper in a silk emerald suit, gave Joe a nod across the room. Anya Taylor-Joy stopped Angel to compliment her nails—“They’re a whole sculpture,” she said with awe—and asked who did them. Angel was mid-response when Joe came to stand behind her again, close enough that she could feel the heat from his chest through her dress.

She leaned back just slightly, letting her shoulder brush his abdomen, acting like she didn’t notice the way he exhaled a little slower than usual.

"You're playing dangerous," he murmured low, just for her, breath grazing the shell of her ear.

Angel turned her head just a little, letting her lips nearly brush his cheek. “Only if you’re losing.”

He chuckled, and she could feel it through her spine.

They broke apart again when Daniel Kaluuya walked over, clapping Joe on the back and giving Angel a grin. “Y’all shut the whole Gala down and came here to finish the job?”

“Something like that,” Angel answered smoothly.

As they chatted, Joe reached for a fresh drink from a passing tray, handing one to Angel without even glancing. She took it, brushing his fingers with hers like it was an accident—except they both knew it wasn’t.

“You’re flirting,” he said under his breath as the others laughed at something Daniel said.

“You’re imagining things,” she whispered back.

Joe tilted his head, grinning. “Nope. I know your games.”

Angel stepped away then, but not before looking over her shoulder—slowly, over her bare shoulder—and giving him a look that held promise and warning in equal measure.

Across the room, Keke Palmer caught the glance and raised her eyebrows with a smirk. “Oooh,” she said, sidling up beside Angel. “You’ve got that I’m-gonna-ruin-him-later look in your eyes.”

Angel didn’t even pretend to deny it.

Twenty minutes later, they were seated together in a semi-private lounge near the back of the bar. Angel’s heels were kicked halfway off under the table. Joe’s arm was slung across the velvet banquette behind her, his fingertips occasionally tapping her bare shoulder.

There were no more words.

Just that tension. That heat. That growing electricity that said: we’re not staying here long.

“You ready to dip soon?” Joe asked finally, voice low and smooth, the kind of voice that had nothing to do with sleep and everything to do with secrets.

Angel looked over at him, lashes sweeping low. “You tell me.”

Joe leaned in, brushing his nose along her cheek, just shy of a kiss. “I’ve been ready since you walked out of the bathroom.”

She grinned. “I knew that neckline would do something to you.”

He laughed softly, eyes tracing her mouth. “It’s not just the neckline. It’s the whole damn problem.”

Angel tilted her head. “Then let’s go find the solution.”

Joe stood first, offering his hand. She slipped hers into his with a practiced ease, the whole world fading behind them as they made their way to the elevator—two people dressed like royalty, walking like they were chasing the clock.

Because some after-parties don’t happen in bars.

It started with a look.

Not loud. Not obvious. Just a glance across the room while a Cartier publicist thanked a table full of A-listers for coming. Angel caught Joe’s eyes mid-conversation with someone from GQ, and he didn’t even need to say a word. His expression said it all: You feel this too, right?

She gave the smallest nod—then tilted her head toward the far side of the bar, where a narrow hallway disappeared behind a velvet rope. He didn’t hesitate.

Like two teenagers at prom sneaking out of the gym, they slipped away—quiet, smooth, deliberate. Angel’s heels tapped softly against the marble as Joe placed a casual hand at her lower back. They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. The party’s hum faded behind them, the velvet rope swinging back into place like a secret.

They found the balcony at the end of the hall—a tucked-away terrace overlooking the side of Madison Avenue. The heavy double doors groaned slightly as Joe pushed them open, and then… peace.

The chill of the spring night kissed her bare shoulders. Lights from the avenue below spilled upward, painting soft gold across her dress, making the rosettes look like they were blooming in moonlight.

Joe followed her out and quietly closed the door behind them.

Angel leaned against the railing first, letting the city breathe against her skin. “You ever notice,” she murmured, “how quiet New York can feel when you’re just high enough above it?”

Joe stepped in behind her, chest nearly touching her back. “Only when I’m with you.”

She smiled. Didn’t say anything. Just closed her eyes for a moment, feeling him there—his body heat soaking into her, the energy between them still pulsing from across the room. From all night.

When she turned around, it was slow. Intentional. The space between them was minimal—his hands found her waist, hers slipped beneath the hem of his sleeveless knit vest, fingertips brushing his warm skin beneath.

“You keep touching me like that,” he said quietly, “we’re not gonna make it back inside.”

Angel’s voice was low. Velvet. “Who said we were going back inside?”

Joe’s eyes darkened a shade, just slightly. Enough to betray the patience he was barely holding onto.

She reached up, lightly tugging on the silver chain around his neck, pulling him closer. “You’ve been looking at me all night like you wanted to fuck me stupid.”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

He kissed her.

Hard at first, then slow. Then hard again.

It wasn’t polished. It wasn’t staged. It was wanting—the kind of kiss born from hours of silent teasing, fingers brushed across hands, shared glances across rooms, subtle touches that sparked like wires snapping under tension.

Angel’s back met the railing as Joe deepened the kiss, one hand coming up to cradle the side of her jaw while the other stayed firm at her hip. Her fingers slid into his curls, tugging lightly—just enough to draw a low groan from his throat.

She pulled back first, breathing shallow, lips swollen. “That’s what I thought.”

Joe rested his forehead against hers, smiling now, playful again. “You’re trouble.”

“And you love it.”

He kissed her again, slower now, and when they broke, he looked down at her—eyes soft, voice gravelly. “You’re the only part of this whole night that’s real.”

Angel exhaled, brushing his cheek with the back of her hand. “Then let’s stay here a little longer.”

Somehow, they found themselves on a balcony that overlooked a glittering city, all of New York at their feet.

It was the kind of balcony that was designed for romantic moments. The kind that was meant for kisses that made your toes curl and your heart ache and your lips go numb.

The kind of kisses that they were having right then.

Angel was pressed against the wall, Joe between her legs, their bodies flushed together, mouths moving like the world was ending. She could feel his hands under her skirt, skimming up her thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake. She could feel the press of his teeth against her lips, the way he kept nipping at her, like he wanted to devour her whole.

His mouth moved to her neck, sucking a mark into her skin. “Fuck,” he hissed, lips moving against her throat. “I can’t get enough of you, baby.”

Angel whimpered, fingers curling in his shirt, holding him close. “Don’t stop.” She could feel every inch of him, the hard planes of his chest, the muscles of his arms. The way he was so strong and yet so gentle, like he was afraid of breaking her.

It was too hot.

It was too much.

It was everything.

Angel had never been this way with anyone before. So desperate. So hungry. So out of control.

She wanted to rip his shirt off, wanted to taste his skin, wanted to feel the heat of his body against hers. She wanted him to touch her everywhere, to fill every inch of her until she couldn’t take anymore.

Joe’s hand slipped under her skirt, fingers tracing the edge of her thong. Angel gasped, her hips jerking forward. She was so wet already, so ready for him.

“Joe,” she breathed, her voice barely audible.

“I know, baby,” he murmured against her neck. “I know.”

He pushed her thong to the side, his fingers finding her center. Angel cried out, her head falling back against the wall. He stroked her clit, his touch light and teasing, and she couldn’t help but buck her hips, seeking more.

“You’re so wet, baby,” Joe said, his voice low and husky. “You want this so bad, don’t you?”

Angel nodded frantically, her hands clutching at his shirt. “Yes, please. Please, Joe.”

He chuckled, the sound sending shivers down her spine. “Since you asked so nicely.”

He pushed a finger inside her, and Angel cried out again, her body arching off the wall. He pumped his finger in and out of her, adding a second one, and then a third. Angel was a whimpering mess, her legs shaking, her hips grinding against his hand.

Joe leaned in, capturing her mouth in a searing kiss. Angel kissed him back with abandon, her tongue tangling with his, her moans muffled against his lips. He fingered her faster, harder, his palm grinding against her clit.

Angel could feel the tension building inside her, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter. She was so close, so close.

 She just needed a little more.

“Joe,” she gasped, breaking away from the kiss. “Please. I’m so close.”

“I know, baby,” Joe murmured, his lips trailing down her neck. “Come for me. Let me feel you come apart.”

Angel cried out, her body tensing, her orgasm crashing over her like a tidal wave. Joe didn’t stop, pumping his fingers in and out of her until she was limp against the railing, her body shaking with aftershocks.

He slowly withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them clean. Angel watched him, her eyes wide with amazement.

“You taste so good, baby,” Joe said, a wicked glint in his eye. “I could eat you out for hours.”

Angel laughed, her cheeks flushing. “Maybe next time.”

Joe grinned, pulling her close and kissing her deeply. Angel melted against him, her arms wrapping around his neck. She could taste herself on his lips, and it made her feel dirty and sexy and so incredibly turned on.

She broke away from the kiss, looking up at Joe with a mischievous glint in her eye. “My turn.”

Without another word, Angel sank to her knees in front of him.

“Oh, fuck,” Joe breathed, his hands tangling in her hair. “Baby, you don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” Angel said, looking up at him through her lashes. “Let me make you feel good too.”

She reached for his belt, unclasping it with a deft movement. She undid the button and zipper of his pants, pulling them down along with his boxers. His cock sprang free, hard and heavy, and Angel couldn’t help but lick her lips.

She took him in her hand, stroking him slowly. Joe let out a strangled groan, his hips jerking forward.

“Fuck, Angel,” he breathed, his hands tightening in her hair.

She leaned in, swirling her tongue around the tip of his cock. Joe groaned again, his hips bucking forward. Angel took him deeper, her mouth sliding down his shaft, her tongue teasing the underside.

“Shit, Angel,” Joe hissed, his hands guiding her head. “Your mouth feels so good.”

Angel hummed around him, taking him deeper with each stroke. She could feel him throbbing in her mouth, could taste the salty tang of his precum. She sucked him harder, her hand stroking the base of his cock.

“Angel,” Joe groaned, his hips snapping forward. “I’m gonna come if you don’t stop.”

Angel pulled away, looking up at him with a wicked grin. “That’s the idea, isn’t it?”

Joe let out a shaky laugh, his hands cupping her face. "As much as I love your mouth, I need to be inside you baby."

Joe pulled her up, capturing her lips in a deep kiss. Angel melted against him, their tongues tangling together, the taste of him still on her lips.

They didn’t stop.

They couldn’t.

They kissed like there was no one watching, like they weren’t two people who were supposed to be anywhere but there, like the whole world hadn’t been waiting for them to leave the party together.

Angel didn’t care. She couldn’t. Not with the way Joe’s hands were gripping her hips, pulling her closer to him. Not with the way his lips were trailing down her neck, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses that made her skin tingle. Not with the way she felt like she was about to explode into flames, like every touch, every breath was pushing her closer to the edge.

“This is wrong,” she murmured, her fingers tangling in his hair.

“So wrong,” he agreed, his mouth moving to the hollow of her throat, sucking, nibbling. “So fucking wrong.”

She should have pushed him away. She should have stepped back. She should have remembered that they were in public, that there were paparazzi waiting downstairs, that anyone could see them.

But she didn’t.

She couldn’t.

All she could do was feel.

His hands were under her skirt again, and this time, he wasn’t teasing. This time, he was all business. He pushed her thong to the side and slid a finger inside her without warning. Angel gasped, her back arching, her hips pushing into his hand.

“Shit,” he hissed, his finger pumping in and out of her. “You’re so tight, baby. So soaked.”

Angel could barely speak, barely breathe. She could feel everything, every touch, every sensation. She was so close to coming undone, and he had barely touched her.

“Joe,” she whispered, her nails digging into his shoulders. “Please.”

He added another finger, curling them inside her, hitting that spot that made her see stars. Angel cried out, her legs trembling, her body shaking. She was so close. So close.

“Please what?” he teased, his fingers stilling. “Tell me what you want, baby.”

She wanted to scream. She wanted to beg. She wanted to tell him to fuck her until she forgot her own name.

But she couldn’t form the words. Not yet. Not until he was touching her again, making her feel things she had never felt before.

“Please,” she begged, her voice breaking. “I need you. I need you inside me. Now.”

He didn’t waste any time.

He didn’t bother with words.

He just turned her so her back was against his front before bending her against the railing. Her hands gripping the cool metal of the railing. The wind caught the layered skirt of her dress, lifting it just enough to tease, just enough to spark something wicked in Joe’s gaze.

He stepped up behind her, one hand resting on her lower back, the other curling lightly around her hip. Her silhouette framed by the skyline, her spine arching with quiet intention—it was almost too much. She looked over her shoulder, her eyes daring, mouth curved in that half-smile she wore when she knew she had him undone.

Joe leaned in close, voice low, words just for her. “You really trying to test me out here?”

Angel tilted her head, the city lights dancing in her eyes. “I already know the answer.”

He chuckled, low and rough. “Yeah? What’s the question then?”

She didn’t say a word.

Didn’t need to.

Her breath caught when his lips found her shoulder, his fingers slipping just beneath the edge of the corset’s back. His touch wasn’t rushed—never rushed—just firm enough to say you’re mine, gentle enough to say I know exactly how to love you.

For a few moments, time stopped. It was just the soft sound of the wind, the shimmer of Manhattan, and two people tangled in each other with a tension that hadn’t let up all night—and never would.

Joe pressed a kiss to the center of her spine, his hands trailing slowly down her sides. “You’re gonna get us caught out here.”

Angel’s laugh was breathless. “Then don’t take so long.”

She could feel the cold breeze against her skin, but she didn’t care. All she cared about was the way Joe was grinding against her, the way she could feel how hard he was through his pants.

“Fuck,” he hissed, reaching between them to free himself from his pants. “I can’t wait. I have to have you now.”

Angel nodded frantically, her arms tightening around his neck. “Yes,” she breathed. “Now. Please.”

He didn’t need any more encouragement.

He pushed into her in one long thrust, bottoming out, filling her completely. Angel cried out, her nails digging into the metal. He was so big, so thick. She could feel him stretching her, filling her to the brim.

“Fuck,” Joe groaned, holding still, letting her adjust. “You feel so good, baby. So tight. So perfect.”

Angel couldn’t speak. She couldn’t think. All she could do was feel. Feel him inside her, filling her, stretching her. Feel the way he was gripping her hips, holding her in place. Feel the way she was about to come apart at the seams.

“Move,” she begged, her hips rolling against his. “Please. I need you to move.”

Joe didn’t need to be told twice. He pulled out slowly before thrusting back in, hard, deep. Angel cried out, her back arching, her body shaking. He set a brutal pace, pounding into her, filling her over and over again.

Angel couldn’t catch her breath. She couldn’t do anything but take him, all of him, over and over again. She had never felt anything like this before. Never.

“Shit, baby,” Joe hissed, his thrusts becoming erratic. “I’m not going to last long. You feel too good.”

Angel moaned louder, her head dropping forward.

“Fuck,” Joe growled, his pace slowing. “We can’t get caught.”

He pulled out of her, ignoring her whimper of protest. She could feel him behind her, could feel the hard length of his erection pressed against her ass. He pushed her thong down her legs before shoving it in her mouth.

“Suck,” he ordered, pressing her face against the iron railing. Angel obeyed, sucking on her underwear, her eyes wide, her breath coming in harsh pants.

“That’s it, baby,” Joe encouraged, running his hands over her ass, parting her cheeks. “Just like that.” Angel moaned around her panties, her hips bucking back against him. Joe chuckled, the sound low and dark.

“Do you like this?” he asked, pressing the tip of his erection against her entrance. “Do you like being fucked like this?” Angel nodded frantically, unable to speak. Joe leaned over her, his chest against her back, his lips brushing her ear.

“Good,” he murmured. “Because I fucking love it.” He slammed into her, bottoming out in one thrust. Angel screamed against her panties, the sound muffled by the fabric. Joe didn’t stop. He pounded into her, hard, fast, his hands gripping her hips tightly.

The wet sound of skin on skin slapping drifted through the air around them along with Angel's muffled moans and Joe's groans.

 Angel's knees were buckling, her body shaking, her mind foggy with pleasure.

“Shit, baby,” Joe grunted, his pace increasing. “I’m close. I’m so fucking close.”

Angel moaned, her body tensing, the tension inside her building, building.

“Come with me,” Joe growled, reaching around to rub her clit. “Now, baby. Come for me now.”

Angel screamed, her orgasm crashing over her. Joe thrust into her one last time, groaning her name, filling her with his release. They stayed like that for a moment, both breathing heavily, both trying to come back to earth.

They both collapsed against the railing, their bodies shaking, their chests heaving. Angel pulled her panties out of her mouth, gasping for air. Joe pressed his forehead against her back, his breathing ragged.

“Fuck,” he groaned, slowly pulling out of her. “That was…”

“Amazing,” Angel finished for him, pushing herself upright. She turned to face him, a small smile playing on her lips.

Joe slowly pulled out of her before turning her around, pulling her into his arms. He kissed her deeply, his tongue stroking hers. Angel melted into him, her arms wrapping around him tightly.

When they finally pulled away, Joe rested his forehead against hers. “Are you okay?”

Angel grinned, biting her bottom lip. “I’m better than okay.”

Joe chuckled, brushing his thumb over her swollen lips. “Good. Because I’m not done with you yet.”

Angel’s eyes widened, a thrill of excitement running through her. “Oh, really?”

She licked her lips, tasting him there. “What else do you have in mind?”

He grabbed her hand and placed it over the front of his pants, letting her feel his hardness. “This,” he said, voice low and rough. “You. Again. As many times as we can make it happen.”

Angel bit her lip, her heart pounding. “And where exactly are we going to do this?”

Joe grinned, that wicked, sinful grin that made her stomach flutter. “Wherever we want. Wherever we can. I have a few ideas.”

“Oh, you do?” Angel raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Like what?”

Joe didn’t answer. Instead, he scooped her up, cradling her against his chest. Angel let out a surprised yelp, her arms wrapping around his neck.

“Joe!” she protested, laughing. “What are you doing?”

“Taking you somewhere more private,” Joe said, carrying her back inside. “Somewhere we can be alone. Somewhere we can do whatever we want, without worrying about getting caught.”

Angel’s cheeks flushed, a thrill of excitement mixed with apprehension running through her. She knew what they had done was wrong. She knew they shouldn’t have been together like that at least in public. But she couldn’t bring herself to care.

All she cared about was Joe. About the way he was holding her. About the way he had just made her feel.

 About the way she wanted more of him. Needed more of him.

“You ready for this?” Joe asked, stopping in front of the elevator.

Angel looked up at him, biting her lip. She knew what he was asking. She knew what she was agreeing to. She knew that once she stepped into that elevator with him, there was no going back.

But she didn’t care.

She didn’t want to go back.

She only wanted to move forward.

With him.

“Yes,” she said, her voice firm, her heart racing. “I’m ready.”

He carried her into the elevator, pressing her against the wall as soon as the doors closed. His mouth was on hers again, hot and demanding, his tongue sweeping inside, taking, claiming. Angel wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck, holding him close as he devoured her mouth.

Angel felt like she was floating, like nothing else existed but him, his touch, his taste. She couldn’t get enough. She would never get enough. And neither would he.

[theresattrpgforthat]

How to Find Cool Games: Newsletters

Plenty of game designers and other folks in the ttrpg space are using newsletters to keep people updated on their work. Newsletters are a great way to talk about what’s fascinating to you, give people snapshots of the things you’re working on, and offer links to freebies or extras for folks who are interested in your work. They also remind folks that you’re out there, making cool things.

I follow a number of different newsletters, and they offer different formats depending on their focus and the platform they use. But here’s what you can generally expect from a newsletter:

Updates on a designer’s work. Designers and small publishers will release updates on what they’re working on, including snapshots of works in progress, updates on crowdfunding initiatives, and pieces of art they may have recently finished or received.

Musings on aspects of design and play. Some game designers and prominent bloggers may release newsletters simply to talk about pieces of games that they’re excited about or ruminating on; how specific mechanics elicited special moments at the table, emotions or themes they’re hoping to invoke in their game projects, or perhaps talking about elements of a game book that make it interesting or enjoyable to read.

Reviews. This might be after playing a game or simply reading it, but interacting with other people’s games isn’t just a fun activity, it often also sparks thoughts about what the author values or doesn’t value in play. These reviews might include a brief overview of a game’s rules, highlight special moments in play, or cover more practical issues, such as the safety tools on offer, or the way the game layout affects their reading experience.

-Talking about the gaming hobby in general. This might include various perspectives in the hobby, like how colonialism affects steampunk games, or common experiences people of colour might have in a gaming space. It might also include safety practices and why the author finds certain practises helpful or unhelpful. There might also be ruminations on the business of game design, such as how to learn layout, how to network with artists, and advice on how to deal with the crowdfunding process.

So, with that in mind, let’s talk about some various newsletters that I’m subscribed to, and what I’ve gotten from them!

The Indie RPG Newsletter. @indierpgnewsletter

The Indie RPG Newsletter is the current project under the pen of Thomas Manuel, who’s also the host of the Yes Indie’d Podcast, as well as a writer for Rascal News (which we’ll get back to later). Thomas uses this as a place to talk about what’s getting him excited in the indie scene, as well as provide links to other people talking about cool game things; every newsletter has a section called Links of the Week . This section points you to some fun conversations happening in various ttrpg spaces. I think The Indie RPG Newsletter is a great jumping off point if you want to see what else is going on in a number of different spheres, and Thomas also has some really lovely insights into various mechanics that he’s interacting with as he tries out a slew of games at his table.

Rascal News.

The newsletter for Rascal News isn’t really a standalone thing - it’s an arm of the website of the same name, an independent team of journalists focused on news related to the world of TTRPGs.You need to create a free membership with the website in order to get these newsletters, but it’s a nice little window into not just the hottest news off of the press - various newsletters also carry links to their Announcements section, which is for the most part free to read, and contains a lot of updates about new and exciting ttrpg projects - including crowdfunding campaigns, podcast announcements, awards ceremonies, and special sales or bundles on offer. Currently the Rascal Team consists of Rowan Zeoli, Chase Carter, Caelyn Ellis - and, as previously mentioned, Thomas Manuel!

More Seats at the Table

More Seats a the Table is an email newsletter dedicated to highlighting games made by game designers of marginalized genders. It includes not just roleplaying games, but occasionally board-games as well, and each issue contains links to current crowdfunding initiatives, as well as advertisements that have been submitted to the newsletter through their submission form. This newsletter is straightforward and to-the-point, showing you a few games with quick blurbs - no more, no less. If you want news about games without a lot of fluff, you might be interested in More Seats at the Table.

Indie Press Revolution. @indiepressrevolution

Indie Press Revolution calls themselves a “network of quality creator-publishers”, and works to make people’s games available both through their online website and at various conventions. They also partner with retailers in acting as a distributor, bringing indie ttrpgs closer to your hometown! However, IPR also has its’ own newsletter, the IPR Revolutionary, which includes featured products, news related to various tabletop events, pricing updates, pdf updates, new stores added to the network, and links to oodles and oodles of crowdfunding projects. If you want to know what you can get in on right now, this monthly list of projects is a great collection.

5. Individual Designers: a short list.

If you’re a big OSR fan, you might find something in the Questing Beast newsletter, which is fairly regular and includes links to sales, reviews, and ads for games from various sponsors.

The Jar of Eyes Game Gazette has some really really good advice for game designers in their archive. I haven’t seen a lot of recent updates, but if the author starts sending out letters again, I think my eyes will be glued to the page.

Watt, the designer of Cloud Empress, has a regular Cloud Empress Newsletter that’s mostly focused around Watt’s work - but in the tradition of various popular OSR games, the exciting thing about these kinds of games is that there’s consistently new stuff. Watt includes little freebies in each newsletter, from roll tables, to small expansions, and little pieces of art. On top of that, Watt is quite happy to showcase work by other designers, especially projects that they have small parts in, as well as highlighting things that are currently giving them inspiration, such as movies, video games - and tabletop roleplaying games.

Asked Questions by Hendrik ten Napel, dives into specific games and game experiences that are making the author reflect on how the games direct his play. Some of his recent letters include an examination of Under Hollow Hills, how to create dramatic triangles between characters, and a loving review of Old Morris Cave, written by Tim Hutchings.

Dinoberry Press, a collaboration between Nevyn Holmes and Julie-Anne Muńoz, has a newsletter that gives you updates on what the designers are up to, how their games are coming along, and highlights projects that they’re excited about. Yes, it’s a form of marketing, but marketing is how you get info about new games! I followed them specifically because I am interested in their latest game, Little Wolves. You can sign up for their newsletter at the bottom of their website.

You’ve probably heard of Dave Thaumvore if you’re looking at ttrpg content on Youtube, and his attached newsletter has various subscription tiers - but I just subscribe to the free one. He does publish some content related to D&D, but he also sits down for interviews with designers; you’re likely to find high-end games from bigger companies being featured here. The most recent newsletter features a review with the designer of the upcoming game Flux Fantasy.

Christian Sorrell’s Missives of the Meatcastle is a little infrequent, but his updates are professional, thoughtful, and full of goodies. He includes little freebies for subscribers, alongside updates about his own work - both his passion projects and the projects of others that he writes for. His most recent update, titled "In Defense of Fiction", was a really insightful look into the ways prose can make a game more readable, and therefore more enjoyable to anyone reading a game book.

Cloven Pine Games has a newsletter that is fairly infrequent, but occasionally sends out updates on things that they have a hand in making, as well as news about game-adjacent events that they are involved in - such as awards shows, or game conventions. Their latest issue takes about Root and The Between, which are two projects that they had a hand in designing.

CJ Tucker has a newsletter for @crackerjackalopegames, which includes a regular roundup of “Things I Liked This Month”, as well as various musings about the connections they’re making across games and various media. Some of their newsletters that stand out to me include a review of NASA’s TTRPG adventure, using Breath of the Wild as inspiration for world building, and the concept of a house as a character (which led to the design of their game, ABODE.)

Tim Hutchings Makes Games is a newsletter by the author of Thousand Year Old Vampire, a solo game about a vampire who has lived so long that they can’t hold on to all of their memories. His newsletters consist of updates on things he’s working on, and events that he’s participating in. I think these kinds of newsletters can be great for other designers to follow, because it’s kind of a sneak peek into all of the various ways you can get involved in the scene, as well as provide snapshots of the kinds of considerations you might need to make as you try to promote your game. You can sign up for the newsletter at the bottom of the website.

Also...

A number of ttrpg creators also have free Patreon tiers which come with newsletters, including Possum Creek Games, Goblincow (@goblincow), and Penflower Ink. Not all of these posts will be public, but the ones that are will get sent to your email. (And of course, if you pay into their Patreons, you get all the posts.)

Honorable Mentions

9th Level Games

The Twenty Sided Newsletter, a partner newsletter for My First Dungeon.

Monte Cooke Games

[inhuman-obey-me]

The Authoritarianism of "Father's" Celestial Realm (NB Season 2)

OKAY, life got crazy for a while, but we're finally all caught up on Nightbringer's main story, and PHEW we've got some things to talk about. So let's dive right in, starting with one of our favorite topics:

God and the Celestial Realm actually kinda suck in the OM universe!!!

(spoilers up to NB lesson 38!)

Now, this been a consistent pattern for most of OM's story and lore, but we're going to be focusing here mostly on Lessons 37 and 38 in particular this time, because they had a lot to talk about in that regard.

In Lesson 37, we are introduced to the underworld, specifically Cocytus at the very bottom layer of it.

One interesting note, however, is that this region is territory of the Celestial Realm, despite it being geographically in the Devildom, and the Celestial Realm is the one that doles out punishments relating to it -- usually. We'll dive more into that whole conspiracy in another post, but it's certainly an interesting geopolitical fact of the Three Realms.

As for the underworld itself, the idea of multiple layers of hell is a common one which originates from Dante's Inferno, the first section of the Divine Comedy, and we see that Cocytus here is taken pretty directly from that as well. Just like Dante describes in the Divine Comedy, Simeon informs us that there are four regions that make up Cocytus, made up of four concentric circles of growing intensity according to their corresponding offenses. Specifically, each layer of Cocytus is related to a type of betrayal: of family, of homeland, of guests, and finally, as the very worst type of betrayal, of "him".

The design of that is immediately very telling about how the Celestial Realm views these offenses. Other offenses may land a person in the underworld in general, but these specific types of betrayal are the worst. And among those worsts, betraying God is the ultimate offense, absolutely beyond anything else one could ever do.

Now, these levels of Cocytus almost directly match Dante's Inferno take on them -- with one major, interesting distinction. In the Divine Comedy, Judecca is for "traitors to masters and benefactors." In OM, it is traitors to "him." Considering that the rest of the levels are a direct match, this suggests that, in OM, their father is the master who must never be betrayed.

And as Mammon notes, that's exactly what our beloved demon brothers did, with Lucifer in the lead.

That brings us to the present situation, with Lucifer chained and suffering at the very center of the bottom of the underworld. The worst of the worst offenders.

Simeon, Luke, and MC arrive to find Lucifer in a screaming rage, noting that same fact. Lucifer is in such pain and rage that he's creating dangerously massive gusts of wind, and as he worries about MC and then his brothers, it only gets worse. Suddenly, Raphael appears to read Lucifer his charges. And then, we get this conversation:

There's a lot going on there, but to go piece by piece, Luke is obviously distraught upon hearing the brothers' decreed fate. He wants to protest it and argue against it. Simeon stops him because Luke absolutely must not say another word -- as a reminder, arguing against Lilith's punishment was the catalyst for the whole rebellion that ensued, which is the entire reason Lucifer is being punished like this now!

Simeon, however, has recently been demoted. We know he was a seraph at the time of the rebellion; the official Nightbringer website specifies that he was demoted for "covering for" the brothers, though we don't know the specifics of what happened there. Simeon has always been a little daring on speaking truth to power, and considering he's already been demoted, it seems he's willing to take the potential consequence of speaking up again here. So he does, expressing his questions and concerns about the whole situation going on. And, finally, he calls out Raphael on also feeling the same as he and Luke both do.

It is perhaps the most telling moment we've gotten to date of how Raphael has felt about this whole civil war between the angels. In the past, he's been fairly consistently strict about the Celestial Realm's rules, which essentially boil down to always obeying their father, and Michael by extension. And he holds himself to basically the same standards, obediently doing whatever Michael tells him to even as he's disgruntled or frustrated by the myriad requests. But when it comes to seeing Lucifer punished this way, he can't accept it either. It's wrong, and he knows it.

But he can't question decisions that come from on high. Even doubting is considered wrong.

We've heard the same from Lucifer once before -- that he questioned one who was never to be questioned. That is what he has been punished for.

This is the reason Luke must not speak up. This is the reason Raphael is crying. And it's the reason for Lucifer's current punishment. Simeon, Lucifer, and Raphael all know it implicitly -- what comes from on high is absolute. Questioning is unacceptable. Doubts are unacceptable. And rebellion is unacceptable -- the absolute worst thing that someone can do.

Anyway, now throw all that out though, because apparently Lesson 38 wants to attempt to bring us to a completely different conclusion!

Let's be honest here -- OM is a bit jumpy on its writing sometimes, and sometimes makes wild left turns. But we ended Lesson 37 feeling pretty excited because it's revisiting a common theme we've had hinted at throughout both games about what kind of leader their father is and what kind of place the Celestial Realm really is under him. And what we've seen, generally, is this: it is a very strict place, unforgiving of those who step out of line, where their father's word is absolute, and even feeling doubt is a grave offense. We even know that Simeon's greatest fear is their father!

So imagine our shock and disappointment when Lesson 38 suddenly decides that, no, actually, this punishment and everything else is actually God's love for them. What?!

New theory: exactly one person on OM's writing team is actually super religious and keeps trying to make this game about dating demons into a message that God is good. These lessons were not written by the same person.

Lesson 38 starts with a rather chaotic scene -- Lucifer has broken free of his chains and is lashing out in rage and despair, not thinking straight. Diavolo makes his appearance and tries to subdue Lucifer, though the two end up going into an all-out brawl as Lucifer lashes out at Diavolo as well. MC eventually intervenes and the brothers show up to protect MC from both Lucifer's and Diavolo's attacks. Lucifer is taken aback seeing that his brothers are all okay and present in front of him, and as MC approaches him to further calm him down, the Ring of Light glows and Lucifer momentarily transforms into his angel form, inspiring awe from everyone around at the sight of the Morning Star once more.

Earlier, Lucifer was begging to be shown some kind of sign from his father, of what it was that he wanted from him. Simeon comments that this might be Father answering that call for a sign -- a sign of his love. Lucifer seems to accept this, though with some bewilderment. But we have Lucifer straight up tell MC later in the lesson that he "must have forgotten" that Father loved them all along! That all he ever did was give, and never ask for anything in return!

Except for blind, unwavering loyalty. Something that Lucifer has actually forgotten about in this moment.

For that matter, why does Simeon automatically assume it's this grand sign of their father's love?! He himself just stated his own doubts and called Raphael out on his.

It's a huge 180 that gave us some intense whiplash for sure. But this isn't the first time we've seen that more religious trauma view from Simeon; we've seen it before in OG season 4, where he has obviously been deeply affected by being demoted out of being an angel altogether but tries to reassure himself that their father does everything for a reason, "even this."

However, even aside from the very sudden turnaround, this explanation leaves a lot to be desired, because it doesn't actually answer anything!!!

We just got told that Raphael was crying from the cognitive dissonance of obeying orders to read the charges against Lucifer while feeling deep down in his heart of hearts that this is wrong. Luke has been stopped from saying anything that could be construed as going against their father! Even harboring doubts is wrong, but somehow we are supposed to suddenly believe that it's because their father loves them?

If that's God's love, it's sure sounding like God is an abusive helicopter parent, because that's not a healthy loving relationship.

Think about it -- this is a scene of punishment. Lucifer isn't just chilling down here for fun; he is actively in pain when we find him, and it only escalates his torment at the thought that his brothers are being punished similarly. And even as we are told that Little D. No. 1 couldn't take material form because their father "just loved them so much," is it really a healthy form of so-called love to hold on to a piece of Lucifer's soul without his knowledge, even after casting him out?! We wouldn't say that a parent who throws their own child out to be homeless while keeping their old room intact is a good, loving parent; why should we think this is any different?

Plus, this is the case for Lucifer -- but what about the other brothers? Though they all managed to get free, Cocytus itself seemed prepared to punish each of them for their various transgressions, and as Mammon points out, all of them were guilty of treason against their father. Yet, it's only Lucifer whose Little D. was never able to take form. It is Lucifer specifically who is targeted for this Cocytus punishment, and the others would likely have been left alone if not for the fact that they came to save him. Lucifer is the one who, for that one moment, regains his angel form.

And what does this mean, if this is God letting go of the last of his grip on Lucifer? That he still loved his favorite son but is casting him away for real now? We know Lucifer has said that God would never forgive him in particular, and though he's been accused of just being stubborn himself (and make no mistake, Lucifer certainly is also stubborn too), it does seem in line with everything else we've been shown about their father. Does this mean that their father no longer loves Lucifer, from this specific point onwards?

And, if their father loves them so much -- then why did they need to rebel for Lilith's sake? The implication here is truly bizarre: their father was going to obliterate Lilith entirely from all existence so that not even her soul would remain, but he also just loves Lucifer so much, but is also so authoritarian that Lucifer trying to talk it out with him was met with a complete shutdown so that Lucifer felt he had no other choice but to start the war. Of course, conveniently, this lesson also just chooses to completely disregard the whole Lilith thing, both her existence at all alongside the brothers before the war and her punishment, so apparently none of that matters!

It's completely out of line with the rest of everything we've ever really been told about the Celestial Realm, and frankly, we don't like or accept it. This so-called love that's suddenly used as the explanation in Lesson 38 isn't a true or healthy kind of love, and we don't want it.

So in conclusion: God is gaslighting us but he really does totally actually suck. We're just supposed to suddenly believe now, out of nowhere, that he doesn't. But he definitely, really does.

Anyway so, Lesson 37 is 10/10 and 38 is -10/10, would not read again. Merry Crisis!

[cuckhubby-of-bbc-only-hotwife]

The Journey for Something More Something bigger

The days after our first hotel party felt surreal. We were on cloud nine; she was riding a high that no drug could replicate.

The memory of that night lingered in every conversation, every moment we spent together. My wife, especially, seemed

captivated. The experience awakened something in her that was both exciting and intoxicating, a desire that would not be denied.

We recapped every detail, analyzed every moment, and revisited the few photos and short videos I’d taken. I’ll admit,

I became a little obsessed, watching them repeatedly, trying to relive the intensity of that night. We stayed in touch with the couple who had introduced us to this world and with several of the men from the group chat. Plans were discussed,

fantasies shared, but nothing materialized.

A New Fetish

Eventually, we stumbled upon a fetish-focused website. Unlike the other platforms we’d used, this one wasn’t tailored for couples—it was designed for individuals to explore their deepest desires. Creating our profile opened a door to a world we never knew existed. Fetishes we’d never even imagined were suddenly at our fingertips.

But for my wife, there was no competition. Her newfound love of BBC (Big Black Cock) topped every list. As the saying goes,

“Once you go black, you don’t go back,” and while I’m grateful that saying doesn't go for me, her desire was undeniable.

She threw herself into the page, fielding endless messages—some welcomed, others not. Though a few conversations piqued her interest, none stood out or would fizzle out; we were still searching for the right connection. The couple from our first party eventually moved away, but we

stayed in touch with several men from the chat group. It was clear my wife wanted to relive the thrill of that night, but

with something more tailored to her desires.

Hotel Party Part Two

After weeks of chatting, we met a new couple who knew several of the guys from the original group. They invited us to another hotel party, conveniently planned just before my birthday. The promise of an evening filled with bi-curious women and at minimum 20 Black men was enticing.

We made the two-and-a-half-hour drive, excitement bubbling under the surface. But as the night unfolded, the reality didn’t

match the expectation.

Upon arrival, it became clear that most of the women had backed out, leaving just my wife and the other couple’s wife. The hotel itself was nothing like our previous experience—this time, we were in a less-than-ideal neighborhood, but we stayed

optimistic.

The other wife’s in-person demeanor didn’t match her online persona. She wasn’t interested in girl-on-girl action and announced her husband was there strictly to watch: "He does not play ever." However, she did offer the invitation for me to join. Meanwhile, the men who arrived treated the evening like a “cum-and-dump” party, dropping their pants, finishing quickly, and leaving without so much as an introduction.

The atmosphere turned awkward, and my wife’s disappointment was palpable. This wasn’t what we had discussed or envisioned.

Party Pooper

Things took a turn for the worse when a heavyset fat ass white guy with a micro penis tried to take control of the room. He demanded my wife strip and join the fun, which was the last straw for me. Standing up and asking, "Who the fuck do you think you are?" I made it clear that this wasn’t how we operated. If anyone had a problem with that, we’d leave—or handle it another way. He backed off quickly.

Later, a man from the original chat, taller and slinder, approached us. At first, the conversation was casual, but he started pushing boundaries. We stood firm, reiterating that we were only there to watch.

As the night dragged on, the tall, skinny guy grew increasingly frustrated that my wife wasn’t participating. His behavior annoyed not just us but others in the room. Eventually, another man—a confident and respectful Black guy—stepped in, putting the skinny man in his place. The skinny guy left the hotel pissed off.

This new man approached us to apologize; we assured him there was no need for him to apologize, his demeanor instantly putting my wife at ease. He stayed to chat, and I could see the intrigue building in my wife’s eyes. Small talk continued as we watched guy after guy dump their load inside the other wife, and there was lots of dick there, well, except for the micro penis, who has disappeared by now, probably lasting all of three seconds. He eventually excused himself, saying he respected our boundaries but had come to play.

What happened next was mesmerizing. He undressed and revealed himself—easily the largest BBC in the room. My wife’s gaze locked onto him, her lips parting slightly as she watched him with the other wife. Her desire was unmistakable, but the night was already tainted. As he puts on a show fucking the other wife, I can feel the heat radiating off my wife; I know she wants to trade places with her. Every few strokes he looks up at my wife, making eye contact with her, driving her wild with lust.

As he nears his climax, he pulls his cock out of her, jerking off while he maintains eye contact with my wife and shoots his load on her boobs. He then walks past us to the bathroom to clean up, her eyes never leaving his cock while he walks past us. He exits the bathroom, cock still hard, just a few feet away from my wife, teasing her, driving her wild; he asks, "Did you enjoy the show?".  My wife, never one short on words, was speechless. I answered for her, "I believe she did, and it looks like she wants a taste.".  The other wife walks past, in my opinion out of jealousy, breaking the spell that his cock had on her at the time. The other wife and her husband made some comments about everyone needing to leave when they left.

As my wife finally finds her words, she and her new friend get lost in conversation. My wife and her new hung friend embrace in a kiss. It's a passionate kiss, one where he starts filling up her ass, rubbing all over her body. I adjust myself as I'm rock hard again. Her hand makes its way down to his crotch as she starts stroking him through his jeans. In my mind, I'm thinking, damn, it's about to happen; she's about to get what she's been seeking; she's about to take this big black dick, far bigger than anything she's had before.

As they start to make their way to the bed, the tall skinny guy from earlier comes walking into the hotel room (possibly let in by the other husband); he is clearly drunk and pissed off that he was left out. I stand up real quick to put myself between him and my wife.

Her new friend stands next to me as I shout to the guy he needs to get fucking lost. Which he does; however, the mood was completely ruined. Pleasantries with her new friend were made, vowing to reconnect in the future.

The night hadn’t gone as planned, but it reignited a hunger for what we were chasing.

The hunt for something more

Disappointed but determined, back to the drawing board we go, searching the fetish page for what she's looking for: a BIG BLACK COCK. We decided to truly celebrate my birthday with a weekend in New Orleans, a city full of potential. Conversations with her first BBC partner and her hung friend from the party kept the anticipation high. Both were eager to meet again.

As we drove into the city, traffic came to a halt. A sea of blue, gold, and black stretched before us in bumper-to-bumper traffic; I can't help but laugh—it was Bayou Classic weekend.

For those that don't know, it's two rival HBCUs that face off in a football game that includes a battle if the bands. For those that still don't know, or understand, the

The city will be flooded with Black men, young and old, as two rival HBCUs face off in their annual football game and the battle of the bands.

I asked if she knew what was happening. When I explained the significance of the weekend, my wife’s devilish grin told me everything I needed to know, even though she denies knowing anything about it.

We spent the first night exploring the vibrant streets of downtown. My wife turned heads wherever we went, her confidence radiant. Despite

the attention, no one caught her interest. Both men we’d planned to meet were unavailable, leaving us to make the most of the night on our own.

The following night, we tried again, but the results were the same. Frustrated but undeterred, we decided to revisit the club where it all began.

The club was slow, lacking the energy we remembered. At the bar, we ran into an older Asian woman from a couple we’d met online. (Yes, I have a thing for Asian women; my wife has her thing for BBC.)  After some flirtatious small talk, and she learns it's my birthday, she kissed me deeply. Sparks were flying through my head at the possibility of me getting my first play experience in the lifestyle. However, those sparks were quickly extinguished when she says she must tend to her husband, who had a bit too much to drink.

We venture upstairs, where we find not much going on at all. We find ourselves in the library. There are a few people there, but none that get our attention. One female did make out with my wife. The highlight was when her husband started to run his hands across my wife’s ass; however, he was not packing the equipment she was looking for. So we returned to our hotel room to enjoy each other.

 

COVID and the Resurgence

The pandemic brought everything to a halt, forcing us to take a break from the lifestyle. We stayed connected with those we’d met and spent time attempting to make genuine connections. With all that the pandemic brought and other life obstacles, our break was a little extended into the fall of 2022.

In 2022, we met a man through our fetish page who seemed to check every box. Black, muscular, respectful, and she found him undeniably attractive. Respectful not just to her, but to me and our marriage. We chatted for weeks in a group chat, the three of us. When he showed her a picture of his BBC, she was sold. She knew she needed to meet him. The sidebar conversations away from him were pure excitement and lust.

We arranged a casual meet-and-greet at a local bar. The boundaries for that night were strictly a meet and greet, as there had been too much disappointment in the past. From the moment he walked in, I could see the chemistry between them. He acknowledged me as her husband, as a man, the one he knows is her provider and has her heart, shaking my hand firmly before embracing her. She melted into his arms, her desire unmistakable.

The evening was spent talking, feeling out the dynamic. He shared his passion for craft beer. They sipped on different draft beers throughout the evening. As I returned from the bathroom, I noticed his hand rested on her thigh, their chemistry building. My mind raced with conflicting thoughts—excitement, apprehension, and lust. I struggled with throwing caution to the wind because now I wanted to see her fucked by this man as much as she wanted to be fucked by him. What does this make me? Is there something wrong with me? Will things change? Some of the thoughts running through my head.

The moment she passed her hand across his cock under the table, the burning desire I saw in her eyes, all bets were off if either of them would have asked to cross the boundaries we set. YES, FUCKING YES, would have been the answer without hesitation. However, the time had come to leave.

Respectful handshakes were exchanged between the men, and an embrace between them was exchanged that had my cock standing at attention.

As we left, before the door to the car was shut, my wife turned to me and said, “I WANT TO FUCK HIM.” The hunger in her voice was undeniable, and I knew we were on the verge of something extraordinary; something had been awakened in her, and she was not going to be denied. As we got on the road, she sent him a picture of her using a black dildo with the caption "That should be you inside me." It was at that moment he knew he had to have her.

I slid my hand between her legs and could feel the heat radiating from her pussy. She eagerly opened her legs, and I could feel how soaked she was from the thought of being with him, the thought of that massive BBC penetrating inside her.

Stay tuned for the playdates

[femmefatalevibe]

Hello! Any tips for starting your own ig blog?

Hi love! Some tips are below:

Consider whether you're crafting a personal brand, professional image, aesthetic, or e-commerce/product-focused account

Choose your handle name wisely. Always do your first name/last name or name of your business when applicable

Add relevant search terms to your headline/bio to make your page more easily discoverable to your intended audience. Hashtags can also be added to this section for discoverability

Select a bio image that best speaks to your personal/brand personality. Keep it polished but approachable like a well-executed mirror selfie, professional editorial photo, or your brand's logo

Craft a clear, compelling, and comprehensive bio that makes it simple to understand who you are/the purpose of your page while still showcasing your personal/brand personality. Include a CTA link (to your website, TikTok, Pinterest, press mention, etc.) or use a LinkTree link for more comprehensive accessibility

Decide on your blog purpose/themes covered, USP, key messages, content pillars, and brand voice/image guidelines (content/colors) before posting

Use the same/coordinating filters on all your photos, and try your best to have an aesthetically pleasing feed, so it looks very editorial and professional when people are debating whether to follow

Ensure your captions are engaging, and conversational. Follow a uniform brand voice/personality. However, you don't want your content to look overly edited and distant. Try to find the right balance between polished and relatable. Use the carousel feature liberally and relevant hashtags to optimize SEO value and discoverability

Utilize Instagram stories to provide an insider look at day-to-day happenings, share inspiration, engage in friendly/conversational dialogue with your audience, and promote engagement through polls, Q&As, etc.

Curate some highlights that best speak to your brand pillars/USP with uniform icon covers. Design them with a tool like Canva for a personal touch

Hope this helps xx

[crossatlanticsoftware-blog]

Expert Picks: The Best Shopify Website Designers for 2025’s Trending Store Features

The world of eCommerce is transforming faster than ever, and Shopify remains at the forefront of that evolution. As brands aim to deliver exceptional user experiences and capitalize on design-led growth, the need for a skilled Shopify designer has never been greater.

Cross Atlantic Software specialize in bringing together cutting-edge creativity and eCommerce functionality. In this article, we’re diving into the top Shopify website designers to watch in 2025 and sharing expert insights on the trending Shopify store design features that are shaping the future of online retail.

Why Shopify Design Matters in 2025

Before we get into the list of designers and specialists, it’s important to understand why Shopify design is more critical than ever. Online shoppers expect more than a functional website—they want intuitive navigation, fast load times, visually engaging layouts, and mobile responsiveness. That’s where the expertise of a Shopify specialist comes into play.

What Makes a Great Shopify Website Designer?

A truly standout Shopify website designer goes beyond aesthetics. They focus on:

Conversion-driven layouts

Brand-centric user experience

Responsive mobile design

SEO-optimized pages

Seamless app integrations

Let’s take a look at what trends are dominating Shopify in 2025 and who is best equipped to execute them flawlessly.

2025’s Top Shopify Store Design Trends

1. Personalized Shopping Experiences

Thanks to AI and data analytics, personalization is no longer a luxury—it's an expectation. Smart Shopify store design integrates AI-driven recommendations, dynamic product displays, and personalized landing pages. This keeps customers engaged and encourages more frequent purchases.

2. Video-First Product Displays

Static images are taking a backseat in 2025. Leading Shopify website designers are building immersive product pages with background videos, 360-degree product views, and storytelling clips. These elements give customers a real feel for what they’re buying, right from the screen.

3. Mobile-First Design

With more than 75% of eCommerce traffic coming from mobile, top Shopify specialists are prioritizing mobile performance. Think smooth scrolling, effortless one-tap checkouts, and pages that load in the blink of an eye—because today’s shoppers won’t wait around.

4. Eco-Conscious Branding

Consumers are more conscious of sustainability. Modern Shopify store designs are incorporating eco-friendly color schemes, carbon tracking widgets, and transparency tabs to showcase ethical sourcing.

5. Modular Design Systems

In 2025, agility is key. Many Shopify designers are adopting modular design systems—reusable UI components that let store owners update their sites quickly without starting from scratch.

Meet the Experts: Top Shopify Website Designers for 2025

Cross Atlantic Software works with some of the most forward-thinking professionals in the Shopify ecosystem. Here are the types of Shopify website design services that are in high demand—and who’s delivering them.

1. The Strategist Shopify Designer

A strategist isn’t just focused on look and feel—they focus on conversion. They use analytics, customer behavior, and A/B testing to inform every design decision. Our own Cross Atlantic Software design team is known for combining user psychology with clean aesthetics to boost ROI.

Best for: DTC brands looking to scale quickly.

2. The Visual Storyteller

These Shopify website designers are all about emotion. They create visual narratives through imagery, layout, typography, and animation. For lifestyle, fashion, and beauty brands, this approach is especially effective.

Best for: High-end or boutique brands seeking emotional engagement.

3. The Technical Shopify Specialist

Some projects require deep technical know-how. Whether it’s integrating custom features, building subscription logic, or streamlining complex product catalogs, these Shopify specialists bridge the gap between design and engineering.

Best for: B2B, SaaS, or stores with unique backend needs.

4. The Speed-First Optimizer

If performance is your priority, look for a Shopify designer focused on speed. These experts optimize image sizes, reduce unused code, and streamline user flows—all to reduce bounce rates and increase sales.

Best for: Mobile-heavy industries or global brands.

5. The Brand Builder

A great store starts with great branding. These Shopify website design services offer end-to-end support—from logo creation and color palette development to building a custom Shopify theme that aligns with your vision.

Best for: New brands or rebrands that need full creative direction.

Why Choose Cross Atlantic Software?

With hundreds of projects completed and clients across North America, Europe, and Asia, Cross Atlantic Software is more than just a design agency—we’re your eCommerce growth partner.

Our Services Include:

Custom Shopify store design

Theme development and optimization

UI/UX design tailored to your industry

Shopify Plus migration and setup

Full-stack Shopify website design services

Cross Atlantic Software believes every brand has its own story to tell. Our Shopify specialists work closely with you to make sure your store doesn’t just look great—it feels like you.

Client Success:

One of our recent clients, a sustainable fashion label based in Los Angeles, came to us for a full redesign. Their outdated store had a high bounce rate and poor mobile usability.

Our team implemented a modern Shopify store design with immersive video elements, quick-load product pages, and mobile-first navigation. Within three months:

Bounce rate decreased by 27%

Mobile conversions increased by 40%

Average order value rose by 15%

This is the power of working with expert Shopify website designers who understand trends and business objectives.

Conclusion:

If you're planning to launch or revamp your Shopify store in 2025, don’t settle for generic templates or cookie-cutter solutions. Partnering with an experienced Shopify designer or Shopify specialist can make the difference between a store that looks good—and one that converts.

Cross Atlantic Software is passionate about building digital experiences that drive growth. Whether you’re a startup looking for full Shopify website design services or an established brand wanting to refresh your Shopify store design, we’re here to help.

Ready to future-proof your eCommerce store? Contact Cross Atlantic Software today for a free consultation and let’s create something extraordinary together.

[mariacallous]

September was a busy month for Russian influence operations—and for those tasked with disrupting them. News coverage of a series of U.S. government actions revealed Russia was using fake domains and personas, front media outlets, real media outlets acting as covert agents, and social media influencers to distort public conversation around the globe.

The spate of announcements by the U.S. Justice Department and U.S. State Department, as well as a public hearing featuring Big Tech leadership held by the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence, underlines the extent to which Russia remains focused on interfering in U.S. political discourse and undermining confidence in U.S. elections. This is not particularly surprising on its own, as covert influence operations are as old as politics. What the unsealed indictments from the Justice Department, the report by the State Department, and the committee hearing emphasize is that bots and trolls on social media are only part of the picture—and that no single platform or government agency can successfully tackle foreign influence on its own.

As researchers of adversarial abuse of the internet, we have tracked social media influence operations for years. One of us, Renée, was tapped by the Senate Select Committee in 2017 to examine data sets detailing the activity of the Internet Research Agency—the infamous troll farm in St. Petersburg—on Facebook, Google, and Twitter, now known as X. The trolls, who masqueraded as Americans ranging from Black Lives Matter activists to Texas secessionists, had taken the United States by surprise. But that campaign, which featured fake personas slinking into the online communities of ordinary Americans, was only part of Russia’s effort to manipulate U.S. political discourse. The committee subsequently requested an analysis of the social media activities of the GRU—Russian military intelligence—which had concurrently run a decidedly different set of tactics, including hack and leak operations that shifted media coverage in the run-up to the 2016 U.S. presidential election. Russian operatives also reportedly hacked into U.S. voter databases and voting machine vendors but did not go so far as to change actual votes.

Social media is an attractive tool for covert propagandists, who can quickly create fake accounts, tailor content for target audiences, and insert virtual interlopers into real online communities. There is little repercussion for getting caught. However, two presidential election cycles after the Russian Internet Agency first masqueraded as Americans on social media platforms, it is important to emphasize that running inauthentic covert networks on social media has always been only one part of a broader strategy—and sometimes, it has actually been the least effective part. Adversaries also use a range of other tools, from spear phishing campaigns to cyberattacks to other media channels for propaganda. In response to these full-spectrum campaigns, vigilance and response by U.S. tech platforms are necessary. But alone, that will not be enough. Multi-stakeholder action is required.

The first set of announcements by the Justice Department on Sept. 4 featured two distinct strategies. The first announcement, a seizure of 32 internet domains used by a Russia-linked operation known in the research community as “Doppelganger,” reiterates the interconnected nature of social media influence operations, which often create fake social media accounts and external websites whose content they share. Doppelganger got its name from its modus operandi: spoofs of existing media outlets. The actors behind it, Russian companies Social Design Agency and Structura, created fake news outlets that mirror real media properties (such as a website that looked like the Washington Post) and purported offshoots of real entities (such as the nonexistent CNN California). The websites host the content and steal logos, branding, and sometimes even the names of journalists from real outlets. The operation shares fake content from these domains on social media, often using redirect links so that when unwitting users click on a link, it redirects to a spoofed website. Users might not realize they are on a fake media property, and social media companies have to expend resources to continually search for redirect links that take little effort to generate. Indeed, Meta’s 2024 Q1 Adversarial Threat Report noted that the company’s teams are engaged in daily efforts to thwart Doppelganger activities. Some other social media companies and researchers use these signals, which Meta shares publicly, as leads for their own investigations.

The domains seized by the Justice Department are just a portion of the overall number of pages that Doppelganger has run. Most are garbage sites that get little traction, and most of the accounts linking to them have few followers. These efforts nonetheless require vigilance to ensure that they don’t manage to eventually grow an audience. And so, the platforms play whack-a-mole. Meta publishes lists of domains in threat-sharing reports, though not all social media companies act in response; some, like Telegram, take an avowedly hands-off approach to dealing with state propagandists, purportedly to avoid limiting political speech. X, which used to be among the most proactive and transparent in its dealings with state trolls, has not only significantly backed off curtailing inauthentic accounts, but also removed transparency labels denoting overt Russian propaganda accounts. In turn, recent leaks from Doppelganger show the Social Design Agency claiming that X is the “the only mass platform that could currently be utilized in the U.S.” At the U.S. Senate Select Committee on Intelligence hearing on Sept. 18, Sen. Mark Warner called out several platforms (including X, TikTok, Telegram, and Discord) that “pride themselves of giving the proverbial middle finger to governments all around the world.” These differences in moderation policies and enforcement mean that propagandists can prioritize those platforms that do not have the desire or resources to disrupt their activities.

However, dealing with a committed adversary necessitates more than playing whack-a-mole with fake accounts and redirect links on social media. The Justice Department’s domain seizure was able to target the core of the operation: the fake websites themselves. This is not a question of true versus false content, but demonstrable fraud against existing media companies, and partisans across the aisle support disrupting these operations. Multi-stakeholder action can create far more impactful setbacks for Doppelganger, such as Google blocking Doppelganger domains from appearing on Google News, and government and hosting infrastructure forcing Doppelganger operatives to begin website development from scratch. Press coverage should also be careful not to exaggerate the impact of Russia’s efforts, since, as Thomas Rid recently described, the “biggest boost the Doppelganger campaigners got was from the West’s own anxious coverage of the project.”

A second set of announcements in September by the Justice Department and State Department highlighted a distinct strategy: the use of illicit finance to fund media properties and popular influencers spreading content deemed useful to Russia. An indictment unsealed by the Justice Department alleged that two employees from RT—an overt Russian state-affiliated media entity with foreign-facing outlets around the world—secretly funneled nearly $10 million into a Tennessee-based content company. The company acted as a front to recruit prominent right-wing American influencers to make videos and post them on social media. Two of the RT employees allegedly edited, posted, and “directed the posting” of hundreds of these videos.

Much of the content from the Tennessee company focused on divisive issues, like Russia’s war in Ukraine, and evergreen topics like illegal immigration and free speech. The influencers restated common right-wing opinions; the operators were not trying to make their procured talent introduce entirely new ideas, it seemed, but rather keep Russia’s preferred topics of conversation visibly present within social media discourse while nudging them just a bit further toward sensational extremes. In one example from the indictment, one of the RT employees asked an influencer to make a video speculating about whether an Islamic State-claimed massacre in Moscow might really have been perpetrated by Ukraine. The right-wing influencers themselves, who received sizeable sums of money and accrued millions of views on YouTube and other platforms, appear to have been unwitting and have not been charged with any wrongdoing.

This strategy of surreptitiously funding useful voices, which hearkens back to Soviet techniques to manipulate Western debates during the Cold War, leverages social media’s power players: authentic influencers with established audiences and a knack for engagement. Influence operations that create fake personas face two challenges: plausibility and resonance. Fake accounts pretending to be Americans periodically reveal themselves by botching slang or talking about irrelevant topics. They have a hard time growing a following. The influencers, by contrast, know what works, and they frequently get boosted by even more popular influencers aligned with their ideas. Musk, who has more than 190 million followers on X, reportedly engaged with content from the front media company at least 60 times.

Social media companies are not well suited to identify these more obscured forms of manipulation. The beneficiaries of Russian funding were real influencers, and their social media accounts do not violate platform authenticity policies. They are expressing opinions held by real Americans, even if they are Russia-aligned. Assuming the coordination of funding and topics did not take place on social media, the platforms likely lack insight into offline information that intelligence agencies or other entities collect. The violations are primarily external, as well—mainly the alleged conspiracy to commit money laundering and the alleged violation of the Foreign Agents Registration Act. Here, too, a multi-stakeholder response is necessary: Open-source investigators, journalists, and the U.S. intelligence community can contribute by uncovering this illicit behavior, and the U.S. government can work with international partners to expose, and, where appropriate, impose sanctions and other legal remedies to deter future operations.

The degree to which these activities happen beyond social media—and beyond the awareness of the platform companies—was driven home in a Sept. 13 speech by U.S. Secretary of State Antony Blinken. He highlighted other front media entities allegedly operated by RT, including some with a more global focus, such as African Stream and Berlin-based Red. According to the State Department, RT also operates online fundraising efforts for the Russian military and coordinates directly with the Russian government to interfere in elections, including the Moldovan presidential election later this month. These activities go far beyond the typical remit of overt state media, and likely explain why Meta and YouTube—neither of which had previously banned RT after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine—responded to the news by banning the outlet and all of its subsidiary channels.

Our argument is not that the steps taken by social media companies to combat influence operations are unimportant or that the platforms cannot do better. When social media companies fail to combat influence operations, manipulators can grow their followings. Social media companies can and should continue to build integrity teams to tackle these abuses. But fake social media accounts are only one tool in a modern propagandist’s toolbox. Ensuring that U.S. public discourse is authentic—whether or not people like the specifics of what’s being said—is a challenge that requires many hands to fix.

[luckyheroquest]

What Is Digital Marketing In 2025

The best digital marketing in Prayagraj in 2025 is all about blending local insight with cutting-edge strategies to help businesses thrive in a fast-paced digital world. Whether you're a startup, a coaching center, or a legacy brand, the right digital approach can elevate your presence and drive real results.

Here’s what defines the best digital marketing in Prayagraj today:

Tailored Local Strategies: Agencies understand Prayagraj’s unique market and craft campaigns that resonate with the local audience.

AI-Enhanced Campaigns: From SEO to social media, AI tools help optimize content and target the right people at the right time.

Mobile-First Design: With most users browsing on phones, top agencies prioritize responsive, fast-loading websites.

Social Media & Influencer Marketing: Leveraging local influencers and platforms like Instagram and YouTube to build trust and visibility.

Transparent, Data-Driven Results: The best digital marketing in Prayagraj focuses on measurable growth—whether it’s leads, traffic, or conversions.

Want help choosing the right agency or building your own strategy? I’ve got your back.

[hexcrystals]

Hello!! (✿◠‿◠)

I’m a lurker in the SOFMD discord and I have been witnessing a behavioural pattern by the so called “leadership” that left me completely shocked

First of all, the QR code and the website on their billboard design will send people to the SOFMD website instead of the petition, which only confirmed their clout chasing goal

Second: there seems to be a condescending strike in their response to the people that raise concerns, and when those people “fight back” to express their doubts and issues the “leadership” uses what they call “slow mode” to end conversations they see as conflict

Third: They seems to be focused on trying to get more followers than AdoptOurCrew no matter what they do, and they obviously seem to not be able to do it as their tactics consist in sub-par excuses for engagement

Fourth: money donated through kofi (their chosen platform to raise billboard funds) puts money directly into someone's account (who? nobody knows) so there is no traceability of these funds to anyone specific. This is incredibly unprofessional and dangerous as no one knows who is on hold of these funds

yeah the way that people are spoken to when they raise legitimate concerns is really worrying for an organisation that is now asking for money. there’s a huge amount of money in the kofi fundraiser now and whoever is in control of it could walk away with it tomorrow without anyone even knowing who they are. it’s madness

they remind me of the committee in the good place and that is not a compliment

[digitalmarketingstrategistin]

DIGITAL MARKETING STRATEGIST IN KANNUR

Hello As a digital marketing strategist, I'm Keerthana Sibin, and I'm passionate about using data-driven decision-making, innovative campaigns, and the strength of digital platforms to help brands expand. This blog is your go-to source for ideas, tactics, and practical advice in the always changing digital market, whether you're a startup trying to make an impression or an established company searching for scalable growth.

Here, I simplify difficult marketing ideas into doable, real-world suggestions that you can use right now, covering everything from paid advertising and analytics to SEO and content marketing.

Digital Marketing Services

Search Engine Optimization (SEO)

Social Media Marketing (SMM)

Our specialty at Keerthana Sibin is enabling businesses to use smart lead generation strategies that increase their clientele and promote long-term success. As a result, to guarantee a steady flow of qualified leads, our team of knowledgeable Lead Generation Specialists combines cutting-edge strategies with industry best practices.

We customize our lead generating tactics to fit your particular target market and goals since we understand that every business is different. Furthermore, our professionals are dedicated to producing results that support the expansion of your business, whether it be through focused outreach, digital marketing, or content production.

MY SKILLS

Search Engine Optimization ( SEO​ )

Search Engine Marketing, or SEM​

Social media marketing, or SMM

Email Marketing

Content Writing

Web Designing

My service

Search Engine Optimization ( SEO​ )

I employ only white-hat SEO techniques to ethically enhance your website's ranking. By focusing on sustainable practices such as creating high-quality, user-centric content and optimizing on-page elements, I aim to increase your website's organic traffic. This approach not only improves visibility but also builds trust and authority in your industry​

Social media marketing, or SMM

Social media marketing (SMM) leverages platforms like Facebook, Instagram, TikTok, YouTube, and LinkedIn to actively promote brands, engage audiences, and drive business growth. By creating and sharing tailored content—such as posts, videos, stories, and live sessions—businesses connect with their target audiences, build brand loyalty, and enhance customer experiences. ​

Search Engine Marketing, or SEM​

Search Engine Marketing (SEM) stands as one of the most effective digital marketing strategies. By utilizing paid advertising, SEM allows businesses to achieve immediate visibility on search engine results pages (SERPs). This approach enables companies to reach a targeted audience actively searching for their products or services, thereby increasing website traffic and potential conversions​

EMAIL MARKETING

Email marketing stands as a pivotal element in digital marketing strategies, offering businesses a direct line to their customers. By crafting personalized and targeted email campaigns, businesses can nurture relationships, promote products or services, and drive conversions. Moreover, utilizing segmentation and automation tools allows for timely and relevant communication, enhancing customer experience and satisfaction. Consequently, email marketing not only fosters trust but also builds long-term relationships with the audience.​

Content Writing

Instead of promoting a product or service directly, content marketing entails creating content that speaks to the interests and requirements of your target audience. For instance, blog entries, videos, podcasts, infographics, and social media posts are just a few of the formats in which this content can be found. By offering helpful information, businesses can gain credibility and become recognized as thought leaders in their sector. Consequently, content marketing not only fosters trust but also builds long-term relationships with the audience.​

Web Designing

The creation and planning of a website's structure, appearance, and layout is known as web design. Consequently, it highlights a website's appearance and user experience. In addition, to being aesthetically pleasing, a well-designed website is also practical and easy to use. By utilizing a variety of tools and technologies, including HTML, CSS, and graphic design software, web designers create websites that are compatible with computers, tablets, and smartphones. Therefore, web design is crucial for ensuring a seamless user experience across different devices.​

GOAL

Creating data-driven tactics that increase online visibility, encourage meaningful audience engagement, and propel quantifiable business success is my goal as a digital marketing strategist. I want to close the gap between brands and their audiences by combining creative content production, focused advertising, and ongoing performance optimization to guarantee long-term success in the digital sphere.

VISION 

Our objective is to become a dependable leader in digital marketing by helping businesses create genuine strategies that will help them engage deeply with their target audiences and thrive in the quickly evolving digital space. Furthermore, we want to develop results-driven, moral, and impactful tactics that not only accomplish business goals but also foster positive digital experiences."

Contacts

Consequently, this expression not only invites guests to initiate a conversation but also encourages them to engage in meaningful interactions, thereby fostering a welcoming and inclusive atmosphere.

​

[dubaiwebsitedesignss]

What Is The Difference Between Web Development & Web Design?

In today’s world, we experience the growing popularity of eCommerce businesses. Web designing and web development are two major sectors for making a difference in eCommerce businesses. But they work together for publishing a website successfully. But what’s the difference between a web designers in Dubai and a web developer?

Directly speaking, web designers design and developers code. But this is a simplified answer. Knowing these two things superficially will not clear your doubt but increase them. Let us delve deep into the concepts, roles and differentiation between web development and website design Abu Dhabi.

What Is Meant By Web Design?

A web design encompasses everything within the oeuvre of a website’s visual aesthetics and utility. This might include colour, theme, layout, scheme, the flow of information and anything related to the visual features that can impact the website user experience.

With the word web design, you can expect all the exterior decorations, including images and layout that one can view on their mobile or laptop screen. This doesn’t concern anything with the hidden mechanism beneath the attractive surface of a website. Some web design tools used by web designers in Dubai which differentiate themselves from web development are as follows:

● Graphic design

● UI designs

● Logo design

● Layout

● Topography

● UX design

● Wireframes and storyboards

● Colour palettes

And anything that can potentially escalate the website’s visual aesthetics. Creating an unparalleled yet straightforward website design Abu Dhabi can fetch you more conversion rates. It can also gift you brand loyalty which is the key to a successful eCommerce business.

What Is Meant By Web Development?

While web design concerns itself with all a website’s visual and exterior factors, web development focuses on the interior and the code. Web developers’ task is to govern all the codes that make a website work. The entire web development programme can be divided into two categories: front and back.

The front end deals with the code determining how the website will show the designs mocked by a designer. While the back end deals entirely with managing the data within the database. Along with it forwarding the data to the front end for display. Some web development tools used by a website design company in Dubai are:

● Javascript/HTML/CSS Preprocessors

● Template design for web

● GitHub and Git

● On-site search engine optimisation

● Frameworks as in Ember, ReactJS or Angular JS

● Programming languages on the server side, including PHP, Python, Java, C#

● Web development frameworks on the server side, including Ruby on Rails, Symfony, .NET

● Database management systems including MySQL, MongoDB, PostgreSQL

Web Designers vs. Web Developers- Differences

You must have become acquainted with the idea of how id web design is different from web development. Some significant points will highlight the job differentiation between web developers and designers.

Generally, Coding Is Not A Cup Of Tea For Web Designers:

Don’t ever ask any web designers in Dubai about their coding knowledge. They merely know anything about coding. All they are concerned about is escalating a website’s visual aspects, making them more eyes catchy.

For this, they might use a visual editor like photoshop to develop images or animation tools and an app prototyping tool such as InVision Studio for designing layouts for the website. And all of these don’t require any coding knowledge.

Web Developers Do Not Work On Visual Assets:

Web developers add functionality to a website with their coding skills. This includes the translation of the designer’s mockups and wireframes into code using Javascript, HTML or CSS. While visual assets are entirely created by designers, developer use codes to implement those colour schemes, fonts and layouts into the web page.

Hiring A Web Developer Is Expensive:

Web developers are more expensive to hire simply because of the demand and supply ratio. Web designers are readily available as their job is much simpler. Their job doesn’t require the learning of coding. Coding is undoubtedly a highly sought-after skill that everyone can’t entertain.

Final Thoughts:

So if you look forward to creating a website, you might become confused. This is because you don’t know whether to opt for a web designer or a developer. Well, to create a website, technically, both are required. So you need to search for a website design company that will offer both services and ensure healthy growth for your business.

[influencersguide]

My Wall - Website Builder Tool For Influencers and Creators

A great portfolio can be a professional business card showcasing the skills, accomplishments, and unique style of an influencer while leading to profitable opportunities. It helps influencers exhibit their best work, including social media profiles and collaborations with complete engagement statistics. While Instagram alone has over 2.5 billion users, the influencers must differentiate themselves to catch the audience’s attention. A variety of projects, including videos, reviews, brand collaborations, or UGC (User-Generated Content), can be a great way to highlight versatility and creativity.

Masoom Minawala focuses on her portfolio to indicate some of her partnerships with luxury brands like Dior and Louis Vuitton, whereas Gaurav Chaudhary (Technical Guruji) educates his audience on the latest product reviews by showing his skills in the tech industry. Through their portfolios, the two influencers put forward a totally dissimilar yet equally powerful connection to brands, their expertise, and their impact. 

These examples emphasize how a website builder tool is important, that allows influencers to create their own personal and brand-coordinated platforms stating their unique skills and partnerships. This platform is designed to help creators promote their brands, grow their audiences, and increase opportunities to generate revenue.

Let’s discover how a website builder tool has allowed creators to build their digital presence in detail!

How Website Builder Tool Empowers Creators

A website builder tool allows creators to establish their brand, present their work, and create multiple revenue streams in a user-friendly and professional way without the need for any technical expertise. Explore how the website builder platform helps the creator economy grow:

Establish a Strong Online Presence

A website builder tool helps influencers showcase their unique online appearance while being professional and showing their identity using style and personality. This tool acts as the core for the users, where they can add their various content, such as videos, portfolios, and e-commerce, all in one place. In addition to that, this can help in brand consistency and give the user a good experience.

Unlocking Monetization Opportunities

Creators are enabled to use e-commerce integration through the website builders, allowing them to sell products, merchandise, and digital downloads directly. They may also utilize affiliate marketing with brands and promote the products to receive a commission for each product sold.

Providing Analytics for Growth

My Wall has features like a website builder platform that comes with analysis tools that observe the traffic of visitors, clicks, and conversions. Creators get these insights that can be very useful for them as they can see what their audience likes in terms of content, further, they can use the same data to change their strategies accordingly

Showcasing Portfolios and Achievements

A website is the digital portfolio of a creator—a place where he or she can gather all the work, associations, and accomplishments in one place. The website builders successfully present influencer campaigns, testimonials, and audience engagement data. By taking this step, creators can increase their influence, trust and attract sponsors and collaborators.

Website builder platforms are making it easier for creators to build a professional online presence and, at the same time, are providing new paths for growth and revenue generation. Explore why My Wall is the best website builder tool for creating a professional online presence and driving growth and revenue.

Why My Wall as the Best Website Builder Tool

These are some main reasons that showcase why My Wall is the best tool for creating your digital presence.

Tailored For Content Creators

Distinct from other website builder platforms, My Wall is built to fulfill the expectations of content creators and influencers. It allows users to create a professional mini-website or portfolio that effectively presents their brand, skills, and achievements. Such a focused strategy can only result in the website becoming a strong marketing tool.

Effortless Website Creation

The reflexive drag-and-drop interface of My Wall makes website creation so easy that people can build professional mini-websites.

Customization Features

My Wall is the best tool for anyone who wants to create a website that uniquely reflects their brand. The platform gives users the opportunity to even adjust the fonts and colors of their web design, and more. This way, creators’ control of the content is never lost, and it flawlessly goes hand in hand with their visual style.

Monetization Opportunities

Creators are empowered by My Wall to monetize their website with:

The built-in system for brand collaborations.

Paid consultations are offered directly on the platform.

Premium content choices for the exclusive offer to fans.

Seamless Collaboration

My Wall simplifies partnerships with brands through features like:

One-click collaboration requests.

Media kit integration to present key information (audience demographics, pricing, etc.).

Showcase past work to build trust with potential collaborators

My Wall - Discover Extra Features

Auto DM feature: Sometimes it’s not possible for creators to respond to every comment with product link manually, here is the solution, Auto DM feature of My Wall. The tool takes care of sending personalized messages, with the links and affiliate details requested by the users in the comment directly to them. Therefore, the creators get substantial benefit from their time and energy.

Link in Bio Tool : My Wall is a tech platform offer a free to use link in bio tool to enable creators to gather different categories of their presence online such as products, services, websites, portfolios, and many others into a unique and identifiable link. It can be compared to a dynamic portfolio, where the owners can modify various elements and showcase previous success stories to make themselves appeal to possible future partners.

Conclusion

A strong online presence is essential for people to gain greater visibility, make an audience grow, and get monetary benefits from their content. For this, it is necessary to adopt the best website builder tool. These tools are super effective for creators who can present portfolios, build communities, and monetize content.

My Wall is the best website builder tool made exclusively for influencers and creators. It provides endless template options, hassle-free integrations, and robust monetization features, which allow your passion to become a source of income.

Don’t wait—grab control of your influence and connect with My Wall today!

[seoreimaginedtx]

Dominate Local Search with Richardson’s Leading SEO Company: SEO Reimagined

In today’s fast-paced digital world, your online presence is everything. Whether you're running a cozy boutique on Main Street or leading a cutting-edge tech startup in the Richardson Innovation Quarter, getting noticed online can make or break your success. That’s where SEO Reimagined steps in — a premier SEO company based in Richardson, Texas, dedicated to helping local businesses dominate search engine results and reach more customers right in their backyard.

Why SEO Matters More Than Ever Search engine optimization (SEO) isn’t just about stuffing keywords into your website or chasing Google’s ever-changing algorithm. It’s a strategic approach to increase your visibility when potential customers search for products or services like yours. With more people turning to Google to find local businesses, a strong SEO strategy is crucial — especially in a thriving city like Richardson, where competition can be fierce.

Consider this: 97% of people learn more about a local company online than anywhere else. If your business isn’t showing up in those top search results, you’re likely losing customers to competitors who are.

The Richardson Advantage – Go Local, Win Big Richardson is more than just a suburb of Dallas. It’s a bustling community known for its rich cultural diversity, high-tech economy, and supportive environment for entrepreneurs. From telecom giants and software developers to unique eateries and boutique shops, businesses here are as varied as the people they serve.

But with great opportunity comes the challenge of visibility. How do you make sure your business isn’t lost in the noise? By partnering with a reliable SEO company like SEO Reimagined, you’ll have the tools and expertise needed to rise to the top of local search results and stand out in your industry.

What Makes SEO Reimagined Different? At SEO Reimagined, we believe that SEO should be more than just technical jargon and generic strategies. We reimagine the SEO process to fit your business goals, your audience, and your local landscape. Here’s how we do it:

Local SEO Focused Our primary goal is to help Richardson businesses succeed locally. That means optimizing your Google Business Profile, targeting location-based keywords, earning high-quality local backlinks, and ensuring your name, address, and phone number (NAP) are consistent across all platforms.

Tailored SEO Strategies No two businesses are the same — and neither should their SEO strategies be. We take the time to understand your business, your competitors, and your customers before crafting a personalized SEO roadmap that aligns with your goals.

Transparent Reporting With SEO Reimagined, you’re never left in the dark. We provide clear, monthly reports that show real results — traffic growth, keyword rankings, conversion rates, and more — so you know exactly how your investment is paying off.

Content That Converts We create high-quality, keyword-rich content that not only ranks well but also speaks to your audience. Whether it’s blog posts, service pages, or FAQs, our content strategy is designed to attract, engage, and convert.

Ongoing Optimization SEO isn’t a one-time task — it’s an ongoing process. Our team continuously monitors your performance, adapts to algorithm changes, and refines your strategy to ensure you stay ahead of the competition.

Services Offered by SEO Reimagined We offer a full suite of SEO services tailored to help Richardson businesses succeed:

Local SEO Optimization – Get your business in front of nearby customers ready to buy.

On-Page SEO – We fine-tune your website’s structure, content, and metadata for peak performance.

Off-Page SEO – Boost your site’s authority through strategic link-building and online reputation management.

Technical SEO – From site speed to mobile responsiveness, we handle the backend optimizations that impact rankings.

Content Marketing – We craft SEO-friendly content that tells your story and builds trust with your audience.

Analytics and Reporting – Get clear insights into how your SEO is performing and where there’s room to grow.

Who We Work With Whether you're a new business trying to get noticed or an established brand looking to scale, SEO Reimagined is the SEO company Richardson businesses trust. We work with:

Local service providers (plumbers, electricians, landscapers)

Healthcare clinics and dental offices

Restaurants and coffee shops

Legal and financial professionals

E-commerce stores and online retailers

Startups and tech companies

The SEO Reimagined Promise We’re not just another SEO agency. We’re your partner in growth. When you work with us, you get more than rankings — you get real, measurable business results. Our team is passionate about helping Richardson businesses flourish in the digital age, and we’re committed to going above and beyond to help you succeed.

Ready to Grow? Let’s Talk If you're looking for a trustworthy, experienced SEO company in Richardson, Texas, SEO Reimagined is ready to help. We bring a local-first mindset, proven strategies, and a results-driven approach to every campaign. Let us help you turn online searches into real-world customers — and real growth for your business.

[sir-sunawani]

Quicksand

Fem Reader x Sir Crocodile

20 Chapters - 46,838 words

Read it on Ao3 or Wattpad

CW: Language, violence, blood, moral ambiguity, murder, sexual themes and situations, yandere, angst with a happy ending, a referenced instance of physical abuse. 18+ only

Note: There's an alternative version of this story that picks up at chapter six that will be available as well. It goes darker and harder than the original. ♥

Summary: You're employed as an Internal Coordinator in the West Branch of Rain Dinners in Grandline Metro. You're well-aware your boss is the Warlord Sir Crocodile, but your sixty days is almost up on the popular dating website Cult of Personality, and you're looking forward to meeting the person you've been talking to for the last sixty days. (This makes it sound way fluffier than it is, oops.)

Chapter 1: The Nitty-Gritty

You smile at the sound of the message popping up on your computer. You'd been chatting online with someone for the last couple months, and after getting to know one another through your shared likes and dislikes, you'd finally decided to meet. You've avoided sharing photos, or even having a conversation on the phone, but all of that had been the point of the website you'd both found yourselves using.

Cult of Personality was a quirky singles site that focused on people getting to know one another purely through interests. The idea behind it was that you could get to know someone without those pesky instincts getting in the way – no getting swept away by someone's voice, or getting too focused on their appearance (for better or worse). Instead, you spent at least sixty days communicating by text through anonymous proxies. If anyone said something that was a deal-breaker during that time, then there were no messy fallouts to deal with.

The connection would be severed without you knowing enough about the other to be able to locate them. The system was even designed to automatically censor location names, so people couldn't accidentally give themselves away. The only thing the service did with location information was use it to randomly match people who were within 100km of one another.

It was great for people who didn't really want to fill out tons of questionaries, or worry about uploading photos, or dealing with talking about themselves. 

For you it was nice because after a few failed relationships, and with a job that took a lot of your time, it was an easy way to get yourself back into the whole idea of dating.

As your luck would have it, you found someone who you enjoyed "talking" to after only a couple tries. You had even admitted that you looked forward to your conversations and had been pleasantly surprised to find out he did as well. It was reassuring to know that things weren't one-sided, and shortly after that you'd both started making plans to meet up once the 60 days was completed, and the site gave you the option to lift the automatic censoring.

You had preemptively decided on a Saturday lunch meeting, just in case you were at the edges of the 100km diameter that the site utilized. Better than trying to make a dinner reservation on a Friday after work, and ending up in a panic if one of you were to be stuck in traffic.

The restrictions lifted tomorrow, Wednesday, and as you got ready for work you were humming to yourself.

In Grandline Metropolis, amidst it's 600,000 sq km of land, you worked for one of the seven Warlords who oversaw the second circle of the city. While you knew Mr. Crocodile was a warlord, you weren't directly connected to the city's underground. You knew about the city's underground because you were school friends with people who had ended up in that life, and you still kept in touch. But, like most of the employees of the Rain Dinners – the casino/restaurant/hotel chain with five locations around the Grandline Metro – you weren't a part of the underground directly. There were people closer to Mr. Crocodile who probably had ties to stuff like that, but you were just the secretary to one of the mid-level casino floor managers of the West location, just outside White Beard's territory.

Buggy was, well, buggy. He seemed to be constantly under a lot of stress, but he wasn't a terrible boss. He had a decent sense of humor, was easily brought into focus, and often went out of his way to make sure the people under him were doing well. He was a bit selfish, but whenever someone needed to be legitimately let go, you always had to come to him with well-documented, irrefutable proof. While that could be annoying in some cases, it was also reassuring that he wasn't letting people come and go without being sure there was nothing else to be done for it.

"Hey boss, I won't be available this weekend." You explain, handing over another paper for Buggy to review. "So if something goes wrong you'll have to call Alvida."

"Are we expecting anything unusual this weekend?" He questions calmly.

"No, there's no big events, and Alvida's already aware I'll be unavailable." You're kind of surprised to see Buggy this calm. Usually, he was a complete mess when you took vacations or called out sick.

"Alright, (Y/N), just make sure to let Alvida know that Galdino's going to be the one reaching out. I'm off this weekend as well."

Ah, that explains why he's so relaxed. You muse. After a moment's thought you flinch. You hadn't exchanged names with the person you were meeting this weekend. Statistically, it was improbable that it was Buggy, but it wasn't impossible either. Well, if it was him, you couldn't let your professional assessment of him color how he was in his private life.

"I'll let her know." You assure him flatly, taking back the last of the documents and reorganizing them quickly on his desk. "Your meetings are light today, and tomorrow you have the Staff Luncheon to attend."

Buggy flinches. "Right."

"It's at our branch this month, Buggy."

Your boss sighs. "That's the problem."

You laugh. "It is harder to 'accidentally' miss it due to traffic when it's here."

"You're being a little too flashy, Miss (Y/N)." He grumbles.

"And yet you still appreciate me." You quip, giving him a smile before walking out to get back to your own work.

The rest of your work day went smoothly. You coordinated with Galdino and Alvida about the weekend, making sure they knew that neither you nor Buggy would be available. Alvida had raised an eyebrow over it, since she knew you'd been signed up on Cult of Personality. You had filled her in on your plans for the weekend before now. You were still pretty sure it wasn't Buggy, but she made you promise her that if it turned out to be him you would let her know immediately.

Alvida had her quirks, and she could kind of mean in that haughty beauty sort of way, but she wasn't malicious or cruel. You'd shared a few drinks outside of work, and mainly she just enjoyed drama and gossip.

Getting home you went through your after-work routine. Peeling off your work clothes you slipped into sweats and a t-shirt, made yourself something easy, and relaxed with an episode of your favorite show while you ate. Afterward you checked your messages and settled into the dating website.

You: One more day \o/

Him: I'm glad your enthusiasm hasn't waned.

You: At this rate I'm worried I'll be exhausted come Saturday. I'm really looking forward to this.

Him: Plans can be easily adjusted if need be.

You: Joking aside, I'm sure I'll manage. Though, I have to admit that today has caused me to be very curious about something. >_>

Him: Oh?

You: Well, it seems my boss at work has requested this weekend off as well. O_O

Him: Ah-ha. Did you request your time off today?

You: I did.

Him: Then I wouldn't worry. I didn't have any of my employees request time off to me directly today.

You: Oh good.

Him: My condolences to your boss.

You: lol he's not a bad guy, but that would've been incredibly awkward.

Him: It would've been a mark against you wanting to meet someone new, as well.

You: You're not wrong.

You: Admittedly, I wouldn't hold it against you if we did know one another.

Him: That's reassuring. Though, if I do know you, then I have done myself a great disservice for not knowing you well enough until now.

You feel yourself blush despite it all. It was nice to be appreciated for your, well, you-ness, and not for anything else. You let him know you appreciated the sentiment and the two of you talked about nothing and everything off and on for the rest of the evening.

Tomorrow was going to be the longest Wednesday to ever dare to exist, not just because you were looking forward to getting home before you'd even left for work, but also because the monthly staff luncheons always made the days feel longer when they were at your branch. It wasn't nearly as bad when Buggy was ushered out and into a different branch for the event, but every 5th month it meant your casino was filled with important people.

Important people like to feel important, so there were all sorts of extra protocols and fine moving parts to worry about. The hardest part was going to be dealing with the Billions. The people who were only just barely important and wanted to make sure no one could possibly forget it. The Baroque Works staff would be there as well, and if things went well, after the initial meet and greet, all you would have to worry about was filling Buggy's shoes while he was busy at the Luncheon.

. . . . .

You: Good morning, I can't stay on and talk much right now, there's an event at work I need to be in early for. Looking forward to talking to you tonight!

Him: Much anticipated.

The drive into work was faster than usual since you had left a couple hours earlier and traffic was nonexistent. You got into work and got all your normal morning work done before the doors had even opened. Alvida and Galdino were in almost as early and you set them to work organizing the cleaners and preppers. Surfaces that had been polished the night before were polished again just to add a little more luster.

There were three times as many valets available today, to deal with the influx of VIPs, and almost every member of staff was working. People were rotated in and out on tables more often as well to keep every extra sharp. Extra areas had been opened in the back to accommodate people being able to lounge between there active table times so they could recharge properly. It was an untenable schedule every single day, but everyone came together to make it work for the Luncheons.

When the owner, Mr. Crocodile arrived, everyone lined up to greet him. It was the only time all the staff stopped what they were doing to greet a guest. Nothing was said, but everyone lined up neatly in the lobby and bowed slightly as he entered. As far as you knew it wasn't even something he had requested, one of the Numbers had demanded it at their branch some years ago and the tradition stuck.

Frankly, if you ever learned who Mr. Nine was, you would happily punch the lout right in his nose for suggesting it. Fortunately, Mr. Crocodile didn't linger in the entry way, and strode quickly through. Considering he was just over 7', he had an impressive stride. Aside from the company photo, and the occasional glance in the hall when the luncheons were held at your branch, all you ever saw of him were his shoes.

When you first started working at Rain Dinners you'd had a little crush on him, but from the way things went for most of the staff, everyone had a little crush on him. He was the least eccentric of the Warlords, far as you were aware, and the man had style. Most of the ladies swooned over him and half the of the men on staff did as well.

He wasn't much older than you either. Far from the youngest of the Warlords, he was just over 30 and doing remarkably well for himself. He was barely of legal gambling age when he started the first Rain Dinners, and within three years there were 5 of them in the Grandline Metro alone.

With the owner gone, everyone burst into action and the several moments later the casino came alive as the doors opened to the public and the day began properly.

Only eight more hours to go before you could start making proper plans for the coming weekend.