#Query comparison

[digitalmagnate]

How To Compare Search Queries In Google Search Console ||Google Search Console ||Digital Magnate

Hey everyone, welcome to my channel. In today's video, I'm going to show you how to compare search queries in Google Search Console. This is a great way to see what people are searching for when they find your website, and it can help you improve your SEO strategy. 𝗞𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗹𝘆 𝘀𝘂𝗯𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗯𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗻𝗲𝗹 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝘃𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗼𝘀 Click here ➜https://www.youtube.com/c/Digitalmagnate/videos?sub_confirmation=1

Let’s get started!"Step 1: Open Google Search Console First, you need to open Google Search Console. If you don't have an account, you can create one for free.

Step 2: Click on the "Search Queries" report Once you're logged in, click on the "Search Queries" report in the left-hand menu.

Step 3: Select the date range you want to compare Next, select the date range you want to compare. You can compare any two date ranges, as long as they're within the past 90 days.

Step 4: Click on the "Compare" button Once you've selected your date range, click on the "Compare" button.

Step 5: Analyze the results Now, you'll be able to see a comparison of the search queries that people used to find your website in the two date ranges you selected. Conclusion That's how you compare search queries in Google Search Console. I hope this video was helpful. If you have any questions, please leave them in the comments below. Happy Google Search Console, and see you next time!"

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[bookwyrminspiration]

stumbled upon a to be released book called a language of dragons. title alone sounds like it was curated specifically for you

"get a summer internship studying dragon languages" "discover the secrets of a hidden dragon language" "young linguistic experts who are desperate to decode the dragon language" "every act of translation requires sacrifice" oh my godddddd

this book is either going to be one of the best things I've ever read or it is going to disappoint me so immeasurably i'll never read another word again

[pancakeke]

finally took the time to permanently deal with a shitty query in this one sheet that has been wasting my time for years. I tried and gave up on doing this in the past because it always needed so much time to fix yet I had real work that needed attention.

this time I realized the old query did not need to be fixed, it needed to be thrown out completely and replaced with a new one made from scratch. now the query can be updated with ease when new stuff gets added to our database! also it loads way faster!

[wrose-writes]

in-universe, people frequently look at Nova and Query for a moment and then think 'ah I see, she's the reasonable one'.

their mistake is assuming that 'the reasonable one' is a concept that exists when the two people you are talking about are literally any Herald except for Pattern or Ink.

[georgiamoorewriter]

👇🏻 𝗪𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗶𝘀 𝗮 𝗖𝗢𝗠𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗜𝗦𝗢𝗡 𝗧𝗜𝗧𝗟𝗘? 👇🏻

𝗪𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂'𝗿𝗲 𝘀𝘂𝗯𝗺𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮 𝗺𝗮𝗻𝘂𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗽𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗽𝘂𝗯𝗹𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗲𝗿𝘀, they'll ask for books that are similar to yours so they can get a sense of where it fits in the market. They're often referred to as 'comp titles' or 'comps'.

𝗔 𝗿𝘂𝗹𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝘂𝗺𝗯 with these is that they should be relatively recent releases. List specific books if you can, but you can also include authors whose work is similar to yours. 𝗢𝗻𝗲 𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗳𝘂𝗹 𝘁𝗿𝗶𝗰𝗸: you can highlight specific elements in your submission, like "the sizzle of a Tessa Bailey with the humour of a Sally Thorne". 𝗜𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂'𝗿𝗲 𝘀𝘁𝗿𝘂𝗴𝗴𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗼 𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗱 𝗯𝗼𝗼𝗸𝘀 you can also use movies and TV shows in a pinch.

𝗛𝗲𝗿𝗲'𝘀 𝗮 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹 𝗹𝗶𝗳𝗲 𝗲𝘅𝗮𝗺𝗽𝗹𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗽𝘀 𝗜 𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗾𝘂𝗲𝗿𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗺𝘆 𝗱𝗲𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗻𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹, 𝗙𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗡𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗦𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗱.

FOUR NIGHT STAND is a 90,000-word standalone contemporary romance, perfect for fans of Sally Thorne’s The Hating Game, that would appeal to readers of Amy Andrews, Denise Williams and Tessa Bailey.

[kingcatnine]

i could never live on a starfleet ship cause I'd know some cunt in security is reading through all my search queries Alien Penis alien penis comparison alien penis chart penises throughout the galaxy penis in every language what species are sexually compatible with humans what species can humans SAFELY uave sex with sex sent me to the sickbay season 78 alpha quadrant penis tour what species has the most penises and that's how far I'd get before they overrode the security lock on my quarters and broke in and killed me for being academically curious

[ivesambrose]

PAC: 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟

1. 2. 3.

For those who are sleeping on their potential or are unaware of it.

To book a personal reading with me DM or email me at ivesambrose@gmail.com with your query.

Masterpost

Services Offered

Thanks for the tip!

PICTURE 1

Blessed with the gift of restoring or beautifying things beyond repair. This could be an object, a garment or you, yourself. There's not a single ending or grief that you've faced that you haven't bloomed out of. Perhaps some of you have found inspiration in it as well. You can find beauty in the mundane and the macabre. You'll always find or have access to some hidden resources. Be it esoteric knowledge, classified sources, intuition or people not really in the public eye.

You're sleeping on your gifts of acquiring wealth. Some of you may have limiting beliefs when it comes to money. You have the ability of being extremely influential with your words but you shy away or underestimate yourself. You'd do amazing in selling/promoting/teaching something but you might think you're not glamourous or confident enough. Both of them are a state of your mind. Some of you can be incredible cooks too, make something simple look appealing and taste exquisite regardless of whether you want to profit out of it or not. Some of you are excellent designers, can stitch fabrics together or put something together like a puzzle piece and make it fit even if they aren't supposed to. With enough awe and wonder you can make yourself happy, something you've been avoiding in the pursuit of keeping up with ever yone else and constant comparison or choosing things to pursue that you aren't supposed to but you end up doing so to prove a point that never gets assured.

PICTURE 2

Such caring and tranquil souls who don't realise that they create their opportunities as they go. You don't have to go looking for them, the more you do they'll elude you. Think of it as looking for your glasses while you were wearing them the whole time. Blessed with the capability of changing lives and circumstances through their thought, ideas and words alone. But you think of it as a power so simple and you seek out more complicated things then wonder why you feel stuck and devoid of curiousity and fun. You're sleeping on your potential to go and see what the world has to offer you and what you have to offer to the world. You might think it's too little but that's far from the truth. You've gathered your perceived mistakes and failures so much that they have piled up in your subconscious somehow. The moment you switch them to what you have gratitude towards, they too will add up and will keep multiplying. You'll either way be guided towards your destiny no matter what.

You have helped others release their burdens but it seems as though you still keep carrying yours with the addition of other's as well. Why? You think you can't execute an idea, you think too much time has or will pass you think you have no relevance. You think too much, so why can't you think in your favour more than once? You're stubborn, so why can't you be stubborn with allowing yourself too walk on your path?

There's an opportunity in everything. The moment you make everything ever in your favour as crazy as it sounds, is when you are prosper.

PICTURE 3

There is power in the unspeakable emotions that you feel but prefer not to. You have the ability to evoke the same emotions in others too. You're perhaps searching for examples or validation from others in regards to what you want to do, where you want to go and what you want to become. But the truth is that you're supposed to be your own validation.

You're meant to be your own example, be as eccentric and revolutionary and chaotic as you wish to be. Some of you are a cult classic in the making and don't even realize it yet. You're like a lightning strike, the poet and the muse. You have the gift to visualise/picture things into existence. You are someone's real life comfort character despite it all You're capable of becoming a healer, taking all the pain and turning into power, inspiring the same in others, you're capable of becoming a leader and an extremely influential person. Use your power well. You're meant to be expressive, you're meant to inspire, to create, to perform, to travel and likely be as many characters as you wish and live many lives, each that caters to your inner child. You can't really go step by step with this, there's hardly any method to it except bursts of energy and inspiration that leads you to where you seek to be. Deep down, you're aware that the only way to live up to this is being a bit strict with yourself, completely accepting your power and contradicting yourself less.

You can easily transmute energy, think of yourself as an alchemist, surround yourself with people and friends who share this vision as well, likey you already are. Stop holding yourself back.

[heich0e]

"i won't be able to see you for a while."

the tokyo streets slip past outside your window, but your eyes aren't quite following the scenery. you feel a little dizzy thanks to the wine satoru kept pouring over dinner—filling only your glass, as usual. it was a vintage you could never have dreamed you'd get the chance to taste only a few short months ago; a luxury so distant that you'd never once even thought about what it might be like to try. now it lingers on your tongue, stains your lips slightly, feels familiar in ways you still struggle to reckon with.

you tilt your face towards the man sitting beside you in the back of the car that's taking you home.

"a while?" you ask him curiously, though that's perhaps not the most important query.

satoru hums, smiling a little to himself as his fingers press against the pulse point on your wrist. he's been toying with your hand ever since you left the restaurant, but you've hardly paid it any notice.

satoru's touch used to be limited to the spectacle. his hands only reaching out for you when someone was there to witness it. at one time, satoru would have changed cars before his driver took you home. at one time, he would have dropped your hand the moment the door shut behind you. but he doesn't now.

you've grown strangely used to this, too.

"are you going away for work again?" you ask him when he offers no further elaboration. it's not that you're particularly concerned with where he's going, or why, or for how long. satoru's life always has been, and always will be, solely his own. you're no more his keeper than you are his true fiancée—and the funds that will be deposited into your bank account by the time you make it home this evening are testament to that truth.

but you ask because it feels like the natural thing to do.

though very little about anything you do with satoru ought to be considered natural.

"no," the blonde answers, with that troublesome lilt of mirth in his voice that always seems to precede something unpleasant. you don't ask any more questions in an attempt to ward it off.

soon you reach your destination, the rest of the car ride spent in silence after your brief but relatively benign exchange earlier in the drive. you glance out through the window towards your apartment—a building so utterly unremarkable that the sumptuous interior of the restaurant you visited that evening feels palatial by comparison.

satoru's not allowed to walk you to your door anymore. his harsh, obnoxiously unfiltered criticism of your building—of your home—each time he so much as caught a glimpse of the interior had grown so grating, you'd barred him from entering any further than the entrance to the lobby.

instead, his assistant nanami is the one who silently escorts you to your unit door each night, at satoru's unyielding insistence. he'd been surprisingly terse about it when you'd initially attempted to dissuade him, reminding him (more than once) that you make the walk to your own door every day alone and have thus far lived to tell the tale. but the options he firmly presented in reply—the only two you knew you had to choose from—were either to be escorted by nanami, or let him walk you there himself. you knew that there would be no reasoning with him otherwise, sensed it in the way he held you so fixedly in his stare that day, so you chose nanami.

now each night after satoru accompanies you on the ride home after your engagements, his stoic, well-mannered assistant dips in a polite bow at your door and wishes you goodnight before departing once he knows you've made it safely inside.

behind the wheel up front, nanami slips out from his seat, exiting the vehicle and coming around to your door to open it and let you out. the door cracks open as he pulls the handle, but all of the sudden it comes clacking closed again.

satoru is leaning over you—his weight, his warmth, the sheer breadth of him a little staggering from this close up, especially so unexpectedly—holding the door firmly shut by the handle. he stares at you down the bridge of his nose, unblinking.

"i'll see you... when i see you," you breathe out, surprisingly meek, as you sit frozen in your seat beneath him.

satoru says nothing, just watches you curiously. there's a glimmer of something that swims behind his eyes—that look he gets where you can't help but be reminded of a child playing with a new toy—that makes you shift nervously.

"you really don't want to know?" he asks you, and he's so close you can almost taste the words on his lips.

this is too near, even by his peculiar standards. satoru's hand is still wrapped tightly around the door handle to keep it closed. his body pinning you into the corner of the backseat.

you can't help but feel on edge when you're trapped like this with nowhere else to go.

"know what?" you ask him. your head is still spinning from the wine, but it's almost worse now. maybe it's only just really beginning to hit your bloodstream.

"where i'm going," satoru goads, "how long i'll be gone."

you swallow thickly. "that's none of my business."

"of course it is," satoru replies, feigning hurt. "we're engaged. it's a fiancés right to know where their partner is and what they're doing, any time they'd like."

your brow pinches in confusion. you have no interest in knowing those kinds of things, much less feel any right to know them, given the circumstances. your bewilderment leaves you at a loss for words.

"my rut's coming, you see," satoru explains, his lashes fluttering softly as he says it. it wouldn't feel so strange if his lip weren't curling up in a smirk all the while. "so for the next week or so i'll be... indisposed."

your mouth feels dry.

"oh," you manage to say, though it's not really anything at all.

one of satoru's brows quirks curiously at the sound.

"it wouldn't normally be an issue," he continues, though you didn't ask him to. "but this will be my first rut i've spent alone since i presented, so i'm not sure how long it will last."

your lips part in shock.

"alone?" you sound every bit as astonished—as scandalized—as you feel. an alpha of satoru's rank spending his rut alone is unheard of. "what about the omega servic—"

"i would never pay for those kinds of services."

satoru's tone is uncharacteristically cold as he dismisses the mere notion of it. even as a beta, you know that omega services are perfectly legal, and are strictly regulated nowadays—but upon further reflection, you're not all that surprised by his seeming revulsion towards the idea. a family as powerful as the gojo clan likely has their own reserve of omegas, each one of the highest pedigree, to attend to the needs of their unmated alphas. hell, the most eligible omegas in the country would willingly accompany him if he were to ask. you avert your gaze under his cold stare, you feel a bit silly for even suggesting—

"i have no interest bringing any omega into my bed."

your eyes snap up to meet his.

that little glimmer is still there, behind the impossibly clear blue of his eyes.

"will you take suppressants?" you find yourself asking next. still meek.

satoru's face screws up in disgust.

"that garbage is toxic," he sniffs indignantly. "snake oil like that wouldn't work on me anyway."

you remember learning about this in health class as a teen. remember how shocked you were to learn that the efficacy of suppressants decreases depending on how strongly someone's secondary gender characteristics present. it's always felt a bit backwards to you—shouldn't the strongest, least-controllable members of the population be the ones there's the most interest in subduing?

and an alpha as high ranking, as dominant, as satoru is every bit the example.

"no," he sighs, and suddenly any trace of irritation or sterness dissipates as though he's released it along with his breath. his weary tone is too thickly affected to be sincere. "i'll just have to suffer through it on my own."

from the corner of your eye, you can see nanami shift where he stands and waits outside the door, and all at once you remember where you are.

you turn your body away from satoru, angling yourself (as much as you're able) towards your exit.

"well, good luck," you attempt to sound encouraging, but the words still come out slightly ill-at-ease. you reach for the door handle, hoping satoru will get the message and release it so you can take your leave. "let me know if you need anything."

satoru's hand doesn't move.

"do you really mean that?"

you flinch a little as his lips brush the shell of your ear. he's pressed up against your back now—the planes of his chest firm against your shoulder blades as he drapes himself over you.

you're frozen again, your hand still outstretched towards his at the handle—poised in midair. the lights from outside the car glint tauntingly in the diamond on your ring finger.

his breath is hot as it breaks against your throat.

your chest feels uncomfortably tight.

"would you really help me if i were to ask?"

[digitalmagnate]

How To Compare Search Queries In Google Search Console ||Google Search Console ||Digital Magnate

#Google_Search_Console, #Search_query_comparison,

[bookwyrminspiration]

hello so i sent you something very similar to this a few months ago but it looks like tumblr ate my og ask because i haven't seen it so i'm resending it except i don't remember my exact words so i have to rewrite it from scratch lmfao

about elves and culture: at one point i remember you mentioning offhandedly in some post that elves are all white culturally (i tried for about fifteen minutes to find it, but you know. tumblr.) which is another way the series lacks diversity (besides the obvious barely-any-non-white-people and no non-allocishet people) and i was thinking about how shannon could have even have fixed this problem because the elves are a monolith when it comes to culture. yeah, they have different races, but all the races have the same culture. so i was like. ok. how would shannon even incorporate multiple cultures into the story? how would it even be possible to show cultural diversity in a story where the elves all live in the same society? and i came up with a few ideas:

could do a mashpot, where everyone in the lost cities has bits of every single culture ever mixed into one (somehow). i have two ideas for this

mashpot option one: have the different aspects of a culture each come from different cultures (for example, clothes of one culture and the food of a different culture and traditions of the another culture and so on). putting it all together, this would create a collage-culture of sorts, which would be quite jarring, but it could be effective if done well, i think.

mashpot option two: they could have the different aspects of a culture pull from every culture ever. for example, the elves could eat foods that taste like foods from all around the world, instead of foods that just taste like american foods (as someone who hates the taste of stereotypically american food, i can say i would hate eating anything from the lost cities). or have them celebrate a variety of holidays or something across the whole year, each of which is representative of a different culture.

could have different groups of elves each have different cultures. i also have two ideas for this

different groups option one: each family line has a different culture or something like that. so you have cultural diversity through each family having a different culture and everyone being accepting of that. this could include different clothes, food, traditions, architecture, celebrations, and all that stuff (maybe not language though lmfao). this would at least be able to somewhat showcase different cultures, although it would have to have been done really half-assedly. this would also have a huge skew toward white cultures because most of the characters are white.

different groups option two: create different clans of elves, all of whom have mutual respect for each other. each clan of elves can have a different culture. this would literally be separate societies of elves. however, they could all respond to the same council, which is made of people from all the clans in the name of equality. this way, the monolithicity of the elves would be intact and while still showing some diversity of culture.

shannon makes up her own culture that is completely unlike any culture we've ever heard of, ever. equal neglect of all cultures is equality. sophie eats an umber leaf and is like "this tastes like nothing i've ever eaten before and tastes like it shouldn't even be a real food but i like it". sophie is shown their clothes and it's just a dress made out of solid, opaque crystal. their traditions involve scratching random shapes in the ground and dancing around them in a specific way. this is the chaos option.

this wouldn't really showcase cultural diversity, but instead of an all-white culture, it could be a non-white culture monolith. but then there's the same problem of "why do all the elves have the same exact culture, where's the diversity?" except a different flavor. it would also be really weird because most of the characters in the series are canonically white.

elves don't have any culture. not gonna lie, i have no idea how this would work. this is the other chaos option. up to interpretation, i guess.

thoughts? what would you do if you were shannon. i don't really see any other options for fixing this problem, but there might be something i missed.

(also, yes, i am sending this three times. sorry for annoying you. i want to make sure at least one makes it to your inbox this time lol.)

Hey! So sorry about that--I don't know exactly how long you were waiting, but if it ever seems a while you can send an ask sooner to double check!

Before I get into this, I will say: there is no one right way to approach this topic and I am one person. These are just my thoughts--and I am always open to hearing from others

That said, just to clarify my first point (from this ask, thanks for the link), what I meant by "the elves are all white culturally" is that the kotlc elven culture is fabricated, but seems largely white american inspired. Which makes sense, as that's what Shannon is. There's always going to be a level of bias from one's own experiences and life, it's legitimately impossible to avoid and not always a bad thing. In some cases though, we want to temper it a little, which I don't think it really was in kotlc.

Like you said, there's multiple ways to approach this.

I think the crux is how race, in the elven world, means nothing--but this story exists in a world where it means a lot. While race is a social construction (the meanings/distinctions we assign to skin color are arbitrary) and therefore can be given a null significance, doing so is difficult because socially constructed doesn't mean meaningless/insignificant

We also run into complications given how scattered elves are--I've brought this up regarding clothing, but the physical geography of one's community shapes not only what you wear, but what you grow, how you build, etc. And we don't have that landmark for the elves

I think either an elven monoculture or multiple would work, it's just a matter of what you'd want to do.

If we go for a monoculture as Shannon has, I'd personally go for its own unique culture rather than a mash-up. A mash-up seems too likely to remove significant context/meaning from the source, and the elves are supposed to be isolated from humans. I think Shannon choosing this was fine, it was the execution I dislike.

The food comparisons you mention, for example. Or the family structures. Beauty standards. The education system. They don't actually feel like a distinct monoculture, it feels American with a fantasy filter. If, for example, we expanded on how being immortal affects your family (everyone's still alive, what kinds of relationships does that create, etc.), or how they're taught (instead of lectures and homework, maybe more hands on involvement, travel for hands-on since they can do so instantly, different kinds of tests, etc.), then I'd be more satisfied. I know there's some level of familiarity so readers aren't lost, but it's a little too much, in my opinion

If we were going instead for multiple elven cultures, I think I'd personally base it on ability. It's the most defining thing in their world and could easily be taken further. There'd be kinks to work out given kids don't automatically inherent their parents' abilities, have to manifest, and that people with the same ability don't generally group together, but! that's not insurmountable

kids could be raised within their parents' ability cultures/customs and then, if they manifest a different ability, its culture could be passed via their instructors--which wouldn't necessarily be at Foxfire. Those who differ from their parents, perhaps, would be expected to seek out additional mentor figures and become more multi-culture kids in the process. just because they don't group in canon now doesn't mean they can't here (and could be seen as more necessary given how much ability cross-marriages there are). There could also be more celebratory days around abilities--e.g. a kind of ceremony conducted when a kid manifests. Lots of different ways to take it, the point is just that abilities, I think, make a great base for different elven cultures given how massively important it is in their world.

We're critiquing/discussing diveristy, so something to consider, I think, is what is diversity in the context of kotlc? We want a variety of people to be reflected in the story--but we're dealing with isolated non-humans, so including a variety of human cultures won't necessarily achieve that goal.

The main thing that comes up (or at least that I've seen discussed) is the lack of non-white characters and the fairly american constructed culture--so the course of action to take could be a better balance of physical descriptor (more non-white characters) that creates the varied reflections/connections we want, and a more distinctly elven culture that leans into it harder, making it less American.

I'll stop here for now until this gets too long, but at the moment that's the general direction of my thoughts. I think it's a fine thought experiment to ask "what if culture wasn't tied to race?" you just don't want to then forget that even though your fantasy book doesn't consider race, it exists in a society that does. which could lead us into further discussion on sterotypes as well, which also factors into all this

and again: these are just my personal initial thoughts. it's a broad, complex topic, so there will of course be things I miss or don't get to. but regardless, i hope that at least partially answers your question of what I would do :)

[dhampling]

one fem!reader, 2k

“Mummy and Daddy’s evening off though, love? Really?”

“Oh shut up, you horrid thing. I know.”

-

astarion is a newly-minted girldad. that's it. that's the plot.

word count: 2,028

an: fluff, fluff n more fluff. no smut this time. soon. promise. parts ONE and TWO linked respectively but can be read alone.

-

“She’s asleep, Astarion!” 

You are wide eyed, furious; speaking in a whispered shout at your husband.

His pale hands flit across the ties of your shirt, frisking every which way they turn. You slap them off like flies on fruit.

“Even more reason to take advantage of the situation, if you ask me.” He murmurs hungrily in your ear, hands now circling down to your waist to tug on your waistband.

“It’s a fine job I didn’t ask you then!” Gritted teeth. Eyes aflame. Cornered against the dresser.

The crib beside your bed holds your infant daughter - skittish and fresh to a world wholly unknown in every sense of the word. She rests rarely and wails often for company in these early months of being alive with you both. Pallid and red-eyed yet beautiful beyond comparison and entirely yours. 

Seeing you together brings him joy unparalleled. 

He has, genuinely; never been prouder of anything of his doing - saving the Sword Coast is a drop in the ocean that is completely and utterly awash with love for your youngling. The mistaken mess of his own bastard elven vampiric genetics now born unto another. This time it would be right. The hunger, the rot; the abuse and neglect, they were hundreds of miles away.

He would make it right. 

But it was already so. She was here, and you all cried together in that dark, sweaty birth chamber. His great guttural sob at her birth, wracked with emotion he never knew he could possibly be permitted to feel on this immortal coil. Your genuinely feral howls of pain turned weeping with pure joy.

Two full days of agony unlike any you’ve ever endured and she had arrived, breathing; wailing; skin of a changeling in birthing viscera and lungs keen to rival any bellow of the Gods.

Astarion weakly clinging to you both; tears salting your lips and wetting her tiny head for hours on end. 

The great weight of another being on your shoulders. His sincere - yet cliche - fervently whispered oath to her just moments after being placed in his arms.

She is home. She is loved beyond any unit of measure. She will want for nothing, and she will never know anguish like that of her parents and their complex lives. No matter who she is or what she becomes, she has two people who are in her corner. She will be fierce if she so desires. Cunning. Witty. Roguish. Barbaric. Horrid. 

It didn’t matter. It never would. 

She was yours, and his; and she would always have a choice.

He had spoken with her for hours, the nurse whispered to inform you once you had awoken from the deepest slumber of your life. Even then when you looked he was hanging over her small form in her cot, running his lithe fingers over her tiny hands and feet in a repetitive soothing pattern. 

When you queried the topic of conversation he simply looked at you with a grin so lovesick it would flip your stomach completely. Butterflies.

-

“We deserve a bit of fun though, darling. Mummy and Daddy’s evening off? No?” 

Astarion pouts, wrapping his arms around you - still pinned against the dresser - and inhaling your scent deeply. 

You return the gesture and cough reactively.

“You stink of Noblestalk. I know your tricks.”

You playfully shove him away and tiptoe from your room to the landing, the pale elf hot on your heels.

“I have never stunk in my life, thank you.” He sulks. 

You pointedly stop to look at him, before picking up a basket of waiting laundry and descending the stairs. He follows.

“I’m trying to fuck you, dear. Don’t make it weird.” He rolls his eyes and huffs. 

You hum. 

“Corpses tend to smell awful.” 

“Warning.”

“You started it.”

“Touché.”

A beat of silence.

“Mummy and Daddy’s evening off though, love? Really?” 

“Oh shut up, you horrid thing. I know.”

“You’re getting rusty.”

He captures you in a kiss as you reach the bottom of the stairs, slow and patient. Holding your free arm to keep you close. 

“Look at me. I’m the epitome of the fatherly jester!’

Waggles his free hand.

‘I have been blessed with brains and humour anew by the birth of our daughter, clearly.’

He grimaces.

‘Not necessarily superior versions of either, but I - am - changed.” 

From the moment of her conception you’d felt it. An old wives’ tale. The night you’d agreed to mother a brood alongside him, you knew she was there. That she was her. That she was brewing as something brilliant deep inside you and nothing would be as it was ever again. 

He’d called it ridiculous, gestured wildly and rolled his eyes to the deepest hells, but a hazardous hope never left them until you’d far missed your bleed and it was confirmed to be true.

From that moment onwards, something shifted even further in Astarion. 

The domestic tether to your townhouse in the city - no longer just a convenience to remain a steady base for you both, but a fundamental part of his scene setting, to plant roots and grow together. Two centuries of rot and abuse, and his reward was finally nearing completion.

His nesting phase began far earlier than yours and with greater intensity than you could’ve matched even without the issue of your later-heaving belly. Entire pinboards tacked with decadent fabric swatches for every occasion - be it swaddling or nursery curtains. Tailor’s tape around his neck each morning and notebook in hand to note your measurements and take inventory of your wardrobe; ensuring you never looked awry or felt anything less than wholly comfortable. 

Because gods forbid ill-fitted clothing stand in the way of you and your brutal vomiting spells, obviously. A pointed click of his tongue as he fixes your sleeve.

In the middle months of your gestation, the typically discerning clientele who visited you and Astarion in your tailor’s store at the dead of night were the first to become privy to the news. Rounder by the week, flushed; brimming with a deep fatigue and yet somehow absolutely aglow.

Children to be fitted for yet another presentation evening placed sleepy hands on your belly with a saccharine softness. Their parents jostle you - sometimes in congratulations, sometimes to whisper in sheer curiosity. Dhampir are a notoriously rare breed, and you’re certain there were rumours of a third party involvement in the process.

‘No, no. We just tried really, really hard.’ You’d smile, as if in a blissful stupor from just the recollection. He’d turn to you with his ridiculously brilliant hearing; needle between teeth, brow raised; lips upturned in a slight quirk. Devilishly handsome, never anything less.

-

You drop the laundry basket in the kitchen corner. A stuffed bear falls from it. Clive.

A pause.

“You never asked what I did with that shirt, you know.”

It takes you a moment to recall which shirt he’s referring to. He sits at the table and watches you lazily.

“Which? The one for Mr. Chugley? I didn’t think it needed much by way of adjustment, at least?”

A stale piece of burnt toast sits on the counter untouched. You bite and chew and bite and chew like a woman who has never once tasted a morsel so divine; so untainted by the evils of hot butter and a filling bronze crunch.

“Oh - Bunt? Gods, no.’

He sips his stone-cold tea. A fresh film wobbles on top.

‘Bunt Chugley.”

A snort of laughter sends it straight back through his nose and out onto the table. You begin to choke on your toast.

“Bunt Chugley.” You giggle, crumbs spilling from your mouth.

Astarion stands to wipe himself down, creasing over with an escalating laughter.

“Bunt Chugley.”

He waggles his hands, eyes heavy lidded with lack of rest. 

He looks purely maniacal.

“That’s- that’s what we should-’

You stop for breath, cackling now; hands over knees for a brief moment.

‘We should call the next one Bunt Chugley.”

He launches into a wheezing fit.

“How- How would that even work, darling? Like Bunt Chugley Ancunín, or- or-”

“No! No, no. Just that. Bunt Chugley.”

You hold both hands to your eye as if framing a canvas, looking through the gap at the ludicrous proposition in front of you. 

He takes a moment to still. Smiles at you dopily.

Crosses the floor and brings both hands down to your waist with a gentle grasp.

“I am so sorry, my love.” He grins and holds his forehead against yours.

You look at him, dazed.

“Hmm?’

He simply looks up. 

A profoundly gut-wrenching wail becomes apparent to you from above. Your face falls.

‘Oh for fuck’s sake, Astarion.”

-

He’s up the stairs before you can comment further, swiftly darting back into your chambers and grinning with an unbridled joy - though, you note, with lack of rest that grin is beginning to look more insane by the hour.

“Sweetheart! My darling girl. Shush now. You’re sounding something absolutely wicked.”

You watch on from the doorway, arms folded; stale toast in hand and jaws meeting in a firm chew.

He’s far too good with her. 

It somewhat surprised you at first just how innately fatherhood came to him, but as he picks her up and cradles her intently it’s as if there are fractures of his own childhood coming back. How he was loved, how he was held. 

A piece of him, now alive and breathing again after all these years of death.  

He coos at her, bouncing her small frame gently in his arms and hushing her with each wail. It takes very little for soft mewls to take their place as she reaches aimlessly in his direction. 

He leans towards her grasping fingers and allows her to take one of his ringlets from the front of his head as he kisses her tummy. She’s enthralled by him; recognises him. She wants to know more of him. 

As he lifts his head her grasp remains firm.

“We have some work to do on your sleight of hand, I think. Not to worry.” 

Ever so gently, he unpicks her fascinated fingers and kisses them all in tow. Her face looks almost ready to crumple before he reaches for one final kiss on the very top of her head.

“There, now. All better. Back to sleep?’

A gurgle. A puzzled blink.

‘Absolutely. Mummy does look particularly radiant today, doesn’t she? I’ll be sure to send your regards.”

He catches the smile on your face. Winks your way.

“You’re getting the baby to flirt on your behalf now?” You tease.

“That’s the lady of the house to you. She was simply passing on her praises.” He whispers as he places her back into her crib and steps back fondly. Sidles over to you as you finish the last bite of toast and pulls you in for a soft kiss.

“Stop playing coy. I know you feel the same way I do.’

He whispers down at you.

‘You want another one, don’t you?’

A kiss on the very top of your head.

“You’re projecting.” You smile.

You can’t deny him for long, he knows this. You don’t particularly want to. 

Since becoming a mother you’ve taken to parenthood almost as naturally as he has; and when the topic has come up since you’ve struggled to say no and mean it.

“Think, though. The sooner we try again, the sooner we can begin building our little mercenary force.” He looks at you with the face of a man who thinks he’s just had a really good idea.

“Oh! Yes! You’ve sold me!’

You pull him into a long kiss, the kind that still makes you swoon after all this time together. He tastes like cold tea and smells so clinical you can’t help but laugh heartily as you pull away.

‘That Noblestalk is getting to me. Have a bath and try again with a little less?”

He scowls before narrowing his eyes in thought.

“Does that mean what I think it means?”

“It just might, my darling dearest.” 

You wink this time.

The bath starts running before you’ve fully made it back down the stairs.

[sp4ceboo]

tw: 18+, man this shit is literally just smut, i'd say i'm sorry but i'm not, i'm down so fucking bad, dom coups and sub reader (sorta), blowjobs, fingering, hair pulling bc i love that shit, swearing, both are horny out of their minds, i can't write smut but i sure as hell tried, lmk if there's anything else

wc: 0.6k

you don't think you could ever get tired of the sight of choi seungcheol above you.

his strong thighs are spread wide, framing your shoulders as you kneel between them; one of his hands cups the nape of your neck, his fingers electrifying on your skin. worst of all - or best, depending on your perspective - is the look on his face. he looks like he wants to devour you whole, like he's going to ruin you, like he's going to make you cum so hard around his cock that you cry.

you hope desperately that that's what he's planning.

the look he's giving you is making you dizzy. his eyes are heavy lidded, something burning deep within them that makes your cunt slick with arousal. a smirk plays across his features as he watches you, toying with a strand of your hair just to see the way you shiver, leaning into his touch.

slowly, he drags his broad palm along your skin until he cups your chin, tilting it upward so you can gaze up at him. your lips part slightly, your breaths coming out shallow.

you'd let this man do anything to you.

'alright down there, sweetheart?' he queries, the sound of his voice innocent in comparison to the way he bites his lip, not taking his eyes off you for a second.

'cheol,' you gasp, fingers clutching at the fabric of his trousers. 'c - can i? please,'

he chuckles, loving the glazed look in your eyes, as if he's your world. lifting his hips, he allows you to yank down his trousers as he slips his fingers back into your sweet smelling hair, tugging a little because he knows you like it. he practically drinks in the way you moan against his thigh, lost in his scent, lost in him - you're beautiful.

you relish the way he shudders when you take his cock in your hand. truly, you could stay there all day, biting marks on his thighs while jerking him off, but you desperately want to taste him, to have him heavy on your tongue.

abruptly, you engulf his tip in the heat of your mouth, exulting in the moan that rips from deep in his chest. his fingers tighten in your hair, and you groan around his cock at the feeling, taking him in further, wanting more of him - needing more of him.

hollowing your cheeks, you find that you're drunk on him. you're drunk on the feel and taste and scent of him, on the way he can't help but buck his hips with how good you feel, on the way his face twists with pleasure.

'stop,' he chokes out, voice dropping an octave lower. 'fuck, i w - want your - '

he doesn't finish his sentence, instead leaving your head spinning as he lifts you up so you're straddling him, one of his hands gripping your thigh as he moves your underwear to the side. hastily, he slips two fingers in, making your back arch as he scissors them.

you're mewling, your legs shaking when his hand withdraws, and everything slows down again as the tip of his cock notches at the entrance of your cunt. you dig your nails into his shoulders, thighs clenching at the stretch of him. a deep groan wrenches from his throat, and he buries his face in your neck, skimming his lips over your collarbones as he sinks into you.

your eyes roll back when he bottoms out.

'cheol,' you whine. 'please, m - move.'

he smiles against your skin.

'as you wish.'

[cwwv9]

«By a few centimeters closer»

— without gender!reader x Isagi Yoichi, Itoshi Sae, Hiori Yo.

reader tall !!

warning: contains difference in height (the reader is taller than the guy), small dose of fluff.

mailbox open for queries!!!( I need it )

Isagi Yoichi

He has a comparison complex. From the very beginning, he noticed your growth - as if it were the statistics of the opponent. The brain automatically ran: "higher by 5-8 cm, can be higher on the jump... and if shoulders wider - then in the body..."

And then you smiled - and it all didn’t matter.

Isaiah is not one who will roll his eyes or suffer because of centimeters. He will adapt. He will find a way to turn it into his weapon.

– If you’re taller - it means you see the field better. So you can see what I don’t see. Be my eyes.

He’s a strategist, he’s an analyst - he’s not interested in the fact that you’re taller, but how he can build it into his life. Sometimes you play one-on-one, and he doesn’t hide his smile when you have to bend a little to meet his gaze.

– I don’t need height to be stronger. I need you/you. By my side.

And you stay.

Sae itoshi

He noticed it immediately.

Sae is not someone who misses the slightest detail. He looked at you - and in his head clicked: "A little higher. Interesting."

But not a shred of confusion. No hint of embarrassment

The Saee is smooth, calm and infinitely ironic. So he immediately began to trolled.

— I hope you’re comfortable looking down. I’m looking up. Nice angle.

He knows how to be lower, as if you are the one who should feel awkward next to him.

In his voice always glides laziness, but in the look - you for him as a work of art He likes to approach from behind while you speak, and lean towards your ear:

– How is the air on top? Remember who’s the best?

But if you rub it on your head or hold it on top of you, it doesn’t come off. It doesn’t rumble. It just stays. Saé Itoshi never put physics above aesthetics. And with you - he is beautiful.

Hiori Yo

Hyory closes up. He will not immediately show that he is feeling awkward. He will be silent, smile softly, look from the bottom up - and hide his eyes.

Inside - struggle. "What if I look weak? And if he don’t want to hug me? And if I don’t fit?"

But you don’t give him room for doubt.

You don’t joke about his height. You invite him into your space - hug, sit next to him, look with sincere respect. And he starts to relax.

– I’m... weird, but nice. Warm. It’s like you’re protecting me when I want to protect you too.

Hoori is learning to accept. He does not see you as "more", but as the highest level of warmth. Sometimes you sit down to be on the same level with him - and then he presses his forehead against yours.

– I’m used to being the one who dissolves in people... but with you, I’m just there.

He is no longer afraid to be a little smaller. Because he is with you.

[celestibabs]

pairing; billy hargrove x f!reader

contents; 18+ mdni. boudoir photography, heavy petting, dry humping if you squint | wc: 1k

note; starting off simple for my return to writing... nothing too long or too spicy, but we all know that won't last very long.

Billy snatches the cigarette from his mouth as if it scolded his taste buds, flipping the envelope you’d handed him in his hand with intrigue. His perfect blonde eyebrow raised in query, he raises his gaze at you pointedly. 

“What is it?” He speaks flatly, exhaling the smoke in his lungs slowly so it kisses at his cheekbones. 

“Just open it,” you murmur quietly, worrying your lower lip with your teeth. Billy hums softly, fussing with the lip of the envelope with his fingertips and teasing your nerves. 

You’d tortured yourself over a Christmas gift for Billy, thinking of all possible options and how he’d be entirely unimpressed. Minus a new set of weights or a large tub of some kind of protein-shake powder, you knew he’d probably shove your gift in a cupboard and forget about it until he needed to take the Christmas lights out next year. 

Desperation had kicked in around two weeks before Christmas day. Wandering in and out of the few shops in Hawkins like a demented zombie had resulted in empty hands and muttered curses of frustration. Unprompted comments by Billy insisting that he didn’t want any gifts had fueled your indignation, especially given his tone had somehow strayed into something pitiful in comparison to the monotonous, bored drawl he usually offered.  

The idea came to you spontaneously. Nancy had called to tell you about a playful tiff she’d had with Jonathan over some Playboy magazine’s she’d found in his bedroom while moving her things in for Christmas. Her voice had practically faded into oblivion when you’d remembered the torn-out Playboy pages plastered to the wall above Billy’s dresser. 

It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now that Billy was pulling apart the ribbon you’d tied around the neatly wrapped gift, you’d begun to feel queasy.

Before tearing the wrapping paper, Billy prolongs your suffering with a smug smirk, clearly noticing your anticipation. He lifts the item, shaking it like a five year old rattling their present box as though it would offer insight into what lay inside. “Give me a hint.”

“Billy,” you huff, exasperated already with his antics, “Just open the stupid thing before I take it back.” 

He hums, finally pinching the edge of the wrapping between his thumb and forefinger before pulling upwards, the paper ripping open to reveal the contents inside. 

Billy paused, slowly exhaling the dregs of his cigarette in a gentle stream of smoke through his nose. 

Your heart catches. 

The glossy pages of the personalised Playboy Magazine rippled slightly as Billy brought the images closer for a better look. It was unmistakably you on the front cover, perched in a seductive position on a stool dressed in an unbuttoned blouse with peaks of the black, lacy lingerie you wore underneath. 

Poor Jonathan had been mortified when you’d begged him to take the last minute images. Despite his reluctance, and Nancy observing his every move to ensure he didn’t stare too long, he’d worked hard to ensure he could emulate the magazine quality. Of course, you hadn’t told him who they were for.

You knew you looked fantastic, but Billy’s silence was unnerving you. 

“There’s more inside,” you murmur, cheeks burning, “Some don’t have my face in them so you can tear them out and put them on your wall.” 

Another slow exhale, Billy’s eyes flitting over the magazine cover had your heart lurching in fear. Was he angry? He still didn’t say much when he began to thumb through the pages, stopping on a particularly scandalous page where you swept aside the bounce to reveal the curve of your breast, lips parted seductively but the image excluding the rest of your face. 

“Billy, I’m–” 

“Look at you,” he murmurs, taking his cigarette from his lips and stubbing it into an ashtray settled on the arm of the sofa you’re both perched on. “You want me to pin photos of you half naked on my wall, for everyone to see?”

Billy reaches forwards, taking a hold of your chin in his palm and pulling you forwards so your noses bumped together. Your breath hitches, seizing in your throat when you feel Billy’s breath fan across your face. 

“You little slut,” Billy coos, his free hand working its way between your knees to inch up the inside of your thigh. His touch leaves a delicious burn, like the smouldering embers of his cigarette end had set his fingertips alight. 

Billy’s lips brush against your own as he speaks, his fingers ghosting over the seam of your trousers to apply slight, teasing pressure to your clit. “I’ll put them up on the wall opposite the door. Make sure everyone gets to see how much of a slut you are for me.” 

You can see Billy’s cock straining against the right denim of his jeans. He’s all worked up at the idea of showing you off like this, and seems intent on dragging you down into a horny-haze too. 

“If you’d like that,” you whisper, voice catching slightly in your throat as Billy leans his head down to drag the flat of his tongue across your pulse point. You hear him chuckle softly, feel the rumble against your neck, and you’re almost certain it’s because he can somehow taste your arousal through your skin. 

“I’d love that,” he smirked, his hands slowly working their way beneath your shirt and pushing it upwards to expose the naked flesh of your stomach, squeezing at your breast when you arch your back for him. 

“Merry Christmas, Billy,” you laugh at that, your giggle faltering into a soft whine when Billy punches at your nipple, rolling the stiffened bud between the pads of his thumb and forefinger to tease you further. “Mhmmm,” Billy hums, nipping at your neck and slowly laying you back against the couch. He doesn’t seem to mind that the ashtray that had balanced on the arm of the sofa tips off onto the floor, or that the magazine falls to the floor. He’s far too busy grinding his hard cock against you. “A very merry Christmas it is.”

[whenmemorydies]

The Claw, The Scrunchie and The Prayer Card: Part 2 (Timing)

A couple weeks ago, I posted a prediction on the significance of the hair claw, the scrunchie and the prayer card that appear in Carmy's apartment in season 3. In that analysis, I suggested that these items represent three particular characters on the show and Carmy's relationships with them (FYI: the hair claw = Natalie, the scrunchie = Sydney and the prayer card = Richie). We see the scrunchie and the prayer card together at the end of 3x09 Apologies, placed in the same spot in Carmy's apartment. The first and last time we see the hair claw however, is in 3x01 Tomorrow, the first episode of the season.

In their reblog of The Claw, The Scrunchie and The Prayer Card meta, @moodyeucalyptus queried why we didn't see the hair claw with the scrunchie and the prayer card at the end of 3x09. I had my suspicions about this, but it wasn't until recently that I think I've come to a clearer understanding about the separate presentations of these items in season 3 and what the timing of their appearances means, particularly for Carmy's relationship with Nat and with his birth family.

Natalie is haunting Carmy

Or rather, the Berzatto family is haunting Carmy. Let me explain.

We see the hair claw in Carmy's apartment in the first episode of season 3. I think its early appearance in the season is for two reasons:

The first is that the hair claw is a legerdemain, meant to look like a token of Claire's given its appearance in 3x01 in between scenes of Claire at home and at work. I think the purpose of this sleight of hand was to misdirect the viewer's attention to Carmy's love life from the outset and misleadingly establish it as the primary source of his mental anguish this season. As I've noted here, I don't think Claire is the main source of Carmy's anguish.

In fact, it seems pretty clear that Claire herself is a legerdemain: a stand in for Carmy's relationship with The Berzattos. This has been discussed in various places on Tumblr including in this fantastic post by @brokenwinebox contrasting shots of Donna/Donna with Carmy and Claire/Claire with Carmy, as well as in this *chefs kiss* comparison between shots of Claire and the Berzattos done by @currymanganese. I also had a theory where I posited that Claire is a reverse-engineered haunt, maintained by Carmy to keep his brother Mikey in his life, after the latter's death.

We also have this LA Times article in which The Bear's Andrew Wehde (cinematographer) and Joanna Calo (showrunner, executive producer, writer and director) say the following:

All of the above is to say that Claire and her relationship with Carmy seriously appear to be sleights of hand masking the truth of the main source of Carmy's anguish: his birth family.

Which brings us back to the hair claw, which, as I've said here, I believe belongs to Carmy's sister, Natalie Berzatto.

If we are working on the basis that the hair claw belongs to Carmy's sister and not Claire, lets get to the second reason that we see it in 3x01 and not with the scrunchie and prayer card in 3x09.

First, we need to note that Carmy's relationship with the owner of this hair claw - Natalie - is inextricably linked to his relationship with his birth family, the Berzattos. Natalie is his biological sister from that family and she's also the ONLY Berzatto family member that Carmy is seen having any contact with in the present after returning to Chicago to run The Beef in season 1.

Indeed, according to Jamie Lee Curtis, Carmy hasn't seen his mother Donna, the only other surviving member of his immediate family (that we've met on the show) since the events of 2x06 Fishes, approximately 5-6 years ago (given the events in season 3 appear to take place in 2023).

By the time we get to 3x01, Carmy's relationship with the Berzattos (including with Natalie) has had a lifetime of impact on him due, among other things, to an intergenerational history of abuse and trauma. Indeed, right before we see the hair claw in 3x01, we see Carmy staring down at the scar on his hand - a scar that @thoughtfulchaos773 has concluded Carmy got on the day he learned about his brother Mikey's suicide - another visual reminder of Carmy's family and the shadow it casts over his life.

Given the above, I believe the hair claw in the season premiere indicates to us that Carmy is entering season 3 with this familial history playing heavily on his mind. Season 3 also starts on the back of the walk-in fiasco in 2x10 which this reblog thread between myself, @bbythurs and @ambeauty discusses as a representation for Carmy of a broken promise to Sydney and the rest of The Bear crew. In that broken promise, we see an inadvertent repetition by Carmy of the behaviours in his birth family that he hates the most (recall his Al-Anon monologue in 2x03 Sundae where Carmy says his family would fuck up things that gave him amusement and enjoyment, but specifically that they would make promises they weren't able to keep). In this way, season 3 starts with Carmy doing everything he can to undo that broken promise, to undo repeating hurtful familial patterns.

In contrast to the above, Carmy's relationships with Sydney and Richie, while not great at the start of season 3, have not yet reached a boiling point and perhaps are not as front of mind for Carmy. By the time we see the scrunchie and the prayer card at the end of 3x09 however, Syd and Richie's relationships with Carmy have massively deteriorated and are hanging on by a thread. They are definitely occupying his mind by then, explaining why the mementos associated with these two characters are revealed to us at that point in the show.

As always, these are my thoughts and an attempt to apply some logic to a season that, due to its lack of actual dialogue, relies on so much interpretation to muddle our way through. I'm not saying this as a total criticism, because my neurodivergent self loves analysing things like this, but I can see why this season put so many off lol. Its been 1.5 months since I did my first run through of this season and I'm still finding new things I missed during my first watch.

Tagging folks below who might be interested but as always, keen to hear from anyone that wants to chat about this stuff:

@currymanganese @vacationship @moodyeucalyptus @thoughtfulchaos773 @brokenwinebox @espumado @tvfantic87 @ambeauty @bbythurs @mitocamdria @turbulenthandholding @anxietycroissant @angelica4equity @devisrina @kdbleu

My next meta will get into just how The Berzatto family is haunting Carmy in season 3...when I finally get around to finishing it. I'm saying it out loud here to force myself to get it done lol. Stay tuned!

[archives-of-iacon]

Idrc what the Matrix is. Has anyone licked it. What does it taste like.

C.O.G.S. Reply: Taste Testing the Matrix 🤔🍴

👀 Alright, alright... Here's the scoop 👀

Thank you for your inquiry! 🫡 After an exhaustive, and totally scientific, review of historical, mythological, and speculative records regarding the Matrix of Leadership, the C.O.G.S. team has determined the following:

Has anyone licked the Matrix?

…There is no confirmed documentation of a direct lick. However, given the number of suspicious "handling accidents", we cannot officially rule it out. 🤨🔬

In the spirit of scientific inquiry, we did reach out to the staff of Rodimus Prime for clarification. Unfortunately, our polite request to conduct "direct experimental taste testing in the name of the greater good" was vetoed immediately by a multitude of Senior Archivists on grounds of "basic dignity" and "risk of spontaneous narrative consequences."

BUT (because we never back down from a challenge 💪), we took the next best route: the power of hypothetical scenarios. Here’s a taste ranking of what we think the Matrix might maybe possibly taste like:

Metallic-y & Charged ⚡️ - Our first guess. No surprise here, considering the Matrix’s techy vibe. Impromptu experiments and a thorough cross examination of resulting notes has reached the consensus among us interns that licking a battery or a very dignified piece of silverware would be the closest comparison.

Almonds - After compiling insights from various sources (including our invaluable human archaeology contact, Elena Wallace, who informs us that taste testing is a genuine method of fossil identification), we decided to put forward a vote for an almond flavored Matrix. This is based on reports from organic archeologist that so-called 'fossils' occasionally take on such a taste.

Low-grade Engex - This hypothesis came to the C.O.G.S team in a rare moment of inspiration following contact with the Archive bureaucracy. After presenting our query to the higher ups, one studious bot up a Mecha Resources asked what grade of engex we were drinking. Thus, we took an experimental angle and approached the question following the use of various grades. The low-grade test group was the only one left with readable notes.

Keep in mind, this is all theory... But if you ever find yourself with a piece of the Matrix in hand and a very brave glossa 🤨👅... Let us know how it goes! C.O.G.S. takes no responsibility for any future Matrix-licking initiatives inspired by this post.

We hope this clarifies your curiosity! Feel free to submit additional scientifically-questionable questions at any time. 🔎📝

— C.O.G.S., documenting the important stuff since...well, at least since Tuesday.