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pettyprocrastination · 11 months

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hiiiiii tj <3

i see you're back in your konig era and was wondering if you have any new hcs for our big teddy bear <3

HIIII ERIIIII :D

warnings: description of bullying, violence, social anxiety, insecurities, smut

SFW

So for me personally he’s very. Socially inept. Not in a ‘cute soft anxiety boy’ way but in the way that he will come off either deeply unsettling by staring at you in silence or like a total fucking asshole. Spent his entire childhood severely bullied and ostracized so any sort of slight against him, he will take personally and gets easily frustrated with himself for not handling situations/social intricacies smoothly

Probably has plenty of stretch marks from having such a big growth spurt growing up.

Something about being severely bullied and then realizing his own size and strength means he could give his harassers some ferociousness back as a teen def…led to something.

I HC that he has some pretty severe scarring on his face from being ganged up on as a kid, which only furthered him being an outsider to other kids/teens growing up so he wears his hood or some sort of facial covering on base as well. Severe trauma and all that.

Most definitely has a criminal record from when he was a kid and fought back against a bully after said incident and ended up just getting tunnel vision and…destroying that poor kid. The case was either sealed because he was a minor or expunged completely because the argument was that it was in self defense and he had the scars to prove their previous assaults on him. Nonetheless. It left him fucked up.

Shifting from being the defenseless kid being harassed and bullied to a bloodied teenager that now knows his strength and his capabilities in defending himself. Ough.

Part of the reason he sheds his insecurities on the field. He’s able to not worry about being watched or ridiculed and just go full fucking ham and he loves it. Part of the reason why his voice lines are so shrieky and gloating. I love it lmao.

If you’re on his side/somebody he considers to be an ally/friend? He may not talk much but will sort of…loom about. Small interjections here and there but overall just this shadow following you around- not that you mind.

Will look over at you when he does something successfully for a bit of praise like ‘hey? Did you see that? Wasn’t that cool? Please tell me im cool’ without saying it outloud.

I’m not sure if him being 6’10 is genuine canon (i can’t remember where I saw that if im being honest) but id imagine given how tall he looks finding clothes that fit him are a fucking pain.

DIY king. At his height and size he will have to do the occasional alterations on his clothes. Grew up with a single mother who did her all to give her baby boy a good life which meant teaching him how to sew from a young age, a small hobby he would partake in while sitting at his mother’s side and beam bright when she told him he was doing a good job.

Enjoys being in the wilderness quite a bit.

I imagine him to be a ginger for some reason. His hair isn’t too long but enough that he can tie it up so it doesn’t get in his face. If you become close enough to him that you can see him without his hood on, please run your fingers through his hair he will reach nirvana.

I’d also imagine that after spending so long covering his face, being without it feels. Weird. A touch overstimulating at first too.

Sort of like how in that one ep of the mandalorian season two where din has to take off his helmet to get into that database, you see all his emotions and him react to the wind hitting his face because he isn’t used to it.

NSFW

That being said. Once you kiss him he’s a bit of an addict for it. Won’t be out of the norm to find him pulling you back into his lap with a whisper of “one more, liebling? Please?” when you have to leave for a briefing in five minutes but then he nibbles at that spot on your neck and you just can’t say no to him.

Not a virgin, but not overly experienced either. I’d imagine there’s been a few flings in the past of folks who have met this quiet giant and just had to suck him off cause I mean, who wouldn’t? But the genuine intimacy of face to face, holding one another while fucking? It’s a rarity he hasn’t truly been able to experience yet.

Big dick and doesn’t realize it.

Loves a good makeout sesh. Doesn’t care if it’s juvenile or whatever if you sit on his lap and put on a movie in the background he will make out for fucking hours with his hand slipping up your shirt and pressing himself against your hips.

Tit man. Maybe it’s because I’m a fan of the honkers myself and i'm just projecting but the dude loooves to play with his partner’s chest. Big? small? Flat? He doesn’t give a fuck. Titties are titties please for the love of god let him touch you

Kinda goes insane for the type of shirt where he can see the outline of your tits through it if you aren’t wearing a bra. Don’t be surprised if he corners you during the day and scolds you for being “So cruel” to him by wearing it before he starts mouthing at your chest through the fabric.

Kissing, sucking, biting, licking, the man loves tits and will do it all god bless him.

Nipple piercings will make his head explode

Loooves eating pussy. SO so much. Will go to the point where you have to pull on his hair to get him off of you and then he has the audacity to look at you with those sad eyes and ask for one more.

Loves loves loves when you leave hickeys on him. He’ll never get in trouble for having them since he’s covered from head to toe at all times in the field but man does it get him riled up. Sees it as some sort of mark of your relationship to him, a little reminder for him to see in the mirror after your night together and he will plead for you to mark him up, he’s tough he can take it.

“You can do it for me, can’t you? I know you can. Just one more, yes?”

The type to kiss the pussy first, he’s a romantic.

Will mumble/moan praise while between your legs. Talking about how pretty your pussy is and how you're so soft all over it has you completely braindead.

Absolutely obscene with it, moaning and sloppy damn near drooling between your legs because he’s so drunk on you.

Has no preference to where he gets to cum. Sex with you is joy itself but if you were to twist his arm: he’d say he likes to cum inside of you.

He won’t say that he likes it so much because then he can lean back and watch his cum seep out of your hole, that’s his little secret. (Not a well kept one lmao)

Probably has a porno-esque fantasy of a “sparring turned to sex” scenario that he keeps tucked away in the back of his mind at all times.

#ask #asks #konig x you #konig x reader #HEHE TY ERI #könig x fem reader #könig x you #könig x reader

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narcolini · 1 year

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the other man, pt. 2

moisés (sky rojo) x gn!reader, 3406 words

warnings for blood, gunshot wounds, DIY medical treatment

for day 17 of whumpril: cry for help | self treatment | ‘i can’t do this.’

a/n: the way this poor guy has no (?) fics on here at all, and im already maiming him. my god

tagging: @cositapreciosa @drabbles-mc

part one here

You left him there. You left him there, and it’s been hours, sun sinking beneath the horizon, warmth slipping into cold. He hasn’t rang you. Not even a text. He’s probably dead, right? You probably left him to die. Shirt splattered with red, arm stretched across the concrete. Gun just out of reach.

You groan, turning to push your face into the pillow. It doesn’t help to imagine it. Even if he’s alive, you might never see him again. What if’s won’t do anything but torment you, if there’s never any closure, no evidence of the alternative.

The last you saw of him, he was alive. In control. Not scared in the slightest, as far as you could tell, so that’s what you’ll remember. What you’ll cement as fact. Alive, uninjured. Unrecognisable to the man you thought you knew, but not dead, at least.

Go away with me, he said. He knew they were coming. He tried to get out, you with him, hand in hand, before they got there. That meant something, right? The Moisés you knew was holding out still, before the gunfire. Putting you and him in the sun.

‘Fuck,’ you sigh, and flop back over to stare at the ceiling. A lifetime of wondering, then. That’s what you’ve been cursed with. You won’t sleep all night, wondering if he’s alive, wondering if it was a mistake to try and know him, and then in the morning, you’ll dress. Open the shop. Sell string bags and sunglasses to tourists, then go home and wonder again.

You almost resent him suddenly, hot and striking across your chest—he could’ve told you. Could’ve given you some warning that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t the type of guy to go on coffee dates with. To give your address to, to let brush his fingertips over you. You were half a breath away from falling for him. And the whole time, he was entwined in something dangerous enough to put you at risk. Real, true harm, only a car crash away.

It was cowardice, really, keeping it from you for his own sake. It made him a coward. Or stupid. Head so far in the clouds, he thought you’d never see the ground.

The buzzer to your flat goes, sharp and rattling through the box by the door.

You sit upright, out of the covers, to follow the sound before the first press is even complete. Then you’re in the hallway, heart thumping, when it goes again. Prolonged, this time, because whoever’s pressing it, down on street level, isn’t relenting. They’re just holding it and holding it, and it’s echoing off the walls either side of you, so loud it’s making you cringe. Wince.

You reach the door, click the camera icon on the intercom. It takes a second to warm up, grey and black fuzzing into shapes, into features. It’s him. God, it’s him. His forehead’s against the wall by the camera, but you recognise the nose, the jaw, the swinging earring.

He doesn’t lift his finger from the bell until you say his name, desperate and questioning.

‘Cariño,’ he replies, tinny through the box. It sounds like he’s panting, hissing the words out. It could be the connection. You can’t remember how it sounded before now, how people besides him, right now, spoke through it. ‘Let me in.’

Your hands are sweating, slipping from the button you press to speak back at him. ‘What happened? Are you okay?’

His head drops momentarily, before lifting again, gaze flitting about to find the eye of the camera. ‘I need your help. Please.’ He cuts himself off, panting a noise out like he’s in pain. A sound you’ve never heard him make.

You’re swinging from the door before he can ask again. Leave it open, to save time when you come back. It’s late enough in the night that you don’t have to worry about neighbours, and you’re only on the first floor, only one communal stairwell away from him.

Your feet slap against the stone as you descend, cold chilling up your bare legs. The t-shirt and gym shorts you’re wearing were never meant to leave the home, were never meant to be seen, by him of all people, riddled with moth holes and paint. It doesn’t matter. He needs you.

The latch on door at the bottom sticks, for a moment. You rattle it free, desperate, then lug the huge timber open to get at him.

‘Moi.’ It comes out like a breath.

He’s standing at half the height he usually is, his chin down to his chest, one arm stretched to prop him against the brick. You pull him forward like you’re starving, hook a hand around his shoulder to get him in from the night.

It doesn’t matter, now, that he kept things from you. That he thought he could. He’s alive, standing in front of you, and alive. You can’t wait until the door’s shut again, you have to hug him, have to feel his heartbeat against your own. You tug at him—

He holds you off, firmly, heel of his palm pressing into your collarbone. ‘Don’t,’ he bites, harder than you’d expect from him.

For a split second, you’re offended, anger flitting between your ears, but then you look down. You see why he’s stopped you.

‘Shit, Moi. Fuck.’

He’s bleeding, and a lot. So much, that you must be stupid, or blind, to have even missed it. Too caught up in the relief of seeing him, that you hadn’t really seen him at all. It’s dark down his thigh, staining one leg of his jeans, and splattered up his forearm. He’s got one palm pushed to the source of it, more red than the usual tan of his skin, tight to his stomach. The ring on his pinky looks like it’s carrying a ruby, gold hidden beneath.

‘Get me upstairs,’ he says, through the grit of his teeth.

‘What? No, we’re going to the hospital.’

He pushes a shaky breath, taking a half-step into the entry way. ‘Please.’ His cleaner hand shifts from your collar, to sit on your shoulder for support. ‘Upstairs, cariño.’

It had done you well to trust him the last time he asked something of you. You can only hope he’s making the right decision again, choosing you over the medical staff he so obviously needs.

You pull his wrist until his arm is sitting over your shoulders properly, taking as much of his weight as you can manage. Kick your foot out to shut the door behind you. It’s clumsy, messy. He’s heavier than you expected, all limp, tired muscle, that fights you with every step. If you didn’t have to, life or death, you wouldn’t manage it. You couldn’t lift him.

He’s wincing by you ear each time you go up, hissing it through the set of his jaw, but you can’t help that. This is the only way there is.

‘Sorry.’ You stagger as you reach the mid-way landing, pulling him and his heavy steps around the corner. ‘Last bit.’

He nods. His hand is still planted to the wound by his navel, but it hasn’t stopped the blood from spreading. It’s on the stairs behind you, on the second leg of his jeans, on you. It’s on you, smeared up your side somehow, and on the collar of your shirt, left from the hand he’s hanging over it. You don’t look at it. Don’t think about it. Your door is in sight, wide open and ready for you.

‘There.’ You’re breathing heavy like you’d ran, as you put him against the wall in the hallway. ‘Hold on.’

You lock the door behind, thread the chain in the latch, like that extra piece of metal will stop anyone who might’ve followed him. There’s fingerprints of red, everywhere you touch. It doesn’t matter. It’s okay. Just more paint stains to scrub out, right?

When you turn back, he’s not slumped against the wall still, but is making his way to the kitchen. Rigid, stiff with pain. He looks like he’s limping, but his legs are good, you’re sure they are, it’s the flex of his stomach that he’s trying to avoid, trying to overcompensate for.

‘Moisés, wait.’ You follow after him.

‘Do you have a sewing kit?’

‘What?’

‘Needle, thread.’ He looks over his shoulder. There’s blood on his chin, streaking down his neck. Everything he touches is marked with it.

You don’t make him ask again, disappearing into the second room you use as an office. There’s one in the drawers there, a gift from your grandma that you’ve used once and never again. You know what comes next, you can work it out, he’s going to want to use it. On himself, he’s going to stitch himself shut. Drip blood on the tiles while he threads it through his skin.

‘Here.’ You try to pass it to him now you’re back, but he just nods, and continues to manoeuvre himself around the kitchen. You put it on the side, offering a hand for support when he lifts himself onto the breakfast stool. ‘What happened?’ you ask, though you already know.

He laughs, breathy and barely amused. ‘What d’you think?’ He peels the hand away. ‘I got shot.’

‘Fuck.’

You feel the heat drain from your face, feel the room spinning slightly. There’s a hole in his stomach, staring back at you, leaking blood that’s almost black.

‘I need you to get it out,’ he pants, looking up through his lashes, ‘the bullet.’

‘What?’

‘It’s,’ he winces, repositioning himself, ‘it’s gotta come out.’

‘No.’ Your head shakes. ‘No, I can’t, I don’t know how.’

He tries to smile, nodding. ‘It’s easy, okay? I’ll talk you through it.’

But you can’t even stand straight. You’re swaying, sweating though you’re cold, goosebumps running up your arms.

‘Wash your hands,’ he says, doing his best to sound like it’s easy. Like he isn’t wasting breath and energy on instructions. ‘You have a lighter? Get a lighter, a knife, put it through the flame—’

‘Fuck, wait.’

He’s still going and you’re only at the hand washing part, scrubbing desperately. No matter how thorough you are, it still won’t work, you still won’t be clean enough to root about in his stomach.

‘Tranquilo,’ he sighs. ‘Tenemos tiempo.’

‘Do we?’ you bark back at him, flicking water as you shut off the tap. ‘You look like you’re fucking dying, Moisés.’

‘I know, I know.’ He’s pushing his hand over the wound again, feet slipping from the bar of the stool as he tries to stay on the seat. ‘If it was going to kill me, it would have.’

You don’t have to be medically trained to know that that’s bullshit. It could have damaged him elsewhere, somewhere deeper than surface level. He could drop dead in a day, or a week, regardless of how well you manage things right now.

‘Okay,’ you mutter, ‘okay, lighter, knife.’

You find them both in the same drawer and bring them back to him, like he needs to supervise the next step. As if he isn’t taking longer, slower blinks, and deeper swallows of air. He doesn’t look at you directly once you’re there, wet thumb slipping from the wheel, again and again, before you finally catch the spark.

‘Like this?’ You put the flame under the blade, waiting.

He nods. ‘Lo est—esteriliza.’ He winces, looking up after you’ve torched the metal to the point of changing colour. ‘Ta bien.’

You toss the lighter onto the counter. Now you’re standing in front of him, hands shaking slightly, with the knife poised in mid-air like you’re about to fence him, not dig a bullet from his stomach. ‘I don’t know how to…’

He lifts his hand again, wet with fresh blood, though you can’t tell how much. The bleeding has slowed slightly, maybe. You hope. He nods, groaning as he pushes his hips forward. He’s trying to flatten himself as much as the stool will allow, pulling his torn shirt away from the site.

The room swings, tilting around you. ‘I can’t do this,’ you whisper. The knife feels hot to the touch, even from the handle, it feels like gripping a scalding poker meant for cattle. ‘I can’t.’

‘You can,’ he counters, you have to, he means. ‘It’s okay.’

‘No, no, I really can’t, Moi.’ You swallow, pushing back against the rising bile. ‘You—you.’

He takes the knife from you clumsily, though his hands are far from clean, and bends to see the wound himself. You didn’t mean for him to do it, did you? You were going to say something else, you were going to—

‘Shit,’ he hisses, slipping in his seat again. The knife is wobbling in his hold, because he’s shaking more than you are. Red fingers unable to grip the thing tight enough to start.

It’s not going to work. He won’t be able to do it himself.

‘Damelo.’ You pluck it from him without waiting for an answer. ‘What do I do?’

His chest heaves, breath staggering out of him. ‘Try and feel for it,’ he says, panting between each word, ‘use the knife to lever it out.’

You don’t have time to doubt your ability anymore. He’s lagging, shaking from the pain now the adrenaline’s wearing off, and you have to do it for him. There’s no-one else he can go to, clearly. He wouldn’t be here if there was, so it’s you, or nothing.

You step between his knees, one hand on his stomach to steady you. You can’t see the bullet, obviously, just black and red, and slick wetness that you really don’t want to touch. There’s no going back now.

You put the tip of the blade into the opening and he growls, clenching his teeth around the noise. His stomach tenses beneath you, his thighs pincer around your hips—it’s all impulse, subconscious reactions that he can’t stop. The body trying to protect itself from the intruder.

‘I think I feel it.’ Hard where everywhere else is soft, it catches against the end of the knife.

‘Fuck.’ He’s huffing air from his nose, steaming like a bull. ‘Get it out.’

‘I’m trying.’

You’re cutting the edges of him, splitting the skin where it wasn’t split before, but eventually, you think you have it. The end beneath the bullet. You press down without warning, because it wouldn’t have helped anyway, and force it out. Right back the way it had come.

It doesn’t clatter to the ground, but instead rolls down his stomach, slow and wonky, to sit in his lap. It’s smaller than you expected. That, caused all this?

He says your name once. You’d been staring at it, knife away from him and in the air again, eyes on the bloodied metal on his jeans. Right, yeah. Close the wound.

The intrusion has caused more bleeding, but there’s so much already that it doesn’t make you pause. You’re the one riding on adrenaline now, reaching for the sewing kit, finding thread, a needle, while he hums in pain beside you. He’s got his lips pressed together, a whimper following each exhale he forces through his nose.

You’re beyond words now, the both of you. He doesn’t need to guide you through it. Can’t, really. And you don’t need to lie to him that it’ll only be a little longer, only be a little pinch. It’s just time to get it over with. Sew the skin together as best you can, hope the damage isn’t enough to kill him. Toes over the edge, and jump.

He had slept for a bit, afterwards, and you sat at the end of the bed watching him. You’d stitched the wound as best you could, but it won’t hold. It won’t do him any good in the long run.

He hadn’t wanted to wash himself once you’d finished, like you thought he should. So you’d helped him into the bedroom and cleaned what you could from his skin with a facecloth. It didn’t get it all, and he wouldn’t let you wipe too close to the site, but his hands are clean at least. His face isn’t streaked with blood anymore.

You put him in the biggest t-shirt you own, bought to be oversized anyway, and he looks like a child in it. Besides where the sleeves stretch tight over his arms, it drowns him. He slept not long after. Propped against your pillows, with the sheet up to his waist. It’d been a relief; he looked peaceful. You didn’t mind missing out on your own sleep just to watch him.

Now, though, he’s coming to. You know, because his brows are pinching slightly, twitching together as the pain returns to him. He takes a bigger breath than he should, chest lifting, stitches straining, then hisses and opens his eye.

He looks afraid for a second, shoulders tensing. Then it drops, and he sees you, and he blows a breath too forced to be real, genuine relief.

You smile limply. It’s three o’clock, the birds aren’t up yet. The room is dim still, lit with the in-between blue of night and sunrise. ‘Morning, Moi.’

The apple in his throat bobs as he swallows. Then his hand goes up, pointing, and you’re on you feet before he even has to ask. You pass him the glass from the bedside, which he takes with both hands, drinking like he’s been denied it for weeks.

‘Thank-you,’ he says afterwards, handing it back to you.

You nod and leave it on the edge of the cabinet, so that he might be able to get it himself next time. ‘Thought you might not wake up,’ you admit, returning to your post on the end of the bed. Just a hand’s distance from his covered feet. ‘So, thank-you, for not doing that. Don’t think I could explain a dead man in my bed.’

He smiles, just with his lips, because it doesn’t reach his eyes yet. ‘I wouldn’t have come,’ he says, leaving you to fill in the rest as he takes another shallow breath.

He wouldn’t have come, he means, if he thought he would die. But what would he have done instead? Crawled off into the bush like animals do, found somewhere quiet to die on his own?

You might not know him as you thought you did, but you care for him still, of course you do. You don’t want to think of him going like that, alone and in pain. The time you've spent together hasn’t been a complete waste—it can’t be, you won’t let it be. There’s something about him, about you. Something you shared over pastries in the mornings by the beach.

‘I feel like I’m sitting with a stranger,’ you admit, putting it to him quietly, like any louder and it’ll hurt him, press into the swelling beside his navel. ‘I don’t understand.’

You thought you had more to the say, but that covers it all. You don’t understand. You don’t understand why he was attacked, why he had a gun, why he kept half of his life hidden from you.

‘You have a lot of questions,’ he says, voice low and thick with sleep. Or hoarse from grunting in pain.

You nod, shy to meet his gaze.

‘Ask them.’ He shrugs, a minuscule gesture, more led by his expression than anything else. ‘I don’t want anymore secrets.’

He’s tired, you can tell, not only from the day before, the injuries, but from the combination of it all. From the weight on his back, the cost of folding mystery over his life. He wants out. Wants the truth between you, no matter the consequence.

‘If you want me to leave, after you…’ He swallows, jaw clenching as he nods, like he’s trying to convince himself of it, before putting forth the idea. ‘I’ll go. You won’t see me again.’

The knee jerk reaction is to tell him that you don’t want that, that you would’t send him away in this state—or any, really—just because of who he is. What he does. But you know that’s a self-laid trap, waiting to be stepped in. He could say anything. He could be anyone.

‘Okay,’ you reply, accepting his deal. ‘Let’s start at the beginning.’

#moises x reader #sky rojo fanfiction #whumpril2023 #<3<3<3<3 #love a man grunting in pain in a fictional setting #really soothes the soul

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abyssaldyke · 3 years

Text

Thinking about her (the Ohio DIY basement venue where ollie and I fell in love)

#ya girl #im not diy by any stretch of the imagination #but i loved that space #it was a safe dry space to go and the guy who ran it remains one of the kindest best people i ever met #the person who assaulted me lived in the same town and was super into the scene #and scotty-who didnt know me at the time and had only heard rumors about the assault-took them aside #and was like hey :) if i ever see you in this basement or meet you in an alley i will kill you #and then SUDDENLY i wasnt seeing my assailant at my job or around campus anymore #this guy gave traveling (usually gay and trans) bands gigs and safe places to sleep #he is the true definition of the word king and i hope hes well #and he was a big part of what made the space good but it was also just full of cool smart talented people #idk man theres a lot of talk about punk rn and i have had only a little experience #but i miss it a lot

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kiwireviewz-blog · 4 years

Text

Honest Animated Hero Review: Is it worth buying?

https://kiwireviewz.com/animated-hero-review/

https://kiwireviewz.com/

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Esteeming

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Chart

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Front-End Price $15

Bonuses YES, HUGE BONUS

Refund YES, 7 Days Money-Back Guarantee

Thing Type Graphic

Support Effective Response

Official site Click here

Recommended Highly Recommended

Aptitude Level Needed All Levels

About Creator

Anugerah Syaifullah

Anugerah Syaifullah is an energetic famous visual modeler and video creator from Indonesia. He is furthermore the owner/originator of indeesign.com – a spot where you can find various important instruments for you video advancing.

Anugerah and his gathering have made such a critical number of significant propelled promoting things of late, for instance, Property Showcase Video Template, Book Brag, Market Crush… Now, we should look at the accompanying bit of this Animated Hero Review and find its features.

What will you get inside Animated Hero?

You will get in excess of 4800 vivified level parts that you can use for your accounts, site pages, and presentations. There are 4800 assets at the present time. Note: 4800 Pack Is total from Main and Platinum Pack.

We ought to explore the key features:

Vivified holy person recently set in 4 unmistakable association. (AE – GIF – PNG – SVG) So you can choice what plan you prerequisite for your endeavor.

This thing recently set in 2 assorted size 600 X 600 | 1200 X 1200

Joins shapes, distinguishing pieces of proof, jolts, lines, establishments, propels, confetti, images, and segments in different strengths like advancing, cash, prosperity, radiance, attire, DIY, travel, science, and altogether more!

Here are the classes you can get from this combination:

Jolts

Establishments

Changes

Lines

Shapes

Images

Recognizable pieces of proof

Particles

Furthermore, segments in different strengths…

Experience

Wonderfulness and Cosmetics

Structures

Business Icons

Clothing and Accessories

Corporate

DIY

Eshop

Nature

Guidance

Planning

Diversion

Condition

Family and Children

Record

General

Hands

Sound Food

Development and Gadget

Transportation

Web Icons

As ought to be self-evident, this is a HUGE arrangement, which you about can't find wherever today.

Breathed life into Hero

Real Animated Hero Review: Is it worth buying?

Level arrangement transformed into the front line structure standard and it was balanced by fashioners. It was used in basically every purposes of appearance and application UIs you see on the web… Flat structure is uncommon in light of the fact that it made the mechanized arrangement altogether less troublesome anyway continuously smooth and present day.

Regardless, it also caused an issue in the convenience and insight when it's set cautiously. When everything is level, you don't know any longer if a catch is intuitive or a particular segment has some insight.

That is when level 2.0 was imagined… Because of the issue with the all level structure, makers assented to regardless incorporate subtle shadows, slant, and tendencies to level arrangement, and called it Flat 2.0.

In level 2.0, you can at present perceive natural parts like gets. Nevertheless, with countless locales and accounts using Flat 2.0 arrangement, it might be hard for yours to support…

So instead of essentially relying upon those static level parts, it's a decent idea to use empowered level segments. Joining the force of energy and present day level 2.0 arrangement design, your chronicles and pages can be 10X MORE impressive.

Regardless, the accompanying issue here is on the most capable strategy to make vivified level segments. You can for the most part use Adobe Illustrator and After Effects to make them yourself. In any case, aside from on the off chance that you are fit with these gadgets and you are a specialist Vector Artist and Animator, I question that you will have the alternative to do it. Likewise, whether or not you can, you have to experience an extended length of time of cautious work.

That is the spot Animated Hero turns out to be perhaps the most significant factor. With countless pages and chronicles vieing for thought these days, it's hard for yours to stand out. This gathering gives you 4800+ empowered level parts that you can use to make your pages and accounts all the all the more charming.

We should examine 6 inspiration driving why you should choice Animated Hero:

Easy to Use: You can adjust all designs just with Ms. PowerPoint. No Additional Plugin Required.

Completed arrangement pack: Not simply video designs! Inside you will get progressively static structures to arrange your video formats! (banner kits,etc)

Proficient: All archive starting at now pack absolutely, so you needn't waste time with much time to download it.

Insignificant exertion Investment: No HYPE Here! You get certifiable motivator to help you with selling more!

Astounding Product: We have various styles of first class development accounts and static designs for eCommerce progressions.

Full Support: We similarly give you instructional activities and premium assistance for the total of our things and organizations.

Esteeming

Incidentally, you can get Animated Hero with brief riser markdown cost in these decisions underneath. We should pick the most fitting options for you before this remarkable offer gone!

Front-end: Animated Hero ($15)

Add creative touch to your video in minutes… with 300 arranged to-use, versatile stimulated image vector structures! Works with most huge video making virtual items accessible!

OTO 1: Platinum group ($37)

Use coupon platinumhero to get $10 OFF:

New Category

Colossal More Contents To Choose From. Inside you will get 10 increasingly surprising characterization in contrast with the fundamental pack. So you have more blends to Add creative touch on your Video In Minutes.

Specialist License

Limitless Possibilities allowing y

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