#Structural Design for Hotels | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

genericpuff · 4 months ago

Text

holy crap okay so

I'm two episodes into Kaos

normally I keep my expectations pretty minimal because, let's be real, the Internet - and especially Tumblr - has a tendency to severely overhype new series to be way better than they actually are and it often leaves me sitting there like "that's it? that's what people were freaking out over for weeks?? that was just a bunch of cheap ships and tropes that i've seen 123785902380 times before" LMAO

BUT thankfully compared to other series like Hazbin Hotel and The Amazing Digital Circus, I haven't been worn out on excessive fandom exposure prior to watching Kaos, so I didn't really know what to expect going in besides what folks have told me so far - it's a modern-day Greek epic, and it stars Jeff Goldblum as Zeus (which is, unsurprisingly, peak casting).

That said, I'm very pleased to say that so far, the show is absolutely blowing me away. The set designs, characterizations, weaving of all the players into a central narrative led by a very coy narrator, all of it feels both refreshing and respectful to the source material at the same time.

so uh yeah that LO animated TV show... we have reason to believe now that it's gotten picked up by Amazon Prime, at least according to the showrunner's LinkedIn and posting history from February of this year that seems to imply LO may have been picked up by Amazon-

(but still, nothing's really been confirmed because they're being so tight-lipped about this you'd almost think it's because there isn't a show happening at all cough)

But even then, that means at best we still won't see anything of the LO TV show adaption for another 2-3 years, depending on how production goes.

Why am I talking about LO right now? Well it should be obvious - Kaos double-whammied LO by beating it to the punch at its own game.

I mean, just look at the creative choices alone in the design of the Underworld and its rulers, our beloved Hades and Persephone.

And yes, the entire Underworld is color-graded like this, something so simple and yet effective in communicating the nature of the Underworld and what it stands for - a place where the past lives on through the dead, paused in time, devoid of the vibrant color grading found in Olympus - or "Olympia" as its been named in this retelling - which is, by the way, a visual treat to take in every time it's featured.

(and yes, that is S-tier-companion Billie Piper on the left, but I will not tell you who she's playing, you actually really should go into this show as blind as possible for the thrill of figuring out these characters as they're introduced <3)

That's not even getting into the narrative structure of the plot itself or the phenomenal casting and acting, but again, I don't want to spoil too much as the show is quite new, and I want to actually finish watching the show myself before I get more into the details of its story and how it delivers it (I'm very much hoping I will still be singing this show's praises at the end of its 8 episodes, please for the love of god don't jump the shark, I don't think my heart can take that kind of pain again.)

All that's to say though, Kaos is, so far, exactly what us disappointed fans of LO deserve after all these years, and frankly, I feel like whatever is coming for the LO animated TV show is really gonna have to step up to the plate to both live up to the bar that Kaos has set as well as stand on its own without being affiliated as a cheap Amazon knockoff living in its shadow. Sounds a little familiar and a bit ironic, doesn't it?

#kaos #kaos show #anti lore olympus #lore olympus critical #lo critical

324 notes · View notes

fear-is-truth · 19 days ago

Text

𝜗ϱ fiancé! + husband! 𝓟𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝓑𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍 hc

tags — fem!reader﹒sfw + nsfw headcanons﹒violent fantasies﹒infidelity

a/n: i would like to thank anon for requesting this and credit to dear bow anon for helping out !!

one night, as you both rode in a cab on the way to dinner, patrick takes off his walkman and suddenly asked, “have you ever thought about getting married?” his tone was casual, but his body language betrayed his tension—the tightening of his grip on his leather gloves, the unnecessary way he adjusted his tie. when you turned to him, surprised, he waved it off almost immediately. for the rest of the ride, he ignored you, listening to his walkman.

full fic : the perfect girl

weeks later, the topic re-emerged. it was a quiet morning after sex—patrick lay beside you in his perfectly starched egyptian sheets, sunlight streaming in through the windows. “would you ever consider marrying me?” he asked abruptly. the question startled you—again. you blinked at him, unsure if you’d heard correctly. “marry you?” patrick shifted slightly, propping himself up on an elbow. his face was unreadable, though his jaw tightened slightly. “yes. i’d assume it’s a reasonable consideration,” he said, as though the idea had been entirely logical. your heart fluttered despite the lack of romance in his delivery. “yes, patrick,” you said after a moment, a small smile tugging at your lips. “i would.”

full fic : patrick’s proposal

patrick wasted no time. the next day, he presented you with a ring: an 18k rose gold cartier panthère ring, encrusted with diamond accents.

smutty drabble: jerking him off

pre-nuptial agreements (obviously)

meticulously plans every detail of your engagement and future wedding. the venue must be the right blend of modern elegance and exclusivity, the guest list is capped at “only the most important people,” and the floral arrangements must feature imported orchids flown in from singapore. no compromises.

scrutinized every decision down to the smallest detail: the font on the invitations (garamond, elegant but understated), the centerpiece arrangements (white roses only, no filler flowers), and champagne (dom pérignon, chilled to exactly 45 degrees).

patrick donned a pair of ray-ban wayfarers as the two of you arrived at the reception venue (the pierre hotel), stepping out of the rolls-royce.

your wedding dress was custom-designed at dior’s paris atelier. it was a minimalist masterpiece: a structured bodice with a square neckline, flowing into a clean, floor-length skirt with a cathedral-length train. the fabric was italian silk-mikado with a soft sheen, the epitome of elegance. no lace, no unnecessary frills—patrick deemed them “garish.” the veil was long and simple, edged with the thinnest line of swarovski crystals for just a hint of sparkle.

patrick wore a bespoke zegna tuxedo, black with peak lapels, tailored to absolute perfection. the cuffs of his shirt bore subtle platinum cufflinks engraved with your initials and the wedding date. he spent an obscene amount of time choosing the exact shade of black for the tie.

patrick stole quick glances at you, a flicker of irritation shadowing his eyes at the slight asymmetry of your smile. he stewed in his own perfectionist hell, a seething internal monologue growing increasingly deranged.

the bridal portraits was complete nightmare. after making the photographer redo them six damn times—he still found fault. he had scrutinised the angle of your neck, the curve of your jaw, the flicker of light in your eyes. in his eyes, the photos should’ve been magazine-perfect. anything less was sacrilege!

his vows were an unsettling, almost surreal monologue. a strange, disjointed stream of poetic nihilism, peppered with bizarrely intellectual references. sprinkled in lines from fromm’s the art of loving, twisting them into cryptic confessions that left everyone unsure whether he was being sincere or just… pretentious patrick.

the reception unfolded in an impossibly sleek manhattan venue. a cavernous, glass-walled space filled with patrick’s circle of high-powered cronies, along with stick-thin models who seemed more at ease snorting cocaine in dark corners than nibbling on the overpriced amuse-bouches.

the waitstaff darted around the room, terrified to stumble into discussions about stock portfolios, yacht repairs, or debates over which luxury rehab center had the best cold-press juice cleanse. conversations were a mix of shallow ambition and transactional networking.

the dining experience was an exercise in culinary pretension. dry-aged wagyu steaks with precise marbling, delicate beluga caviar that was more a statement of wealth than taste, and desserts that were too decadent (and high in calories) to exist. everything was paired with wine that cost more than most people’s annual mortgage.

the cake was a towering six-tier masterpiece from sylvia weinstock, adorned with sugar flowers so intricate they looked real. each layer featured a different flavour, from vanilla-bean sponge to passionfruit mousse.

only dom pérignon vintage 1985 was served—patrick had insisted on it. the bottles were presented on silver trays by impeccably dressed waitstaff, with glasses refilled before guests could even think about asking. patrick spent weeks debating between this and krug clos du mesnil but ultimately decided the former “sent the right message.”

during the ceremony, patrick’s bored mind slipped into violent fantasies. he imagined choking out the priest with his necktie and chopping up his groomsmen like sashimi.

despite being invited out of obligation, evelyn didn’t show. patrick hadn’t mentioned her absence until much later, casually remarking, “it was better this way.” he didn’t dwell on her, but jane—his secretary and a guest at the wedding—looked quietly heartbroken for some reason.

dancing was beneath patrick. instead, he lingered by the bar, a martini glass filled with a pristine, artful concoction he hadn’t ordered but took anyway because it fit perfectly in his hand. he’d observed the guests, mentally doing fit checks.

after the night wound down, patrick would lie naked in your hotel suite, staring at the ceiling with an unsettling stillness. his jaw clenched as his thoughts spiraled. not about the wedding itself—that was a calculated performance he’d mastered. no, he was questioning the tie. the damn zegna tie. why hadn’t he gone with the brioni?

insists you accompany him to every social gathering, but not because he wants your company. you’re his accessory, his proof of a successful relationship. he spends the evening flaunting you on his arm, introducing you to people who matter to him (read: people whose opinions validate him), and correcting your behavior if he deems it less than perfect.

his morning routine is sacred, and by extension, you’re expected to have one too. patrick buys you a shelf’s worth of high-end skincare products and insists you use them exactly as prescribed.

takes immense interest in your wardrobe. if something looks even remotely outdated or “cheap,” he’ll whisk you through fifth avenue, steering you toward hermès or dior

has a habit of buying you extravagant gifts after every argument—designer bags, clothes and jewelry. “i thought this might cheer you up,” he says, like he didn’t just shatter your nerves an hour earlier.

morning sex is first thing when you both wake up, right before his meticulously scheduled workout—his body at its peak energy. once finished, he’d kiss your forehead and disappear into the bathroom for his grooming routine.

insists on watching the patty winters show and sit you both in front of the television. you often have no choice but to endure his running commentary.

patrick has a love-hate relationship with grocery shopping. he claims it’s beneath him, but when he goes, he micromanages the process to an extreme degree—reading labels, debating brands, and spending 20 minutes in the imported cheese aisle.

your wedding photos are framed in the living room, carefully arranged in a symmetrical layout. patrick often stares at them as he works out.

his idea of romance sometimes verged on the grotesque. one evening, he decided the two of you should watch the texas chainsaw massacre together. he ends up fucking you into the couch as he enjoys the music.

not the type to be overly vulnerable, but in the privacy of your bedroom, he’d occasionally let down his guard. pillow talk with patrick is a mix of unnervingly sharp observations and random musings. he’ll ramble about the fisher account, dissect music lyrics in great detail, or comment on global events with an eerie detachment.

occasionally, he’d break the stream of words with a sudden, “you’re listening, aren’t you?”

patrick hates surprises—unless they’re from him. when your coworkers once threw you a small birthday party, he was visibly irritated the entire evening. “it was tacky,” he said flatly on the drive home. “you deserve better.”

he got you reservations at dorsia, a perfectly chosen gift (think chanel jewelry or a bvlgari clutch), and a bouquet of flowers with handwritten note that’s short, formal, and oddly impersonal: “to another year of excellence—patrick.”

patrick rarely laughs, but when he does, it’s usually at something dark or absurd. once, you tripped over a stack of magazines he left by the couch and groaned in pain. his response? a sharp, startled laugh, followed by an unconvincing, “…are you okay?”

he adores the opera—not so much for the art but for the prestige it carries. he’ll plan elaborate evenings at the metropolitan opera house, ensuring both of you were impeccably dressed. he wore a brioni tuxedo, while he’d insist on you wearing a custom-made gown from carolina herrera or oscar de la renta.

despite his outward sophistication, his attention drifted from the stage to you. hand resting lightly on your thigh, fingers tracing small circles through the fabric of your dress.

he’s absolutely neurotic about cleanliness. he’ll never leave a glass on the counter without a coaster and can’t stand an unmade bed.

hates clutter and will occasionally “edit” your belongings—quietly throwing out things he deems unnecessary, like old magazines or sentimental knickknacks, without consulting you.

micromanages household tasks. he critiques the way you load the dishwasher, fold laundry, or even stack the fridge. “this is inefficient,” he’ll say, rearranging items while you stand there, biting your tongue.

patrick has an affinity for the ritual of lighting cigars. he’ll let you hold the match for him occasionally, but only if you did it exactly right.

would only agree to a pet under duress, and even then, it would have to be something sleek and purebred. when you suggest something more practical, like a rescue, he’s visibly horrified.

when you finally get the pet, patrick is immediately jealous of the attention you give it. if the cat / dog sits on your lap during movie night, he’ll stare at it with naked dislike. “i don’t understand why you let it do that,”

patrick has an odd relationship with your pet. he’ll complain about it incessantly—“it sheds everywhere,” “it’s always underfoot”—but despite his constant bitching, you’ve caught him talking to the pet on more than one occasion. “she likes you more than me,” he mumbles bitterly. the pet tilts its head, oblivious, which irritates him further. after taking another sip of scotch, he nudges it away with his foot—not enough to hurt it in your presence.

but the true ugliness of patrick’s jealousy comes out when you’re not looking. he’ll straight up kick the poor thing or lock it out from your bedroom.

doesn’t officially cheat, but he indulges in frequent encounters with sex workers—usually in secluded, high-end hotels. these encounters, hidden from you, are his way of dealing with his violent fantasies.

afterwards, he comes back to you, his demeanor completely unaffected. he doesn’t apologize, doesn’t act like anything has changed—because, in his mind, it hasn’t. you’re still his. you always will be.

when he’s bored, he’ll ask you to try on outfits—sometimes just a simple dress, but mostly it’s something risqué. he watches you from the other side of the room with that detached gaze, silently critiquing your appearance. “it’s not quite right,” he’ll say, before giving you another outfit to try on like you’re his personal doll.

full fic : leather & lace

while patrick doesn’t outright admit his dependence on you, it’s clear in the small moments. if you’re gone for too long, he’ll call, his tone petulant as he demands your whereabouts, as though your absence disrupts his routine.

at age 27, patrick doesn’t yet feel the need to rush into parenthood, but there are times, especially while having sex, that he considers the possibility. it’s an idea that briefly excites him, but he quickly dismisses it with a wry smile, preferring the idea of you and him maintaining an image of “perfection” without the messiness of raising a child.

though you’ve never spoken about the future in concrete terms, patrick assumes you’ll always be by his side, forever wrapped in his controlling, perfectionist bubble. he doesn’t see any reason why you’d want to leave; after all, why would you when you have everything?

#patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman #patrick bateman smut #patrick bateman fanfic #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman x female reader #patrick bateman x y/n #patrick bateman x you #american psycho #slasher smut #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slasher headcanons #slasher fanfic #christian bale #christian bale x reader #slasher fic #slasher fanfiction

202 notes · View notes

leroibobo · 1 year ago

Text

when the homes in the depopulated palestinian village of lifta were originally built is impossible to tell and most likely varies from house to house. the area's been known since ancient times, including having been written about in the hebrew bible. it's retained multiple different names throughout history - lifta by romans, nephto by byzantines, clepsta by crusaders, then lifta again by arabs. in more recent times, the area saw battle in the early 19th century, when it saw a peasant's revolt against egyptian conscription and taxation policies. (egyptian-ottoman ruler muhammad ali had attempted to become independent from the ottoman empire, and sought to use the area of "greater syria" which palestine was apart of as a buffer state.)

the village was predominantly muslim with a mosque, a maqām for local sage shaykh badr, a few shops, a social club, two coffee houses, and an elementary school which opened in 1945. its economy was based in farming - being a village of jerusalem, farmers would sell their produce in the city's markets. an olive press which remains in the village gives evidence to one of the most important crops its residents farmed. the historically wealthy village was known for its intricate embroidery and sewing, particularly of thob ghabani bridal dresses, which attracted buyers from across the levant.

lifta also represents one of the few palestinian villages in which the structures weren't totally or mostly decimated during the 1948 nakba. 60 of the 450 original houses remain intact. from zochrot's entry on lifta:

israel's absentee property law of 1950 permits the state to expropriate land and assets left behind, and denies palestinians the right to return to old homes or to reclaim their property. it's estimated that there's around 400,000 descendants of the village's original refugee population dispersed in east jerusalem, the west bank, jordan, and the palestinian diaspora.

like many depopulated palestinian houses, some of those in lifta were initially used to settle predominantly mizrahi immigrants and refugees, in this case 300 jewish families from yemen and kurdistan. the houses weren't registered in their names, and the area generally saw poor infrastructure and no resources including water and electricity provided by the government. most left in the early 1970s as a part of a compensation program to move out people who'd been settled in depopulated palestinian houses - if they didn't, they were referred to as "squatters" and evicted. (holes were even drilled in the roofs of evacuated buildings to make them less habitable). the 13 families which remain there today only managed to do so because they lived close to the edge of the village.

in 1987, the israeli nature reserves authority planned to restore the "long-abandoned village" and turn it into a natural history center which would "stress the jewish roots of the site", but nothing came of it. several more government proposals on what to do with the land had been brought up since then. this culminated in in 2021 when the israel land administration announced without informing the jerusalem municipal authorities that it issued a tender for the construction of a luxury neighborhood on the village's ruins, consisting of 259 villas, a hotel, and a mall. since 2023, they've agreed to shelve and "rethink" these plans after widespread objection.

the reasons for the objections varied significantly between the opposing israeli politicians - who see the village as an exemplar of cultural heritage and "frozen in time" model of palestinian villages before 1948 - and palestinians - who largely see the village as a witness of the nakba and a symbol of hope for their return. lifta is currently listed by unesco as a potential world heritage site, a designation netanyahu has threatened to remove several times.

many palestinians who are descendent from its former residents still live nearby. like with many other depopulated palestinian villages, they've never ceased to visit, organize tours of the village, and advocate for its preservation.

#palestine #info #nakba #my posts #the dresses link isnt specific to lifta thobs but provides a good overview #i couldn't find anything online abt lifta's embroidery but some of the book pdfs on palestinian costume i reblogged a while ago have info

409 notes · View notes

s3dadesignfirm · 9 days ago

Text

Structural Design of Hotel Buildings Key Principles and Best Practices

Discover the essentials of structural design of hotel buildings, focusing on safety, efficiency, and aesthetics. Learn how expert structural engineering ensures hotels are durable, functional, and visually appealing. Explore innovative design techniques that align with modern construction standards and meet the unique demands of hospitality projects.

#Structural Design of Hotel Buildings

0 notes

fuckyeahplattenbau · 3 months ago

Text

Residential building

Tbilisi, Georgia

Constructed 1982 (unfinished)

Architects Dimitri Odisharia and Medea Edzgveradze

Photo: Architectonic Travels

Designed to resemble an open book, the building was originally intended to be a hotel named "Odishi" but the project ran into financial difficulty and was never realised. Nowadays, the structure is occupied by Internally Displaced Persons (IDPs), who arrived here as a result of the ethnic-related Georgia-Abkhazia conflict which took place between August 1992 and September 1993. According to one source, the building is known as ‘arashenda’, which translates as ‘never finished’.

#architecture #Gruzie #Tbilisi #postsoviet

143 notes · View notes

vintagelasvegas · 2 months ago

Text

Boulder Club in 1945 marked the beginning of the big neon spectaculars in Las Vegas.

It featured a scene in action on the front of the marquee, the movement of water flowing at Boulder Dam. The effect was created with a series of masks rotating on drums between the light and the hand-painted scene on translucent plastic. Young Electric Sign Co. (YESCO) created the sign, and opened their first shop in Las Vegas to oversee its full-time maintenance.

Prosper J. Goumond and partners opened Boulder Club 7/27/29 in their new 2-story building at 118 Fremont St. They had one of the first neon signs in Las Vegas. In the early 30s they upgraded their sign, the new one being the first major sign by YESCO in Las Vegas. Boulder Club later expanded into 120 Fremont St, doubling their frontage to 50-feet.

Thomas Young Sr., founder of YESCO, came to Las Vegas in 1945 to sell the new sign to the Boulder Club. His son Thomas Young Jr. says, "Dad sketched out the sign on butcher paper on a wall at El Cortez Hotel."

The marquee with the slogan “Enjoy the Old West” covered the 50 feet of 118-120 Fremont and extended 12 feet over the sidewalk. The top of the sign was 42 feet from the bottom to top, or as big as the building itself. The sign is constructed with an internal steel structure, welded, without the use of bolts, and supported by cantilever. Construction began in July and was completed in Fall.

Boulder Club announces completion of Nevada's Most Spectacular Giant Fluron-Neon Sign and New York Type Markee. See Boulder Dam in Action. Designed, Built, Originated: Young Electric Sign Co., plants at Salt Lake City and Las Vegas. - Review Journal, 10/20/45.

Sources: 2-Story Club to Be Built Soon. Las Vegas Age, 5/23/29 p1; New Sign for Boulder Club. Review-Journal, 7/13/45 p13; Boulder Club Sign A Dilly. Review-Journal, 7/17/45 p9; Thomas Young Jr. oral history interview (OH-03255), UNLV Special Collections & Archives.

16mm color film, circa '47/48: Prelinger Archives, Jamison Collection.

Below: (1) Young Electric Sign Co. (YESCO) installs the second Boulder Club sign, July 1945. Young Electric Sign Company (YESCO) Corporate Records (MS-00403), UNLV Special Collections. (2) Postcard, circa early 50s. The section reading, "Boulder Club: Bets from a Dime Up," was added circa '52, and removed in '55.

#1945 #Boulder Club #YESCO

77 notes · View notes

fatehbaz · 6 months ago

Text

"The most fashionable bathing station in all Europe". British industrialists and American mining investors plotting the colonization of the Congo, while mingling at Ostend's seaside vacation resorts. Extracting African life to build European railways, hotels, palaces, suburbs, and other modern(ist) infrastructure. "Towards infinity!"

---

In 1885, King Leopold II achieved an astonishing and improbable goal: he claimed a vast new realm of his own devising, a conjury on a map called [...] the Congo Free State. [...] [A] fictional state owned by the king, ruled by decree, and run from Brussels from 1885 to 1908. [...] This was [...] a private entrepreneurial venture [for the king]. The abundance of ivory, timber, and wild rubber found in this enormous territory brought sudden and spectacular profits to Belgium, the king, and a web of interlocking concession companies. The frenzy to amass these precious resources unleashed a regime of forced labor, violence [millions of deaths], and unchecked atrocities for Congolese people. These same two and a half decades of contact with the Congo Free State remade Belgium [...] into a global powerhouse, vitalized by an economic boom, architectural burst, and imperial surge.

Congo profits supplied King Leopold II with funds for a series of monumental building projects [...]. Indeed, Belgian Art Nouveau exploded after 1895, created from Congolese raw materials and inspired by Congolese motifs. Contemporaries called it “Style Congo,” [...]. The inventory of this royal architecture is astonishing [...]. [H]istorical research [...] recovers Leopold’s formative ideas of architecture as power, his unrelenting efforts to implement them [...]. King Leopold II harbored lifelong ambitions to “embellish” and beautify the nation [...]. [W]ith his personal treasury flush with Congo revenue, [...] Leopold - now the Roi Batisseur ("Builder King") he long aimed to be - planned renovations explicitly designed to outdo Louis XIV's Versailles. Enormous greenhouses contained flora from every corner of the globe, with a dedicated soaring structure completed specifically to house the oversize palms of the Congolese jungles. [...]

---

The Tervuren Congo palace [...]. Electric tramways were built and a wide swath of avenue emerged. [...] [In and around Brussels] real estate developers began to break up lots [...] for suburban mansions and gardens. Between 1902 and 1910, new neighborhoods with luxury homes appeared along the Avenue [...]. By 1892, Antwerp was not only the port of call for trade but also the headquarters of the most profitable of an interlinking set of banks and Congo investment companies [...]. As Antwerp in the 1890s became once again the “Queen of the Scheldt,” the city was also the home of what was referred to as the “Queen of Congo companies.” This was the ABIR, or Anglo-Belgian India Rubber Company, founded in 1892 with funds from British businessman “Colonel” John Thomas North [...].

Set on the seaside coast, Belgium’s Ostend was the third imperial cityscape to be remade by King Leopold [...] [in a] transformation [that] was concentrated between 1899 and 1905 [...]. Ostend encompassed a boomtown not of harbor and trade, like Antwerp, but of beachfront and leisure [...] [developed] as a "British-style" seaside resort. [...] Leopold [...] [w]as said to spend "as much time in Ostend as he did in Brussels," [...]. Ostend underwent a dramatic population expansion in a short period, tripling its inhabitants from 1870–1900. [...] Networks of steamers, trams, and railway lines coordinated to bring seasonal visitors in, and hotels and paved walkways were completed. [...] [A]nd Leopold’s favorite spot, the 1883 state-of-the-art racetracks, the Wellington Hippodrome. Referred to with an eye-wink as “the king incognito” (generating an entire genre of photography), visitors to the seaside could often see Leopold in his top hat and summer suit [...], riding his customized three-wheeled bicycle [...]. By 1900, Ostend’s expansion and enhancement made it known as “the Queen of the Belgian seaside resorts” and “the most fashionable bathing station in all Europe.” Opulence, convenience, and spectacle brought the Shah of Persia, American tycoons, European aristocrats, and Belgian elites, among others, to Ostend.

---

Leopold’s interventions and the Congo Free State personnel and proceeds played three pivotal and understudied roles in this transformation, all of which involved ABIR [British industrialists].

First, it was at Ostend that an early and decisive action was taken to structure the “red rubber” regime and set it in motion. In 1892, jurists such as [E.P.] had ruled, contravening [...] trade laws, that the king was entitled to claim the Congo as his domanial property [...]. Leopold [...] devised one part of that royal domain as a zone for private company concessions [...] to extract and export wild rubber.

Soon after, in 1892, King Leopold happened to meet the British “Colonel” John Thomas North at the Ostend Hippodrome. North, a Leeds-born mechanic [...] had made a fortune speculating on Chilean nitrates in the 1880s. He owned monopoly shares in nitrate mines and quickly expanded to acquire monopolies in Chilean freight railways, water supplies, and iron and coal mines. By 1890 North was a high-society socialite worth millions [...]. Leopold approached North at the Ostend racecourse to provide the initial investments to set up the Anglo-Belgian India Rubber Company (ABIR). [...]

---

One visible sign of Ostend’s little-known character as Congo boomtown was the Royal Palace Hotel, a lavish property next to the king’s Royal Domain, which opened in 1899. With hundreds of rooms and a broad sweep of acreage along the beachfront, the palace “occupied the largest space of any hotel in Europe.” [...]

King Leopold met American mining magnate Thomas Walsh there, and as with North, the meeting proved beneficial for his Congo enterprise: Leopold enlisted Walsh to provide assessments of some of his own Congo mining prospects. The hotel was part of [...] [a major European association of leisure profiteers] founded in 1894, that began to bundle luxury tourism and dedicated railway travel, and whose major investors were King Leopold, Colonel North [...].

At the height of Congo expansionism, fin-de-siècle Antwerp embodied an exhilarated launch point [...]. Explorers and expeditioners set sail for Matadi after 1887 with the rallying call “Vers l’infini!” (“towards infinity!”) [...].

---

Text above by: Debora Silverman. "Empire as Architecture: Monumental Cities the Congo Built in Belgium". e-flux Architecture (Appropriations series). May 2024. At: e-flux.com/architecture/appropriations/608151/empire-as-architecture-monumental-cities-the-congo-built-in-belgium/ [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Italicized first paragraph/heading in this post was added by me. Presented here for commentary, teaching, criticism.]

#tidalectics #ecology #multispecies #abolition #this full article has far more info about leopolds obsession with opulence and all the many infrastructure projects in belgium he sponsored #full article also expands more on congolese art and anticolonial art projects that criticize belgian architecture #eflux did several articles focusing on anticolonial responses to belgian extraction and art noveau and modernist architecture #including a piece on spectacle of belgian worlds fair and human zoos #silverman has very extensive research history #ecologies #geographic imaginaries

130 notes · View notes

rheya28 · 1 year ago

Text

Windenburg Train Station [Restaurant + Cafe ] ♥ The Sims 4: Build // CC

➽ Speed Build Video

➽ Rheya's Notes:

Hi guys, Today I present to you The Windenburg Train Station located in Windslar. This train station is known for it's Classical Architecture and beautiful historic interiors that has been conserved for decades. While the interior was updated with modern furniture's, the overall structure and essence of the building remains the same. Located inside is a 5 star restaurant, "Florentine," and a café, "Stella's Cafe," where sims can dine and lounge while waiting. The Windenburg Train Station is a multifunctional lot athat can be set as a restaurant or a Cafe. Some Spaces were left empty as I did not want to overly clutter the space with too many custom content. Feel free to decorate it! Considering that this is a multifunctional lot, I recommend downloading LittleMsSam's Lock Door mod to lock doors in community lots. This will give you more control of the space. If you want your sims to specifically be seated inside the restaurant, I suggest locking the doors to the cafe and other parts of the building.

➽ Important Notes:

● Please make sure to turn bb.moveobjects on! ● Please DO NOT reupload or claim as your own. ● Feel free to tag me if you are using it, I love seeing my build in other peoples save file ● Feel free to edit/tweak my builds, but please make sure to credit me as the original creator! ● Thank you to all CC Creators ● Please let me know if there's any problem with the build

➽ Lot Details

Lot Name: The Windenburg Train Station Lot Type: Restaurant & Cafe Lot size: 64x64 Location: Winslar, Windenburg

➽ Mods:

TOOL MOD by TwistedMexi

➽ CC List:

Note: I reuse a lot of the same cc in all my builds, specifically cc's from felixandre, HeyHarrie, Tuds, and Pierisim so if you're interested in downloading past, present, future build from me i suggest getting all their cc sets to make downloading a little easier! other creators include Sooky, Charlypancakes, Sixam, Thecluttercat, Myshunosun, awingedllama, Peacemaker, kiwisim4. This will also ensure that the lots are complete and are not missing any items upon downloading !

Awingedllama: Boho Living, Apartment Therapy, Nostalgia Living

Sooky: Paintings (all)

Felixandre x Harrie: Baysic, Jardane, livin Rum, Orjanic, Kichen

Caiocc: Cozy Set up

Charly Pancakes: Munch, Maple & S Construction, Lighthouse Collection, Chalk, Miscellenea, Modish, Slouch

FelixAndre: Chateau, Berlin, Colonial, Florence, Gatsby, Georgian, Gothic Revival, Grove, Kyoto, London, November 2017 set, Paris, Shop the look Season 2, Florence, Berlin

Harrie: Heritage, Coastal, Brownstone, Kwatei, Octave, Shop the look, Spoons

Kaiso: Rusti.co

Kiwisim4: Blockhouse Dining

Little DicaL Countryside Cabin, Greasy Goods, Rise & Grind, Roman Holiday

Madame Ria: Basic Luxe Kitchen, Cottage Living Wallpaper addon solid colours no wood,

Mycupofcc: Maple Manor

TheCluttercat: Dandy Diary, Sunny Sundae

Myshunosun : Daria, Dawn Living, Herbalist Kitchen

Peacemaker: Hamptons, Mina Kitchen

Pierisim: Autie Vera, Coldbrew, David Apartment, Domain Du Clos, MCM, Oak House, The office, Tilable, Winter Garden

Charlypancakes x Pierisim: Precious Promises

The plumbob Tea society: Cottage Garden

mlysmakescc: Pufferhead

Surelysims: Office space

Sixam: Hotel Bedroom

Tuds: Cave, Cross, IND

Taurus Design: Angela Bedroom, Lilith Chilling Areas

Whos is Sage: SImply striking Kitchen

● DOWNLOAD Tray File and CC list: Patreon Page ● Origin ID: anrheya [previous name: applez] ● Twitter: Rheya28__ ● Tiktok: Rheya28__ ● Youtube: Rheya28__

#sims 4 #ts4 #sims #thesims4 #showusyourbuilds #sims 4 builds #builds #thesims #the sims 4 screenshots #build

532 notes · View notes

trudemaethien · 2 months ago

Text

Kyrimorut

I’ve just done another reread/skim of the repcomm books for details of Kyrimorut for @ossidae-passeridae, who encouraged me to do a write up for reference. Some of these facts are explicitly stated, scattered throughout the series, and some are my own surmises. (My main conclusion is that KT considered architecture just about as carefully as the TCW creators did the GAR ranking system. lolsob)

So. In this essay I will

Kyrimorut, Kal Skirata’s refuge for his clone sons, was called a bastion, and frequently described in siege terms. It was also referred to as a homestead and a farmhouse.

“It was yaim—part barracks, part hotel, part married quarters, part farmhouse, the archetypal Mandalorian clan home.”

This stronghold was located in the heavily forested northern hemisphere of the planet Mandalore, a few hours flight north of Keldabe City, within 100 kilometers of a small town called Enceri, and just south of a lake. It boasted a main house and numerous outbuildings, including at least one medical laboratory, animal pens, and a hangar large enough for multiple craft.

Rav Bralor, another of the Cuy’val Dar, rebuilt it at Kal’s request during the war, and it was finished enough by a year in, to house some members of their group temporarily, but was still undergoing renovations up to the last moment before they moved in. She used droids to aid in the construction. The building was composed of brick, wood, stone, and rammed earth, and the (probably local, veshok) planks were joined with interlocking joints. The interior walls were plastered and painted, likely with naturally derived mineral paints; one room was mentioned to be “honey-colored.” The windows were narrow, described as arrow-slits, and the doors were unpowered hinged wooden slabs. The whole thing was large, and the rooms were characterized as airy and roomy at various points.

The layout seems to have been vaguely circular, or a circle of chained hubs, with a central karyai. The lobby was another hub, and there were both surface and underground passages connecting the hubs, radiating out like “the spokes of an eccentric wheel.” For this reason I think there were two floors in the main house with one above, the other underground. There was also a sheltered circular atrium off the main hub, with a roof that slid back, where they roasted meat.

The house had gutters and down-pipes to deal with snowmelt and rain, and given the nearby lake, they would have to have a good vapor barrier for the underground portion. Since the place was rural rather than urban, it was largely quiet, and the homestead's acoustics were such that sound carried well. This indicates to me that likely only the exterior walls were fortified of heavy stone and rammed earth; interior walls were more likely built of wood and plaster and easier to modify if they had some need. Power was unreliable in such a remote setting, so they used wood fires for heating and cooking; everything smelled of wood-smoke. The entire structure was designed to be unnoticeable from the air, and the clearing was not visible until the last moment upon aerial approach.

The karyai was the main living room. In one scene, Kad played on the floor with toy animals (nerf, bantha, shatual, nuna, jackrab, vhe’viin) Atin had carved from veshok wood, Wade Tay’haai played a purple-painted bes’bev (sharp flute), and Rav Bralor brought throat-searing tihaar for everyone. She lived on her own clan’s farm a few kilometers away, and had brought Yayax squad, who mostly stayed there, to visit Kyrimorut. They were learning carpentry from manuals, as one does.

People had their own rooms for sleeping, with couples sharing, along the corridors. Arla and Uthan’s rooms both had exterior windows. Quarters were pleasant, plain but comfortable, with generous mattresses on the beds and a table for personal use.

Then there was a room Etain thought of as the interrogation room, so that’s uhhh lovely.

It’s unclear whether the large table where they gathered for communal meals was in the karyai, the kitchen (which was separated from other areas by a door), or some other room. Wherever it was located, it was possible for someone seated at the table to lean back without getting up and fetch a bottle of tihaar from where it was stored. The table was made of a single large slab of veshok wood, and was big and sturdy enough to use for surgical operation, dismantling engines, or seating a whole clan of armored Mandalorians. They sat in chairs around this table, and Kad sat in a highchair. They used porceplast plates, and mugs for ne’tra gal, a sweet black beer. The head of the household summoned everyone to the table for meals.

The kitchen contained a fireplace and hearth, a chair (where Kal slept), ovens and stovetops, a conservator, enough workspace for at least four people at once, and an adjoining storage area. The kitchen could be a busy, noisy, bustling place, but it was separate from other living areas; people sometimes went there to avoid others.

The 20-30 occupants ate constantly and prodigiously, and never seemed to be lacking. The food was described as filling but not elegant, and was heavy on the protein. They consumed a lot of game; Lord Mirdalan the strill was an animal native to Mandalore and a hunter. Roast shatual, nerf, and roba were mentioned, and they would leave a joint of meat on the table to be eaten all day down to the bone (I shuddered in food hygiene). Fish from the lake were fried in a pan, and they made broth from gihaal, dried smoked fish with a pungent aroma stored in metal containers, one of the staples of Mandalorian ration packs because it kept for years without refrigeration. Also what Kal called Kaminoans, but that’s another story!

We were worried they only ate meat for a while until we came across some vegetables. Kad had pureed kaneta at one point, and for breakfast boiled grain porridge and shirred eggs were on offer. Jilka diced amber root for some dish. Mealbread rolls were also plentiful, and there was a vat of stew at one point. Listed imports via Ny Vollen included flour, grassgrain, pickles, powdered milk, sacks of denta beans, soap, dried fruit, and a bantha bone which was hard to get on Mandalore. The roba they raised themselves.

The roba pen had multiple animals witht at least one boar and one sow with a litter, and despite having veshok posts and walls, the gate was left open. I’m extrapolating that these animals were semi-domesticated and allowed to forage for food but came home to their pen for safety at night. There were rail fences, crop fields, and plans for raising nerf on the property as well. Outbuildings were mentioned frequently, but this was one of the few actually described.

Notable native species mentioned were the large, ancient veshok trees, which were evergreen, hardwood, and straight enough that the table slab was cut out of one large piece. They were ice-glazed and dripping in the spring thaw, so presumably had some defenses against freezing and exploding, or breaking under the weight of the ice, and they populated all the way up to the the polar cap. There was underbrush and bushes, and groundthorn weed, which was very stubborn and difficult to remove entirely. The roba would have helped with uprooting this as they foraged. Vhe’viine were small rodents with white winter coats that lived in burrows in the fields.

The medical laboratory behind the main house (it was necessary to walk around the bastion after exiting to approach it) was a mobile genetics lab/agricultural trailer of the sort usually used for breeding livestock and at racetracks. It was occupied first by Ko Sai and later by Ovolot Qail Uthan. Mereel acquired it, and Mij Gilamar stocked it with stolen/black market medical equipment. When Uthan took over, they built her more lab space. There were rural veterinarians in the community as well; Etain mentioned getting a cryocontainer for a sample from a neighboring farm.

The hangar was situated in a shallow slope to the north of the main house, half-buried in the soil and disguised with netting. It was large enough to house several craft at a time, including Ny Vollen’s ship, Mereel’s speeder, and the Aay’han, among others. Swabbing down the compartments of the Aay’han, replenishing stores, and prepping the ship for the next flight managed to occupy most of an afternoon for four men.

The lake was also to the north, and I believe it was a very large lake, functioning as a heat-sink. It had not fully frozen despite the bitter winter, described as minus eight and thirty degrees colder than tropical (although the temperature scale is not mentioned, it’s likely celsius because of the author’s background). There was ice extending from the shore like a pier, but also mist rising above it in the early morning and frost on the shore, even though layers of snow deep enough for feet to crunch through the surface were mentioned elsewhere at various times. This led my friend to speculate that there could be geothermal activity in/under that lake. Kal and Walon Vau were planning to build a memorial on the near lake shore featuring the armor tallies of fallen clone soldiers.

There was granite in the area, which also gave support to the concept of historical volcanic activity. Their yard sported four chunks, each large enough for at least two people to climb up and perch upon, which had erupted from the surface long ago and been worn down to a weathered polish. Winds came in off a nearby plain. A clear (muddy) area large enough to play mesh’geroya was also near the house.

Enceri had at least one cantina, there was a landmark grain silo at the edge of town, and it was big enough to host a bustling market square, despite being described as more of a trading post than a town. There they could buy, among other things, preserved vegetables, engine parts, and local triple-distilled tihaar, which could double as degreaser for said engine parts.

If they needed more than Enceri had to offer, they could go south to Keldabe. Landmarks of note there included the River Kelita and the Oyu’baat tavern. The Imperial garrison was located near Keldabe.

“But then Mandalore itself was one big contradiction, with heavy industry and shipbuilding sitting cheek-by-jowl with farms that hadn't changed in centuries, sophisticated electronics and ancient metalworking skills side-by-side in the same suit of armor.”

Established clan homes seem to be the usual way of things despite Mandalorians supposedly being nomadic. Their “temporary” structures being wattle and daub also indicates the nomad thing to be a bit of a fallacy. Even so, they had planned a possible relocation for Kyrimorut in the worst case, a bolt-hole on Cheravh. Jaing had taken to calling it offsite hot standby.

So that’s Kyrimorut, which means Final Haven, where Kal Skirata and his chosen family hunkered down in the aftermath of Order 66. My friend says it’s basically Aberdeen, down to the detail of players getting plastered mid footie limmie game. I gathered these details from four books (Hard Contact does not mention Kyrimorut) and compiled them for anyone who’d like to make use of the rundown. Oya!

#kyrimorut #repcomm #reference #kal skirata #worldbuilding #in this essay i will

69 notes · View notes

dolliethv · 3 months ago

Text

Thinking Bout You

summary: English is not my first language, so if you notice any mistakes I'm sorry!! After writing a romantic story and two stories with smut, I wanted to try something new with angst inspired by the song "Thinking Bout You" by Ariana Grande, enjoy it xoxo.

Pairing: Jude Bellingham x fem reader!!

Word count: about 1,9k

It was a rainy afternoon in London, and the gray sky seemed to mirror your mood. With your brown hair tangled in a messy bun and your glasses sliding down your nose, you were lost in the designs for your final university project. You were studying Fashion Design and Production, a world you immersed yourself in to escape your own thoughts, especially when those thoughts revolved around Jude Bellingham.

Jude, the young English football star, had entered your life by chance. You’d crossed paths in a small café near the Birmingham stadium. You had been sitting, absorbed in your sketches, when Jude, soaked from a sudden drizzle and with a cap barely concealing his famous face, sat at the adjacent table. It was a chance encounter; your eyes met, and the rest, as they say, is history. But not just any history. It was one full of ups and downs, intense moments, and above all, pain.

At first, everything was beautiful. Jude was charming, charismatic, and had that infectious laugh that made your world, always so structured and orderly, burst into color and chaos. The first few months were a whirlwind of emotions, with text messages late into the night, video calls from hotels in cities you could only imagine, and promises to see each other soon whenever Jude’s schedule allowed.

On the nights you managed to meet, the world seemed to stop. The walls of your small apartment became witnesses to muffled laughter under the sheets, bodies intertwined in the dim candlelight, and whispered secrets at midnight. They were moments of intimacy you both cherished, where the worries of the outside world did not exist. Jude would often stroke your hair while you rested on his chest, and in those moments everything seemed perfect, as if nothing could ever separate you.

You clearly remembered the nights when Jude would hold you after particularly tough days. He’d wrap you in his arms and kiss you gently, assuring you that everything would be okay. You’d stay up late talking about your dreams, laughing at silly things, and planning a future together. Jude would tell you stories about his training, how he imagined celebrating his goals with you in the stands, while you’d describe the dresses you would someday design, dreaming of seeing him wear one of your jackets at an important gala.

But over time, the distance and the demands of your respective lives began to take their toll. Jude found himself caught between his rising career and the media pressure that followed him at every turn. You, on your part, struggled with your own dreams and the growing sense that you would never measure up to the perfect world surrounding Jude. The nights that were once filled with laughter and conversation turned silent, with Jude too exhausted from training and you worn out after hours of working on your designs.

One afternoon, Jude called you from a crowded airport. It was the first time you didn’t hear excitement in his voice. “I don’t know how to handle all of this,” Jude said, with a vulnerability you rarely saw. “I need you, but sometimes I feel like I’m dragging you into something I’m not sure I can control.”

You felt a knot in your stomach. You needed him too, but the uncertainty and constant lack of time were starting to wear you down. Still, you tried to reassure him, hiding the tremor and pain in your voice. “We’ll get through this, Jude. We always do.”

First Confrontation: The Crumbling Reality.

One night, in a small Italian restaurant where you used to meet when Jude was in town, the tension finally erupted. You had arrived early, your fingers drumming on the table as you mentally reviewed what you wanted to say. Jude arrived with his usual smile, but there was something different about him. His gaze was distracted, as if his mind was somewhere else.

“I miss you,” you said, breaking the ice with a tone that sounded more like a plea than a mere statement. Jude looked up, his eyes reflecting a deep fatigue that went beyond the physical.

“I miss you too,” he replied sincerely. “It’s just that... all of this is so complicated.”

Feeling your emotions overflow. “I don’t know if I have you or if I’m fighting alone for something that I don’t even know still exists.”

Jude looked away, unable to sustain his painful honesty. “I don’t know how to do this better, darling. Football, the pressure... sometimes I feel like I’m losing everything that matters, and it really hurts.”

You leaned toward him, your eyes filled with unfallen tears. “And I feel like I’m losing you. I see you more in the news than in person.”

Jude clenched his jaw, struggling with the words he knew he had to say but that hurt too much. “Maybe we’re asking too much of each other... maybe this isn’t our time.”

Dinner ended in silence, both knowing there were no easy answers. You left the restaurant with a heavy heart, feeling each step take you further away from Jude.

Second Confrontation: The Unspoken Words.

A few weeks later, you and Jude tried to fix things during a rare weekend together. But instead of the reconnection you both hoped for, reality reasserted itself. You were at your apartment, surrounded by sketches and fabrics you had left unfinished. Jude sat on the sofa, watching you try to concentrate on your work, but the tension was palpable.

“Why don’t you tell me everything?” Jude broke the silence, his tone laden with contained frustration. “It seems like you’re not letting me into your life, like you’re keeping all your struggles to yourself.”

You dropped your pencil and turned to face him. “Do you want to know? I feel alone, Jude. All of this is too much. I try to understand your life, but sometimes I feel like mine has no place in it.”

Jude closed his eyes, letting out a sigh. “I didn’t want this to affect you like this. I always wanted to protect you from all of this.”

You shook your head, your voice trembling. “But you can’t protect me if it means pulling away from me. I need to be with you, not just in the good times, but in the bad ones too.”

Jude nodded slowly, feeling the weight of his own decisions and the pressure of a world that seemed to sweep them away. He moved closer to you and hugged you tightly, as if trying to capture that moment in memory, as if his life depended on it, knowing that things would never be as they were before. Both of you knew that the nights you shared, those of intimacy and tenderness, were no longer enough to keep you together.

The Last Conversation: Accepting the Inevitable.

Finally, on a cold January morning, you gathered the courage to face what you had feared for months. You found him at the door of the apartment that once was your refuge. Jude looked at you with tired eyes, knowing exactly what was coming. There were no shouts or accusations, only a silent understanding that, no matter how much you loved each other, your lives simply did not fit together.

“I will always love you with my life,” Jude whispered, his voice breaking as you gathered your things. “But I can’t keep hurting you.”

You nodded, tears falling silently down your cheeks. “Maybe we weren’t meant to last, but at least I have the memory.”

Jude looked at you, a lump in his throat, struggling against tears. “No one understood me like you did, baby… ‘nobody got me the way that you did.’ You’ll always be the only person who truly knew me, i love you.”

You smiled sadly, recognizing in his words a truth you both knew. “I feel the same way, Jude.”

The process of separation was slow and painful. Every time you saw Jude on TV, your chest tightened, reminding you of all you had left behind. Jude, for his part, every time he scored a goal, would look for your gaze in the crowd, hoping to see it, hoping to feel that everything you had lived wasn’t in vain.

Months later, you presented your final project, inspired by everything you had experienced with Jude. Your collection was called “Memories of Us,” and was filled with details that only someone who knew your story could understand: colors that reflected the emotions of your best days together and textures that evoked the fragility of what you once had. The collection was a success, but you knew it was not just a professional triumph; it was a bittersweet farewell.

#Spotify #jude bellingham fic #jude bellingham #jude bellingham stories #jude x fem reader #jb5 x reader #jb5 #jude bellingham angst #angst #jude angst #real madrid

70 notes · View notes