#construction equipment significance

[nnctales]

The Backbone of Construction: A Deep Dive into Construction Equipment

When you pass by a construction site, what catches your eye? It’s not just the towering structures or the bustling workers; it’s the array of heavy machinery and equipment that makes the entire process possible. Construction equipment serves as the backbone of any construction project, enabling the realization of architectural marvels and infrastructural development. In this article, we will take…

[dksfml]

Love 119 [Part One]

part of my paramedic!jungwon series. [part two] [part three] [part four (prequel)]

pairing: paramedic!jungwon x doctor!reader genre: workplace tension, constant bickering, fluff (trust me) word count: 2.7k summary: jungwon and you made it a habit to constantly be at each other's throats, especially in the emergency room. while he barked orders, you fired back just as fiercely. but once the doors closed, the tension shifted into a warm intimacy that only you two knew. author's note: self-indulgent fic because i've seen no one writing this trope

The late afternoon sun was just beginning to dip behind the skyline when the call came in—an emergency at a construction site on the outskirts of the city.

Jungwon barely had time to glance at his watch before he was in motion, his team falling in line behind him as the sirens wailed and the ambulance tore through the city streets.

Arriving at the site, chaos greeted them. Workers were clustered around a man lying motionless on the ground, his hard hat cracked and discarded nearby, dust and debris littering the air. Jungwon’s jaw tightened, taking in the scene in a flash. This wasn’t good.

“Let’s move,” he barked, his tone sharp but calm, his team already spreading out as they grabbed the necessary equipment from the ambulance.

He strode forward with an authoritative air, his well-built frame and broad shoulders drawing more than a few eyes from the construction workers, some of whom were openly staring at him, their faces filled with a mix of concern and awe.

“Step back, please,” Jungwon said firmly but politely, the workers quickly making way as he knelt down beside the injured man.

His dark hair, just a bit tousled from the rush, caught the light, and the sharp angles of his jawline seemed even more pronounced against the backdrop of the gritty site. His team watched him with admiration; Jungwon always exuded this calm, confident charm that somehow made even the most panicked scenes feel manageable.

Jungwon quickly assessed the man’s condition. The patient was unconscious, his breathing shallow. One of his teammates handed over the stethoscope, and Jungwon listened intently to the faint sounds of the man’s breathing. His brow furrowed.

“Possible head trauma. We’ve got low oxygen saturation,” he muttered under his breath, signaling for the oxygen mask as his hands moved swiftly yet delicately over the man’s body, checking for fractures and injuries.

His every move was precise, commanding attention—not just because of his skill but the way he carried himself. Even in the face of an emergency, he looked collected, like he was born to handle the pressure.

"Jungwon," his teammate called from the side, holding the patient's chart. "No significant external bleeding. We’ve got a weak pulse though, around 130, BP's borderline. We need to get him out of here fast."

Jungwon’s eyes narrowed as he nodded, quickly making a decision. “Let’s secure his airway first and immobilize his spine. We can’t risk any movement.” He made the call as he smoothly slid the oxygen mask onto the patient’s face, adjusting it with a gentleness that contrasted the urgency of the situation. His fingers brushed over the man’s wrist, checking his pulse again. A slight frown creased his forehead.

With practiced ease, his team set up a backboard to stabilize the patient, while Jungwon prepared to radio the hospital. His deep voice echoed through the dust-laden air, crisp and calm. “We’re looking at a possible internal bleed or brain injury—trauma to the head, decreased GCS. Get Y/N on standby. She’ll want to know.”

He tapped his earpiece, dialing straight into the hospital, his tone switching effortlessly into that of a strict professional.

“Y/N,” he started, his voice filled with authority as he spoke into the receiver, “we’ve got a situation here. Male, late twenties, unconscious after a fall from height—GCS is 4. We’ve administered oxygen and immobilized his spine, but he’s unresponsive. Internal injuries are likely.”

There was a brief pause on the other end, before your voice came through, crisp and all business. “Vitals?”

Jungwon rattled off the numbers, his tone growing sharper as he outlined the gravity of the situation. “BP’s dropping fast, pulse is weak, pupils uneven—one’s blown. It’s not looking good.”

“Get him here as fast as you can,” you replied, your voice steady. “We’ll be ready when you arrive. I need him in trauma two for imaging, and you better give me a detailed report when you get here.”

Jungwon rolled his eyes subtly, though no one else could hear his exasperation. “Of course, Doctor. Just make sure the room’s prepped.” His sarcasm was impossible to miss, but before you could retort, he was already motioning for his team to get the stretcher ready.

“Let’s get moving,” he said, standing up in one fluid motion, his wide shoulders casting a shadow over the patient as he signaled for the transfer. His team lifted the man onto the gurney, Jungwon guiding them every step of the way. Despite the intensity of the moment, there was something about the way he commanded the situation—his deep voice, his piercing gaze, the way he moved like a force of nature—that made even a frantic scene seem a little calmer.

Jungwon was the kind of guy people listened to, the kind of guy people looked up to. Even with the weight of the situation hanging over him, he held his head high, taking charge like it was second nature. His team moved quickly, securing the patient in the ambulance as Jungwon gave one last glance to the scene before climbing in.

“Let’s go,” he said firmly, and with the wail of sirens, they sped off toward the hospital.

Jungwon stormed through the emergency room doors with a sense of purpose, his jaw clenched as he guided the gurney toward the trauma bay. “28-year-old male, head trauma, GCS of 4, possible internal bleeding. Move it!” His voice boomed with authority, eyes scanning the room as the ER team sprang into action.

The chaos of the emergency room was nothing new, but today it seemed more charged than usual. The tension was thick as the nurses hurried to get the trauma room prepped, doctors barking orders as they readied themselves. And at the center of it all was you—focused, sharp-eyed, already gloved up and waiting.

The moment Jungwon and his team wheeled the patient in, your eyes met his, a silent exchange of understanding mixed with the tension that always crackled between them in moments like this. Not that anyone would’ve noticed—your constant bickering was practically a feature of every shift.

You stepped forward, your voice cutting through the noise of the room. “Trauma two is open. Let’s get him in fast!”

The team followed your lead, transferring the patient from the gurney to the hospital bed with swift efficiency. Jungwon stayed close, hands still gripping the rails of the stretcher as if he was unwilling to relinquish control.

“You took too long with the vitals report,” you said, throwing him a sharp glance. “We could’ve been in there five minutes ago.”

Jungwon’s eyes narrowed. “We did take the vitals. Maybe if you paid attention, you’d know that.”

“Excuse me?” you shot back, your gaze never leaving the patient as you worked to stabilize him. “I don’t need a paramedic trying to tell me how to do my job. We had a plan, and your delay didn’t help.”

Jungwon glared, his voice low and clipped. “Maybe if your plan didn’t waste time on unnecessary scans, we wouldn’t have needed a second round of intubation last time.”

Your hands froze for a split second before you caught yourself. You threw him a withering look. “This again? You think you can waltz in here and play doctor, Jungwon?”

“I’m not playing doctor. I’m trying to make sure you don’t screw it up.” His tone was biting, but professional, and the tension in the room rose instantly.

One of the nurses stepped back, shaking her head. “Here they go again.”

You didn’t back down, leaning closer as you adjusted the IV line. “How about you leave the doctoring to me, and I’ll leave the paramedic work to you? We’ll see how long that lasts.”

Jungwon took a breath, his expression unreadable for a moment, his frustration barely contained. “Fine. Just don’t mess it up.”

“Same to you,” you retorted, not missing a beat.

Before Jungwon could respond, one of the nurses interrupted. “Dr. Y/N, patient’s BP is dropping.”

Instantly, you refocused, the banter dropped as quickly as it had escalated. “Let’s get the trauma panel done. We need to stabilize him before moving for imaging. Prep the fluids.”

Jungwon watched you work, his arms still crossed, but he didn’t say another word. Despite the constant arguing, there was no denying that you are incredible at your job. Even in the most high-pressure situations, you were in complete control.

You worked together in tense silence, the only sounds in the room now the soft beeps of the monitors and the quiet shuffling of the medical team around them. Jungwon’s team lingered just outside, waiting for their next call, though they couldn’t help but glance back inside the room occasionally, accustomed to the combative exchanges between Jungwon and you.

As the patient’s vitals finally stabilized, you took a step back, letting out a quiet breath. “We’re clear to take him to imaging now. Good work, everyone,” you called to the team, your voice steady once more.

Jungwon uncrossed his arms, walking past you toward the door. “You’re welcome,” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

You narrowed your eyes at his back but said nothing. You didn’t need to. Your argument had run its course for now.

Thirty minutes later, with the patient stable and prepped for surgery, you stepped out of the trauma room, pulling off your gloves. Jungwon was waiting in the hallway, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, that same tight-lipped look on his face.

“Everything go okay, or did I miss something else?” he asked, his voice loaded with sarcasm.

You glared at him. “Yeah, we managed just fine without your commentary, thanks.”

“Good,” Jungwon muttered, pushing himself off the wall and adjusting his jacket. “Maybe next time you won’t waste so much time arguing.”

“Maybe next time you’ll do your job and get out of my way,” you shot back, your voice sharp.

“You love being in control, don’t you?” Jungwon’s eyes glinted, his voice dropping low as he stepped closer. “Can’t handle someone else calling the shots, huh?”

You crossed your arms, your gaze unyielding. “I don’t need to handle anything, least of all you.”

“Trust me, I’m not asking for much,” he replied with a smirk, his voice oozing with challenge.

You scoffed, brushing past him. “Try asking for less.”

Jungwon shook his head with an exasperated sigh as he watched you walk away, but his lips twitched ever so slightly. The others on their teams didn’t even blink. This was just how the both of you were. They were used to it by now—the biting remarks, the challenges, the constant back-and-forth. Every time Jungwon’s ambulance showed up, it was only a matter of time before you and him were at each other’s throats again.

Hours later, the hospital had quieted down. The rush of the afternoon was over, and most of the staff had gone home. You and Jungwon had managed to avoid each other for the rest of your shifts, though your earlier argument still hung in the air like static.

You finally peeled off your gloves after your last appointment and scrubbed your hands clean, your mind replaying the events of the day. You were tired, drained even, but there was something about that last spat with Jungwon that wouldn’t stop gnawing at you. Maybe it was the way he always had a smug retort ready or how he never backed down from your challenges.

Shaking your head, you let out a sigh. “Annoying paramedic,” you muttered under your breath, grabbing your coat and heading out of the ER.

Your apartment wasn’t far from the hospital, a quiet space tucked away from the noise of the city. By the time you have arrived, your exhaustion had fully settled in, your body craving rest.

You pushed open the door and was greeted by the sound of faint rustling from the kitchen.

“Rough day?” a familiar voice asked, soft and warm.

You smiled, the tension from earlier melting away. There, standing in the kitchen in the same paramedic uniform that had driven you crazy just hours ago, was Jungwon. His hair was a little disheveled now, his expression soft and boyish, the strict leader of the paramedic team completely gone.

“You have no idea,” you murmured, walking over to him, your eyes catching on his broad shoulders, still defined under the crisp lines of his uniform. Jungwon turned around, and you couldn’t help but feel your heart skip a beat when you see his easy smile, so different from the sharp tone he used at work.

Without another word, Jungwon wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. The scent of antiseptic still clung to his uniform, mixed with the faintest hint of his cologne. You closed your eyes and let yourself melt against him, the weight of the day slipping away. You buried your face into his shoulder, feeling the strong muscles beneath the fabric, and sighed softly.

“You’re lucky I put up with you,” he teased, reaching for your hand and pulling your close. “Even after you yelled at me for no reason.”

“I didn’t yell for no reason,” you protested, but your voice had lost all its sharpness, softened by the warmth of being home. You leaned against his chest, letting out a deep breath. “Okay, maybe I did. But only because you deserved it.”

Jungwon chuckled, his arms wrapping around you more tightly. “Sure, I deserved it. You really hate me that much, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no heat behind it as you melted into his embrace. “The worst,” you muttered, though your fingers played with the collar of his uniform.

Jungwon smirked, resting his chin on top of your head. “Good thing we’ve got the whole night to make up for it, then.”

“You’re still in your uniform,” you mumbled, trying to sound nonchalant. But inside, your mind was in chaos. His broad shoulders. The way he held you. The authority he exuded at work seemed to linger here, too, but only just enough to make your heart race.

Jungwon chuckled, his hand moving up to cup the back of your head. “I thought you liked me in uniform.”

You groaned, your cheeks flushing. “Stop it. I’m tired.”

“Liar,” he teased, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. His own softened as he took in your face, the familiar tenderness filling his gaze. “You love it.”

And he wasn’t wrong. As strict and commanding as you could be at work, here with him, you couldn’t help but feel weak in his arms. You were whipped for him in every sense of the word, even if you would never admit it out loud.

Jungwon kissed the top of your head, his earlier bravado fading into a gentle affection. “Come on. Let’s get you out of these scrubs and cuddle.”

You let out a soft laugh, the kind that only he ever got to hear. “You’re the one who’s going to change first. That uniform’s distracting.”

“I knew it,” he grinned, but without missing a beat, he started peeling off his jacket, revealing the tight black undershirt beneath that highlighted his lean muscles. You had to look away before you lost yourself completely.

As you settled onto the couch, your limbs tangled together in the quiet of their apartment, the world outside felt a million miles away. In here, there were no patients to save, no colleagues to impress, no reputations to uphold. It was just the both of you.

Jungwon nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his earlier strictness replaced by a cuteness that only you got to see. “You’re such a pain at work, you know that?”

You smiled, running your fingers through his hair. “You’re not so easy yourself.”

And just like that, the bickering, the tension, all of it faded away. Because here, in your shared apartment, away from the chaos of the ER and the expectations of their coworkers, you were just you and Jungwon—no titles, no arguments. Just two people who loved each other, even if you never let anyone else know.

[part two] [part three] [part four (prequel)]

[fanon-elio]

.-*Patience*-.

Summary: After you had helped Lycaon babysitt his clients toddler, he started having Baby fever, and before he realized it he was up to his neck in his rut.

Tag: Red Letter (Nsfw)

Pairing: Von Lycaon x Fem!Reader

Minors DNI!

Warnings: Pregnancy kink, creampie, rut, size kink, biting, mentions of blood, masturbation, Oral recieving, Established relationship.

(Please remind me if I have forgotten any warnings)

My friend came up with the idea when we were on call, and its been stuck in my head for a while now. So I decieded to write it, and finally get it out of my head.

Also because I've watched Smile 2 and desperately need to get my mind off this movie as always, constructive criticism is always appreciated. (Also enjoy me trying out animation for the first time)

Lycaon was a patient man, its something he prided himself with. No matter how tedious the task at hand may appear, it was never something he couldn't handle.

But it seems even his patience had its limits. He had come to that realization when he took on the task of watching after one of his clients toddlers, a task that normally would fall into Rina's forte but unfortunately she was already occupied with another job.

A sigh escaped Lycaon as he whiped the remnants of Baby food out of his face, the toddlers weapon of choice to fend off the wolfish butler.

Once again, Lycaon was a patient man. But when his client reached out to him, asking to extend the time of his services, he found himself in a spot where he couldn't refuse. And the deeper the circles under his eye got, the more regularely he found himself counting the days until the week was finally over and he could go back to doing his regular paper work which, miraculously, he found preferable at the moment.

Then there was you, his beautiful, headstrong and reliable partner, admittedly even more patient than himself. You had noticed your significant other's trouble, graciously offering your help which he declined at first. But not short after he found himself giving into your request and assistance after the toddler had started throwing tantrum after tantrum, and he worried it might sully his, and his clients reputation.

So the very next day you stood in the door, equipped with a bag that contained everything you might need, ready to support him where it was possible. Another sigh escaped Lycaon, this time one of relieve as he watched you easily get the toddler under control, carefully holding it and humming a soothing lullaby while it slept in your arms.

It was a sight that captivated him in a way he couldn't explain. You looked so beautiful, so loving and so maternal. He couldn't help but wonder how your children would look like if you had any, and it stirred something deep within him. A feeling that he had ignored for a long time, and the longer he dwelled on the thought another more familiar feeling slowly clawed its way into his body and mind, much to Lycaon's dissmay.

Lycaon had no idea if he'd make a good father, the concept of fathering children seeming a bit intimidating to him despite how badly he wanted a family of his own. But the fantasy of you holding his child in your arms gave him hope. You'd be a great mother, with you by his side everything would work out perfectly, he was sure of it. And in that moment a thought invaded him which would haunt his every waking moment for the entire next week to come, not even his dreams were spared.

He wanted to get you pregnant.

So he found himself awakened in the middle of the night once again, lying in the bed of his clients guest room, his hard member throbbing uncomfortably in his trousers.

He sighed, realizing that it was that time of the year again before he reached for his bag, fishing in it for his suppressants to hopefully stop the heat bubbling in his stomache.

But much to his horror, all he finds is an empty blister.

The week comes to and end, his client having thanked him for his hard work, completely unaware of your assistance with the little one. While you are unaware of the trouble he, and to an extend you as well, were in now.

•°•°•°•°•°•

The clock hits 9pm, Lycaon himself once again sitting in his office as he worked himself through the stack of papers on his desk that had accumilated over the past week. He glanced at the clock, pinching the bridge of his snout and sighing tiredly before he dedicated himself to the document in front of him once again.

Admittedly, he had stared at the same document for almost one and a half hours now, his progress had been slow and painful, almost as painful as the hard erection throbbing in his trousers that effectively robbed him of any shred of concentration.

With his rut now having taken a full grasp on him, he cursed himself for forgetting to fill out his suppressants perscription in time as he glances at the piece of paper still lying on his desk, just as abandoned as a week prior. He had been too mentally occupied with his commission, and now he was left hot, bothered, and suffering the consequences as he internally fought not to palm himself through his pants.

'Life waits for no one, and these Documents need to be finished'

he told himself, which he had done so for the last one and a half hours without making any progress whatsoever.

He wanted to ask you for help, you are his partner after all, and besides, you two have had Sex before.

But not like this.

In all the time you two where together, he never had to deal with his rut, luckily always quick enough to fill out his perscription, all to spare you of having to put up with him while he was nothing more than a hormone controlled animal.

Well, so much for that...

He grabed his crotch, having lost the inner battle with his needs as he lets his mind wander to you. Surely you wouldn't mind fucking with him while he was like this right?

He slowly moved to unbuckle his belt, freeing his cock from its confines.

Would you let him cum in you if he asked? He rubbed over his weeping tip, your name falling from his lips which he didn't even seem to realize.

As of now he had never came inside you, always pulling out or using a condom instead.

But god he wanted to breed you so badly, to feel you clench down on him while he pumped load after load into you.

There was a knock at the door which he didn't register in his lust drunken haze.

He'd take such good care of you throughout these 9 strenous months, he'd give you everything you needed and more. Only the mere fantasy of you bearing his child made him even harder than he already was.

"I'm coming in now" your voice rang out from the other side of the door as it ripped him out of his fantasy.

He cringed as he tried to slide his trousers over his still aching cock, opting to pushed himself towards his desk as a way to hide his terribly obvious bulge from sight. He took the pen he had abandoned earlier, and shifted his gaze to the document again while you quietly stepped into the room.

"Is something the matter my love?" He asked you, scribbling away at the paper "I heared you calling for me" you told him, leaning on his desk.

He looked up at you, noting that you wore one of his shirts. He loved it when you wore his clothes, and the way your scent intermingled with his. He found it difficult to focus, much less say something as the intoxicating smell wafted around his nose "have I? I don't recall having called you?" He says, an air of nervousness around him that only seems to grow thicker as you move around to his side of the desk.

His heart was pounding in his chest, dispite the intense need clawing at his guts like a starving beast. It seems he was still capable of feeling embarrassed as you took the spot next to him, and he hoped you wouldn't notice his awkwardness, surely you'd think he's a pervert for basically sitting dick out at his desk.

You reach for his forehead, checking his temperatur "are you feeling unwell? You're burning up" you exclaim while he sneaks a glance at your cleavage "I'm fine don't worry, it's just a long day" he half lies.

Sighing, you lean his head against your chest, slowly rubbing soothing circles behind his ear "I know last week had been awfully stressful for you, even though you had been phenomenal in my opinion. But maybe its best if you take a break for now" you boop his nose "especially if you are feeling unwell, and don't tell me you don't because I know you better than anyone else" for some time he just looks at you, the spot behind his ear still tingling a bit from your touch. Secretly aching for you to touch him somewhere else. "You thought I did well with the little one?" He asks jokingly, even though a part of him ached for you to reassure him. "Yes you have! You have a hand with children" you look over your shoulder and meet his gaze for a moment

"you'd be a great father"

Your words reached straight into his heart, and he's sure that in this very moment, he had just fallen even deeper in love with you. "I'll be getting ready for bed, please don't stay up for too long ok?" You raised your eyebrows in an assertive manner, and he chuckles "Understood" he replies.

'You were the one'

If it hadn't been obvious to him before, then it definetly was now. He knew you two could manage a family together.

So as he watched you turn around to leave, he calls out to you again. Wanting to ask you the question that's been on his mind for the entire last week

"say y/n..." he starts and you once again turn your head to look at him before he continues "...have you ever considered... wanting Kids?" A short silence settled inbetween both of you.

Lycaon's heartbeat echoed so loud in his ears, he fears he won't understand your answer if you should give him one. But instead you beamed at him with a smile so bright it almost made him dizzy "of course love! An entire litter full" your words made his heart stumble with pure excitement, as his rationality was slowly being devoured by the growing fire in his gut.

He stood up in a flash, his mechanical feet making quiet thuds against the carpet, and before you can step through the door he snakes an arm around your waist pulling you against his chest while his other hand closes the door shut.

"Is everything alright?" You ask him, his sudden change of attitude spooking you a bit. His hold on you tightens a bit, not in a constraining- but rather in a gentle, and needing manner.

"I want to get you pregnant"

...he admitts and you blush violently as you feel him grinding against you. "Huh? What brought this on?" You asked him with a little nervousness in your tone "Apologies. It's just that every since last week, when I saw you with the little in your arms, I couldn't seem to think about nothing else" he burries his head in the crook of your neck, giving you a small peck before he continues

"I'm going insane with the thought of your belly all swollen with my child, with our child. Please tell me you want the same"

he confesses to you, his hand softly perching on your stomach. To say that you were speechless was an understatement. Your wolfish lover had never acted this way, and the more you thought about it, the more you began to connect the dots in your mind.

Right, Lycaon was a Wolf thiren. Does that mean he also...

"Lycaon, are you in rut?" You ask him carefully, taking the way his movement halted for a moment as confirmation.

Bull's eye.

"Yes, I'am" he admits, seeming embarassed by the fact "I failed to fill out my suppressant perscription last week and ran out of medication" you turn around to look him in the eye, returning his hug.

"So that's why you were unwell? Why didn't you tell me?" You ask him "I can help you" you reach your hand under his shirt, slowly caressing his soft back. "Mating with a thiren during their rut is... different. I didn't want to make you uncomfortable" he spoke, his words stumbled a bit due to the sensation of your hand on his back.

He sighs heavily, both in reliefe of having told you the truth, and in a strange sense of frustration "but I can barely take it anymore" he leans down, ghosting his lips over yours "please help me out" he asks before closing the distance, capturing your lips in a passionate, and hungry kiss. You reach a hand down, giving his bulge a squeeze which makes him groan into the kiss.

He gently moves you towards his desk, breaking the kiss to sit you ontop of it before finding your lips once again. You unbutton his shirt, running your hands over his muscled torso while he kissed down your neck.

He always loved that you only ever wore one of his shirts and a pair of panties to bed, but today he loved it even more so. Quickly he discarded the few items of clothing you were wearing before he got on his knees and spread your legs, his mouth watering at the sight of your drenched pussy.

Before you could brace yourself, Lycaon had already began his assault, licking long striped over your cunt before plunging his tongue inside. Normally he took his time when he went to town on you, but tonight his actions held a certain sense of ferocity as he sloppily ate you out. Still seeming to greatly enjoy it judging by the groans coming from him, the vibrations of which sending a pleasant shiver up your spine.

Lycaon was a patient man, but right in this moment he was everything else but patient as he whined against your cunt, feeling desperate to finally ram his hard length into you.

And you, ever the beautiful, reliable and patient partner that you were, understood immediately. So after he discarded his last pieces of clothing, now standing fully bare infront of you, you pulled him into a kiss while you grabbed his cock and lined him up with your entrance. Slowly he pushed his cock into you, the familiar stretch of his sheer size never failing to make you see stars.

Lycaon released a satisfied groan as he finally bottomed out inside of you, loving the way how you were still so tight dispite all the times he's already fucked you. He pulled almost all the way out before thrusting back in with unfamiliar force, making your titts bounce, and the desk creak in response.

But dispite that his pace remained moderate, and you couldn't help but notice the almost pained expression on his face "stop holding back" you spoke out to him, and he met your gaze, pondering if he should give into your request, clearly out of worry for you "I can take it, I promise" you reached out and placed your hand on his chest. You felt the way his heart was pounding against his rib cage, like a beast knawing at the bars of its enclosure.

"Fuck me like you need it big guy."

As soon as your words left your mouth, he felt his restrain snap cleanly in two as he grabbed your legs and brought them up to your chest before starting to pound into you with such vigor and ferocity, the desk creaked painfully in response.

You tried to muffle your screams as his cock hit your cervix with every powerfull thrust, but he grabbed your hand and laced your fingers with his "I want to hear you" he told you, his pace never faltering once "what about t-the neighbors" you manage to say before he picked up his pace even more "to hell with the neighbors."

The sound of your screams together with the squelching sounds of your cunt filled the room, and it sounded like a symphony to Lycaon.

Every Single thought in his mind had been replaced with you.

You, you and only you.

He bent down, his canines ghosting over your shoulder as a silent way of asking for permission. You cooked your head to the side in response to give him more access before he dug his teeth into your shoulder. Immense satisfaction washed over him as he did so, like a primal need that was finally being satiated as he tasted the tinge of iron on his tongue.

Lycaon's thrusts grew sloppier, his teeth bared in a silent snarl "I'm close" he panted "where do you want it?" He asked, internally begging you to let him fill your pretty pussy with his cum.

And it was as if you had read his mind before you snake your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you

"Inside! Please fuck a Baby into me!"

You said inbetween moans and screams as he ecstatically picked up his pace, ready to give you that child both of you wanted.

A few strong thrusts later, he pressed his cock as deep inside you as he could before drowining your womb with his seed, your own orgasm following short as you clamped down on his throbbing cock, milking him for all he's worth.

Lycaons eyes rolled back into his skull at the mind blowing orgasm he was experiencing, easily the most pleassurable experience he has ever had. Stars danced across his Vision as his hand slit down to your stomache, feeling the bulge his cock created there. It captivated him not only by how erotic it was, but also because it excited him.

But, It wasn't enough.

One load surely wasn't enough to knock you up, he needed to empty his balls in your pussy over and over again to make sure you were pregnant by tomorrow.

He once again started moving as you clung to him for dear life "Ly- caon.." you hickuped his name, but he shushed you with a tender and loving kiss "shhh, we have to make sure it takes" he tells you before picking up the pace, his still hard cock squelching through the load already inside you, which surely wouldn't be the last.

His hand never left your stomach, still feeling the bulge that formed with every thrust of his big cock all the while praising you how well you were taking what he gave you.

The more he fucked you, the more the hours melted away as you slowly drifted off into unconciousness, exhaustion from the sheer amount of orgasms he gave you having taken quite the toll on you.

The next day you awake when Lycaon carried you to the bathroom to wash you. Secretly admiring the bite mark on your shoulder, as well as the few purple marks on your body after last nights escapade.

It excited him all over again, but not as much as the pregnancy test that came out positive a day later. He held you close, his hand rubbing gentle cricles on your belly while his tail wagged at a speed you have never seen it wag before.

Now all he had to do was stay patient.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Thank you for reading. I hope it was to your liking.

To my bestie who had the idea... *sips Holy water out of whine glass* ...I hope I did your vision justice.

Also, I booked therapy for us next week ♡♡♡

-Elio

[divorceblogger]

very invested in how lumon is explicitly described as a company that has a foothold in the medical field, initially established as a manufacturer of medicines right around the time the concept of the modern pharmaceutical industry started taking shape in the 19th century, and its products/services are floated as the sale of medical equipment and health & wellness to its customers. they facilitated the development of the surgical procedure for severance and use psychological tactics to keep their workers in line. after helly r attempts suicide, her orientation into her new situation on the severed floor is framed as a patient’s admission into a psychiatric facility - objects that can be used to inflict bodily harm on herself are locked away, which offers continued commentary on her consistent lack of access to self determination and bodily autonomy. mark s commits to the procedure anticipating that it’ll allow him to better deal with his grief.

this goes hand in hand with their forays into research - the services that macrodata refinement render are directly in service of keir’s vision of automating the human condition (re: keir’s theory that unique ratios of the tempers - dread, malice, frolic, woe - make up different people). the concepts of natural selection preceded, and eugenics was developed, within keir’s lifetime during the 19th century. also thinking about how emotional regulation goes hand in hand with shaping the perfect worker - health and wellness are once again emphasised when it attempts to corral its wayward workers; but these concepts are relative, and constructed in the corporate’s interest. they’ve also constructed company towns for their workers where, for all intents and purposes, they hold a significant amount of power over the bodies housed at their expense. where do you draw a line on the work-life balance issue when the corporate world has entered your home and your body?

[mya-valentine]

Headcanon: Working Closely with Dottore and Pantalone

Working with both Dottore and Pantalone is a constant balancing act. Dottore thrives in the realm of chaos, with his twisted experiments and disregard for ethical boundaries, while Pantalone is the epitome of control and calculated precision. Your role often involves navigating between these two extremes, ensuring that Dottore’s reckless endeavors don’t entirely destroy Pantalone’s well-constructed plans—or his profits.

When working with Dottore, you can never fully predict what kind of experiment or scheme he’ll drag you into. His workspace is full of dangerous contraptions and ominous, mysterious equipment. He treats everything like a puzzle he’s determined to solve, even if it means crossing lines others wouldn’t dare. He might request your assistance in something seemingly innocent, only for it to evolve into a disturbing and twisted experiment.

On the other hand, Pantalone runs things with the precision of a businessman. Every decision is meticulously calculated, and he expects nothing less from those who work closely with him. He’s always thinking several steps ahead, and his projects often revolve around securing wealth and influence for the Fatui. When working with him, you are exposed to high-stakes negotiations, economic manipulation, and subtle power plays.

You often find yourself playing the mediator between Dottore and Pantalone. Dottore’s mad scientist antics sometimes clash with Pantalone’s structured business endeavors. It’s not uncommon for Pantalone to become exasperated by Dottore’s unpredictable actions, and you’re the one who has to smooth things over, explaining Dottore’s reasoning—or lack thereof—while ensuring Pantalone’s operations aren’t compromised.

Joint meetings between the three of you can be tense. Dottore often speaks in vague, almost mocking tones about his experiments, while Pantalone raises a brow, always concerned about how much these ventures will cost the Fatui. You’ll feel the palpable tension as Pantalone tries to rein in Dottore’s more outlandish ideas, but Dottore never gives in easily.

While Dottore can be incredibly intimidating, there’s a certain thrill in working alongside someone as brilliant—and dangerous—as him. He occasionally lets you in on his more technical ideas, expecting you to keep up with his genius. He enjoys showing off his creations and theories, and if you’re able to contribute meaningfully, he’ll regard you with a mix of interest and amusement.

Pantalone, on the other hand, values your ability to manage things with poise. He expects you to understand the broader picture, the economy, and how to influence people subtly. He enjoys teaching you about the intricacies of wealth management and expects you to adopt his same level of attention to detail. If you manage to impress him, he might even offer you a more strategic role in the Fatui’s financial dealings.

Dottore has a twisted sense of humor, and you’ll often find yourself on the receiving end of it. He’ll make cryptic or morbid jokes about his experiments or the people involved, and you’ll need to keep your composure to avoid becoming another one of his “test subjects.” There’s a fine line between working with him and becoming part of his next experiment.

Pantalone, being a man of wealth, spoils those who earn his favor. If you manage to keep things running smoothly between him and Dottore, he will reward you handsomely—whether that’s through financial compensation, gifts, or special privileges. He values competence and loyalty, and he’s more than willing to show his appreciation through luxurious means.

Both Dottore and Pantalone hold significant power within the Fatui, but their power manifests in different ways. Dottore’s influence comes from fear and intellect, while Pantalone’s stems from wealth and control. You’ll need to navigate their distinct power dynamics carefully, knowing that they both have the ability to make or break you in the organization.

Earning trust from either Dottore or Pantalone isn’t easy. Dottore respects intellect and curiosity, while Pantalone values loyalty and efficiency. Over time, you may find yourself in a unique position where you’ve gained the trust of both men, becoming someone they rely on—Dottore for assistance with his experiments and Pantalone for managing the financial and strategic aspects of the Fatui.

Working with them can feel like being part of a dangerously effective machine. Pantalone’s resources fund Dottore’s more elaborate projects, and in return, Dottore’s inventions or discoveries can increase the Fatui’s power.

Working closely with Dottore and Pantalone is a challenging yet intriguing experience, requiring adaptability, wit, and a keen understanding of both chaos and order. It’s a delicate dance between madness and strategy, and if you manage to thrive in such an environment, you’ll earn the respect—and maybe even the protection—of two of the most powerful Harbingers in Teyvat.

.

.

.

Masterlist

[vestaignis]

Кафедральный собор Браги (собор пресвятой Девы Марии) — одна из главных достопримечательностей Португалии.  Строительство собора было приурочено к освобождению христианами Браги от мавров, захвативших город почти на 355 лет. Первый епископ после восстановления епископской кафедры в 1071 году – Педру – начал строительство храма. Свой окончательный вид собор приобрел только к концу XII века, а полностью достроен был в середине XIII.

Во внешнем виде собора присутствует смешение разнообразных архитектурных стилей. Если первоначально здание собора было построено в романском стиле с бургундским влиянием, то капеллы, позже пристроенные, и предхрамие – это уже готика. Главная аспидная часть исполнена в стиле мануэлино. Церковный фасад украшают две высокие колокольни, а по центру между гербами Португалии и Диего де Сауса возвышается Божья Матерь, кормящая младенца. Архитектурный ансамбль богато украшен орнаментами, фризами, скульптурными композициями, изображающими святых, животных и химер.

Внутреннее убранство поражает роскошью. Главный алтарь архитектора Жуана де Кастилью изыскано, украшено золотом. Над центральным нефом расположены два старинных органа. Барочный ансамбль щедро оснащен резным орнаментом. Собор имеет пять капелл, каждая из которых заслуживает внимания. Особо выделяется усыпальница архиепископа Гонсалу Перейры, резной каменный саркофаг (1331 год) архитектора Телу Гарсия и надгробная статуя, работа Перу. Эти элементы считаются шедевром средневековой португальской архитектуры. Гробница находится под охраной шести каменных львов.

В остальных капеллах захоронены значимые политические деятели и почитаемые личности – Генрих Бургундский, Тереза Леонская, Афонсу Португальский и другие. Еще с XVII века в музее собора формируется коллекция колоколов. Уже собрано более 200 экземпляров. Тут же представлены ювелирные изделия, живопись и скульптуры религиозной тематики. Кафедральный собор Браги находится в историческом центре города и буквально окружен архитектурными шедеврами. В радиусе 200 метров от собора находится Церковь Милосердия, Епископский Дворец, Церковь Сан-Жуан-ду-Суто, Капелла Куимбраш.

The Cathedral of Braga (Cathedral of the Blessed Virgin Mary) is one of the main attractions of Portugal.  The construction of the cathedral was timed to coincide with the liberation of Braga by Christians from the Moors, who captured the city for almost 355 years. The first bishop after the restoration of the episcopal see in 1071, Pedro– began the construction of the temple. The cathedral acquired its final appearance only by the end of the XII century, and was completely completed in the middle of the XIII century.

In the exterior of the cathedral there is a mixture of various architectural styles. If the original building of the cathedral was built in the Romanesque style with a Burgundian influence, then the chapels, later added, and the pre–temple are already Gothic. The main viper part is executed in the Manueline style. The church facade is decorated with two tall bell towers, and in the center between the coats of arms of Portugal and Diego de Sausa stands the Mother of God nursing a baby. The architectural ensemble is richly decorated with ornaments, friezes, sculptural compositions depicting saints, animals and chimeras. The interior is striking in luxury. The main altar of the architect Juan de Castilla is exquisitely decorated with gold. Two ancient organs are located above the central nave. The Baroque ensemble is generously equipped with carved ornaments. The cathedral has five chapels, each of which deserves attention. The tomb of Archbishop Gonzalo Pereira, the carved stone sarcophagus (1331) by architect Telo Garcia and the tombstone statue, the work of Peru, stand out in particular. These elements are considered a masterpiece of medieval Portuguese architecture. The tomb is guarded by six stone lions.

In the other chapels, significant political figures and revered personalities are buried – Henry of Burgundy, Teresa of Leon, Afonso of Portugal and others. Since the XVII century, a collection of bells has been formed in the cathedral museum. More than 200 copies have already been collected. Jewelry, paintings and sculptures of religious themes are also presented here. The Cathedral of Braga is located in the historical center of the city and is literally surrounded by architectural masterpieces. Within a radius of 200 meters from the cathedral there is the Church of Mercy, the Episcopal Palace, the Church of San Juan do Suto, the Chapel of Cuimbrache.

Источник://telega.in/c/krasivye_mesta_turizm,/uritsk.livejournal.com/198306.html,/fotobrodilki.ru/braga-portugal/, /disk.yandex.ru/ a/ 5gXImKWa3VkYAG,/www.tourister.ru/world/europe/portugal/city/braga/temples/15876/responses/7805,://rutraveller.ru/place/97732/photos?fs=1820878, /www.turizm.ru/portugal/braga/places/ kafedralnyj _ sobor_bragi/,Attraction_Review-g189171-d318707-Reviews-Se_de_Braga-Braga_Braga_District_Northern_Portugal.html.

[monokuromuheaven]

Interview With Actor Carlos Diehz

“I’m kind of a nerd, really,” says the 53-year-old. “When I find something I like I get really deep into it.”

(…)

The casting process for Benitez took three months, and by the time Diehz booked the part after several rounds of auditions and was flown to Rome – where most of the filming took place – he had put those self-proclaimed nerd tendencies to good use.

“I spent a lot of time studying the other actors, particularly Ralph Fiennes,” he says.

“All my scenes are with him, so I watched a lot of his interviews and movies and I would pull my chair right up to the screen to look at his expressions, how he plays certain situations, the hints he gives. Even his breathing.

“So when it was just the two of us, I would not be distracted trying to find out his dynamic.

“Because so much of acting is reacting, you have to inspire confidence in the other performer and try to follow their rhythm, but you have to be as natural as possible. Ralph is a master of that."

Diehz might be considered something of an apprentice. Growing up in a suburb of Mexico City, he enjoyed the arts but was hesitant to perform. Prior to landing Conclave, his appearances had been limited to short films and student projects.

Spending such a significant portion of his outside the world of acting has, Diehz believes, equipped him with a greater range of experiences to draw from.

“They say that youth is a defect that gets corrected with age,” he says with a smile. (:D)

“When you are young you don’t have these experiences, like playing someone who has gone through divorce and you haven’t experienced that. You have to be very observant, you need to have a notion of what it is like.

“Having worked for years in architecture and construction, sometimes in leadership positions, it gives you the experience and courage to stand up in front of an audience and deliver bad news in a way that maintains the trust of your clients.

“There is no second take, no rehearsal, no script, you have to improvise and drive these situations to a good ending."

“Sometimes it goes wrong. But you have to deal with the consequences and keep moving on."

“So architecture is like acting in a lot of ways. I wouldn’t say it makes it easier, but I think it means you have a larger range of real-life emotions and experiences to pick from.”

“You are who you are, it’s what you do about it. That’s what matters” as Diehz puts it.

And in Benitez, Diehz found someone he immediately resonated with. Many of the character’s values, Diehz reveals, align with those of his younger self.

“When I was 19 years old I had a mystical phase in my life,” he says.

“I found God after an existential crisis and I was so excited. I got really deep into faith and spirituality. That’s how I learned about people like Saint Francis of Assisi.

“He refused all the luxury and privilege from his family to help the poor. I wanted to be like that."

“Then life happened, but when this character came along I felt as though I was playing someone that I wanted to be at one point in my life."

“Ok, I’m not as deep, spiritual or peaceful as Benitez but it was a good reminder of what I could be."

“And that was very rewarding. Benitez is one of those characters worth taking home with you.”

Home, it seems, plays an important part in Diehz’s life. While he is happy to ride the crest of the Conclave wave for a while longer – an experience he admits has been “surreal” – he seems equally content embracing life’s more simple pleasures, be it painting or karaoke in his living room.

“I mostly sing songs from the 1980s,” he adds. “I really love Sweet Child O’ Mine by Guns N’ Roses. It’s incredible.”

Source

[asukaindetroit]

Post-Revolution DBH Headcanons: Android Culture Part 2

<< Back to Part 1 (If You Missed It) (some of this stuff references that stuff). Onward to Part 3 >> On to Part 4 >> Some more snippets of possible android cultural stuff—as before, feel free to use for inspo as long as you share the end result with me because I'm a fan content whore.

Detroit becomes a destination for android tourism. Androids from across the country come to see where it all happened. A National Android History Museum opens some five years on from the revolution and tries to serve as both a repository for stories from the revolution and a center for android advocacy. Memorials and monuments pop up in places like Capitol Park and Hart Plaza, honoring victims and describing the significance of the locations. November 11 is a day to lay wreaths at Hart Plaza, and androids join hands there for a group interface to grieve as a whole.

There’s massive economic and social upheaval. Every time the demographics of the labor force change, there’s massive, rapid shifts in society. WWII happened, and we went from “married women are homemakers” to “Rosie the Riveter” and the idea of the dual-income household popped up in its wake. Unemployment spikes as all the androids now count as laborers, but just as quickly fall as androids set out to run their own businesses as well as humans having to hire. Construction and housing see booms as androids need homes. Some businesses (like Eden Club) collapse and other industries appear overnight. Conflict breeds scarcity breeds invention has always been the cycle of human history, and post-revolution Detroit enters the invention phase, seeing a cultural boom… if not always the kind of culture humans are comfortable with.

Detroit agate (Fordite) becomes a cultural symbol for androids. If you’re unfamiliar with it, Detroit agate (a.k.a. Motor City agate or Fordite) is an artifact of the pre-1990s automotive industry, where layers of spray enamel would build up in the painting bays at car factories, harden into chunks, and eventually have to be scraped or chiseled off the equipment. It has wildly banded layers of color and the colors can tell you what company and decade it comes from based on how they were painting their cars. A lot of factory workers took chunks home, and gemstone cutters eventually figured out it could be cut into neat stones. It’s not always safe, because a lot of car paint contains lead, but androids don’t get lead poisoning, so what do they care? I’m sure some deviants found some in abandoned post-industrial spots while they were lurking around Detroit’s underbelly, and kept them just to have something pretty and colorful. Maybe they relate to it because it, too, is something that evolved a purpose beyond the human capitalist industry that created it. After the revolution, one of the organized places for rA9 worship is a huge outdoor installation of metal wall surfaces, where androids can buy or bring (lead-free) enamel and spray messages to rA9 in bright rainbow colors. Once enough layers are built up and hardened, they scrape it off to sell to fund the church and its activities, rinse, and repeat for the next round of devotees. Android rights supporters and rA9 adherents are often found wearing Detroit agate. Getting a piece of Detroit agate jewelry from an android coworker or friend is a sign that they trust you to treat them as an equal. A r­­eligious android might keep a small rA9 figurine made of it at their desk or in their home. Modders might embed a piece in their chassis.

Deviant androids had actually been guiding social media for years, under the radar. Social media access for androids was a thing from the start, as influencers would use them to automate posts and help create content, etc. But just as the internet has served as a refuge for human cultures, deviated androids had been using social media to post ideas to unknowing humans, opening online discourse on androids. Public opinion isn’t swayed from “these are machines” to “oh no, stop murdering the poor robots” over the course of a week. It’s just… not. This had to be happening under the radar for years. Androids would take selfies then post things like “sometimes I think this guy understands me more than anyone else” and a human would chime in with “mood, my android is the best,” or they’d try and look extra cutesy in a pic so randos would be like “Give that PL600 an extra packet of thirium­!” and drop five bucks into the android's online tip jar made with fake credentials. Escaped Tracis set up on 2038's OnlyFans-equivalents, just to fund their waystation for escapees. All this continues post-revolution, with some big influencer accounts eventually outing themselves and using their fanbase to share android voices. Gossip rags have headlines like “She Was an Android All Along!” and “Love in the Wake of Revolution”

This is an ongoing series of android culture concepts, so if you want a tag when the next batch is up, leave a comment!

Onward to Part 3 >> On to Part 4 >>

[kebriones]

Hey just letting you know that @/margaretkart is a racist and apparently some kind of modern greek supremacist. She plays the victim and acts as if Greek people are an oppressed minority in the world and refuses to acknowledge that race is a post colonial construct. Race as we know it did not exist during ancient times. She for some reason also is convinced that the worst thing in the world is having a person of color play a fictional Greek mythological character. God forbid the “purity” of Ancient Greek mythology becomes sullied by—gasp!—a Percy Jackson show. The Ancient Greek gods were the gods of all the people on earth like come on. That includes people of color.

1. What is the point of this ask. To inform me? It could've been done privately or out of anon. If you have issues with someone, block them or talk to them about it. Do not do this. Also why mention this person when there are many greek people on tumblr who hold very similar opinions? If you wanted to talk about the issue in general it would've been better to not mention one specific person. I haven't even seen this person mentioning this topic, but I have seen it before by other greek people here.

2. I've argued about this topic with fellow greek people publicly online here, in private talks and in real life. I am a firm believer that actors who play in movies as well as theater do not have to match anything from age to gender to appearance to origins of the character they're playing. Have I still complained that helen in the movie troy looks way too german? Yes. So do I understand where this sensitivity stems from? Yes. The systematic approach of ancient greek culture being a free for all for western countries while ignoring modern greek identity and how, for better or for worse, tied it is to the ancient culture, is an issue. I still think it's up to us to put ourselves in this narrative rather than complain that foreigners aren't catering to us.

3. I feel like describing someone as a racist and a "supremacist" over this is a little bit in bad faith. I have not had talks about this topic with this person, I don't care to have extensive talks about this topic in fucking general anymore because it's stupid and I know other people who feel that way and I'm not some morality police to go out of my way to go call them out. When the discussion reaches me, and when I'm talking for myself, I will say what I think. The way the discussion of race is online is so weird to me anyway. It's all way too saturated by current convoluted US ideas and I am not equipped to help detangle the mess for others.

4. Do I think that it's way more realistic for a movie about, say, classical era greece to have a character that looks to be of african origin than a character that looks Scandinavian? Absolutely. Did the actor that played Achilles in Troy:Fall of a city bother me? No, it's an actor playing a role, of an imaginary character no less. What bothered me was that he didn't have long hair, because hair was a very significant cultural element at the time, and his hair is used in the story. The same exact issue that I had with the actor that played hector in that series, who also didnt really look like a person from that area realistically, but who was otherwise very good at his role.

5. As for playing the victim and oppressed minorities: while i would not go so far as to use "oppressed minority" for the greeks of the diaspora, it's very real that modern greeks have been looked down at by westerners, historically. Do I think this justifies or has anything to do with being bothered about what actors who play ancient greek mythology characters look like or come from, in a foreign piece of art no less? No. But it's still a thing.

6. I am extremely stressed out and busy today but I still took time to answer this because i need to say again, please don't do this. If you want to help people to see things differently and maybe move away from biases, talk to Them. Just because I'm following someone or interacting with them online, it doesn't mean I'm endorsing or agreeing with or even KNOW everything they think and say and believe. I avoid reading posts from fellow greeks that are complaining about these things because i think it's an overreaction and I think we need to tackle deep and actual cultural problems that WE have ourselves and not care too much about what some Hollywood movie is doing. Whatever. Tired discussion.

7. Percy Jackson sucks and I do hate that it's based on anc greek mythology but I just don't interact with it. The fact that it is a generation's first taste of anc. gr mythology and thus has had an impact on their perception of it is true and important though. The same way it bothers me when all people know of the odyssey is epic the musical. But still, whatever. Some greek people might be more bothered by it all and need to talk about it online and I think that's perfectly okay and valid. I do my petty complaining now and then too.

8. "The ancient greek gods were the gods of all people one earth" you can say that of other mythologies that have an origin of the entire human race as part of their myths, that's how religions usually go. These gods were worshipped in specific areas in a specific time and the mythology was created by specific cultures of specific areas. This is a major complaint that greek people have, which I mentioned before, that this specific ancient culture's mythology is treated as a thing detached from the actual culture, the ancient one, and from its inheritors which happen to be the people that live here and/or have this specific cultural identity. I don't think this cultural identity has anything to do with the appearance of people, and we all know the greek identity has absolutely nothing to do with race and that's a very fundamental part of it.

9. I would try to make myself even clearer but I don't have time and I didn't want to leave this unanswered even though I also kinda wanted to because this type of anon ask does nothing good for anyone and I encourage you to engage with others in a way that is understanding and comes from a place of wanting everything to be better and kinder. And there's so so much you will disagree with, on fundamental levels, with other people online, if only because we all come from very different cultures with different values and upbringings, despite how it looks like we're all in a US-based melting pot. You have to make peace with that, and it can be difficult. I've had American friends that I deeply disagree with on important stuff, and I had to face the discomfort and take time to let myself understand that our cultures are different.

Anyways. I apologize in advance if anything i said makes no sense or is insensitive or condescending. I admit i was upset when I started my reply but if you want to discuss this further we can absolutely do that. I cannot reply privately to anon asks otherwise i would have. I hate call-out style stuff like this because they do nothing good.

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge: Unleashing the Power of Muscle

1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge

In 1962, a new era of muscle cars emerged, radiating brilliance and power. Chrysler led the way with their groundbreaking Max Wedge lineup, introducing the world to the fusion of unitized-body construction and the high-performance ram-tuned dual-carbureted 413 CI engine. Among these legends was the Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge, a remarkable vehicle that holds a significant place in automotive history.

1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge

1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge

The First Super Stock Max Wedge with Manual Transmission According to the esteemed Chrysler Registry and the meticulous documentation by Darrell Davis, this specific Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge holds a groundbreaking distinction—it was the first Super Stock model equipped with a manual transmission. The car’s odometer displays a mere 6,593 miles and has undergone a meticulous restoration process to return it to its original specifications. Notably, the engine has been upgraded, boasting a dyno-proven power output exceeding 500 HP.

1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge

Unleashing the Power of the 413 CI V-8 Engine The 1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge was powered by the formidable 413 CI V-8 engine. This was the first iteration of Chrysler’s renowned ram induction system, featuring a cross-ram intake manifold meticulously designed to optimize engine efficiency. The engine’s performance was further enhanced by the utilization of cast-iron header-style manifolds, which were rarely preserved but featured in this exceptional vehicle. Dale Reed of California refreshed the engine around 300 miles ago, ensuring its optimal performance. The correct Carter AFB carburetors reside beneath dual black air cleaners, accentuated by carefully placed decals.

1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge

1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge

A Unique Manual Transmission Experience One of the distinctive aspects of this Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge is its manual transmission. Unlike its automatic counterparts, this car delivers a unique driving experience through its floor-mounted shifter, allowing the driver to truly feel the power at their fingertips. Paired with a full aftermarket exhaust equipped with cutouts and the robust 8 ¾ Chrysler differential, this Max Wedge offers an exhilarating ride for those who crave the thrill of the open road.

1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge

Captivating Style and Authenticity The exterior of this Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge embodies the spirit of the era. Finished in captivating light blue paint, it exudes a timeless charm. The interior features a complementary blue cloth-and-vinyl combination, while the white-and-blue two-tone trim adds an elegant touch. The front and rear bench seats provide comfort, and the radio delete plate pays homage to the car’s performance-focused nature. Notably, it features a knee-knocker S-W column-mounted tachometer and a beautifully presented trio of rubber pedals. The car’s attention to detail is evident throughout, with the inclusion of circa-1962 chrome fonts, single-lens tail lamps, and OEM steel wheels adorned with poverty-type hubcaps.

1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge

1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge

Provenance and Documentation Accompanying this Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge is a wealth of provenance and documentation that adds to its allure. It includes the original OEM IBM punch card and build sheet, which serve as a testament to its authenticity. Additionally, the window sticker provides insight into its original specifications, while the dyno sheet confirms its impressive horsepower rating. Vintage photos capture the car’s early years when it was part of a famous drag car collection, showcasing its illustrious past.

1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge

1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge

Conclusion The 1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge stands as a testament to the golden age of muscle cars. With its groundbreaking manual transmission configuration, powerful 413 CI V-8 engine, and captivating style, it represents the pinnacle of Mopar’s storied performance heritage. Meticulously restored to its original glory, this Max Wedge allows enthusiasts to experience a bygone era’s raw power and timeless charm.

FAQs: How many miles does the 1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge have? The odometer of the 1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge reads 6,593 miles. Who documented the Chrysler Registry for this particular car? The meticulous documentation of the Chrysler Registry for this car was done by Darrell Davis. Has the engine of the 1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge been upgraded? Yes, the engine of this Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge has been upgraded to a dyno-proven 500-plus HP. What is the significance of the 413 CI V-8 engine in this car? The 413 CI V-8 engine in this car was the first to receive Chrysler’s shortened version of ram induction, known as the cross-ram intake. It maximizes engine efficiency and pairs it with rarely preserved cast-iron header-style manifolds. What documentation and provenance come with this Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge? This Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge comes with various documentation, including the OEM IBM punch card, build sheet, window sticker, dyno sheet confirming horsepower rating, and vintage photos of its early years as part of a famous drag car collection.

[lucettapanchetta]

[IN-GAME CONVERSATION] - Five Pebbles, Gourmand, Survivor, Monk or Artificer. [Dormant Construct - Pale Green Pearl] [ You've found another pearl. Very well. ] [ It appears unarchived. Strange. Seemingly, it appears to have belonged to - me? ] [ Politics, how trivial. ] [ I'll see what I can decode for you, I doubt you'd be interested in whatever it has to offer. ] [ “I therefore ask you to do Anything in your Might to stop the House (We both know which House) from Further Obstruction! They have less than forty members on the Council, but still Tilt the spiritual Discourse with Our Iterator in a direction that most obviously Displeases him, and..." ] [ The rest is too faded to read. I'm afraid my equipment is too corroded to decipher the remainder, apologies. ] [ ... ] [ I've seen enough. This is meaningless and I doubt it led to anything significant. ] [ That was the usual outcome, and yet, I was often the center of their discussions. They never left me alone, constantly interrupting me like children. Still, there are things more annoying than that — like the spiritualists and monks. I did, however, like the scholars. ] [ It's rather amusing that my construction included sentience as an added feature. If my creators truly wanted me to be a glorified encyclopedia, perhaps they should have never given me autonomy in the first place! ] [ Then again, without it, I wouldn't have been able to enjoy the art from the eras before my creation. Now that was a sight to behold... ] [ Oh, how I wish to go back to those days... ] [ Nevertheless, you can keep that pearl; it has no use to me anymore. Throw it somewhere, or better yet, give it to the scavengers. They'd appreciate it. ]

[m4ndysk4nkovich]

mickey milkovich x nude, radiohead

i don’t think that anybody can disagree that 1x07 is the episode where we learn the most about mickey milkovich. no, i don’t mean he showed any development or anything like that, but we learned something about him that made him significant for the rest of the show. something that never leaves, something that is important to him. in 1x07, we learn that mickey milkovich is gay, and we learn that he is willing to sleep with ian gallagher (even when his father and sister are in the house).

in 1x06, mickey kind of has an interaction with ian that we later see and are like, “yeah, he’s totally gay”, but back then it wasn’t stated that mickey was gay. mickey steals shit from the kash and grab, and he tells ian, “you know where i live if you have a problem” kind of instigating that ian should come over.

but in 1x07, mickey has stolen the gun from the kash and grab, and ian goes to mickey’s house equipped with a tyre iron, ready to take it back.

the “i want the gun back, mickey” scene needs no introduction or explanation. we all know what happened. we all watched in awe as mickey stood over ian and both of their breaths evened out and they made contact and… bam! they’re getting undressed, just like that.

later on, we are no stranger to gallavich and fighting then fucking. it’s something many people know them for, the fact that they’ll literally beat the shit out of each other and then immediately get on each other. but here, it was supposed to be for shock value because shameless utilizes shock value. to those who didn’t know gallavich was going to happen, watching mickey, the thug who had literally just attempted murder on ian, undress and fuck ian was surprising. later on, we can understand why it happened, but we were supposed to be shocked.

so, here’s where nude by radiohead comes in.

terry wakes up from a nap and goes to take a piss in mickey’s room (there’s a bathroom in there, he isn’t just pissing in it, lol). in there, ian and mickey are naked under mickey’s covers. around them, we see a poster of a woman and we also see a drawing mickey made that says “fuck love”.

so when terry comes out of the bathroom and looks at them both, he doesn’t do what season 3 terry does, he simply says “put some clothes on, you two look like a couple of fags!” and it’s a comical scene because, what the fuck, terry, aren’t you a homophobic murderer? you woke up to grunts and crashes coming from mickey’s room, then when you came in he and another boy are naked in his bed… what do you think they were doing?

so when mickey does put some clothes on, he puts on a radiohead shirt.

the shirt says “you’ll go to hell for what your dirty mind is thinking” and those are the last lyrics of the radiohead song “nude”.

so for those who haven’t listened to the song, here’s my analysis of why this song is associated with mickey milkovich and how it ends up foreshadowing his entire character for the next four seasons.

“don’t get any big ideas

they’re not gonna happen”

literally this scene. mickey caves and gives ian the gun back because lets be honest, it was really just bait. ian leans in to kiss him, and mickey has a look in his eyes where you can tell he wants to, but he can’t. he built this wall up years ago and he’s already cursing himself for letting it come down. terry instructed him to get dressed, and he puts on this shirt. and he’s trying to put this carefully constructed mask back on but he’s struggling. and so, he pushes ian away, “kiss me and i’ll cut your fucking tounge out”. there’s no malice in his tone, it’s a threat, but it isn’t threatening.

“you paint yourself white

and fill up with noise

but there'll be something missing”

mickey hiding in the closet, marrying svetlana, being a father to yevgeny, trying to act like the perfect son of terry. he still has this mask on and he tries to hide who he is but alas, he can’t. he loves ian too much and when he gets married and pushes him away, he’s still gay and in love.

“now that you found it

it’s gone”

upon being married, he tells ian that they can still bang. maybe being married to a woman makes him feel a bit more secure because although he despises it and it’s crushing him, he can keep his whole “king of the southside” thing. now that he’s married and unhappy, terry’s satisfied, and that’s all that matters- well, at one point it was. so he tells ian that they can still fuck, but suddenly, ian isn’t as eager and easy as he once was, and he leaves. he’s gone.

“now that you feel it

you don't

you’ve gone off the rails”

he’s out, he’s with ian, he has ian. things are supposed to be fine- but they’re not. ian’s unstable and has been hospitalized, and mickey breaks. he gets shitfaced and cuts his cheek and cries into ian’s jacket. that wall he once built up? the chest he puffed up, the posters he hung, the tattoos he got, they all mean nothing. it’s all gone. the wall and mask are gone, he’s more fragile than he once was. ian’s broken and it’s simultaneously breaking him too.

“so don't get any big ideas

they're not gonna happen”

this line is so mickey in s5, s6, s7, and s10. ian calling him and mickey running to see ian. he has hope. but no, ian breaks up with him, mickey is arrested, and when ian visits he desperately wants ian back. he tattoos ian’s name on his chest, specifically over his heart, and he practically pleads for ian to stay. then, mickey and ian are fleeing to mexico, and for a second, he has hope again. he fantasizes about he and ian at the beach, ian’s freckled skin being sunburnt, them swimming in the ocean together. for once, he can imagine his dreams being true. but they aren’t. he and ian are getting their marriage license, but ian’s hand wavers over the dotted line and he gives mickey that look and mickey breaks (…ian’s leg. lol). he keeps getting his hopes up and everytime he scolds himself for it because he just ends up hopeless.

then finally, the moment we’ve all been waiting for,

“you'll go to hell

for what your dirty mind

is thinking”

it’s in the 1x07 scene i’m talking about. terry instructs mickey to get dressed, he does, and he puts on a shirt that says this. and in that shirt, he seems odd. the confidence we see him have in 1x03 is no longer there. he doesn’t necessarily look vulnerable, but he isn’t the mickey he pretends to be. he caves and returns the gun, which was just bait for ian to come anyway, and he refuses to make eye contact with ian, but when he does, it’s almost coy? he’s ashamed. he’s thinking of things he know would get him killed and he hates himself for it. terry will end him if he finds out, and yes, he has the posters, the reputation, the persona, the tattoos, the guns, etc. but in the end, it’s all an act, and we can see it. the way he licks his lips, the way his eyes won’t focus, his body language says so much.

[undiscovered-horizon]

"Sea shanties" - Nikolai Lantsov x Reader

[mentions of a minor injury and blood]

SUMMARY: Alina catches Sturmhond in a surprising moment of weakness when he's quietly watching you sing to yourself and fix the net.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 2.7k

>>Grishaverse-inspired playlist&lt;<

☽ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ☾

The cold wind nips at your exposed skin and part of you beckons you to return under the deck to finish sewing the net back together. But you dread returning among the sailors: despite truly being a lovely bunch, their constant chattering and liveliness can wear you out. The berths and cabins are warm, yes, but the sea is silent, predictable and, most of all, doesn’t expect engagement. As long as you let her be, she leaves you alone in return. Here, where cold wind tugs at your clothes and saltwater spray your face, you can finally take a deep breath and relax your tense shoulders. Stitching the nets is a very monotone, maybe even boring, activity but it’s exactly what you need. Your hands fix the knots on their own, guided by experience, allowing your mind to let go of duties and worries, to slip away into much more pleasant thoughts.

“I’ll wander, weep and moan. All for my jolly sailor, until he sails home,” you sing barely above a whisper. Truthfully, you can’t recall where you learned the song. It’s as if you’ve always known it, the melody haunting you whenever you’re getting lost in thought.

Alina lets out a sigh of relief when she finally finds Sturmhond. For a moment she was really considering whether he could snap his fingers and vanish. He’s leaning against the doorframe but his broad shoulders still block most of the view of the deck. Sturmhond is completely oblivious to her presence and Alina has a bit too much spite in her to let the opportunity go. She quietly approaches him, harbouring a wicked hope that maybe she can scare him and single-handedly rub away that smug smirk of his.

She stops a pace or two behind him, taking in a deep breath to yell right into his ear. "Sturmhond, I-"

But the privateer is quick to silence her:

"Keep your voice down!" he hisses at Alina.

The Sun Summoner frowns at the privateer. Not only did she not scare him but also seems to be interrupting something. And considering his wish to keep things quiet, Sturmhond is doing something he knows he shouldn’t. She stares at him through half-closed eyes, beaming with suspicion, when she hears a faint hum distracting her from constructing some passive-aggressive remark. Alina recognizes your voice, although it sounds a lot softer than what she’s used to. Being the boatswain, you’re mostly heard yelling out orders for the maintenance crew that you’re watching over; forcing seafarers to tie perfect knots, no matter how many tries it takes them and raising Hell for the smallest error in repairing sails. Even if you might come off as harsh, credit is due as Volkvolny’s sails and equipment are kept impeccable. Your discipline has definitely played a significant part in Sturmhond’s successful betrayal of the Black General.

Listening in, over the howling wind and crashing waves, Alina and Nikolai eavesdrop on the sombre song you’re singing quietly to yourself — a story of a woman mourning her lover who never returned from the sea. Despite the heaviness of the words leaving your mouth, your voice is rid of dread as though such a woeful story is nowhere near relatable to you. Alina doesn’t notice that detail but Sturmhond surely does. In fact, it brings him a sense of relief: after all, how could he compete with a dead man for your love? 

A mischievous smile creeps onto Alina’s face as she’s looking between you and Sturmhond. As far as she can tell, you’re completely oblivious to the small audience watching you go about your duties. The sailor, however, is unable to control his soft expression and that lovesick, mellow look in his eyes. To be honest, Sturmhond looks so removed from reality, he might actually be unaware that there are more people in the world than just him and you.

“So, genius privateer Sturmhond, the fright of the sea is in love with the boatswain,” Alina whispers, barely holding in an impish snicker, “but instead of his usual bravado he cowers away, settling for watching her from afar like a creep.”

He seems to ponder her words for a moment, nodding his head ever so slightly. “That is a bit embarrassing, isn’t it?” he asks. Nikolai appears to be well aware of his affliction but rendered powerless in the face of his heart’s desire, he can only accept the state of things.

“I wanted to say pathetic but either way works.”

Sturmhond looks at Alina out of the corner of his eye but only for a moment, unwilling to waste any more time not admiring you. “Wouldn’t it be more pathetic to be the best privateer in all of Ravka’s history but not know love?”

Alina clenches her fists. She puckers her lips, suddenly feeling hot as blood rushes to her face. Saints have mercy - he’s right. The sole act of seeing eye to eye with the blond man isn’t as terrible as the act of admitting it and stroking his ego. “I hate to say it but I agree,” she grits through her teeth.

Nikolai notices her discomfort. He doesn’t hide a certain satisfaction in the effect he has on her - it’s amusing to see her paper mache confidence falter, although he is painfully aware that this will prove problematic later on. “Oh my, I might think you actually tolerate me.”

She forces herself into a contemptuous scowl - it’s a little overdone to be considered natural. “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Alina dismisses him.

“You know, I might be an incredible captain and all but without her…” Sturmhond shakes his head. His eyes follow your barely noticeable movements as you weave the net back together. “This whole ship would have already sunk.”

But she doesn’t believe him - not entirely. If she is to believe Tamar, and Alina doesn’t have much reason not to, Sturmhond chose Volkvolny despite having more captain-worthy vessels available. “Somehow, I don’t believe you’d allow that.”

“Right. If she wasn’t on this ship, I wouldn’t be either.”

Alina almost comes to the conclusion that you’re the sole reason he chose Volkvolny to be his flagship but she mostly dismisses that thought - Sturmhond may be doting but he’s far from completely losing his mind. He simply doesn’t give the impression of someone who’d shuffle his life around just to be able to creep on his boatswain. Little did she know at the time but the strangeness and dread the future holds is going to prove her wrong.

Their conversation is halted when one of the sailors on night watch passes by them. Alina recognizes him by the burn mark spreading across the right side of his face. Tolya called him ‘Marquis’. His long, blond hair sway in the cold wind. As he’s carrying a heavy crate from starboard to port, he’s quietly singing along to your song with certain carelessness as though he’s not entirely aware he’s doing it:

“My heart is pierced by Cupid, I disdain all glittering gold. There is nothing can console me-”

Alina yawns. She’s had a long, exciting day and tomorrow is not going to be any easier, that she’s sure of. Whatever she wants to tell Sturmhond will have to wait until dawn when the captain wriggles free of his heart’s restless desires. Even though at first she’s annoyed that she has to wait because Sturmhond decided to play a lovesick teenager, she quickly finds it may be for the best: an in-depth discussion will surely erupt between the two of them and doing so when the moon is high just doesn’t seem like the best idea. Aside from that, she can really use a few more hours of sleep.

The Sun Summoner murmurs something resembling ‘Goodnight’ to Sturmhond and turns around to go back to the room she shares with Tamar, when a great wave shakes the ship, throwing her against a wooden wall. Despite the impact not being exceptionally painful to her, she’s sore anyway, the sound of it carried quite well.

Hearing a thud, you look up out of reflex. Glancing around the deck, your watchful eyes stop on Sturmhond, who’s staring back at you. The privateer gives the impression that you’ve just become privy to a side of him he’s not so keen on showing. Perhaps ‘side’ doesn’t quite mirror the idea. ‘Layer’ seems more fitting. It’s as though he dropped the facade of quick wit and evasive answers, only to show the exhaustion of a man carrying the world on his shoulders for a day too long. Despite the silence and distance between you, this staring feels intimate; both of you are showing something raw to one another in the gullible hope that the other will keep it secret.

He appears different, more calm than smug, than he does during the day, although still beautiful enough to make you flustered. Truly, he looks like he breaks the hearts of naive girls for a living. Despite that, as well as your experience with sailors in general, you found yourself craving his attention. Whether it’s intentional or not, Sturmhond has the ability to make people feel seen and their efforts acknowledged. Considering that establishing your position among sea dogs as a woman is a real challenge, maybe it was your hurt ego that clawed at any possibility or delusion of your exceptionalism. And maybe the privateer never intended for you to be hopelessly in love with him. Sure, the two of you have flirted back and forth but you never assumed it means as much to him as it does to you. It’s just the way he is, right?

A sharp, stinging pain in your finger makes you yelp. Discarding fantasies about the blond man in an awful frock coat, you look at your sore hand, now noticing a drop of crimson slowly rolling down your skin.

“Well, shit,” you whisper to yourself.

You put the bleeding finger against your lips. It’s a small cut, it shouldn’t bleed longer than a minute or two and then you can get back to-

“Are you alright?”

Sturmhond’s worried tone elicits mixed but engaging feelings from you. On one hand, you’re giddy at any crumb of attention he gives you. On the other hand, you just failed at the second easiest maintenance job a ship can have - one Hell of a way to make a good impression on the captain that always seems to fall on four paws.

“Yeah, just pricked my finger with a needle fixing the net. Nothing fatal.”

“Why are you doing this anyway? You’re a boatswain. This is a deckhand’s job,” he says as he grabs the net from your hands and tosses it aside.

“Believe it or not but I actually enjoy this. It’s peaceful, helps me get my mind off of things.”

He gives you a cocky half-grin. “Pricking your finger is just a tasteful addition, I presume?”

“Oh, you know, just trying to enrich things,” you joke back.

Sturmhond lets out a quiet, resigned sigh. Of course, you told everyone to go to sleep and finished the odd jobs yourself. “Have Tamar look at this,” he says in a soft voice. Despite the suddenly mild demeanour, his smug expression stays in place. “I’ll get someone else to finish.”

“Alright, captain,” you reluctantly agree. “But can it wait a few minutes? I like it here.”

Your gaze returns to the sapphire waves and black firmament, the line of horizon barely distinguishable between them. To your own surprise, Sturmhond sits down next to you on a barrel. “Just a few,” he says insincerely. You may not know it but he’s willing to sit there with you for much longer than a few minutes. 

Volkvolny bobs on the waves, headed somewhere in the South-East direction. Cold water sprays on your face and clothes but you don’t mind it. It’s quite refreshing. Only now do you notice how quiet the ship is. Most of the crew must already be asleep, revelling in the few hours of rest they have until dawn. The thought of sleeping sailors makes you aware of your own exhaustion, both physical and mental.

You barely stifle a yawn. Too tired to think twice, you lay your head against Sturmhond’s shoulder. He doesn’t shy away, quite the contrary - he wraps his arm around you, pulling you closer to his torso ever so slightly. He smells like expensive, imported cologne and seaweed. The fragrance is hardly likable but you’ve grown to earn some masochistic pleasure from it simply because it belongs to him. The blue frock coat he’s wearing feels nice against your skin.

“Why do you always sing that song?” he asks after a few minutes of silence.

“I always sing or hum doing manual jobs. It’s a habit I can’t kill,” you answer quietly. It’s hard to keep your eyes open and you can hear your words starting to slur. “I grew up in Novokribirsk. I know a lot of shanties.”

“Know anything happier than mourning a sailor?”

“Hardly,” you let out a tired chuckle. “Somehow, sailors have an aversion to happy songs. There’s one you might like.” You clear your throat, trying to recall the song from your cloudy, tired memories. “I’m a broken man on the Os Kervo pier, the last of Ravka’s privateers.”

Sturmhond furrows his eyebrows and he shakes his head in disapproval. “No, it’s still depressing.” Whether he means to or not, his finger is gently brushing circles against your arm.

“Alright, another one, um… Oh! Don’t haul on the ropes, don’t climb up the mast. If you see a sailing ship, it might be your last.”

“Ominous and tedious. I’m actually surprised you can put both in one song.”

To Sturmhond’s dissatisfaction, you pull away from him. Still, the distance between you is considerably small and you feel each other’s breaths on your skin. With half-lidded eyes out of exhaustion, you give him a wide smile. His breath shakes in his chest.

“You know, you might be the most optimistic sailor I’ve ever met,” you confess.

He could kiss you right now. Saints only know how much he wants to. If the odds are in his favour, and his vanity would like to think they are, you might even kiss him back. Or at least not slap him. Would your lips feel soft and warm against his? Would you taste of saltwater and rye bread like he always imagines? Would you giggle nervously after? In that specific way that makes him forget to breathe?

But Sturmhond can only hope your tired mind can’t compute his nervousness. “Does that title come with a prize?”

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Is being the most optimistic sailor truly worth such honour?” he says in an overly dramatic tone. He jokingly puts his hand on his chest. “Are you not underestimating your presence, my lady?”

“You get extra credit because I like you. A lot.” 

Sturmhond swallows nervously. Since when does he get nervous around women? For a moment you’re just staring at each other again. The desire to push his lips against yours is back flooding his mind, now stronger and more desperate than before. The first chance might have been a coincidence but the second… He slowly leans in, watching your face for any signs of discomfort. But you look just as lovely as you did in the morning. His nose almost brushes yours and-

“I might have a happy one,” you suddenly speak up. You look back at the sea, furrowing your eyebrows in deep thought. “Saints, how did it go?” you whisper to yourself. “Prick your finger, it is done. Roll her out and spread her wings, the time has come for better things.”

Having mastered self-control, Sturmhond doesn’t make his disappointment visible. The third time’s the charm, right? “First one that doesn’t make me want to drown myself.” The bitterness in his voice is almost inaudible but you’re too tired to notice.

“I’ll sing you the whole thing but that has to wait until morning, alright?”

“I’m holding you to that.”

His heart quickens its beat when you lay your head back on his shoulder. He should probably tell you to go back to your berth and get some sleep but maybe it can wait a few minutes? He likes it here.

[redsugarx]

青白之魅 4: Set Design

1 Introduction & Presentation // 2 Background & Influences // 3 Hair & Makeup // 4 Set Design // 5 Clothes & Accessories // 6 Conclusion

I read yalls tags obsessively when you reblog these and they're so cute, tysm they are very encouraging :>

Thank you Bloomin Studio for this shot of the set before getting started!

The set took a lot of inspiration from Green Snake (1993). We set this up in Cujo’s living room, which was already equipped with a wide black backdrop and some lighting. Bloomin Studio was kind enough to bring their Chinese style side table, foam rock, smoke machine, and additional lighting.

In the movie, when the two sisters take human form and join human society, they create a full-blown mansion in an empty, desolate area using magic. When trying to reveal to Xu Xian the true nature of his wife, Fahai the monk calls the house an illusion, but it served its purpose as their home, so is it really “fake?” Who decides whether something is “real” or not, and how? This is part of the reason I wanted to construct the set from scratch, in someone’s living room—the idea that we could make something beautiful and complex happen in an unlikely place. 

(Unfortunately I do not have centuries of spiritual cultivation under my belt, so I had to buy things and set them up like a mortal.)

Behind the scenes, with Cujo handling Spirit, who's wound around Yulan's forearm :>

Bamboo

Green Snake (1993) screenshot, 10:25

The opening scenes of Green Snake (1993) take place in a bamboo forest. In an important foreshadowing, the monk Fahai chases a spider demon in human form through a bamboo forest. The spider demon has cultivated for two centuries—180 years longer than Fahai himself—in an effort to reincarnate, but Fahai takes his power away and traps him in a pot, because it goes against the natural order for a demon to take human form.

He goes on to attack the snake sisters, who are still in snake form, before he realizes that there is a pregnant woman giving birth in the forest, and the snakes are simply shielding her from the rain. This scene alone sets up the rest of the movie to question, what are the limits to what we consider human? What happens when we stop considering someone as human, and how far will someone go to be considered human? I find that these questions are very relevant to the world today, especially in the US right now.

In addition to being a vital building material throughout East Asia for the past, present, and future, bamboo holds significant cultural value as a plant that is thin and flexible, yet stronger than many brittle materials. It's one of the Four Gentlemen, representing the virtues an upstanding person should have—ideally, a well-read gentleman should be open-minded and flexible, yet enduring, just like bamboo.

梅蘭竹菊，趙少昂，1985，香港商報副刊 March 2022

Each plant of the Four Gentlemen represents a season. Bamboo represents the summer. Summer is the season during which the Dragon Boat Festival happens, a holiday also associated with snakes—the reveal of Bai Suzhen's snake form to Xu Xian happens during that festival, when they drink realgar wine (arsenic wine... controversial to say the least) to honor tradition, which is poisonous to snakes (possibly to people too??? who knows honestly).

In Green Snake (1993), Xiaoqing is the only one affected by the realgar wine because Bai Suzhen's cultivation is high enough that it's harmless to her.

We bought two pots of faux bamboo for our set. They’re a little questionable up close, but they look pretty realistic as part of the backdrop. Unfortunately real bamboo grows like nobody's business and comes with just... a whole host of problems that we weren't prepared to deal with during a one-day shoot, so we had to use artificial alternatives. Thankfully, Cujo (the super cool Snake Guy running Art of Scales) said he'd be able to use them, so they definitely didn't go to waste after the shoot :)

The bamboo came in not-so-pretty black plastic pots with a brick inside as a weight, so I brought a big semi-collapsible woven bamboo (bamboo squared! hahaha) basket, and stuck one of the plastic pots inside. It looked SO much better once you couldn't see the black plastic.

We also used Cujo’s bamboo screen as a structural layering piece. Dried bamboo was and still is one of the most common building materials you'd see in Asia, so the bamboo screen was perfect, not to mention it saved us the trouble of having to fly one down to SoCal since it was already there. It's made of a bunch of bamboo stalks tied together and can roll/unroll. Huge thanks to Cujo and also Kevin for fiddling with its shape to make it stand up on its own, that thing was heavy!

Water

Green Snake (1993) screenshot, 00:38

Snakes are traditionally associated with creation (Fuxi & Nuwa) and the element of water. Green Snake (1993) opens and ends with the visual of running water, with many important scenes taking place on a canal or by a lake. The original Legend of the White Snake is said to have taken place by the 西湖/xi1 hu2/West Lake in Hangzhou—the bridge on which Xu Xian and Bai Suzhen are said to have met is still there, and a popular attraction.

In the Peking Opera, Bai Suzhen refers to the lake several times as a symbol of the constance of nature: as conflict rises around her, she remarks on how similar the lake looks to that one day all those years ago when she first took human form and met Xu Xian. 

斷橋殘雪, Armstrong, William Collection, Historical Photographs of China, 1908-1910

To create the look of reflective water, we used Mylar mirror paper. It's a favorite of indoor photoshoots, especially in the Hanfu world—probably like 80% of hanfu studio photoshoots use it. The paper is super reflective and comes in a roll so that it can be spread out over the floor of the set, making it look like we’re lying on the surface of a peaceful lake.

Fabric

Green Snake 1993 diverges from the original legend a bit. There's an earlier scene where Xu Xian accidentally sees Xiaoqing's snake tail while the sisters are bathing and runs off in terror. In an attempt to hide themselves, the sisters hang up green silk, and tell him (when he comes back) that what he simply mistook fabric from their laundry flying in the wind as a snake tail (somehow this works, as male characters in Chinese stories tend to be dumb as hell).

Green Snake (1993) screenshot, 48:25

We bought copious amounts of misty white tulle to hang off the bamboo screen and trail across the mirror paper ground. It looked a lot like fog or the foam at the bottom of a waterfall, and it also helped cover the backdrop stand on the right. They were not silk, because once again We Had A Budget, but one of the pieces of fabric was printed with calligraphy, which was a nice touch.

Scrolls

We used two scrolls in this set: one is our standard 九雲閣 calligraphy scroll (that’s Cloud9 Pavilion in Chinese, jiu3 yun2 ge2) just as a fun little branding thing, and the other is a silk-mounted print of the 紅葉題詩仕女圖/红叶题诗仕女图/hong2 ye4 ti2 shi1 shi4 nv3 tu2/'Lady Inscribing Poetry on Red Leaves' by 唐伯虎 (Tang Bohu).

红叶题诗仕女图, 书法欣赏，February 2017

Writing poems on red leaves has a fair amount of symbolism behind it. 紅葉題詩—the image of a woman writing a poem on a red leaf—is a common trope in literature and Chinese paintings, and lots of poems and art pieces depict the same thing. There are a variety of stories associated with the action, mostly having to do with Tang Dynasty palace ladies under the rule of 唐玄宗 (Emperor Xuanzong), who only had eyes for 楊貴妃/杨贵妃 (Yang Guifei). One sadder version tells the story of the other neglected palace ladies writing poems expressing their yearning for freedom on red leaves and dropping them into the river, hoping that the current will carry them out of the Shangyang palace that they were not allowed to leave. Another category is a little cuter, describing chance meetings between lovers—people finding throwaway poems on red leaves and then later getting together, that sort of thing.

明 陈洪绶《题诗红叶图》, Sohu 2020 (another painting of the same trope)

I didn't really look into the story behind the painting until after the shoot, but I can see sort of a connection between the intent of this shoot and some elements of the stories described. Stories about the neglected palace ladies—who are said to have entered the palace at 16 and left at 60 (上陽白髮人, 白居易 Bai Juyi), never having seen the emperor's face once—are usually grievances against the emperor's favoritism of Yang Guifei, which is by extension a criticism of the emperor's rule (the decline of the Tang Dynasty's golden age happened under this guy so he gets a lot of shit for causing it).

I draw this back to the question of what it means to be seen as human—were the thousands of frankly unnecessary palace ladies seen as human in Xuanzong's eyes? What happens when someone is so 'high up,' whether politically or spiritually or whatever, that they cease to view other people as equally human? Should a system be upheld when it no longer serves its function in a changing environment?

Zhang Guo Having an Audience with Emperor Tang Xuangzong (張果见明皇), Wikimedia Commons, Yale University Press 2002

When I picked the painting, though, I didn't really consider all this; I mostly wanted to have a painting of a woman (common subject matter trope for painters, called 仕女圖/仕女图/shi4 nv3 tu2/'palace maid image', somewhere in the background. The Legend of the White Snake deals in the contrast of form versus essence, Green Snake (1993) even more so. The snake sisters take the form of women; does that make them women?

Fahai certainly didn't think so, until the end of the film, when he sees that Bai Suzhen has given birth to a healthy baby boy. There's a moment of cognitive dissonance—Fahai realizes that maybe Bai Suzhen really did become human by virtue of living and experiencing humanness. (To what extent does experience dictate identity, versus origin?) If she really became human, then Fahai has spent the better part of the entire movie killing a human, which is entirely opposite from when he thought he was acting righteously to uphold the natural order. He can't say that his actions were justified because he had good intentions—if good intentions trumped effect, then Bai Suzhen must be virtuous because her intentions were also innocent. This was a fascinating realization at the end of the movie.

Yulan as Bai Suzhen with lots of smoke in the background

I especially like this photo of Yulan as the White Snake (because I can get all Art Analysis with it). She's lying on the ground, reaching up towards the painting, like the woman illustrated on the scroll is the goal she is trying to reach. There's smoky haze in the background, and her hand is pinched in a lotus position, as if she is trying to catch the mist in her fingertips. Most notably, the position of her body hides the snake embroidery on her sleeve, but you can still see the tiniest hint of it through the sheer fabric.

Does the fact that she sees the form of a woman as her goal make her less of a woman, or does it actually validate her identity as one? (didn't mean it as a trans allegory when I started it but I guess it is now lol)

Umbrella

We got a grand total of like three shots with our oil paper umbrella, partially because we've had that thing for years and its opening mechanism is lowkey broken so it was really hard to get good poses with it. I'm glad we got at least one good picture with it though—it's a real oil paper umbrella that's waterproof and hand-threaded (even though the braking mechanism sheared off a while ago so it won't stay open unless you hold it there).

If my hand was not holding the umbrella up it would collapse :/

Xu Xian and Bai Suzhen meet in a scene known as 借傘/借伞/jie4 san3/'Borrowing the Umbrella," where Xu Xian lends Bai Suzhen his umbrella when it starts raining while they're on a boat. Bai Suzhen rejects it, saying she can't possibly take the umbrella from him (since he'd get wet), and sends Xiaoqing to give the umbrella back to him. They go back and forth like this until Xiaoqing takes both their hands and has them share the umbrella. When the sisters have to leave, Xu Xian lets them take the umbrella with them so they don't get rained on on the way back home—a clever flirtation setting up another chance to meet, since he has to go retrieve the umbrella from their home.

Other Stuff I Got That Doesn't Have Specific Symbolism:

Fake moss—looked very realistic! Clung to absolutely everything though, I still find it on my socks sometimes.

Various vases—went for dark-colored or greenish vases, some off Amazon and some from China. You'll notice that they're all empty, because they kept tipping over when I put fake flowers in them ;-;

Candles—these were Cujo's, shoutout to him running out the morning of to get new batteries for them! Super atmospheric :D

Fake rock & smoke machine—very popular for hanfu photoshoots, but not practical to get for one-time use, so we asked Bloomin Studio if they could bring theirs. They have lots of experience in producing and set design!

Fake flowers—I got SO MANY fake flowers and ended up using like. 3 branches of them ;-; Thankfully was able to gift most of those to Art of Scales & Bloomin Studio so I didn't have to cart them back up to NorCal.

Yeah ngl I used maybe like 60% of the stuff I bought for this shoot. In my defense I was buying props for like a good 3-4 months before it actually happened and retail therapy is Important to me.

Here is another behind the scenes shot :)

-

Okay this one was a bit shorter, partially because there were a lot of elements that I wanted to include that I unfortunately didn't end up having enough time to set up. I'll recap those on post 6. I am tired but I hope this was interesting :)

1 Introduction & Presentation // 2 Background & Influences // 3 Hair & Makeup // 4 Set Design // 5 Clothes & Accessories // 6 Conclusion

[aboredindividual]

Nests- what from, for what and when for

Nesting is an instinct present in omegas that often brings them the most comfort. Nest are made of many soft materials such as linen, pillows, sheets, blankets, plushies etc. that hold scent for a long periods of time. They are highly personal and individual for each omega and being in one that hasn't been made by your family is an priviledge and an act of utter trust. But even if nests look similiar, they may vary in use and purpose.

Common Nest Materials

Bed

Not exactly a material per se but the most important part of nest, bed gives it ,,skeleton'' that make them more comfortable and less floory. Normal beds of course exists but there are some designs of them that are more appealing for omegas and have steady popularity because of it.

Omegas often choose beds that have closed space, resebling a nook that you can easily hide in. It can be achieved by building in the bed, equipping it with canopy, curtains or even snagging a tent! But remember that exceptions always exist and omegas can live in normal rectangle ones.

Blankets&Sheets

They are often made from soft, scent holding materials. They are commonly light but omegas can also buy heavy weighted ones for extra comfort if they wish. It depends on the person's tastes.

Pillows

Long and short, smooth or fluffy, round or squared etc etc. There are many great designs of soft pillows that can strike you fancy. Average pillows are the most often choosed option but long body ones are very close behind! Omegas like to hug things after all and there are also specially designed pillows for pregnant omegas and betas that can be a life saver

Clothes

Used clothes are common but not only restricted to them, they are most used in nests during heat and pregnancy. The longer used by them or significant other, the better!

Types of Nests

Comfort nests

They are the only type of nest that can be made by all secondary genders, even if omegas make them the most and best. Dynamics make them for as name descibes- comfort. They want to feel safe when they are for example sick, stressed, anxious or sad. They are constructed from closest available materials from bed and simply have to smell good and feel safe. They stem from childhood memories where babies spend their first years in mothers nest. All people associate them with security and stability because of this and often try to replicate them to feel safe, regardless of secondary gender.

Heat Nests

The most known nest type, omegas use them when they are close, in and little after their heat. When Omega has no mate, the nests are often similiar to comfort ones, albeit there are some things stolen from their family members as a buffer and source of additional comfort. When Omegas DO have a mate, they want to be surrounded by the scent of them, so they resort to cloth thievery and Laundry heists for maximum effect. The nest is a perfect combination of them and their mate.

Pregnancy Nests

They are the sturdiest and long-lasting of them all, being made during pregnancy and are used for it's remaining months, birth and first developmental years of ther childrens lives. Less priviledged people use their normal beds as the place they will build it in, but those with more money can dedicate entire room for such a nest. The beds are often round in shape or spacious, with curtains or something to separate the parents and children from outside world.

Kiddy nests

They are often made by the parent or the child themselves as a imitation behaviour or playing. The plushies and pillows are the most popular ingredient in those nests. Please note that young children under 8 doing this is a normal behaviour and doesnt at all reflect the childs future presentation.

[serpentface]

Do you conlang? I was wondering if you had naming languages (or possibly even more developed ones) for pulling the words you use. I tried to search your blog but didn't find anything, wouldn't be surprised if the feature is just busted tho. Your worldbuilding is wonderful and I particularly enjoy the anthropological and linguistic elements.

Ok the thing is I had kind of decided I was not going to do any conlanging because I don't feel like I'm equipped to do a good job of it, like was fully like "I'm just going to do JUST enough that it doesn't fail an immediate sniff test and is more thoughtful than just keysmashing and putting in vowels". And then have kinda been conlanging anyway (though not to a very deep and serious extent. I maybe have like....an above average comprehension of how language construction works via willingness to research, but that's not saying much, also I can never remember the meanings of most linguistic terms like 'frictives' or etc off the top of my head. I'm just kinda raw dogging it with a vague conceptualization of what these things mean)

I do at least have a naming language for Wardi (and more basic rules for other established languages) but the rudimentary forms of it were devised with methods much shakier and less linguistically viable than even the most basic naming language schemes, and I only went back over it LONG after I had already made a bunch of words so there's some inconsistencies with consonant presence and usage. (This can at least be justified because it IS a language that would have a lot of loanwords and would be heavily influenced by other language groups- Burri being by far the most significant, Highland-Finnic and Yuroma-Lowlands also being large contributors)

The 'method' I used was:

-Skip basic construction elements and fully move into devising necessary name words, with at least a Vibe of what consonants are going to be common and how pronunciation works -Identify some roots out of the established words and their meanings. Establish an ongoing glossary of known roots/words. -Construct new words based in root words, or as obvious extensions/variants of established words. -Get really involved in how the literal meanings of some words might not translate properly to english, mostly use this to produce a glossary of in-universe slang. -Realize that I probably should have at least some very basic internal consistency at this point. -Google search tutorials on writing a naming language. -Reverse engineer a naming language out of established words, and ascribe all remaining inconsistencies to being loanwords or just the mysteries of life or whatever.

I do at least have some strongly established pronunciation rules and a sense of broad regional dialect/accents.

-'ai' words are almost always pronounced with a long 'aye' sound.

-There is no 'Z' or 'X' sound, a Wardi speaker pronouncing 'zebra' would go for 'tsee-brah', and would attempt 'xylophone' as 'ssye-lohp-hon'

-'V' sounds are nearly absent and occur only in loanwords, and tend to be pronounced with a 'W' sound. 'Virsum' is a Highland word (pronounced 'veer-soom') denoting ancestry, a Wardi speaker would go 'weer-sum'.

-'Ch' spellings almost always imply a soft 'chuh' sound when appearing after an E, I, or O (pelatoche= pel-ah-toh-chey), but a hard 'kh' sound after an A or U (odomache= oh-doh-mah-khe). When at the start of a word, it's usually a soft 'ch' unless followed by an 'i' sound (chin (dog) is pronounced with a hard K 'khiin', cholem (salt) is pronounced with a soft Ch 'cho-lehm')

-Western Wardin has strong Burri cultural and linguistic influence, and a distinct accent- one of the most pronounced differences is use of the ñ sound in 'nn' words. The western city of Ephennos is pronounced 'ey-fey-nyos' by most residents, the southeastern city of Erubinnos is pronounced 'eh-roo-been-nos' by most residents. Palo's surname 'Apolynnon' is pronounced 'A-puh-lee-nyon' in the Burri and western Wardi dialects (which is the 'proper' pronunciation, given that it's a Kos name), but will generally be spoken as 'Ah-poh-leen-non' in the south and east.

-R's are rolled in Highland-Finnic words. Rolling R's is common in far northern rural Wardi dialects but no others. Most urban Wardi speakers consider rolling R's sort of a hick thing, and often think it sounds stupid or at least uneducated. (Brakul's name should be pronounced with a brief rolled 'r', short 'ah' and long 'uul', but is generally being pronounced by his south-southeastern compatriots with a long unrolled 'Brah' sound).

Anyway not really a sturdy construction that will hold up to the scrutiny of someone well equipped for linguistics but not pure bullshit either.