#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]

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]

[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

[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

[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 младен��а. 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.

[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.

[visit-new-york]

Chrysler Building: A Shimmering Icon of Art Deco Elegance

In the heart of Manhattan's bustling skyline, one architectural masterpiece stands tall, capturing the imagination of all who gaze upon it. The Chrysler Building, a shimmering beacon of Art Deco elegance, is not just a skyscraper but a symbol of New York City's enduring spirit and architectural innovation. With its captivating history, exquisite design, and a touch of old-world glamour, the Chrysler Building continues to enchant and captivate, leaving an indelible mark on the Big Apple's iconic skyline.

The Chrysler Building, completed in 1930, was the brainchild of architect William Van Alen. Its distinctive design is a symphony of style, blending Art Deco with influences from the Machine Age. The tower rises to a staggering 1,046 feet, making it one of the tallest buildings in the world at the time of its completion. Its crowning glory, the iconic stainless steel spire, reaches even higher, ultimately soaring to 1,476 feet. This bold architectural choice, combined with the building's tiered setbacks and intricate ornamentation, immediately sets it apart from its contemporaries.

The Chrysler Building's spire is nothing short of a masterpiece. Composed of seven concentric stainless steel arches, it seems to ascend endlessly into the sky, a testament to human ambition and ingenuity. The polished metal glimmers and reflects the ever-changing hues of the New York City skyline, giving the building a dynamic and ethereal quality. The spire's tip is adorned with a spectacular sunburst design, a symbol of hope and optimism that encapsulated the spirit of the Roaring Twenties.

Beneath the shimmering façade, the Chrysler Building holds a treasure trove of architectural marvels. The lobby, in particular, is a breathtaking work of art. A soaring, marble-clad space is adorned with ornate, artful details, including intricate friezes, Egyptian-inspired motifs, and a magnificent ceiling mural by artist Edward Trumbull. The lobby's elegance and opulence transport visitors to a bygone era of sophistication and glamour.

The Chrysler Building's enduring legacy goes beyond its architectural significance. It has played a prominent role in popular culture, making appearances in numerous films, television shows, and works of literature. Its silhouette, unmistakable and timeless, is a symbol of New York City itself, representing both the city's storied past and its ever-evolving future.

Yet, beneath its polished surface and captivating design, the Chrysler Building harbors an air of myth and mystery that adds to its allure. One enduring legend is the tale of a secret spire race between the Chrysler Building and the Bank of Manhattan Trust Building (now known as 40 Wall Street), a nearby skyscraper under construction at the same time. This tale, though perhaps more myth than fact, only deepens the intrigue surrounding this architectural wonder.

The construction of the Chrysler Building was not without its challenges. The architects and builders had to contend with the limitations of 1920s technology, including the absence of modern safety measures and equipment. Nevertheless, the determination and expertise of the builders triumphed over adversity, resulting in an enduring symbol of human achievement.

As we look ahead to the future, the Chrysler Building continues to stand as a symbol of resilience and creativity. While no longer the tallest building in New York City, its timeless elegance and iconic spire remain a source of inspiration for architects, artists, and dreamers alike. Recent renovations and preservation efforts ensure that this shimmering gem will continue to grace the Manhattan skyline for generations to come.

For those who wish to experience the magic of the Chrysler Building firsthand, tours are available to explore its exquisite lobby and learn more about its history and architectural significance. Standing in the shadow of its gleaming spire, visitors can connect with the past, marvel at its beauty, and imagine the countless stories that have unfolded within its walls.

In a city that is constantly changing and reinventing itself, the Chrysler Building remains a steadfast symbol of New York City's enduring spirit, artistic excellence, and architectural innovation. Its shimmering spire reaches for the heavens, while its hidden treasures and legendary history capture the hearts and minds of all who encounter it. As an icon of Art Deco elegance, the Chrysler Building is not just a skyscraper; it's a living testament to the dreams and aspirations of a city that continues to inspire the world. It's a reminder that in the ever-evolving urban jungle of Manhattan, the Chrysler Building's brilliance still shines as brightly as ever, inviting all to partake in its timeless allure.

Chrysler Building -  Next page>

[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. ]

[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.

[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.

[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.

[ad-hawkeye]

Alkaid's Destiny's Call Endings

A transcript of each ending can be found below.

ASTRONOMER ENDING

Ever since he was a child, Alkaid has always harbored a profound fascination with the heavens above. Gazing into the sky, he could sense the endlessness of the world beyond the curtain of the sky.

When he grew up, he bought a small telescope, which shortened the distance between him and the sky. Through it, he could see beautiful stars traveling along mysterious tracks in space.

Eventually, Alkaid's unwavering passion led him down the path of becoming an astronomer. Countless complexities created a cascade of numbers, constructing a ladder that propelled him toward the stars.

There, he watched the birth and death of the stars as if he was watching the blossoming and withering of a flower.

FLORIST ENDING

After reaching the age of 18, Alkaid became the owner of a flower shop. He named his store "Aurora," a name he held dear, even though its profound significance remained a secret, intertwined with the threads of destiny.

He looks after the white roses, lilies, and daisies in his floral shop. He treats these delicate flowers as cherished companions, joyfully passing them into the hands of those who appreciate them properly.

"Do you have 319 white roses in stock?"*

"I'm afraid we don't at the moment. But you can leave your contact details and I'll call you to pick them up in three days."

"Okay. Thank you." The girl nods and leaves her contact information.

Alkaid takes the note and repeats her name under his breath - "Can I call you... Miss [MC Name]?

*March 19th is Alkaid's birthday.

TRAVEL PHOTOGRAPHER ENDING

Alkaid has visited countless places.

To him, the world contains both perils and marvels. In his eyes, the allure of a place grows exponentially with its danger and inaccessibility.

Fearless and resolute, Alkaid willingly embraces risk to experience the world on a personal level. He captures these extraordinary locations through the lens of his camera, cherishing them as souvenirs.

The sight of snow-capped mountains always leaves him awestruck. As Alkaid sets up his equipment, a girl walks into his camera frame. With a canvas in her hand, she trips over and falls down in the snow.

"It's too dangerous to traverse this mountain on your own," Alkaid says as he runs over to help the girl.

RACE CAR DRIVER ENDING

As the race car reaches its maximum speed, a whirlwind ensues. The boundary between life and death is so close, and fate can be heard screaming.

Alkaid can't say for sure why he fell in love with this feeling. It only lasts for an instant, but still leaves him in deep fascination.

When the car reaches the finish line, Alkaid's soul finally finds solace. Mr. McGrath, the "Best Driver of the Year", smiles gently as he received a starry candy bouquet.

"Congratulations, Alkaid!"

Alkaid looks at the girl. Again, he feels the thrilling sensation he'd just experienced. But this time, it faintly whirls around his heart.

He asks the girl, "May I have your name?"

"My name is [MC Name]," she replies.

PSYCHOLOGIST ENDING

Alkaid first became interested in psychology because he wanted to understand himself and other human beings.

Later on, he discovered that the world is a vast ocean where everyone is surrounded by water. People affect and are affected by each other. There is no shame in misfortune and feeling emotions. Reconciliation is a long process. Emotions, just like many things in the world, are contagious.

Although, ever since he became a psychologist, Alkaid thinks he's adapted very well.

"Next, please."

PILOT ENDING

Countless choices in life often originate from fortuitous encounters. Yet, this choices often carry a sense of destiny.

Planes mimic the graceful flight of birds as they ascend into the heavens. Bound by the pull of gravity, they persistently strive to soar higher and higher.

Whenever he soars into the sky and glides over the horizon, and whenever he sees a glimpse of the glow at the end of the world, Alkaid is reminded of one afternoon from many years ago.

Through torrents of rain and storms, he unfurls his wings, determined to fly into the heavens and safeguard the land beneath him.

[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.

[huntressao3]

Dr. Vyle

Age: 54

Profession: Head of R&D at Vykker’s Labs 16, surgeon

Species: Vykker

Dr. Vyle is the head of Research and Development at Vykker’s Labs 16, one of the most notorious laboratories on Oddworld and one of the only airships in the Conglomerate’s possession . Dr. Vyle is immediately recognizable by his four sleek metal arms, which replace his natural ones. These arms, each equipped with different surgical tools and gadgets, were self-engineered after a catastrophic lab accident left him permanently disfigured. His decision to create and graft these arms onto himself was driven by both necessity and his relentless obsession with scientific advancement. The arms provide him with enhanced precision during surgeries and experiments, allowing him to carry out intricate tasks faster than any other vykker.

Dr. Vyle’s perpetually furrowed brow and deep-set, glowing yellow eyes and sharp, angular features give him a look of constant, simmering anger—even when he’s simply focused on his experiments. As the head of Research and Development, Dr. Vyle oversees the most disturbing and groundbreaking experiments at Vykker’s Labs 16.

His expertise in surgery is unparalleled, and he often performs grotesque modifications on creatures for the Magog Cartel. From gene splicing to organ harvesting, Vyle is at the forefront of Oddworld’s most heinous scientific practices. His office is a chaotic mess of surgical tables, glass tubes filled with mysterious fluids, and rows of grotesque specimens—many still alive—suspended in jars. His mechanical arms allow him to conduct multiple procedures at once, making him a whirlwind of efficiency. However, this mechanical precision is also what makes him detached from any sense of empathy or morality

Dr. Vyle is intensely focused on his work, with little patience for distraction or incompetence. He’s known for being cold, calculating, and unfriendly, even among his fellow Vykkers, including his personal assistant, Lenny. His demeanor is clinical, but there’s a barely-contained frenzy in the way he operates. When presented with a new challenge or discovery, he becomes obsessively excited, though this excitement often takes a sinister form, especially when it involves invasive procedures or dissection. Like most other vykkers, Vyle has no moral compass—he views everything through the lens of monetary value and scientific curiosity. He is perpetually irked by anything that disrupts his carefully constructed world, and nothing vexes him more than unpredictability—especially when it comes in the form of one particular human girl.

Dr. Vyle’s life took an unexpected turn when he stumbled upon the human girl, Evie, floating unconscious in a river when the interns at the lab were retrieving captured test subjects in the forest. When she was first brought to him, he was immediately intrigued by her pale skin and unfamiliar anatomy with Vyle initially referring to the creature as “Specimen 117” with Vyle believing that she was some form of mutated mudokon or evolutionary offshoot until he heard her calls herself a “human”. Vyle’s excitement grew immensely when he realized that he could be dealing with an entirely new species that was likely worth astronomical amounts of moolah.

At the lab, the subject refused to cooperate despite her very obvious fear, and found ways to grate on Vyle’s nerves, with her yelling strange phrases and disrupting the invasive experiments Vyle attempted to perform on her. Evie one day freed herself from the lab by wiggling out of her restraints, knocking Lenny in the head, and stealing an elum meant to be used in an experiment and freeing several other test subjects before escaping the lab atop the elum.

The loss of Evie has enraged Vyle, and he has since issued a hefty reward for her return, spreading the lie that she is in fact a dangerous mutant and a threat to Oddworld. His reputation- and a significant amount of profits- rests on retrieving this elusive “human” and he will stop at nothing to have her back.

[digitalsymbiote]

Do most mechs have some sort of protection against gallium projectiles? (Gallium is highly corrosive/eats through most metals)

Mech manufacturers and Weapons manufacturers are in a constant arms race when it comes to effective deterrence strategies. Gallium munitions were very popular anti-mech arms in the early days, but changes in alloys and mech construction methods have made them much less effective.

While a significant amount of research has gone into finding ways to make mechs more resistant to large ordinance, a pilot's best defensive strategy remains simply not getting hit. Most mechs are built for speed and maneuverability, equipped with boosters and chaff launchers to help avoid missiles and other tracking ordinance.

The most dangerous threats to a mech and it's pilot in this era (outside of other mechs) are sustained ballistic arms fire, and unavoidable large area bombardments. A seasoned pilot can outsmart and outmaneuver most any other threat they come across on the battlefield.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

November 26, 2024

Heather Cox Richardson

Nov 27, 2024

Today presented a good example of the difference between governance by social media and governance by policy.

Although incoming presidents traditionally stay out of the way of the administration currently in office, last night, Trump announced on his social media site that he intends to impose a 25% tariff on all products coming into the U.S. from Mexico and Canada “until such time as Drugs, in particular Fentanyl, and all Illegal Aliens stop this Invasion of our Country!” Trump claimed that they could solve the problem “easily” and that until they do, “it is time for them to pay a very big price!”

In a separate post, he held China to account for fentanyl and said he would impose a 10% tariff on all Chinese products on top of the tariffs already levied on those goods. “Thank you for your attention to this matter,” he added.

In fact, since 2023 there has been a drop of 14.5% in deaths from drug overdose, the first such decrease since the epidemic began, and border patrol apprehensions of people crossing the southern border illegally have fallen to the lowest number since August 2020, in the midst of the pandemic. In any case, a study by the libertarian Cato Institute shows that from 2019 to 2024, more than 80% of the people caught with fentanyl at ports of entry—where the vast majority of fentanyl is seized—were U.S. citizens.

Very few undocumented immigrants and very little illegal fentanyl come into the U.S. from Canada.

Washington Post economics reporter Catherine Rampell noted that Mexico and Canada are the biggest trading partners of the United States. Mexico sends cars, machinery, electrical equipment, and beer to the U.S., along with about $19 billion worth of fruits and vegetables. About half of U.S. fresh fruit imports come from Mexico, including about two thirds of our fresh tomatoes and about 90% of our avocados.

Transferring that production to the U.S. would be difficult, especially since about half of the 2 million agricultural workers in the U.S. are undocumented and Trump has vowed to deport them all. Rampell points out as well that Project 2025 calls for getting rid of the visa system that gives legal status to agricultural workers. U.S. farm industry groups have asked Trump to spare the agricultural sector, which contributed about $1.5 trillion to the U.S. gross domestic product in 2023, from his mass deportations.

Canada exports a wide range of products to the U.S., including significant amounts of oil. Rampell quotes GasBuddy’s head of petroleum analysis, Patrick De Haan, as saying that a 25% tax on Canadian crude oil would increase gas prices in the Midwest and the Rockies by 25 cents to 75 cents a gallon, costing U.S. consumers about $6 billion to $10 billion more per year.

Canada is also the source of about a quarter of the lumber builders use in the U.S., as well as other home building materials. Tariffs would raise prices there, too, while construction is another industry that will be crushed by Trump’s threatened deportations. According to NPR’s Julian Aguilar, in 2022, nearly 60% of the more than half a million construction workers in Texas were undocumented.

Construction company officials are begging Trump to leave their workers alone. Deporting them “would devastate our industry, we wouldn’t finish our highways, we wouldn’t finish our schools,” the chief executive officer of a major Houston-based construction company told Aguilar. “Housing would disappear. I think they’d lose half their labor.”

Former trade negotiator under George W. Bush John Veroneau said Trump’s plans would violate U.S. trade agreements, including the United States–Mexico–Canada Agreement (USMCA) that replaced the 1994 North American Free Trade Agreement that Trump killed. The USMCA was negotiated during Trump’s own first term, and although it was based on NAFTA, he praised it as “the fairest, most balanced, and beneficial trade agreement we have ever signed into law. It’s the best agreement we’ve ever made.”

Trump apologists immediately began to assure investors that he really didn’t mean it. Hedge fund manager Bill Ackman posted that Trump wouldn’t impose the tariffs if “Mexico and Canada stop the flow of illegal immigrants and fentanyl into the U.S.” Trump’s threat simply meant that Trump “is going to use tariffs as a weapon to achieve economic and political outcomes which are in the best interest of America,” Ackman wrote.

Iowa Republican lawmaker Senator Chuck Grassley, who represents a farm state that was badly burned by Trump’s tariffs in his first term, told reporters that he sees the tariff threats as a “negotiating tool.”

Foreign leaders had no choice but to respond. Mexican president Claudia Sheinbaum issued an open letter to Trump pointing out that Mexico has developed a comprehensive immigration system that has reduced border encounters by 75% since December 2023, and that the U.S. CBP One program has ended the “caravans” he talks about. She noted that it is imperative for the U.S. and Mexico jointly to “arrive at another model of labor mobility that is necessary for your country and to address the causes that lead families to leave their places of origin out of necessity.”

She noted that the fentanyl problem in the U.S. is a public health problem and that Mexican authorities have this year “seized tons of different types of drugs, 10,340 weapons, and arrested 15,640 people for violence related to drug trafficking,” and added that “70% of the illegal weapons seized from criminals in Mexico come from your country.” She also suggested that Mexico would retaliate with tariffs of its own if the U.S. imposed tariffs on Mexico.

Canadian prime minister Justin Trudeau did not go that far but talked to Trump shortly after the social media post. The U.S. is Canada’s biggest trading partner, and a 25% tariff would devastate its economy. The premier of Alberta, Danielle Smith, seemed to try to keep her province’s oil out of the line of fire by agreeing with Trump that the Canadian government should work with him and adding, “The vast majority of Alberta’s energy exports to the US are delivered through secure and safe pipelines which do not in any way contribute to these illegal activities at the border.”

Trudeau has called an emergency meeting with Canada’s provincial premiers tomorrow to discuss the threat.

Spokesperson for the Chinese embassy in Washington Liu Pengyu simply said: “No one will win a trade war or a tariff war” and “the idea of China knowingly allowing fentanyl precursors to flow into the United States runs completely counter to facts and reality.”

In contrast to Trump’s sudden social media posts that threaten global trade and caused a frenzy today, President Joe Biden this evening announced that, after months of negotiations, Israel and Lebanon have agreed to a ceasefire brokered by the U.S. and France, to take effect at 4:00 a.m. local time on Wednesday. “This is designed to be a permanent cessation of hostilities,” Biden said.

Lebanon’s Iran-backed Hezbollah attacked Israel shortly after Hamas’s attack of October 7, 2023. Fighting on the border between Israel and Lebanon has turned 300,000 Lebanese people and 70,000 Israelis into refugees, with Israel bombing southern Lebanon to destroy Hezbollah’s tunnel system and killing its leaders. According to the Lebanese Ministry of Public Health, Israeli attacks have killed more than 3,000 people and injured more than 13,000, while CBS News reports that about 90 Israeli soldiers and nearly 50 Israeli civilians have been killed in the fighting. Under the agreement, Israel’s forces currently occupying southern Lebanon will withdraw over the next 60 days as Lebanon’s army moves in. Hezbollah will be kept from rebuilding.

According to Laura Rozen in her newsletter Diplomatic, before the agreement went into effect, Israel increased its airstrikes in Beirut and Tyre.

When he announced the deal, Biden pushed again for a ceasefire in Gaza, whose people, he said, “have been through hell. Their…world is absolutely shattered.” Biden called again for Hamas to release the more than 100 hostages it still holds and to negotiate a ceasefire. Biden said the U.S. will “make another push with Turkey, Egypt, Qatar, Israel, and others to achieve a ceasefire in Gaza with the hostages released and the end to the war without Hamas in power.”

Today’s announcement, Biden said, brings closer the realization of his vision for a peaceful Middle East where both Israel and a Palestinian state are established and recognized, a plan he tried to push before October 7 by linking Saudi Arabia’s normalization of relations with Israel to a Palestinian state. Biden has argued that such a deal is key to Israel’s long-term security, and today he pressed Israel to “be bold in turning tactical gains against Iran and its proxies into a coherent strategy that secures Israel’s long-term…safety and advances a broader peace and prosperity in the region.”

“I believe this agenda remains possible,” Biden said. “And in my remaining time in office, I will work tirelessly to advance this vision of—for an integrated, secure, and prosperous region, all of which…strengthens America’s national security.”

“Today’s announcement is a critical step in advancing that vision,” Biden said. “It reminds us that peace is possible.”

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON