#second one: mostly just intended to practice color combos and such

[ouroborosreilig]

chilchumps that have very different vibes

[trivialqueen]

Here’s the next section of that original story.

As always, I’m neither a doctor, nor British.  I’m just a girl who fancies herself a writer and likes slow burns, smart women, and tall men.

Run

Wandering the hospital was one of her favorite pass times when she worked overnights. The energy was so different. The usually busy wards peaceful and quiet, most of the staff gone for the day. It was an eerie, liminal energy, like at any moment she might turn a corner and cross into a different dimension. It was part of what made her sign up for more than her required nightshifts. Eerie it might be, but she loved the vibe of overnights. Plus, it was a good time for her to catch up on paperwork. No electives, no emails, no distractions. Walking the silent wards provided welcome breaks from the mountains of paperwork on her desk. Swaths of productive time were great, but it also made her back ache.

There was a light on in Irene’s breakroom. It cast a long beam from under the door. When she’d checked the weekend schedule, she’d noted that Doug was the register on that night, but she’d not bothered checking who was the GS specialist working alongside them. Quietly she opened the door.

“Helvetes jävla fanskap!” Sofia Grace didn’t know what to process first: The fact she was stuck on nightshift with Björn the Slasher; the fact she’d managed to startle him so badly he both jumped and swore; or the fact that he was by his own standards practically naked. Magnusson was standing at the sink, his jacket and tie draped over a chair, dress shirt in his hands as he attempted to spot clean what appeared to be pen from the fabric. His belt was undone, slacks unbuttoned, and a tee style undershirt was stretched tight across his broad shoulders. Given his usual reserve and the circumstances Sofia Grace felt herself blush on his behalf.

“Ms. Hale, I apologize for, well… all of this.” He was at a loss for words, blushing scarlet and clearly wishing he was dead.

“Usually you’re the one to do the sneaking up, not the other way around.”

“Quite so.” For a moment they could only stare at one another, stain remover pen hanging limply from Magnusson’s long fingers.

“Coffee?” She focused on the single serve coffee machine behind him. It felt too rude to just turn and walk away from him, even if she’d prefer to not have to socialize with the unpleasant Swedish surgeon.

“No, thank you. I never acquired a taste for it.” From the corner of her eye she could see his shoulders relax once she was focused elsewhere. He carefully returned to the stain on his shirt.

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those people that doesn’t do caffeine.” They didn’t have anything in common already, but not even chemical addiction? He scoffed.

“Certainly not. I find a well-made Assam or Darjeeling does an adequate job in perking me up without tasting phenolic.”

“Would it be trite of me to say that you’ve just not been drinking the right coffee?” Not that any of the coffees on offer in Irene’s breakroom were the right sort.

“Very.” He almost sounded amused.

“I might have thought you’d use your position as DOS to get out of working overnight.” Charlotte used to, although she was a single mother with two younger kids.

“Then you clearly don’t know me very well.” She ground her teeth, bracing for a lecture about leadership or personal responsibility. “I love the nightshift.”

“Really?” he was holding up his dress shirt now, inspecting it for any lingering ink.

“Really. The hospital is finally ours again, all the pencil pushers and bean counters have gone home.” She couldn’t help but smile at that.

“Quiet, calm, a little eerie,” She turned to shoot him a smile as he shrugged on his now slightly damp collared shirt. “Plus, a more casual dress code.” He glowered at her, long fingers buttoning his shirt, bottom to top.

“Not on purpose, I assure you.” The machine spluttered the last of the coffee into the paper cup.

“Suit yourself.” She shrugged, “But ditching the tie on occasion won’t kill you.” She preferred to wear more professional clothes during the day. It helped underline her status as a specialist and a surgeon, even if some of the dinosaurs still treated her worse than a nurse. However, last nightshift they’d had office chair races down the fifth-floor corridor. Her flats, skinny jeans, and blazer combo was more than adequate.

“I’ll take it under advisement.” He said while retying his tie. She sipped her coffee rather than let him see her amusement.

“Well, I best get back to my office.” She moved to the door. That was quite enough socializing for the evening. “You’ll be pleased to know I eventually get caught up on my paperwork.”

“I never doubted you.” His smile was almost sincere, it made her pause, turn back over her shoulder to look up at him. He was younger looking in this light, the lines of his face relaxed. Without his glasses on it was easy to see his smart, dark eyes. Strong brows, dignified nose, high cheekbones. He was a handsome man, damnit, even if he was also authoritarian and unpleasant.

“The best place to watch the sunrise is the roof. The north stairs have direct access.” She had no idea why she said that, the roof was her place. Catching sunrise after a nightshift was one of her traditions. She’d pop up and sit with her coffee, legs dangling over the edge, enjoying the soft glow of morning breaking in shades of lavender and gold over the skyline.

“The roof is restricted access.”

“Wenn d’ moisch.”

It was common enough for patients on the ward to need emergency surgery in the middle of the night – which was why registers and consultants are required to do a nightshift, but it was not so common that should emergency surgery but required it didn’t spread through the reduced staff. Which is how Felix learned Ms. Hale and Doug MacLiam had taken one of their CT patients into theatre.

He could faintly hear the scream of guitars before he even entered the scrub room. Black Sabbath if he had a guess, but hard rock was never his strong suit.

“Care for some company?” Much like their first meeting Ms. Hale didn’t look up from what she was doing, even to speak to him.

“Knock yourself out.” Was all she said, before rattling off a list of instructions to both MacLiam and the nightshift surgical nurse, both of whom seemed to hesitate under his gaze.

“Mr. Magnusson.” MacLiam’s brogue was slightly unsteady. Fearful. Contrary to popular belief, Felix did not thrive off the fear of others and rarely intended to terrorize. It just worked out that way. “I had no idea you would be joining us tonight.”

“Should I have RSVP’d?” MacLiam was a competent enough surgeon and doctor by all accounts, but he did have an annoying habit of saying empty sentences.  “Might you have chosen something a little less…screaming” the song had changed, even though he wasn’t an avid rock or metal fan he would still recognize AC/DC anywhere.

“The playlist was my choice.” Hale announced, “Doug’s a little too country, I’m much more rock and roll.”

“and here I thought Handel was more your speed.” He didn’t like operating with music on but playing something operatic could improve all the required paperwork his job brought. The Sonata 5 was a personal favorite.

“I’m just like an onion, Mr. M.”

“you make people cry?” MacLiam teased. Hale did look up at that, giving the Irishman an amused look, her eyes dancing. She never looked at him like that. In fact, thus far she’d not looked at him at all.

“Cheeky!” She laughed. “I’ve got layers.”

She’s like a leather brand too much for any man she gives me the first degree she really satisfies me…

As much as he hated to draw on something like AC/DC they were undeniably correct. Sofia Grace Hale did indeed have rhythm. He could see her carefully work on the monitor, how she deftly wielding her tools. It was easy to forget her maverick streak when watching her hands.

“Sheiße!” Things had been going so smoothly. “Puncture – the artery is damaged and he’s bleeding into the pleura.” Felix felt himself snap out of his passive observer role.  

“Right. We need to repair the artery. I’ll need an oscillating saw.” Cutting through the cavity and opening the chest more folly would provide the necessary, most efficient access. Ms. Hale finally did look at him. Her coffee colored eyes weren’t spitting hellfire at him for once, but they were stony and quite serious.

“If you cut through the collar bone, he’ll need an awful lot of time off work to recover.” The surgical tech handed him the saw wordlessly. Non-invasive procedures and working mostly with the stomach, intestines, and not chest cavity he so rarely got to use power tools in his work.

“We need to repair the artery, do we not?” Magnusson didn’t understand why she was hesitating. The man was bleeding profusely, and she was worrying about recovery time, not the blood in the pleura.

“Yeah, I need some room, but slicing through his collar bone means he’ll never be able to lift another stockpot as long as he lives.” She raised a challenging brow. It was a nice sentiment but unavoidable. He flipped the saw on, it buzzed in perfect time with Chop Suey!

“Oi!” There it was, the indignant spark in her eyes. “Enough with the saw, Dr. Leatherface.” She stared at him, hard, until he turned the saw off. “Thank you. Now, I know you think you know everything but I’m the CT specialist here.” Beside her he could hear MacLiam whisper “Damn”. Hale ignored him; her eyes still locked with his. “I do need some room, but I can get to the artery another way, if you’d just give me two seconds.”

“This better be good.” She spoke with such confidence, such defiance he was now intrigued to see what she felt she could do.

“Hand me my wooden spoon, please.” She nodded toward the tray. It was the first that he noticed the wooden cooking spoon amongst the sleek scalpels, forceps, and needle holders. It looked ridiculous. “My mentor back at Stanford always kept one on hand and I adopted his habit.” Carefully she placed the handle of the spoon as far under the subclavian artery as she could, moving it out of the way. “Could you hold that there, please?” She nodded toward the end of the spoon. He had seen plenty of surgical tricks in his day, even performed a few himself with sterile drawing pins, but this was a first, even for him. The spoon opened up the area a bit more and considering her small hands and how efficient she was with her sutures it was enough room for her.

“Father into your hands, I commend my spirit/ Father into your hands/ why have you forsaken me/ In your eyes forsaken me/ In your thoughts forsaken me/ In your heart forsaken, me oh…” She sang brightly along with the lyrics as she stitched, which made for an odd (and oddly charming) juxtaposition.

“aanndd… cut.” MacLiam snipped the suture. “Lovely!” Despite the mask it was clear she was beaming. “you can take the spoon out now, Mr. M. Gently.” He did as he was told, slowly lowing the subclavian back to its proper position.

“Holy Shit.” MacLiam was staring in open admiration. Felix agreed whole heartedly.

“It’s old school but it works.” She shrugged, calling for the necessities for closing up.

“It’s impressive.” He couldn’t keep the awe from his voice, nor did he try. She was perhaps the single most intriguing surgeon he had ever met. Her head shot up, eyes wide with surprise, from behind her mask he could tell her mouth had fallen open.

“It’s why we call her the Queen of Hearts.” MacLiam declared proudly, continuing to close the patient up when her hands stilled.

Sofia Grace laced her running shoes tightly, another successful surgery without the usual release. So she had to chase it. Quite literally. The hospital gym was a small corner of the basement. It had a handful of cardio machines, free weights, a speedbag, and a janky TV off in a corner. It was rarely full, even during the day. At night it was always dead.

Except for when it wasn’t.

Felix Magnusson was not half as imposing dressed in an ill-fitting tee and nylon shorts. Outside of his tailored suits he didn’t even seem as tall. The shirt was boxy and hung straight from his shoulder disguising his trimmed waist and perfect V proportions. His legs were muscular – he was clearly an avid runner, but even with those muscles his legs looked thin and lanky. His ass was nice though, and not completely concealed beneath the baggy top.

Of course he runs.

Of course he runs now.

She pushed her hair out of her face and jammed her earbuds in. She would focus on her run, her euphoria, and finishing her shift, wide awake and happy.

Headphones in, Led Zeppelin playing, gradient set and pace determined - 6:30/mile. Usually it was enough to get her in the zone.

God he’s got big, dumb feet. From the corner of her eye she could see him trip over them.

As much as he loved the nightshift, staying up was never his strength. Running was the best way he knew to stave off drowsiness and get him to see morning light without resorting to napping in his office. The gym was small and mismatched but serviceable. Since coming to Saint Sebastian’s he’d taken advantage of the facilities at various points and each time it’d been empty when he started, during, and after he finished his run. A veritable ghost town. It’d been lovely.  

It was no more.

He could just see her out of the corner of his eye stretching beside the treadmill furthest from him. Ms. Hale being a runner made complete sense giving the beauty that was her legs. Quite a bit of those gams were on display given the obscenely short spandex shorts she wore. The rest of her outfit was equally as ‘modest’; her shoes and sports bra were the same shade of florescent pink. He knew of the latter because the sleeves of her tee shirt had not just been cut off, but cutout, the hole extending hallway down her body, showing her sports bra and ribs every time her arms moved. Not even Dr. Dre reminding him that “Bitches ain’t shit” could dislodge the images of her legs from behind his eyelids.

The morning air was chilly, especially on bare feet. While she had no fear of heights herself, she did have a paranoia about dropping something over the edge. Like her shoes. She kicked her legs over the edge of the roof. Leaning on the rail she felt herself smile as the first glowing rays of light peaked over the skyline. Another successful shift, another beautiful sunrise.

“Oh what a beautiful morning, oh what a beautiful day-”

“You’ve got a beautiful feeling?” The voice behind her was jarring, and for a dizzying moment she almost regretted her daredevil habit of living – and sitting – on the edge.

“The roof is restricted access.” She parroted back to him. Magnusson was back in his suit and looked at least seven foot seven as she sat on the ground. He smirked at her over the rim of his teacup.

“I see you share my fondness for restricted areas.”

“Rules were never really my strong suit.”

“Clearly.” He approached the rail beside her, mindful of her shoes and beloved Wonder Woman mug. Those big, dumb feet crunched across the sparsely graveled roof came to a stop beside her. The oxfords were shiny, she expected no less. For a long time, they were silent, soaking in the morning’s glory together.

“You’re shivering.” She was too, damnit. If it was darkest just before dawn, it was also coldest. At midday the weather was still lovely, between eleven and fourteen degrees. It was, however, quite chilly otherwise. Barefoot and her blazer was no match for the coming autumn, even with a cup of coffee thickening her blood.

“It’s a bit fresh.”

“I can hear your teeth chattering.” A long hand came into view. “Perhaps it’s time to go in.” She turned and looked up at him, squinting against the new risen sun. He was stooped slightly, like a giraffe trying to drink. He looked ridiculous, if oddly charming, damn him.

She handed him her mug before leveraging herself up with the railing. He barely escaped being hit in the face with her sudden standing. He was still so close, his broad chest radiating a heat she could feel through her own blazer. His dark eyes seamlessly shifted from looking at her to taking in the mug she’d unceremoniously dumped in his hand.

“Here’s to strong women,” He read, vintage Wonder Woman peeking through his long fingers.

“May we know them; May we be them; May we raise them.” She finished. It was her favorite mug, one of her dearest possessions for over ten years. Her godfather had given it to her when she’d left for Tübingen all those years before. It was amazing that it was in as good of condition as it was, though she supposed it helped that she didn’t wash it that often.

“A noble goal.” He made to hand her back the cup as she bent to put her flats back on.

“Jävlar!” Coffee sloshed across the front of his white collared shirt. Thankfully it was now only tepid at best, but it was dark and strong.

“Sheiße!” She dropped her shoe, reflexively reaching like she could fix this problem. “I am so sorry.”

“It’s no problem, Ms. Hale.” Magnusson answered, primly, handing her the mug back. It was then she realized her hand was splayed on his chest. Considering how warm he was under her palm, the analogy of pulling one’s hand back as if was burned was only partial exaggeration.

“It seems we’ve come full circle.” She was blushing scarlet and he had a stain on his shirt.

“Indeed,” Magnusson smoothly buttoned his jacket, covering the spot. “However, my night is over, so I may deal with this at home, not Irene’s breakroom.” They left the roof in awkward silence, which didn’t end until she reached her floor and he wished her a nice Sunday. Back in her office Sofia leaned heavily against her door, running a hand through her hair. Nightshifts always had an eerie, liminal energy, like she just might cross into another dimension.  And maybe last night she had.

[meliorn]

weird question but how do you choose the colors for your sets? like whenever i want to make a color porn i need 3 to 5 business days to choose a color combo and yours are always so on point

not a weird question at all, and thank you for liking my stuff! i mainly have two strategies that i alternate between:

1. i decide on a color or a couple of colors that i want to use (i do this mostly for my sh rainbow meme or my big rainbow sets, stuff like that) and i look for scenes that contain those colors or colors similar to it

2. i just pick a bunch of scenes/shots i like and then go off what i have and try to make a coherent gifset. most of the time i have a vague idea of what i want to do, like i might have a feeling it’d be fun to do something blue, but it usually ends up pretty different from what i first intended it to be

i mostly do the second option, which makes it hard to give practical tips because i just kind of do what i feel like in the moment. so the boring and not-very-helpful answer is that i’ve been doing this a very long time now and i kind of tend to go for the same kinds of shots that i know how to manipulate so once i decide on a color scheme i can make most shots work, and the ones i can’t i just scrap and move on to the next one. i used to plan a lot more but now i mostly go on instinct and that’s unfortunately pretty hard to give a quick answer to, it just takes experience, lots of experimenting and patience.

if you’re asking specifically about figuring out which colors look good together, a quick look in my colorful gif tag will tell you i’m actually pretty boring when it comes to color combos bc i keep coming back to the ones i love, like pink/yellow, pink/yellow/blue (my absolute fave!), pink/blue/purple, yellow/purple, basically any combination of those four colors. blue looks good with pretty much everything and it’s (imo) the easiest to work with too so that’s always a good starting place! but it also depends on your personal aesthetic of course

[pkansa]

It’s a story as old as Kickstarter: Two friends get together to start a watch brand, sourcing the parts from Asia to make a three-hand watch. But with Lundis Bleus, there’s a rare twist: These two guys are legitimate watchmakers from La Chaux-de-Fonds, in the heart of the Swiss watch valley, and they are using skills honed at the likes of Richard Mille and Audemars Piguet to make a simple but unique watch. From their workshop overlooking the central avenue of that watchmaking Eden, they hand-finish and assemble mostly Asian parts to create their Ref. 1100. That handwork comes at a price: 1,350 in CHF or USD for a Miyota 9015 three-hander with date. That is certainly a lot for a Miyota, but I cannot say it is a lot for this watch because there is simply nothing else like it.

Released in November 2016, the 1100 is available in a variety of dial and handset combos, all with the date placed tastefully above the 6:00 marker. But the date is the first hint that this is not your average upstart watch. It uses a custom font on a color-matched wheel. That color-matching is especially impressive on the copper and silver dials and matching wheels. The round date window is lined from top to bottom with chrome that matches the hour markers and the handset. The effect of the custom font and the chrome is a sort of magnification illusion—the date seems bigger than average and the reflection from the chrome makes it look like magnification, but it isn’t.

From the date window your eye jumps to the top of the dial, where the round Lundis Bleus logo is applied in perfect counterpoise with the date at the bottom. The chrome and matte logo could only ever appear on an independent watch. That’s because no corporate board would approve a stylized alcohol molecule as the company logo, but that’s just what Lundis Bleus founders Johan Storni and Bastien Vuilliomenet did here. They’re not lushes—they rush to point this out—no, the inspiration for the Lundis Bleus logo runs deeper. The name translates to Blue Monday, the day independent watchmakers once spent in the local pub after working into the late hours on other days of the week. For Storni and Vuilliomenet, the name Lundis Bleus and the alcohol molecule represent independence, both as a callback to the past of independent watchmaking and a nod to the future of freelancing, flex-schedules, and the new generation of independent watchmakers.

The rest of the two-piece dial picks up the logo’s circular theme, with a textured inner dial framed by a raised sunburst ring that holds applied hour markers and a printed minute index. The minute index is all business and the mix of complex hash marks and Arabic digits flanking each chrome stick hour marker give a touch of practicality to an otherwise graceful aesthetic.

The handset is one of the few areas that leaves me questioning. First the good: the handset keeps with the simplicity of the rest of the dial and its flat shape and bright polish cause it to disappear at certain angles, only to burst back into view as you draw the watch up to read. It reminds me of a mystery dial, without all the mystery. The hour hand perfectly kisses the edge of the inner dial, the minute hand lands solidly inside the minute register, and the second hand sweeps ever-so-slightly shy of the edge. But the shape of the skeletonized hour and minute hands is very blunt and left me wondering if tapering the main hands to more slender points would have been a more elegant choice.

All this wonderful stuff on the face of the watch is just the start. The case, crystal, and strap are actually the parts of the watch I found myself staring at most often when a glance to check the time turned into inappropriate staring.

The crystal is a thick box sapphire with modern scratch resistance but the gauzy character of a vintage acrylic. With no bezel, the rounded vertical side of the box crystal is the only distinction between the glass and the case. At 40 mm the case is a great size for most wrists and it wore ideally on my 7-incher.

The lack of a bezel gives the case an airy lightness, as does a small trick with the lugs. The lugs are only attached to the case back, with a paper-thin gap between the lugs and the gently tapered bowl-shaped top case. The floating lugs are a subtle illusion that comes across as a cohesive design choice rather than a gimmick. In fact, the lugs are best appreciated from a side angle, where the illusion is revealed but so too are the polished sides and brushed tops of the curvy wedge-shaped lugs.

A thick suede strap with a brushed tapered buckle fills the lugs. I found the strap instantly comfortable but it is probably a bit short for larger wrists. The choice of a 19 mm strap is odd, but I’m not sure why you wold ever take it off this excellent suede strap so the unusual proportions aren’t cause for pause.

The case back repeats the molecule logo from the dial, but the portions of the logo that are brushed on the front are tinted glass on the back, revealing some of the Miyota 9015. Much of the movement remains hidden behind the logo, but you can see the beating balance wheel and pad-printed rotor (although they should probably save the ink for what little the printing adds).

The Miyota 9015 is ubiquitous in independent watches and there is really nothing to complain about beyond the occasional clanging rotor. Lundis Bleus even takes the time to regulate each one. The movement is controlled by a stout mushroom-shaped crown that is surprisingly useable thanks to seven deep grooves. But the story of this watch is a deliberately Swiss one, that starts in an atelier above the Avenue Léopold-Robert. So why not have a Swiss movement to complete the picture? At this price point it seems reasonable to spec an ETA 2824 or a clone like the Sellita SW200 or the new STP1-11.

But that’s really a silly quibble. What does it mean to be “Swiss Made” in this global watch economy? It’s no secret (if an unstated one) that plenty of “Swiss” watches source their cases and more from China. And the robots building the STP1-11 in Switzerland aren’t really any more Swiss than the robots building the 9015 in Japan. It is practically impossible—if not physically—to build a sensible watch entirely within a single country. H. Moser & Cie’s belligerent $1 million Swiss Mad watch drives this home; it is intended as an entirely Swiss Made watch, but there are no gold mines in Switzerland so they made the case out of swiss cheese. Literally. Moser meant this as a commentary about the dilution of the Swiss Made brand, but it says more about the interconnected nature of the watch business. Moser objects to the new 60% Swiss Made standard as too lax, touting their own 95% as truly Swiss. But why not 96%? Why not demand 100%? Moser has no answers. Lundis Bleus isn’t labeled “Swiss Made” but it’s every bit as Swiss as a Shinola is American. I know the FTC disagrees, but when I see a Shinola, I think of my hometown, no matter where the quartz movements come from. When I look at the Lundis Bleus, I think of a small studio in La Chaux-de-Fonds. Because a “country of origin” designation based on percentages and “transformations” is just an arbitrary and objectively meaningless sop to tribalism and mercantilism. Let’s celebrate that Asian manufacturing perfection and Swiss design smarts can create a watch like the Ref. 1100 and leave it to watch buyers to decide what it means for a watch to be “Swiss Made.” I’ll always think of the Ref. 1100 as Swiss because that’s where it started and that’s where it was built, regardless of which robots assemble the movements. lundis-bleus.com

Lundis Bleus Ref. 1100-02

Price: ~1,350 CHF or USD

Who’s it for? You value independence.

Would I wear it? Yes. I wore it quite often while testing, in both casual and formal settings.

What I’d change? Tapper the hour and minute hands a bit more.

Standout feature? The lugs and the crystal are most unique, but it’s all good.

Tech Specs

Case Material: 316L Stainless steel

Case Size: 40 mm x 11 mm

Lug Width: 19 mm

Movement: Miyota 9015 Automatic

Crystal: Box Sapphire

Band Material: Split cowhide leather

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Rethinking Swiss Made: Hands-on with the @LundisBleus It's a story as old as Kickstarter: Two friends get together to start a watch brand, sourcing the parts from Asia to make a three-hand watch.