#cement testing methods

[heicodynamics]

This article explores the subject of Cement Testing and cement compression testers and looking at their growing acceptance. It also includes the factors influencing this growth. One can check the significant influence they are having on quality control in construction. You can also look into the business and financial opportunities. This growing industry presents a flourishing future.

[ilovejeongintoo]

"𝕎𝕒𝕟𝕟𝕒 𝕡𝕝𝕒𝕪 𝕒 𝕘𝕒𝕞𝕖?"

Jigsaw (Saw) & the Reluctant Participant Kink: Interrogation Play Warnings: cnc, degradation (just a lil),Jungwon is lowkey scary, sex machine, orgasm denial, edging Prompt: Trapped and powerless, you find yourself at the mercy of the infamous Jigsaw, your body craving the twisted pleasure he offers. As control slips from your grasp, desire and submission blur, leading you down a dark, seductive path where surrender becomes the ultimate thrill. How far will you go when there's no turning back?

The second installment to my Kinktober List 2024.

Darkness surrounded you, you were drowning in the dark around you. Your eyes couldn't make out any surrounding walls the slightly dimmed, single light above your head not helping you see. It wasn't quiet though, a whirring in the background maybe some kind of machinery being a constant noise. A smell of old dust maybe cement or stone you couldn’t tell.

When you start becoming more aware you feel the press of cold metal around your wrists and ankles, moving them but being pinned too close to really move at all. They wrapped tight around your limbs and the chair you were tightly strapped to. Your heartbeat increases more the more conscious you become. Your head pounds when you try turning it and a metallic noise sounds out in the room.

Then you hear a voice, talking slow and calculated, and a shiver runs through you. You can't really tell where it's coming from, still disoriented.

There’s bold lettering on the walls spelling out the sentence;” Wanna play a game?” Though your muffled brain doesn’t catch the clue. The writing done with red dripping paint.

"You’ve been living in the shadows of your desires for too long, haven’t you?"

You know who it is immediately. The telltale sign of the room, his voice, his choice of words. It all points its fingers to one person. Jigsaw. You've heard of people disappearing but it all seemed so unbelievable, so distant until right now.

You can’t tell where the voice is coming from. A small old speaker situated in the corner gives the output of his voice a slight crackle. Each word was slow, methodical like he really wanted you to listen carefully.

“For too long, you've indulged in a life of selfishness and excess, but today you will confront the truths you’ve buried deep inside. Today, you’ll face your punishment.”

Your punishment? For what? What did you do? Your mind races to find any explanation. The last thing that you remember before getting here….

Your breath catches in your throat in panic. A hiss cuts through the air. The uselessly dimming light illuminating a corner. That's when you see it, the machine that you've been hearing since the beginning. A big construction of steel, wires, tubes, and complex-looking engineering.

Right in front stands a cloaked figure, masked in the infamous puppet.

Jigsaw

He steps forward brushing his fingers along the machine's surface, the sound ominous, making you scared of what is to come. His voice, though distorted from his mask is clearer now booming through the room without the speaker.

"This machine I constructed will test you—your limits, your fears, your deepest urges. It is the key to your survival."

You struggle more against your restraints, he only continues watching in amusement.

“Your life, your choices... they’ve led you here.”

He pauses slightly  “You believe control gives you power, that by dominating others, you are invincible. But true power comes from understanding weakness. Now, you will be stripped of your control, left to endure the very submission you’ve forced onto others.”

You froze when he mentioned this. Yes, you had been a bit of a control freak and maybe that had led to your partners leaving you but did that really warrant you getting punished by the one and only Jigsaw killer? You weren’t a corrupt authority figure or a drug abuser. You just liked being in control of everything, your life, your decisions, your partners, and everything in the bedroom. 

You couldn’t let yourself be vulnerable with them but it could have been worse, you kept telling yourself.

What if I can’t take this? What if I break? The thought sends shivers down your spine but maybe… maybe I deserve this.

Your brain supplies uselessly, just adding unnecessary fear.

The chains tighten against your body suddenly, pulling you upright and facing the machine. It’s louder now as if it was preparing itself for the task ahead.

"You see, this is not a game of pain alone, but a game of pleasure and control—of denial and submission. If you wish to live, you must learn the cost of indulgence. Every choice you make will bring you closer to release... or your end.”

Your eyes widen in fear your body trembling just slightly 

He moves closer his voice deeper and more intimate now. You can see a mop of brown hair peeking out from his hood and it drops slightly in front of the mask.

“But I warn you... the release you seek may not be the one you think.”

The lights turn on and off, and a cold metallic arm extends from the machine, hovering inches from your body. Terrified you look at it then back at your captor as if your pleading look would get him to release you.

“Your test begins now.”

The metal arms the machine carries click further, stirring in their place. For a moment you hold your breath in anticipation of what's going to come next. The cold air hushes against your skin and you become aware; that you’re still clothed but for how long?

He steps closer his voice as calm as ever though the weight of his words grows heavier each time.

“You’ve spent your life hiding behind the armor of your choices. Your clothes... your mask. But here, there is no mask. No barriers.”

He makes another pause that drags on uncomfortably long so.

“The truth is revealed when there’s nothing left to hide.”

He gestures slowly to the arms and before you can react they lurch forward, grasping at your clothes and removing them one by one. There’s no aggression no rush, the movements are slow, practiced sharp motions stripping you of your last clothing items.

They easily slice through the fabric and your skin forms goosebumps from the cold in the room. You stay impossible still though in case they would accidentally cut not just the fiber.

Jigsaw watches without any noise or reaction, he sees every twitch of discomfort, every taken breath, and every bodily response. His gaze isn’t lustful, it’s calculating almost clinical as if undressing you was just another test, just another day.

He was doing more than just removing your clothes, he was getting rid of your last defenses. You press your eyes closed in hopes of waking up from this nightmare and if not just helping you slip into a state of ignorance bliss. 

He notices immediately.

“The more you fight, the longer this will take,” he murmurs. “You cannot hide from your desires. And soon, you won’t be able to hide from mine.”

The final fabric falling to the floor you open your eyes again, left completely naked, completely exposed, bound to the machine, revealed by the forever flickering overhead light. Your skin burns with the cold but even more from the burning gaze of being watched - Jigsaw’s masked gaze drinking up everything.

For a moment, all is still. The whir of the machine quiets, leaving only the sound of their ragged breathing.

“Now,” Jigsaw finally says, stepping closer, his voice low and deliberate, “we can begin.”

The masked man’s voice breaks the silence, his tone calm but heavy with purpose.

"You’ve spent your life controlling everything and everyone around you. But what happens when the one thing you can’t control… is yourself?"

He steps closer around you, circling like you’re prey and he’s the predator that will sink his teeth into you. The constant noise of the machine does nothing to calm you down, it just furthers the energy in the room.

"Here’s your first question: When was the last time you let someone else take control?"

You thought about it for a moment, your cheeks heating up despite the situation given, out of embarrassment at having to admit to these kinds of questions.

"I don’t remember. It’s been a long time." you reluctantly respond, unwilling to give up any more information. You were hoping he didn’t know you too closely to think of this as a “wrong” answer. Playing stupid in front of a genius killer.

“Please you don’t have to do any of this. I already learned my lesson, just…please let me go.” You tried reasoning because you really would try to change.

You gulped your fear down slightly. Not willing to show how much he affected your emotions. He can’t know, because exactly that, he will use against you.

Jigsaw’s mask tilts slightly, as if in curiosity, though his voice remains in the same tone as always, no hint of any emotion. He ignored your effort to try and convince him to let you go.

"You’re not as good at avoiding the truth as you think. You’ve let someone take control before... and you’ll do it again, whether you admit it or not. But denial has its consequences."

His hand moved in his dark coat, probably pressing a button.

Your heart rate spiked up. And the machine’s arm buzzes, the hum rising in pitch as it begins its cruel teasing, it started slow, the touch foreign. A little uncomfortable on your skin, surgical. The coldness of the metal pipes that brushed against your sides contrasted with the softness of the hands themselves. They caressed your chest, not going straight to torturing your most intimate parts. They just slightly massaged your nipples, making them hard rather quickly because of how soft the hands themselves felt. You stared down at them in focus and bit your lips to stifle any noises.

You could deal with this, if it stayed just like this, which you seriously doubted. But nonetheless, you pep-talked yourself.

Just when you thought you were getting used to the sensations on your body the arms moved down your body until they reached the place that was dripping now. One circled your clit, and buzzed a little in vibration. It made you try and curl into yourself, denying yourself to enjoy the pleasurable feel but your restraints kept you immobile, you could only squirm and clench your teeth to not make any noise however when the other one moved down to your slicked-up hole, and began pushing a solid digit in, a moan slipped out.

You were slowly breaking, each movement making it harder to concentrate, soon you’d have to choose between stifling your noises and answering your captor.

“Avoidance won’t save you. You can’t control what you refuse to face.”

A pause. Then, the next question cuts through the silence.

“Tell me... when was the last time you let yourself lose control—completely?”

The words hang in the air like a challenge, daring you to confront your deepest vulnerabilities.

And you think about his words from before, there was a slight warning in it, making you rethink how you should reply to this one. You pause a little more.

"I… I don’t know. I can’t remember." You nonetheless answer.

His laughter, low and almost mocking, fills the room. Oh, you fucked up, didn’t you? Regret flooding your system immediately, and wishing you could take your response back.

"You’re lying to yourself now. You remember.” He steps behind you now. The hair on your neck rises in anticipation and fright of not being able to see him. Losing that control so easily.

 “You’ve lost control before, and you will again. But you’re still clinging to your delusion of power. Let’s see how much longer that lasts."

The machine’s touch becomes more relentless, it drags so deliciously over your folds, then back into your hole and out again. teasing you more relentlessly now. You were so close but it just wasn’t quite enough. Each time you almost let yourself step over that edge it would get pulled away from you. The constant denial drives the message home: the more you refuse to admit the truth, the less control you have.

There’s only one way out of this. To answer honestly. And that’s the thing you dread most.

The machine turns so loud now, but you can barely focus on anything besides the constant stimulation your pussy is receiving. You’re so so close. Your body is trembling in frustration from not getting any release your breathing is shallow and quick. Your ass was soaked in your own juices making the slide so wet. Your hips unconsciously tried pushing against the hands searching for just enough stimuli to reach your high.

Jigsaw’s voice, calm but with an undercurrent of menace, cuts through the tension. And he steps back into your line of sight his tall frame intimidating even if he isn’t physically big.

“You’re still avoiding the truth. How long do you think you can hold onto this delusion?”

The pressure increases, the sensation teetering on the edge of unbearable, and yet it keeps you hanging just short of satisfaction. The more you resist, the more helpless you feel. The room grows colder, the air heavy with the weight of Jigsaw's impending next question.

Jigsaw’s voice becomes darker, more insistent. He unbuttoned the first buttons of his cape, slowly taking it off. Revealing a dress shirt, a grey vest, a tie, and matching slacks underneath. Formal wear, something you definitely didn’t expect

You threw the cape into a corner of the room. His clothes pleasingly fit his form, lean muscles making them fit on him deliciously. You immediately shook your head from the thoughts invading your mind.

“Since you can’t seem to tell the truth about losing control, let’s make it simpler.”

You sigh slightly in relief, maybe he would make this easier on you. He pauses, letting the silence stretch painfully long, allowing your mounting frustration to fester.

“When was the last time you were forced to submit to someone else’s will?”

He leans closer, the weight of his presence suffocating, even though you can’t see his face clearly behind the mask. You could just slightly make out his dark eyes behind the mesh of the eye holes.

His hand came up to your face picking it up and tilting it, making you automatically have to let your eyes stay on him.

“Tell me, who made you feel powerless?” With his eyes piercing you it was like he lured the truth out of you.

You felt the machine's arms twitch, waiting for the answer, threatening more denial or perhaps something worse. The movement completely halting made your answer finally be something akin of the truth.

“I… I was forced before. It’s happened before, and I hated it.” Your thoughts flashed back to your ex, how no matter what you told him, he just did whatever he wanted. You had lost total control not just of your guys’ relationship but also yourself. And you never absolutely ever wanted to experience something like that again.

Now you were forced to confront that same thing.

The room falls silent, and for the first time, Jigsaw’s voice softens, though it still carries a chilling edge. He caresses your head in a gesture that was supposed to be reassuring but made it feel more mockingly with the mask staring down at you.

“Good. You’re starting to understand. Submission is not a weakness, but denial of it is. The truth you fear most is what will set you free... if you survive.”

The machine’s teasing is slower now, giving them just enough reprieve to catch their breath. The chains remain tight, but the suffocating pressure eases. Jigsaw’s voice lowers to a whisper. His hold on you releasing.

“But this is far from over. You’ve only scratched the surface of your truth. There’s still more to reveal.” He steps away from you, crossing his arms and tilting his head in observation.

The tension from your body slightly eases from the slowed-down movements, giving you time to take some much-needed shaky breaths. The cold air once again seems more present now, prickling your skin your heart still pounding from the onslaught of pleasure from before. The machine’s grip eases just a fraction.

 After what feels like an eternity, he finally speaks, his voice quieter but still filled with unmatched control.

“Good. Admitting that you’ve submitted before means you’re starting to understand the game. Submission isn’t weakness—it’s inevitable when your will is tested beyond its limits.”

It almost sounded like he wanted to reassure you that it was okay, to admit these dark vulnerabilities to him. Well if you did, you might as well do it here. You doubt a serial killer will judge you much for what you’ll be saying.

A brief pause, his masked face tilting the other way slightly as though studying you.

“But don’t mistake this for mercy. Your truth is just the beginning. Now we see how deep your submission runs.”

The machine remains poised, its presence a constant threat, but for now, it lingers, awaiting the next phase of the game.

Jigsaw steps closer, the sound of his footsteps sharp against the cold floor. The black dress shoes that you take notice of now, snapping against the concrete.  He’s still calm, still methodical, but now there’s a palpable shift in his demeanor. He’s pushing deeper into your mind, now that he knows you have started to break.

“Since you’ve confessed to losing control, it’s time we explore something else.”

His voice lowers, the intensity rising in his tone as he moves even closer. Each time he was about to ask a question your heart would pick up a few beats, the only thing filling you being pure and utter terror.

“You’re not just afraid of losing control… are you? You’re afraid of how much you crave it.”

Your breath hitched because you knew, you knew how right he was about that. The tension in the air thickens as he leans in, his breath cold against your skin. A shaky breath escaped you at the contact. Just a little more and his mask would brush against you if he would just take it off and do exactly that. You almost missed the constant rubbing and teasing the hands provided.

“So tell me... when was the last time you gave in to that craving and enjoyed being powerless?”

The question is like a knife, cutting into your deepest, most secret desires. Your body stiffens, the air suddenly feeling even colder, as you realize what Jigsaw is really asking—the fear and desire to submit intertwined.

“I… I don’t want to admit it, but I have enjoyed it before. I didn’t mean to, but I did.” Your eyes fell shut again at your admission like that could hide you.

Jigsaw falls silent, and the air feels thick with tension, each second feels longer and longer. The mechanical humming seems to soften slightly, but the weight of the your confession hangs in the room like a dark cloud.

“Now you’re starting to understand.” His face moves away but not very far.

The machine slows, giving the victim just enough relief to let their body relax, though the threat still lingers. Jigsaw steps back, watching as the victim trembles, their skin still sensitive from the teasing denial.

“Admitting you’ve enjoyed powerlessness is the first step. But now comes the real test. We’re going to see how much you can take before that craving becomes your breaking point.”

Jigsaw stands still for a moment, letting the weight of the victim’s confession settle in. Processing. The air feels heavier, your pulse racing as you realize what you’ve just admitted. The machine, which had briefly slowed its torment, hums again, but this time with a new energy.

"So, you’ve finally confessed. You’ve craved the very thing you’ve always denied—powerlessness."

He steps forward, his presence even more imposing. The cold metal of the machine hums louder, and the victim's body, trembling with anticipation, tightens as the teasing pulses resume. The sensation is different now faster, more concentrated more focused in a new vigor.

Jigsaw’s voice lowers, almost intimate, as he leans in close to the victim’s ear.

"Now, let’s test how deep that craving goes."

He flips a switch on the machine, and instantly, the teasing becomes an overwhelming onslaught of pleasure and pain, pushing you closer to the edge than they’ve ever been before. In a matter of seconds, you're back to panting like a dog in heat. The mechanical arms grip tighter, pulling your body taut as the pulses of sensation ripple through you. It’s like they knew each brush, each thrust, each button to get you closer and closer.

You buck involuntarily against the restraints, your breath quickening, muscles straining. Your moans ring out clearly through the room no restrain anymore in them. 

"Do you want to submit completely?" Jigsaw’s voice echoes, a command hidden in the question.

Jigsaw stands still for a moment, letting the weight of the victim’s confession settle in. The air feels heavier, their pulse racing as they realize what they’ve just admitted. The machine, which had briefly slowed its torment, hums again, but this time with a new energy.

"So, you’ve finally confessed. You’ve craved the very thing you’ve always denied—powerlessness."

He steps forward, his presence even more imposing. The cold metal of the machine hums louder, and the victim's body, trembling with anticipation, tightens as the teasing pulses resume. The sensation is different now—more intense, more invasive—yet still withholding that elusive release.

Jigsaw’s voice lowers, almost intimate, as he leans in close to the victim’s ear.

"Now, let’s test how deep that craving goes."

He flips a switch on the machine, and instantly, the teasing becomes an overwhelming onslaught of pleasure and pain, pushing the victim closer to the edge than they’ve ever been before. The mechanical arms grip tighter, pulling their body taut as the pulses of sensation ripple through them.

Your body bucks involuntarily against the restraints, your breath quickening, muscles straining. 

"Do you want to submit completely?" Jigsaw’s voice echoes, a command hidden in the question.

"Tell me," Jigsaw continues, his voice a dangerous whisper. "If you want release, beg for it. Admit you have no control left. If you refuse, you’ll stay here, until your mind and body break."

You can barely think, your body trembling involuntarily as the machine keeps you teetering on the edge, closer to release than ever but still denied. Every muscle strains against the chains, to try and get out, as you feel your resolve slipping.

"Submit completely," Jigsaw orders, the demand hanging heavy in the air. "Or resist, and you will never know release again."

It was clear what your answer was going to be. Too out of it to even try to resist his commands. Too fucking desperate to get that release, to feel yourself leak onto the machinery below. To make a mess of everything even more.

You're too overwhelmed by the relentless sensations, gasping for breath. Aching for release, the denial becoming unbearable, bordering painful.

You wanted to let go, absolutely you did. You wanted somebody to completely take over the reins that you so desperately held on to. To give yourself completely over, to not focus on any control at all because that someone, you would trust completely.

“Please…” you whisper, your voice trembling, soaked in desperation. “Please, I can’t take it anymore. I submit. I’m not in control. I… I need it.” Each word spills from your lips, raw and pleading, your gaze locked onto his, craving touch, his touch

A sinister smile creeps beneath his mask, a dark victory shining in his eyes. The machine’s movements slow, almost as if savoring your confession. The restraints tighten one last time, an agonizing reminder of your submission, before—release. The mechanical pulses surge, overwhelming your senses in a tidal wave of sensation.

But it’s his fingers you feel now—long, thick, and unmistakably human. Your eyes snap open, and there he is, Jigsaw, looming over you, a predator inching closer. As his fingers plunge deep inside you, you can’t help but feel the unmistakable hardness pressing against your thigh. The heat radiates from him, mingling with your own arousal, igniting a primal fire within.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with lust. “So eager to be used. You’re just a filthy little thing, begging for it.” Your body convulses at his words, caught in a dizzying mix of pleasure and pain. Each thrust of his fingers drags against your walls, expertly hitting that sensitive spot the machines had cruelly denied.

“Can you feel how much I want you?” he breathes, his breath quickening, sending shivers down your spine. “You’re mine now. I’m going to make you feel every bit of it. I’ll take that control and give you exactly what you crave” The way he speaks makes your head spin, and you realize he’s as lost in this moment as you are, his arousal palpable and intoxicating.

“Good. You’ve learned your lesson,” he growls, his voice a low, seductive rumble that vibrates through your core. “But remember… this is only the beginning of your real submission. I want you to scream for me, to beg for more.” The tension hangs thick in the air, the two of you bound together in this dark, twisted dance of desire.

As your mind spirals into blissful oblivion, everything fades to black—just as it all began. You’re left spent, breathless, fully aware that you’ve relinquished the control you once clung to so desperately. In this dark embrace, surrender becomes the sweetest ecstasy, a thrilling intertwining of your desires and his.

[mojogojocasahouse]

Literally can't get the thought out of my head that Gojo would fall for his hairdresser because they're the only person who touches him consistently. So, here it is.

Satoru Gojo x f!hairdresser reader

C: Gojo POV, fluff, a little sprinkle of angst

He didn’t mean to fall in love. He really didn’t.

In fact, Satoru Gojo had sworn it off entirely in his third year of high school outside a KFC in Shinjuku. That evening, with every step back towards Jujutsu Tech, his tears turned to cement around his heart, barricading it behind a fortress never to be broken. That had been the plan anyway.

But you’d foiled it.

It was just a series of unfortunate coincidences that had led him straight to the very depths of hell that felt way more like heaven than he wanted to admit. His normal barber had been out of town, but his hair was growing too long against his neck. It itched as it began to curl behind his ears, it reminded him of his teenage years, and Megumi had started poking fun at him. So, he’d wandered into the salon by the apartment he barely used and asked if anyone had time for a quick cut, an action he’d thought was inconsequential. 

There was no way to decipher exactly what it was that had left him slack-jawed and boneless in those thirty minutes. Maybe it had been how your fingers combed through his wet hair so gently, swirling against his scalp and loosening tension he swore was permanent. The way you’d softly turned and tipped his chin as you inspected your work and perfected every unruly tuft of snowy hair, your gaze too focused on the task to see how utterly enraptured he’d been. He’d caught you on the tips of your toes, his height still too great even with the chair as low as it allowed, so he’d slowly slunk down, his spine curling uncomfortably. He hadn’t cared about the ache. There was also a good chance he’d fallen when you mussed up the finished product, smiling into your eyes as you complimented how well he pulled off the messy look, your palms pressed to his head as you held him. Held him.

He’d never gone back to his barber again

After a year of monthly cuts and trims, he upped his frequency. One night after a mission that had tested every ounce of his resolve and patience, he’d wandered in and pathetically asked for just a quick wash. He’d noted how your eyebrows furrowed in what looked like concern, a warm hand on his back leading him to the waiting area, and a promise that you’d be no longer than ten minutes allowing his chest to loosen just enough to breathe.

Soothing circles over his temples had eased his headache, the warm water and your methodical movements lulling him into tranquility. You’d taken extra care, kneading down his neck and feathering over his eyes until he’d been half asleep, his tension swirling down the drain. Never in his life had he wanted to kiss someone as badly as in the moment his eyes fluttered open to your smiling face.

He was never the same after that.

Today is like every other, Megumi at his side as they make their way to the cafe after a mission the kid wasn’t supposed to go on. Whatever, he’d be starting at Jujutsu Tech in a few years, there was no reason to not give him a headstart. 

His height gives him the advantage, and when he spots you across the street he practically sends Megumi crashing to the sidewalk as he whirls to hide his face, fumbling with the glasses in his pocket and ripping the white bandages covering his eyes off his face. 

“What the hell is your problem?” Megumi barks, scowling in annoyance as Satoru slides his round black lenses onto his thin, pointed nose, “Why’re you changing your glasses?”

“Satoru?” Your voice sings out to him even on the crowded Tokyo streets, he can hear it clear as day. 

You’re right in front of him now, hair shining in the sun, eyes twinkling with that happy little grin he sees in his dreams. It’s unfair how happy you always look to see him. The thought that you might be is always his undoing.

“Hi,” he greets sheepishly, chastising himself for how stupid he knows he sounds, “What’re you–”

Whatever idiotic sentence he was set to spew is cut short when you reach up toward his head, and he doesn’t even realize he’s closing the distance your toes can’t reach. A little gasp of shock gets caught in Megumi’s throat as his face twists in confusion when you make contact, plucking a small pink cherry blossom petal from its icy entrapment. He can’t stop himself when his hand catches yours as you pull away, his eyes locked on the fragile, blushing scale between your fingers.

His technique had been active, he couldn’t even recall switching it off. But he had, clearly. Had it become an instinctual flip at the mere sight of you, a second nature? Warmth blossoms in his chest and radiates outward, it’s like the feeling of sun on a cold winter day. Even without looking at your face, he knows you’re confused, who wouldn’t be? You don’t understand the weight of this, no one does except the teenager standing behind him looking on at the scene.

Spring becomes summer when your other hand covers his, it’s shaking ever so slightly and he can’t bear the thought of looking at your face. Are you afraid? He couldn’t blame you. But he forgets that worry when you whisper his name again, nothing but a song in the breeze so quiet it only has the strength to reach his ears. He’s kissing your knuckles before his brain catches up, it’s too lost in thought, in you, in the smell of your floral perfume he’s come to associate with comfort and security. And when you don’t pull away he considers that perhaps his life doesn’t have to be shrouded in darkness.

“Hey,” the gruff voice of Megumi groans out, “How about instead of being a creep you just ask her to dinner?”

Masterlist

[acerby]

I've been collecting gunpla n stuff for a while, and now I'm buying an Acerby/30 Minute Sisters kit and customizing it, but I don't know what I'd have to do to make mine looks as good as yours. Do you have any tips/tricks?

Well, I am honored by your kind words. I hope any of this helps.

Well, outside of the normal gunpla hobby intro stuff, like the double cut method, sanding down the nubs, and panel lineing. A lot of 30-minute missions, 30-minute sisters, and 30-minute fantasy are designed to be super compatible with one another. A lot of the boxes and manuals for kits show that you can mix and match parts. They are basically gunpla legos.

A lot of what I do with customs is about throwing stuff at the wall and seeing what sticks. 

Color matching, for me, is the starting point. I find kits that share a base color and mix and match to see what looks good.

If some parts look awesome together but are not compatible with each other natively. I will use my hobby drill (with a 3mm bit or smaller), or Tamiya plastic cement to make them compatible.

Custom shaping is something I like about the hobby. If there is a bit of a

 kit, I don't like a lot of the time I can cut and sand the part down to make the piece look how I want it to. Having sanding sticks or sponges with accedning grits helps a lot when it comes to building gunpla in general. 

Sometimes you got to be ok with going past the point of no return with some stuff. A lot of 30mm/30ms/30mf are plug-and-play and are easy to fix. But when you start cutting and sanding it can get scary. Testing the method out on a test piece can make crossing that threshold a little easier. But it's important to keep in mind that mistakes are learning opportunities.

There is stuff I can't do atm because of my apartment, but an easy way to make things look super good is to custom paint them. I'm still in the super early stages of learning painting, but it can be worth it to make your kits even more your own. 

I also like looking at 30mm posts on social media to get some inspiration. A lot of people make a lot of cool stuff. And a lot of the time, seeing how other Assemble and combined pieces can make your ideas click into place.

[sunstone-smiles]

Mercedes' Method to Magic

Author’s note: *Grabs a megaphone and yells through it like the alarm clock horn from Spongebob* (I hope you understand the reference Lol) @gladdygirl18 GLADYS! I’m so excited to share this with you because when I saw that you requested Dimitri for @tickly-trashcan's Hear Me Out Cake Event, I was squealing with joy! It’s a little late, but it’s here and I hope you enjoy!

Series: Fire Emblem: Three Houses

Characters: Dimitri, Mercedes, Annette

Word count: 1,343

Summary: Mercedes and Annette are teaching Dimitri magic, but the prince is having some trouble understanding how to use it. Mercedes, reminded of the days when she and Annette were learning, puts one of her methods to the test to help Dimitri!

~~~

“Focus on the target. Steady your gaze. Let the magic do the work,” Dimitri repeats in his head the advice that his fellow classmate, Mercedes, provided him just a few minutes prior. She and Annette stand behind Dimitri as teachers, and observers to his magic training. His palm aims at a training dummy across the sandy practice grounds.

“Now, glide your hand over the tome, lift, and fire,” Mercedes instructs him. Dimitri inhales, then releases it all at once in a puff of breath. His hand swings down and over the book in his other arm, then circles back to aim at the dummy. A red charge glows on Dimitri’s hand like burning embers. Though, where a small fireball is already supposed to be produced, tiny sparks and an increasing glow of red takes over Dimitri’s hand. 

His wrist begins to quiver as the force of the charge grows. He quickly tries to steady his arm with the other, but the strength of the magic shakes his wrist like an earthquake before a blast of fire releases from his palm and throws Dimitri backwards to the ground. The shot misses the dummy and disperses into the cement wall behind it.

Annette and Mercedes help him up. “Are you alright, Dimitri?” Annette asks.

“I’m fine. I’m fine,” the soon-to-be king responds. He dusts off his school uniform. Fortunately, he took off his blue shoulder cape for training so it wouldn’t get caught in his frequent magic-casting mistakes. He picks up the fallen tome. Hints of crestfallen expression can be read on the blonde’s face.

“Don’t be discouraged, Dimitri,” Mercedes speaks in her soft, airy voice. “It takes time. If it was easy, everyone would be doing it. They wouldn’t make specialized schools for magic, like the one Annie and I went to, if it was.”

“That’s true…” the prince sighs. “But I’m just not getting it. Do you have any more pointers for me?”

“Well, I have noticed that when you stretch out your arm to fire towards the target, your form is very tense. You have to relax the muscle in order for the magic to flow through,” Mercedes explains.

“That makes sense.” Dimitri rubs the back of his neck. “Heh, relaxing isn’t my strong suit.”

“Hmm,” Mercedes taps her pointer finger to her chin. “Maybe… I can use a method on you that I used for Annette when we were still learning.”

Annette gasps. “Mercie!” a blush appears on the girl’s face. She blinks a few times as the idea sinks in. “Do you think it’ll work? 

“Only one way to find out,” Mercedes smiles.

“I am willing to try anything,” Dimitri says.

“Good.” Without another word, Mercedes moves from her spot so that she’s standing behind him. She adjusts Dimitri’s arms by lifting them up and positioning them as if he was about to try using magic again. It’s similar to someone who was teaching their pupil the proper stance to archery, but with the student shooting off controlled blasts of fire rather than arrows. Mercedes speaks over his shoulder while gently holding the placement of his arms. “Now take a deep breath and hold it in.”

Dimitri follows her lead. He breathes in; his lungs expand in his chest as he focuses on his target ahead.

“Aaaand…” Mercedes' voice draws out. She quietly drifts her hands from his arms, then curls her fingers right above his sides. 

“Release!” Mercedes exclaims. She plunges her fingers into his sides right as the leader exhales, causing a surprised bark from Dimitri that morphs his remaining air into laughter.

“M-Mercedehehehes!!! Hahaha!” Dimitri’s body folds forward. He clamps his arms close to his sides before hugging them around his torso and dropping the tome again as Mercedes’ surprise attack persist with tickles through his defenses.

“Well, would you look at that? It does work on Dimitri,” Mercedes declares. She shares a glance with her other friend. “Not as well as it works on you though, Annie.”

“Hey!” Annette whines as a redness returns to her cheeks.

Dimitri squirms himself up straight and attempts twisting to the side. “I didn’t know yohohou were gohohohoing to tickle mehehehe!”

“Oh, surprise. Now you know,” Mercedes' words sound sweet and innocent, but she can’t help it if a grin appears on her features. It’s too rare that she gets to be silly with her friends like this, especially with the leader of the Blue Lions, who could use the chance to destress.

One of Mercedes’ hands floats to his ribs; the blonde squeaks as the tickling travels up his torso and he, as a reflex, tries to shake himself free.

Mercedes follows his movements as he tries to escape, almost like she was chasing him without her fingers losing purchase on his torso. The girl chuckles as she tries to keep the bucking Blue Lion steady. “You have to stop squirming, Dimitri! This method won't work unless you relax!”

“I’m trihihihihiying!” Dimitri genuinely says. He knows that Mercedes is just having fun with him (he knows he needs it), but he also knows that the tickling could actually help loosen his stiff muscles. In fact, his muscles become so loose that he collapses to the ground right after he replies, giggling the whole way down. Mercedes follows him down, then continues scribbling into his sides, resulting in Dimitri curling himself up and rolling himself onto his back. 

Mercedes looks over her shoulder towards Annette, who’s been watching everything from the sidelines with a warm smile.

“Care to help me, Annie?” the older female asks.

The orange-haired girl nods and her smile grows. “With pleasure!” Annette runs over and kneels down by her friends. She wastes no time and scribbles her fingers along his ribs and side.

“Ahahannehehette!” Dimitri gently shoves his arms at the girl’s hands. 

“Sorry, Dimitri! I know you’re the future king and all, but hear me out! If you want to learn magic, this is the only way!” Annette exclaims.

“I’m sure thehehere are other wa-HAahahays!” His giggles and his bright smile increase when Mercedes scratches a hand along his tummy. The prince snorts, then tosses his head back to laugh freely towards the sky.

“Sure there are, but they certainly don’t get you giggling and snorting like this,” Mercedes smiles at her friend’s display of joy.

“Okahahahay! Mehehehercy!!!” Dimitri says as he curls his knees to his chest.

“Yes, Dimitri?” Mercedes questions. “You have to be more specific when talking to me. I don’t know if you're calling for mercy or calling my nickname Mercie,” she teases, knowing fully well what he intended. Annette giggles beside her.

“M-E-R-C-Y!” he quickly spells. “Plehehehease!” he exclaims through his giggles, some of which are laughs at Mercedes’ joke.

“Ooh, that’s what you meant,” Mercedes plays the card of innocence. She grins and pulls her hands away, “Of course.” 

Annette follows Mercedes’ lead and also removes her hands, leaving Dimitri in a curled up ball of breathy giggles as air gradually returns to his system.

Mercedes leans forward. “Are you alright, Dimitri?”

Dimitri chuckles through his words with a lingering smile on his face. “I’m fine. I’m fine,” he says for the second time that day. He lifts himself upright to a sitting position with the help of the girls. Annette returns a smile.

“Congratulations, Dimitri! You just passed Mercedes’ training regime!” Annette announces. “Now you’re ready to cast magic!”

Mercedes nods. “Indeed, Annette. So, Dimitri, are you ready to give it another shot?”

The leader of the Blue Lions doesn’t need a second to think before giving his answer. “I’m ready. Let’s do this!” the prince blossoms with determination.

Mercedes beams with pride. “That’s the spirit!”

The girls help the prince to his feet, then, they return to practicing with Dimitri. The leader positions himself with the tome of magic and prepares to take aim.

It might take some time before Dimitri gets the hang of it, but if his friends are willing to stick close behind him through the ups and downs, then he’s sure to succeed.

[malaidarling]

since a few of you were actually curious, this is the messy way i use a dictionary to help me study vocab.

i suppose this method could work with a digital dictionary, but i much prefer a physical one that i can flip through and carry around. i got this one for $8, but i have other ones that i got for even cheaper from second-hand bookstores. i really like this one though, because it's intended for learners and has tons of examples sentences and notes to put the characters in context. super handy for me, i like to test myself by reading the example sentence and then coming up with one on my own.

basically, i whip this baby out whenever i have a few moments to myself (mostly on public transport) and flip through it. if i'm looking for new words, i have a sticky tab system to follow. if i'm reviewing old words, i'll try to recall the word i tabbed before just by the colour and placement to test myself before flipping to it.

colour system:

blue tabs are for words i got from hsk vocab lists. i'm currently around hsk 4 and the sheer number of words is overwhelming, so i'm taking it slow.

yellow tabs are for words i found interesting while flipping through. as a writer myself, i thought 构思 could be useful.

green tabs are for words i found through consuming media (usually reading). found this word while translating a poem for class.

red tabs are for the shit i don't understand at all! i'm too embarrassed to show an example. and i'm ngl to y'all i totally forgot what i'm using the orange tabs for. they're just there for the vibes.

honestly it would probably help me more to put these words into anki, but i'm never consistent with anki. i think it's just so fun to be able to have something physical to hold and see my progress as i add more sticky tabs (and remove them, when the vocab has cemented in my brain!! so satisfying)

i don't know if this will help anyone else, but it's a way that really helps me so i thought i would share. feel free to ask questions, and do lmk if y'all make any modifications to a method like this! i've really only been using it for a little while and it can definitely be streamlined. a problem i found personally is relying too much on the pinyin, so i wonder if a chinese-only dictionary would help once i get more advanced.

[heliphantie]

"Leap of Faith", ep. 20(85) of season 4 (March 29, 2014).

“Flim Flam Miracle Curative Tonic is Granny Smith tested and Applejack approved! Granny Smith drinks it, why shouldn’t you?”

“Leap of Faith” may be my favorite Applejack episode, favorite S4 episode and one of the top favorite episodes in entire FiM! Applejack-focused episodes in particular are interesting in that, rather than having her learned to be true to her Element, they’re often about testing her faithfulness to it, making her putting her sense of justice in question and having to decide when she ought to follow her moral compass without risk to bring harm with it instead of benefits.

Flim & Flam, in that regard, make pretty good antagonists for her. Two families have quite a few similar priorities: like Apples, Bros are pragmatic, seeking profit from their actions, and work perfectly in sinch for common goal, but their ethics are diametrically different, and as it happens, Applejack sometimes even prone to fall into temptation to use rather similar tactics (take decision to rationalize technology in lieu of traditional work, or use invitation to gala for /pretty sure, illegal in these circumstances/ selling apple products here to rich attendees – wouldn’t she just ask Celestia for financial aid to the national hero’s family instead? – and don’t we forget her alliance with Filthy Rich without Granny’s consent) before it backfires on her as well. So, she has valid reasons for having disdain for methods of Bros, because she’s been here as well and reaped the bitter fruits of blindly following such policies.

Brothers, in particular, make formidable kind of antagonists on the show: for representing most realistic, mundane, everyday sort of evil, which can’t be redeemed or obliterated unlike any other foe our heroes had to stand against. The evil of commerce and material greed! Moreso, they even can be amicable and work together with heroes without having to change their ways, if that means any mutual benefits. (And basically cemented as allies of Mane 6 in the end of the series.) For, as it turns, money is at once the major drive and major scourge of society, be it mankind or ponies.

Anyway, the moral of this particular story is, one crazy old lady is enough to put the crushing end to your successful scam operation. Fatal flaw of these sleek guys appears to be not thinking their schemes far enough to prevent coming close to any possible source of damage. Other than that, they’re pretty fine, aren’t they? They’re, essentially, an embodiment of the main reason for the franchise itself – product promotion, no wonder they’re more frenemies than foes in the end of day.

[sukugo]

satoru's training sessions with his students always always end up in sex. they always end up with either him atop them, their cocks hitting all the right places as he pushes himself up and down on them, or the other(s) fucking into him rough, sweat and desperation and adrenaline thick in the air.

sometimes it's satoru utilizing sex as a tool, teaching cursed energy control through the highs and lows of bodily pleasure, or the reinforcement of the body with cursed energy for more intense sex, or even simply incentivizing technique evolution with their uses on him during it.

other times, it's not as methodical. not as practical or goal-oriented, instead spontaneous and heat-driven, flurried into by the circumstance that forces it. like now, with the way megumi's frustration has bubbled up until satoru's fixed between him and the floor, megumi's fists denting the straw flooring at the sides of satoru's head (still not enough to tear. not like yuuji)

satoru is the image of amusement, mouth pulled into a grin, brows lounged atop his uncovered eyes, glasses lain forgotten at their sides. his lips widen and glisten, but they don't open to say anything, infuriating megumi further, satoru not even sparing megumi with some of his usual mouthyness to at least justify a reaction to.

the gurgling in megumi's chest rises further, there's a lightness to his head that has his mind blur.

"you—!" megumi growls, fists clenched tight enough to hurt.

unfazed—if anything, even more pleased now—satoru's arms move to circle megumi's neck, locking and pulling the two closer. his voice is sickly sweet when he finally speaks, a whisper that is more taunt than anything, "come on, megumi."

it's devastating, the way everything drains from megumi's body with the call of his name, all the bubbling rage and frustration poofed out of him and he's emptied. defeated. megumi shuts his eyes.

"please..." it's as useless a plea as it ever is.

the first thrust is heavenly. slow and sweet and fuck, so good. (it's always good. fuck, it's always good). satoru takes him so well. of course he does, as if he hasn't been molded to fit megumi, as if he hasn't molded megumi to fill into him, the perfect vessel to megumi's every desire, no matter how loathsome.

the second thrust, megumi couples it with a bite at satoru's neck, and satoru doesn't even have the decency to pretend hurt, the moan that leaves him, easy, displayed proof of megumi's helplessness against him.

and the second one is always tenser, the sweetness of the first already swallowed, bitterness trickling in along with the salt of satoru's sweat, and the fact of the situation cementing into megumi again.

the third one, desperate. always. a small accompaniment to the second. satoru's hand reaching up to his nape as some sort of consolation, as his attempt at calming—

there's a pause before the next few come in succession, where megumi somewhat manages to gain footing and satoru's restraint, silence save for the breaths that satoru takes against megumi's neck.

but pleasure creeps up on megumi with the next flurry, once his test few are done and his desperation rises, and these are true. explosive and fast and good good good.

so good.

except... that's always when the real trouble starts.

bc satoru kisses him with his eyes closed.

when satoru's moans reach their peak to then fall wordless, and his fingers circle megumi's nape once again and their pads tease at his hairs and he's pulling megumi into him and he's breathing into his lips and megumi's gasping and satoru's kissing him and megumi's heart threatens to push out his chest, starting a drum that takes hold of him in his entirety.

satoru's lips meld into his, every suck leaving a tingling along that has megumi unable to form thought—satoru's kisses are intoxicating. infuriatingly soft, his lips melting into megumi's as if they were meant as one. so deliciously wet, tongue darting drool between them. so obnoxiously needy, pushing and pulling into megumi with no rest. and truly so utterly damning—

an irony that megumi can't even bring himself to laugh at.

when now, more than ever, he's peering into the depths of megumi with every lick, every slurp, every hum, every groan that reverberates within megumi and answers to satoru back, reflects his own desperation, a consuming need for the other that megumi's body can't seem to contain.

so. megumi picks up his pace, trying at overwhelming his resonance with stronger thrusts, and satoru's body tenses in pleasure. but satoru's further moaning into his mouth and he's breathing megumi's name and his legs are wrapping tighter around him and his walls are squeezing against him and satoru's taking him so well so well so well so well so well so well.

(he always does. he always does. he always does.)

[221blurkerstreet]

PART 3 Holmes, Marple & Poe: A Holmes, Margaret & Poe Mystery (book by James Patterson): "In this thrilling story of crime and corruption, three detectives keep their identities secret, and NYPD’s Det. Helene Grey is on a mission to unmask them—no matter who gets killed along the way. In New York City, three intriguing, smart, and stylish private investigators open Holmes, Marple & Poe Investigations. Who are these detectives with famous names and mysterious, untraceable pasts?" - Published 2024 Holmes Is Missing: A Holmes, Margaret & Poe Mystery (book by James Patterson): "Success has come quickly to Holmes, Marple & Poe Investigations. The New York City agency led by three detectives—Brendan Holmes, “the brain,” Margaret Marple, “the eyes,” and Auguste Poe, the “muscle”—with famous names and mysterious pasts is one major case away from cementing its professional reputation. But as a series of child abductions tests the PIs’ legendary skills, the cerebral Holmes’s absence leaves a gaping hole in the agency roster. Only by closing ranks and solving the mystery within can they recover all that’s been lost." - Published 2025 --- Lost in Limehouse - Olaf Hytten as Sheerluck Jones, 1933. - "A slapstick burlesque of 19th Century Victorian melodrama featuring a parody of Holmes and Watson who rescue a heroine held by a mustache-twirling villain in a den of caricatured Chinese gangsters." Limejuice Mystery - Herlock Sholmes marionettes, 1930 - "The film, also known as "Who Spat in Grandfather's Porridge?," is a parody of Sherlock Holmes stories starring string puppets and a detective named "Herlock Sholmes". The film depicts a murder mystery in a Chinese opium den." Sting of Death (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NgHvNgPTN04&t=1s) - Boris Karloff as Mycroft, 1955 - "Sting of Death is the 11th episode of the first season of the American TV series The Elgin Hour starring Boris Karloff as Mr. Mycroft. Produced by ABC (American Broadcasting Company), and aired on 22 february 1955. 52 min. While the name of the main character is Mycroft, the sherlockians will recognize a retired Holmes (bee culture, investigating methods, pipe smoking). The episode is based on H. F. Heard's novel "A Taste for Honey."" The Man Who Disappeared (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k8vpH5tzC2Y&t=1s) - John Longden as Sherlock Holmes, 1951 - "An adaptation of the story by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle about a very wealthy businessman with a strange secret." A Case of Hypnosis - 1952 - "Fair Spoof of Holmes. Prof. Lightskull and Doc Twiddle are trying to locate the whereabouts of a magician who has the power to change people into anything they want but more times than not he plays the part of a jokster and instead turns them into strange creatures." The Speckled Band (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0R2jczHfuFw) - Alan Napier as SH, 1949 The Copper Beeches (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uMgoNx-vv40) - Georges Treville, 1912 Man With The Twisted Lip (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HM27uaF31CU) - Ellie Norwood as SH, 1921 The Screaming Bishop (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mxwqk_cWcG8) - Hairlock Combs cartoon/short film, 1944 Dramatized SH cases (1954) / (https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLWX1hfU1FFvpnwyNxpxYItHGqqR6PC16E) - John Gielgud as SH - Ralph Richardson as JW That's what I've got so far! Def will be adding more as I find more, LOL-

I'm just a tad concerned about the sheer amount of these you had on hand, but I'm too grateful to worry about that right now!! As said a million times before, I will be reviewing all these as fast as I can!! Thank you!

[solarpunkbusiness]

A team from the Lanzhou Institute of Chemical Physics at the Chinese Academy of Sciences devised a method of crushing and chemically treating old turbine blades so that they could be mixed into materials used in road construction. 

This material was already trialed and has been in place on a section of Qingfu Highway in northwest China for over five months. So far, there have been no reports of cracking or rutting in this hybrid material, and it appears to be "long-lasting." 

While most parts from old wind turbines can be recycled or reused, including the shell, nacelle, and metallic internal components, the long blades are typically made from fiberglass. That's especially true of blades that are reaching the end of their lifespan now, after having been in use for the last couple of decades.

This breakthrough joins a short list of applications – compiled by Chemical & Engineering News – where recycled blades can be useful:

Global Fiberglass Solutions, headquartered in Kirkland, Washington, turns the blades into reinforced plastic pellets for manufacturing durable products like maintenance hole covers.

Waste management giant Veolia shreds blades into small pieces that go in kilns to replace the coal, sand and clay required to make cement.

Knoxville, Tennessee's Carbon Rivers recovers strong fibers from blades using a high-temperature process called pyrolysis; these can be used as-is or in the form of thermoplastic fabrics or pellets to make heavy-duty automotive parts.

There are also a number of efforts to make blades easier to repurpose or discard – from a quick-dissolving resin to manufacture them, to GE's recyclable thermoplastic, to a relatively inexpensive way to break down epoxy-based blades.

But while those are being tested and deployed worldwide over the next few decades, we'll still have this mounting issue of disposed blades to solve. The Lanzhou research team, meanwhile, will take on more projects to demonstrate its recycling technique, and establish it as a scalable way to repurpose old blades.

MORE

[heicodynamics]

Ensuring the quality and durability of cement is crucial for any construction project. Performing an effective test on cement involves several cement testing methods to assess its properties and compliance with standards. This guide outlines the effective cement testing procedures and highlights key aspects of quality control testing for cement.

[storiesconsumemysoul]

I dearly love how viscerally Egwene is responding to finding out that Siuan/the tower wanted to cage Rand. Babygirl can still feel the collar on her neck every night she's not about to be amenable to that idea. Regardless of the very different contexts of their experiences and the reality of how dangerous Rand will become. All that is meant to serve as "justification". And it's not even just the tower. I love that she point blank says to Moiraine - who is exiled and actively working against tower policies - that she will not help her control him. It's like the

1) seed previously planted that the collar is an Aes Sedai invention

2) being sold to the Seanchan by an Aes Sedai (Black Ajah or not, Liandrin served this institution for generations, there is no easy separating of what she is and what she's doing from the institution, even if she's its enemy)

3) and that a very real attempt was already made on Rand's freedom while she was still sporting her damane collar

... yeah, they've completely cemented the connection between that kind of violence/violation and the Aes Sedai in her mind. And Egwene seems to be feeling that in a really raw place. Like the contrast between her attitude towards the tower in the first half S2 as a novice (eager to please, supplicant, respectful) to how she talks about and to Aes Sedai in these first three eps.? Damn.

I really hope we get lots of scenes with her and Moiraine. Every one-to-one scene from the start of the show they've shared have been little gems that allow Egwene to test and sharpen her sense of identity and what her relationship to the Aes Sedai is. Doing that with someone who IS still an Aes Sedai down to her bone marrow even as she works against the machinations of the institution in exile, who IS still trying to control Rand even if not with the same methods, who IS still very willing to hurt Egwene and her loved ones if she deems it necessary ... what a challenging and formidable figure to stand before as Egwene is reconstructing her relationship to her own body, to the one power, to the tower, and to her own sense of identity.

[choco-worms]

how did each of your OCs like med school (or pharmacy school, I guess, in Eden’s case)? did they have a study group or just go it alone? did they party hard on weekends? how did they react to the workload and stress?

HIIII OKAY SORRY I TOOK MY TIME THINKING THIS ONE OVER. Thank you SO much for the questions! Ill do my best to organize my thoughts clearly.

TW: This ended up touching on some different traumas my ocs have. Including Sexual Assualt, Transphobia, Ableism, and Sexism. Proceed with caution if you are sensitive to these topics<3:

How did the chocodocs like med school (school in general)? 

Eden: Eden loved college!! She was a gifted student since her photographic memory made coursework very simple for her. This is how she got through College and Pharmacy certification so quickly. She was really able to enjoy the people and the social aspects more so. Shes simply built different so college was a breeze academically. She did undergo a trauma towards the end of her education that really gave a hit to her confidence which is why she is so skittish and anxious nowadays. I want to address this sensitively, but will be clear that she was sexually assaulted. I am unsure on the details. Im also unsure if I want to cement down details, but this event shapes her approach on things going forward.

Finn: Okay so… Finn is alittlee.. How do I say.. Fucked up? I suppose the way to explain this is he grew up in Utah. He crossed the country for school and work for a reason. His family was largely unsupportive of his gender transition and was outright cruel to him. So, being a successful surgeon morphed into a method of survival more than it was a dream. This being said, med school is fucking hard. Finn had worked a LOT at it, and he did so probably not in the most healthy ways! His motivation process was “I cant sleep, eat, bathe, enjoy myself until i do XYZ”. This was massively unhealthy for him, but… it worked! enough! Socially, he just didnt have the mental (or physical) energy to have any real friends.

Pebble: The academics were manageable for Pebble. She was always more science and math minded. With some hard work she was quick to earn top marks. Socially was where she struggled. The medical field was much more male dominated at this time than it is now. It didn't help that she was also up front about her autism. Her male classmates were handed opportunities she had to fight for, half-assing CV’s she had to perfect. She was often either condescended to or treated like she was fragile. It was clear most people around her thought she was some sort of diversity pick. She had to fight for her reputation as a doctor to be taken seriously, and that she did.

How did they study, and did they party?

Eden: Studying for Eden was rather simple. Read the content. She can recall it later with her photographic memory. She actually was the kind to tutor and help other students! She hosted a pretty popular study group on campus. Since academics were remarkably easy for her, she had a bustling social life! Hitting the bars every weekend with friends, clubs, parties, the whole shebang! This came to a halt after she was traumatized.

Finn: God, what didn't he try. Flash cards, study groups, mind mapping, repetition, and every other obscure method invented to study. He did most of his studying in a library since it encouraged him not to slack off. He pulled alot of late nights, which wasnt great for his narcolepsy. He maaaaay or may not have occasionally abused his medication to cram for tests but shhhhhhhhhh. He doesnt have to do that now <3 thank god. Obviously, he did not party. Even if he wanted to </3

Pebble: She studied dutifully and alone. She did best with multi-sensory engaging study methods. Rewriting her notes while reading them aloud, recalling information while pacing, or rewatching lectures while she fidgeted with something. She would most often study in her dorm, headphones on to ignore the sounds of college around her. That being said, she did not attend any parties. They weren't her scene.

How did they handle the stress?

Eden: What little academic stress she had, she handled socially. Coffee runs, lunch runs, walks, anything! 

Immediately after her assault she withdrew socially to deal with the stress of it all. It was a lot of hurt, a lot of fear, a lot of depression. Luckily, she had friends that loved her. Her support system helped her get through this time in her life. Slowly she came back out of her shell but she hasn't been quite the same since. 

Finn: He was always stressed. He motivated himself through it with the stakes he had. He couldn't go home, he didn't want to go home. When it got *too* stressful he was prone to just break down, either in tears or manically. if he got too too stressed out, he’d fall asleep. 

Pebble: During college, her hobby of choice was crochet (now a days she sews). She liked things that kept her hands busy. She’d also use some nice noise cancelling headphones to listen to some music. She is very much a woman who likes to be cozy and just generally is a home-body. College was hard for her. Harder than she would admit, but she did it alone. She took pride in that.

[neoliberalbrainrot]

Fuck, I'm not traumatized enough for this

Means-testing is a quintessentially liberal idea. Instead of presenting a program or benefit (eg: student debt relief) as a human right available to everyone, liberal politicians often make sure it’s means-tested, restricting the benefit to only those who fit certain criteria. These criteria are usually numerical, reflecting the neoliberal obsession with quantification and collection of data. This doesn’t help people who fluctuate above and below the threshold, and it hurts people who do qualify when they aren’t able to get through the bureaucracy in order to claim their benefit.

What does this have to do with trauma?

The means-testing of trauma and oppression is sometimes seen as a useful method of determining someone’s moral superiority in leftist spaces which, I think, are corroded by neoliberal brainrot. The thing being gatekept can vary widely; it might be a community of some kind or something more specific like a publishing opportunity. The basic idea is that you must be this oppressed to enter. Someone’s perceived identity is used as a way of determining how much trauma they have purely from demographic information, remarkably similarly to real means-tested programs, and has nothing to do with the person’s actual life experience.

Because means-testing implies a kind of quantification, if only between more or less, a hierarchy of suffering can be constructed and further used as an indicator of moral purity. The most oppressed person in a group might be seen as morally correct more often, as if there is a neat spectrum of moral correctness. In addition, this person, despite being considered morally correct, might not actually benefit from this perception if they are marginalized and face marginalization from the same people putting them on a pedestal.

This is similar to the phenomenon colloquially called the Oppression Olympics, a competition to see who is more oppressed. The pejorative name is used by those who think it is a pointless exercise that detracts from making meaningful change. In the vast majority of cases, it is, and the discussion only serves to boost the ego of the winner of the competition and cement their status within the community.

Sometimes there is even a chasm between the material status of the person who “won” the Oppression Olympics and the person who is, when measured through more objective metrics, actually the most oppressed. This is a potential avenue for elite capture; someone who is able to communicate their experience using the potent buzzwords of the scene or who otherwise has more social capital may be able to capture the clout that comes with being recognized as the most oppressed.

The competitive nature of this exercise plays into neoliberal subjectivity, with its focus on being the best, or in this case, the most oppressed. Oppression is a competition—like the Olympics. This implies there’s something to be gained. And if there’s something to be gained, is there also an incentive to lean into any experiences of oppression you can claim? I’ve observed this behavior in people, but calling them out on it is an extremely risky and usually futile proposition.

There is actually no need to determine who is the most oppressed in the vast majority of situations, so engaging in this debate takes valuable time away from doing literally anything else. It also strongly implies that vulnerability is mandatory, that you must share your experiences of marginalization in order to be seen as moral enough for the cause. I’m sure I’m not the only one who has had icky feelings when presented with an obligation to list off all the identities I can claim, as if they’re synonymous with the problems in my life.

Of course, there are many situations where it is appropriate to means-test access to a resource; for example, if there is a limited about of funding to distribute to people with the greatest need. In writing this post, I’m mainly thinking of social dynamics in activist groups and even in social groups that just happen to be left-leaning. This is trend among modern leftist “culture,” if culture can be defined as behavioral and belief patterns in a group of people.

Whatever the case, I still think it’s important to examine the idea that means-testing and hierarchies of oppression emerge as viable concepts only because neoliberal ideology is the water many Americans swim in. It might just seem natural to place a more oppressed person (whatever this actually means) higher in the hierarchy, but why? Whether or not it’s the right thing to do, why does it seem natural? Is the hierarchy important to understanding the situation, or is it being emphasized because someone stands to gain something from its enforcement? Is it being built only because the people involved are used to thinking that way? Does it create problems where there weren’t any before?

PS: if you find my writing interesting or educational, please reblog! like artists, writers depend on reblogs to make sure new audiences see their work. thanks for reading!

[sngl-led-auto-lights]

Why do some people think that their car's headlights aren't bright enough?

The real reasons why people think car lights are not bright enough are complex and multi-dimensional, usually related to physiological limitations, technical misunderstandings, environmental variables and marketing misleading. The following is a professional analysis based on engineering, optics and traffic psychology:

🔍 I. Subjective perception bias (accounting for about 50%)

Age-related visual decline

After 25 years old: Retinal photoreceptors decrease by 0.8% each year, and at the age of 60, the brightness required is 5 times that of a 20-year-old to see the same objects (NHTSA study).

Example: At a speed of 60km/h, a 60-year-old driver's reaction time in low light is 1.3 seconds slower than that of a 30-year-old (equivalent to an additional 22 meters of braking distance).

Contrast deception

The popularity of LED billboards/street lights has led to upgraded ambient light pollution, and the relative brightness of car lights has decreased (such as 300 lux street lights vs. 70 lux car lights).

⚙️ Second, technical cognition misunderstanding (accounting for 30%)

1. Misunderstanding of brightness unit

Parameters Consumer focus Actual impact Lumen value "The higher the better" Beam focusing efficiency is the core (GB4599 requires focus error ≤0.5°) Color temperature "6000K white = bright" Blue light exceeding 6500K will reduce the transmittance by 20% in foggy weather and accelerate visual fatigue

2. Ignore the aging of the optical system

Plastic lens yellowing: The transmittance of headlights over 3 years decreases by 40-60% (UV oxidation + scratches).

Reflector coating peeling off: The high temperature of halogen lamps causes the aluminum layer to powderize, and the light efficiency decays by more than 50%.

3. Wrong upgrade plan

Blindly replace high-wattage bulbs: The original car wiring harness only supports 55W, and using 100W bulbs will result in: → Fuse blown risk ↑300% → Lamp holder melted (case: Volkswagen PQ34 platform wiring harness limit 60W)

🌫️ Three, environmental variable interference (accounting for 15%)

Weather degradation effect Weather Effective illumination distance of headlights attenuated Moderate rain -40% Thick fog -80% Wet road surface reflection Glare increased by 150%

Difference in road materials

Asphalt road reflectivity: 7-10%

Concrete road reflectivity: 25-35% → Cement road is 3 times brighter at the same brightness

📢 Fourth, commercial marketing misleading (accounting for 5%)

Invalid products are rampant

A test on an e-commerce platform shows that 68% of the "300% brighter" LED bulbs actually have a lumen increase of <20% (falsely labeled voltage regulator IC power).

Illegal "laser headlight" modification parts: 90% are actually ordinary LED+light guide tube, which does not meet the GB/T 30036 laser safety standard

KOL test fraud

Common methods used in self-media headlight comparison videos: → The test car deliberately lowers the angle of the original lights → Use color temperature 5000K vs. original 3000K halogen to create the illusion of "whiter = brighter"

💡 Scientific solution

✅ Effective brightness improvement path

Optical system refurbishment

Professional lens polishing and restoration＞95% transmittance (UV coating is required to delay aging)

Replace OEM reflective bowl (e.g. Audi matrix headlight bowl single ￥800)

Compliance upgrade plan Original type Legal upgrade options Brightness increase Halogen reflective OSRAM NIGHT BREAKER LASER/ SH50M +150%/ +700% Halogen lens PHILIPS X-tremeVision GEN2/ SNGL SH70P2 Projector-Specific +130%/ +800% Original LED Replacement assembly at 4S shop (the only legal way) +0%** *Note: Meets ECE R37 standard

Intelligent assistance system

Install thermal imaging night vision device (such as Dongfeng Mengshi commercial version): effective detection distance 300 meters, cost ￥12,000-50,000.

⚠️ Actions that must be avoided

Use >55W bulbs or external power supply with voltage regulator

Modify non-assembly LED/laser modules

Raise the lamp angle to exceed GB4660 standard (low beam <0.7-1.0% inclination)

📊 Cost-benefit analysis

Solution Cost range Actual distance increase Compliance Refurbish lens + upgrade halogen lamp ￥300-800 +40 meters Completely legal Aftermarket LED assembly ￥1500-4000 +60 meters Need to pass inspection Original matrix headlight upgrade ￥8000-30000 +120 meters Completely legal

Ultimate suggestion: When you are dissatisfied with the subjective brightness, first conduct an objective test (measure the low beam illumination distance in a dark area at night, the GB standard should be ≥50 meters). If it meets the standard, the problem is mostly visual decline or environmental interference; if it does not meet the standard, repair the optical system first. Brightness ≠ safety, the beam focusing accuracy is the core - spend ￥50 to do a professional lamp angle calibration, the effect may be far better than ￥2000 modification, or choose an LED bulb with adjustable light type (SNGL) to ensure the beam focusing.

[aerixwri]

"I'm gay," that's cool bro (pt.1)

Even from the highest floor of the building, Seb’s beauty still shined.

His torso leaned towards the metal railings, one arm dangled towards the earthly ground, while the other hand served as a stand for the subject of someone’s photo.

Javier, tall, lanky, and awkward, methodically fiddled with the settings on his camera. He was hunched, trying to make himself look smaller, as he hid on the floor below Seb’s clubroom. His feet stubbornly planted behind a cement pillar, the upper part of his body stretching to catch a glimpse.

Just another picture to add to the collection, he convinced himself. Javier’s face was attached to his camera’s viewfinder, hands cradled comfortably on its corners, while his two fingers reached for the shutter button.

Seb was beautiful for everyone, and Javier wasn’t an exception. He wasn’t special. Seb can look good in anybody’s photo. He just happened to look better when Javier shoots one himself.

Javier tested the zoom on his lens, manually turning it himself, his pulse spiking with each distance he closed in on.

Seb took drama after class, and always volunteered to practice his lines outside where it was quiet. No noise, no whispers.

The afternoon sun reflected on Seb’s face like a ring light, exposing the soft brown highlights in his dark hair. His face fit perfectly in his hand, resting comfortably. Eyes, shut tight in concentration. Lips parted, barely, tugging at the ends as he mouthed each word of his script with practiced enunciation.

Javier had it. The perfect angle. The perfect pose. The perfect model.

He steadied his right hand, index hovered over the shutter in anticipation. He waited, just a little longer.

Seb smiled, a small smile, but a genuine one. The kind that doesn’t stretch out the skin on his face. Javier’s finger moved a millimeter closer to the button, his heart beating too hard for a steady hand.

Calm down. Javier released a shaky breath, re-steeling his nerves. It’s just Seb.

Seb’s teeth were barely visible, but the sweet curve of his gently pink lips was there. Javier needed more of that. A little more.

Finally, he opened his eyes, blinking from the light, his gaze far away and dreamy. It sparkled with an idealism that lived only inside those bright doe eyes.

A lump formed in Javier’s throat.

There.

He brought his finger down on the shutter, a familiar click-shh sound captured the moment for its owner, forever.