#Air Tool Parts & Accessories

[pneutube]

Discover the Hidden Secret Behind the Explosive Performance of Shinano Pneumatic Tools

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Unveiling the Shinano High Speed Grinder

When it comes to heavy-duty grinding, the Shinano High Speed Grinder stands in a league of its own. Its robust design, coupled with high-speed capabilities, ensures swift material removal with utmost precision. Whether you're working with metal, wood, or other materials, this grinder's performance is truly explosive. Say goodbye to time-consuming grinding tasks and hello to efficiency and excellence.

Masterful Performance with Shinano Air Polishers Tools

Achieving a flawless finish is an art, and Shinano Air Polishers Tools are the brushes of the modern artisan. These tools combine ergonomic design with powerful pneumatic technology to give your surfaces a stunning, polished look. From automotive enthusiasts to woodworking professionals, these air polishers elevate your work to the next level. Unleash your creativity and achieve results that speak for themselves.

The Precision of Shinano Pneumatic Screwdriver

When it comes to assembling intricate machinery or working with delicate components, precision is non-negotiable. The Shinano Pneumatic Screwdriver offers the accuracy and control you need to fasten screws seamlessly. Its ergonomic grip reduces fatigue, ensuring prolonged productivity without compromising on performance. Say goodbye to stripped screws and inefficient work – Shinano's screwdriver is here to redefine your working experience.

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Conclusion

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[emmcarstairs]

From Gloves to Fingers: The Ghoul and Lucy MacLean

Despite their mostly practical usage nowadays, gloves used to be a powerful tool in society. There were rules about how and when a person should wear them, and what messages they relayed to others. Gloves were more than a fashion accessory; they had symbolic functions. Across various sources, such as visual media, art, and literature, gloves are associated with notions about power, protection, purity, as well as sexuality.

In the following analysis, I will examine the Ghoul’s gloves in Fallout (2024) as a visual key to understanding his character, motivations, and relationship with Lucy. 

What if I told you that the first thing we see about the Ghoul, his introduction to us, is his gloved hand?

His character is shrouded in mystery, and his gloves facilitate this impression. When a character hides their hands, we assume they have secret or evil intentions. That’s why gloves have come to be associated with villains. And at first glance at this character, this assumption would not be far from the truth. But in the Ghoul’s case, it’s more complicated than that. Let’s roll back to the beginning!

As soon as we learn that the Ghoul used to be the famous Hollywood actor Cooper Howard, and the face of Vault-Tec, we start to make the connections. For instance, we know he refuses to do the thumbs-up for the photo during the birthday party. The thumbs-up, his thumbs-up in particular, is a symbol for Vault-Tec, a company he has grown to despise. So it isn’t surprising that he would try to conceal his relation to the company, figuratively and physically.

Two hundred years later, we learn about the nature of ghouls. Radiation has ravaged their skin and appearance. In this case, the gloves might serve the cosmetic purpose of hiding most of his scarred body. 

However, it all comes down to the image he presents to the world around him. His gloves, and his hat, are accessories for the costume he’s chosen to wear. He doesn’t go around by the name of Cooper Howard anymore; he has built himself a new identity, using props just like an actor would. He is recognizable by these attributes and they are a makeshift armor for the real man underneath it. I’d even argue that his gloves act as a physical and psychological shield between him and the atrocities he’d committed to survive.

Now that we’ve discussed the symbolism of him wearing gloves, it’s time to ask the important question. Do we see the Ghoul’s ungloved hands? We do. Two times. And both of them are connected to Lucy: one in her presence, one in the presence of her finger.

The first time we see the Ghoul’s ungloved hands is after the significant scene of him mercy killing Roger and feeding on him in front of Lucy. The fact that Lucy witnessed him eat, not just any food but human flesh, is extremely important. In that scene, he reveals his animalistic nature. It’s an intimate scene because he begins her initiation into the Wasteland by offering her his knife to cut off some pieces herself. In a way, he shares his meal with her. Her repulsion is clear but she relents. It’s important to keep this scene in mind.

Cut to the scene with him with no gloves. At this point, he’s shown her a part of himself. In the past, the removal of gloves was a sign of closeness, and even inferiority. He has shed his skin, literally in the form of his gloves. He has allowed himself to be vulnerable in her presence. He’s naked in a way we haven’t seen before. It’s no wonder what happens next has so many sexual undertones.

To put it plainly, in this scene we see the Ghoul relishing the taste of irradiated water while Lucy is right next to him… thirsty. It’s an interesting juxtaposition to a previous scene when Lucy politely asked for water but he denied her (with his gloves on, retaining a metaphorical barrier, an air of superiority). She then saw the pool of water but resisted drinking from it while he taunted her. Now, it seems different. He watches her with a silent challenge in his eyes, tempting. She isn’t asking him anything this time. All she sees is the water, the means to quench her thirst, and… his ungloved hand.

Personally, I find the choice to include his hand here very interesting. What happens next, even more so; Lucy succumbs to her thirst. In contrast to her hesitation and revulsion with slicing pieces off Roger for food, she eagerly drinks the irradiated water the Ghoul drank moments ago. It’s a desperate physical need, and it’s out of her own volition. If you don’t see anything sexual about this frame, I don’t know what to tell you:

It’s worth mentioning the way the Ghoul stoops to her level here which enables the iconic “Oh, I’m you, sweetie.” She’s almost his equal here, as they stare after she’s drunk the water, their hands ungloved.

Lucy, being ever the opportunist, sees his weakness and tries to run away. Her attempt is short-lived because he catches her in his lasso. And all the build-up ends in one of the most memorable scenes in the show; and for a good reason!

In their struggle, Lucy takes advantage of his exposed hand, his weakness, and bites his finger off. It’s almost like she’s turned into him: an animal tearing flesh. The gloves would have protected him against harm but he’s taken them off, he has allowed himself to be vulnerable around her. Perhaps, he underestimated her.

In a violent imitation of a lover's touch, he cuts her finger off. This is the first time they touch hands. In the past, a woman had to be wary of a man’s ungloved hand because it signified danger and the loss of her chastity.

In Lucy's case, chastity refers to her naivety about navigating the world around her. The Ghoul opened her eyes about the surrounding world, but she dared to go one step further and stole something of his, a part of him. For two centuries, he's managed to keep his ten fingers intact, a sign of his competence, and it's none other than Lucy who overpowers him this way. So he feels obliged to take a part of her to replace his missing one. It's very much an exchange of rings/vows type of situation. But I digress. 

After the finger exchange and the visual replacement of Lucy's finger, which for a second looked to me like adding a band/ring, we see the most significant scene for her character yet. She survives alone in the Super Duper Mart and despite it all, retains her principles, by saving his life. She emerges the victor, both in terms of survival and morals. But how does the exchange affect him? 

In a rare scene of self-reflection, the Ghoul watches his old human self on film. The gloves are back on and he mimics pulling the trigger, nothing unusual.

But as we watch him rub the leather of his missing finger, we know that something has shifted. Beneath the seemingly intact glove, there is a missing piece. Try as he might to conceal it, and even if it's unnoticeable to others, he’s aware of its absence. Despite the external armor, the damage is internal.

Which brings us to the second scene with his ungloved hands: the scene of him sewing Lucy’s finger on his hand.

The Ghoul is held responsible for the thrashing of the Super Duper Mart. While they question him, he asks for the needle and thread (red thread of fate, anybody?) in his bag. As he unrolls the piece of cloth, we see Lucy’s finger.

Here I want to make an important note: In the past, gloves were considered an extension of the wearer’s body; another symbolic body part. In the classic novel Little Women, Meg loses one of her gloves and it turns out that the man who is interested in her romantically – Mr. Brooke – has hidden it in his pocket. Later, characters would consider this act a declaration of his intentions toward her. The Ghoul has neatly packed away Lucy’s finger in his bag. The subtext is definitely there. 

In the first scene when he was ungloved, it was in Lucy’s active presence. In this scene, she’s not here but her presence is felt, and not only because it’s her finger he’s sewing. While he is attaching the finger, he takes the blame for what she did in the Super Duper Mart. He throws away the act for a moment, his hands are ungloved and unprotected, as he surrenders himself in her name. The intimacy of the mere image of him sewing a part of Lucy’s body on his own, literally tying the knot, deserves its own analysis.  

You could say it fits him like a glove. ;)

This is the last scene we see him without gloves in S1. But every time we see his gloved hand afterward, we are reminded that he carries Lucy’s finger. It’s a symbol of what Lucy reminded him of: his lost dignity. It’s his trigger finger, a moral compass. It led to him shooting her dad when she herself wavered, but also letting him go alive. And it’s her replaced necrotic finger which pulls the trigger when she mercy kills her mother, a lesson she learned from him. Their fates have intertwined and their fingers are the perfect representation of that. 

With the focus on hands and fingers we saw in S1, I expect this symbolic storytelling to continue and expand in S2.

[wing-ed-thing]

Of Frogs and Crowns (Ichiji Vinsmoke x Reader) Part II

Synopsis: You couldn't say that being engaged to a man as emotionless and serious as Ichiji didn't bother you. But after a night of sneaking out, you think you've found a quirk to humanize him a bit, and Ichiji finds that he might be in over his head. Two-Shot.

Word Count: 3.8k

Part I Part II

Tags/Warnings: No Reader Pronouns, Language, Arranged Marriage, Royal!Reader, Minor Original Characters, Dancing

Notes: I am very glad this is finished. I accidentally messed this chapter format up and it wasn't showing up anywhere so hopefully everything is okay this time around!

For as quickly as Ichiji seemed to have walked to the garden, he slowed down significantly to follow you into town and did so silently. You took a path that stood out starkly among the grasses. The narrow footpath had been beaten into the ground and looked to have been done so by one person. Even the steeper parts of the terrain appeared smooth and trampled down compared to the surrounding earth. 

Ichiji had no issue with the walk, trailing behind you at a short distance. He always kept close and never once offered to help you with your bag or across physical obstacles, but he kept himself uncomfortably present. Although, his trailing would completely stop once you entered the gates. 

You were mobbed almost instantly by children.

Cheers and screams filled the air, far too shrill for Ichiji’s comfort. Ichiji was almost taken aback by how they scrambled out of the woodwork, physically recoiling slightly as tiny, sandaled feet scampered through the dirt streets. 

He scowled at the small town's appearance, glancing flippantly at the wooden buildings and quaint fixtures. Everything was far too colorful for his liking, painted in yellows and other pastels. The brightly pigmented paint did nothing for the water stains and weathering of the buildings, especially with ugly things like worn clotheslines and chipped orange shudders daring to be within Ichiji’s eyesight. Draping shrubbery lined balconies, but even the greenery he assumed was meant to distract from the dingy houses and rusting farm tools appeared plain and poor. 

The people reflected their home, sporting colorful overalls and patterned button-up shirts stained with dirt and clearly worn by time. The children wore oversized shirts, sporting rough edges where the large sleeves were torn off. Traditional garments were mixed into outfits, with each citizen wearing at least a small accessory reflective of the kingdom. And yet, for their sorry state, they greeted you warmly.

The children swarmed around you, and to Ichiji’s surprise and disgust, you even picked one up in your arms, making your way deeper into town as you chatted with the townsfolk. Ichiji trailed at a growing distance behind you, and even though he stood at least a head taller than almost everyone, all eyes were on you. 

Each and every citizen called you by your royal title, including the old man mayor who hobbled up to you. You had since placed the child in your arms down, and the mayor took the opportunity to clasp both of your hands in his. 

“You don’t have to be so formal,” you sighed, your light tone almost holding a reprimand. 

“To us—” The old man’s brows rose to reveal shiny, sad eyes underneath. —“You’ll always be royalty in title, spirit, and more.” You sighed again, gazing fondly at him with a small smile. 

“How can I argue with that?” you conceded with a playful dip of your head.

“Oh well, you can’t!” The mayor let out a boisterous laugh. He released your hands with a firm pat. “What are you doing here, my dear? Shouldn’t you be at the castle celebrating your engagement?” You couldn’t help but snicker at the way his thick, gray eyebrows knitted together in concern. You always considered how much he looked like an old sheepdog. His busy beard seemed to bounce as he spoke, and the way he glanced down at your left hand didn’t escape you. “Up to no good are you?”

You gave his hands a light squeeze, leaning forward with a tilt of your head.

“Aren’t I always up to no good?” Your laugh was light like a bell, and the sound shot right through Ichiji’s chest. The mayor’s eyes went wide as he howled with laughter, his mouth forming a round shape as he cackled. Ichiji couldn’t understand what was so funny.

He felt a tug on his slacks and had to physically restrain himself from swatting the tiny hand away. 

“Hey, mister—” Ichiji scowled downward to find himself surrounded by about five small children. He shoved his fingers in his pockets with a roll of his eyes, glancing off to the side. But Ichiji’s ignorance of them didn’t make him invisible. —“Your hair’s kinda funny.” The child giggled before running off.

“Yeah,” another chimed. “It kinda looks like a duck butt!”

The mayor began to move, ushering you to a familiar building with a patio and two saloon-style doors. Upbeat music and drums resounded from the other side, and light from the modest bulbs cast a golden glow onto the street. He looked around your shoulder. His thick brows crinkled again before he returned his gaze to you with a smile and a friendly nod.

“Ah, yes, and your friend is welcome as well.” 

You glanced behind you, having to physically turn due to your large backpack. Most of the children had already gone inside, but the few that remained had surrounded Ichiji, who looked to be growing more annoyed by the second. Despite his cold and tense demeanor, his lips were moving, and you were surprised he was still there in the first place.

You turned back to the mayor with a shrug.

“He’ll find his way inside.”

***

Ichiji did find his way inside the dance hall before long, trailing a small posse of children behind him. To Ichiji’s relief, they seemed to find other things to occupy their attention. 

The hall was large, open, and made almost entirely out of wood. A few tables lined both sides of the room, leaving the center for people to dance. And they did dance; couples, children, and the elderly alike mingled together under the sizable chandelier above, moving in a traditional dance to the music that filled the air. 

If people weren’t dancing, they were eating or spectating from the wooden balconies above. Ichiji had to climb a flight of wooden stairs before he found you. 

You were set up at a round table on the right side of the U-shaped balcony. Your backpack was completely unfolded and laid flat, revealing a sizable pile of hand-wrapped meals. You handed food to adults and children alike, laughing and chatting amongst your people as they filtered back and forth. The balcony wasn’t very large, especially for the number of people coming to get food, although the space was about twice as ample as the section for tables down below. Despite the crowd of people that surrounded you, your face remained perfectly framed in Ichiji’s gaze.

“And Mary is doing better?” Ichiji somehow heard you over the noise. He began to make his way toward you, bumping into townspeople as he tried to maneuver around the bustling throng you had amassed. He never took his eyes off you, even as the current of people moving opposite him grew.

“Oh yes, she even stood for a bit yesterday.” 

Ichiji bumped into another woman, barely muttering a curt apology under his breath. 

“That’s wonderful!” Your voice was never drowned out, no matter how loud the music was.

A man bumped Ichiji’s shoulder, sending him a step back in the face of the growing current of people retreating with their meals. Someone stepped on Ichiji’s foot. 

“All thanks to that new medicine.”

“Please take extra home to her and tell her I say—” 

Ichiji was finally pushed back by the throng of people. Townsfolk came up to greet you, take their dinner, and find a table to sit at if they weren’t taking their food home to a bedridden loved one. 

So many people vied for your attention. Ichiji wondered how you balanced it all. He couldn’t fathom how you remembered so many asinine details about others or how you weren’t possibly overwhelmed at the mere amount of voices speaking to you at once. And most of all, he was most astonished at the glow that radiated from your smile. 

You hadn’t looked at him like that once. 

Not that it mattered.

But after much effort, Ichiji resigned himself to a still spot at the corner where the balcony began to branch off. His forearms crossed over the railing, and Ichiji let his head hang for a moment. The current of people passed around him, and the positioning of the railing allowed him to have a bit of a reprieve, but Ichiji could still see you where you stood on the right-hand side of the balcony despite the bottlenecked footway. 

He could see how the people danced on the floor below, creating a sea of different fabrics and bouncing heads of hair. Like the people he saw outside, many wore a mix of farming attire, but some sported complete outfits of brightly colored traditional garb. The band sat at the far end of the hall, and a chorus of foreign instruments blared. People ate their meals all around the hall— it looked to be some sort of vegetable and rice dish. 

Ichiji’s gaze finally settled back on you. 

“You’ve found yourself quite the gem, deeply loved by every soul here.” A voice sounded just barely over the noise. Ichiji hadn’t realized it was addressing him. He swiveled his head, and only when he looked down did he see the old mayor standing beside him. The mayor barely stood taller than the railing. “It's quite a commitment, aligning yourself with such heartfelt dedication, don't you think?”

Ichiji frowned, staring down at the old man’s bald spot. His gaze didn’t linger. Ichiji jerked his neck to move a few strands of hair out of his eyes. His attention settled somewhere random in the room. 

“You don’t make much sense, old man,” he grumbled. The mayor laughed. 

“Oh-ho-ho-ho! I never do!” he chuckled, holding his belly in a jolly manner. His other hand slapped onto Ichiji’s forearm, much to Ichiji’s dismay. And just when Ichiji thought he might punch him, the mayor retracted his touch. “You know—” The old man tilted his head to the side knowingly. Ichiji still didn’t look at him. “Serving the people requires more than just a noble birth—it takes a noble heart.” The hand that slapped onto Ichiji’s arm moved to his chest, poking him with emphasis. 

“Your gem comes here, bringing extra meals from the castle a few times every week, you know.” The mayor placed his hands staunchly on his hips. Ichiji chose to ignore his wording. You were hardly his yet. “All this food when things are so scarce.” 

“I didn’t know,” he said plainly. The old man nodded a few times in emphasis. 

“Bless the king, of course! But between you and me—” The mayor lifted himself on his toes, and Ichiji found himself tilting down to lend his ear. —“The people will rejoice in the streets when the new reign begins. They know that it is the individual that cares for them.”

Ichiji rose to his full height, pondering silently to himself. He didn’t care much for sentiment, how much you were adored, and he most certainly didn’t care for having to stand in the middle of the noisy throng of peasants, for that matter. But Ichiji had to admit that perhaps he misjudged you. 

In fact, he hadn’t judged you at all, at least not much more than your appearance and some technical data that had little to do with you personally. The number of times and the duration that he stared at your portrait was information that would have to be tortured out of him. And you would never know that it was Ichiji who had approached his father with the idea of an arrangement (and had even put in a great effort to convince him).

And despite your hard times, your kingdom did more than well for itself regarding trade. In fact, your nation basically dominated the grain trade, mined rare region-specific metals on the side, and had shot to the top of citizen happiness polls for the last handful of years despite your foreign conflicts. He had heard rumors of your competence but had assumed that your involvement was on the bureaucratic side, as the involvement of royal families tended to be.

He deemed your personality otherwise unimportant. You were beautiful; your father was well-connected; you opened up new avenues for Germa, and your country did well for itself. Ichiji couldn’t have cared less about settling a raid issue when he knew that, on top of everything else, he wanted you the moment he saw your photo.

(And although he may claim that he could do without the sharp tongue, Ichiji couldn’t deny that he was more than attracted to your fire. A bit of feistiness kept things interesting, after all.)

He hadn’t signed up for any of this.

“I wonder…” Ichiji hadn’t realized that the old man had been staring at him intently as he thought. The mayor tutted to himself, clicking his tongue as he faced forward, hands resting behind his back. “I wonder if your kingdom thinks similarly or if you might find yourself challenged in a new way, my boy.”

By the time Ichiji snapped back to reality, the music had changed, and you were already halfway down the stairs. He whipped around in surprise, not one to miss things passing him by in his surroundings. And without thinking, he followed you, leaving the mayor laughing where he stood by the balcony.

The mayor turned, watching the back of Ichiji’s head disappear down the wooden stairs. 

“Oh-ho-ho-ho! Something tells me that boy has no idea how to dance!”

His statement wasn’t exactly true, but it wasn’t false. Ichiji had been taught how to waltz for formal international events for the sheer purpose of wooing other royals and political figures. If it wasn’t a waltz, then it was a similar, simple dance. The Vinsmokes never had many dance lessons and were taught little more than what looked reasonable for young royals of their stature. The princes had also been taught a traditional North Blue dance commonly performed by men for the sake of preserving culture, but those movements were nothing like what you were doing. 

By the time Ichiji reached the bottom level, he had officially lost you again. He scanned the mass of heads congregated together on the ground floor before he finally spotted you. You were on the dancefloor this time with your arm locked around some other man’s as you danced around each other. Your opposite hands waved in the air like the elegant feathers of a bird. But Ichiji wasn’t in the mood to admire your traditional dance. 

His scowl set in deeper than usual as he decided that it was time to leave.

For no particular reason. 

Ichiji marched straight into the crowd of dancing people, unabashedly pushing his way to the center. Everyone jumped to the side in time with the beat, arms flowing in passionate yet fluid motions in sync with the music. The man stood behind you with his right hand behind his back and his left hand twirling in the air while you danced in front of him, your arm movements complementing those of your hips. Another crack of heels thumped with a hearty boom of the drums, followed by a combined shout.

Ichiji shoved his way past one last couple before he reached you, but the harsh demands to leave died on his tongue as you swiftly took him by the hands, pulling him forward as everyone seemed to switch dance partners. 

You fell right into him. Your right palms met each other; then, you intertwined your left-hand fingers as you twirled to wrap Ichiji’s arms around you. Your hips moved while your back brushed his chest. Your heel slammed against the ground in unison with everyone else, followed by a resounding shout.

You avoided eye contact with Ichiji beyond coy glances. You were still angry with him after all, and you wanted to dance, which seemed to keep him shut up enough, whether it be by the shock or the sheer overload of your crowded environment. He insisted on coming along, so he’d stay for as long as you desired.

Neither of you said anything as you whisked him around the dancefloor, and you preferred it that way. Ichiji was hilariously stiff, almost fighting you as you looped your arm through his. But Ichiji ultimately allowed you to rotate him around before switching linked arms.

“Are you always this tense?” you teased, and a deep shade of red rushed to Ichiji’s cheeks, much to his dismay. You couldn’t really tell under the lighting but you were more than gleeful to add to his discomfort.

The music drummed on in the background, growing faster with the sounds of heels slamming against the ground and the snapping of fabric.

You resumed a position in front of him; your palm extended out to the left. Your right foot pivoted, moving your knee in and out in tandem with your arm. Energy coursed through your movements as you pushed your right palm to meet the back of your left hand with a rhythmic jerk of your hip. You couldn’t help the snicker that rattled your chest. You glanced at Ichiji from over your shoulder, taking a bit too much pleasure in how out of place he appeared. 

Ichiji looked around at some other dancers in the room, and like the man from before, many men held a hand behind their backs while twirling the other in the air as their partners danced more intricately in front of them. And it didn’t escape Ichiji’s notice how all attention was on the two of you. 

The collective gaze of the people wasn’t romantic but watchful. The children above held the bars of the balcony railing and stared through the gaps. Men with mustaches leaned against the posts, looking on at how Ichiji stood stiffly on the dance floor. Ichiji even found himself catching the eyes of those dancing around you. Everyone watched the two of you, waiting. Waiting for his next move.

Of course, they knew who he was and why he was there, but no one said a word. 

Ichiji met your eye. He sighed deeply with a gesture of his brows. You rolled your eyes, giving him an encouraging nod. Ichiji wondered if you had lured him there on purpose if all of this was your test or theirs. 

He glanced one more time around, locking stares with multiple pairs of eyes that didn’t deviate from his. Ichiji wondered if it was worth the hassle, stuck between the prospect of embarrassing himself further or admitting that he was in over his head. His pride wouldn’t allow either.

His gaze locked onto yours, holding little expression other than the slight dip of his lip and a small heave to his chest that resembled a sigh. 

Ichiji’s hand raised in the air, swaying awkwardly as he tried to mimic the dancers around him. As soon as he did, the townsfolk let out a boisterous shout in time with the music, and the cheering continued as the music picked up. Ichiji jerked forward as a volley of hands slapped his back. Tight, joyful grips sat firmly on his broad shoulders, almost waving him back and forth. The townspeople didn’t crowd you, nor did they make too much of a show in the face of Ichiji’s reluctant gesture, but they grew louder, their gestures of support coming as they passed you before disappearing into the crowd.

Ichiji wasn’t convinced, nor could he be described as dedicated, but he was interested and willing to go along for the ride. You knew as much as did the town, and the more you danced together, the more you were convinced that perhaps your union had the slightest glimmer of hope. 

Ichiji’s expression didn’t change much, but you didn’t think you needed to know him for long to see the apparent shock on his face in the form of his barely widened eyes. The dance floor moved in unison, and despite Ichiji’s inability to keep on rhythm, he didn’t resist you with too much force as you dragged him around once again. Your head dipped as you laughed, the noise coming out silently as your chest shook. 

It was all so ridiculous. He was so ridiculous, yet you wrapped your arm around Ichiji’s neck and grasped his hand. 

Now, this was a stance he was familiar with. 

You could hardly cover your expression of surprise as Ichiji suddenly took the lead, and while his movements were stiff and off-rhythm at best, he moved you across the floor with fire. He dropped onto one knee, his back leg hitting the ground hard enough to shake the floor. Ichiji let out a masculine, almost startling shout with the movement, and before you knew it, his arm wrapped around your lower back as he flipped you backward in the air over his knee. 

You landed on your feet to roaring applause. Your wide eyes found Ichiji’s, and he only gave you a slight shrug before rising to his feet to retake the lead. The upward twitch to his lips didn’t escape you.

His motions were harsh, aggressive, and strong compared to yours, which seemed to move like a breeze. You gave some resistance to his lead, wordlessly guiding him back to the beats of the music. However, the effort began to strain your muscles in the face of Ichiji’s newfound rigor. You hardly noticed the space starting to clear around you as you and Ichiji engaged in a dance that was half of your kingdom and half from the North Blue, both halves complimenting each other in a way you would never have thought they could. 

Your eyes were only on him as you moved. His ice-blue irises didn’t leave you for a second, even as rhythmic clapping filled the hall. You stomped your feet together, his heel shaking the floor once again. The music swelled to a final crescendo, and in a moment without thought, you fell into a low dip with Ichiji’s strong arm supporting your back. 

The music faded as joyful voices filled the air. And still, your gazes remained locked. Sweat beaded on your forehead, and you were sure it had pooled under your clothes. You were too hot to tell. Even Ichiji breathed a bit harder as an unknown expression eclipsed his face. 

“I’ll have a better ring crafted,” he conceded, his tone ever flat. You laughed, but the corners of your mouth faltered. Your brows crinkled as you tried to catch your breath. All the commotion around you might as well have been silent.

“The ring wasn’t the problem.”

For the umpteenth time that night, Ichiji pierced you with his intent, steel-blue stare. His head bobbed with certainty.

“I will have a better ring crafted.” 

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

The original inspo was from Swayzee - Whales Talk (don't ask me why I don't know). The new soundtrack is 100% Kingdom Dance from the Rapunzel soundtrack

Part I Part II

[teyums]

Twin Flames pt. 2

pairing: Ao’nung -> Neteyam x fem!metkayina reader

contains: angst with underlying fluff, melancholy ending. ao’nung and reader are 19, neteyam is 20

a/n: here is the well awaited part 2! i pretty much wrapped it up with the ending. my apologies to the ao’nung girlies if i break your heart with this 😅 i hope y’all enjoy wc: 3,219

Twin Flames. A love so fierce among two souls it’d be impractical to think you could come out unscathed. And while you and Ao’nung were written in the stars— stars burn out and fate can be revised.

Love hurts, that’s the truth of it all. You sign away the rights to your heart when you blindly take that plunge into a realm of whirlwinded emotions, because the reward is always worth the risk.

Ao’nung could sit here and say moments blurred into days, days into weeks, and so on. But the statement would be a bold faced lie, a lie he would much rather have been living over what he was experiencing now, because absolutely nothing blurred together. It was all painfully, crystal clear.

Each day he endures your absence from his life stretches the full, dreaded twenty four hours. Every grueling hour, every painstaking minute, every enervating second leaves him mercilessly aware of just how badly he’s screwed things up with you.

And he stalks around the village like an idiot, misplaced and hopeless, looking in every nook and cranny you might have tucked yourself away in to no avail. It’s like you’ve completely disappeared into thin air. Either that, or you’re really good at avoiding him.

He’d seen you in glimpses, evanescent moments where he’s left thinking he must have imagined your face, because in the blink of an eye, you’re gone. Just as quickly as you come, you go, like the shells the sea leaves upon the shoreline, only to steal them back into the taunting waters that laugh at your failed attempt to rush and grab them before they’re lured back into the deep.

He recognizes now, just how extensive the consequences of his actions are. It’s when he stalks back to his Mauri, a slight stagger in his stride due to the longevity of the day’s training. His father took no interest in going easy on him, probably due to how distracted he seemed the entirety of the lesson.

The centers of targets went untouched by the point of his spear because it fell short every time he plunged it through the air. Hot sand enveloped the discarded tool in a blanket of gold when he chucked it down out of frustration and he’s so fucking tired of this.

In the midst of his exhaustion, his mind plays a cruel trick on him. Makes him think that he’s trudging all the way home to meet your bright smile and warm embrace, until reality hits him like a relentless, angered wave of accountability and almost has his knees buckling. Of course you’re not there, how foolish of him to think you’d forget about what he did and throw yourself right back into the crossfire of his confliction.

It’s pathetic. How he lays in his bed at night, alone, defeated, kept up with the never ceasing memory of how hard he made you cry that day. How he swore he could feel the shards of what once was the shell of your being scrape his skin as it slipped through his fingers and into nothingness before him. He desperately tried to hold onto them, tried to put your pieces back together, but you wouldn’t even let him do that. You scooped up the broken remnants of your heart and took them with you. Couldn’t you have let him keep just one?

He stares across his moonlit room at the shelf on his wall. Particularly at the disheveled accessory that sits atop it, mocking him in the way it’s gone unworn. Slightly misshapen from how tightly your hand had clenched around it, your indignation molded into the crumpled fabric. The gift haunts him, reminds him of the day he wishes he could take back but he can’t bring himself to get rid of it. It’s all he has left of you and your scent still lingers on the leather, though It’s fading, slowly.

He wonders how you’re doing, how you’re handling the whispers that float through the air of you being the latest victim of his immaturity. How he aches to comfort you, to tell you that you were so much more to him than another thoughtless mistake, more than a cheap rendezvous. It angers him, rocks his core with something fierce the way people talk about what happened like it’s their latest gossip. But who is he to blame but himself?

Any other time, or any other girl, rather, he would have been laughing right alongside the talebearers. Shrugging in a disgustingly nonchalant manner and blaming whatever poor soul he’d wronged for her own heartbreak because she knew what she was getting into when she got with him.

It’s why it hurts so bad. Because even while you managed to uproot a gentle side to him no one else had before, somehow he still found a way to hurt you, and even worse than the others at that.

How did he fuck up this badly?

_____

A month has passed and he wishes he would have lost count by now. Everyday without you is excruciating. He had no idea he could miss someone to this extent and it’s why he’s sat by himself on the shore, watching the waves crash against the waiting rocks, elbows resting upon his perched knees with his forearms hung limp between them. And like usual, his ears perk up at the sound of your name in a conversation that has nothing to do with him.

“So, Y/n, huh?” A voice chuckles.

He’s instantly on alert, all because your name rolls from a male’s tongue a little too freely. His spine straightens and his throat clears as he wills his body to remain calm at the simple mention of you.

“Yeah, man. I haven’t seen them together in a while, not sure what happened but I’m pretty sure it’s over. My rites are next week, and I’ll definitely pass. I’m thinking of asking her for her hand.”

Ao’nung nearly recoils and he’s up on his feet in seconds. The thought of you with someone else has his mind in a frenzy. Everything is a blur, the shouting of those around to witness is muted when his fist comes in contact with the poor na’vi’s nose and he’s hissing down at him in a fit of unrefined rage as if he even has the right.

“She’s spoken for.”

_____

Though his failed attempts proved to be fruitless— Ao’nung was somehow still confident enough, or maybe deep enough in denial to believe that eventually, you’d come around. That in due time, the memories of his mistake would trickle from your mind and you’d fall into him again.

But then, the tide changes.

Strange na’vi come swooping in on unfamiliar looking animals, drawing up a crowd of alarmed villagers with their arrival. Men shield their mates from the potential threat, and mothers scoop their children up off their feet and into protective arms while weapons are quickly gathered in preparation.

The screeches of the large birds split through the air and ring uncomfortably in Ao’nung’s ears, but still, he starts towards the direction of the disruption. The dark blue na’vi land on the wet sand of the shores, slender bodies lacking of weapons and hands outstretched to propose vulnerability, ensuring that they come in peace.

There’s six of them. The father, he assumes, the mother, a small girl who’s quickly gathered by her mother’s curt demand, a strange looking female who nervously cowers into her shawl behind them, and two boys.

Their tails are odd, lithe and silly in the way they swish back and forth with uncertainty. A tuft of hair decorates the ends and Ao’nung’s face crinkles in disapproval, but for some reason, you’re intrigued.

It’s the first time he’s really seen you in weeks. All of you, no longer hidden by your desire to avoid him. And somehow, you’re even more beautiful than when he’d last seen you, eyes beady, sparkling and round with interest and he prays you’ll look in his direction, but you don’t. You stand with the rest of the crowd, hands folded behind your back while you eye the strange looking newcomers and Eywa he just wants to hold you again. It’s hard to focus on the invasion of foreigners to his land, because all he can think about is you.

The younger one has already expressed interest and introduced himself to Tsireya with an upwards nod of his head, and she’s a giggling mess beside you, so Ao’nung assumes it must be the eldest brother you’re watching so intently. The armor he wears resembles his father’s, but there’s an obvious difference between their status as he quietly stands behind the man negotiating. Toruk Makto, he comes to find out, or what he calls himself—Jakesully.

Ao’nung isn’t even listening to the conversation his father is having right beside him, because you laugh and his ear turns in its direction, then his head follows. That sweet, sweet laugh. It should’ve melted his heart, like it always did, but instead it makes it freeze over and sends a chill prickling up his spine, because you’re not looking at him.

You couldn’t help your curiosity.

Contrary to Tsireya’s advice, you’d reached out and touched the fluff of the eldest brother’s tail, because everything about him was so different from you and you had a hard time believing he was real. His markings resembled stripes, yours waves. His hair neatly plaited, yours loose. He’s very, very composed, hands politely clasped together in front of him, head raised confidently but not arrogantly and you don’t know why, but you like that. His physique is lean, carved and sculpted to reveal tight muscles that of a warrior. He’s taller than Ao’nung, and much taller than you.

It made you giggle, how his tail seemed to be the most animated part of his dignified, soldier-like disposition, because it hurriedly curled around his small waist with a mind of its own and away from your gentle finger the moment you made contact. The Metkayina boy felt his stomach curdle and bubble with jealousy at your genuine infatuation with this stranger.

The eldest’s braids sway over his shoulders with the movement of his head whipping around, wooden beads clacking against each other while his intense, aureate eyes attempt to locate the culprit of the intrusion. They miss you completely and glance right over your head, but when his chin meets his chest to return his attention to the Olo’eyktans’ conversation, that’s when they find you, and take time to trail down your form. And they keep you, and don’t let you go for a long, spark-filled moment, your big blue eyes peering up into his amber ones that twinkle with newfound interest. You’re shorter than the girls he’s used to, your body plump and soft in the areas Omaticayan women are slender. The boy’s never seen someone quite like you before, that’s clear in the way his brow bone raises.

You looked apprehensive for a beat, smile faltering due to the searing, unintentionally intimidating gaze this man has on you while he examines your person, and Ao’nung’s foot moves to approach, ready to protect his long lost love from this bizarre na’vi— this intruder.

But then, the boy’s hardened mask crumbles, bioluminescent freckles emit a soft glow against dark blue, and he smiles at you, more than willing to look past your curiosity. Your cheeks flush amaranth when you return his grin, the same way they would when you used to look into his eyes.

It was in that moment, Ao’nung felt his heart split into four, as it’d already been severed in half long before this.

____

You make him feel welcome. Neteyam, that is. He occupies the early hours of your day, meets you at your Mauri every morning with a basket of your favorite fruits as a thank you for helping train him and his siblings, because he’s just not satisfied with being anything less than perfect. And it’s like you’ve completely forgotten about your past in the way you beam and pull him along the netted path by his hand, effervescent in the way you bounce along, insistent and thrilled to show him all the parts of your home— his new home.

And he trails behind you with the goofiest smile, because Neteyam would follow you anywhere. He made this known to you from the start and that was something you craved—the solidity of it all. Assurance. The security in something real.

He’s sweet to you, Ao’nung knows he is, because after just a month of these forest freaks living in the village, he notices unfamiliar trinkets begin to adorn your stature.

You now keep a few long braids in your hair, one on either side of your face, and two in the back, you’ve never done that before. You always claimed you liked your hair loose like the waves of the sea you loved so— untamed like the light of your spirit. But your undeniable pull to the man of the forest has you compromising.

There’s a stack of unfamiliar beads looped on the ends of each of them, and surely they’re not made with a material collected from the reef. They’re wooden and polished, embellished with painted markings he doesn’t recognize. You’ve never worn those before.

Ao’nung waits for this fling to pass. But then, the second month goes by, and then another, until he realizes that you’ve moved on. Of course you have. Why shouldn’t you? It’s not like you hadn’t found him cozied up with another girl, cooing the same promises he’d kissed onto your skin into the ear of another, as if he hadn’t been telling you for nights on end that he wanted to make you his mate. What a beautiful lie, and if only you’d known it was the truth.

You like Neteyam, because he’s gentle. He’s kind, and thoughtful, and cares for others more than he cares for himself. He makes you feel seen, and safe. Valued. You make him feel heard, and appreciated. Relaxed. Things the both of you have apparently lacked the majority of your young lives.

It’s easy with him, because you never have to worry about his eyes lingering elsewhere or his attention wandering. He’s so smitten with you and you’re so enamored with him, and it’s all so consuming that you don’t know what else to do other than rave about it from the cliff tops to prevent your heart from bursting with the premature promise of forever and scaring him off, little do you know he wants it more than you do.

Neteyam makes you feel whole, and gorgeous in all aspects of your being, not just beautiful because of what he sees on the outside. He’s in love with your soul, in a way you never thought a man could be, but only because you’d never been told.

You’re his only one, and in every breath he takes he makes sure this is known. He boasts about you to his parents and siblings and the friends he’s managed to make in the village whenever he gets the chance. And with slender fingers, he’s much more skilled at Ao’nung at this jewelry making thing, because damn near every week there’s a shiny new prospect of Neteyam’s love and appreciation strung around your neck in pretty beads and shells that have you squealing and jumping into his waiting arms as if he’s proposed.

It’s something you’d always told Ao’nung you wanted, a token of his appreciation in the form of something you could hold, something you could keep close to your heart for years to come. Something he never got around to doing because he insisted to himself that it’d push him off the deep end and into the tumultuous waters of loving you, unknown to the fact that he needed no one to help him do that but himself.

You feel like a princess everyday because Neteyam tells you that you are one. And he doesn’t just tell you, he treats you as such, too.

Sun kissed jewels from the high depths only a skilled climber can reach dress your wrist, like they were made for you. They match your eyes and you wear them like it’s your second skin because you almost cried when he gave them to you, paired with a confession of his love and Ao’nung wishes he’d thought of it first.

It makes him sick. All he hears around the grapevine is how you’ve never looked this happy. How you have an unmistakable glow to you, a pep in your step due to the golden boy who’s somehow won the hearts of the people in Awa’atlu in his short time here, just as he had done with his own people back home.

How a weightlessness clings to your answers when your friends ask how you and the forest boy are getting along, because it’s nothing less than a dream come true.

It’s a stupid question, the answer is so painfully obvious that it has Ao’nung wanting to rip his hair out.

Neteyam looks at you like you’ve hung the stars in his sky, like the sun rises in your irises though he knows the blazing star is much too hot to be the color blue. He holds onto you in public, proudly, without shame or fear that others might see, because he’s just so blessed to call you his.

He’d even passed his rites to cement that, the first out of his siblings to do so, and it’s no surprise that he chose one of the most extensive designs for his tattoo. You were right there, holding his hand as he sat through the entire session with no breaks, all to prove to you how strong of a warrior he was. Though the black ink etched along the side of his hip that stretches all the way down to his ankle is more than enough proof of that. And as if to rub seasalt into the wound, he’d even tamed Tsurak (Skimwing) on his first try, because he excels in everything he does, yet the man shows you off as if you’re his biggest accomplishment.

Because you are, and you should be. Ao’nung just hates that it isn’t him in his spot.

____

He shouldn’t have asked.

But you and Tsireya are close friends and he just wanted his mind to shut up with the endless scenarios it creates on loop when he’s trying to sleep at night. He just wanted to know if it was as serious as it looked, and his foolish heart really hoped it wasn’t. So every time Tsireya returned home from the daily training sessions with you and the other Sully’s, he was the first to meet her at the entrance, prying her for more information on you and the one who’d taken his place.

“Tell me,” He demands of his younger sister. It’s a look she’s never seen in his eyes before— desperation. “Does she love him?” He breathes, grasping on to the last bit of hope he has left.

She sighs, plucking her bicep from his soft hold with a gentle shake of her head. “Ask her yourself, Ao’nung. This is no longer my place, I will not get in the middle of your messes.”

“I can’t ask her, ‘Reya, you know that.” He pleads with her, “She won’t even look at me anymore. Please, just tell me.”

Her eyes meet his, looking between them and he can feel the disappointment radiating off her demeanor because she knows what he’s done. She knows you and Neteyam have plans to make your bond official, and she knows it’s far too late for her brother to fix things.

“Do you want her to be happy?”

Ao’nung hesitates at the question, but nods nonetheless. His answer is complicated, there’s layers to it. He wants you back, because he wants you to be happy, and you were always happy when you were with him. At least, you used to be, so maybe things could go back to the way they were if he tried hard enough.

But all hope dwindles like a candle snuffed with wet fingers when he hears the truth he’s been avoiding.

“Then let her go.”

part one

Likes + Reblogs + Comments are much appreciated! 💗

tag list based on the comments on part one ⬇️

@ako-gamboge @yaya6765 @yourusername1 @melllinaa @eitaababe

[mastersoftheair]

"Masters of the Air detail- Part 4-The Lemmons magneto scene E4.

"Apple released one scene with Master Sgt. Lemmons, the Crew Chief, and the rest appeared recently in E4.

"He had an engine problem that they were troubleshooting just before the engine start for the mission. Lemmons actually rode in the gear well of number 3 fixing the engine, as the Fortress taxied out on three engines.

"Cary, the director for the first four episodes, was asking about what Lemmons could be fixing and wanted to know if various things were plausible. One was changing a carburetor, uh, no. It’s not only a massive job but doesn’t fit with Lemmons riding in the gear well. I suggested working on a magneto, as just about the only things that you can get to, through the access panel in the firewall on a B-17, are the magnetos and the starter.

"Okay he said, can we change the magneto? Uh, no, not within the confines of this scene and taxiing out to takeoff. How about setting the magneto points as it would fit the timeline, look good and would be plausible. He said to set it up. Okay, off we go.

"Edit- I did not have access to Lemmons book or John Orloff’s notes at the time this scene was being discussed. Soon after Jessica was kind enough to give me a copy of Lemmons book and it said that he indeed did adjust the magneto points from inside of the gear well.

"I talked to Stewart Heath from BGI. A guy who can, and did, make miracles happen. We talked about the magneto, and I showed him what it and the B-17 accessory section looked like through the firewall opening. He was also going to build a B-17 engine nacelle for this scene!

"I said that almost any radial engine magneto would work and that I could source one if he needed. He said go so I contacted Carl Scholl at Aerotrader in California and asked if he had a mag for a Curtis Wright R1820. Of course he did! And he shipped it off to us in the UK. Thanks Carl.

"Stewart made the nacelle and a box housing the real mag, a dummy mag and starter. It was painted black and looked pretty good on camera.

"Raff Law is the actor who portrayed Sgt. Lemmons. He and I sat down with the ‘accessory box’ and I taught him how to look like he was setting up and adjusting the points on a magneto.

"I pictured the original WWII radial engine feeler gauge tool, with the bent ends, in my toolbox back home and hoped that Props Department may have something close. They supplied some nice period tools and Raff learned what he needed to do on the table at our “office”. Next was time for him to practice in the nacelle that Stewart and BGI built.

"During the building of the nacelle the oil tank was a topic of discussion. I gave them some photos, especially of the stenciling which could be visible and they, as usual, did a wonderful job.

"The nacelle was set up for the scene and the video walls were set up underneath the nacelle. Incidentally the wheels and tires used on MOTA were actual un-airworthy B-17 wheels and tires from the Collings Foundation. Some of you Collings pilots might recognize the flat spots on the tires!! It is cool to see some actual B-17 parts that flew a lot and made it into the series. We will not talk about the tread pattern though will we…

"Several camera angles set up in and around the nacelle and really looked good and helped to convey just how difficult it must have been for Sgt. Lemmons to accomplish what he did. Amazing for sure. I only hope that the Lemmons family is happy with the result.

"So much was put into making this and every scene as rich and authentic as possible that it is a shame that so many of these details didn’t make the final cut. But that’s the way this business is, it’s better to have too much and cut things out than to have too little and the need for more. MOTA was way up on the quality and detail and doing it with all of this specialized aircraft equipment is many times more difficult to do than most other subjects. Well done folks! So many people behind the scenes going above and beyond to make this special [...]"

[heartandheathenry]

Book Review: Ancestral Grimoire

Ancestral Grimoire: Connect with the Wisdom of the Ancestors through Tarot, Oracles, and Magic by Nancy Hendrickson and Benebell Wen.

Available on Amazon for $15.99 (I am not getting paid for this review, I bought this on my own in February.)

Some accessories I’m using to help me work through Ancestral Grimoire: The Beloved Dead oracle by Carrie Paris and Tina Hardt (on sale for $27.49)

Rider Waite Tarot card stickers from Amazon (starts at $7.99)

Heart & Heathenry Grimoire - Tarot Reader’s Pack (on sale for $6) 

Disclosure: I created the Tarot Reader’s Pack, so I earn compensation should you choose to purchase from my Etsy shop. I do not earn compensation from posting the other links or this review. 

Read on for my review! 

Can anyone have magick in their blood? Or is ancestral witchery open to a select few?

Ancestral Grimoire by Nancy Hendrickson opens the door for a more inclusive initiation into working with magick in your family tree -whether that be nurturing those existing roots or planting the seeds yourself. 

The book starts out with an introduction to ancestral magick, and is really a workbook for building a corresponding grimoire. 

You’ll get to know some nifty tips on how to use tarot for communicating with your ancestors, as well as numerous exercises you can use to truly integrate tarot cards into your ancestral practice. 

Chapters of the book outline months of the year, with their own set of exercises and bits of info, making Ancestral Grimoire a true workbook - by the time you’re done you’ll have an entire Book of Shadows with something interesting to look forward to every month. 

My favorite parts: 

I LOVED connecting with my favorite tarot deck in a different way. I never thought I’d use my cards specifically for ancestral communication, but this book really changed the way I read, and I’ve been reading for more than two decades. 

There were super cool exercises on how to make your own oracle cards and other tools, and I truly enjoyed that process. It helped me break out of a crafting rut too! 

I was able to add so much more to my personal Book of Shadows than I ever had, pages and pages of exercises, tool kits and more that really supplement what I’ve been building on for years. I never thought of my own grimoire as a living document but this book really challenged the way I look at my craft and helped me to expand my horizons. 

I got super creative with building out my new grimoire, incorporating scrapbooking techniques and embellishments like stickers and washi tape. 

A few pain points:

I really attempted to do a full year of Ancestral work like the book recommends, since I bought the book in February, I did January and Feb.’s exercises at once, and moved on from there. I was definitely burned out by May, but that’s because I tried to go above and beyond on each chapter (literal scrapbooking!) I’ve been getting back into it with a simpler approach and it's been a breath of fresh air. 

It's a short book, but it’s $15.99, which could be out of price range for some budget-conscious witches. 

I’d love to see a companion notebook or workbook come out for this one, considering there are so many activities to do! 

The author, Nancy Hendrickson, also has another book called Ancestral Tarot. I’m thinking about picking this one up because of how impressive Hendrickson’s in-depth approach to divination was in Ancestral Grimoire. 

I have a lot of books on my list to review, but if there’s something you think I should read, let me know! ~ Ash

[spiralling-thoughts]

Glimmerfall town

The poorer section of district 1 glimmerfall town is the more neglected part of the district The town sits at the edge of mining operations, surrounded by rough, rocky terrain. Dust clouds could rise from the constant digging, giving everything a muted, golden hue

- the residence live in an abandoned mansions that once belonged to the capitol richest family in the beginning foundation of panem but who since then abounded their homes to go live in the capitol, alternatively they also live in small simple houses

- looming structures dominate the town like mine shafts, conveyor belts and machinery built for digging, they cast long shadows on parts of the town

- though they are seen as the joke of district 1 the people of glimmerfall town are tough and proud, children learn about gemstones and the kinds of it very early and in schools, they are also very creative and ressouful , some like to add glamour to their simple mining clothes like using a Gold thread for stitching or making pendants and accessories from discarded gemstones

-Life revolves around the mines. Everyone, young or old, contributes in some way, from mining to cleaning gemstones or handling dangerous equipment. The town wakes up early to the sounds of mining tools and machines starting up, with people heading into the mines for long shifts but Despite the gritty, exhausting work, the residents have a deep appreciation for the beauty of the materials they work with. One can find small altars or shrines in homes made of spare gold or gems, celebrating the natural wealth they labor over but never get to keep

- the children go to school using the train that connects the town to the school area

- The lighting is sparse within the houses, with old lanterns and lamps flickering along the streets. At night, the town could glow faintly with the soft shimmer of gold dust in the air. Despite its poverty, there’s a surreal, almost magical atmosphere created by the omnipresence of precious metals.

- there is an underground black market underneath and within an abandoned mansion that once belonged to a wealthy family from the capitol it's referred to as the gilded Vine where citizens can trade gold dust and neglected pieces of gemstones for food or medicine or other needed tolls and supplies occasionally one could trade gold and gemstones stolen from the mines but these trading business is treated with utmost secret as the miners caught stealing will be punished by being thrown to prison for weeks, months, sometimes it can last for years if the prisoner tried to escape

- there are also cheap markets that sell second hand or slightly damaged luxury items that didn’t pass Capitol standards. People would sell silk scraps, broken jewelry, or flawed fabrics at lower prices, allowing the poor to have a taste of the luxury that defines District 1

-Some people in Glimmerfall might use their mining knowledge to craft unique, handmade items from gemstones and metals. These could be simple jewelry or functional items like knives with gem studded handles, Which give the black market a feel of resourcefulness despite its humble origins

- there are also secret buyers from the capitol for illegal luxury items which adds a feeling of constant secrecy as Capitol involvement brings both higher risks and greater rewards for those in the market

- in the beginning of the creation of the hunger games the children of glimmerfall town were among the biggest victims and were considered the low standards of district 1 after careers became a thing the children of glimmerfall town rarely get reaped as there is always a carrer to volunteer for them and also it allows children of reaping age to take out as much tessera as they need without the fear of having their names called however this also caused glimmerfall town to be neglected even more as years went by though children from there can volunteer in the carrer system if they need to or want to

- the residences of glimmerfall town are of south east Asian and Indian and black descent contrasting wildly with the white and blonde majority of district 1

- it's actually not uncommon to be marrying someone from glimmerfall town though this practice is mostly done by middle class citizens then it's done by crownspire which is the wealthiest section of district 1

[usafphantom2]

Producing JP-7, the fuel that powered the SR-71 Blackbird, caused a nationwide shortage of bug spray. Here’s why.

The SR-71 Blackbird

In the 1960’s, the US Air Force (USAF) developed the SR-71 Blackbird, a plane that could travel more than 3 times as fast as the sound produced by its own engines.

SR-71 T-Shirts

CLICK HERE to see The Aviation Geek Club contributor Linda Sheffield’s T-shirt designs! Linda has a personal relationship with the SR-71 because her father Butch Sheffield flew the Blackbird from test flight in 1965 until 1973. Butch’s Granddaughter’s Lisa Burroughs and Susan Miller are graphic designers. They designed most of the merchandise that is for sale on Threadless. A percentage of the profits go to Flight Test Museum at Edwards Air Force Base. This nonprofit charity is personal to the Sheffield family because they are raising money to house SR-71, #955. This was the first Blackbird that Butch Sheffield flew on Oct. 4, 1965.

Throughout its nearly 24-year career, the SR-71 spy plane remained the world’s fastest and highest-flying operational aircraft. Flying at Mach 3+ from 80,000 feet, it could survey 100,000 square miles of Earth’s surface per hour. And in the off chance an enemy tried to shoot it down with a missile, all the Blackbird had to do was speed up and outrun it.

Its engineering was so cutting edge that even the tools to build the SR-71 needed to be designed from scratch.

JP-7, the SR-71 Blackbird fuel

In fact, given that the Blackbird became so hot because it cruised at a speed of Mach 3.2 conventional jet fuel could not be used in it. A jet fuel with a high flash point, and high thermal stability was required. To satisfy this requirement Shell produced a special blend of fuel called JP-7.

Specifically, JP-7 fuel (referred to as Jet Propellant 7 prior to MIL-DTL-38219) was developed for the Blackbird’s Pratt & Whitney J58 (JT11D-20) turbojet engine. During flight, the SR-71 could attain speeds in excess of Mach 3+, which was the most efficient cruising speed for the J58 engines. However, very high skin temperatures were generated at this speed due to friction with the air. A new jet fuel was needed that was not affected by the heat, so JP-7 jet fuel, with a high flash point and high thermal stability, was developed for this purpose.

JP-7 fuel production caused a nationwide shortage of bug spray

According to the SR-71A Flight Manual, “The operating envelope of the [J58] JT11D-20 engine requires special fuel. The fuel is not only the source of energy but is also used in the engine hydraulic system. During high Mach flight, the fuel is also a heat sink for the various aircraft and engine accessories which would otherwise overheat at the high temperatures encountered. This requires a fuel having high thermal stability so that it will not break down and deposit coke and varnishes in the fuel system passages. A high luminometer number (brightness of flame index) is required to minimize transfer of heat to the burner parts. Other items are also significant, such as the amount of sulfur impurities tolerated. Advanced fuels, JP-7 (PWA 535) and PWA 523E, were developed to meet the above requirements.”

Producing JP-7, the fuel that powered the SR-71 Blackbird, caused a nationwide shortage of bug spray. Here���s why.

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Flit mosquito repellant

Noteworthy, JP-7 production caused a nationwide shortage of bug spray.

Shell Oil developed JP-7 in 1955. Manufacturing several hundred thousand gallons of the new fuel required the petroleum byproducts Shell normally used to make its Flit insecticide, causing a nationwide shortage of that product!

One of the ingredients in JP-7 just so happened to be a crucial part of Flit mosquito repellant. Bearing in mind the huge amount of fuel we’re talking about here, Shell didn’t exactly have enough supply to meet the newly increased demand, so mosquitos everywhere caught a lucky break!

JP-7 had a high flashpoint. It was not flammable and every time an SR-71 needed fuel, tankers were always there, they were terrific and deserve high praise.

SR-71 Blackbird JP-7 fuel used by the Boeing X-51 Waverider

Today the JP-7 fuel is used by the Boeing X-51 Waverider in its Pratt & Whitney SJY61 scramjet engine, with fuel capacity of some 270 pounds (120 kg). As with the SR-71, the X-51A design super-cools this fuel (cooled by extended subsonic flight in the stratosphere; prior to acceleration to supersonic speeds); then, when in supersonic flight, the fuel is heated by its circulation through heat exchangers which transfer to it the heat load of the interior spaces of the airframe. The fuel is then pumped through rotating mechanical parts of the engines and auxiliary mechanical equipment, providing both lubrication and cooling. Finally, at a temperature of nearly 550 °F (290 °C), it is pumped into the fuel nozzles of the engines.

Be sure to check out Linda Sheffield Miller (Col Richard (Butch) Sheffield’s daughter, Col. Sheffield was an SR-71 Reconnaissance Systems Officer) Twitter X Page Habubrats SR-71 and Facebook Page Born into the Wilde Blue Yonder for awesome Blackbird’s photos and stories.

Photo credit: U.S. Air Force

@Habubrats71 via X

[cadybear420]

Hi, how were you able to create the full body of Sakura from High School Story?

Ohohoh I'm glad you asked! It's a long and tricky process, but I'll explain it as best I can. With visual aid.

(Including the edit for reference)

Originally I'd just grab a random bare body asset, adjust it to her skintone, assemble the face sprite assets onto it, and then edit new outfits accordingly.

Since the original sprite was posed with a hand on her hip, I went with the "fem junior" bodytype (used for f!Dakota from WEH and f!Drew from RWB). But it didn't feel quite right to how her original sprite looked... so I decided to do it a different way.

First I'd piece together the original sprite. Then I'd go through the files to pick a full-body sprite that suited her– I went with that of Kamilah from Bloodbound instead. I made color adjustments as necessary to match Sakura's skintone.

Then I'd use the liquify filter tool (I use Photoshop/Photopea) to adjust the body to fit onto the pose that the original sprite gave us. Including making the left hand more like the hand on the original sprite.

Then, I'd need to merge the parts from her original sprite that were bare, to the body sprite. The original sprite shows a bare arm and one full hand, so I cropped it out from the original sprite, and (as shown in the above photos) erased the parts from the body asset that were going to be replaced.

I'd use the spot repair tool to make up for small gaps from the cropped arms and shoulders (where the straps of her dress were)

Then using air brush, air eraser, smudge tool, spot repair tool, and liquify tool, I'd merge the two pieces together.

And of course, I needed to adjust the thumb nail on the left hand

And we got our Sakura sprite! Ready to dress up in various outfits! :DDD

As for the outfit... I always make sure to keep the outfit leftovers when I cropped out the bare skin and arm.

So now I just need to add the bottom part. How exactly I add the bottom part depends on the top outfit piece itself, but for this one, I cropped out the lower white part, and added new skirt and leggings, to make the outfit fairly similar to her outfit from the original Prime game.

The skirt is recolored from f!Hayden's harajuku outfit from PM, and the leggings come from the thigh high stockings accessory from QB MC, adjusted accordingly with the godsend that is the liquify tool. Shading was added with the burn tool.

And that's how I made full-body Choices Sakura!

The process can vary, but I use these basic techniques to make full-body sprites of other half-body characters in HSS. The other ones I've shared so far are Myra and Mia, and I also have a couple for other characters such as Julian, Payton, Sydney, and Koh, as well as new outfits for the characters I have completed, that I haven't shared yet/am still working on.

[sirvivalism]

What's Your OTR Setup?

While it may not be as practical for some, I and most of my friends have started keeping our long-term bags in our vehicles alongside whatever else seems fitting for the free space available. My personal and still incomplete approximation is as follows...

In the whip:

Cables, air tank, jack, full size spare, pertinent tools, 5gal fuel jug, extra fluids, and a few spare parts

Splints, tourniquets, and warning lights for good citizen shit if I pass a wreck

Extra 2p tent, sleeping gear, and ccf pad

Canvas water bowl, french press, foodstuffs, 2gals water, and power converter for plugs

Guitar, magazines, and books for quality downtime

60l (maybe 70?) rush pack with "3 week" kit for undefined timespans away from home

Day bag for work with "3 day" kit, some of which serves as part of the bigger pack to reduce weight

IFAK with IFAK things

Carrier w/ lvl 4 plates and pertinent accoutrements

Load bearing vest with more things

Truck gun (appropriate caliber for hunting)

Snake gun

& Mags/Ammo

This is years in the making and specifically suited to my rural needs, and even that changes with time. The snake gun, the spare parts, the assortment of accessories; those are about me making the most of my available resources vs. my potential needs. I don't expect or recommend any carbon copies of this list. I just want to get your head going and serve as a jumping off point for your own preparedness in the event of a crisis.

***Remember - "preparedness" is just a word. While it technically includes people who turn abandoned bunkers into mansions, what it's really about and primarily comprised of is regular people who know how to not die in adverse environments. Whether it's a breakdown, a power outage, a storm, or a freeze, keeping your pantry full, being able to acquire necessities, staying engaged with your neighbors/community, and generally remaining ready for as many potential eventualities as is practical is good for you, your family, your friends, and civilized society in general.***

[dyxtd21]

Red Jasper aesthetic moodboard!!

Red Jasper:

Appearance: Red Jasper exudes an air of mystery and charisma, perfectly suited for his role as a top-tier agent and spy. His dark red coloration, combined with his sophisticated attire, makes him an irresistible figure who captures everyone's attention.

Body Coloration: His entire body is a deep, dark red, reminiscent of rich jasper stone. The dark red hue adds to his allure, making him stand out with a powerful presence.

Hair: His hair is a sleek, dark red, styled meticulously to enhance his polished appearance. It falls neatly, giving him a suave and dashing look.

Gemstone: His square-cut gemstone is embedded in his upper back, often hidden beneath his clothing but always a part of his identity.

Attire: Red Jasper's attire is a blend of classic elegance and modern sophistication, perfectly tailored to his role as a spy who can blend into any high society event or covert operation.

Suit: He wears a perfectly tailored dark red suit that fits him like a glove, accentuating his athletic build. The suit jacket has subtle, intricate patterns that shimmer slightly under the light.

Shirt: Underneath, he sports a crisp light red shirt, always buttoned up with a dark red tie that complements his suit.

Trousers: His suit trousers are also dark red, tailored to perfection, with a sharp crease down the front.

Footwear: He wears polished dark red Oxfords, adding a classic touch to his sophisticated look.

Accessories: Red Jasper accessorizes with a light red watch and his gun, which is always by his side.

Personality: Red Jasper is the epitome of charm and sophistication, making him everyone's type. His personality is a blend of intelligence, charisma, and a touch of mystery, which makes him irresistible to those around him.

Charming: He has a magnetic personality that draws people in. His smooth talk and charming demeanor make him the center of attention at any gathering.

Intelligent: Red Jasper is incredibly intelligent, able to think on his feet and adapt to any situation. His sharp mind is his greatest asset in his line of work.

Mysterious: Despite his charm, there is always an air of mystery around him. He never reveals more than he needs to, keeping people intrigued and captivated.

Loyal: He is fiercely loyal to his allies, always ready to protect them and ensure their safety. His sense of duty and loyalty is unwavering.

Confident: His confidence is palpable, and he carries himself with a sense of purpose and assurance that makes him an effective and formidable spy.

Quirks:

Smooth Operator: He can talk his way out of almost any situation, using his charm and wit to disarm opponents and win over allies.

Gadget Enthusiast: He has a collection of high-tech gadgets that aid him in his missions. From hidden earpieces to advanced surveillance equipment, he always has the right tool for the job.

Codebreaker: Red Jasper has a knack for solving complex puzzles and breaking codes. His analytical skills are second to none, allowing him to uncover secrets and gather vital information.

Everybody's Type: Despite his focus on his work, he can't help but attract admirers. His combination of looks, charm, and intelligence makes him a favorite among those he encounters.

[pneutube]

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[carvinylcarl]

What Should be Part of Your Vehicle Wrapping Kits?

Vehicle wrapping kits can help improve the visual appeal of your car or unify your fleet vehicles. There are also other benefits, such as car protection and advertisement potential.

Whatever you want your vehicle wrap to achieve, it will only serve its intended purpose when you have an effective vehicle wrapping kit. Good vehicle wrapping kits typically include high-quality materials and the necessary tools to ensure a smooth and professional application.

Here are the key elements of good vehicle wrapping kits:

High-Quality Vinyl Wrap: there are 4 factors that determine the quality of vinyl wrap: durability, flexibility, thickness, and adhesiveness. The vinyl should be durable, withstanding harsh weather conditions, UV rays, and car washes without fading or peeling. Good vinyl is also flexible enough to conform to the curves and contours of the vehicle without cracking. A thicker vinyl (around 3-4 mm) provides better coverage and durability. And finally, the adhesive of wrap should be strong enough to hold the vinyl in place but also allow repositioning during application.

Application Tools: There are 2 especially useful tools which will aid in the application process. Squeegees, which help smooth out the vinyl and remove air bubbles. Then there are utility knives, which are essential for trimming off excess vinyl.

Cleaning Supplies: Cleaning the vehicle's surface ensures that the wrap has the best chance of sticking to the vehicle's body. Cleaning products available to you include microfibre cloths, which clean and dry the surface without leaving scratches. There are also alcoholic cleansers, which will rid a vehicle's surface of any debris or dirt.

Application Solution: An application fluid or mix of water and a small amount of soap will help position the vinyl before it sticks firmly.

Heat Guns: A heat source is crucial for making the vinyl pliable around curves and edges. More pliability means that the wrap will be able to neatly fit around corners and dents in a vehicle.

Brands and Quality:

Investing in reliable brands, such as 3M, Avery Dennison, VViViD, or ATC is a good idea as they offer high-quality products with proven performance

Summary:

A good vehicle wrapping kit combines durable, flexible vinyl with the right tools and accessories to guarantee a smooth, bubble-free application. Look for kits that have an array of important tools and accessories, as well as durable vehicle wrap. It would also be beneficial to find a kit with instructions if you are a beginner.

When you're armed with the ideal vehicle wrapping kit, then you will have the best chance of a successful vehicle wrap application. And when wrap is properly applied, then its benefits can be reaped.

[cherryvampiro]

I adore your artstyle! And the little 2D figure you made! May I ask how you made it??

AAwh thank you!!! I'm an armature when it comes to sculpting but I'll do my best to explain my process. Disclaimer: this is my way of sculpting and I do recommend looking at youtube videos by more skilled artist in this profession to get a better idea💗:

First you need these tools: Oven baked clay (or air dry clay), foil, aluminum wire of your size/choice, wire cutters, any additional sculpting tools of your choice (I recommend those brushes with rubber tips to smooth places you can't reach), white Gesso paint, paint, & super glue!!

Before you start, make sure you have your idea of what you want to make!! Have a sketch with you or any photo reference you need. If you start with the head I highly recommend to use the foil to make the shape of the head first. Helps you save up clay & keeps your figure light!! Do this same step for the base of the body & limbs!! For the limbs though cut a wire first & then place foil over it. the wire will help hold/attach the limb to the body!! The wire is honestly the best to use if you got little accessories you want your character to hold!! (I used one to stick the mic to 2D's hand). Make a hole in the bottom of the head & then use a wire in place of a neck to attach the base to the head (You can cover up parts of the wire to clay). Make sure you holes & pieces of wire sticking out from each limb to base for attachment as well. Should look something like this :

Smooth any parts you want before sticking it in the oven (or letting it air dry!!) the rest is just painting and patients!! Put 2-3 layers of gesso to make it easier to paint and then glue it all to together once it's done!!!

Hope this helps!! I do apologize, I'm not the best at step by steps!!!

[aeriona]

Traditional Frenator Glass Jewelry!

Frenators are known for their unique cultural obsession with beadwork fashioned from glass, hand-blown using fire. Fire is an important part of Frenator culture, as they believe it can be used as a tool to capture spirits and immortalise them into glass.

Travellers practise glassblowing in different places they visit, to capture different animal spirits. Whatever they make is fashioned into accessories or charms in the shape of local animals.

The beads and charms they make can be put anywhere, but they are usually woven into clothing and hair, or strung into necklaces. Animal charms are painted with eyes and kept exposed to the open air, so the spirit housed within can ‘see’ the world around them.

It’s considered respectful to capture animal spirits and take them with you on your journey, so they can see the world’s wonders even after their death.

When a beloved animal companion passes away, a glass effigy is often made very soon after to immortalise their soul into, so they can always be with you. This is only done for animals though, not people!

[missamyrisa2]

Thinking of miss Amy trapped on a doctor's table and being tickle edged with feathers and silky fabric until she gigglecums. Got to do it multiple times to see which is the best way to tickle the ticklegasms out of the lovely Amy

Nnnnnh you shhuuuuush right nowww!!~~~

I feel my tummy muscles straining, going tight and flexing both from the idle air breezing around it and from the curious eyes looking down. My arms are pulling uselessly, I can't stop them from their fruitless desperation. Each leg is engaged in a similarly pointless struggle, almost dancing as another package marked "sterile" is torn open to reveal a fresh long medical-grade feather. "Nnnhh...nuuununu not againnn I already gigglecame you already made me make princess fireworks I'm sooo tickled and there's a chance, maybe a possibility that I'm a mite bit ticklish hhhunnnhhh oooh hunnn huneyyyy~!" My pleas and protests ignored with a matter-of-fact reading of my medical chart, indicating that there are still multiple tests to complete before my sensitivity diagnosis can be compiled. My lips quiver, I try to stifle my giggles and instead end up squeaking and slipping a snort ~ I feel my cheeks and neck ignite in an entirely new shade of blush like I'm demoing a new line of makeup~ The quill draws up my spent princess part and coaxes her out of retirement. My fleeting mental strength fails to will that royal rod back down to sleep, the soft grazing tip of the feather is simply irresistible as it flicks and traces the vein, a knowing path to activate my inner drive again. "Stthhahapp spooling me upppp I'm not a hhahahhard driveeee okay I'm hardd mmmmh but not a driiiive~! And mmmultiple? Nuuunuunu how many is multiple!!" I scream a giggle, my fingers clenching nothingness ~ I'm careening down another rollercoaster with nothing to brace my fall ~ The soft teasing tip is relentless in its probing, following all the paths the silky scarf trailed until my previous eruption of giggledrops ~ The maniacal doctor smirks and simply responds:

"Multiple."

I'm gyrating now, trying desperately to get away from those tickles. It's the lightest touch, no more than a breeze. Which is what I singsong in my hysterics. "I'm brreeeeezzeeee so breezee mmmhhhh unnhhh okay okay okayyyyy~!! Just just just waiiiit let me explainnn the X plane it's realllly usefull hey let me explain x plane it's a flight simulator I think hey let's go fly plaannessss you plain janee!" My body sheds the semblance of control, my thighs are quivering, hips bucking in mad protest at the sensations my midsection is being forced to endure as the feather makes its way upward and begins testing the ultra sensitive skin surrounding my princess part ~ the regal crown, the most ticklish accessory and one I absolutely dread possibly more than any other getting precision attention ~ The scarf caressed it, the feather is loving on it drawing around and following every sway as I struggle side to side~ at my waist, my flower belt buckle bounces comically up and down, naturally my doctor had detailed files on my ~ proclivities~ and decided to bring it back after I was stripped down~ that cool metal sensation taunts my blushing belly~ reminds me of my helplessness ~ "Nnnnnh featherrrrrr in the heatherr we should shut up heatherrrrr!! Sorry heatherrr mmmmmhhhhh~" I drift into fuzzies, babbling nonsense and references ~ but the wicked tool never stops, and those assessing eyes and taunting smirk with the matter of fact tone never quit either ~ even as my princess part trembles and shivers and starts leaking giggledrops ~ the stream making me scream out near-silent high giggles, the sensation of being made to orgasm again mixed with that tingle of wetness falling down is far too much ~ my eyes are widened and then summarily gone as I arch frantically ~

At least, until the sound of more sterile packages being opened crinkles in my ticklish ears~