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thetomorrowshow · 3 months ago

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febuwhump 17 - power instability

EMPIRES SUPERPOWERS AU IS BACK

title: vision, visage, gentile, genteel

fandom: empires smp

this is the first chapter of the esh au sequel. it's back babey

It began, as many things do, with a bang.

Nobody knew what it meant. There were people outside, getting ready to head to work, who jumped and cursed and spun around. The noise was considered by some, likely, a firework, or a gunshot, or perhaps some new super on the scene. Perhaps a car malfunctioning, or a tire popping. Whatever it was, it was none of most people's concern, and after a moment of fright, those unsuspecting souls continued on with their days and forgot that it had even happened.

When looked back on, there was no way to know that it was the beginning of the end.

The end of Major, Primary Protector of Empires City.

Or, not the end, exactly.

But with Xornoth dead, and most other villains minor enough to be more of a nuisance than anything (and some, like Mythics, often more friendly with the heroes than with the villains), the city had settled into complacency. The defeat of Xornoth by three very powerful heroes, Major, the Mad King, and the Ocean Queen—and the disappearance of another dangerous super, Solidarity—had led many to believe that the city was going to be safe for quite some time going forward. After all, those three heroes (and the other heroes of the city, such as the Wizard Gem and Pearl) had no plans to leave, and any challengers of their authority were quickly dispatched.

And the end started with a bang.

Or, more precisely, the end started in a small house on a quiet street on the East Side of Empires City, early in the morning, as the once-feared Solidarity whistled a little tune while scrambling eggs, and the Primary Protector of the city stretched his muscles and smiled fondly at his partner.

"Eggs are done!" Jimmy, once known as Solidarity, declares as he clicks off the stove.

Scott, also known as Major, Primary Protector of Empires City, finishes the final stretch of his routine before groaning his way to his feet and padding into the kitchen.

"I'm getting too old for this," grumbles Scott, who isn't even thirty, as he pulls a couple of plates out of the cabinet. "Why'd I choose to be a superhero? I could've been an architect, Jimmy. Instead of getting ready to save the world, I could be designing buildings to replace the ones that Mythics destroys."

"Yeah, right," Jimmy scoffs, scooping some eggs onto the plates. "Gays can't do math, there's no way you would've been able to design buildings."

"I literally passed my senior trig class with a C, thank you very much, and Cs get degrees."

Jimmy laughs, handing Scott the plates. Scott sets them down on the counter beside the toaster, into which he slots four pieces of toast.

It's domestic and warm in the kitchen—the stove has just been clicked off, still radiating a gentle heat, which is nice when there's ice in the air and snow on the ground.

Not that Scott minds either of those things. Despite his complaints, he's eager to patrol today. He always feels more energetic when surrounded by the make of his power. And maybe he feels a bit more . . . in control, he supposes. Bigger. More powerful. Almost like he can command the skies—a thought best left for his dreams, far beyond the reach of his power as it is.

It’s a lovely day. Crisp and cold, warm and homey, and Scott can’t fight a smile as he moves toward the table and clicks on the overhead light.

"Nope—" Jimmy cries out behind him, and Scott turns just in time to see the oven window shatter, pieces of tinted glass scattering across the kitchen tiles.

"Sorry, sorry, burned my finger on the stove," Jimmy explains, holding said finger in his other hand. "Took me by surprise, sorry."

"Hand under cold water," Scott instructs, pointing to the sink. As Jimmy hurries over, he continues, "and what's another oven window? Don't cut yourself on the glass, honey, let me get you your shoes—"

Scott heads back into the living room, kicking his yoga mat aside, to find Jimmy's velcro tennis shoes sticking out from under the couch. They have a tray for shoes by the front door, but Jimmy, for some reason, just leaves his shoes strewn about the living room carpet.

"Think the landlord is going to get concerned? This is, like, the fifth oven door we need replaced," Jimmy calls from the kitchen. Scott laughs.

"Well, if you'd stop burning yourself, we wouldn't need five oven doors, would we?"

"At least one of those times I cut my finger, so I'm not sure that the burning is the problem," Jimmy jokes back. "And remember when we had to replace the whole oven because you froze it and it broke? That's arguably worse."

"We really should have been kicked out by now," Scott comments as he reenters the kitchen, shoes in hand.

"Good thing you're rich."

"Good thing you're a gold digger."

The toast pops at the exact same time as Jimmy turns off the sink. Scott hands him his shoes, then steps around him to wash his hands before getting the toast.

"Have you got work today?" Scott asks. Jimmy shakes his head.

"Nah, it's still not doing well," he says. "Jerry has us working fewer hours, trying to make ends meet. He's hoping for a bit of a boom in business with this weather."

"I guess we'll see," Scott says. He sets the plates down on the table with the butter, one right in front of where Jimmy is sitting in his chair, strapping on his shoes, and the other in front of the chair beside it. He sits there, scraping a bit of butter across his toast before tossing back his antidepressants with a bit of water.

Jimmy does the same when he's done with his shoes, then spreads jam onto his toast before loading it up with eggs and shoving it into his mouth. Scott makes a pointed expression of disgust before resolutely ignoring the sin before him.

He's got an hour before his patrol shift properly begins, so that's probably enough time to sweep up the kitchen or wash the dishes. Not that either of those activities take him an hour to complete, but who can blame him for wanting to head out early? He's just itching to get out in the cold, in what is literally his element. It's the first snow of the season, and he's expected to stay inside?

Jimmy, as always, notices. He lays his free hand on Scott's knee (his touch always so gentle) and gives him a smile somehow made cuter by the crumbs on his lips. "You can head out early, if you want. I can—"

BANG!

The whole house rattles. Jimmy's hand tightens on Scott's knee, and for a second Scott feels a hum of power thrum through the air—more intense in his partner than in anyone else that he's ever known—before there's a high-pitched whining and all the lights in the house shut down, the refrigerator's hum whirring to a stop.

They sit there, for a moment, in silence, Jimmy's hand still on Scott's knee, the aftershocks of his power still pulsing from him.

Scott forgets, sometimes, that Jimmy has such magnitudes of power, that he isn't just shattered oven doors and broken dishes. That without even lifting a finger, Jimmy could collapse a building or take the life right out of a person's body.

Then he'll get a wake-up call like this, a reminder that Scott isn't the only (or even the most) dangerous person in the house.

Scott glances over to the microwave to check—never mind, the microwave is dead, no green numbers lit up to tell the time.

The time isn't really important, though.

What on earth could've caused that sound?

Scott's first thought is a gunshot, and he knows Jimmy's is too, by the apprehensive shine of fear in his eyes that Scott can see even through the darkness of their house. A gunshot that loud would have to have come from nearby, of course. . . .

Quickly, quietly, Scott steals to his feet and creeps to the front window in the living room, peering out carefully without disturbing the blinds.

Nothing. No signs of trouble, no screams, no bodies in the street. Just various neighbors poking their heads out their doors, looking around and calling greetings to each other.

Through the window (Scott had cracked it open while stretching to let in the frosty breeze), Scott hears one of them faintly call.

"Did you lot lose power, too?"

Scott grimaces. Jimmy's not going to like that. Sure, Scott can keep their fridge and freezer going until the power gets back on, and Jimmy can bundle up until then, but everyone else is without electricity while their freezers melt and there's nothing they can do about it. As far as he can tell, none of the houses along the street have power—and if the whole street is down, that means the neighborhood is too.

Unfortunately, it is Jimmy's fault, and he's going to want to do what he can to fix it.

Which, as far as Scott can tell, is nothing. So maybe he can just not tell him about it. Maybe he won't notice that the entire grid is out.

"All clear," Scott calls back to the dining room. "Any idea what that was?"

Silence from the dining room. After a moment, Jimmy calls, voice shaking,

"Sorry. Um, no."

Scott frowns. "Jimmy? You okay?"

Another moment of silence, followed by a shuddering sigh. "Yeah," Jimmy says unconvincingly. "I'm good."

Scott pulls the window shut, blinds clanking against the glass, then returns to the dining table.

Jimmy's still sitting where he left him, hands clenched around his trouser legs. He's staring resolutely at a spot on the table, eyes just the slightest bit wet.

"Jimmy? Baby?" Scott tries, sitting down beside him and taking his hand. Jimmy looks over at him, face pale, eyes resolute.

"I'm good," Jimmy says again, squeezing his hand. "Thank you."

He's not good, that's easy to see. But he's okay, and some days, that's all Scott can ask for.

It's been over two years since Xornoth was killed, and Jimmy will never be entirely better. He'll likely always need his hip brace or cane, he'll always need his medication, he'll always have trauma responses. But Scott isn't ever going to judge him for any of it.

That's who Jimmy is. And Scott loves him for it.

And as he sits there, holding Jimmy's left hand, he finds his mind wandering to where it so often does as he gazes at the fourth finger on Jimmy's hand.

Scott doesn't even have a ring yet, so he pushes the thought out of his mind with a little reluctance. First he has to discuss the idea of marriage with Jimmy, then he has to follow up with Lizzie, and then he has to subtly get Jimmy's ring size. . . .

Well. Baby steps, and all that.

They finish eating like that, Jimmy leaning just slightly into Scott's shoulder. Right as they finish, the refrigerator starts humming and the lights flick back on, suddenly enough that Scott has to blink a couple of times to clear the floating clouds of color in front of his vision. The various clocks in the kitchen appliances flash a bright 12:00.

"Power's back," Scott says, less as an actual observation and more as just something to say, and gets up to carry their dishes to the sink, skirting around the glass on the floor. "Okay for me to head out?"

"Yeah, I've got Norman. Don't worry about me," Jimmy says, standing as well. He retrieves the broom from where it leans in the corner of the kitchen. "Speaking of Norman, I'd better get this glass cleaned up before he runs his little feet through it. Have a good day at work!"

"I'll save the world as usual," says Scott. He kisses Jimmy on his way by (Jimmy hums contentedly, all signs of his prior distress gone but for a wrinkle between his eyebrows), grabs his backpack at the door, and heads out into the frigid air of the first snow of the season.

Where the loud noise originated from is not far from where Scott exits his home, just two streets away. Not that he even thinks to go over there, instead heading for the main section of the city, assuming it would be at the hub of most activity. That's where most unidentified sounds originate from, after all.

And as Scott's day continues, he forgets about the sound, just as most others do.

Two streets away from Major's house, popular villain Mythics flees, eyes wild and breath gasping, a swirling portal crackling behind him.

It's possibly the best day of the year so far, weather-wise. The snow is actively falling, the streets are sparkling with ice, and Scott has never felt better.

Well, he's probably felt better. It snows every winter, after all.

But it feels so good after summer to finally return to what he is. This is the stuff Scott's made of, this is what gives him life.

It's glorious.

Scott lets out a little whoop as he slides part-way up the side of a building, the ice that already frosts its windows spreading spontaneously to the walls to give him the slipperiness he needs.

The people love it, too. Lizzie takes particular delight in sending him video compilations of his greatest tricks and most impressive fights, and the comments are always full of adoration for his skills and admiration of his power and creations.

So maybe, as he skates down a frozen sidewalk of his own creation (which he unfreezes behind him, because he knows not everyone has the skill to navigate such a path and would probably prefer a normal sidewalk), he adds a couple of flourishes to his act.

There's a group of kids at recess by Empires North Elementary School, and Scott stops to start a snowball fight before continuing on, frosting the windows of every classroom with beautiful little fractals.

He signs his name in frost as intricately as possible on the hood of someone's car, gives them a cheery wave when they run out of the store to take a picture.

He makes tiny snowmen to line the bus stop with just a couple of waves of his hand, then can't stop laughing when a little girl at the stop with her father cheers for 'Elsa'.

Maybe all of the villains of the city took one look out their windows and decided no, thank you, because there’s zero disturbances all morning. Scott doesn’t mind. He doesn’t think he could ever get bored in weather like this.

By the time it hits lunchtime, Scott's cheeks are red from the wind and hurt from smiling. He slides into a small deli and picks out a sandwich and a drink, the latter of which freezes over in his hands quite nicely.

"Major!" the deliman (and owner of the deli, if his nametag is true) exclaims, adding lettuce to his sandwich. "Keeping us all safe?"

"As best I can," Scott smiles. "How are you doing, Felix?"

Felix, the owner, chuckles, going a bit red in the face. "Never better, Major. You can have this free, all right?"

Scott chuckles as well, setting the drink on the counter and digging out his wallet. "I want to pay, don't even worry about it."

"No, no, nothing for you!"

"Come on, Felix, I'm—"

BANG!

Scott follows his first instinct—protection. Within milliseconds, there's an ice wall surrounding Felix, and another one shoots up in front of the large deli windows and door. It's instant, and Scott's never moved so fast in his life but the ice is there and time itself seems to freeze.

Everything is still for a timeless moment, snowflakes slowly swirling around Scott's masked face.

And somehow, he's the ice that lines the streets and the pipes below that travel all the way through the city and the icicles hanging from every roof and the frost paving windshields, and Scott knows that something has gone very wrong.

He's never felt this powerful in his life—nor this overwhelmed. There's so much stimulus, so many far away nerves jangling and he can't focus on the snowflake in front of him when he can see every fractal of it—

"Major!"

With a herculean effort, Scott manages to pull himself back into his body from where the tendrils of his mind have reached all the way across the city. He blinks, looks around.

The entire deli is frozen over.

Two customers are frantically trying to scrape some ice off the shelves, another is kicking at ice on the door, and Felix—

Scott can't even see Felix, a thick wall of ice surrounding him.

Scott panics. He can’t help it—his breathing quickens, his mind races, he starts feeling distantly dizzy at the idea that he might've hurt people, he might've broken something—and he notices, as his frozen fingers shake, that the frost is growing with every moment, slowly spreading to the floor and up the walls.

He hasn't been this out of control since—since he was a teenager, since before he was trained, even, since before he was a hero—

He can fix this. He knows how to fix it. Scott shuts the panic and fear out of his head as best he can and thinks back to his early days of training, back to when Aeor had taught him how to properly channel his emotions for incidents like this.

He hasn't had to consciously control himself in years.

He's never felt like this before.

He takes a slow, deep breath, letting the frenetic energy travel from his brain and heart and out through his finger tips, where frost grows into icicles. Then, with all the control and might that he can muster, Scott pulls, reeling it all back with a steady grip.

Slower than he would've liked, the ice and frost recede, all pulled back into thin air bit by bit. Scott breathes with it, in and out, until the ice walls crack and slide apart and the frost is entirely gone.

He breathes, and with it, his mind begins to settle. He’s all right. Everything’s all right.

Each of the other customers thanks Scott, casting glances both confused and a little fearful in his direction. Felix, luckily, is fine, if a little shocked. Scott subtly slides more than triple the worth of the sandwich into his hand, apologizes for the disruption, and heads out, slightly soggy lunch under his arm.

And again, he can't find the source of such a loud sound—because he remembers, suddenly, that the reason he'd headed out from his house so early this morning wasn't to see the snow, but to find the source of that first sound.

There's almost nobody out on the street, no gun or powered individual or blown transformer that could've caused it. In fact, the only other people outside are people who have stepped out of offices and shops to look around.

Scott gives them a cheery wave when they turn to him, one woman shouting a question in Spanish. "Nothing to worry about," he calls, assuming she'd asked about the sound. "Have a good one!"

"Hey, Major!" a young man waves. "How's your day been?"

"It’s been great!" Scott smiles his best winning smile. "Gotta go—heard about something on the other side of town!"

He didn't hear about anything, and he usually feels pretty good about talking to citizens, but he does feel kind of awkward standing in front of a place he just froze, like a guilty child fleeing the scene of a mess. And he doesn't even have a dog to blame it on.

What had even happened back there?

Scott had—he'd been scared. He'd thrown up normal protections, in case someone was trying to shoot up the deli and had somehow missed the bright blue superhero standing there, and then—

Then he'd felt so much.

Scott's not entirely sure what happened—one moment he'd been fine, totally in control of himself and his actions, and the next he was frost crunching under a pedestrian's foot and an icicle dripping from a gutter and the tiniest snowflake blown about by the wind.

It was nothing like he'd ever felt before.

It was terrifying.

It was exhilarating.

It was—oh, look, there's Joel!

"King!"

Scott spots Joel from across the intersection that he's currently sliding through, and pulls up a ridge of ice to give himself a sharp turn. He slides up to where Joel is leaning against the walk sign pole, waiting to cross the road.

Joel nods to him, eyes looking somewhat preoccupied behind his mask. "Hey, Major. When's your shift end?"

Scott shrugs, pulling his sandwich from where it's tucked under his arm. He ought to eat it sooner rather than later. "Dunno. I was hoping to stay out all day, if possible."

Joel raises a brow. "In the doghouse?"

"Of course not, the weather's just nice."

Joel chuckles. "Yeah, I'd guess so. You and Jimmy never fight, do you?"

"Well, do you and Lizzie?" asks Scott.

"Nope," Joel says proudly. "That's why we got married. We never fight."

Which is a lie, of course. Just last week, when he and Jimmy went over to Lizzie and Joel's apartment for dinner, Lizzie had thrown rolls at Joel all evening and Joel had implied some rather unkind things about her pet rabbit.

Scott doesn't bother calling him out on the lie. Joel's right about one thing—he and Jimmy almost never fight, and when they do, they resolve it quickly and schedule a couple's therapy appointment to make sure there are no lingering issues.

They're perfect for each other.

And once again, Scott's mind turns to the rather pleasant idea of a gold band around Jimmy's finger.

"You two really ought to tie the knot soon," Joel says casually, and Scott can't help but sputter.

"I—were you reading my mind?" he accuses.

"No?" Joel says, voice turning from confused to gleeful in that one syllable. "I—ooooh! You're thinking about it, that means it's practically official! So—are you thinking something big, whole city invited, those nice ice sculpture things like in movies—"

"Sorry, Major? Mad King? Can we get a picture?"

Joel shuts up—thankfully, otherwise Scott would've frozen his tongue in his mouth—and gestures for the two women to stand between him and Scott.

Scott smiles into the phone, and can't help but notice that there's frost on his own cheeks.

That's . . . that's a little odd. He isn't usually radiating cold, not unless he's angry. Maybe it's the high spirits he's in from the weather. That explains it, doesn't it?

Still, when the women leave, Scott scrubs at his face, hoping to warm his cheeks up enough that none of his frigidity can find a home there.

"Yeah, noticed you looked a little chillier than normal," Joel comments. "All good?"

Well, he did sort of lose control during some strange out of body experience earlier. But that's kind of embarrassing, and it was a one-off, so Scott doesn't mention it. He doesn't need Joel to tease him about it, nor tell every hero who'll listen.

He just nods, shrugs, and takes a bite of his sandwich.

Jimmy's alone in the house when it happens again, curled up on the couch with his blanket over his shoulders and his LinkedIn profile pulled up on his phone.

He doesn't really know what happens.

All he knows is that there's a loud noise and he doesn’t do well with loud noises, but luckily he manages to keep a hold on his powers this time.

Or, he thinks he does.

Because in the same moment as the BANG, Jimmy feels so much.

And it feels good.

#febuwhump2025 #febuwhumpday17 #empires smp #esh au #empires superpowers au #flower husbands #scott smajor #jimmy solidarity #smallishbeans #esmp #mas writes #YEAH BABEY LETS GOOOOOO #welcome BACK to esh au #i just realized that like. i've had this written for a while now #and while it isn't fully edited it is fully written #and then i was like ayo why am i just sitting on this?#anywayyyyys how's it going for yalllll #lmk what you think #love you guys

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himasgod · 6 months ago

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Kaveh x Reader

Where, having an anxiety attack, you meet Kaveh.

(Established relationship, anxious reader)

(After the Sabzeruz festival event, I fell back into my Kaveh era 😞 This has been one of my favorite things I've written so far, I'm especially proud of this one. Enjoy it!)

It was a cloudy afternoon in Sumeru, the gentle breeze of the wind carrying with it an air of melancholy. You had been feeling anxious, the pressure of the world around you seemed to intensify with each passing day. The Akademiya and all its expectations and plans for you were making you sick. As the shadows of the afternoon lengthened, your thoughts grew darker, dragging you into an abyss that was difficult to escape from. Anxiety became a constant companion, one that found its way into every corner of your mind.

The only thing you thought about at the moment was seeing him. The greatest support in your life.

At that moment, you decided to take a walk through the garden of the Palace of Alcazarzaray. Maybe the splendor of nature could offer you some peace. The scent of flowers and the soft sound of leaves rustling surrounded you, but your mind was still caught in its own storm. However, in the distance, a familiar figure was approaching: Kaveh.

It seemed that luck had smiled on you that day.

Kaveh, the brilliant architect, was known not only for his talent in construction, but also for his ability to light up any room with his presence. With his golden hair blowing in the wind and his carefree smile, it seemed that everything in his being defied the heaviness you felt in your chest. When he saw you, his eyes lit up and his beautiful smile reflected in his eyes, and he quickly approached.

“Hey! What are you doing here alone? I was thinking about you! What a coincidence! I was just going to come to your house to help you with your projects,” he asked, his voice like a balm for your restlessness.

“Just… trying to clear my mind,” you replied, trying to force a smile.

“The mind sometimes needs a break, don’t you think? Come, come with me,” Kaveh said, taking your hand tenderly and kissing your knuckles. Then, with his wide, tender smile, he led you to a corner of the garden where the flowers were more abundant and colorful.

As you walked, Kaveh began to talk about his latest projects, his enthusiasm palpable in every word. He shared anecdotes about his challenges in construction, how he dealt with criticism and difficulties. Despite your own problems, you couldn’t help but smile as you heard his voice full of passion.

“Architecture isn’t just about building buildings, it’s about telling stories,” Kaveh said with a spark in his eyes. “Each brick has its own meaning, each design tells a part of our story.”

You found yourself nodding, his perspective beginning to influence your own world. With each word of his, the heavy cloud of anxiety that enveloped you seemed to dissipate a little more. Kaveh had the ability to make you forget about your problems, at least for a moment.

“You know? Sometimes I feel like anxiety consumes me,” you finally confessed, vulnerability hanging in the air between you.

Kaveh paused, his gaze softening, and he took a moment to reflect. Then, with an understanding smile, he looked into your eyes.

“You’re not alone in this. We all face our own demons, and it’s natural to feel overwhelmed. But remember that there’s always light, even in the darkest of times. I’m here for you, and I always will be. Because you’re my everything. You’re like… the pillars of me, you know?”

His words were a comforting whisper. Kaveh, with his creativity and optimism, helped you see the world from a new perspective. You felt lighter, like the burden on your chest was fading away.

“Thank you, Kaveh,” you whispered. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I’ll always be your biggest support, and if you ever need to escape, you just have to tell me. Now, come, I want to show you something special."

With that promise, Kaveh led you to a small corner of the garden where he had begun work on a new project. In the center, there was a blank canvas, a representation of a future he was building himself.

“I’m thinking of this as a symbol of new opportunities,” he said, looking at the canvas with a gleam in his eyes. “I want us to paint it together.”

And so, with brushes in hand and laughter floating in the air, you began to create. Each stroke was a step forward, a small triumph over the anxiety that had threatened to consume your peace. Kaveh was at your side, his laughter echoing in your ears, each color you chose together filling the canvas with not only pigment, but hope.

In that instant, you realized that although anxiety was a shadow that sometimes loomed over you, there was also light and beauty in the world, especially when you were with Kaveh.

And as you painted, the future seemed a little brighter, a little more accessible, and above all, you were toghether. For ever.

Here is my masterlist, in case you are interested in any more of my work or want to send me a request <3

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #kaveh x you #kaveh #genshin kaveh #kaveh x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin impact fanfic #genshin impact imagines #idk how to tag this again #kaveh x y/n #genshin impact kaveh #genshin x y/n

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scotianostra · 29 days ago

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14th April 1582 saw a Charter granted by James VI which would lead to the foundation of University of Edinburgh in 1583.

The founding of the University of Edinburgh can be traced back directly to Robert Reid, Bishop of Orkney and Abbot of Kinloss Abbey. On his death in 1558 he left significant funds for the founding of a seat of learning in Edinburgh, and these formed the basis of the university's endowment. The University was established by a Royal Charter granted by James VI in 1582, making it only the sixth university to be founded in the British Isles, and the fourth in Scotland. Funding came both from the endowment left by Bishop Reid and from the City Council.

In in the 1700s the University of Edinburgh was at the heart of the wide ranging revolution in thinking now known as the Scottish Enlightenment, a revolution that led the French philosopher Voltaire to say "we look to Scotland for all our ideas of civilization". Despite this, until the start of the 1800s, the university had no purpose built buildings, instead occupying a wide variety of rented accommodation. In 1827 this changed with the opening of the Old College, built on South Bridge by the architect William Henry Playfair to plans by Robert Adam.

More new buildings followed, including a new Medical School designed by Robert Rowand Anderson which opened in 1875, and the magnificent McEwan Hall, which was completed in 1880. The university is now also responsible for the oldest purpose-built concert hall in Scotland (and the second oldest in use in the British Isles) St Cecilia's Concert Hall, built for the Edinburgh Musical Society 1763; and in 1889 it opened Teviot House, the oldest purpose built Student Union building anywhere in the world.

The origins of the university library date back to a collection formed in 1580, two years before the university itself was founded. It has grown to become the largest university library in Scotland with over 2 million periodicals, manuscripts, theses, microforms and printed works. It is housed in the main University Library building in George Square, designed by Basil Spence and one of the largest academic library buildings in Europe. There are also a number of more specialised faculty and departmental libraries. In 2011 the previously independent Edinburgh College of Art became part of the university.

#scotland #scottish #edinburgh #history #education

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vintagelasvegas · 7 months ago

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Sands Hotel & Casino '52-'96

Sands, December 1952

Kit Carson Club ('46-'50) Kit Carson Motel ('46-'64) La Lue nightclub ('50-'51)

'46: Kit Carson Club opened by H. Bynum, D. Anderson, G. Frisbee on US Hwy 91 outside of Las Vegas, adjacent to Kit Carson Motel. The club will later become LaRue nightclub, then the Garden Room of the Sands Hotel.

'50: Kit Carson Club reopened as LaRue nightclub by Billy Wilkerson, Nola Hahn, 12/23/50.

'51: LaRue closed by summer. Mack Kufferman buys LaRue and hires architect Wayne McAllister to build around the existing club. Kuffman and partners apply for gaming license. The project is called Sands by 12/51.

Sands ('52-'96)

'52: Kufferman gaming license denied in Apr., sells to Jake Freedman (RG 4/9/52, RG 6/13/52). Partners running the Sands are B. Barron, E. Levinson (casino manager), S. Wyman, J. Entratter (showroom & restaurants). Hidden partners are believed to include J. Stacher, M. Lansky. Sands road sign designed by McAllister, built by YESCO.

'52: Dec. 12, Sands opens with 200 rooms in five buildings arranged in Y-shaped layout. The guest wings are named after race tracks: Arlington Park, Belmont Park, Haileah, Rockingham Park, Santa Anita. Three other wings of equal size were added circa ’53-54 (two were named Churchill Downs, Hollywood Park), another by ’58, and larger wing by ’60. The total room count in ’60 was 465.

'53: Frank Sinatra plays his first engagement at the Sands and becomes 2% owner in Oct; Carl Cohen joins the Sands as shareholder and casino manager in Oct.

'54: Sign modification: Second reader board added below the main board, Feb or earlier. Antonio Morelli joins the Sands as musical director for the Copa in Jul.

'55: Sands partners assume control of the Dunes in Sep. They sell the Dunes in four months later.

'58: Jake Freedman dies 1/19/58; Jack Entratter becomes Sands president.

'59: Sign modification: Attraction board attached to the sign, Feb or earlier. Baccarat begins at the Sands. Sands acquires the former Orinda Motel, property to the south, used for expansion of the Sands parking lot.

'60: Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr, Peter Lawford, and Joey Bishop (the "Rat Pack") are first billed together in the Copa in Jan-Feb. during the filming of Ocean's 11. Senator John F. Kennedy visits during the Democratic primary campaign.

'63: Opening of Aqueduct hotel wing (83 rm) in Apr. Julius Gabrielle, architect (RJ 4/28/63). Sinatra surrenders ownership 10/7/63.

'64: Sands acquires the former Kit Carson Motel; Belmont and Arlington buildings (base of the Y) moved southward to accommodate construction of a hotel tower. Sign modification: The frame around the main marquee painted tan.

'65: Second sign in Aug; tower completed late in the year and officially opened Jan. ’66. Martin Stern Jr, architect.

'67: Howard Hughes buys the Sands, 7/23/67. Sinatra leaves his Sands residency after confrontation with Cohen, 9/11/67.

'69: Dean Martin leaves Sands to join Riviera.

'71: Entratter dies, 3/8/71.

'73: Cohen leaves the Sands, Jan. '73.

'80: Inns of America buys the Sands from Hughes heirs Summa Corp in Oct.

'81: Oct., Sands third sign and new porte-cochere.

'82: Jan. 15, Completion of remodeling effort including new Copa room.

'83: Summa Corp re-assumes control of the Sands, 4/5/83.

'88: Kirk Kerkorian buys the Sands in Jan. Kerkorian sells to Interface Group led by Sheldon Addison in Apr.

'90: Sands Expo and Convention Center opens.

'94: Remodeling of the casino.

'96: Sands closes 6/30/96. Tower demolished 11/26/96.

Photos of the Sands

Sources include David G. Schwartz. At the Sands: The Casino That Shaped Classic Las Vegas, Brought the Rat Pack Together, and Went Out With a Bang. December 1952 photo courtesy of Slidetreasurehunt.

Construction of the sign, 1952. The pylon sign pedestal was 56�� high, 21’ wide, with the S at 34’ tall. Design by Wayne McAllister, fabricated and installed by Young Electric Sign Co. Photo: YESCO Corporate Records (MS-00403), UNLV Special Collections & Archives.

Opens Dec 15. Danny Thomas, Connie Rusell, Lou Wills Jr, Ray Sinatra Orchestra. Nevada State Museum, Las Vegas, 0007-0345.

Aerial view of Kit Carson Motel and the Sands, '62

#Sands #1952

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fionasangster · 1 month ago

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You don't have to share any fanfics or anything but WHAT do you write and HOW??

Bc my brain is just "mm.... Shane...." which is great and all, but that's not really a *story* y'know.

Pls help

Thanks :)

ok i love writing about writing so

there r a few different ways u can go about it. there are oneshots which can be smut or just like a scene from a life - eg if you're interested in shane taking care of chickens u could just write a scene of him looking after chickens. maybe with his internal pov, how it links to the rest of his life. basically u can find a part of the character ur interested in/fixated on and just like, explore it. thats my fav part about fanfiction is just EXPLORING!!!!!

which brings me to my next point that there are 2 diff types of writers (probs an overgeneralisation but this came from george rr martin so blame him) - architects and gardeners.

“I think there are two types of writers, the architects and the gardeners. The architects plan everything ahead of time, like an architect building a house. They know how many rooms are going to be in the house, what kind of roof they're going to have, where the wires are going to run, what kind of plumbing there's going to be. They have the whole thing designed and blueprinted out before they even nail the first board up. The gardeners dig a hole, drop in a seed and water it. They kind of know what seed it is, they know if planted a fantasy seed or mystery seed or whatever. But as the plant comes up and they water it, they don't know how many branches it's going to have, they find out as it grows. And I'm much more a gardener than an architect.”

idk how to make something a quote on tumblr i havent been on here in like 10 years lol

so like im a gardener i love just sitting down in front of a blank document being like whats gonna happen!!!! and figuring it out as i go. writing a line, then thinking, then writing the next line, then thinking. i get a lot of feedback about my dialogue feeling natural and i think its bc of this, because they respond to each other, bc im not trying to get to a specific goal point

so that might be your vibe too! could just sit down and start noodling around with the keyboard and something just kinda comes out! i love writing a good first sentence and then just letting it go from there e.g. the first sentence in my fanfic that's not on AO3 is 'the pleasantries were overwhelming when you got to town'. and then its like oooh ok where do we go now hehehe

but if ur more of an architect then i guess it would be more of a case of what i said earlier, find something you're interested in. like when u think about him what do u think about? any scenarios? any pairings you think are good? if so, what might be the situation that led to them meeting or making out? then you can plan plan plan and write write write

i hope thats helpful! ive been talking abuot this kind of thing with my friend who wants to start writing fic and honestly i find it so fun, i dont get to talk about writing much lol

i would also add to set your word count goal low if its your first time writing fic!! if you enjoy reading 60k epics then you might want to write that but i cut my teeth on years of 5k-15k fics, much much much easier to start off with, much easier to finish!!

ok bye

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whencyclopedia · 3 months ago

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Beaumaris Castle

Beaumaris Castle, located on Anglesey, Wales, was built from 1295 CE by Edward I of England (r. 1272-1307 CE) to protect his territorial gains in the region. The castle featured the latest defensive designs of the period such as round towers, inner and outer circuit walls, massive towered gates and a fortified dock. Beaumaris Castle is considered one of the finest surviving examples of a concentric medieval castle and is listed by UNESCO as a World Heritage Site.

Edward I & Wales

From 1272 CE Edward I, the new king of England, conquered most of Wales and joined it with the county system present in England. Following the death of Llywelyn, the Prince of Wales, in 1282 CE, the only part of Wales which remained free was the wild mountainous north, and here the king built several major castles including Caernarfon, the most important. Then in 1294 CE, a Welsh revolt broke out led by Madog ap Llywelyn, and although it was put down, Edward realised the need to further strengthen his grip on the region and the Isle of Anglesey (Ynys Mon) in particular, an important source of food. Anglesey, like other sites Edward built castles upon, also had a significance to the Welsh people, both commercially as an important trading and fishing centre and as the location of a Welsh royal manor and a Franciscan friary. Consequently, Beaumaris Castle was built there to control both the island and the coastal shipping routes and to remind the Welsh that a new order had been established.

The chief architect and engineer who planned and oversaw the construction of Edward's castle was the experienced Master James of St Georges (c. 1235-1308 CE), who was also involved in Edward's other castles in Wales such as Harlech Castle, Conwy Castle, and Caernarfon Castle. From the spring of 1295 CE, Master James supervised a massive team of masons, carpenters, blacksmiths, and labourers - up to 3,500 workmen at the summer height of activity on the castle. These workers came from across the kingdom such as ditch diggers from Lincolnshire and Yorkshire, woodcutters from the West Midlands, and masons from Dorset. A letter from Master James to the King's Exchequer, written in February 1296 CE, attempts to justify the escalating costs and gives a good idea of the scale and difficulties of building a medieval castle:

In case you should wonder where so much money could go in a week, we would have you know that we have needed - and shall continue to need - 400 masons, both cutters and layers, together with 2,000 less skilled workmen, 100 carts, 60 wagons and 30 boats bringing stone and sea coal; 200 quarrymen; 30 smiths, and carpenters for putting in the joists and floor boards and other necessary jobs. All this takes no account of the garrison…nor of the purchases of material, of which there will have to be a great quantity…The men's pay has been and still is very much in arrears, and we are having the greatest difficulty in keeping them because they simply have nothing to live on.

(quoted in Gravett, 11-12)

At least costs were reduced in the area of transportation of stone as Beaumaris used local sources of limestone, sandstone and metamorphic schist. The speed at which the castle was built would suggest that it was already planned when the other Welsh castles were designed and built in the 1280s CE. Beaumaris was already a serviceable defensive structure after just one year of construction, however, work continued over the next few years and minor additions were made to the castle right up to 1330 CE.

Beaumaris, the last of Edward's castles in North Wales, was intended to be both a military stronghold and an impressive symbol of the king's power in the region, not to mention an aesthetically striking one (hence the name). It is interesting to note the deliberate and visually appealing use of lighter limestone in the lower courses of the outer walls and the darker limestone in those above. The castle eventually cost at least 13,000 pounds (about $20 million today) and was never entirely finished - the outer towers and main gates were intended to be greater in height. Still, as the historian and castle expert N.J.G. Pounds succinctly puts it, "Beaumaris was geometrically the most perfect of the Edwardian castles, and the skilful engineering of its towers, gates and water defences have never ceased to astonish" (174).

The castle, at least in its early years, had a constable, one William de Felton, and an impressive permanent garrison of 22 knights, 20 crossbowmen, and 100 archers. After 1296 CE the archers were withdrawn from the garrison, probably an indication of both the castle's completion and the quieter times in Wales.

#History #1272CE #1294CE #1295CE #WHE #[#]

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gauntletgirlie · 4 months ago

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There is a myth that Ivan the Terrible had Postnik Yakovlev, the architect of Saint Basil’s Cathedral, blinded so that he could never build anything so beautiful again. Thankfully, there is evidence to suggest Yakovlev went on to design the walls of the Kazan Kremlin and the Cathedral of the Annunciation. However, if it were true, Ivan’s possessiveness and selfishness would have meant less spectacular wonder built for Russia.

It got me thinking how possessiveness and selfishness are the antithesis of creation and creativity, and more specially, the generation of beauty. Tolkien covers that theme quite well I feel, especially in The Silmarillion, but also in The Lord of The Rings.

Firstly, we have Melkor who wished to create everything himself in Arda. He wished to order things how he saw fit, wanting no cooperation with the other Valar. He coveted the glory alone. When his peers rejected this idea, it ultimately led to him wreaking a lot of ruin instead, ending in a purely nihilistic outlook. What he produced thereafter was in mockery only and decidedly not beautiful, but dark, ominous and destructive in nature.

Next we have Aulë, who wanted beings of his so badly to teach and guide that he created the dwarves. Whilst he reconciled with Eru, there was forever enmity between his creations and his spouse Yavanna’s. Aulë even responds to Yavanna’s warning for his children that the forests will have a wrath to cause peril if aroused with a rather coldly delivered, “Nonetheless they will have need of wood.” Think of what Aulë and Yavanna might have created together had Aulë worked with his spouse and not kept his desires to himself, and how better dwarves and trees could have cohabited Middle Earth.

Naturally, Fëanor and The Silmarils need to be mentioned here as well. Not only did Fëanor’s possessiveness of the jewels he made lead to him forgetting he could not have done so without the light of Laurelin and Telperion, formed by Yavanna, but also led to him keeping them locked away so he was the sole decider on who could see them and when. This successively meant they were easier for Melkor to steal, also culminating in the death of Fëanor’s father, Finwë. The only thing Fëanor created after this event was an oath that brought about a kin-slaying, the destruction of himself, his marriage, and his children, and shepherded in an era of strife for all peoples in the rest of The First Age. Fëanor undoubtedly had much more to offer in terms of fashioning the world for beauteous good, but his proprietorial actions towards The Silmarils ensured they were the last wondrous work he brought forth.

Then there is Sauron. He selfishly wished to have everyone submit to his will alone and had an intense desire to possess all of the rings he created with Celebrimbor and the smiths of Eregion. Admittedly, he did create The One Ring, which could be described as beautiful, but as Gandalf reminded Saruman: “There is only one Lord of the Rings, and he does not share power.” Sauron’s need to control saw him raise armies to subdue the world of men. Much like his master before him, anything Sauron created was ultimately to destroy as he sought to order the world how he saw fit. Non-compliance with Sauron’s views meant eradication. The rings he created with the elves were beautiful, but the three created without him surpassed them all, lending credence to the notion it was the elves’ input that made them beautiful with Sauron’s participation only providing corruption.

Time and again Tolkien’s writings and stories warn against selfishness, possessiveness, and intolerance of different ideas. They urge us to work together to create, to see others’ contributions as welcome additions and inspirations, not competition. Focus on one’s own conceptions can lead to stagnation in further creation and promote jealousy of others’ works, further leading to a decline in innovation or else seeking to destroy instead of create.

Selfishness ultimately promotes pride that in turn can lead to a fall which is what happens to Melkor, Fëanor, and Sauron. Aulë is seemingly spared, perhaps due to his repentance and the fact his selfishness and pride did not lead to great destruction, but it could be argued his actions changed the nature of his espousal to Yavanna forever.

That people should work together to create, instead of harbouring talents and leaning unto their own understanding only, is a poignant lesson. Whilst credit should always be given where it is due, as Amit Ray reminds us, “Collaboration has no hierarchy. The Sun collaborates with soil to bring flowers on the earth.” Perhaps this is the real reason the likes of Melkor, Fëanor, and Sauron fell. In truth, they were reaching for a superiority that was not theirs to possess. Perhaps it truly is the meek that shall inherit the earth (one cannot but help think of hobbits with this saying).

I’ll end with another quote, this time from Henry Ford, “Coming together is a beginning, staying together is progress, and working together is success.”

Let us go forth and work together to inspire one another in all areas of creation.

#long post #sorry I really wrote an essay here #my brain sometimes brings forth more than just thirst #my thoughts #Tolkien #the silmarillion #the lord of the rings #Melkor #aulë #aule #fëanor #feanor #Sauron #Mairon

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shmowder · 1 month ago

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Husband Yulia.. husband Yulia? Husband Yulia..? Husband Yulia?Husss banddd Yulia... Husband Yulia! Husband Yulia!!!!!Husba- *gets shot*

The Sanc(tity) of Marriage Pt.1

[Crossdressing, Period-typical homophobia and misogyny, Happy end] [Fem!Reader, Lesbian relationship]

So, you've escaped the army, the night robbers, and most importantly the plague. Now what?

Well, the canons went off first thing in the morning; the town is no more. The evacuation notice was posted earlier, and half the townsfolk left their homes with nothing but their clothes on their back, the other half stubbornly remained indoors.

A wasteland of rubble stands before you, what was once your dear town. The very same one you walked its streets each night, be it running away from ankle-biting rats or the teeth-rattling cold.

The polyhedron stands tall still, a certain group has moved into it, you think. You don't care much, or at all to be honest. Those architect twins and their creation have been nothing but an annoying background noise ever since you came with the first waves to build the infrastructures.

For your wife to lay down the roads, more specifically. She did the planning, designing, and supervising of the sight. You were just one of the workers tasked with manual labor. A back breaking job, but one that must be done all the same.

People looked down at you because you were a woman in such a field. Not many places were willing to hire you. But Simon was eccentric... you were told, you never actually met the guy.

Yulia did. She doesn't talk about it much. From the small snippets that she lets slip by, you can't tell if she revered or resented the man, maybe both.

The two of you met under the most mundane circumstances: You were working a late shift. She was being a thorn in your side like most supervisors usually are. You snapped at her to get off your back because you're actually the one layering down the cement for the roads.

And in response she...

... offered you a smoke.

Not the lite slender shitty cigs marketed towards the so-called delicate sex. But a real cigarette, a solid brand, too.

Of course, you accepted it. Because you could see the way she was looking at you, the way she held herself, the pants peeking from under her long coat.

One thing led to another, one smoke led to a drink, one glass led to an empty bottle.

Hate sex is great for venting out stress from the work environment, you know?

It would repeat each weekend.

She consumed your world. As obnoxious as she was, something about her kept pulling you back in, no matter how many times you'd groan at her presence.

Her absent mind should annoy you. Her automated mechanical speech should weird you out. Her needlessly convoluted borderline incomprehensible gibberish of monologues should give you a headache.

But love loves nothing more than making you defy your norms, to send you tumbling head over heels for the least suitable person.

The day of the accident, the day you saw her on the floor, staring in horror at her twisted ankle—crooked bone tenting out the thin layer of skin, one wrong step away from piercing the fragile flesh—you felt your sky come crashing down.

The local healer took her in; this town had no doctors, apparently, only a herb doctor or something. Isidor was what he introduced himself as. You were left pacing in front of the door, jaw clenched, heart hammering against your chest

Your pace came to a halt at the gut-wrenching sound of bones snapping back into place, Yulia's hiss of pain only served to torture your already mangled mind.

Tending to her at every spare moment of the day you could afford, knocking on the healer's door in the middle of the night for a remedy to ease her suffering after you find out she ran out of painkillers a while ago, and has only been putting a strong face in front of visitors.

Sitting at the edge of her bed, watching her toss and turn all night. Wondering just what kind of dreams plague her mind, to leave her so restless. The lit candle illuminates the room with warmth, soft yellow lights reflecting off the droplets of sweat on her forehead. You move to wipe them off, and it dawns on you, just how deeply and sickly you've fallen in love with her.

The roads were practically done, and your contract came to an end. The rest of the construction teams already packed their bags.

You had a family back home, parents and siblings, nieces and nephews. You had friends waiting for you.

People who loved you... but maybe not enough to overlook your sodomy.

You watched the train depart from the station on a rainy night. Turning around, and walking towards the Trammel, your new home. There's a sinking feeling in your stomach, a seed of dread planted in the depths of your mind, whispering that this is a decision you'll surely come to regret.

The menkhu claimed Yulia's healing would be uneventful, only if she abided by his instructions.

Yulia did not.

Maybe it was sheer stubbornness that made her go against the healer's advice, refusing to remain bedridden and insisting on walking around. Or maybe it was pride that made asking for help hard to swallow. She'd scarcely call you for aid, prefering to go fetch herself a glass of water on her own.

Unsurprisingly, her ankle bone never healed quite right. And when she was presented with a cane to aid her mobility, she shook her head in response.

"I'll manage" was all that she told you when you demanded to know why. She never spoke of what exactly went down that day, of who or what was responsible for the accident. "What difference would it make?" She'd say, it was predestined by fate, she claimed.

Yulia never got out much as a result. She couldn't walk down the streets she herself sketched into existence, not without an unbearable dull ache growing up her foot.

Which meant you were left with most of the household tasks. Doing grocery runs, sweeping the floors, and making something edible for meals. Once in a blue moon, Yulia would help with the dishes. Otherwise, she'd retreat back to her study after offering a short line of gratitude for the meal.

The Olgimasky's kept her on a payroll and borrowed her services from time to time. Apparently, being a mathematician made you in high demand. At the very least, money was no issue, and she'd place the home budget in your hands.

The two of you were one certificate short of a traditional marriage... for the golden rings already came. An impulsive purchase on Yuilia's part, a decision made after one too many gentlemen stopped you in the street to help you carry the grocery bags, claiming it must be heavy for a lovely lady such as yourself.

Annoyingly cordial, deliberately obtuse, is how Yulia described them. Too-polite to answer them with anything ill-mannered without looking like the bad person. And too persistent with their approach to truly resemble gentlemen.

The town barely had a reaction to your marriage, the Judge even went the extra mile to legitimise it with an officiating certificate. Anywhere else, something like this would've caused an uproar, but in here? The world went on.

Even those who clutched their pearls and claimed you tarnished the sanctity of marriage, failed to fixate on your situation. For there were far more impressive sinners than you two in this town, too preoccupied with besting each other in debauchery, so much so you practically flew under the radar.

It was like a beautiful dream, the spare years you could play house with Yulia.

And just like all dreams, it eventually had to come to an end.

In the form of a plague, a great fire, and eventually a mass grave of ash, rubble, and buried bodies.

In less than two weeks to boot, if you didn't know better, you'd think it was God's punishment for your unlawful life, your unnatural attraction, and immoral marriage.

But God isn't here. That's what the past two weeks proved to you.

Yulia is standing next to you, watching the polyhedron.

Standing proud, standing tall on its one leg, while she could barely stand on her own two legs.

Is it envy? Is bitterness stuck in her throat at having to watch the roads of her making be butchered. The carefully designed nervous system of a living town torn to shreds, vein-like roads raptured, bones fractured.

Her life's work buried underground, asphyxiated before her own two eyes, while the Stamatins had their magnum opus still.

Her child died, murdered by the Bachelor's hands, for theirs to live.

Both of you escaped death, escaped being burned at the stake, hanging, and the plague.

What else remains to do, but escape this paradise-turned-hell town, too.

Taking the first train that arrives today, letting the steel rails guide your way.

The journey will be long, the carriage seat stained and uncomfortable under you. Yulia sat opposite of you, she barely spoke a word, barely had a sip of water. Arms wrapped around herself, heavy bags under her eyes.

Sketching up all the possible roads the two of you could take in her mind, all the strings of fate pulling you from different directions. Measuring what her next steps should be, what could possibly save the two of you from a grim fate awaiting you at the Capital?

One thing was for sure, her soul remained unbroken. Still wearing her ring proudly on her finger, still stubbornly refusing to look at you with anything but adoration, to refer to you as anything but a partner, a wife, her lover and second half.

Exhaustion weighted on your body and mind, the sky outside the train carriage darkened.

The last sight you remember before sleep swept you away, was Yulia heading to the bathroom at the end of the hall, scissors in hand.

You dreamt of a great fire.

Unlike the one at the town, this one felt more welcoming than hostile. The dancing flames urged you to sway with them. A soothing coolness washed over you as you stepped into the inferno.

A flare lit up inside you, healing over your wounds.

Purifying.

The smoke hugging your lungs, never suffocating. Like that of a comforting cigarette, chasing away your worries and washing the soot of the day off.

Departing from the fire's embrace as consciousness knocked on your door, sliding from them so seamlessly. Neither latching nor confining you down, but vying to let you go.

Eyes fluttering open to the sight of Yulia's gaze, her face so close by, palm over your forehead.

"You have a fever," she stated, wiping away the sweat droplets from your forehead, hand lowering to cup your face.

Her hair was the first thing you noticed.

Trimmed short, extremely so. Even shorter than what's usual for her.

Signature coat carelessly thrown next to her seat. Usually tucked shirt now pulled over her pants, wrist watch turned around to the upper side of her wrist.

Chest... unusually flat.

A roll of bandages peeking out from the pocket of her discarded coat, the glint of metal underneath. The memory of a silver barrel and a leather grip, your shaking fingers on the trigger, her hand steadying yours as her chin rested atop your shoulder, an ear piercing sound followed by the shattering of a glass bottle, your aim is getting better.

Yuilia studied your reaction as you took all of her in. The way she held herself taller, the illusion of broader shoulders. How it all shed a new light on her features which you grew overly familiar with throughout the year. Pursed thin lips, angular cheekbones, and a squarish jaw. Pallid skin adorned with blemishes both faded and new.

She does appear more masculine. The lack of makeup and her androgynous features certainly help sell the look of a handsome young man, the type of ethereal allure that makes men uncomfortable to be faced with in another of their kind.

So this is her plan... and she's looking at you as if awaiting praise for her unorthodox solution, these many subtle ways in which Yulia attempts to impress you.

"The legal documents will be the hardest to forge, but I know someone who owes me a favour. We only need to edit what's already written, feign an accident for it to be remade. Scratch the dry paint, let the ink rivers flow." Feeling more courageous to move to the empty seat next to you this time, so bold as to intimately hold your hand in her lap despite being in public.

This is too much to process at once, but so were the last two weeks...

"Is Yulio too much on the nose? deprived from the same Latin origin. Or would Yuri sell a better illusion?" She continues.

"Yulia, is this really the time?"

"Would you prefer we have this discussion in front of the train station security?"

"There is no way this plan will work"

With your wrecked nerves and Yulia's minimal acting skills, the two of you somehow managed to make it past security.

You remained quiet as she introduced herself as Yuri. Feigned amusement with the officer over the clear mistakes in her ID.

Her voice wasn't deep enough to pass for a man, but the years of smoking gave it a certain edge, an undeniable raspiness that made others overlook its high notes.

Okay, that was just one lucky strike, right?

Finding a cheap place for the night, Yulia wasted no time in tracking down the special friend who supposedly owed her a favour. It took some weeks, lots of visits to government institutions, and a heavy sum of bribes.

By the end, Yulia essentially erased her existence as a woman from all legal documents.

Then, it worked again as the two of you managed to rent a shared apartment, then again, as she found herself a teaching job in a nearby university.

In every way possible, this plan has worked flawlessly.

Yulia—or Yuri when the two of you are outside—has managed to integrate herself into the masculine role so seamlessly, meeting the expectations demanded of her, and abiding by the social rules.

She excelled in her role as your husband. At times, she preferred to still play it even when inside the shared apartment, especially in the bedroom.

As for you, you've kept your head low and continued on with this housewife charade. At one point, it stopped being a charade as you found yourself enjoying this quaint life. To be that special someone waiting home for your dear husband.

As much as Yulia enjoyed the title and toying around with masculine terms, the freedom she felt at home with you was unrivalled. The freedom to be herself, to be called by her actual name, to unravel the bandages and let herself breathe—literally.

Something about the mix of feminine pronouns with masculine titles made her feel an unrivalled sense of satisfaction.

Hearing those words from your lips, such thing as:

"Will my husband actually help wash the dishes today or will she just sit there and stare at me all night?"

Just felt... incredibly right for her, to have the husband title as a woman. To have that awkward conversation with the neighbours in the morning who keep wondering why you're not heavy with Yulia's child yet—Sometimes you wonder just how thin the apartment's wall are to allow them enough evidence to ask such questions—or her coworkers who share stories of their wifes' and complain about their nagging, coaxing Yulia into talking about your less than ideal aspects as well, only to be met with dismissive rejection, they bore her, she bluntly stated.

The more time went on, the more your past life in the town felt like a distant dream. A healed over wound.

You thought your world came to an end, that you'd be on your own.

For all of your low moments and arguments with Yulia, she really stood by your side when it mattered most, took the initiative and came up with a plan on the spot, a plan to preserve what's left of her life.

Her life with you

#♧Yulia #Yulia lyuricheva x reader #pathologic x reader #pathologic #yulia lyuricheva #♧x reader

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your7oxygen · 9 months ago

Text

3D Printing in Architecture

3D printing, once a novelty in the tech world, has now firmly established itself as a game-changer in various industries, including architecture. The ability to create intricate models, prototypes, and even full-scale structures has opened up new possibilities for architects, engineers, and builders. In this blog post, we'll explore how 3D printing is revolutionizing architecture, from design concepts to construction practices.

Design Innovation

One of the most significant impacts of 3D printing in architecture is the freedom it provides in design. Traditional methods often limit architects to certain shapes and structures due to material and construction constraints. However, with 3D printing, these limitations are lifted. Architects can now experiment with complex geometries and organic forms that were previously impossible or too costly to achieve. This has led to a surge in innovative designs, pushing the boundaries of what architecture can be.

Prototyping and Modeling

Before the advent of 3D printing, creating detailed architectural models was a time-consuming and expensive process. With 3D printing, architects can quickly produce accurate scale models of their designs, allowing for better visualization and refinement. This rapid prototyping capability enables architects to identify potential issues early in the design process, saving time and resources in the long run. Additionally, clients can better understand the architect's vision through tangible models, leading to more effective communication and collaboration.

Sustainability and Efficiency

3D printing also offers significant benefits in terms of sustainability and construction efficiency. Traditional construction methods often generate a considerable amount of waste due to material overuse and mistakes. In contrast, 3D printing uses only the necessary amount of material, significantly reducing waste. Additionally, many 3D printing materials can be recycled or are made from sustainable resources, making this technology more environmentally friendly.

Moreover, 3D printing can streamline the construction process. Structures can be printed on-site, reducing the need for transportation and minimizing the carbon footprint associated with moving materials and equipment. This method also allows for faster construction times, which is particularly beneficial for large-scale projects or emergency housing needs.

Cost-Effective Construction

The cost of building with traditional methods can be prohibitive, especially for complex or custom designs. 3D printing offers a more cost-effective alternative by reducing labor costs and material waste. The precision of 3D printing ensures that only the exact amount of material needed is used, which not only lowers costs but also increases the structural integrity of the building. For developing countries or regions with limited resources, 3D printing presents a viable solution for affordable housing and infrastructure.

Challenges and Future Prospects

While 3D printing in architecture holds great promise, it is not without challenges. The technology is still relatively new, and large-scale 3D printing for buildings requires further development. Issues such as material limitations, regulatory hurdles, and the need for skilled operators must be addressed. However, ongoing research and innovation in the field are likely to overcome these challenges in the coming years.

#architectdesign #design #interior design #home interior #interiordoor #interior decorating #architecture #interiorstyling #interiors #home #3D #3d printing

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beifong-brainrot · 1 month ago

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hey so can we hear about that baatar sr lore? 👀

Lmao ok. Just bear in mind that this is all headcanons and silliness.

So, we don't know much about Baatar Sr, other than the fact that he was Zaofu's architecht and somehow bagged the bad bitch Suyin Beifong who then proceeded to wring the poor man dry. He is also acrophobic, and Toph doesn't like him.

Truly a treasure trove of information.

So we really have little clues from where he originates from. I personally took inspiration from his name, which is Mongolian, and means "hero" (which is funny, but might give us some insight on who his parents wished him to be). Due to this I always imagined he would come from some ethnic group inspired by Mongolian culture.

Though it is important to note that this is purely conjecture on my part, as this the origin of a name doesn't always mean much in the Avatarverse. For example, Katara's name seems to have roots in Arabic, despite her inspiration being rooted in native americans.

I think the most Mongolian inspirations we see in Avatar can be found in the Northern Water Tribe and the bordering areas of the Earth Kingdom, so I could see Baatar being born somewhere between the Chenbao province and the Taihua Mountains, not terribly far from the Northern Air Temple his daughter would one day head to to begin her Airbending training.

I personally like the idea of Baatar's parents being a pair of surly old lesbians so that is my personal headcanon. His mom's gay. My friend once said he has "raised by lesbians" vibes and that had become canon to me.

I like the idea of his mothers being members, or perhaps even leaders, of some nomadic group, herding livestock and acting as travelling merchants. Maybe Baatar was expected to take on leadership after his mothers, and that is why his name has such a grand meaning lol.

And while I think Baatar loves his tribe and has deep care for his culture, he's always wanted to do something else with his life. He found himself drawn to and fascinated by the bustling cities they would visit, and eventually began drawing up fantastical ideas for homes and settlements in his sketchbook/diary.

So, as a young adult, he finally takes the plunge and travels to Ba Sing Se, to study architecture. I think this would place a big strain on his relationship with his mothers, who wanted him to stay and eventually lead the tribe. Perhaps it would even lead to a few years of estrangement. Something for Baatar to have in common with Su lol

Baatar flourishes as an architect, but I think that once the intial excitement of building new things passes, he becomes disillusioned. Most of the people who hire him are upper ring citizens of Ba Sing Se, who either want him to replicate traditional buildings, or follow well established trends. His dreams of new creations and outlandish designs seem they will never have a chance to come to fruition.

But then he is sought out by Suyin, and she is wiling to back his creativity. And she, in some strange way, becomes his muse.

The city he designs is beautiful, sleek and elegant, yet practical. Just like her. He works closely with Su, and they become fast friends. She tells him about her adventures, and he incorporates aspects of her stories into his designs. And, as the city of Zaofu begins to bloom upon the map, so does Su and Baatar's love for each other.

I think they find solace in each other, two people isolated from their families, carving out their own place in the world and starting a family.

I don't think Baatar's mothers would care for the wedding, but they might show up at the news of grandbabies. While they're not the biggest fans of their son's weird metal city, they do like Su a whole lot! It is a mystery to them how their loser son bagged this baddie.

They're very loving grandmothers, however, they wish their grandbabies could grow up "properly"- travelling across the icy tundra up north. This has led to occasional attempted babynapping, as 3 year olds fit in saddle bags exceptionally well.

While I think that Baatar doesn't want his children leaving Zaofu quite yet, and doesn't miss his old life, I think he makes sure his kids know the basics of camping, and even made sure they all know how to ride, just for old times sake.

And while sometimes he reminisces fondly about his nomadic childhood, I don't think Baatar misses the life. He loves the home he built for his wife and family, his pride and joy is in creation, and in the life he designed alongside Suyin.

#i certainly have more on baatar sr here. but that's his backstory that i made up #beifong brainrot #baatar sr #baatar #sutar #suyin beifong #avatar #legend of korra #tlok #the legend of korra #avatar the legend of korra #atlok #lok

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