#Core and Shell Construction

[daveconstruction]

Expert Core and Shell Construction Services in India

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[hope-for-the-planet]

From the article:

Fossil fuels’ share of global primary energy fell below 80% for the first time in modern history, a tipping point masked by growing energy demand. Oil’s share of primary energy fell below 30% for the first time in modern history, down a third from its peak. The demand for gasoline and diesel was negative – 2024 may be the year road transport fuel demand peaked– no more growth in this sector anymore. Three milestones that show whilst the energy evolution is not perfect, it is happening nevertheless, and at pace. Even as absolute energy demand still grew, it is telling that many oil majors such as BP, Exxon and Shell, who have recently noted their exit from renewables, are also withdrawing from core oil and gas production investments too. Over 50% of their operating cashflow is now going to shareholders, not explorers or construction crews.

The article goes into each of these points in greater detail, but one of the biggest takeaways here is that oil companies are tactically withdrawing from the energy battlefield--they are redirecting their money to paying off shareholders rather than developing new sources of fossil fuels.

As renewables become cheaper, more popular, and show overall greater potential for future innovation and growth the writing is on the wall that the energy transition is leaving fossil fuels behind.

[sorrowedpickle]

Drunk in love.

g!p!Jenna Ortega x fem!reader

Warnings: smut, that’s it. Pure smut

a/n: i was eating sea food while writing this and so was @mommykye and @makncheese12 who were lovely enough to help with editing it so go follow them

Her touch was electric, a frantic exploration that sent shivers down your spine. Her fingers dug into your sides, pulling you closer as her lips remained glued to the sensitive curve of your neck, her breath hot and ragged against your skin making you shiver. The frantic rhythm of your pulse thrummed in your head as you fumbled through your purse to find the key card.

The memories of the Met Gala after-party swam hazily in your mind – the clinking of champagne glasses, the sound of laughter and conversations with so many people and friends of Jenna faint in the back of your mind almost near forgotten as you rush to get inside. The drinks had loosened your will to act right, painting the air between you with desire. Every glance, every accidental brush of skin to skin, had sent sparks flying through your core and even more through Jenna’s.

And now, her pressed against your back in the dimly lit hallway, the carefully constructed facade of polite conversation had shattered as whispers in your ear were said throughout the car ride. Her after-party dress, a shedded down version of her original dress, clung to her curves like a second skin, each movement a tantalizing display. Her hands, emboldened by the unspoken tension, slipped beneath the hem of your own short dress, sending a jolt of heat through you. You gasped as her fingers, insistent and knowing, traced the lace of your panties. Her teeth grazed the shell of your ear, a delicate torment that made you shudder with anticipation.

The fear of being seen, the awareness of the public space, spurred you to action. Your fingers finally closed around the cool metal of the key card. With a surge of adrenaline, you slid it into the lock and stumbled into the darkened sanctuary of the hotel room, Jenna a very close shadow pressed against your back before you turned in her hold as she kicked the door shut, a loud bang shouting out as it clicked.

The urgency intensified. Her hands worked swiftly at the zipper of your dress, a soft growl escaping her lips as the fabric gave way. Simultaneously, your own hands reached behind her, fumbling with the delicate strings of her corset. Your lips crashed against hers, a desperate, hungry kiss that tasted of expensive champagne and her intoxicating Dior perfume, a blend underscored by her own musk that sent your senses reeling.

The sound of tearing fabric filled the small space as she impatiently pulled the expensive dress she had tailored for you down your body, the delicate material pooling at your feet, discarded without a second thought. Her hands, now with uninhibited access, roamed your skin, mapping the contours of your body with a feverish intensity. You, in turn, finally managed to untie the intricate lacework of her corset, releasing her from its structured embrace no thanks to her as she made it much harder for you, more focused on getting you naked than herself.

Before you could fully register the change in atmosphere, you were pushed forward, stumbling onto the plush surface of the bed. She followed, a lack of grace in her movements as she crawled on top of you, her gaze hot and filled with a raw desire that mirrored your own.

Her dark eyes, wide and dilated, raked over you. "You look so pretty like this," she whispered, her voice husky with longing. Your hair fanned out against the pillows, breath catching in your throat as you stared up at her, every nerve ending alight with anticipation. Your own hands reached up, fumbling with the buttons of her silk button up, eager to feel her skin against yours.

Her lips left a trail of fire down your neck. "beautiful," she murmured, her breath hot against your flesh. A shaky laugh escaped your lips. "You're one to talk." The words were barely out before your hands found her waist, pulling her down between your legs, a silent plea for the friction you both craved.

A husky laugh rumbled in her chest, a sound that vibrated through your core, igniting a firestorm of sensation. You felt her hand reach behind you, fumbling and almost struggling with the straps before pulling them apart and quickly discarding the offending fabric joined your dress on the floor. In the next instant, her lips closed over your nipple in a swift motion, a sensation so intense that coherent thought dissolved into a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

you moan quietly, hand reaching to the back of her hand as you hold her there while your other hand works to find the strap of her own bra.

The tug on her bra strap was clumsy but effective. The delicate lace parted, and you finally had the skin-on-skin contact you craved. Jenna shifted above you, her weight a delicious pressure. Her mouth left your breast, trailing kisses down your sternum, each touch sending jolts of electricity through your already heightened senses.

Jenna’s breath hitched as your fingers finally released her bra. The immediate skin-on-skin contact sent a fresh wave of desire crashing over you both. She shifted, her silk shirt falling off completely, revealing the soft swell of her breasts and below the band of her boxers. Her dark eyes locked with yours, a silent, hungry conversation passing between you.

Her hand slid down your stomach, her fingers dipping beneath the elastic of your panties once more, finding the slick heat waiting there. You gasped, your hips lifting instinctively as she explored you with a practiced touch.

“God, you feel so good,” she groaned, her voice thick with lust. Your hand tangled in her hair, tilting her head back as she fought to rain kisses down your jawline.

Without warning, she shifted again, her weight pressing you further into the mattress. Her lips found yours once more, a deep, open-mouthed kiss that left you breathless. Her tongue tangled with yours, a frantic dance of desire. You could taste the lingering champagne and something else, something uniquely her, that drove you wild.

She broke the kiss abruptly, her gaze intense. “I want you to taste me,” she rasped, her hand still firmly between your legs, her fingers teasing and probing. Your own hands reached for the hem of her boxers, your desire a tight knot in your belly.

“Then let me,” you managed.

Jenna didn’t hesitate. With a rough tug, she pulled down her boxers, revealing the impressive length and girth of her hard dick. It pulsed visibly, thick and heavy, the head already glistening. She moved, a low growl rumbling in her chest, and lay back against the pillows, her eyes never leaving yours.

Your breath came out ragged. You moved to lay on your stomach and reached out, your fingers trembling slightly as you wrapped them around the shaft. It was hot and solid, filling your hand completely. Jenna groaned, her hands moving to your head to grip your hair tightly as she watched.

You leaned down, your lips brushing against the velvety head. She inhaled sharply, her hips lifting slightly off the mattress. You took her into your mouth, the taste instantly familiar and intoxicating. You sucked deeply, your hands working up and down the length of her dick, relishing the feel of her throbbing against your tongue.

Jenna’s moans grew louder, more desperate. Her hands tangled in your hair, guiding your head, urging her dick deeper down your throat. Her hips bucked against your mouth, a frantic rhythm that mirrored the frantic beat of your own heart. You could feel the tension building in her body, the anticipation radiating off her in waves.

The taste of her was potent, arousing you further. You swirled your tongue around the head, paying special attention to the sensitive underside. A strangled sound escaped her lips, fingers tightened in your hair, a silent plea for more.

After what felt like an eternity, she pulled you back slightly, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her eyes were glazed with lust, her cheeks flushed a deep crimson.

“Fuck, baby,” she groaned, her voice thick and raw. “You feel so good. So fucking good.”

She moved again, her hands gripping your thighs, pulling your legs open. You instinctively parted them further, your own desire a burning ache between your thighs. She positioned herself between your legs, the hard head of her thick dick pressing against your slick, swollen pussy. You gasped, a primal sound of anticipation escaping your lips.

“Please, Jenna,” you whispered, your hands reaching for her hips, guiding her closer, desperate for the connection.

With a guttural groan that seemed to tear from her very core, she thrust forward, her dick sliding deep inside you. You cried out, a sharp intake of breath as she stretched you open, the sensation both intensely pleasurable and momentarily overwhelming.

She paused for a fraction of a second, letting you adjust, her hands gripping your hips tightly, her gaze locked on your face.

Then, she began to move.

Her thrusts were deep and rough, fueled by the alcohol and the raw, desperate need that had been simmering between you all night. The worn bedframe slammed against the headboard with each powerful movement, the rhythmic thudding echoing in the small room like a frantic heartbeat. You wrapped your legs around her waist, meeting her forceful thrusts with your own instinctive movements, your hands gripping her back, digging your nails into her skin, leaving long red marks in there wake.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” she grunted, her breath hot against your ear, the words laced with a desperate edge. “So fucking good.”

You were both slick with sweat, your bodies moving together in a primal, almost violent rhythm. The world outside the hotel room ceased to exist. There was only the intense friction, the deep penetration, the desperate gasps and moans that filled the air, punctuated by the relentless banging of the bed.

Breaking her relentless rhythm, she suddenly flipped you over with surprising strength, manhandling you onto your hands and knees. You barely registered the abrupt change in position, your mind completely consumed by the intense sensations flooding your body. Her hands gripped your hips, lifting you slightly as she slammed into you from behind, her thick dick hitting your deepest point with each forceful thrust.

“Like this, baby?” she growled, her voice thick with lust and a hint of something almost feral.

“Yes,” you gasped, your head thrown back, her hand tangling itself into your hair while her other hand pushes you down between your shoulder blades. “Oh god, yes, Jenna. Fuck me.”

The force of her thrusts was almost brutal, the bed rocking precariously beneath you, threatening to give way entirely. You could hear the wood creak and groan under the immense strain, but neither of you cared. You were both too far gone, lost in the intoxicating, almost violent frenzy of your drunken, desperate coupling.

Jenna’s hands roamed your body, squeezing your waist, pulling you closer and pushing you down, her fingers digging into your skin, leaving faint trails. Her teeth grazed your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, a primal claim. So much different than her usual calm public figure.

The rhythmic pounding continued, faster and harder, the urgency escalating until you both teetered on the precipice. You cried out, your body clenching around her thick dick as wave after wave of intense, shuddering pleasure washed over you, stealing your breath. Jenna groaned loudly, a primal sound of release tearing from her throat as she pumped into you one last time, her entire body shuddering with the force of her orgasm before collapsing on top of you, her weight heavy and utterly satisfying.

You both laid there for a moment, taking a moment to breathe and stay in the small embrace.

“More,” Jenna mumbles suddenly, breaking the silence as a sudden burst of energy courses through her.

You moan softly as she yanks you to the end of the bed, legs falling off as she positions herself inside of you again.

~~~~~

The frantic energy of moments before dissolved into a heavy, sated silence after hours of Jenna endlessly pushing both your limits. The only sounds were the shallow, rapid breaths escaping your lips and the deeper, rumbling inhales and exhales of Jenna’s body pressed against yours. Her weight, which had felt electric and demanding just moments ago, now felt comforting, possessive. Her still-hard dick remained buried deep inside you, a lingering reminder of the raw intensity that had just consumed you both.

A small, involuntary whimper escaped your lips as you shifted slightly beneath her. The friction, though dulled, was still undeniably present. You could feel the faint throbbing of her pulse against your inner walls, a subtle echo of the storm that had just passed.

Jenna mumbled something incoherent, eyebrows furrowing before relaxing, her face nuzzling into the crook of your neck, her breath warm and damp against your skin. Her grip on your hips gone, but she remained connected with them wrapped around your torso, her body a dead weight atop yours.

You ran a hand through her sweat-dampened hair, the dark strands clinging to your fingers. The scent of her – the lingering perfume, the musky undertones of exertion, and something uniquely Jenna – filled your senses. A wave of tenderness washed over you, a stark contrast to the almost violent passion of your lovemaking.

A soft snore escaped her lips, a clear indication that exhaustion and the lingering effects of the champagne had finally claimed her. Her body remained intimately joined with yours, a testament to the depth of your shared pleasure.

A wry smile touched your lips. You could only imagine the state of the bed, the rhythmic banging against the headboard echoing in your mind. You made a mental note to discreetly inquire about any potential damage to the furniture upon checkout. The image of the worn frame protesting under your combined frenzy was almost comical now, in the quiet aftermath. not to mention the embarrassment you’ll encounter.

Your gaze drifted to the discarded remnants of your expensive dress and her tailored gown, lying in crumpled heaps on the floor. They were casualties of your mutual desire, ripped and disregarded in your haste to be closer.

A fresh wave of desire stirred within you, a low thrumming in your core. The thought of waking up with her still inside you, the promise of a slow, deliberate awakening filled with lingering touches and whispered promises, sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine. You imagined the lazy stretches, the soft moans as she became aware of your intertwined bodies, the inevitable renewal of your passion.

You shifted again, trying to get more comfortable without fully dislodging her. The slight movement caused a soft groan to rumble in her chest, and she instinctively tightened her grip on you, a possessive reflex even in sleep.

A surge of affection welled up within you. This raw, unguarded intimacy, so different from the carefully curated public persona she presented, was a privilege. You knew, with a certainty that resonated deep within you, that when Jenna woke, still intimately connected to you, the night was far from over. The frantic exploration might give way to a more languid, sensual awakening, but the intensity of her desire would undoubtedly remain. And you would be there, ready to meet it, your own body already anticipating her touch.

—————

Tagslist: @skate-to-breathee @wol-fica @raven-ss @restlessdot @dumb-fvck104 @crazyoffher @rhythm-catsandwine @makncheese12 @jennasslut@t-wylia @pnsteblnme @mar-romanova @ssinfulprayers @hellenheaven @btrizi @furry-monster-trash @je-tts @mokotodenis123 @ajortga @jensortega813 @bluetreecloud20

[thrasherella]

Weekend Getaway‧₊˚⊹

MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI

ʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞ synopsis ~ stepdad!Nanami takes you for one of your regular weekend retreats over at his friend Higuruma's house; this time Higuruma's extra needy since you've been busy with work/friends/life and haven't been able to come see him and Nanami has been hogging you all to himself :(

ʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞ featuring ~ nanami x reader, higuruma x reader

ʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞ tags ~ porn with plot, fauxcest, stepdad, mention of 'uncle' but no actual relation, daddy kink, lots of praise, praise kink, cuddles and creampies, non-protected sex, fingering, oral sex, blowjobs, cunnilingus, sloppy make-out sessions, age gap, threesome, sharing, exhibitionism, squirting, spitting, cum play, cum eating, domination, free use, generally other fun sexy things~💋

ʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞ a/n ~ i'm posting this instead of sleeping; the idea of being shared between the two hottest suited zaddies in jujutsu kaisen is making me feral 🫠 i don't normally write in second person pov soooo hope you guys enjoy this as much as i do~! any constructive feedback/thoughts are welcome 🩷

~ Part One ~ Wake Up Slut 😛

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶꒒ ꒩ ꒦ ꒰︶︶꒷꒦︶︶꒒ ꒩ ꒦ ꒰︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

stepdad!Nanami who knows the only way to get you up and out of bed at a decent hour on Saturday mornings (make that any morning) is by waking you up with his fat cock.

Even in your mid-twenties, you still spend a majority of your time at his house rather than your apartment; not that Kento minds one bit. It's not like your mother was ever home anymore, either at work or out meeting with friends or one of her many "social groups"; the book club, the garden club, the women's volunteer group for this that and what-have-you. She seemed to have time for everything except her family.

You had taken full advantage of this, having wanted Kento yourself since day one of meeting him; he was a storybook gentleman and ridiculously handsome, how could you not? So, who's to blame a girl for getting her stepdad a little too drunk one night, knowing he was in the middle of an unwanted dry spell, so thirsty he felt like he was dying, and offering him exactly what he needed to satiate his long ignored hunger...?

He insisted that you still sleep in separate beds, but you usually wake up just as his thick tip pushes past your already soaking folds, always lying prone on your front, your pussy practically sucking him in as he sinks into you with a low hum, a high pitched squeal involuntary escaping you as the feeling of him filling you as soon as you awake overtaking you; it's intoxicating.

This morning is no different.

"Good morning sweetheart..." he leans down and whispers hotly against the shell of your ear, sending goosebumps down along the back of your neck as your pussy clenches around him, heat flaring in your lower belly. "Time to rise...and...shine..." he punctuated every word with a hard thrust, the sharp plap! of skin on skin echoing in the previously quiet room.

You moan into your pillow, feeling yourself nearly drooling, still half asleep; back arching, hips pushing back against his, Nanami ruts into you as deeply as he can, one hand pressing down against your upper back between your shoulder blades, pinning you down to the mattress. His strong thighs nudge into the back of yours, and you can't help it as your eyes roll back as little hot, almost electric waves crash through your core at the low grunts and huffs he's making above you with each push.

He pushes you down harder as his pace becomes erratic, those soft grunts becoming rumbling growls, mingling with your higher pitched cries as he hits that spot and you're both sent over the edge. With a heavy, low groan you feel his cock twitch and throb inside you, spilling his hot load into your tight walls as he tries to push even deeper.

Your still a shaking mess as he eases up on the hand pinning you down, again leaning close to hum against your ear, "You're such a good girl, wear something light for today, we're going over to your uncle Hiromi's house...now get up," he swats one of his large hands against the curve of your soft ass and you let out a sharp moan, the spot stinging hotly as your pussy throbs...

stepdad!Nanami who later has you pinned up against the wall of your walk-in closet, black boy-short panties pulled down past your cute little ass just enough so that he can shove himself into you from behind, admiring how beautiful your back was as he helped you clasp the strap of your bra.

"Gunna wear that cute little sun dress we both like? Hah...fhhuck...keep squeezin' me like that darlin', that's it...h-hah..." He pushes you harder up against the wall and you freeze, mewling softly as you press your ass back against him, his hand now at the back of your throat. "He's really excited to see you...ah, hah, f-fhuck, fuck gunna fill you all the way up sweetheart, I wanna be dripping out of you before we get there so your uncle doesn't forget who this pretty little pussy belongs to..."

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶꒒ ꒩ ꒦ ꒰︶︶꒷꒦︶︶꒒ ꒩ ꒦ ꒰︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

[kirakuudere1]

Big rant on denji

To regard Chainsaw Man’s Denji as anything less than a deeply abused and exploited individual is to misunderstand the fundamental emotional and psychological scaffolding upon which Tatsuki Fujimoto constructs his narrative. While the hyperviolent aesthetic and supernatural premise of the series might distract from more subtle readings, Denji’s story is, at its core, an allegory for abuse—systemic, emotional, physical, and psychological.

Denji’s suffering begins long before he becomes the titular “Chainsaw Man.” As a child, Denji is thrust into a brutal life of indentured servitude. Following the death of his father—an apparent suicide that Denji may have witnessed or indirectly caused—he inherits his father's insurmountable debt to the yakuza. The yakuza, organized crime figures, immediately coerce Denji into a life of labor, intimidation, and organ-selling. These are not acts of juvenile delinquency; they are the forced survival mechanisms of a boy who is, by all accounts, an orphaned child with no education, no guidance, and no love.

It’s critical to emphasize that Denji’s earliest relationships are exploitative in nature. His bond with Pochita, the devil who becomes his heart, is the sole mutual relationship built on genuine affection and sacrifice. Every other character Denji encounters in Part 1, from the yakuza to the Public Safety Bureau, to Makima, views Denji primarily as a tool. A weapon. A means to an end. He is not offered compassion; he is offered conditions. He is told he can eat toast if he kills devils. He is told he can touch someone if he follows orders. He is told he can have purpose if he subjugates his autonomy.

Makima, perhaps the most psychologically manipulative figure in the manga, is the clearest abuser. She weaponizes Denji’s trauma, ignorance, and longing for affection with surgical precision. She does not love Denji. She engineers a situation in which Denji believes he is being loved—creating a faux family, giving him the illusion of comfort, and then methodically stripping it away to induce guilt, grief, and ultimately, obedience. This mirrors real-world abuse patterns, particularly those of emotional grooming and coercive control, in which abusers isolate victims, condition them to seek approval, and punish any resistance.

Fujimoto deliberately portrays Denji as emotionally stunted and socially naive. He does not understand relationships; his desires are elemental—food, sex, affection—because he has never been taught how to engage with others in healthy ways. His desires are not shallow; they are desperate. When he fantasizes about a girlfriend or even something as mundane as buttered toast, it is not comedic relief—it is tragedy masquerading as simplicity. These are the aspirations of a boy so profoundly deprived that basic human dignity feels like a luxury.

Furthermore, Denji’s repeated attempts to define his own will are crushed by external authorities. Though he becomes incredibly powerful, his sense of self is consistently undermined. He is manipulated into killing someone he loves (Power), then psychologically shattered when his mind splits and he becomes a near-emotionless shell. Even his transformation into the "Chainsaw Man" becomes another way in which others attempt to use his power for their ends, whether ideological, military, or personal.

To label Denji merely as “crude” or “simple-minded,” as some readers do, is to fall into the same trap as his in-universe abusers: judging him without acknowledging the systemic trauma that shaped him. His crude humor, his sexual confusion, his moral ambiguity—these are not inherent defects but rather the scars of unrelenting mistreatment and neglect.

Denying Denji's status as a victim not only misreads the emotional core of Chainsaw Man, but also perpetuates a broader cultural blindness toward how abuse manifests in the lives of boys and young men. Fujimoto’s brilliance lies in forcing the reader to confront uncomfortable questions: What does it mean to save someone? What does it mean to love someone who doesn’t know what love is? And how often do we overlook abuse when it is wrapped in strength, violence, or laughter?

In sum, Denji is not a heroic savior nor a mindless killer—he is a wounded boy navigating a world that has never shown him kindness without a price tag. Recognizing him as a victim of abuse is not just accurate; it is essential to understanding the moral and emotional architecture of Chainsaw Man. To do otherwise is to dismiss a story that is, ultimately, a cry for empathy hidden beneath layers of gore, chainsaws, and devils.

[serpentface]

What are each of the main cast’s favourite foods, and how to they reflect what they grew up eating/their background/broader cultural trends?

Key for the constructed foods that come up in this post:

Nara: a type of citrus fruit, comparable to a lime in sourness. Peledyo: a type of fermented fish sauce used as seasoning in of itself or a base for other sauces. (This is a knockoff of irl garum). This is FUNDAMENTAL to Imperial Wardi cuisine, and closely analogous/connected variants are produced by all the peoples of the Viper as well as across most of the Lowlands (southeast of Imperial Wardin). Magah: a type of tuberous root vegetable. Similar to a potato, but coming from a wholly different plant and more strongly flavored (notes of cabbage) with yellow-orange flesh. Heavily cultivated in the Highlands and considered more of a famine food elsewhere in Imperial Wardin. Yute: a cultivar in the same species as magah with purple flesh and a sweeter taste, a staple in the mountainous parts of Kosov and some other parts of the Burri Republic. Gaiyi: a brassica cultivar used in Kos cuisine, resembling broccolini. Completely absent in Imperial Wardin. Yamnina reyla: the premier spice blend used in Wardi cuisines, it has some regional variants but its core ingredients are crushed chilis, coriander, cumin, and firebug (imparts little flavor but significant reddish-orange color that gives this mix its name), all ground together. Camiche: an edible seed, eaten as a nut. Kolis: a cactus-like plant with edible fruits and young shoots. The fruit tastes like watermelon and is very sweet, but has more sour notes. Anuje: a sap extracted from one of the region's few native palms, has a sweet, molasses-esque flavor. This is the staple sweetener and culturally favored over honey in most provinces, consumption of honey is generally seen as a 'rural' thing]

---

Tigran spent the first 11 years of his life in pretty extreme poverty as an agricultural laborer so did not have a lot of exciting food. His family is Ubiyan-Wardi (pretty rare ethnic minority in the region, mostly descending from people hired or enslaved as war captives and/or indentured servants for labor by Imperial Bur at its height). Many of these people formed communities that retain their cultural identity to this day, but these largely occur in the north and in the province of Lobera. Most people with Ubiyan heritage in South Wardin come from more isolated lines that fully integrated and intermarried with the Wardi(nae) population, and are heavily 'Wardinized' in the present day.

Tigran's family is an example of one with this cultural heritage being largely lost- they know that much of their ancestry comes from far northeast across the Viper but they don't know from where exactly. They are culturally South Wardi but with some traditions (and names, 'Tigran' and 'Otto' are both Ubiyan given names in origin) that have survived passed down from parent to child. To the point of this post, a lot of these traditions involve food.

He mostly ate a pretty typical South Wardi agricultural diet with the majority of his meals being variations on maize and lentil porridge, yams, onions, dairy, and foraged plants. His village also reared horses for milk and wool and ducks and fowl for eggs (and occasionally meat). He lived right on the Brilla River so would get the benefit of meat from fish or the occasional wild duck or goose. When he was 5 someone in his village killed a bull crocodile that had been eating their horses and they all had a big pit roast with it to celebrate, but he barely remembers this.

A major Ubiyan cultural element that he experienced in his childhood diet was a form of pasta. His mother and grandmother would make pasta out of maize dough in the shape of a cowrie, which they just referred to as 'little shells'. They had a secret ingredient used to toughen the consistency of the maize dough to hold the shape but wouldn't tell him, since this was apparently only for the women to know. His mother planned on teaching his future wife to make these little shells, and made it very clear she wouldn't let him marry any woman who couldn't get the technique down. To celebrate the new year, they would make a larger variant stuffed with soft horsemilk cheese, explaining that it was for good luck and abundance in the next year. This was never a Favorite food of his as a child (his favorite was the joyous occasion he got to eat fatty, non-gamey domestic duck), but he's never been able to find these little shells anywhere else, hasn't seen his family since he was 11, and misses it.

His FAVORITE food is duck. The best meal he's probably ever had was roast duck glazed with date wine, dried nara, chilis, and a little bit of peledyo. Duck is central fare for a holiday that is timed when the reed ducks return to the region and start to breed. This moment is recognized as the transition from a period of seasonal barrenness to abundance (the mid rainy season through mid dry season span in which plant life flourishes, ends with the last harvest periods for most staple crops). It involves a feasting day in which most people make meals based around preserved fruits/vegetables, early wild forage, and duck (hunted or slaughtered).

Tigran completing his initiation as a Galenii monk (which involves a year of only taking food received via begging) timed itself very close to this festival occurring. So not only did he Finally get to eat regular meals, but he had never in his entire LIFE tasted anything so good. He was 12 years old and was guided by his mentor into an epiphany that like, 'this IS what it's all for, guaranteeing that we have the season of abundance year after year. AND more importantly I get to eat really really really good meals provided by the temple'.

---

Palo grew up in the very cushy end of the mercantile commoner class with his father being a guild glassmaker, and lived in the province Odkotonnos (one of the more agriculturally rich) and city of Godsmouth proper (THE center of trade), so he had regular access to a decent variety of pretty good food. He and most of his family are first generation immigrants from Kosov (a province of the contemporary Burri Republic, occupying the same latitude as South Wardin). He moved as a baby and grew up eating a lot of Kos food in addition to the general western Wardi diet (which itself has a heavy Burri/Kos/Titen influence).

(The most immediately distinctive difference between these and Wardi cuisines is staple grains/starches often being eaten in the form of noodles, which is more broadly a characteristic of a wide span of the Inner Seaways peoples west of the Mouth. The other big difference is a fermented corn sauce (functionally similar to soy sauce) being the foundational umami flavoring, rather than the peledyo fish sauce that is a staple in Wardin)

He also spent a cumulative few years of his life in Kosov and there had the favorite thing he's ever eaten, which is a mung bean noodle dish with catfish, yute, gaiyi, spinach, onions, and a chili-olive oil sauce. Some of the core ingredients are rare if not absent in Imperial Wardin (magah is generally considered a famine food and not widely cultivated outside of the Highlands, gaiyi grows in the humid montane conditions found in southwestern Kosov, and this particular kind of catfish was notably tastier to him than commonly eaten Wardi species) so he's never had this exact dish or a close equivalent since.

Otherwise his diet throughout most of his life was very seafood heavy in addition to staple grains, starches, and legumes. He dislikes most non-fish meat and hates the texture of fat, so eats a lot of whitefish when given the chance.

One thing that actually like, comes up in canon as a thing he really loved is seabass he ate at social events with his family. The bass is roasted whole and (along with other elements of the meal) surrounded by dips and condiments. You pick up the fish meat with pieces of pounded yam and dip/scoop up condiments before eating it. On a really nice occasion, condiments could include fermented corn sauce in plain and semi-sweet form, Basically Aioli (a blend of mashed garlic and olive oil), several types of peledyo (sweet anuje-wine peledyo, bitter vinegar peledyo, plain salty peledyo, etc), several hot sauces (the typical formula here is different kinds of chilis mixed with olive oil, cumin, coriander, garlic, and citrus juice, all mashed into a liquid paste), a sweet anuje-garlic sauce, chopped onions/parsley raw in citrus juice, a mash of peas + onions cooked in duckfat, fermented salted crab roe, plain olive oil, chili-olive oil, etc.

This style of eating is an aspect of the Burri cultural sphere (and the Odkotonnos provincial subculture by extension), utilized for meals during intimate social gatherings. A main course of meat cooked minimally (or wholly un-)seasoned and served with a variety of sauces and seasonings to be sampled independently aims to bring out and emphasize each component's unique qualities. A palate cleanser (usually a weak wine infused with a citrus fruit's juice) is sipped in between. This also had/has levels religious function; the traditional condiments in this meal (most of which aren't represented here) are connected to major deities of the Burri pantheon, and the diversity and abundance of the meal is recognized as the gods' many gifts made manifest (and some of each are left as offerings in a home shrine).

Palo and his family are practitioners of the Faith of the Seven Faced God (a sect of which has spread into the Burri Republic, where it is currently a very significant religious minority) and have been for several generations. So the religious aspects were framed differently in his experience, but have similar functions in representing the great abundance that God provides. (He was also brought up instructed to leave some of the corn sauce Specifically as an offering in the household shrine. This sauce is a staple across cuisines in the Burri sphere and a key offering to Vazhirum, the goddess of maize, patron of the city Titenegal, and functionally the chief agricultural deity of the pantheon. Offerings of the sauce to agricultural Faces is retained as a practice in Burri sphere sects of the Faith).

Anyway Palo mournfully thinks about this delicious seabass meal with his extended family while sitting in an alleyway with Tigran and choking down unseasoned boiled pigeon (that the guy literally caught by hand) with pounded yam, not a condiment in sight.

---

Brakul was raised in a low cattle-wealth clan in the West Rivers region of the Highlands. He lived in the Urbin river valley, which is one of the largest and most agriculturally fruitful (though his clan itself was located upland and could not grow a lot of this themselves). The West Rivers Hill Tribes have an amicable trade relationship with the province of Ephennos, so he had a fair deal of exposure to Wardi trade goods, but this didn't affect his diet much. He grew up eating an everyday diet consisting of the core staples of barley + amaranth + magah + LOTS of dairy products, in addition to some hunted/fished meat and foraged wild plants.

Crayfish was his favorite food growing up. He lived in immediate proximity to several creeks, so freshwater food (crayfish, trout, mussels, frogs) could be a pretty major portion of his diet during the summers. On some occasions, crayfish and mussels would be boiled to make a broth with chilis and onions, then served in a soup with yogurt, barley, butter, fennel, and magah. This was his absolute favorite meal and he particularly liked the crayfish themselves (his brother didn't, so would trade his crayfish for Brakul's mussels).

Living in a coastal city and being introduced to the concept of Crabs and Lobsters (it's like a crayfish but HUGE) later in life was lifechanging. Crab meat is now his absolute favorite food. He sometimes attempts to recreate the crayfish boil dish with crab (he does a pretty solid job but the yogurt always ends up curdled). He's also a fan of a dish where a softshell crab is fried and then coated with a concentrated sticky sweet peledyo sauce.

He's pretty enthusiastic about trying new foods (and benefited tremendously from having a rich boyfriend who can facilitate this) and has decided that anara is the best game the lowlands has to offer. Their tails are VERY rich, tender, and fatty, very good roasted with a sweet+spicy sauce. He first experienced this at the wedding of one of Janeys' cousins and now insists on eating it regularly/pursuing anara on hunts over more favored game like gazelle and nechoi. There's also a greater variety of alcoholic beverages available, and he's become fond of the a very decadent form of date wine sweetened with anuje and imported cardamom.

He also likes + misses a dish composed of feydhi (highlands khait) fat which is rendered, mashed with dried berries and a little honey, left out in the snow to chill solid, and then sliced and eaten on bread. This is a staple in midwinter feasts and a special treat. Its considered an obligation for each tribe's chief clan to fatten some of their khait on grain and then provide their fat to their constituents for this feast (the ability to Afford to give this gift effectively demonstrates + reinforced their power). Young children and pregnant women get first dibs/the biggest helpings (regarded as good for a growing body, helps pack fat on for the lean season) so there's a childhood nostalgia aspect to it. It's something he would look forward to every year.

He hasn't had any access to this dish whatsoever in South Wardin, as khait are virtually never slaughtered except as an act of desperation (culturally considered to be poor meat in general) and the Coldest winter temperatures average in the high 40s F (sub-freezing temperatures and snow Happen but not predictably or regularly) which is not adequate to cool fat to the desired consistency. This is particularly torturous because feydhi are actually quite common in South Wardin as pack animals and have a tendency to get VERY fat on the seasonal abundance of grass (being an 'easy keeper' landrace adapted to having nutritional needs met by much poorer mountain forage). His khait She-Bites is a feydhi and was sold to him cheap (on account of behavioral issues), he was originally intending to have her butchered but got too attached.

---

Etsushir grew up in a clanless Jazaiti community, in a coastal fishing town northeast from the city of Wardin proper. The existence of clanless Jazait mingling with Wardi populations long predates Imperial Wardin as an entity, but these communities have grown substantially in the past two centuries, in large part due to heavy encroachment on Jazaiti fishing territory causing major subsistence issues and driving many people to look for employment to sustain themselves. They are very marginalized ethnic minorities and tend to form distinct sub-communities amid their Wardi counterparts, but the decentralized structure of Jazait society and certain practices (like polyandrous marriage and minimization of reproductive females in any given family) cannot be fully retained in these settings (both on the levels of pure logistics and a result of disenfranchisement). As such, these groups tend to experience a degree of 'Wardinization', which affects all aspects of life, and in this case The Food.

Etsushir would have grown up in large part eating a typical coastal South Wardi diet (lots of maize porridges, lentils, and fish), in addition to exploiting uncultivated resources that his human Wardi counterparts physically cannot (certain grasses especially) or culturally Do not (only a couple seaweeds are considered good eating).

His favorite food is part of the Fusion Cuisine found in some of these partly Wardinized Jazaiti communities. It's a dish consisting of several kinds of seaweed mixed with hominy and raw tuna that has all been marinated in vinegar peledyo. His family and wider community have adopted the Faith Of The Seven Faced God and practice what would be considered a syncretic folk-variant. The Jazaiti Moonfather (who created tuna and sometimes takes the form of one) is associated with the Face Mitlamache, and tuna is often eaten in place of beef during the Mitlamache-focused maize planting festival. His family getting to catch, keep, and eat their own tuna would have been a special occasion largely reserved for these celebrations.

(The strictly Jazaiti version of this dish uses seaweed and fish in addition to the young shoots of a type of grass, all cured in nuji (VERY bitter native citrus, not commonly eaten by humans) juice. Elowey and human chemical sense of taste overlaps considerably, but elowey can digest a wider range of plant matter and have a substantially more complex experience with bitter tastes, a lot of foods from elowey cuisines are distastefully bitter to human palates)

He also has the genes for lactase persistence (VERY rare in the Jazait population, as well as the broader White Sea elowey population group). He doesn't like yogurt and finds adults drinking milk to be mildly disturbing, but is very fond of cheese. He prefers cowsmilk cheeses over the slightly more common and accessible horsemilk, and likes a fairly common Wardi cheese dish (a soft cowsmilk cheese cooked in a pepper/onion sauce and eaten atop grits).

---

Faiza (and every other character from here on) is in the noble class and grew up eating a substantially more varied, calorie rich, and meat heavy diet than the average person. This doesn't mean that every meal is Very Fancy, they're still ultimately reliant on most of the same basic staples as the lower classes, but their everyday diet includes More of these staples at once, with more variety, more spices, and a much more regular addition of meat.

The Haidamanes are all multiethnic (most relevant here is that their father was Titen on his mother's side and South Wardi on his father's), they're squarely South Wardi in terms of cultural identity but were brought up eating some Titen cuisine on a more than incidental basis. Faiza was the only one of her siblings that was notably into this, she thinks the noodles are fun. A favorite standby would be a dish made with very thick mung bean noodles, chickpeas, pre-roasted horse udder, cabbage, and onion, which is all fried together in fermented corn sauce and garlic-olive oil.

Faiza really likes salutachin dog meat, most commonly eaten in a dish where it is roasted with a rub of olive oil, garlic, date wine, and smoked yamnina reyla. Salutachin is a dog breed specifically raised for meat and is a South-Wardi specific practice in the present day (livestock dog types fed on plant matter used to be more common across the region. Burri influence contributed to the notion (already extant in some Wardi groups) that ANY form of dog meat is unclean, and the practice is extinct or rare in most other parts).

This is kind of a luxury food and regarded as a delicacy. It's of critical importance that salutachin stock is kept entirely 'pure' and prevented from breeding with ANY other dogs, and fattened on exclusively vegetarian diets, generally maize and yams (this partly stems from wider dietary taboos surrounding consumption of predators, but largely just improves the taste of the meat). They can be more costly to maintain than other types of livestock (which will help feed themselves via grazing) or working dogs (which aren't supposed to be eaten and thus can be fed on any number of scraps). As such, it tends to be fairly expensive and reserved for special occasions, and is a mainstay at South Wardi wedding feasts.

Faiza has a notable childhood memory of being at her uncle's wedding, feeding a scrap of salutachin to one of the hunting dogs, and experiencing a kind of sick, nervous thrill at compelling a good animal to cannibalism. She interacts with food taboos/taboos in general more skeptically than average and experiences temptations to violate them, though she's never actually gone through with it on the food level. She doesn't ultimately disagree with any of them though, just interprets their necessity through her proto-materialist philosophical background instead of the strictly spiritual angle. She's very fixated with the stories of Godsmouth civilians starving to death in the siege resorting to eating feral dogs (which is VERY taboo) that had themselves eaten human corpses (thus this is like, the worst thing you could possibly eat short of an actual human corpse). She's kind of fascinated with cannibalism in general.

---

Hibrides is from the city/province Erubinnos and predominantly of Yuroma-Wardi ethnicity. This refers to descendents of a Yuroma ethnic group first arrived as refugees several centuries prior, and is considered an Imperial Wardi subculture in the present day (practicing the state religion and fully integrated into the broader cultural sphere, but retaining a sub-identity).

Erubinnos has a near-equivalent makeup of South Wardi and Yuroma-Wardi inhabitants and its regional cuisine is influenced by both groups. (Some distinctive Yuroma elements are the regular consumption of raw fish, heavy specialization into smoked and cured meats (as a culinary form rather than a practicality), use of squid ink, and favoring of rice (which was first brought here by Yuroma migrants)). So Hibrides spent her first 15 years of life eating a bougie version of this diet before being moved to the province of Wardin for marriage.

She's a Very picky eater and has a lot of dislikes- she doesn't like most whitefish, most freshwater fish in general, tuna (doesn't actually dislike the taste but found a very big worm in her tuna once and it put her off forever), most red meats (she particularly doesn't like horsemeat, she got attached to a childhood pet horse to the culturally rare point of not wanting to eat Any horse meat altogether), eggplant, most lentils, or raw tomatoes. And to top it off she has a lower than average heat tolerance. So when she has a choice in the matter she tends to go for oily fish, fowl, rabbit and hares, and some reptiles like crocodile + turtles + certain snakes.

One of her favorite meals is an Erubinnos-specific dish where sardines (or other oily baitfish) are marinated in a sauce made with vinegar-peledyo, olive oil, and a sauce of mashed tomato + garlic + more olive oil, and eaten raw. This exact preparation with raw fish is uncommon in the city+province of Wardin, but she has the benefit of living in a household with a cook on hire and requests it very frequently. It reminds her of home.

She also used to love turtle meat (a type of softshell turtle is a delicacy here, usually eaten in soup). The Erubinnos regional turtle soup is kind of an outlier among Imperial Wardi cuisine in being very delicately flavored (a thin broth made with a dry wine, onions, fennel, rice, and usually ginger (imported)). She actually prefers the South Wardi variant (which is a heartier stew with heavy seasoning, eaten over grits).

She has had intense cravings for turtle during each pregnancy (which is interpreted as a bit of a concern- most river-based foods are thought to support a healthy pregnancy, but Cravings indicate that the womb is excessively 'hot/dry' and at greater risk of miscarriage). She ended up liking turtle a lot less after the first pregnancy when the cravings ended, and shifted her reptile soup focus to a species of python with a similar tasting (but less luxuriously fatty) meat. The return of the turtle cravings was one of her first indicators that she was pregnant a third time, and she doesn't stand a goddamn chance of getting any turtle meat in the 6th year of the drought.

She's pretty fond of a lot of game meat in general. Her favorite uncle was an avid hunter and made a point of bringing back gamebirds (and their eggs and feathers) for her, so she has a nostalgic fondness for dishes with duck, goose, ibis, pheasants, and the like. Hunting is also one of the diminishingly rare things she enjoys doing with her bitch husband and she's found that actually participating (granted, just in the form of watching and yelling directions) makes eating it afterwords more satisfying.

She'll only eat the nechoi they kill smoked and cured though, it tastes repulsive to her otherwise (in no small part due to this tending to be big boar nechoi killed in a prolonged, somewhat foolhardy solo struggle and is thus pumped with testosterone and fear hormones). This meat is stripped of (horrid tasting) fat, salted, slow-smoked, and usually eaten in soups.

---

Janeys is also somewhat of a picky eater, in his case he dislikes almost any animal product that comes out of the water (with a particular disdain for shellfish and crustaceans), and consciously frames it as such- crocodile, duck, and goose is an exception because they don't live in the water permanently, turtle is on thin fucking ice. He has to make an exception for peledyo because it's in just about everything and he can't honestly say he dislikes it.

His favorite meat is beef. He and his siblings grew up eating more beef products than average (even for nobility) due to the agricultural aspect of their wealth being rooted in ownership of cattle herds (which are actually reared, managed, and slaughtered by peasants). The Haidamane family is considered 'new money' landed nobility (opposed to established, multi-century old landowning families with wealth based in crop agriculture)- the vast majority of their wealth is mercantile, with a small facet being the 'ownership' of mostly uncultivated scrubland and the cattle grazed there. Janeys is now in charge of the latter aspect after being quietly cut out of his actual intended inheritance, so this humiliation has a fringe benefit of having plenty of beef around, AND he hasn't quite gotten sick of it yet.

Cattle are very sacred animals and the Only sacred livestock. Sacred status doesn't entail not being eaten by any means, but it does entail a lot of emotional+spiritual investment in them as livestock and ritual surrounding their rearing and consumption. Janeys has also always been a little jealous that both of his sisters are in the priesthood, and his (ultimately very distant) involvement in the management of these animals (some of whom are donated to temple sacrificial stock herds) feels like a slice of that, getting to eat their meat on a relatively regular basis is psychologically gratifying in ways beyond just liking the food.

His favorite cut is actually the oxtail above anything else. This would mostly be eaten in a (notably bougie) South Wardi oxtail soup (tomato and olive oil sauce, wine, beef broth, yamnina reyla, saffron, hominy, onions, garlic, cabbage). He also is very fond of sweetbreads, and the liver. The liver is culturally considered the best part of the cow and its consumption is ceremonially restricted- half of the liver Has to be offered in sacrifice for each cow slaughtered (a sort of thanks-giving and payment for the cattle's death), and the other half is reserved for the patriarch who owns the cattle, which can be distributed as he chooses. As of his father's death, Janeys is now technically the patriarch of his family so like, great news for him.

There are no such restrictions on the livers of other regularly consumed animals, and he does like horse liver too. Usually takes it in sausage form (the favored, high quality type here is minced liver mixed with the tender ground meat of the tail, cumin seed, and thyme, cased in caul fat).

He's notably fond of sweet foods- major examples available are roasted figs with cheese, figs or dates stuffed with nuts, sticky pine nut and/or pistachio 'candy' made with anuje, candied figs/dates/kolis/nara. One variety of cornbread is stuffed with pine nut + camiche + pistachio, fried, and glazed with anuje. A type of native melon (similar consistency to a watermelon but VERY mildly sweet, tastes more like a cucumber) is used to make a cold soup with mint + thyme, he takes it sweetened with anuje. He also tried grilled honeycomb with honey + larvae while in the southern-central Highlands and was shocked that he liked it (given that insects are not only famine food but Peasant famine food).

In relation to this, he eats a lot of fruit when it's in season. His favorite fruits are figs and pomegranates. These aren't accessible year round and he doesn't particularly like them dried on their own, so it's something to look forward to every year. Kolis has a very long fruiting season and he has one growing on his balcony for personal use.

He likes sweet wines (typically served strong, rather than watered down like how most wine is consumed on a regular basis) but is a lightweight and noted sloppy drunk. He dilutes it with rosewater on occasions where he's exhibiting a reasonable degree of self control.

---

Couya isn't a terribly picky eater (she will eat just about anything) but has strong proclivities towards very simple comfort foods and doesn't like meat all that much, to the point of her chosen diet being regarded as spartan and peasant-esque. A big part of her personality is thinking of most of her fellow nobility as Pussies and making a bit of a show about how much she doesn't mind discomfort and relative non-luxury, which extends to her food tastes. (though to be clear, this is mostly a prolonged act of 'fuck you mom/brother/most of my extended family'. If she had to spend a month living as an actual peasant she would DIE).

This is also motivated in part by the fact that her childhood home life was legitimately horrendous and a whole lot of Really Nice Foods and Delicacies are associated with bad memories for her (particularly the Titen noodle cuisine that Faiza is very fond of, since that's the only element she's ONLY experienced in that home and nowhere else.) Switching most of her diet to basics more characteristic of the lower mercantile class (and eating very little meat outside of holidays and ceremonies) is kind of an escape from that.

She doesn't really like sitting down for meals and favors 'husk meals', which is a subclass of foods built around being wrapped and cooked in corn husk, where they will hold a semi-solid shape and can be eaten on the go. There's a tremendous variety of husk meals, this is the equivalent of The Sandwich in terms of its utility and variability. They're usually composed of a seasoned grain or starch, often stuffed with vegetables/cheeses/egg/meats. Some variants resemble a sausage (without casing) where equal parts of a finely chopped/ground meat is mixed with grain and other ingredients and cooked in the husk. These meat variants most often use meat from the head (as well as eyes, tongue, and brain, and leftover scraps) to extend a valuable slaughtered carcass; head-husk is specifically regarded as a peasant food in this capacity.

Her favorite husk meal variant is one made with seasoned crushed rice stuffed with onions, cabbage, and soft cheese. Rice is her favorite grain, but its not The Most accessible where she lives (the province of Wardin is the driest and has a very small rice output) so she's having variants with maize dough/grits instead on most occasions. She also loves okra (a landrace of which can be grown here, though is a fairly delicate and non-staple crop), which is often eaten with other vegetables and hominy grits (she usually takes this as a husk meal too).

[electric-blorbos]

JUST HAD MY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!! can I please get anything wheatley-related I would appreciate it very much thank you

Sorry it took me so long to get to this! I guess a belated Wheatley birthday present is better than nothing, though. I hope you enjoy it!

Wheatley Surprise:

Included: Just Wheatley from Portal 2

No I'm not going to tell you what's in this post, that would spoil the surprise! Just click on it to find out!

"I don't care what you have to do with him, just get that little idiot out of here!" Your boss, who also happened to be the main personality core controlling the entire facility. GLaDOS looked down at you in scorn, displaying an image of your pride and joy on one of the screens on the wall. Poor Wheatley.

"he's doing much better lately, I promise, GLaDOS! He can work odd jobs around the facility! After all, his illogical function makes him work just like an organic-"

"that defeats the purpose of assigning ai to tasks. Why would we want an illogical idiot who thinks like a human to work in the facility when we could have perfectly logical personality constructs working here. Either drop him into the incinerator, or get rid of him some other way, but I'm not looking at him any longer."

You sighed, and walked out of GLaDOS's chambers.

"Wheatley?" You called out for him, walking into his section of the facility to find him. He was simply hanging from his management rail, awaiting instructions from his boss in the relaxation vaults.

"Wheatley, I'm going to have to disconnect you from your management rail, alright?" You walked up to him, holding your arms up to take him down, but he pulled away.

"no! Your team told me that if I ever disconnected from my management rail, I'd die! Are you trying to kill me?"

You shook your head.

"you trust me, right Wheatley?" You asked. He nodded hesitantly as you climbed up a stepladder to take him down as he detached himself.

"Unfortunately, GLaDOS says that you're... Well-" it was difficult to break the news to him. He looked up at you hopefully, not piecing the dots together. He didn't even seem to realize that he could be fired.

"what? She said I'm what?"

"Being let go, Wheatley... GLaDOS is firing you."

"WHAT?" his camera lens darted around the hallway the two of you were in, visibly in a state of panic.

"She can't let me go- even if dropping down from my management rail didn't kill me, that incinerator will definitely kill me! Please, y/n, you have to hide me somewhere! I don't want to die!" You could hear soft sobbing noises coming from Wheatley's core as he squeezed his lens covers shut. He was terrified, and couldn't imagine a more horrible fate than this. You couldn't help but feel sorry for him, and you wrapped your arms gently around the core.

"hey... Hey, Wheatley, it's going to be alright. I'm not going to incinerate you. Nobody is. We're going to take you somewhere safe."

You pressed your cheek gently into the top of his chrome shell, and he nuzzled into your chest as well as he could. He trusted you more than anything, knowing that his grip on reality wasn't the best, so he had no choice but to trust in you.

You took Wheatley to your office, setting him down on a spare chair for the rest of the day. He chattered away all day, babbling about how he hadn't seen the office part of the facility in a while, and how excited he was to be able to finally get off his management rail. You didn't manage to get any work done on your latest project, but that was ok. Your coworkers were even glad to see Wheatley go, calling him an annoying little idiot. A few of them even congratulated you on making him so insufferable.

"PCH, I'm not insufferable. You like me, right? I'm a likable little core. Even if GLaDOS did fire me... I'm still doing a good job, right? I'm sure I can get a job outside the facility, right? Maybe at Black Mesa?" He talked to you as you walked him to your car, and you chuckled.

"you'd probably be sued beyond recognition if you let Black Mesa get ahold of your tech, Wheatley. But it's ok, you don't need a job right now."

You buckled him in, and started driving off to your apartment. Wheatley kept babbling to you as you drove, not worried about distracting you. Even still, you were pretty good at staying focused even while he was babbling.

After a while, you got home to your little apartment. Since you lived alone, it wasn't really much to speak of. A bit of a mess, but Wheatley looked around at it like it was the most beautiful mess he'd ever seen.

"wow! This is what human homes look like? And I thought the relaxation chambers looked cozy and lived in! This is amazing, love!"

You chuckled and blushed a little, setting him down on your sofa.

"I usually just have some dinner and relax on the couch. I'm not used to having guests."

"That's alright, love! I'm just happy to be out of Aperture labs!"

Despite his cheerful demeanour, you'd never seen Wheatley this genuinely happy before. He couldn't really move around without his management rail, so he just sat contentedly on your couch until you sat down next to him with your bowl of ramen and egg.

"You seem to be adjusting to the life outside of Aperture fairly well, Wheatley. I've never seen you this happy before."

"Sakes alive, mate... That place was a prison! I'd never had the chance to see the sun, to drop off my management rail... To live, know what I mean?" He raised his lower lens cover at you in a smile-like gesture.

"It's the best feeling in the world to be out of that place. I didn't think you'd actually take me in, though! But-" he started to look concerned.

"what am I going to do when you're not at work? I don't have any hands, so I can't read books or use the internet... Do you have any ideas?"

You hadn't really thought much about that, to be honest. You were mostly just excited about having your own British orb to keep in your house and talk to, but he was right. It wouldn't be fair to just leave him in front of the TV... He'd be bored out of his mind.

"we can come up with something. Until then, I think I'll hire a babysitter to keep you company during the day. Then maybe we can sign you up for some hobby groups so you can make some friends. It'll be fine."

Wheatley nodded his little lens camera, visibly understanding.

"I'm not a baby, but that sounds a lot better than being alone all day."

"better than nothing, right?" You smiled, setting your finished soup bowl on the coffee table and putting your arm around Wheatley to watch a few episodes of your favorite show. Wheatley talked through it, of course, but you'd already seen this show through several times, so it was okay.

When you were done, you went to rinse out your bowl and put it in the sink.

"well, time for bed. You comin', Wheatley?"

Wheatley lit up.

"Really? I've never seen a bedtime before! They simulate daylight hours at all times in Aperture. People don't even have a bedtime routine in the relaxation vaults. It's mostly just check-ups and then back to bed, ya know what I'm saying?"

You nod, picking him up and taking him to your room. You set him down on your bed, and angle him towards the bathroom so he can see you brushing your teeth.

"Alright, I'm going to shower and get changed into my pajamas now, so I'm going to close the door."

"I mean... I wouldn't be opposed to the idea of watching you shower and get changed."

"Oh don't be a pervert." You closed the bathroom door while you showered and got changed, and then you got into bed with Wheatley.

"this probably won't be too different from watching the test subjects in the relaxation vaults. Just try to relax, alright? I'll be awake in a few hours."

"Yeah, alright. You know, the craziest thing happened in the relaxation vaults last week. So there I was on my management rail..."

You pulled him in close, holding him like a stuffed animal, and listened to him chatter on as you fell fast asleep.

[dire-miralis]

Interesting, and possible, considering at this time we know nothing.

My own theory is kinda uh, wack, because i have no idea what answer would satisfy me in all of this, but here it is anyway:

I think the Dragontorch and Landspine itself are somewhat repulsive to elders, considering that even after a thousand years of it being left to decay, we're only seeing a Hint of their slow return (Gore). But there's no way the original sources of wyvern milk were lifeless before Wyveria came, everything has an ecosystem attached to it, and every ecosystem has dragons, especially when considering the similarities between the land spine and the Everstream, and especially especially considering this war is likely the Great Dragon War, aka: Dragons were more common before that. I think that, during the war, Wyveria bumped into Something within the very core of their power source, within what they saw as Their fortress. They rushed an attempt to create a construct which would for sure see to its end, failed and ended up with an unstable, hazardous mass of stem cells with destructive impulses, and in the messy process of lulling Zoh Shia back to sleep, they awoke That Other Thing which may have a much greater influence on wylk, not only attacking, but causing a region-wide catastrophe by its disturbance on the landspine.

One of the titles you get from Zoh Shia is "Innocent". It's clear the Fatalis traits were not a red herring, but i strongly believe it's horrible fallen angel looks are deceiving, and yet telling of the guardians's struggle, and we are told further so by its parts and equipment descriptions. The crystal shell constricts it, within, its mass swells and writhes, it yearns for destruction and punishment but is aimless in doing so, merely an error of the creators, which deluded themselves into the idea they could create a pristine, unbreachable paradise of light, meanwhile they were digging themselves ever deeper into a pale limbo.

[emotionallychargedtowel]

prying off the shell

Hayama's friend Mihara makes a really trenchant observation in episode 7 of 25 Ji Akasaka de. First he points out that Shirasaki doesn't seem to have a "shell"--his way of talking about a social self, a persona that a person experiences as separate from their core self. Then he points out that Hayama not only has a "shell," he has multiple layers of shell, so many that it's essentially impenetrable. If you explore what's underneath his social persona, there's just another persona, and another under that, with no end in sight, like a seemingly neverending set of matryoshka dolls. At first Mihara says this to draw a parallel between the two, to claim they're similar. But when he elaborates, Hayama responds by saying it sounds like he's describing them as complete opposites. Mihara accedes to this and sums things up by pointing out that life is bound to be hard for someone in either of those positions.

Actually, both are true. These two ways of being have some significant overlap in their execution, and they also have huge fundamental differences at their cores.

One of the biggest things that Shirasaki and Hayama have in common is the fact that there's little difference between their public personas and their private selves. Shell-less Shirasaki is the same candid, sensitive person whether he's alone with someone he cares about or interacting in public with people he doesn't know very well, because he doesn't have a special persona for public settings. He's just Shirasaki inside and out and makes no bones about it--nor does it ever seem to cross his mind to do so. But he probably couldn't if he did want to.

Hayama's multilayered shell creates a similar effect for the opposite reason. Hayama has a carefully constructed social self. But if you bring him into a private setting, even if he sets aside his most public persona, you're just going to be presented with another carefully constructed persona designed to navigate a particular social situation. This means that public Hayama and private Hayama aren't that different. They may seem different at times, but that's only because he tailors his personas for different settings. He must be very skilled at it after all these years.

This opposite-yet-similar relationship is also present in how they both relate to acting in general, and more specifically to the idea of having a "fake" dating relationship with a costar for the purpose of improving a performance. For Hayama, acting is an opportunity to express emotions in a way that he can't otherwise. It's not just that acting provides a loophole from the system of rules he grew up with, though importantly, it does do that. He says that the way he learned as a young child not to express too much emotion around his mother was to make himself numb. Since he learned this lesson at such a young age, his ability to get in contact with his authentic emotions has atrophied. Acting provides him not only with permission to show emotion to portray in his performance, but also with ready-made words and actions he can use to do so. In other words, Hayama yearns for the freedom to express feelings, but if he had to express his own emotions he probably wouldn’t know how to access them. So it helps that acting comes with a script that can tell him how he's supposed to feel and how he's supposed to express that. When Hayama acts, he places a sort of veneer of a private self over his shell, and this allows him to experience something similar to being his authentic self.

Shirasaki doesn't tell us explicitly what he gets out of acting, the way Hayama does. But I think it must be the opposite of what Hayama gets out of it in a way. For Hayama, acting is a way of getting around his overactive system of control and gaining back some lost immediacy. For Shirasaki, for whom emotional immediacy is as natural as breathing, I think acting must provide a greater sense of control. It must be so taxing for Shirasaki to live in the world without a shell. He's buffeted about by social forces that he lacks resources to navigate and the unpredictable events that ensue hit him harder because of his unguarded authenticity. Acting could be a way of making these experiences predictable. He may not know what's going to happen to his shell-less self in his everyday life, but at work, the script tells him exactly what to expect. It must also be nice for Shirasaki to gain respect and validation for his authenticity after what I can only assume has been a lifetime of being criticized for that aspect of himself.

In a related way, Shirasaki's main challenge as an actor is also very different. He's great at the expressiveness part of acting. If he can feel something, he can portray it in his performance, because authenticity is so natural to him. If anything, he doesn't have a choice--he doesn't know how to stop being authentic. Issues come up, however, when he doesn't have an easily accessible emotion that maps onto how his character feels. He has an amazing delivery system for emotion that brings his feelings to the audience, but a delivery system only works if you have something to deliver. The situation that drives the story in 25 Ji is the fact that Shirasaki has to seek out these raw materials in order to perform.

One of the biggest issues I've had with this series from the beginning is the idea that a supposedly gifted actor like Shirasaki would think that he has to have firsthand experience with something in order to portray it (leading to his trip to the gay bar, his initial encounter with Hayama, and their pretend relationship). But this way of conceptualizing Shirasaki's personality goes a long way toward explaining that. If you don't know how to be fake in your private or your professional life, of course you'll have more of a need for firsthand experiences to draw from. It might also be a factor that Shirasaki is less likely than others to realize, and/or care, that this form of "rehearsal" generally isn't done.

Once Shirasaki and Hayama begin their pseudo-relationship, their distinct ways of relating to the world impact their experiences. For Hayama, there isn't that much difference between this pretend relationship and a supposedly real one. We don't know anything about his dating history, but it seems doubtful that any past relationships would have been appreciably more authentic than this one. After all, Hayama doesn't even know how he really feels half the time. How could he be emotionally present with another person under such circumstances? So their pseudo-relationship feels as authentic to him as any "real" one he's had, and quite possibly more so given the strength of his feelings for Shirasaki. This goes back to my first point--there's little difference between Hayama's public and private selves--and just puts it in a relationship context. Basically, a fake relationship and a real one are similar for him because both are equally fake.

Once again, Shirasaki's public and private selves are also remarkably similar, but in a different way and for different reasons. He welcomed the pseudo-relationship because he needed firsthand experience to fuel his performance, but his lack of a shell and lack of skill at pretending make it so that acting out a relationship and actually being in one are hard for him to distinguish. In other words, a fake relationship and a real one are similar for Shirasaki because both are equally real.

These opposite ways of relating bring the lead characters into somewhat similar positions at times, but for very different reasons. For a while, these opposites were so complimentary that they balanced each other out. That balance created stability. Their pseudo-relationship was easier to navigate then, but if it had continued that way, it would have been hard to topple in favor of something real.

There's one thing that keeps these opposing approaches from truly being mirror-image versions of each other, though: the fact that Hayama's feelings for Shirasaki are causing his authentic self to strain against the confines of his shell. If he could easily keep going the way he always has, and felt no need to change, any real relationship between him and Shirasaki would be pretty much doomed. But even the thickest shell has a center. There's a little nugget of authentic self that Hayama has had shuttered away inside his shell for most of his life. It hasn't seen light in a long time. It hasn't grown much since he was a child, because it hasn't been allowed to. But it has always been very responsive to contact with Shirasaki, even from afar. Now that Hayama has been able to get closer to Shirasaki, that little nugget of selfhood is growing exponentially, and as it grows it gets stronger and more insistent.

Hayama says that being with Shirasaki feels like having his shell "pried off." This is how that happens. It's bound to be scary, maybe even terrifying, to go through that. It's a kind of personal growth that Hayama probably couldn't find the motivation to push through if he didn't want so badly to be close to Shirasaki for real. But he does want that very deeply, enough to take this risk. So the different ways that Hayama and Shirasaki relate to the world, which had been such stable opposites, are on their way to becoming less perfectly balanced and thus more amenable to change.

There's a catalyst on the horizon: the love scene Hayama and Shirasaki are about to film for their drama. Hayama usually relies on a script to tell him what to feel and how to express that emotion in his work. His shell remains in place during that process because there's a difference between the little bit he can still feel of his real emotions and the emotions he portrays. But his role in the drama he's making with Shirasaki has been growing closer and closer to how he really feels. The love scene seems poised to bring him even closer to his own authentic experience. If the role he plays, the emotions he allows himself to show, sync up enough with the emotions of the little nugget of real self he still has, it could be a key to unlocking his shell. If he's able to speak from his authentic experience, he could find a way to tell Shirasaki how he feels. If he's able to show real emotion in the process, Shirasaki will be able to see the difference and understand what it means.

[daveconstruction]

Inside a Core and Shell Project: Benefits and Build Process

From strategic design and rapid structural development to flexible handovers, shell and core in construction approach ensures faster project delivery and cost savings. Tenants gain the freedom to customize interiors, while developers benefit from simplified execution. Highlighting DCEC’s successful industrial project in Vadodara, the blog shows how shell & core construction supports efficient timelines, sustainability, and high tenant appeal, making it ideal for modern commercial and industrial developments.

Continue reading to know more: Shell and core in construction

[changelingsandothernonsense]

Stuff about Yani

He was born in 3E 337 in the Eastern Ashlands of Molag Amur, the oldest of a set of fraternal twins.

He doesn't know his exact birthdate, just that he was born around summer (He was born on the 16th of Second Seed).

His younger sister, Thana and himself were inseparable until she died along with the rest of the Ensirhaddon-Ammu clan when he was 17.

Yani fled Vvardenfell via Vivec City which is how he got caught up in the Camonna Tong- They promised him much and gave him very little

Yani is an accomplished pyromancer but did not inherit the seer ability that his sister had. He did, however pass it on to his son who managed to get the ability from both parents.

Yani draws pretty much everything he sees and passes this on to Josh. He used to draw him pictures of Dwemeri constructs and guar.

Yani goes wherever his smuggling outfit tells him to, and by the time he meets Maera he's a shell of his old self and looking for an out.

He's extremely homesick and ready to fuck things up significantly just to not feel lost anymore. That includes getting involved with his boss' betrothed, getting her pregnant and marrying her in secret.

Yani was excited about the idea of having a kid and immediately knits a large guar toy that he names Vis (Eggs). It's a tradition within most Ashlander clans for prospective fathers to create a gift for their children at birth. He thought a guar would offer protection to his son.

Yani speaks Eastern Ashland and a little Telvanni Dunmeris, he starts picking up Redoran when he's staying in Blacklight but he struggles with it.

Maera ends up learning Ashland just so they can communicate better. Yani gets frustrated easily, and the way the Redoran roll their Rs vexes him in particular.

Yani struggles a lot when he and Maera elope to Cyrodiil. He never quite picks up Cyrodiilic and struggles finding his place amongst the Dunmeri diaspora in Cheydinhal, who just see him as a Velothi they're best not interacting with.

He becomes incredibly isolated as a result. He becomes incredibly homesick, even more so than when he was on mainland Morrowind and often disappears into the surrounding forests periodically to go "hunting".

Sometimes he actually is hunting. Usually he takes his son if that's the case.

Mostly he's drinking himself stupid near the border and considering the logistics of just running again.

He's got an extensive arrest record in Cheydinhal for poaching and theft. He never assimilates to Imperial society.

Towards the end of his life, he starts getting back in with the Tong, hoping he'd figure out a way to get his family back home with the money that ebony smuggling brings.

Orvas Dren (whose fiancée he eloped with and is half the reason they fled in the first place), sends Yani a letter threatening the lives of his wife and son.

Yani is illiterate, so he had to go to Maera with the letter

They make a plan to move south

Yani ignores this on the basis of blood price (he's still Ashlander to his core) so he instead takes the bait which leads to his disappearance and death. This leaves his family vulnerable, and his ghost regrets this decision heavily.

Yani dies in a cave-in in Tolvald's Cave in the Velothi Mountain Range. Dren's men choosing to slit his throat before setting off an explosion that causes the cavern to fall upon him.

His ghost cannot speak for a variety of reasons, though mostly it's related to a lack of proper burial rites that connect him to the magic of his living relatives. This means that whilst Maera can summon him, it doesn't always work and he often shows up with half his throat missing due to his ghost only being able to manifest his final moments.

Josh comes across his remains whilst leading refugees out of Morrowind. He takes his father's remains and buries them with Urshilaku rites within their new burial caverns on Solstheim. However his ghost is often too weak to summon for very long due to just how long his remains lay forgotten.

He's proud of what his son has accomplished in spite of his absence. He regrets not being there.

Josh wears his earrings (the large gold ones) and one of his bangle sets. Maera wears one of his silver sets and his Wraithmail link whilst his aunt, Manirai who ended up heading the splinter Erabenimsun group as their Wise-Woman, receives his bronze set. These end up back in Josh's possession when she passes. He gives the set to his daughter, Nervyna, when she's born alongside the stuffed guar Yani made the moment he found out he was having a kid. Vis is a really old stuffed guar doll.

[spacenutspod]

Water is the most common chemical molecule found throughout the entire universe. What water has going for it is that its constituents, hydrogen and oxygen, are also ridiculously common, and those two elements really enjoying bonding with each other. Oxygen has two open slots in its outmost electron orbital shell, making it very eager to find new friends, and each hydrogen comes with one spare electron, so the triple-bonding is a cinch. Hydrogen comes to us from the big bang itself, making it by both mass and number the #1 element in the cosmos. Seriously, the stuff is everywhere. About 75% of every star, every interstellar gas cloud, and every wandering bit of intergalactic space debris never to know the warmth of stellar fusion in 13.8 billion years of cosmic history is made of hydrogen. That hydrogen got its start when our universe was only about ten minutes old, and all the hydrogen that has ever existed (except for random radioactive decays and fission reactions, but that would come later) formed before our universe turned 20 minutes. A dozen minutes, 13.8 billion years ago. When you quench your thirst with a healthy glass, that’s what you’re consuming. We can understand this epoch of cosmic history, known as the nucleosynthesis era, because over the past century we’ve become rather skilled at dealing with nuclear reactions, and in one of the hallmarks of our species we have unleashed this radical understanding into the physical nature of reality and deployed it for both peacetime energy generation and wartime bombs. Our understanding of nuclear physics tells us that earlier than the ten-minute mark, our universe was too hot and too dense for protons and neutrons to form. Instead their subatomic parts, known as quarks, were unglued in a heaving maelstrom of nuclear forces, constantly binding and unbinding in a seething rage-filled sea of gluons, the force carriers of the strong nuclear force. Once the universe expanded and cooled enough, condensates of protons and neutrons formed like droplets on the windowpane, low-energy pockets capable of keeping themselves together despite the temperatures. Eventually, however, as soon as the party got going it fizzled out: when the universe became too large and too cool, a mere dozen minutes later, there wasn’t sufficient density to bring the quarks close enough together to perform their nuclear binding trick. Some protons and neutrons would find each other in those storm-filled days, though, forming heavier versions of hydrogen, some helium, and a small amount of lithium. And since then those hydrogen atoms have wandered about the cosmos; most lost in the intergalactic wastes, some participating in the glorious construction of stars and planets, and a lucky few finding themselves locked in a chemical dance with oxygen. The oxygen has another tale to tell, also a story of fusion, on its way to becoming water. But not the fusion of the first few heady minutes of the big bang, but in the dance within the hearts of stars. There, crushing pressures and violent temperatures slam hydrogen atoms together, forcing them to fuse into helium, in the process releasing an almost vanishingly small amount of energy. But that forced marriage happens millions of times every second, in every one of the trillions upon untold trillions of stars strewn about the cosmos, enough to light up the universe for all conscious observers to enjoy. Near the end of a star’s life, it turns to fusing the built-up ash of helium piled in its core, The fusion of helium produces two products: carbon and oxygen. Now this oxygen would end up forever closed off from the cosmos, locked behind a million-kilometer thick wall of plasma, if it were not for a trick of physics that happens when the star meets its final days. Our Sun will someday experience this fate, about four and a half billion years now. When it grows old and weary, it will swell and turn red, violently spasming as it draws its last fatal breaths. Those gargantuan shudders release material from the star, launching it into the surrounding system, billowed by gusty winds of fundamental particles streaming away at nearly the speed of light. Fit by ragged fit, the Sun will lose its own self, driving away over half its mass into a spreading nebula, the only sign that distant eyes can perceive of yet another noble star laying down its struggle against the all-consuming night. But in that gruesome death, a miracle. The cycle born anew: the hydrogen and helium, the primordial elements of the star, now mixed with carbon and oxygen drift off into the interstellar void, someday to take part in the formation of a new star, a new solar system, a new world wet with water, and, if the chances are perfect, a new life. The post Thirsty? Water is More Common than you Think appeared first on Universe Today.

[bumblebeeappletree]

Twenty-two years ago, a group of friends bought a very affordable cornfield in rural Denmark and set out to build homes that were both debt-free and waste-free.

What began as a bold experiment with 13 families soon transformed the land into the eco-village of Friland (which means "Freeland"), a tight-knit community committed to back-to-basics living.

The homes were constructed with natural and recyclable materials like straw bales, seashells, sawdust, and sod roofs, reflecting the community’s deep respect for the environment.

Today, Friland is home to 45 families and has become a beacon of cooperative, low-impact living. At the core of Friland’s philosophy is the principle that residents cannot take on mortgages to build their homes, meaning they must save enough money in advance. Many begin by living in campers, while most build their homes slowly and by hand, prioritizing self-reliance and resourcefulness.

Steen Møller, one of the village’s founders, has turned his home's waste into resources. A trained farmer, Møller designed and built a thermal mass heater that heats his 75-square-meter home using minimal wood and then he captures the stove's exhaust pipes it into a buried greenhouse where he grows lettuce during the winter (even when there's snow on the ground).

Møller also captures his household's greywater, piping it beneath his home’s greenhouse, where it’s stored in a bladder filled with mussel shells that filter the water and provide nutrients to a very abundant fruit and vegetable garden.

Beyond its innovative homes, Friland encourages local enterprises. Residents support each other through shared projects like a volunteer-run grocery store and café, monthly communal dinners, and an annual assembly where they plan new initiatives.

The village even boasts a Michelin-recognized restaurant, Restaurant Moment, run by former residents, which uses locally sourced ingredients and greywater recycling to align with Friland’s ethos. United by a common goal, Friland’s residents strive to live debt-free, reduce their environmental impact, and foster a lifestyle rooted in connection and collaboration.

—Friland ecovillage: https://start.friland....

On *faircompanies: https://faircompanies....

[matau-the-228th]

There was a bit of discussion recently regarding Velika's thoughts regarding whether or not the inhabitants of the MU are actually people.

And a long while ago, there was a rumor or discussion that Hero Factory was apparently supposed to have a hidden Bionicle tie-in where it was revealed or hinted at that the creator of the Heroes was a Turaga or something?

And the Red Star recreates the bodies of dead MU inhabitants who haven't completed their destiny, but their minds have to be stored somewhere while the body is being constructed, right? Like a central core of some kind?

So I went down an AU rabbit hole where Velika somehow peers into the Hero Factory universe and decides to replicate the Heroes on Spherus Magna as a way to conquer the planet and to assert that as he can reproduce the process to make sapient creatures with scrap parts, the MU inhabitants are not special and not people.

But since they're actually hollow shells that replicate the actions of people, they're prime real estate for a disembodied MU inhabitant to possess when freed from the Red Star's Core

Probably going to figure out how to incorporate that into my AU or something.

[calateralrobot]

Death Paintings, Cursed Wombs, and the Recyclable Soul: A Deep Dive into Reincarnation and Jujutsu Biology

(AKA: Your soul has a save file, and cursed objects know how to reload it)

Okay, hold onto your collective soul cores, nerds.

Because I’ve just gone down a rabbit hole of cursed anatomy, forbidden sorcerer experiments, and how reincarnation is real and weaponized.

This is gonna be looooonnnnggggg

WHAT ARE THE CURSED WOMB: DEATH PAINTINGS?

They’re the preserved fetuses of half-human, half-cursed spirit hybrids, created by the sorcerer Noritoshi Kamo (the worst guy) over a hundred years ago.

Nine of them exist.

Three have been incarnated: Choso, Kechizu, and Eso.

They’re real. They’re sentient. They have cursed techniques.

And somehow, they retained not only life, but memory, personality, and sorcery—after over a century of preservation in jars.

Let that sink in.

But it’s not mystical—it’s biological.

These fetuses weren’t reborn by fate.

They were manually implanted into human hosts and given the right conditions to reawaken their souls and take over.

These are not new lives.

They are old lives rebooted.

SOUL IMPRINTING THEORY (Expanded):

Building off my last post about cursed object implantation—

The Death Paintings prove that sorcerer souls can persist physically, embedded in cursed wombs or vessels.

Their techniques, emotions, and identities remain intact—not metaphors. Actual code stored in the soul and reinstalled in the body later.

It’s like a soul with hardware backups.

CURSED WOMBS: WHAT ARE THEY?

In general cursed lore, cursed wombs are embryonic curse forms. They’re unstable but powerful—often used to slow cook curses development so they’re very strong or house experimental spirits.

Eventually they’ll be born or shed the shell of their curse womb to be fully born. This process can be accelerated through the consumption of people, negative energy, and potentially experience.(Like with Patty developing!)

In short: cursed wombs are cursed USB drives, and souls are the data.

THEORIES, THEORIES, THEORIES:

1. Soul Preservation Isn’t Magical—It’s Structural.

If a body (or object) is constructed just right, it can preserve a soul’s “pattern” for generations.

This means techniques, memories, and even attachments can survive long-term death.

2. Reincarnation Requires a Vessel, Not a Will.

Souls don’t need consent to come back. They just need the right plug.

This could be used to bring back ancient sorcerers—or forcibly overwrite someone.

3. Curse Wombs Could Be Used to Create Technique Hybrids.

If multiple soul fragments are embedded in one womb… would the result be a multi-technique entity?

Could a sorcerer combine techniques via engineered wombs?

4. The Death Paintings are Living Proof of Soul Stability in Curse Hybrids.

They bleed, cry, remember, and have family within each other. They’re related by curse, by blood, by choice.

They’re also visible to the average normie.

How they reproduce might be different from how curses are born. They might do it the human method, or-

What if they create curse wombs and the chosen parents pump cursed energy into the curse womb?

5. Curse and Human Souls

Human souls are made of positive energy.

Curse souls are made of negative energy.

Curses seek to eat humans and such because they lack positive energy and it’s how they can safely gain it!(unknown other methods might exist?)

HORRIFIC ETHICAL QUAGMIRE:

- Is a reincarnated soul the same person?

- what happens to the original host’s soul?

- Could this be done against someone’s will? (Spoiler: yes.)

- if we can build souls, can we delete them?

- If curses had genitals could a human reproduce with one?

— L

(Cannot stop thinking about cursed fetuses in jars.)