#container loading & unloading

[quickspeedmover]

Expert movers and packers in dubai

Quick Speed Mover one of the largest packers and movers in Dubai, which is efficient to fulfill your packing and moving requirements to or from UAE Region.The goal of Quick Speed Mover Expert movers and packers in dubai is to offer expert quality service at a reasonable price. In order to make moving from or to Dubai and more convenient for you, we provide the top packers and movers services in the area. We have exceeded our clients' expectations by providing our services.

[movermove]

Moving Services In Columbus Ohio

Movers and More is a moving company in Columbus Ohio that specializes in residential and commercial moving, loading, and unloading trucks, pods, and containers. We also specialize in furniture and appliance assembly and different delivery services in movers Columbus Ohio. With over a decade of experience, we pride ourselves with providing quality services to our customers and community every time, all the time. Our mission is to become a well-known and trusted company, and we will do this by operating with hard work, dedication, and integrity in our business dealings.

[wimaccrane]

Gantry Cranes: A Comprehensive Overview of their Manufacturing, Utility in Dry Ports

an article covering gantry cranes utility in Dry ports

Welcome to our latest discourse, where we shift our focus to the often undervalued yet indispensable element of the dry port sector: the Gantry Crane. This remarkable machinery, though not a staple in everyday discussions, is significantly utilized in dry ports, enriching productivity and streamlining operations. Join us as we explore the structure, operational aspects, variations, and vital…

[kotoku]

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪ - ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴄᴏᴍᴘᴀɴɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴄʜᴏɪᴄᴇ

synopsis - after making a decision, you pack up the last of the things your dear companion needs in the trunk. with your new friend secured carefully, you drive back home to organize all the new stuff you bought into your guest bedroom. hopefully they are liking their new home so far.

⋆˚🐾˖°

It had taken a bit of walking back and forth but you finally settled–

–on one of the doves! You wanted to adopt Sunday and his sister, Robin, but someone had already reserved her. ˙◠˙

With a grunt, you loaded the trunk with the cage, food, toys, and other necessities that would ensure Sunday’s comfort. He was placed in a little carrier with wide holes to breathe and see through, big enough to freely move around as you secured him in your passenger's seat. 

Throughout your drive home, you could hear him pacing around in his carrier. Your fingers tapped on the steering wheel as you would glance at him every now and then. You were starting to get worried about him, not wanting to cause a lot of stress for him on his first day in his new home. 

When you finally reached your house, you quickly unloaded your car and brought him in, careful to not tussle the box. 

Your home was pretty big but cozy. You had a guest room in case any of your friends were to come over, and two bathrooms, one being part of your room. Lucky you. You had decided on making the guest room Sunday’s new room so that he could fly around freely. 

Constructing the cage was pretty easy, it had a large space with some perches and toys for him to entertain himself with when he wasn’t flying around outside. You hoped he would like it. 

Carefully, you placed the box inside and opened it, closing the cage door so he wouldn’t fly out in a panic and hurt himself. 

“Sunday? You can come out now, I have your new home set up.” You watched as the dove slowly inched his way out, head tilting in different directions as he observed the area. You already left some food and water for him, organizing the rest into containers with a corresponding label. 

“Liking your new home?” You stared curiously as he climbed the walls of the cage, staring at you. Hesitant to move your finger towards him, you decided to show him your hands from a distance. “I’m much bigger than you but I hope you aren’t too scared of me, Sun.”

The dove had only continued to observe you before settling onto a perch, puffing his feathers out with his head tucked between his wings. Seems like he was ready to sleep.

With a chuckle, you brought out a blanket to cover his cage so he wouldn’t get frightened by any passing lights outside. With a soft ‘goodnight’, you closed the door gently and walked back towards your own room. 

—on a small, blond Norwegian Forest cat who had unique eyes. They were an extraordinary color, one you have never seen before with cats. Questioning the old lady about this, she could only give you a shrug, saying that he was rescued from an abusive home that adopted him from a breeder, so it could’ve been the breeder’s doing. 

Hearing of his past pained you, fueling your determination to give him a loving home.

Along with Aventurine, you bought him his necessities. Litter, cat food, a brush, etc… You even got him a collar, one that was quite pricey but glamorous, living up to his name. 

He was in his crate, his small body curled up as he peeked through the openings. Sometimes you’d put your finger near the holes for him to smell, his paw poking out as if reaching for you.

The lady had already filled you in on his vet details and history, providing you the necessary paperwork as you signed your consent. It was official, Aventurine was now adopted by you and placed in your care. 

“Please be gentle with him, he can be quite the troublemaker but he’s also a sweetheart. Come again soon!” With a wave goodbye, you brought his crate to the car which already had all his things in. 

The ride home was pretty quiet, it seems like Aventurine isn’t much of a talker. You smiled, finding his shyness adorable.

After you had put all of his things away into a guest bedroom, you opened his crate, watching as he slowly got out to stretch. He sniffed the area before cautiously walking towards you, smelling your out-reached hand before backing off, continuing to wander. 

You’d figured it would take some time before he got used to you. Standing up from your kneeling position, you started walking towards your room.

“I’ll leave the doors open for you to explore, Aven.” Of course, you left the bathroom doors closed, not wanting him to make a mess out of the toilet paper in there. You thought about the kitchen and living room, but there was nothing too dangerous for him to get into, so you let it slide. 

Cracking your door ajar, you crawled into bed, already changed into your pajamas. 

“Night, Aventurine.” You called out, hearing his footsteps pitter-patter against the hardwood floor. 

You hoped he would like it here.

—on a violet-blue ring-necked parakeet named Veritas Ratio. An odd name, but from what the lady had told you, it seemed pretty fitting.

“Veritas is an intelligent bird who requires much stimulation otherwise he’d get bored easily. He’s a bit standoffish, but he’ll warm up to you eventually.” 

…You were a bit nervous, but you were determined to build a bond with him. Birds have always fascinated you with their intellect and colors, their trust often being hard to obtain as they are both cautious and observant. When you were standing in front of Veritas’ enclosure, you made sure to read all the details and information about their breed so you knew what you were getting into. 

‘You’ve owned birds before, this wouldn’t be new,’ you thought to yourself, carrying Veritas to your car. The old lady was kind enough to walk you back to your car with all the necessities you needed, holding the bird food and toys while you carried the heavier things. 

After packing everything in, you secured Veritas in the passenger seat and started up your car, driving out of the parking lot and into the direction of your home. 

Every now and then, you would hear him flutter his wings, most likely stretching them as the carrier allowed him sufficient room to do so. It wouldn’t be long before you parked in your house’s garage, moving everything inside the guest room upstairs before bringing Veritas in. You could see him peeking through the holes, trying to get a glimpse of his surroundings.

“Let me set up your cage first and then you can come out, okay?” Setting him down beside you, you quickly got to work on building the cage, arranging some toys and perches for him. Once you were satisfied, you refilled his food and water bowl before picking up his carrier and opening it to let him walk inside. 

Veritas cautiously got out of the carrier, head tilting from side to side as he observed the cage. His eyes were pinning his surroundings, curiously walking around and climbing up the cage walls so he could sit on a perch. He turned his head to the right so he could get a good look at you.

“Hello.”

You slightly jumped in your spot, startled by the sudden greeting. You didn’t know he could talk, he was relatively quiet when you were in the store and during the car ride! Is he slowly warming up to you?

“Uh– hello! Welcome to your new home, do you..like it?” You felt a bit awkward talking to a bird, not really expecting any other answers from him.

“...”

Veritas didn’t say anything else, only continuing to look at you before he started grooming himself. You sighed, a bit relieved to see that he was comfortable and not stressed in his new home.

“I’m gonna head back to my room now, I’ll see you in the morning.”

Getting up from your spot on the ground, you draped a small blanket over his cage before turning off the lights. With a final goodnight, you gently closed the door with a ‘click!’, walking back to your room and flopping onto your bed with a sigh. 

–on a border collie named Boothill! He was quite energetic, sniffing all around you before sitting in front of your feet, staring up at both you and the old lady. 

“Boothill is a very protective dog, always following their owner and basically accompanying them during every task. He’s a sweet little fella, I’m sure you’ll love him.” The old lady gave Boothill a small pat on the head, offering the leash to you. 

“Here you are, young one.” 

Taking the leash from the old lady’s hands, Boothill immediately sat up and started dragging you around the store.

“B-Boothill! Where are you going??” You yelped, tripping over your feet as he sniffed around the aisles. He sat in front of a particular shelf, one full of dog treats. Ah, did he like a specific brand? 

Grabbing the one he was looking at the most, you read the label and ingredients out loud to yourself. The old lady had popped up next to you after you finished reading it, an apologetic smile on her face. 

“Sorry about that, Boothill can also be a little bit of a troublemaker.” She adjusted her glasses, looking down towards Boothill with a chuckle. “You naughty fella, don’t be too hard on your owner okay?”

Boothill barked in response, glancing up at you with his piercing red and gray eyes. He almost seemed to be making puppy eyes at you…

“I’ll get you this treat if it makes you happy, then.” You smiled, tucking the bag underneath your arm. You walked around the store with a small cart the lady had offered you, pulling different necessities off the shelves and putting them in the cart as Boothill strolled next to you. 

After paying for everything and getting all the documents you needed, you led Boothill towards your car and packed everything inside the trunk. He immediately jumped in the backseat, laying down as you buckled up and started the engine. 

“We aren’t too far from home, but be careful back there okay?” You glanced at him through your rear-view mirror, making sure he was comfortable before pulling out of the parking lot.

It took a while to move everything inside, but eventually, you had his little room all set up with his food and water. You let him roam around your backyard for a bit in case he needed to use the restroom, but he just came back to you after smelling around the fences and shrubs. Guess he was just getting used to his surroundings.

“Everything is set up in here, but I’ll leave my door open if you need anything.” You spoke, looking down at him as he sat beside your legs. You gave him a couple pets, moving to turn off the bedroom light before going to your own room. 

Unsurprisingly, he trotted after you, hopping onto your bed and kneading the comforter until he was satisfied. Chuckling, you pulled back the comforter and made yourself comfortable in your bed, feeling Boothill’s warmth near your feet. 

“Goodnight Boothill.” 

You heard a huff in response. 

⋆˚🐾˖°

taglist - @vash-yuu

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Word List: Light

beautiful words with "light" to try to include in your poem/story

Earthlight - earthshine

Featherlight - extremely light

Jacklight - a light used especially in hunting or fishing at night

Light grège - piping rock (i.e., a light olive gray that is paler than slate tan and paler and slightly redder than average covert gray)

Light of the moon - the period between the new moon and the full moon

Light verse - verse that is written mainly to amuse and entertain and that is often marked by qualities of wit, elegance, and lyric beauty

Light well - a shaft designed to admit light to the interior rooms of a building

Light wine - table wine (i.e., an unfortified wine containing not more than 14 percent alcohol by volume and usually suitable for serving with food)

Light-minded - lacking in seriousness; frivolous

Light-struck - having reference to a light-sensitive photographic material fogged by accidental exposure to light

Light-time - the time required for light to travel from any specified heavenly body to the earth

Lighterage - the loading, unloading, or transportation of goods by means of a lighter

Lightfast - resistant to light and especially to sunlight

Lightsome - free from care; lighthearted; airy, nimble

Lightwood - wood used for kindling

Rushlight - a candle that consists of the pith of a rush dipped in grease

Safelight - a darkroom lamp with a filter to screen out rays that are harmful to sensitive film or paper

If any of these words inspire your writing, do tag me or send me a link. I'd love to read your work!

More: Word Lists ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[mbta-unofficial]

Since the MBTA has trains and boats, why are there no services involving a train on a boat? It's doable (roll-on/roll-off train ferries have existed for quite some time), get on it.

What cargo are you moving on mbta trackage that requires a train ferry and are you sure you have a license for that because the main historical use I can find for ro/ro train ferries was during world war 1 when having your materiel need to get loaded and unloaded was inefficient, a problem that has been basically completely solved by the intermodal shipping container

[yaoi-enthusiasts]

Sorcerer Sukuna (one shots series)

main masterlist - Big Fights

❛ ❜ sukuna ryomen x f!reader || sorcerer au

cw ; mdni • 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. slight hurt/trauma. smut . anxiety.

Beside the title of the chapter will have an 🅴 next to it ;) - other chapters in main masterlist

As much as you hated to admit it, you were a bit of a crybaby sometimes. Not the wailing kind—just soft-hearted, prone to bottling things up until they spilled over. You were the one who usually let things go, who offered grace even when you shouldn’t. Sukuna, on the other hand? He had two settings: indifferent or utterly explosive. But this time… this time you couldn’t let it go.

Three days ago, you got off work late—exhausted, hungry, and looking forward to the quiet comfort of home. You’d asked Sukuna for one simple favor: unload and load the dishwasher, and thaw the chicken so you could make dinner. Just that. Not much. He had plans to go out with Nanami and Hiromi for drinks, so you figured it was a fair ask, but when you walked through the front door?

Beer cans littered the coffee table. The dishwasher untouched. The sink still full. Sukuna was slouched on the couch, hair messy, his shirt half-untucked, mumbling something about how he wasn’t even drunk. “Get up, Sukuna,” you said, holding your coat in one hand and your frustration in the other. “Sober yourself up before I do it for you.” He didn’t even move. “Oh, hush,” he muttered, eyes half-lidded. You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I said I would do it,” he slurred slightly, finally staggering into the kitchen. “Well, you didn’t,” you snapped, your voice brittle as you yanked open the dishwasher and began unloading the cups yourself. Sukuna stepped in to stop you, annoyed now, and in his clumsy effort to “help,” knocked over a glass from the drying rack. It shattered. You winced.

“RYOMEN SUKUNA!” you hissed, your hand flying to your palm where a shard had sliced your skin. You closed your eyes, focusing, healing it with a quick pulse of reversed technique. But the sting wasn’t the cut—it was the utter disregard. The fact that you’d been working all day, and he hadn’t done the one small thing you asked. You bent down to clean the shards, blinking back tears that had no business forming—but they came anyway. 

Why am I crying? you thought, hands shaking slightly. Why does it feel like I’m the only one trying? “Hey,” Sukuna’s voice cut in, still rough, still not quite sober. “I’m not in the mood,” you sniffled, avoiding his gaze. “Just… leave me alone.” He paused, stunned at your tone. You never talked to him like that. “Doll?” he tried again, this time less gruff. “Fuck! Just—go!” you cried out, finally letting it crack through. He stepped back, startled. You’d never told him to leave before.

“Alright,” he muttered, retreating with his hands up, and moments later, you heard the shower turn on. You stood there alone in the kitchen, cleaning up in silence, making yourself some ramen even though your appetite had vanished. You sat on the couch with a throw blanket wrapped around your shoulders, the TV glowing quietly, your eyes still puffy.

Later, he reappeared, towel around his neck, hair damp, voice softer. “Y/N.” You didn’t look at him. “Leave me alone.”

“Come on,” he said, but your glare cut him off. “I don’t want to talk. I asked for one thing. One thing. And you couldn’t do it. So just… go.” That night, you slept in the guest room. For three days, you barely said a word to him. You still left a plate for him in the microwave—because that’s who you were—but you ate alone. Slept alone. Folded the laundry and left his neatly stacked, but didn’t bring it to the room. You refused to give in. Not this time. He needed to understand. You weren’t asking for much, you were asking for effort.

The fourth night, Sukuna snapped. “Hey!” he barked across the room. You didn’t look up. “Woman! I am speaking to you.” You raised a brow, unimpressed. “I’m not doing this,” you muttered, rising from the table. “You don’t get to control me!” he growled, marching toward you. You scoffed, trying to walk past him—but he grabbed your wrist. “Still mad?” he snapped. “Is that it? I don’t have time for these petty tantrums. I command that you let go of this childish behavior!” You stopped. Turned. And yanked your arm out of his grip. “Last I checked, you’re not a king in this house,” you hissed. “Don’t you ever talk to me like that.”

“Woman!” he growled, slapping his own forehead, pacing like a storm brewing in place. You stormed to the bedroom and slammed the door, locking it. He knocked. Loudly. “Hey! Open this damn door!”

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” you cried through it, your voice cracking. And he felt it—your cursed energy flicker, the way it always did when your emotions ran too high. It gutted him.

For five minutes, there was silence, then came a softer knock. Two fingers. Gentle. “Baby…” His voice had changed. You blinked, your breath catching. “I… I fucked up,” he muttered, barely audible through the door. “I know I’m a pain in the ass. I know I act like some ancient war god half the time. I should’ve done better. That night. Every night.” You didn’t open the door. He exhaled slowly. “I’m not used to this, okay? This whole… being cared about thing. I’m used to people fearing me or worshiping me. Not… folding my socks and cooking my food and kissing me good morning.” A pause. “I’ll do better. I promise.” You opened the door just a crack. He stood there, shirt wrinkled, hair still damp from another shower. His neck was red. You raised a brow. “You’ll do better? That’s it?”

��Hey!” he said defensively, “It took a lot to say that.” You crossed your arms. “I don’t want better. I want honest. I want effort. I want you to show up.”

He groaned. “In all my 1,100 years of life, I’ve never been ordered around like this.” You raised a brow. “Well, looks like at the ripe age of 1,126, you’re finally learning.” You went to shut the door again, and he stuck his foot out. “Wait—wait! Shit.” He looked away, then quietly muttered, “...Sorry.”

You tilted your head. “What was that?”

“I said I’m sorry! Alright?!” he snapped, cheeks flushed. “Happy now? You win! I’m the asshole! Now will you please stop avoiding me like I burned your crops and slaughtered your cattle?” You tried not to laugh, but your smile gave you away. You stepped closer, stood on your toes, and kissed him softly. “I’ll accept that apology… for now,” you whispered. He wrapped his arms around you immediately, pulling you into his chest with a sigh of pure relief. “You're impossible,” he mumbled into your hair, you grinned. “And you’re learning.”

[si1verghosts]

Hi!

3. A kiss on the forehead😌

helloooo dear anon!! i am sorry this took so long i could not for the life of me figure out to write but then ! i wrote this on the 4th and i realized it could work... maybe... sorta. this may not be what you were expecting/wanting but there's forehead kisses in there.... somewhere 🫡 also, if u are not american i apologize for giving you a july 4th fic 😭 but the holiday is relatively inconsequential here like theres no patriotism it's just a backdrop if u know what i mean.... anyway, i hope u enjoy <33

you taste like the 4th of july

di leon s. kennedy x fem reader (no use of y/n)

wc: 3.5k

18+ | cw: mentions of drinking | tw: thoughts about death and dying

tags: established relationship; fluff (i guess??); slight changes to canon to suit author's headcanons

read on ao3

a/n: for the past few months i've been working on this very insane multi-chap post di leon fic 😵‍💫 this was written with that in mind But does not have a place in that story... probably.... idk!!! either way, i think it can be read as a standalone just fine

additionally, there is a scene in here where leon picks the reader up. i would just like to say like... he gets thrown into concrete walls on a biweekly basis and gets up and walks it off without issue so i think he can lift anyone no matter their size or shape!!

not beta read or proofread - sorry if any of it is gibberish i've had a wicked migraine the past few days... will maybe attempt to proofread once i can see correctly again 🚬🧍‍♀️regardless, all mistakes are my own

i do not own leon or any other resi character mentioned, etc etc, please don't sue me <3

please do not use my work to train any sort of AI chatbot and/or writing generator.

-----

"It was a good day, wasn't it?" Leon asks, wrapping his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder as you stand over the patio table, cleaning up the abandoned plates and platters.

You hum. It was; a beautiful, cloudless July 4th, spent with Leon's friends in the backyard of your home. The only ones missing were Ashley and Ingrid; the former having a standing family commitment and the latter planning to spend her holiday on the beach, away from the country and your fiancé.

Typically, Chris hosted the Independence Day cookout, but Leon offered up your new home as this year's venue, citing your in-ground pool and the plenty of extra space you have for guests to stay. In reality, he just wanted the chance to out-grill Chris - he'd been preparing since Memorial Day; testing different spice and sauce combinations as well as stocking your freezer full of large cuts of meat.

He'd started before you were even awake, chopping and seasoning in the kitchen, slowly loading up the smoker. You'd joined him on the patio a few hours later, watching from your pool floaty as he poked and prodded at various things.

You don't even eat meat, didn't know the whole thing was so involved, but you did enjoy the view; worn blue jeans hugging his frame as he crouched to check a thermometer.

You had taken a short break from the water, tying up lights and setting a few little decorations around before your guests arrived. Rebecca was the first, tucking her jugs of pre-made cocktail and platter of deviled eggs into your fridge before joining you on the patio.

Chris wasn't far behind, unloading two coolers filled with beer and containers of homemade potato and pasta salads. He'd handed one off to you, grinning, "Claire made one just for you this year."

You'd thanked him, making another attempt to get him to share his family's recipes with you. It was futile, you probably couldn't even waterboard it out of either of them.

Claire had arrived on her motorcycle shortly after, pulling a bundle of fireworks out of her saddlebags. "Sorry I'm late," she said - even though she wasn't - dumping the pile on the ground, thankfully far away from the grill. "Had to stop for these."

Leon had crouched down to inspect them, listening intently as Claire told him about all the different varieties she'd purchased while you relaxed back into the pool.

Sherry arrived next, Jake trailing behind her. She'd left both him and her bags of chips at the table, giving Leon and Claire quick hugs before immediately joining you in the water.

She'd slipped in right beside your floaty, grabbing your hand to get a look at your engagement ring - she'd yet to see it, having been so busy with work. Her eyes widened at the ring as she pushed her sunglasses up to rest on top of her head, "Leon picked this out? Our Leon? Leon Kennedy? Are you sure?"

You'd giggled at her astonishment, "Ashley helped him out; took him to one of her favorite jewelers."

"I should've guessed," She nods. "For my 20th Birthday, he bought me this crazy cute pink tennis bracelet and I was like, 'no way you picked this out alone.' He fessed up that he got a little help from a friend named Ashley.

"At the time, I thought it was just some girlfriend - or hoped, I guess. Back then, I spent a lot of time hoping that Claire and Leon weren't just… working; I liked to think they were taking time for themselves, that they were happy," she had trailed off then, looking off to the tree line behind your house for a minute. Blinking the mist from her eyes, she shrugged, continuing on, "Anyways, I'm thankful to Ash for that bracelet, it was there with me though… a lot. And I'm thankful to you for making him happy, like I always wanted him to be."

With that, you slid off the float to give her a hug, holding her tight as you whispered your thanks. You had worked to bite back your tears - if she didn't cry, neither would you.

Luckily, Jill had walked in a few seconds later, providing a distraction in the form of the most ridiculously large watermelon. "Hey, Kennedy," she shouted, pulling Leon out of his conversation with Claire as she gestured to the melon tucked under her arm. "Can't burn this, can I?"

Leon had thrown his head back with a laugh - in previous years, Jill had always brought boxed brownies with extra crispy edges and Leon invariably had to make a comment about them. "I don't know," he had shrugged, "When it comes to you, Valentine, I'll never say never."

Jill had reared the watermelon back, acting as if she was going to throw it at him. Leon had thrown his arms up, shielding his face, causing everyone to crumble into laughter at the scene.

"It was nice," you agree, reaching to pick up the barong machete he had given Jill when she asked for a knife to cut the melon. "We do have kitchen knives, you know," you scold mockingly, gently waving the blade around.

"I know," he says, releasing you to reach around and pluck the machete out of your hand. "It's good to exercise these every once in a while, though."

You roll your eyes at him, "It's a machete, Leon, not a horse."

He waves you off, slipping through the patio door to wash the blade in the kitchen sink. You take the opportunity to speed clean, knowing it'll be a much harder task once he returns and wraps his arms back around you.

Thankfully everyone had taken care of their own plates and cups - they'd tried to stay and do more but you had ushered them out of the backyard, wanting Chris, Sherry and Jake to depart before the traffic picked up with the crowds leaving the city following the fireworks shows. Jill, Claire and Rebecca had taken up on your offer to stay, at least, piling into your guest rooms. You were glad to have them, secretly plotting to drag them to brunch once you all woke.

You finish piling the platters as Leon makes his way back outside. Before he can get his hands on you and derail your progress, you point to the stack, "Take those inside."

He frowns, "Can't it just wait until tomorrow?"

"We'll get ants; come on, five minutes and it'll be done."

He sighs, but doesn't protest further, carrying the heavy plates inside as you follow him with the utensils. You stack everything by the sink before turning to him, "Is there any of Becca's cocktail left?"

He cocks his brow, tilting his head, "You really want to try that again?"

It's a valid question - you had given it a go earlier and despite everyone's warnings to take it easy, you had thrown back a large mouthful right off the bat. You ended up wincing in pain, "Fuck, that burns. What'd you put in there, Becca?"

She'd shrugged, "Oh, you know, a splash of this, a splash of that. And," she teased, drawing out the vowel, "A bit of my own creation."

"Your own creation…" You had muttered, trailing off before it hit you, "Test tube alcohol?"

She had giggled, grinning, "Takes some getting used to."

You had tried another, much tinier sip. You were able to enjoy the sweetness of the juice for a moment before the burn kicked in again, causing you to curse once more, louder.

Leon had shifted his attention from Chris to you at your exclamation. Seeing the jug of Rebecca's cocktail in front of you on the table, he quickly pieced together what was happening, calling over to Rebecca from his place by the grill, "You trying to kill my fiancé, Becks?"

"Absolutely not; that'd be a stupid thing for me to do," she'd shot back. "She's the only one who can keep you in line, and we kind of like you like that."

"Well," you start, rolling the word around your mouth, "No. But yes - there's gotta be some sort of trick to it, right? Everyone else drank it just fine."

"The trick is," he starts, voice low, reaching out to grab ahold of your hips, "To not drink it. Let me make you some tea instead."

"Fine," you pout, relaxing into his grip, not bothering to argue - tea won't make you hate yourself in the morning.

He moves his hands from your hips, sliding his fingertips along your spine. "Go wait outside," he says, releasing you with a featherlight kiss to your forehead, "I'll bring it out."

With a brush of your lips against his cheek in thanks, you slip away from him, heading back out to the backyard and pulling off your shorts, settling onto the ledge of the shallow end of the pool. The air has cooled with the setting of the sun, becoming a comforting warmth instead of an overbearing heat. You dip your legs into the water, thankful you insisted on having a pool when you and Leon were house hunting.

Someone is still setting off fireworks; they're a few miles away, though - you can hear them more than you can see them. Resting back on your palms, you close your eyes, imagining what bursts of color may be accompanying each sound.

Leon joins you a few minutes later - just after the fireworks had died down - sporting his swim shorts and carrying your tea. He bends, setting the mug next to you with a kiss to your temple, nosing at your hair. "Earl Grey," he reports before drawling, "How terribly unpatriotic of you."

"You going to arrest me for treason, Agent Kennedy?" You laugh, reaching up to squeeze his thigh below the hem of his shorts. "You're the one who made it; they'd nail you as an accomplice."

He falls into a crouch, leg muscles bunching under the pads of your fingertips as he shifts closer to touch his lips on your cheek. "They can hang us together, then," he remarks, voice a bit too serious for it to be just a joke. "Side by side, off the same branch."

You sit back just enough to get your eyes focused on him, reaching your other hand out to thumb at his bottom lip. "Dulce et decorum est pro cor mori," you whisper, tacking on a hum in question.

He cocks his head at the unfamiliar words, nipping at your nail playfully, "English please, baby."

You consider him for a moment, the translation of the true phrase running through your mind; how sweet and honorable it is to die for one's country. The old lie, it's come to be known as - fittingly.

It's a similar sentiment to one that's grown to become your fear; that he'll die for the sake of the country, under orders from the government, believing it was his duty.

But you think your spin on it may be true; would be willing to find out.

You don't want to weigh him down with the thought, though, choosing to reel him in for a kiss instead. "I love you," is the answer you settle on, laying the words down right on his tongue.

He seems content with your translation - the method of delivery likely having something to do with it - humming into your mouth. He kisses you back lazily for a long, languid moment before he pulls away, "As much as I'm enjoying this, I've been wanting to get in there all day," he says, nodding his head towards the water.

"Go," you chuckle, giving him a gentle push away from you with the hand still resting along his face.

He lays another quick peck against your lips before standing, padding around the edge to the steps. He pauses for a moment to pull his shirt over his head, skin honeyed under the soft glow of the lights you'd hung around the patio.

A second later, he slips under the surface without hesitation; kicking off the steps, moving quickly to the deep end. He almost shimmers as he glides along the floor of the pool, the rippling of the gentle waves he'd created making him seem like some sort of mirage as he passes by you.

He comes up for air once he hits the far wall, tossing his hair back, smoothing the water from his eyes. He doesn't rest long, though, beginning to swim short laps across the width of the deep end.

You observe him, sipping your tea slowly, appreciating the way his back and arms work with each stroke. He continues long enough for you to nearly drain your cup, stopping short when another trio of fireworks set off in the distance.

Setting your mug down, you eye him, preparing to slip into the pool to soothe him if you have to, but he relaxes once he connects the sound to the flashes in the sky. The tension that had flooded the line of his shoulders drains into the water as he shifts to wade backward, moving closer to where you sit.

You finish off your drink as he starfishes out across the surface of the water, floating just a few feet in front of you. You wonder if you could use him as a floaty, pinning up a note in your brain to try it out sometime.

"I'm glad you insisted on a pool, sweetheart," he sighs, breaking your companionable silence.

You hum, pleased, kicking your legs out gently and causing the water to lap against his skin. More fireworks sound out; he doesn't tense this time, but he does get his feet back under himself, moving to where you sit along the ledge.

Sliding his hands up your legs, he pillows his head in your lap, wet hair fanning out across your thighs. You shift your weight back onto your right hand, laying the other along his jaw. His eyes flutter closed as you brush your thumb along his cheekbone and the scar that runs beneath it.

He picks at the tie of your bathing suit absentmindedly, tugging at the strings when you slide your hand into his hair, scratching at his scalp. "Sherry said something to me earlier."

He makes a noise urging you to elaborate, not bothering to open his eyes.

"She told me that when she was younger, she hoped that you and Claire were living your lives; that you were doing more than just working, you know? She said she wanted you guys to be happy," you explain, working to keep your voice even.

He cracks his eyes open, picking his head up to watch you as you continue. "She thanked me," you swallow thickly, "for making you happy, like she always wanted you to be."

He smiles at your words, and it's a beautiful thing. You still get all twisted up inside with how gorgeous he is; neurons overclocking themselves with the thrill of being the subject of his attention.

"I owe you a thank you, too, baby," he starts, pausing to nose at your wrist.

"You don't owe me anything, Leon," you tug at his damp strands still between your fingers, highlights catching the yellow glow from the lights around the patio.

"I do," he says, the words sending a jolt through you. You never intended on getting married, yet here you are now, eager to hear the phrase on the altar.

He kisses the thin skin of your wrist, lips lingering as if he can feel the thrum of your heartbeat; knows that the pace has picked up under his affection. "All this," he pulls back, taking a hand off you to gesture to the pool; the backyard; the house; to you. "It's something I never thought I'd get.

"Sherry's right - you're behind basically every bit of happiness I have now, sweetheart; I owe it all to you." He reaches up, untangling your grip from his hair, thumbing gently at the ring he put there, "Thank you."

You can't respond verbally, will burst into tears if you do. In lieu of speech, you lean forward, pressing your lips against his insistently.

He seems to get the message; understands that the pleasure is all yours, that you'd give him anything and everything you can - knowing he'd do the same for you.

He gets his arms back around you, continuing your kiss as he lifts you from the edge of the pool and into the water with him. You wrap your legs around his waist, safe and secure in his hold.

His teeth catch along your bottom lip and the neighbors down the street set off fireworks, the bright bursts of color painting your backyard in reds and blues and greens and oranges. The sparks reflect off the surface of the water as he slides his nose against yours and not for the first time, you think this may all be a dream. Maybe you died four years ago and this whole thing has been some sort of afterlife; you aren't sure you'd done anything worth this treatment, though.

Maybe it's more supernatural in origin; an intricate hallucination weaved by a Djinn that's got you chained up in some dark, damp basement as it feeds off your blood. Or maybe you just went crazy and the pool is actually a padded room, Leon's mouth against yours a product of your mind working to distract itself from your reality.

Whatever the case may be, it certainly feels real when he shifts his hold on you, hoists you up higher to get at your neck, laying kisses up and down the column of your throat, nipping at your jaw.

But before he can venture much further, the neighbor's fireworks show grows into an extravaganza, the relentless popping and bursting becoming a nuisance, shattering the illusion of your teeny-boppy movie moment.

"Jeez," Leon mutters, breath hot against the saliva cooling on your skin, causing you to shudder. "Did they buy out a whole tent?"

"Did you check that Claire actually went to bed?" You ask, shaking yourself free of his hold. "She could've joined them; brought everything I wouldn't let her set off here."

He hums, letting you down into the water, considering your words - even though you said it as a joke, it certainly is a possibility. You seem to come to this realization at the same time, eyes narrowing at each other as the spray of fireworks continues overhead. "We should…" He starts, nodding towards the stairs.

"Yeah," you agree, already beginning to move.

You pause to grab your towels, wrapping your own around yourself, throwing the other over Leon's shoulders when you catch up to him at the patio door. Stepping inside, you hear someone knocking around your kitchen.

Luckily, it's Claire. She steps back from the cabinet she'd been rifling through to face you and Leon with a frown. "Isn't this shit ridiculous?" She remarks, pointing to the ceiling in reference to the fireworks.

"You're one to talk, Claire," Leon shoots back. "Didn't you just set off about five hundred dollars worth of them in my backyard a few hours ago?"

"Yes, a few hours ago," she reiterates. "Nothing should be set off after the show at the Capitol is finished - after that, you're done; you missed your shot; better luck next year."

"Exactly," you nod in agreement at her reasoning, "They should put you in charge."

She grins at your words, moving to continue on, but Leon cuts in before she can start; "What is it that you were clawing through my cabinets for?"

She sighs, displeased with his interruption, setting her hands on her hips. "Where do you keep the ibuprofen?"

Leon shoos her out of the way, padding across the kitchen to get the medicine himself. Claire relents without argument, attention immediately shifting back to you as she leans over the counter. "So," she wiggles her eyebrows, "It seems like that pool was a good investment, huh?"

You bite at your lip, ears burning with embarrassment that she'd seen you and Leon necking in the water like teenagers - even though you shouldn't be flustered; it is your house, after all.

Leon sets the bottle of ibuprofen and a glass of water down in front of Claire, annoyance evident with the way he uses a bit more force than really necessary, causing the items to clack against the marble.

"What?" Claire questions, glaring at him. "It was cute."

Leon huffs in response, unable to hide the flush that crawls up his neck at her words. You can't help the giggle that bubbles out of you, enjoying the way they bicker like siblings.

Claire leaves Leon to stew, tossing you a grin as she collects the bottle and glass, bidding you goodnight once more before she leaves the kitchen.

You move around the counter to Leon, steps careful in an effort not to slip on the water that has dripped off him and onto the tile. The neighbors must've ran out of fireworks while you were distracted by Claire as it's silent when you wrap your arms around him, tucking your face into his neck. "Still a good day?" You ask, voice muffled against his skin.

He slings an arm around you, fingers fanning out along the small of your back, "Still a good day."

[bambi-kinos]

A few more questions about our mysterious Paul, or more like his mind and his views. I know you get many asks and if you already answered this, just post a link (You might even be Paul j/k )but I do enjoy reading your thoughts) Ok so what do you think he means when he talks about John and their relationship was like. When he says things like he's so obviously straight because of all the girls he's had, John wasn't gay, or that if he was a girl maybe he could go out and do something about John being with Yoko, "in bed" etc. Or John. (Don't think he had lots of gay phobia too despite what "they" seem to think now. Or what George, Ringo or any one of his age would think about it. Obviously Paul and John too Don't seem too clear what they where. Still never really heard anyone else talk the way they do about partnership if there wasn't some love happening. Also did Liverpool men that time really lived that tough, not hugging each other. Wasn't it a bit known for a gay town? Or is that maybe later) sorry for spellings and grammar typing stuff my phone isn't used to. Lol Hope you understand my ask. Love your posts.

I'm given to understand that men from the Northern half of the UK are actually very affectionate with each other. Lots of back slapping and chuffing and affectionate punching and so forth. @scurator has talked about it a bit and is a better source than I could ever be. But the evidence points towards Northern men actually being very chummy and expressive with each other, especially Liverpool. Sailors are passionate by definition, of course the quintessential international sailors' town will be like that too. It is Paul's specific personality defects that have him saying bonkers shit like "we didn't show each other physical affection" while there are photographs of Paul and John pressing together, bumping shoulders, clapping each other on the back, etc. Which are all typical guy-things that men do to signal "I care about you, you're important to me" to each other. Paul would lose nothing by admitting this when the evidence is clear in front of our eyes. But Paul is Paul, so he can't.

When it comes to Liverpool being a "gay town" what that really means is that Liverpool is a port city with a high population of sailors. Houston Texas, where I grew up, is the exact same way. It's a hive of international traffic with thousands of dock workers and sailors running the joint. Sometimes I used to go down to the port to watch them load and unload shipping containers. There are look outs where you can sit with a pair of binoculars and just watch them go. Liverpool has the same set up with the same population of international sailors running around. It isn't necessarily a "gay town" so much as it is a horny as fuck town that is exploding with vibrant international populations all with different ideas about what is sexually permissible and what is not. Lots of sexual openness and promiscuity that is out of step with the rest of the country, vibrant LGBT+ population despite the curtain of conservatism that strangles the rest of the region, very intense artsy culture that lives cheek to jowl with a macho blue collar population...

Now am I talking about Liverpool or Houston? Lmao. Let me put it this way, sailors will fuck anything that stands still long enough and that culture of sexual adventurousness rubs off on the people who build their lives around the international port industry. Paul and John grew up with that too. And if you're thinking that might screw with your head a little when you grow up being filled with all sorts of malicious lies about sex and relationships...oh boy does it.

When it comes to Paul insisting on heterosexuality regarding him and John: IMO this is a manifestation of his greatest fear, that someone may catch on that he fell in love with another man. I don't think Paul was ever truly ashamed of it when push came to shove but that doesn't mean he wants people to know. It's private and Paul doesn't have a lot of privacy left.

Paul is also sharply aware of how dangerous it is to be gay. Paul knew about men being killed for homosexual activity, he was raised to despise it, he was raised to think there was no future in it, that only monsters and predators were homosexuals, all of that was browbeaten into him by Le Society and most likely his family. Remember that Brian Epstein would regularly get the shit kicked out of him if he propositioned the wrong man and sometimes even the right one. Paul wasn't encouraged to embrace Liverpool's seedy underbelly, that would be lunacy. As far as Paul's family knows he did the proper thing and got a girl pregnant out of wedlock (which must have been a big relief to them.) If he ever indicated that he had romantic feelings towards John then he would be lucky if the worst thing that happened to him was getting kicked out.

(That does not necessarily mean that was the reality of his situation. It's hard to know what Jim would do in that situation and I don't think he was blind. But that was what Paul and John were both raised to expect and that is the soup they boiled in while waiting for adulthood.)

And there are bigger things than just Paul and John's privacy and sexuality going on. There are trillions of dollars at stake when it comes to The Beatles.

So when Paul is professing his heterosexuality, when he's saying John wasn't a homosexual, when Paul leans on his experiences with women in interviews, that is what he is thinking of when he does it. Regardless of whatever actually went down between him and John, he has to protect that image while still projecting authenticity. It doesn't matter if it's actually real because John and Paul learned no one wants the real John and Paul. But he can still use his experiences to color his stories and protect John and himself, as well as the legacy of The Beatles.

And it should end there. Yeah?

Of course it doesn't. Or we wouldn't be here. Paul said bonkers shit about being a woman who could have stepped in between John and Yoko. That he was jealous of her and didn't like having her around. That it was a deep relationship with a lot of heat. That they went through a divorce. And then he eventually caved and start talking about how there was a deeper love between him and John, something neither of them had the understanding or vocabulary to express.

Even in death John has the power to undo Paul completely and force him to be vulnerable. Paul gets going out of nowhere it seems like, starts ranting and has to actively fight himself to make himself shut up. Now that he's older he can't really do that anymore. And probably doesn't want to, hence he randomly inserts anecdotes about John into conversations that have nothing to do with him. John has that effect on everyone he meets, he can demand total honesty from people. Paul isn't immune to that. So Paul will talk more and more honestly about himself and John, that they loved each other. And even if all he owns up to is the platonic aspect of it...well, that's a big deal for Paul.

It's hard to say if things will stay this way. Paul often seems like he's on the verge of saying something, isn't he? In the most recent documentary about the first Ed Sullivan appearance, he underlined John and George being his brothers and that he loved them. But that wasn't what he was saying when Now and Then came out and that wasn't what he showed us when he released Eye of the Storm and printed photos of John undressed and preparing for bed while Paul took photos of him. (Probably while Paul was naked in a bathtub if the cloth fringe over his camera lens was any indication.) Do you remember the furor around Now and Then and how the entire rock journalism industry seemed to be holding its breath for something? There's a reason why @frodolives made that point about "they're gentrifying McLennon."

Yoko will die sooner than later. Sean recently sold the Dakota condo and probably moved her upstate to that farm she bought in 1979/1980 so she could be in care. The diaries Fred Seaman stole and fenced were only partially recovered and there's online chatter that Paul's allies are safeguarding the remaining diaries and other resources that Fred managed to smuggle out under Yoko's nose. Peter Doggett's book "Prisoner of Love," which contains the unifying theory about WHY John stayed in the Dakota for so long, was spiked after advanced readers' copies started going out.

Something has changed behind the scenes and we're feeling the faintest tremors of it. I'm sure that we're only just getting started with regards to revelations to come.

[transbian-mailbomber]

you summon a lustful wish granting demon just to keep it trapped in the magic circle while you edge in front of it

the demon’s form shifts to a massive dark shadow with evil glowing eyes that could chill any mortal’s soul, but you thrust your hips down on the dildo below you, squirting your load to the demon’s enraged, unintelligible static voice. somehow you manage to soil both the demon and the circle that was containing it, she slips out and quickly wraps her dark mass around your neck, raising you off the floor. the dildo begins to slide out but the demon ruthlessly shoves it back in, forcing a moan from your lips. it begins shifting to a more human-like appearance, shrinking down so you sink to your knees while it keeps it’s claws around your throat, still choking you, but allowing you to breath just barely.

“well you must be quite the crazy slut to fuck with someone like me.” her form is complete now, she has stunning wings, the ears of a fox, the tail of a demon, her slanted eyes are filled with an enraged passion. But your eyes are looking directly at her massive, dripping, demon dick. “of course that’s what your horny little ass wants. you fucking whore.” she releases your neck, instead wrapping her tail around your waist and stomach, pulling your face against her dick. her body is nearly hot enough to burn you but you waste no time in fitting it’s thick cock inside your drooling mouth, licking and sucking the massive, ribbed dick to the best of your ability. she isn’t satisfied though, she grabs your hair and yanks your nose into her bush. you choke and squirm, tears run down your cheeks, ruining your black eyeliner but it doesn’t let you free.

“what a good fucking slut. choke bitch, choke.” she watches you struggle with a sadistic look, her hips grind against your face slowly, and each time you gag her tail whips across your ass. the room begins to go black around you, you start struggling to free yourself. but it’s pointless, it laughs at your pathetic attempts to free yourself, and hilts it’s cock inside your throat before unloading her cum directly into your stomach. your eyes roll back as you continue to choke and drool cum on yourself, and all it does is laugh. an unhinged, insane laugh as you fade away…

but just as the darkness begins to take you she releases you, letting you slump to the floor sputtering and coughing up her sticky fluids still stuck in your throat. she laugh maniacally as her body warps into the same black mass as before, and she sinks into the ground leaving you with these unsettling words.

“I’ll be back to ravage your ass soon you dumb fucking whore.”

[little-lovely-00]

Getting knocked up by my boyfriend’s stepfather because I’m perfect to bear his offspring…

It started on this day when I was napping and my boyfriend is out, my boyfriend’s stepfather entered the room and it just happened.

I got fucked by my boyfriend’s stepfather, his huge cock fucked me so good.

I can’t seem to push him away, his huge cock was so deep inside my pussy.

I moaned out loud, even though it wasn’t my boyfriend fucking me but I love it.

I love getting fucked by my boyfriend’s stepfather, it gets addictive at this point.

We kissed, he asked if he can cum deep inside of me, I couldn’t say no.

He fucked me so hard and deep, and asked me once again if he can cum.

I had to say yes and begged for him to unload his semen inside of me.

My boyfriend’s stepfather cummed his load deep inside of me, all that semen into my fertile womb.

I might possibly get knocked up, we did not stop at once, he fucked me over and over again.

My boyfriend’s stepfather did not ask me when he cummed inside of me for he second time.

I’m his official semen container, his cum dump and I’ll be bearing his child really soon…

[millerflintstone]

I think the entire load up process took almost 8 hours. The van got to us at 7:30 am ish but the loaders didn't show up until 8 am, which was the earlier part of the estimated window.

The van contains two other loads. Both are military related moves.

I was talking to the driver and I did ask about how that works. The van has separate side doors for each section, so no one load determines the order of unloading. The mattress is the marker point for the end point of one load. There are divider/retaining cords that keeps the other load apart from ours.

The process is more technological than it was 18 years ago. The driver was the one putting numbered stickers on everything and entering detailed notes for any damage to existing items. Our stickers are a different color. He told us he's glad this was just a regular house vs military related move. For those, they have to enter serial numbers, additional details, and they really have to note down any damage. He gave us an example with one of our items that had a nick on it. If the nick existed and he didn't note it down, the clients could easily claim damage for the price of the entire item. Apparently the military folks take classes regarding this, too. IDK about that one.

We took up the rest of the truck!

We also timed it so that the junk haulers would show up at 4. They were a little early but it worked out. They even blew out the garage with a leaf blower.

Anyway, that part is done. The driver is headed to Arkansas and then a military fort in TX. We're his last stop.

As for the rest of today -we returned Xfinity's crap, got some dinner, and ate sitting on the floor. I went through all of our home related paperwork and threw out stuff the new folks won't need. Tomorrow we load up my car, throw any remaining shit out and leave for New Mexico!

[honey-dont]

types of freight cars

made a whole post to help ppl design stex ocs as the resident freight enthusiast :) while this isn't every freight car in existence, it's definitely a good chunk of them!

FLATCARS

The most basic type of freight car. They’re…well…flat! Designed for carrying bulky loads.

Autorack: Transport automobiles. Can have single, double, or triple levels.

Boom/Idler: Placed in front of a breakdown crane to protect the boom or in front of/behind oversized loads to protect the overhang.

Bulkhead: Have walls (bulkheads) on the end. Used to transport pipe, poles, slabs, and lumber. Prone to derailing when traveling empty and put speed restrictions on the freight train.

Centerbeam: Carry lumber. Another type is the opera (round) window style. Have to be loaded/unloaded evenly to avoid the car tipping over.

Depressed Center: Used to carry extremely heavy loads such as generators. Have a lowered (depressed) middle section.

Intermodal/Well: Carry semi-truck trailers and containers. Have a lowered bottom (well).

Skeleton/Spine: Very narrow car used to transport lumber. Has stakes on the sides. Spine cars do not have stakes and are often used for intermodal transport.

GONDOLAS

Open-topped cars that generally transport loose goods. Can also be covered. Differ from hoppers in that they have flat bottoms and have to be manually unloaded or put through a rotary dumper.

Bathtub: Transport coal. Have rounded bottoms for extra space.

Coil: Carry coils of metal. Can be open or have specialized covers to protect the cargo. Typically considered a subtype of gondola, but can also be a subtype of flatcar as well.

Side-dump: Cars tip sideways to dump loads. Often carry ballast or rocks for railbeds.

HOPPERS

Evolved from gondolas but differ in that they have sloped bottoms and discharge doors. Can be covered or uncovered, and have between two to five chutes. Open cars transport bulk goods such as coal, while covered ones carry food items.

Ore Jenny: A small, specialized hopper designed to carry large loads of iron ore from mines.

BOXCAR

Enclosed cars with side or end doors. Used for bulk commodities and for goods that need to be protected from the weather.

Stock: Used to transport livestock such as cattle, horses, sheep, and poultry. Have ventilated sides for airflow. A variant used to carry fish was attached to passenger trains and was more luxurious.

Refrigerator: Insulated and cooled cars used to transport frozen goods.

TANKERS

Used to transport liquids or gases. Can be specialized to carry hazardous materials.

Milk: Specialized tank car variant (as opposed to the boxcar variant) that carries milk. Attached to passenger trains to prevent spoilage.

Pickle: There's pickles in there! The vats were filled with vinegar.

Torpedo: Carry molten iron. Designed to withstand very high temperatures.

Whale Belly: Large tank car with a lowered midsection for additional carrying capacity.

SCHNABEL

These cars are a type all of their own. Used to transport extremely large loads by pinching it between the arms of the car.

[put-me-out-of-my-destiny]

Going by a Google search, no one on the internet seems to have speculated about how much Lady can lift. No relevant results, and even the AI couldn't shit out something that looks relevant.

I did find a comment in a Reddit thread speculating that Kalina Ann is a heavily modified M20, with a micro-missile pad, grappling wire, and bayonet added.

According to Wikipedia, the earlier version of the M20 weighs 6.5 kg/14.3 lbs when unloaded, and the missile weighs an additional 4 kg/9 lbs. So before adding in the missile pad, the grappling wire, and the bayonet, Kalina Ann weighs 10.5 kg, or 23.3 lbs. For context, a bowling ball is only about 15 lbs. 4 bricks gets only slightly higher at 25.6 pounds. A perfectly liftable weight for an adult human, but it would probably take a lot of endurance to carry it for a long time, let alone to jump and roll the way Lady can.

To make things easy on myself, my headcanon is that the bayonet and the missile pad weigh roughly the same, to ensure that the weapon is balanced. I've obviously never used a rocket launcher, but in my limited experience with guns, if anything they tend to be heavier in the barrel than the stock. I suppose a more balanced weapon would make it easier for Lady to be as nimble as a devil hunter needs to be (it's one thing for a weapon to be heavy, but another for its weight distribution to feel awkward).

Let's look at a visual reference:

The micro-missile doesn't look much smaller than the standard missile, but it is much less powerful. To try and be reasonable, I'm going to say that it weighs 0.5 kg/1.1 lbs. Since the missile pad seems to contain nine micro-missiles, the weight of the loaded pad must be greater than 4.5 kg/9.9 lbs. Assuming that the bayonet plus the grappling wire weigh about the same, that brings our total weight up to...

... 19.5 kilograms, or 43 pounds.

For reference, the average gallon bucket of paint weighs 11 pounds, or about 1/4 as much. Going by my headcanon, Kalina Ann's weight is equivalent to sticking four cans of paint, gluing them together, and slinging them over your shoulder. And although it probably helps that Kalina Ann is longer and slimmer than four cans of paint, that Lady carries the weapon so easily is a testament to her strength and endurance.

[clearancecreedwatersurvival]

I feel kind of bad cashing in on your pain but I am also about to move flats and need to clean and I wondered if you had any tips? You can wholly tell me to shove off though, aha (also I hope you've recovered a bit from it!!)

OOOOHHHHH what a question.

Okay yes having just finished moving and cleaning out my old apartment, sure anon I can probably wrangle some advice for you given the number of times I've done this in the past decade. I am finally no longer fully exhausted at least. good luck with your move!

I broke it down into two sections: packing/moving and cleaning

Packing and Moving

the most important box you pack and put somewhere you can absolutely keep track of it, is the box of stuff you will need your first few nights and days at the new place. Cups, plates, spoons, coffee mugs, coffee maker, whatever you will definitely need, put a few of those in this box and make sure it stays with you and not in the moving truck

throw out as much stuff ahead of time as you can. i didn't do that this move and it made everything way harder. donate clothes you don't need, throw out stuff you've been meaning to get rid of, downsize as much as possible

start packing sooner than you think you need to. Designate a staging area to pile a bunch of boxes and get to it., rn. don't wait. it WILL take longer than you think.

start with what you don't use every day, extra clothes, books, dishware, etc.

Only pack books in SMALL boxes!!!!!!!! they're heavy as fuck!!!!

Label EVERY box with details of what's in it. Not just Kitchen but kitchen-saran wrap and foil etc.

it's way easier to pack a bunch of stuff in huge rubbermaid containers instead of endless cardboard boxes but they also cost money so your mileage may vary

if you're paying movers to haul your stuff, keep and transport personal items and stuff you're worried about losing like electronics yourself, just in case.

if you're not paying movers to drive a truck for you but you can at least pay some guys to show up and load boxes onto a uhaul or whatever at the old place and unload at the new one, do that. It's worth it. Or bribe your entire family to show up to help, that works too

when you and your team are unloading at your new place, try and make sure furniture gets placed kind of where you want it to stay and that boxes end up in generally the right room

prioritize unpacking room by room to make it livable for you. push yourself to get everything unpacked asap and not leaving boxes around for months. if it takes so long to unpack that you never feel fully moved in before you have to move again it's a huge downer

try to bring plants and stuff with you early on, don't leave them for the end when they have to get squished into your car with a bunch of other stuff (remember my poor monstera which lost two leaves this way)

AND NOW CLEANING

Okay, so most of your stuff is moved out of the old place, and you're gonna clean that sucker spotless to get your full deposit back

throw more stuff away. yes more than that. i didn't do enough of this during this move and in the final hours of sleep-deprived panic i kept some stuff i should have thrown away and had to throw away stuff i wish i could have kept. don't make my mistake, be ruthless early on and get rid of stuff you don't need or is easy or cheap to replace. many things can either be thrown away or given to your neighbors.

Similarly to packing, start cleaning sooner than you think you need to, and assume everything will take twice as long as you think it will.

consolidate everything left in your apartment into one area, i chose my dining room cause that way i could clean the carpets.

if you have carpets, rent a steam cleaner. Way cheaper than paying people to do it or taking the hit to your deposit. Check first how long it's been since your landlords replaced the carpet. Where I live landlords are required to replace the carpet every three years, so if it's been longer than that you don't have to worry about doing more than a cursory vacuum. Steam Cleaning is a many hours long project. Plan accordingly.

Don't cook while you're doing this process. Get takeout, buy some frozen pre-made dinners, get cold brew coffee that's ready to go quickly. Simplify the process for yourself as much as you can.

pre-treat carpet stains and any really dirty bits with the hand held scrubbing carpet cleaner things. For me with my long haired dog it took three full attempts to fully clean the carpet. I did a first pass with the steam cleaner, then a pre-treatment with baking soda and vinegar to oxidize, then did a second steam cleaning, then treated all remaining spots with handheld carpet cleaner and let that sit for a while, then a final pass with the steam cleaner. If you have pet hair it will gunk up the workings so make sure to clean out the underside of the machine as you go

Create a plan of action. Go either room by room or area by area. My breakdown looked something like this: clear floors of all debris, vacuum and then steam clean carpets as described above, clean walls, clean patio, clean windows, first pass at mopping the floors, clean the bathroom, clean the kitchen counters and inside cupboards, clean the fridge, get everything remaining in the apartment outside, final pass mopping the floors, final pass wiping down all surfaces with clorox wipes

the main cleaning agents I used were a paint safe wall and trim cleaner, a strong degreaser for the kitchen, a scrubbing bubbles style foaming bathroom cleanser that's good on soapscum, a glass cleaner for windows and metal, and a pack of clorox wipes for the final pass. for the degreaser and foaming bathroom cleanser I sprayed every surface thoroughly, let it sit for at least ten minutes and then wiped it down

ALWAYS WEAR A VENTILATOR MASK while using cleaning products. try not to mix products, but even if you don't accidentally create mustard gas you still don't want to inhale cleaner fumes. Keep windows open and fans running so as to not gas yourself.

Similarly: ALWAYS USE WELL FITTING GLOVES or your hands will get Fucked Up. I stopped with the gloves at the end of my cleaning because I was in such a rush and I earned a chemical burn that still hasn't fully faded. I also took my shoes and socks off while steam cleaning and ended up with minor chemical burns on my feet, so I'd recommend just cleaning the bottom of your shoes instead of doing what I did.

I usually also always try to do small paint repairs anywhere the paint was damaged. Check your lease and see what size of paint damage counts as minor cosmetic damage that you don't need to worry about. Ask your landlord if they'll give you the paint directly, most of them will be so thrilled that you're doing the work yourself that they'll bring the paint to you. I also had to do some minor wood repairs, using a wood filler or spackle, letting it dry, and then priming and painting over it. I'm sure Mercury Stardust or another small home repair DIY content creator has good advice on specifics for this if you need it.

turn your fridge off when you pull everything out of it, or at least turn the temperature as close to off as possible, so you can clean the freezer section without the cleaner icing over. leaving the doors open while you're doing this will help.

When you are finished cleaning, ALWAYS take pictures and video of the entire place to prove you cleaned it. If you did the steam cleaning, keep multiple copies of your receipt. If at all possible, do a walk through of the apartment with your landlord or property manager or whatever so they and you are on the same page about what a bomb ass job you did cleaning.

IF they try to give you the run around and add a bunch of charges for stuff you know you took care of, ask for an itemized breakdown of all the repairs and cleaning they're trying to charge you for, and use your video and picture evidence and receipts to contest them.

Congrats! You've successfully moved!!!!

[ringleaderising]

Tools of The Trade || Harlequin Cleavers

My new lead is the reaper, and my anger is my scythe- together we will make this right.

Ever the tinkerer driven by opportunity to improve his ability to kill The Pig's most notable handiwork is surely the very cleaver that hangs at his waist- and the waist of all his children.

While the original was little more than a rusty butcher's tool of necessity, the present iteration and the version given to his children is a far more refined piece of kit, intended to allow those who wield them more flexibility with their use- and to make Pig and Sow's bloodline all the more formidable for it.

Heavy and broad, the cleaver's most basic function remains the one it does best, it is a splitting weapon, intended to separate large limbs from bodies, and divide meat into more manageable chunks. But beneath the hood, these rusted gatherings of blood-soaked metal hide a far more refined mechanical function. Capable of being loaded near the handle with glass vials wrapped at the top and bottom in ornate copper filigrees, the hand guard can be wrenched back on hidden hinges to expose something akin to a firearm's chamber for bullets and locked back into place once filled with three ampules- though these vials are not capable of anything dangerous while empty.

Intended to harvest raw magic from bodies they impact, cut, or even make glancing contact with, the secondary function of the Harlequin Cleavers has always been as a tool for harvesting. Draining the power from within a stumbling, dying spirit over the course of a Godfall, sapping the fight from a potential victim unlucky enough to fall into the ire of the mad clown, or in more dire cases, pulling one's own magic from their flesh for safe keeping, the three-round installment beneath the handle capably fills and then swaps containers to keep the hunt going with less need for a reload- and thus any risk of losing what they're pursuing.

Once filled, these vials are nearly priceless (though raw magic in my lore will have to be touched on another time, note that many dragons aren't inherently magical or aren't magical permanently- there's a market for magic harvested secondhand- and a wider one for that pulled from "Gods" of the gaps.) and incredibly volatile. required to be unloaded and replaced with new, empty containers and the full ones stored in specially made, blast-proof bandoliers. But a full vial has its uses left inside the weapon- a twist of the handle punctures the most recently filled vial, imbuing whatever magic was contained within into the cutting and sawing edges of the cleavers themselves.

Typically considered a "last ditch effort" in Pig's eyes, doing so runs the risk of permanently damaging the cleaver itself- raw fire magic ripping through the internal body could damage metal, shadow's sticking, cloying blackness could be rather problematic to fight through when the thing spreading it is being swung at high speeds- but in the face of death, Pig and Sow have taught their children one thing:

Make the reaper fight for his meal.