#symmetrical docking

[unrestedjade]

@zombified-queer EXACTLY! Password protected, and the password is rows and rows of teeth. 🫶

[charliemwrites]

Part 4 of Mafia!Price

No Content Warnings

There are many things to appreciate about your boss, but one of them is his respect for routine. You’ve gotten him on a schedule and now he seems happily beholden to it; appreciates your promptness with tea and pastries and morning “briefings” each day.

He’ll happily sit back in his big leather chair and listen to you chatter out his itinerary for the day. Meetings, reports, phone calls. Trips to the dock, now, bless him.

You try not to stare between glances at your tablet. For a rich bastard, he is unfairly handsome. Good taste in just about everything, classy and luxurious without being ostentatious. Old money vibes, for sure, though you know better than to do more than idly wonder. Helps that he’s also remarkably gentlemanly with you. You’re not one to buy into old stereotypes or gender roles, even the ones that benefit you — but you’ll take a chivalrous boss over your old one any day.

Besides, it’s not like he’s spouting off about what women should and shouldn’t be doing. Or trying to use you as an example of an “acceptable” working woman. So, yeah, you’ll indulge in the door-holding and offered arms.

“Alright, best for last — your reservation for Muse is tomorrow. The restaurant is twenty minutes from your penthouse, so Simon will be downstairs by 7:30.”

You check that off your to-do list as you continue speaking.

“Do you have a suit picked out yet, or should I order something? Green is in season and it would go nicely with your eyes.”

He hums; you glance up. Leaning back, one arm lax on the arm of his chair, black watch gleaming. The other is propped to press his index finger against his lips. Like he’s telling you to keep a secret. The corners of his mouth are tilted up.

Your tablet dings and thankfully distracts you from staring.

Oh, for the love of— the only person more inconsiderate than Philip Graves is his damn assistant.

“Is that the color you’re wearing, then?”

Will need to call later today — as if!

“Hm?” You ask, not having caught it.

He arches his eyebrows; ah, you must have been making a face again.

“Are you wearing green tomorrow?” He repeats.

You blink. Are you what?

“Tomorrow, sir?”

He nods, once. “To Muse, luv.”

When you continue to stare with pleasant obliviousness, his eyebrows furrow a bit.

“You do know one of those seats is for you, yeah?”

You press your lips together for a moment. Well… shit. You take it back. You take it all back. John Price is a terrible, horrible, awful man who is so rude.

“I do now.”

Across the office, you make wide eye contact with Gaz. He grimaces in sympathy and ducks his head, though it’s clearly just to hide his traitorous laughter.

“Of course you’re coming along.”

“Sir,” you say, pleasant and sweet, “remember when I first started here? And I told you that I’m not a mind reader?”

“Of course,” he answers. “You threatened to spit in my tea in the same breath.”

“Only if you told me to fetch it for you,” you correct, before continuing, “I feel you may need a reminder: I cannot read your mind. How was I supposed to know you wanted me to go with you?”

“‘S your job, isnit?” He replies. You give him a dark look; he puts his hands up with a chuckle. “My apologies love, I thought you’d be in my pocket next to my handkerchief. Like always.”

You set your hand on your hip, proper cross now.

“It’s outside usual working hours, sir. How could I have possible expected to be invited to your fancy man party?”

“‘Fancy man party’?”

“Well, there’s nothing for it, I’ll have to leave early tomorrow.”

You’re already tapping madly at your tablet, looking up a salon willing to do your hair and makeup. God knows what kind of meltdown you’ll have if you can’t get your eyeliner symmetrical.

“Do whatever you need to do, luv,” Price soothes, standing. “I really am sorry for the short notice.”

You wave him off, then pat his arm as he gently guides you towards the door. Absently, you comply, more focused on getting appointments set and rearranging your own schedule for tomorrow.

“I’ll make it work,” you promise, “I always do.”

You let him bring you all the way to your desk, lower yourself into your ergonomic rolling chair.

“I’ll let you know what color I’m wearing by… one o��clock. Yes?”

“Sounds great, luv.”

You glance at the clock. “Also you have a call with the KorTac Group in ten.”

He chuckles and taps your chin. “Cheers, luv.”

—

Simon is the one to pick you up Friday evening. You both pause in the lobby of your apartment complex, staring.

“You look lovely,” he says at the same time you ask, aghast, “what happened to your face?”

He’s got a dark bruises discoloring the skin around one eye. Clearly some ice has already been applied because the swelling is down, but it must be fresh because he didn’t have it yesterday.

He snorts. “My job happened.”

You tut. “I’ve got something for that but we need to get moving. Mr. Price said he needs some help with his suit.”

You grab his arm without hesitation, habit from any of your escorts or drivers always offering it to you. Usually you accept out of politeness, but tonight you could use the extra stability in your heels. Simon doesn’t seem to mind even though this is the first time you’ve done this.

He walks you to the car, holds the door for you. Sleek and spotless, a black Jaguar — your choice for the evening. You hum in delight at the warm interior as Simon slides into the front seat.

“Oh, thank you for the compliment, by the way,” you add as he pulls into traffic. “You look quite smart as well.”

He grunts, but you notice a bit of color to his ears in the passing streetlights. You smile to yourself and busy yourself with your tablet. Double checking the reservation confirmation, answering messages from Farah and Gaz, updating Price on your ETA.

The car stops at a luxury high rise just at 7. You hop out before Simon can get the door and receive a sharp look. He holds up a reprimanding finger; blink in surprise at the sternness of it.

“You pull that shite again and I’ll handcuff you to the door handle, miss.” He warns. “Making me look bad.”

You huff, amused, and take his arm again. “Don’t threaten me, Mr. Riley, I’m meaner.”

But you squeeze his thick bicep good-naturedly as he leads you into Price’s building. Your boss lives in the penthouse at the very top; Simon has to swipe a card for access. He’s also got a key to let you both in the door, holds it so you can enter first.

It’s all sleek and modern; not at all what you would expect of your boss’s more classical style. His office has a sort of 20s Hollywood vibe (gangster, you teased once) but clearly some interior designer was paid far too much for something out of a drab minimalist catalogue.

You don’t linger long, heels clicking on the polished floors.

“Sir?” you call.

“In here, luv.”

You grimace at the flight of stairs between you and the loft, but force yourself up them. The whole floor is the mater bedroom and it’s the size of your entire apartment. Walk-in closet, sectioned off lounge with a desk. His bathroom door is open, mirror fogged. It smells like soap.

“Bedroom to your right,” he calls.

You tip-tap in and your mouth instantly dries. Price is standing in the middle of the room, half dressed. Nothing unprofessional, no. He’s wearing slacks, a belt. But he’s also in socks, a white undershirt. No watch or rings or anything yet.

It feels oddly more intimate than it should. Your face warms despite yourself.

“E-evening, sir.”

He turns and you’re utterly unprepared for just how handsome he really is. Freshly groomed, hair trimmed and gelled, eyes bright.

“Well, aren’t you just a dream,” he rasps. “You’re stunning.”

You clear your throat, know that all the makeup in the world can’t hide how brightly you’re flushing. It’s pure politeness, he’s not looking at you with anything more than friendly appreciation. Mind out of the gutter, now.

“All the flattery in the world won’t save you if we’re late,” you manage, shaking yourself back into work mode. “So let’s see what we’ve got.”

You pick his shirt, a pocket hanky, his shoes. Tell him to get into those while calling Simon up the stairs. He’s there so fast you blink in surprise, then gesture him over. Sit him on an ottoman and extract the little bottle of makeup you’ve started keeping on hand for situations like this.

“Bullshite you had that in your purse,” he scoffs.

“You remember two weeks ago, when Soap came in with that bruise on his jaw?”

They told you it was a “disagreement” at the docks. You didn’t ask further, figuring it was some sort of bar brawl in that part of town. Rowdy boys.

“Ever since, I keep a couple minis on hand for you all.”

They’re so small that you just keep them in a pocket of your purse with the rest of your makeup and the tampons. Good for emergencies like this.

“You sure you’re not a mind reader?” Simon grumbles as you gently dab it over his face.

“How would being a mind reader even help in this situation,” you scoff, patting at it with your middle finger.

Price steps out of the closet with arms out. He’s picked a waistcoat as well that you hum in approval at.

“Which cufflinks are you wearing?” you ask, turning back to Simon. He’s sitting remarkably still and stoic — reminds you of a big dog trying to maintain some dignity while getting fawned over.

“The silver and diamond.”

You make a noise of disagreement. “The gold and onyx would go better.”

A pause. You sneak a glance and are relieved to see him smirking. “I’ll wear those then. Any opinion on a watch?”

You hum again, carding through your mental catalogue. “Oh! The Bulova you wore during that meeting with Kate Laswell. You remember?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He disappears into his closet again while you lightly blend in the last touches of Simon’s coverup.

“There we are, good as new!” You declare. “Oh, and here.”

You set a couple of ibuprofen in his palm as he stands. “For the inflammation. Take with water.”

“Yes, mum,” he mumbles.

You wince. “Sorry! I’m being overbearing, aren’t I?”

He blinks, then puts a hand up. “No, no. That wasnt — I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

You don’t entirely believe him. Know that you can be a bit much when you’re on a time crunch. Especially for something like this — an important business meeting over fancy dinner. You feel like everyone’s appearance is riding on you; this is your job after all. One thing out of place and everything will fall apart and it’ll be your fault.

“Simon, go take those,” Price orders from behind.

You turn as he approaches, a similar apology all set on your tongue. Instead, he gives you a sheepish smile and offers the cufflinks.

“Bloody useless with these,” he explains. “So unless you want to spend fifteen minutes losing respect for me…”

You laugh, amused by the idea of your hyper-capable boss struggling with a bit of jewelry that cost as much as a week of work. You step in close to thread them through his sleeves, fingers nimble and sure.

“You’re not wearing cologne?” You ask, surprised.

Don’t even realize how that might sound until he arches an eyebrow at you.

“Thought you might have an opinion on that too,” he replies. “And you haven’t steered me wrong, yet.”

He shows you his modest, but impressive collection of colognes. You pluck up one, sniff, and make a face, eyes watering a bit. It’s mostly full; clearly one he doesn’t wear often and you’re grateful for it.

“That bad, eh?”

“Sir, why?” You lament, putting it back.

“Gift from an ex,” he explains.

You store that tidbit of information away for further examination. The idea of your boss in a romance. Right now you’ve got a task to focus on.

“Did they hate you that entire time?” You wonder.

He snorts. “Maybe.”

You shake your head and pick a different one. Blink in surprise and sniff again. Feel your stomach flip.

“That one?” He asks when he notices you hesitate.

“No,” you say a little too quickly, setting it down. This is a business meeting, you can’t afford to be distracted by how he’ll smell with that on his skin.

You settle on one that doesn’t make your head dizzy and your panties shamefully damp. Still feel a bit like you’re shooting yourself in the foot, though. He’s going to smell sinfully good regardless.

You leave Price to his finishing touches and have Simon help you down the stairs. Check through the notes you hurriedly collected when you realized you’d be attending this dinner.

Price comes down too soon for your poor, stupid heart. Looks like something out of a magazine or a novel or a movie or… just too good to be real, really.

“Pass inspection?” He asks.

“Barely,” you tease.

His eyes do that thing where they smile more than his mouth; how you know it’s genuine. You try not to fluster, zero in on his tie, a little crooked and loose.

“Goodness, sir,” you murmur, stepping in close. Yeah, you were right. That cologne is going to be a personal challenge all night. “How did you get along before me?”

“With bad cologne and shitty ties, apparently,” he chuckles.

You grin despite yourself, getting it secure and centered, before smoothing his vest over it. Give him a once over. Feel your stomach flip again.

“If I may say, sir, you look handsome,” you offer quietly.

“Should hope so,” he replies, voice dipping in a way that’s detrimental to the state of your panties. “You dressed me.”

You hum, reach for your usual dry, sharp humor. “I have great taste.”

Instead of scoffing, he hums in agreement. Something flickers through his eyes that you don’t dare allow yourself to daydream on.

Simon, bless him, clears his throat and draws your attention. You check the clock above the stove.

“Ah, we need to get going. I can’t walk fast in these heels.”

You slip your arm automatically into Price’s and try not to obsess over how well you two fit together.

First | Previous | Next

Masterlist

[canisalbus]

You mentioned dog beauty standards - what would they be? What would the ideal dog look like in their time and place?

I think a few common human beauty standards can be applied to dog people as well. Symmetrical features, balanced proportions, cleanliness, good health, good teeth, good posture, pleasant voice and confident gait.

In Vasco's and Machete's setting, men are expected to be athletic but youthful, have enough muscle definition to appear virile and sculptural but also retain some natural curves. An ideal woman is delicate and feminine but also full-figured, soft bodied and robust enough to bear children. Failing to appear vital and lively is a huge minus.

Fur is immensely important in dog world. Length and color doesn't matter but it should be dense, lush and shiny and obviously be free from dirt, odors and parasites. Beauty-conscious dogs with dark fur try to avoid having their coats bleached by the sun. Mange is greatly feared as it almost always comes with public shunning and loss of social status.

Dogs don't have much exposed skin but it too should appear healthy and smooth. Softer paw pads and glossy, neatly trimmed nails signify high standard of living.

In this particular time and place, slightly rounder and softer facial features are favored. Big, dark and round puppy eyes are seen as particularly beautiful. Symmetrical face markings are desirable, but some dogs become known for their unique and visually striking patches and spots. Vibrant and warm colors are generally more praiseworthy than more muted shades and fur dyeing isn't unheard of, but it takes a lot of time and effort to maintain and is too costly for most dogs. Tail standards vary between different types but carrying it high is usually seen as an attractive trait. Thickly furred and well groomed tails are well liked. Ear cropping and tail docking is a tradition comparable to body modding in some communities, although at this time most people that practice it are peasants and commoners.

[luciemggio]

Lipstick & Leather

Pairing: Austin Butler x Makeup!Artist!f’Reader

Warnings: none

Summary: A clumsy makeup artist on The Bikeriders set catches Austin Butler’s eye. Her chaos and depth draw him in—ending in a slow-burn romance and a kiss under golden light.

The New Orleans heat clung to everything—the air, the trailers, the leather jackets, and especially to you as you fumbled with a compact of powder and dropped it right at Austin Butler’s feet.

“Shit. Shit, I’m sorry,” you muttered, crouching down to gather the shattered pieces, smudging some beige dust onto your already-stained jeans.

A low laugh vibrated from above you. “You know this is the third time this week you’ve dropped something on me?”

You looked up from your knees, squinting into the late-afternoon sun. Austin stood in full 1960s biker glory—slicked-back hair, tight jeans, leather jacket slung halfway over his shoulder. There was a lightness to his face now, something teasing in his eyes that hadn’t been there the first few weeks of shooting.

“That can’t be true.”

“I’m counting your brush, your water bottle, and now… your entire compact.” He crouched beside you, carefully gathering the pieces, dusting powder off his boots. “Not that I mind. I kinda like when you crash into me.”

You scoffed, embarrassed, cheeks going hot. “It’s because I’m always rushing. There’s not enough time to get your damn cheekbone right, and it’s too symmetrical, and that messes me up.”

“My cheekbone messes you up?” His lips twitched.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I didn’t. You just did.” He grinned and stood. “C’mon, let’s get you a new compact. I’ll walk you to the trailer before they call me back.”

You blinked, thrown. Austin Butler—Elvis, Denny from The Bikeriders, king of cool—was offering to walk you back like it was nothing.

“Uh—right, yeah. I need new powder anyway.”

As you started toward the row of trailers, he matched your pace. Your hands were smudged with beige and your ponytail was falling out, a pencil stuck behind your ear and a smudge of lipstick on your wrist.

“You always this chaotic?” he asked lightly.

“Define ‘chaotic.’”

“Tripping over cables, misplacing brushes, quoting Sylvia Plath while touching up my eyeliner?”

You looked at him sideways. “You remembered that?”

“Of course. I remember weird things. You said, ‘I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead,’ and I thought, ‘Who the hell is doing my makeup and reciting poetry while she’s poking my eyeball?’”

You let out a laugh. “That’s not even the full quote. It’s ‘I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. I lift my lids and all is born again.’ It’s from Mad Girl’s Love Song. It’s Plath—but not the depressing part.”

Austin stopped at the steps of your trailer and leaned on the railing, facing you. “You do that a lot.”

“What?”

“Say interesting things and assume no one’s listening.”

You looked at him, powder forgotten. “Most people aren’t.”

“I am.” He shrugged. “You say stuff that makes me curious. Half the crew just talks about weekend plans and protein powder. You talk about dead poets and old French films.”

“I also spilled coffee on your boot.”

He looked down at his worn black boot like he was checking for damage. “That only made me more intrigued.”

You were suddenly aware of how close he was, how the late golden light caught on the curve of his jaw, the creases at the corners of his eyes, the faint smudge of fake grease you’d applied to his temple earlier.

“So, what’s the verdict?” he asked.

“Verdict?”

“On me. You’ve spent more time staring at my face than anyone else on this set.”

You laughed, trying to hide the sudden tightness in your throat. “You’re alright. A solid eight out of ten.”

“Only eight?” He raised a brow.

“Docked a point for being smug. Another for quoting me back at myself.”

“You said I was symmetrical. That’s practically Shakespearean praise coming from you.”

You reached for the trailer door. “I’ve got powder to replace and brushes to clean.”

“And I’ve got a fake bar fight scene to shoot. But—hey.” He paused, suddenly less performative. “You wanna grab a coffee after? Or…whatever chaotic makeup artists do to unwind.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “You’re asking me out? With lipstick on your collar and fake blood on your hands?”

He smirked. “Very method of me, right?”

You hesitated. “Yeah. Okay. I mean—yes.”

“Good. I’ll find you after wrap.”

Later That Night

The shoot ran long. Dust clung to the humid air, and Austin walked off set with a limp from the stunt choreography, leather jacket slung over his shoulder, bruises painted on. You were already outside his trailer, leaning against a folding chair, sipping an iced tea and re-reading Just Kids by Patti Smith.

He stopped, taking in the sight of you in the yellow light of the trailer sconces, your eyeliner slightly smeared, a forgotten smudge of blush on your chin.

“I like this look on you,” he said, stepping closer. “Post-wreck glamour.”

“I aim for ‘slightly unraveling but artistic.’”

“You nail it.”

You smiled as he fell into step beside you. “Still want that coffee?”

He shook his head. “Change of plans. I know a diner ten minutes from here. It’s got bad pie and great neon.”

“Sounds perfect.”

The Diner

You sat across from him in a booth lit by flickering pink neon. The fake blood was gone, but a shadow of his character remained in his voice, his posture, the intensity behind his eyes as he listened to you talk about why you got into makeup in the first place.

“Everyone thinks it’s about glam,” you said, sipping your milkshake. “But it’s not. It’s about transformation. Becoming someone else. For a few hours, you can look like someone braver or messier or completely out of your own world.”

He stirred his coffee. “So you’re the one pulling the strings.”

You laughed. “I’m just the magician’s assistant. I hand over the mask. You guys decide whether to wear it.”

He leaned in. “You ever wear one?”

You held his gaze. “Sometimes I think I never took mine off.”

He didn’t speak for a second. Then: “You know, every day I sit in your chair, and I wonder what’s behind your eyes.”

“That sounds terrifying.”

“It’s not. It’s just rare. People look at me, but you see me. And that scares me more than any scene.”

The silence between you turned warm. Charged.

“Can I ask you something?” you said finally.

“Sure.”

“Is this… a one-time coffee? Or something else?”

He smiled slowly. “Depends. Do you always drop things on the people you like?”

Your cheeks went hot. “Maybe.”

“Then I hope you drop a lot more.”

He reached across the table and gently brushed a streak of blush from your cheek with his thumb.

“Still got some of your magic on you,” he murmured.

You grinned. “Good. Maybe it’ll keep you coming back.”

“I already am.”

A few days later, the sun was beginning its descent, drenching the set in that glowing amber you always wished you could bottle. Everyone was wrapping up for the day, slowly drifting off toward trailers, cars, craft services. The air was still thick with summer, the kind of heat that softened the world’s edges.

You were lingering near the wardrobe truck, organizing a half-tangled mess of brushes and smudged palettes. You told yourself you were being productive, but the truth was, you were waiting. You hadn’t seen him yet. Not since he walked past you on set that morning with a knowing glance and a quiet “Hey, trouble.”

Then came his voice again. Low. Familiar. Right behind you.

“Need a hand with those?”

You turned too quickly and nearly dropped an eyeshadow pan—but caught it just in time.

Austin smirked. “Still keeping your streak alive, I see.”

“You jinx me.”

“I inspire you,” he said. “There’s a difference.”

He stepped closer, not touching you, just hovering in that space he’d claimed over the past few weeks—the in-between of flirting and something deeper, something you couldn’t name yet.

You gave him a side-glance. “You’re not even in costume anymore. Why are you loitering around the makeup truck?”

“Looking for you.”

You blinked.

He scratched the back of his neck. “You ever think about how weird this is? Me… standing around waiting for a girl with lipstick on her knuckles and a brush behind her ear?”

You crossed your arms. “Weird?”

“In a good way.” He stepped closer. “Like I walked into a scene I didn’t know I’d been cast in.”

You swallowed hard. His eyes were so blue in the dying light it made your stomach tighten.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he said softly.

You tried to keep it light. “You think about everyone who pokes at your face five times a day?”

“You’re not everyone.” His voice had gone quiet now. “You rush around like your thoughts are five steps ahead of your body. You recite poems without knowing it. You talk to yourself when you concentrate. You hold your breath when you blend.”

Your breath hitched at that.

“And I—” he exhaled, smiling like he couldn’t believe it himself, “I watch you. More than I should.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper. “Why?”

He leaned in, nose nearly brushing yours. “Because you’re the only real thing on this set.”

The silence between you crackled. You could smell the faint leather still clinging to his skin, the warmth of his cologne buried under hours of heat and dust and him.

You said, “They’ll be looking for you.”

“I don’t care.”

You stared at him, caught. And then his hand moved, slow, steady—he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, fingertips brushing your skin like he was memorizing it.

“You have powder on your jaw,” he said, voice low, teasing.

“You’re the one who made me drop the brush,” you whispered.

His smile faded as he leaned in, eyes flicking to your lips.

“Tell me to stop,” he said.

You didn’t.

So he kissed you.

Slow. Deliberate. Like he’d been waiting to exhale for weeks. His hand settled at your jaw, thumb brushing the hollow of your cheek, and your fingers found his collar, holding on like the moment might slip away if you didn’t anchor yourself to him.

The world was suddenly quiet. No buzzing crew radios. No call sheets. Just the sound of your breaths syncing and the soft creak of leather under his shirt as he leaned in closer, deepening the kiss just slightly—enough to make your heart stutter.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, you looked up at him. He was watching you like you’d cracked something open in him.

“You’re dangerous,” he murmured.

“You kissed me.”

He grinned. “You didn’t stop me.”

You laughed, dazed. “What now?”

He glanced around the empty lot. “We go get dinner. You drop something on me again. I say something stupid to make you roll your eyes. And tomorrow, you’ll be touching up my bruises and pretending your hands aren’t shaking.”

You arched a brow. “You think I’ll be that flustered?”

“I hope you are.”

You punched his arm playfully. “Smug.”

He caught your hand. “Falling.”

The words hung there. Raw. Unexpected.

You didn’t say anything.

But you didn’t let go.

[fountainpenguin]

Sharing my Hermitcraft Guess the Author 'fic today! - @hermitcraftguesstheauthorevent

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⛱️ “Enter the Jet Ski”

❤️ Read on AO3

💛 7k words - Gen & Friendship - Complete

💚 More Pixels Imperfect fics

💜 My MCYT AUs

---

A sudden blast like a rocket and whirr like a piston slices through the summer peace. Tango looks up, then leaps to his feet. Pearl’s speeding towards him through the water, riding some kind of machine that’s gotta be modded; it’s gotta be. Maybe those handlebars come from armor stand bits, but all the rest? Uhhh, yeah. So, that happened. I’m a fish now, Tango thinks, staring forward. My blinkers don’t blink. I am just… Fishman Tango from now on. He jogs down the beach, flinging hands to either side. “I- I don’t know what my eyes are even seeing right now! Whaaat? I don’t- I don’t understand, no. Pearl, how are you-? Where did you get that!?”

Every July, the Hermits visit a local beach server. And every July, Tango stays on the sand—well away from the cold, unrelenting surf.

This year, Pearl brought a jet ski.

(First 1,000 words under the cut)

Half-buried beds make pretty decent beach blankets, if you’re going for that sweet sweet vanilla look. They’re also a great way to reset your spawn if you don’t want to wake in the beach house after a sudden burst of damage knocks you flat: a fact that Tango and Keralis already discovered after a very unfortunate game of Slime Volleyball that ended when the latter mistook a sleeping creeper for the backup ball. So… yeah. But after pelting his teammate a couple times with the real slime block, Tango forgave him. Mostly. When this round’s over, he’s totally asking if he can shack up with Bdubs, Beef, and False. On their volleyball team, in case that wasn’t clear.

Whoever built this beach really put in the time to terraform the landscape. It’s all freshwater here; looks like a few of their neighboring SMPs are out and about this week too, but Hermitcraft reserved three nice builds just one walking path away from Grassbottom Lake. Tango’s happy to kick back anywhere pretty much, but if we’re sharing secrets, he couldn’t be any happier he and Etho are paired up in one room. Couldn’t be happier! Etho’s around here somewhere, but he likes chilling on the sand more than water too. Really cuts down on peer pressure when you’ve got a roommate who shares your enjoyment of early bedtime and staying warm and dry.

It’s nice out here! I don’t think we’ve ever rented on this side of the lake before. Honestly, Tango might walk around to get a little inspiration for his factory base. He’s content with his area back on Season 10, mostly, but he’s not planning to touch that big ol’ river again. Terraforming’s not his thing, so thank goodness Gem split the river with all her artsy skills. Whoever put this place together certainly took their time. I mean, WorldEdit probably came in clutch, but tiny details like deliberate, symmetrical torch placement along the walking paths and the soft slope of sand to water really sell Tango on the idea that he can let his guard down. Armor? Pssh; never heard of it. Everything around here seems lit up… except, apparently, that one spot by the shed near the volleyball court (See also, poor, POOR decisions made by an overexcited teammate sprinting back with a hissing creeper writhing above his head).

I like it here. Far across the lake, hills rise and fall through greens and blues. Staggered mountains stretch high in the sky behind him. It’s a different view than he’s used to in years past, but not a bad one. He and Etho (but mostly him) have a killer view of the water from their bedroom window. Tons of fish around here, too. Tango’s crouched near the campfire, cooking a fresh salmon Grian reeled in for him. Not that he needs it so soon after respawn (Keralis).

Grian’s way down at the dock, reeling back a rod to fling it as far forward as he can. Mumbo stands calf-deep in the water, hands on his knees. Is he giving his baby ghast a pep talk? Possibly. Ren’s digging a moat for Doc’s oversized sand castle while Cleo wades out through the water, holding her wide-brimmed hat firm on her head with one hand. Oh! There’s Etho, bending down to pick up a shell. He straightens up with it just as Grian yanks back on his rod, shouting in excitement, and groans when he reads the title of the book he just fished up. Evidently, his quest to capture a Mending book on this server too, just for the sake of it, isn’t going very well. He tosses it behind him next to three others and preps his rod again.

Maybe I should join Doc; build a castle. He’s not gonna go all out with it or anything, but sometimes it’s fun to see what you can build using just your hands and all-natural resources not compressed into giant block forms. Orrrr… He could eat his fish; it might be cooked by now. It’s way too early for s’mores, but they’re one of his favorite parts of trips like this. Look, vanilla gameplay has a lot of perks if you don’t like worrying over what you’re putting in your body, but modded marshmallows? Graham crackers? He’ll take those over handcrafted attempts any day.

A sudden blast like a rocket and whirr like a piston slices through the summer peace. Tango looks up, then leaps to his feet. Pearl’s speeding towards him through the water, riding some kind of machine that’s gotta be modded; it’s gotta be. Maybe those handlebars come from armor stand bits, but all the rest? Uhhh, yeah. So, that happened.

I’m a fish now, Tango thinks, staring forward. My blinkers don’t blink. I am just… Fishman Tango from now on. He jogs down the beach, flinging hands to either side. “I- I don’t know what my eyes are even seeing right now! Whaaat? I don’t- I don’t understand, no. Pearl, how are you-? Where did you get that!?”

Is it some kind of modded horse? She’s perched atop the machine with her legs spread to either side, just like you’d sit in a saddle, but whatever she’s riding is making some really weird sounds. Gurgly-wurgly sorts of sounds, like a golem, a warden, and a skipping music disc all got in a fight, and the warden won.

Pearl slows the machine with her thumb on a mini lever, then presses a button to cut it off. The water-horse drifts forward; Tango backs a step farther up the sand as the surf slurps a little closer. “Y’like it?” she calls back. She looks wolf-like, like she’s standing on a boulder and this close to leading her pack in a charge. The turtle shell strapped to her head, however, makes her look like a total dork. Which, honestly? Is pretty on brand for Pearl. “It’s my rocket bike! You wanna pop out for a ride, mate?”

❤️ Read on AO3

[thedragonagelesbian]

Neve never felt more alive than when she was running herself into the ground, and after so many breakneck hours through Minrathous, the pounding exhaustion between her eyes was second only to the electricity under her skin, itchy and restless, like she still couldn't quite believe that the day had been won. That her city was, for now, safe.

And it was that want for something else to do--help, fix, save--that led her by aching foot and stump to Rook's room.

Raas de Riva hadn't done much by way of appointing their quarters. Most of the furniture had been pushed up against the glass wall of the aquarium, leaving a sparse room even sparser save for the racks of clothes lining the walls, an eclectic mix of street wear from across Thedas and more extravagant pieces of a distinctly Orlesian sensibility. Their current work averting the apocalypse didn't lend itself to the charlatan chicanery Neve knew they specialized in, but perhaps there was some comfort in keeping it all around. The trappings of when life had been closer to something called normal.

At the moment, though, the Qunari was dressed simply. They sat on the couch that doubled as their bed in a silk robe, loose-fitting and unadorned, with the left sleeve rolled up and a jar of poultice between their legs. The dragon had left them limping with burns up the left side of their body, but they hadn't stopped for much more than quaffing the last of their health potions before sprinting back through the eluvians. Back to Treviso. Their home.

(At least, everyone else talked about Treviso like it was Raas' home. It wasn't hard to pick up on, the incandescent patriotism of the rest of the Crows that fizzled out in them.)

They also weren't wearing their vitaar. Somehow, that seemed more vulnerable than the clothes or the injury, without their face in all bright, deadly colors, and Neve found herself glancing away, as if she had intruded on something intimate.

"Is now a bad time?"

"No worse than any other time when major metropoleis are being attacked by dragons spreading devastation and ruin and, oh yeah, the blight heralding the end of the world." They spoke so lightly it almost didn't sound like sarcasm, until they paused and smiled at themself. "Huh. I thought I was out of jokes for the day. Lucky you to get the last of them."

"You don't have to keep smiling on my behalf."

"And who else's behalf is there?" Their smile widened, all glittering teeth too slick and smooth, and Neve shouldn't trust someone who lied as easily and as readily as they did, but when they gave a shallow bow, her own mouth twitched. "I am at your service, Neve Gallus. What can I do for you?"

"Nothing more than what you've already done tonight," Neve insisted as she eased into the room. "Defending Minrathous, defending Dock Town, that was more than I had hoped for. Now it's time for me to return the favor." Drawing closer, she could see their bare face properly-- and the scarring across their forehead like a bird's plumage, too smooth and symmetrical to be the remnants of battle. "Be honest with me, Rook: are you alright?"

They blinked a few times, their eyes a brilliant emerald and dancing, as if they didn't quite understand the question. "When you play with fire as often as I do, you get used to treating burns. I'll be fine."

Neve had a passing familiarity with the casting styles of the Antivan Crow spellblades and the southern knight enchanters, but they worked with lightning and spirit magic. Not Raas' preferred element, not flames dancing in their palms and licking up their fingers, always at risk of blowing up in their face instead of their enemy's. So maybe this particular wound was from the dragon... but then again, maybe not.

"Do the Crows not teach their mages healing?" Neve asked, nodding at the poultice.

"Does the assassins guild teach their assassins to do the exact opposite of assassinating?" Raas quipped back. "No, it never came up. Besides, it would've taken some of the sting out of my teacher's pedagogy. 'Do or die' is a harder sell if you make it easier to not die."

With a grim smile, Neve recalled her own stint on scholarship in the Minrathous Circle, surrounded by wealthy students jostling to be the future of the magisterium and the professors who goaded them. "Mine usually went with the 'sink or swim' metaphor, but they were at least willing to teach us creation magic. And I think I've got enough energy back now to put that teaching to practice, if you'd like."

Leaving the offer open was more a formality than anything else; had they been on the battlefield still, it wouldn't have even been a question, which was why it surprised Neve to see Raas hesitate. A Crow's stubborn self-sufficiency, perhaps, as they absentmindedly thumbed more poultice into their arm.

Or perhaps it was the fact that that arm was already latticed with burn scars, flesh rotted to pale ash against the deep grey of their skin.

Was that why they had abandoned Treviso to Ghilan'nain's monstrosity?

Finally, they swallowed. "I wouldn't say no, as long as you're offering."

Neve sat down on the couch beside them, and she had to admit, however reluctantly, that it was in fact nice to stop standing for a bit. To stop running. Raas presented their arm, and she took it gently, one hand cradling them at the elbow as the other danced over the surface of their skin. Familiar glyphs formed between her fingers, worn weary and cold like the rest of her magic. Even care came out feeling like pinprick icicles, and Raas shivered so bad they nearly broke from her grasp. But the magic passed quickly, and so did the cold and the wound, fading to another streak of scar tissue.

"Sorry," Neve offered, listening to their teeth chatter.

"No, don't say that. You should be saying 'you're welcome', after I say 'thanks', of course. Thanks!" They were smiling again, but it felt strained now, even frenetic as they pulled their arm away and tugged their sleeve back down. "Hey, maybe you can teach me that sometime. I'd bet all the gold in Antiva you'd be the best teacher I've ever had."

"That seems to be a low bar that I've cleared."

"That's our motto, see: the Antivan Crows, lowering expectations of morality for everyone else in Thedas by comparison..." They suddenly stood. Restless, roaming, hands working nervously at their sides as sparks leapt between the tips of their fingers. "Until we decided we'd rather play vigilante heroes."

Neve pursed her lips. "'Play'?"

They hesitated. Narrowed their eyes. A gesture that wasn't quite reproachful but wasn't quite playful either. "I should've known it'd be a mistake to talk to you when I'm too exhausted to watch my mouth."

"Curiosity's a hard habit to kick." Worse than the curiosity itself, though, was the twinging in her heart beneath it. Concern plucking at her like a lyre. Because after all this, they still hadn't answered her question, and she was pretty sure they knew it too. "If you don't want to talk, I'll stop prying, I just thought, after everything that happened tonight..."

"Right..." But maybe it wasn't just tonight. Maybe that was the problem, no matter how far Raas stretched their smile. "Alright, I'll indulge your sleuthing. All my life, the Crows have only ever wanted for things to be exactly the way that they are. Business as usual, no responsibilities except to the highest bidder and the fattest coin purse and plenty of starving children in the slums and alienages to put to the fire and see who comes out alive. And hey, sometimes they even score a vashoth like me! And I'm just supposed to believe that all that's going to change once the antaam aren't there anymore."

Neve had never been so naive as to believe the romanticizing of the Crows that pervaded Antiva, but she'd also never heard such a forceful denunciation of them, and she wasn't sure which surprised her more: that it was coming from a person who had laughed in the face of three elven gods without flinching, or that that same person was still trying to smile through it. Voice trembling and eyes wide and still showing all their teeth.

"See, I spent a few years undercover in Orlais after I became a full-fledged Crow, and I saw all the same shit in Val Royeaux that I did in Antiva City, and you know what the only fucking difference was? There was an elven spy standing behind the throne trying to fucking fix things. Opening up alienages, repatriating the Dales, making the nobles who hurt her people hurt too, so why couldn't they ever do anything that mattered until it was too fucking late? Instead of obsessing over their goddamn contracts and the training and the tort--"

Suddenly, they weren't smiling anymore.

Raas let out a huff as they looked away, first at their arm, scratching at scars old and new beneath the fabric, and then at the floor.

"Hm. Wow." It was a temporary break, quickly swallowed down and blinked away and papered back over with that dazzling smile. "Aren't I charming when I'm raving like an abomination?"

How many times had Neve done this too? Swallowed down years, lifetimes of fury at injustice because to hold it whole would mean choking? Of course, she never replaced it with a grin, but with as much cold distance as she could manage.

As she stood, Raas' smile fell away a second time, but they didn't protest as she stepped near, her pulse matching the tremble in their fingers when she took their hands and squeezed.

"You're always charming, dreamer." It wasn't her usual form of nickname, but Raas didn't give her much to work with for shortening, and it made the tips of their ears darken, never one to be disarmed by anything except for that. "It's okay to be this too."

"...Thanks. For asking. For listening. Long day and all that." They returned the squeeze gently, thumbs tracing over Neve's knuckles.

What she said was: "Long life it seems too. Hopefully it'll be longer still, for both of us."

What she meant was I hope one day our pasts will be far enough away to not hurt us anymore.

"Hopefully!" They brightened again quick, resplendent as they began to swing their tethered hands. "But all I need to die happy and fulfilled is to know that I've made you believe in such a thing as hope."

Neve's cheeks warmed. "I just... didn't know what else to say."

"Say anything you'd like, just stick around so I can hear it."

"You're inviting me to spend the night?"

"Or the morning, I can't ever tell which it is here. But, I figure, you could use the rest too, and there aren't any wisps around to bother you," they nodded to the empty space around them, "plus as it turns out, I have this personality trait I recently discovered where I like spending time with friends after something awful happens instead of crying myself to sleep alone. Maybe it's a trait we share?"

Friends. They were that, weren't they? At least? What other word was there for the person who hadn't just promised her fried fish at the end of the world but could damn well deliver on it too?

"Right." Neve allowed herself to smile, still the ironic half-twist with one side of her mouth, but softer, somehow, fire melting ice at the edges. "A burden shared is a burden halved and all that."

"Hm. I bet we can do better than half."

What else could she call them but dreamer?

"Let's find out."

[newtypezaku]

It's no symmetrical docking, but I suppose intersectional adhesion is good, too

[self-loving-vampire]

Sister symmetrical docking.

[coredrill]

as foretold, bang brave bang bravern was crazy good this week

it's just. gosh. for as much as i talk abt bravern being unhinged the fact of the matter is that it is actually SO restrained. ESPECIALLY for something in a medium that is already a little self-indulgent and referential. like for all of bravern himself's clear love for mecha there have been so few explicit references to other shows? and then this ep had so fucking many - ttgl (which - fucking hilarious to use it against a character KONISHI is voicing and then have that DD be fucking useless except for wanting to see some cool fights LSKDJFH) and flcl and symmetrical docking and rider kick and jeeg and gundam and the fuckin uhhhhhhhh exkaiser i think but i dont remember for sure its the same one that showed up in the earlier fight w superbia too. like w the other mecha on the roof framing. and probably about thirty more that i'm for sure missing or not recognizing or forgetting ON TOP OF all the obari posing and punching which have been sneaking into the visuals before this - but it was all for the purpose of having us watch this hype battle and get all excited to make the ending hit THAT much harder. and holding off the first gattai until episode NINE???? the thing we're all expecting to happen at any fucking moment, because there was no way that the souls of isami and bravern could've combined and actually resonated for a true gattai until that point????? like it's ALL in service of the story rather than wow cool robot even tho it IS a pretty damn cool robot. this show makes me feel like i did my homework and i'm acing the test AND I HAVENT EVEN WATCHED THAT MUCH MECHA TBH. LMFAO. all the "who is this show even FOR (eyeroll emoji)" comments back in like ep2 get funnier every week bc bravern knows its audience like the back of its hand and it gets clearer and clearer every week that its execution is fucking razor sharp. this show is SO SUCKING GOOD and I LOVE IT. that was supposed to say fucking good but sucking works too

the fucking NOISE superbia makes when bravern is like "don't u want to fight me when i'm EVEN STRONGER" took me the FUCK out

[gets beer sponsorship] [makes Consumption Of Food And Drink a tether point to Humanity] [out-cooks the cooking show] i'm gonna buy more kona beer (<- fucking hates beer)

fish jumpscare !!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i honestly don't think i've seen any anime with a fucking ED DROP before. lmfao

lewis smith. you want so badly to be the protagonist. to be the rival. to be the one who dies to motivate the hero. to be the MECHA ITSELF. and yet you are the love interest!!! you are GOING to be saved whether you want it or not!!! you ARE rain mikamura. you ARE the heroine. Let Isami Save You. you've got a family of people who fuck with time in different and fun ways to save each other and its his turn now whether you like it or not!!!!!!!!

he rly did put that mask back on right before he died…………..subtext, cowards, so on and so forth

thanks bravern for inventing gay ppl. was surprised to get a literal love confession AND an almost-kiss here but tbh at this point i think isami could use a good old-fashioned hug more than anything else. like one of those that cracks his spine. poor baby rice cracker is goin thru it LMAO. also i keep calling isami baby rice cracker and i cannot stop myself anymore………..baby rice cracker…………

me after saying every week that this show has done something to my brain "guys i think this show has done something to my brain"

wow this post is allover the place moreso than usual. like i said earlier this ep was so fucking DENSE and GOOD that i'm gonna need some time to process All That. gosh. [bravern voice] BRAAAAAAVEEEERN!!!!!!!!!!!

[shadowuserannie]

Wip wed no.4? I loooove tai pham ❤️

Tai was a little confused when John veered from the regular flight path back to Earth from the Moon.

He wasn’t confused for long.

The Watchtower loomed in front of them, a beautifully symmetrical satellite that was absolutely screaming at Tai to be drawn. Seriously, it was glorious. Amazing. Tai stopped blinking and tried his best to commit every detail to memory.

“Tai, I’ll take you by another time to draw. Don’t dry out your eyes.” John says in fond exasperation.

“Won’t,” Tai huffs but acquiesced and blinked. “How did you know? It wasn’t that long.”

“Yes, it was, and Kyle did the same thing.”

Tai pouted but was secretly pleased. Kyle was really cool, like he was seriously everything Tai wanted to be, and gosh did Tai want to impress him. Or be like him. Both?

“Hey Hal, we’re here. Open up right bay?” John speaks casually aloud as they rotate a quarter-circle, and a panel opens for them to enter. It’s a standard docking/storage/dropoff bay but Tai tries to memorize every detail anyway because it’s inside the freaking Watchtower.

After entering, John touches the floor rather than glide along but doesn’t kill his aura until they’re out of the docking bay and in actual air. Tai glances around in interest, trusting John to lead him wherever he’s obviously taking him.

They weave down a side corridor, then into what looks to be the main atrium. Wonder Woman and Superman are discussing something while holocomputer screens float in front of them, the atrium being empty of heroes otherwise. Tai embarrassingly stops and John has to pull him along, because holy shit THERE’S WONDER WOMAN AND SUPERMAN.

Superman glances up, waves at Tai momentarily with a smile, then turns back to Wonder Woman. Tai could’ve died happy on the spot.

“I’ll take you over to meet them later,” John says to Tai, pulling him gently over to what looks to be…two giant metal tube things?

“Stand there,” Tai does as instructed, and a white light scans him.

“Authorization Green Lantern 0-14, Green Lantern B-35.”

Authorized.

“The Zetas will teleport you to any platform on Earth, if you’re ever stuck in a pinch. Now that you’re in the system, they will recognize you as well as some override codes you’re authorized to use as a protégé, like authorizing certain guests-but not your friends, Tai, you know that you can’t-so I suggest you memorize them.”

Tai sighs as his ring beeps, in acknowledgement of the codes John sent. “Understood.”

[tomb-raider-merchandise]

Tomb Raider I-III Remastered Nitro Deck+

'Limited production of only 1,000 Worldwide! A Tomb Raider is always equipped! This Special Edition Nitro Deck+ controller for Nintendo® Switch™ has everything you need to be prepared! Enhance your gaming experience with this Tomb Raider-themed deck! Embark on an odyssey of discovery, danger, and untold wonders, where adventure awaits in the depths of every shadow and beyond each rugged rock.

This design showcases Lara's resilience and determination featuring artwork symbolic of her journey's challenges & obstacles. A towering mountain and intricate hieroglyphic symbols intertwined with foliage and cracked rocks evoke ancient civilizations and mysteries awaiting to be discovered.

Only 1000 of each will be made, so get your hands on one before they are locked in the vault for the rest of time!

Whether you’re playing at home or on the go, casually or competitively, the Nitro Deck+ delivers the responsiveness and precision you need to enjoy your favorite games comfortably, for longer.'

Created by Limited Run Games for the Nintendo Switch and OLED Model, it features artwork that represent Lara's adventures, such as Egyptian hieroglyphs and pyramids, cracked stone and jungle foliage. It has the teal and gold colouring that has become the colours for the unified era of the franchise, as well as the logo for 'Tomb Raider I-II-III Remastered'. Here are further details from the official store page: - Limited Production - Only 1,000 worldwide! - Transforms your Nintendo Switch™ into a stylish handheld console Teal and yellow Tomb Raider I-III Remastered Starring Lara Croft theme - Updated with a symmetrical thumbstick layout for enhanced comfort. - Equipped with Hall Effect thumbsticks for precise & responsive stick drift-free control. - Play in Docked Mode while connected to a TV. USB-C to HDMI adapter sold separately. - New fully programmable Sidekick buttons allow for more customization options. - Adjustable Trigger Sensitivity. Onboard with Hall Effect Triggers, allowing you to fine-tune the preferred actuation point of your triggers. - Low Latency Direct connection via USB-C allows for a more responsive, lag-free gaming experience. - Programmable back buttons add versatility to your play style. - Compatible with the "True Collection System" CRKD Companion App where you can tap your product into your collection of CRKD products, revealing the product # and rarity rank of your controller. In the future, the App will include a full suite of customization options including button programming, adjustable trigger sensitivity, and more.

As of writing this item is in pre-sale and is expected to ship in December 2024, for £70.00 from the official Tomb Raider Gear Store and was for sale on Limited Run Games for $79.99 but is now sold out.

[sanguinesorcery]

Lore Canon 002

The Three and Ten Archipelago are what remains of a crater created by an asteroid striking the planet long before any of the nations [and any people as would be recognized] ever existed.

The Clouded Isle is the rock itself that hit, made predominantly of meteoric iron that over time gained layers of piled sediments that are now home to bizarre flora and fauna found nowhere else in the Isles, and bizarre happenings are known to occur. The ground is said to sing sometimes, and that is why Oracles are as prized as they are; they hear the songs and can interpret them, the source of their trademark vocal manipulation magicks being to draw on the low drone of the meteoric rock foundation of their home. A blue-eyed child [or cloud-eyed as they are sometimes called] born in a family is revered and sent in their childhood to the Isle with much fanfare to be taught by and become an Oracle. Given the nature of the island as sacred to all in the Three and Ten, no mining is allowed to take place there in fear it would anger not only their Oracles but also their gods, of whom there are many believed to take on aspects of war and bloodshed among their many other individual traits. Things that are forged with the meteoric iron are very rare and very prized; Imperials are gifted on coronation with a sword of their own made with it, but it returns to the Isle when they are interred into the family crypt. Only the Aeroglaive remains as the one thing made with it that returns only under certain circumstance and never stays to rest. It's still a mystery as to why the mists and fogs remain after so long after the initial impact, even making it into the beginnings of stories from their religion and folktales as a 'Once Upon A Time' catered specifically to them: And when the Gods touched the earth, the seas began to boil into eternal mist.

The Imperial Isle -or Central Isle-rests just north and west of the Clouded Isle, the closest to it and one of the Inner Triad that surrounds it. One of the islands where the impact was the greatest, it is not the largest of the islands but it is the tallest. It is the home of the Imperial family as well as the Imperial Palace Complex, a white marble masterpiece that uses the natural fortifications of the mountain around it as structure and safety. Although it glitters due to culturally-aesthetic architectural embellishments, it stands as a monument with its three lookout towers and the impressive Lighthouse At the Summit, a monstrous feat of engineering that sits on the peak of the mountain that can be seen well before Imperial waters are breached passed the Outer Ring islands. Its only rival is The Waterworks, the main facility for such is built and operates from the Imperial Isle, as it is nearly direct center of the archipelago and therefore provides the shortest distance to any one point in the island cluster. The Imperial Isle is also home to the only dock that ferries to the Clouded Isle, since one needs permission from the active Imperial to go there legally.

The Harbor Isle is one of the Inner Triad, a fair distance from the impact some south and east of it. While it has its fair share of mountainous terrain, it is not as dramatic as the Imperial Isle, as the force of impact was away from it. It does have some of the flatter coastlines, however, and so has the most harbors in the area, giving it a symmetrical clover appearance with the larger curved breakwaters, a hub for every major direction. It also is home to the largest number of lighthouses and each lighthouse is timed meticulously to run the same timing with each other, while simultaneously running the off-beat of the Summit Lighthouse for ease of vision. The crew that runs the lighthouses has its own specialized corps, a branch off the Engineering Corps, knowing if even a single light is off-time it could cause problems. As it is the center of transportation, it is also the center of commerce, sporting the largest known market in the Three and Ten, as well as a number of shopping districts. There are a few residential neighborhoods, but they are among the more expensive civilian properties in the archipelago.

The Cultural Isle is the last of the Inner Triad, south and west of the Clouded and Imperial Isles. Like the Harbor Isle, it formed away from the force of the impact and so shares a similar terrain of sweeping hills and small mountains. Of the Triad, it has the highest concentration of residential neighborhoods spread with a few shopping districts and smaller markets, making it the most populous of the inner islands. It also shares its space with a number of institutes, however, and so caters more toward education and the arts than the others. Everything from engineering to sciences to dance to art is represented here, and it is from here the richness and progression of Sidhe culture originates.

The Outer Ring, or The Ten, makes up the rest of the archipelago. What remains of the crater's original rim, they surround the Inner Triad and the Clouded Isle in a circle made uneven by time and erosion. The terrain among them varies widely depending on which direction they face; the northernmost islands have steep cliffs and sharp inclines that seem to fade in their neighbors the further south they go, leading to rolling flatland on the southernmost islands. The terrain defines what the islands are used for, as the Outer Ring is where industry and agriculture thrive. There are few luxury residential neighborhoods, most of those who live in the area being considered 'rural' from the rest of the Inner Triad. However, those who live and work on the Outer Ring are not treated poorly by their average peers as without them, life would cease to exist as it does across the archipelago. As such, four islands are dedicated to agriculture, including crops that are both planted yearly and vast forests of fruiting orchards and industry trees; three islands are dedicated to animal husbandry and livestock products; three islands are dedicated to industry such as metal working, forges, refineries, and textile mills. It is from the Outer Ring the very livelihood and core of the Empire comes from and it is the Outer Ring that the military is stationed on in the highest concentration. Every island has a substantial barracks and their ports are equipped for both passenger ferries as well as the armada warships that stay to protect them. Although they deploy from the Imperial Isle, not even the political hub has such a presence of military might, but it is essential in the case of attack to keep the gears that run their society safe.

[writesailingdreams]

One Piece episode 1096

manga (ch. 1109) and anime spoilers

I really enjoyed the extended "Luffy and Chopper try to figure out how to make the robot move" scene. Very cute. (Docking didn't do much, you two.)

Could definitely see the padding with the Ohara recaps. But overall, it was a lot of "let's cry about Ohara and the legacy of inherited knowledge". This will continue next week.

Also, there's something nicely poetic (symmetrical?) about Vegapunk's intro in the anime coinciding with his apparent death in the manga.

[bestclippingpathservicecompany]

Mastering the Art of One Point Perspective Photography | Tips and Techniques

Introduction

Being an ardent photographer, my goal is to discover various ways of capturing amazing views that would be attractive to the audience. In particular, the one-point perspective has become my favourite than any other perspective that can be used to create dramatic compositions. In this piece I'll be explaining the realm of one-point perspective photography, the concept, the technique and some tips so that you can achieve mastery in this artistic venture.

Understanding the Concept of One Point Perspective

The perspective photography technique that uses converging lines to represent depth and dimension is one point perspective. The essence of one point perspective is based on the rules of linear perspective, which was originated during the Renaissance. When through the camera alignment with single-point perspective vanishing point, the picture has the appearance of three-dimensional space. To understand what of a one point perspective is, imagine yourself as the end of a long corridor with a single door at the extreme end. The corridor seems to have only one vanishing point, where all the lines gathered— they can be seen on the floor, wall, and ceiling. This is the key element in one-point perspective photo composition.

One Point Perspective Photography Techniques

Having the one point perspective as a basis, let's now talk about some techniques that will help you to explore the perspective photography. These techniques will cover not only your picture perspective, but it will also add to your portfolio perspective pictures that fascinate and bewitch.

Tips for Capturing One Point Perspective in Buildings

One-point perspective photography is ideal for shooting buildings because of their straight lines and symmetrical forms that give the best results. For architectural photography that will capture the attention of the viewer, compose the shot by aligning the building’s edges with the vanishing point. Playing with diverse angles and focal lengths, you will be able to add depth and drama into your one point perspective pictures, while the windows, archways and columns can bring complexity into your shots.

Creating Dramatic Effects with One Point Perspective in Black and White Photography

One-point perspective is minimalistic in design and the timeless appeal and dramatic effect of black and white photography perfectly complement it. When capturing perspective images in black and white, highlight textures, patterns, as well as contrasts to intensify the visual effects. Using different lighting techniques, such as chiaroscuro, you can create images with dark shadows that emphasize bright highlights and thus create a sense of mystery and beauty in the picture.

Finding Unique Locations for One Point Perspective Photography

Although buildings are often used for a one point perspective, try to look at things from a different perspective and do not restrict yourself to the traditional architectural style. Look for unique places in an urban setting or go for nature photography to get interesting perspectives and compositions. Bridges, staircases, tunnels, and even the straight tree trunks or the curved lines of mountains can all be used to take fascinating one point perspective photos. Walk around your surrounding with a sharp eye and a free heart to find the hidden treasures that lay ahead.

Using One Point Perspective to Capture a Dock or Pier

Docks and piers are admirable subjects for landscape photography, especially when using one point perspective. The wooden stakes that radiate out into the water can give your images a feeling of depth and distance. To catch a great picture, set yourself at the end of the dock or pier and match the lines with the vanishing point. Make sure you watch the reflections in the water and how light and shadows play in your composition, as they can be used to add atmosphere to your landscape photography.

How to Take One Point Perspective Photography

To capture compelling one point perspective photographs, follow these steps:

Find a subject with strong lines and depth.

Position yourself in a way that aligns the lines with the vanishing point.

Experiment with different angles and focal lengths to create depth and drama.

Pay attention to details and elements that can add interest to your composition.

Consider the lighting conditions and how they can enhance your photograph.

Take multiple shots from different perspectives to ensure you capture the best image.

Remember, practice makes perfect. Don't be afraid to experiment and try different techniques until you find your unique style and vision, drawing upon photography inspiration along the way. One Point Perspective Landscape Photography Although one point perspective is used for buildings and man-made structures, one point perspective can be used to take an exciting one point perspective photos and images in landscape photography. Search for natural elements in the forms of paths, roads, or rows of trees that will invite the viewer's eye to go further into the distance. The matter is how to locate a subject that produces a sense of depth and dimension, with lines that lead the viewer to the main point. Editing and Post-Processing Techniques for One Point Perspective Photography Now you have your one point perspective photo, it's time to awaken them to their full potential by editing and post-processing them. Here are some techniques to enhance your images:Here are some techniques to enhance your images:

Adjust the levels and curves to achieve the optimal tonal range and contrast.

Adjust colors to induce a certain mood or environment.

Sharpen image to make the details and the textures more visible.

Remove distractions and unwanted elements using clone or content-aware tools.

Try out various filters or presets to give your pictures the creative edge. In case you edit the photograph, make sure it highlights your photo, not overshadows it. Use them as a starting point and your editing style will get developed with time. Inspiration from Famous Photographers Who Use One Point Perspective Looking for photography inspiration? Explore the works of famous photographers who have mastered the art of one point perspective. Artists like Ansel Adams, Henri Cartier-Bresson, and Michael Kenna have all incorporated this technique into their iconic photographs. Study their compositions, observe how they use lines and vanishing points to create depth and interest, and let their work inspire your own photographic journey. Get Inspired for Your Next Project! One-point perspective photography is a marvelous device that allows us to create beautiful and visually attracting images from this point of view. Use this technique if you are shooting anything from buildings and landscapes to everyday scenes. The technique adds depth and dimension to your photos. Experiment, practice, and let your imagination be your tutor as you bring one point perspective photography to the stage. Keep in mind that the journey itself is as much fun as the result, so enjoy the process and let your enthusiasm show. Now, get your camera and go out to the city for street photography, discover the scenery around, and begin to take the world from a different angle!

[newtypezaku]

Time to learn about symmetrical docking

[kalina-hartman]

Virtual Sketchbook 2

1. JOURNALING - Principles of Design

Unity and Variety: Unity is the visual or state of something's likeness; variety counteracts unity by adding range and variance. Example - Circles in a Circle by Wassily Kandinsky. In this drawing, there is unity in that he uses only circles and lines, but there is a variety because he uses different sizes of circles, different colors, different thickness in the lines, and layers the colors.

Balance: an even distribution of different elements, can be asymmetrical or symmetrical. Example - Asymmetrical: Starry Night by Vincent Van Gogh is an example of asymmetrical balance because he has a large dark figure in the foreground of the artwork, but he has it balanced with the city in the right in the background, together they balance out even though they are not of the same figure or even size. Symmetrical: Swan, Rush and Iris, by Walter Crane is an example of symmetrical balance, the wallpaper is perfectly balance between the two swans and the plants in the background, they are mirrored against each other facing opposite directions, but they are the same.

Emphasis and Subordination: Emphasis is the visual elements that make something stand out; subordination is neutral elements that are used to allow emphasis on the thing the artist wants to have stand out. Example - The Swing by Jean-Honoré Fragonard is a great example of both. The emphasis is the woman (focal point) on the swing is a light pink dress centered in the middle of the painting with the sunlight hitting her, the subordination is the greenery around her and even the gentlemen accompanying her are in the shadows and dressed in neutral colors to the background allowing the focus to be on her.

Directional Forces: are used to create a path for the viewer to follow using actual or implied lines of direction. Example - Dance of the Lupine by John Burton is an example of directional forces. His painting allows your eyes to follow the lupines around the field into the background due to the emphasis of their color.

Repetition and Rhythm: Repetition is the action of an element repeating itself; rhythm is the flow of an element using a shapes or forms. Example: Undergrowth with Two Figures by Vincent Van Gogh is an example of both repetition and rhythm. The trees are repeated in the artwork, but the way they are spaced out and the direction they are flowing creates a rhythm to the painting that one can follow to the two figures.

Scale and Proportion: Scale is the size of the element based off the size of the work or the viewer; proportion is the relation of the size and its parts in the composition. Example: Spoonbridge and Cherry by Claes Oldenburg and Coosje van Bruggen is an example of scale and proportion, the scale of the cherry and spoon is very large, but they are proportionate to each other, but not their surroundings due to the scale.

2. WRITING AND LOOKING - Recipe for Composition

Boys Wading by Winslow Homer, watercolor and gouache over graphite on woven paper sheet (Chapter 7: Painting, Fig 7.2).

Homer's artwork has the boys as a focal point, neutral colors, movement with the water, rhythm with looking at the one boy to the next then to the sailboat, horizontal lines with the dock in the background and the ripples in the water, and texture with the smooth surface of the water.

3. CONNECTING ART TO YOUR WORLD - Personal Experience with Color

I love colors and they have had a deep impact on my life. Growing up in Colorado, we went up the the mountains every year to watch the aspen trees change colors in the fall. The intensity of the yellow, orange, and red hues of the leaves spanning across the mountain range was always so beautiful. Unfortunately it only lasted a week and the rest of the winter was dull saturation of browns and grays and was very lifeless feeling, that is why I moved to Florida. I love the vibrant colors year round from the flowers and greenery and from the gorgeous sunsets. If I could choose a color scheme I would choose a tropical color scheme with all the sunsets, flowers, greenery, and beaches that I love.

4. ART PROJECT - Artist's Choice

I made this painting with acrylic paint and printer paper, and flowers are something I am passionate about. I find flowers delicate and beautiful, I tend to photograph flowers I come by so I thought I would try painting them. I do not normally paint because I find it difficult, so I thought I would challenge myself by painting some flowers. I am surprised with how it turned out, it turned out much better than I had anticipated

5. PHOTO/DESIGN - Group 5: PHOTOJOURNALISM

Migrant Mother by Dorothea Lange

This photo is my favorite and in this example of photojournalism, the event that was taking place was the Great Depression. This photo is a very popular example of photojournalism, and the parts that visually represent this time period in the photo are the mother's tattered clothes, the worried look she has on her face, and the dirt on her children. These representations in the photograph, allow you to note the struggles this mother and her children are going through, but also shows how brave the mother is trying to be for her children. There were great hardships during this time and many people like her had no idea when their next meal was going to be, this mother became a symbol for hunger, poverty, and hopelessness which was endured by so many Americans during this time period.

Photo by Kasia Strek

In this example of photojournalism, the event being depicted is the COVID-19 pandemic. There are many items that visually represents the pandemic in this photo, some of which are: the mask, the glass, the facial expression, and the black and white monotone color of the photo. One that influences me (the viewer) the most is the color of the photo because it depicts how grey that time period was, so many things were uncertain and it seemed like things that were happening were never going to be resolved, which makes the coloring of this photo perfect. I also like how you can see the photographer in the reflection of the window, it shows how isolating that time was for so many sick people.