#red black carbon background

[wallpapers4screen]

[secretmellowblog]

On the subject of the Titanic ‘submersible’ that was lost in the deep with all its wealthy tourists— it’s so insane/eerie in hindsight to read this article from the Smithsonian that interviews the CEO Stockton Rush long before the disaster.

Despite the Smithsonian supposedly being an organization that cares about science and truth, and the fact that there were SO MANY obvious red flags from the beginning and so many people criticizing the company…..the article is a puff piece uncritically glorifying the CEO’s obviously terrible submersible project. It compares him in glowing terms to Elon Musk. It is an article about how private ventures like those of Stockton Rush and Elon Musk can and should be the future of the world.

We’ve obviously learned now that there were whistleblowers at the company who were warning for a long time that Stockton Rush’s submersible was unsafe— only to be fired and then sued. It makes sense the submersible was so unsafe, because the CEO in this interview is open about how he has no background in underwater engineering and is annoyed by quote “regulations that needlessly prioritize passenger safety.”

Soon after, the private [submersible] market died too, Rush found, for two reasons that were “understandable but illogical.” First, subs gained a reputation for danger. Working on offshore rigs in harsh locations like the North Sea, saturation divers, who breathe gas mixtures to avoid diving sicknesses, would be taken in subs to work at great depths. It was the world’s most perilous job, with frequent fatalities. (“It wasn’t the sub’s fault,” says Rush.) To save lives, the industries moved toward using underwater robots to perform the same work.

Second, tourist subs, which could once be skippered by anyone with a U.S. Coast Guard captain’s license, were regulated by the Passenger Vessel Safety Act of 1993, which imposed rigorous new manufacturing and inspection requirements and prohibited dives below 150 feet. The law was well-meaning, Rush says, but he believes it needlessly prioritized passenger safety over commercial innovation (a position a less adventurous submariner might find open to debate). “There hasn’t been an injury in the commercial sub industry in over 35 years. It’s obscenely safe, because they have all these regulations. But it also hasn’t innovated or grown—because they have all these regulations.”

The fact that Stockton Rush (who was piloting the submarine when the disaster happened) is on record complaining about the evils of regulations that prioritize people’s safety, and the Smithsonian uncritically regurgitated that rhetoric in their glowing puff piece about how rich tycoons like Elon Musk and Stockton Rush are going to save the world is just…..in hindsight of how everything ended it’s just so much horrible black comedy? It’s like a satire about the dangers of uncritically worshipping the rich.

It is mentioned in the article that Rush chose to make his submersible in a different shape, and with a different (cheaper) material than is usually used for submersibles. The article frames this as a result of daring innovation, and not of negligence/ignorance. This passage in particular, which in context is supposed to portray Rush’s critics as joyless naysayers who were proven wrong by the noble tycoon, is pretty foreboding in hindsight:

Rush planned to pilot the sub himself, which critics said was an unnecessary risk: Under pressure, the experimental carbon fiber hull might, in the jargon of the sub world, “collapse catastrophically.”

And then!!

The exact problem that happened to Titan this weekend, happened on Titan’s very first test voyage to the Titanic! The experimental carbon fiber hull had an issue and it caused communications to break down!

The dive was going according to plan until about 10,000 feet, when the descent unexpectedly halted, possibly, Rush says, because the density of the salt water added extra buoyancy to the carbon fiber hull. He now used thrusters to drive Titan deeper, which interfered with the communications system, and he lost contact with the support crew. He recalls the next hour in hallucinogenic terms. “It was like being on the Starship Enterprise,” he says. “There were these particles going by, like stars. Every so often a jellyfish would go whipping by. It was the childhood dream.”

Both Rush and the article writer treat this as a fun quirky story, instead of a serious safety failure and red flag with his experimental macgyvered regulation-flaunting submersible.

Other highlights from the article include:

Stockton rush saying that if 3/4 of the planet is water, why haven’t we monetized it?

Stockton saying we will “colonize the ocean long before we colonize space”

Lots of weird pro colonialism stuff in general??? This article loves colonialism and thinks it’s cool

Rush saying he plans for this to eventually help find more underwater resources for the US to exploit and profit from

Elon musk comparisons. The article writer does not mention that Elon Musk’s rockets explode and therefore it would be a bad idea to get in one of them, because that would imply it’s a bad idea to get into the submersible

Stockton rush seeing himself as Captain Kirk

The article writer comparing the tourists who plan to join Rush to Englishmen who went on colonialist journeys to Africa as if that’s like, a good thing. So much pro colonialism stuff in this article

So many sentences about Stockton Rush being handsome when he literally just looks like some guy

The article beginning with an editor’s note from years later disclaiming that the extraordinary submersible they’re advertising in this article is uh. It’s now uhhhh

But yeah it really does just bring home how so many organizations that supposedly care about scientific truth or journalistic integrity are willing to uncritically platform propaganda for wealthy CEOS. It’s frustrating how easily people fall for the fake myths that careless wealthy people invent for themselves, and even more frustrating that supposedly respectable institutions will platform irresponsible lies that end up getting people killed.

Rush is such an obvious and simple example of this, and his negligence is “only” killing five people including himself. But to me it feels like a cautionary tale to bear in mind when it comes to uncritical puff piece media coverage of similar “daring tycoon innovations” by people like Bezos or Musk.

[qu1cks1lversb1tch]

@batboysappreciationweek Day Five — Jan 16th

𝑪𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒏 𝑭𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒚 & 𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑𝒔

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: none

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 725

Rhysand stared at the pictures lining the walls, each one projecting a moment that was deemed worthy of capturing forever. 

From your first Solstice together, all the way to the very moment you were officially reunited after the events Under the Mountain.

His violet gaze raked over one particular frame, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he traced the faces within with a delicate touch that, to this day, would have Cassian making jokes about him ‘going soft’.

But they were just jokes, as Cassian truly had no room to talk. Not when his wife and daughter ruled his whole life. 

In the picture, Rhysand traced your face first, outlining the way your hair fell and the curve of your cheeks as you smiled — the arches of your brows as you looked at him, rather than the camera. 

He was looking at you too. He was always looking at you.

His touch trailed further down, caressing the swirling tattoo that ran up your arm, until he reached the curve of your abdomen. His lips upturned into a genuine smile, and it was nearly a grin as he traced the visible bump that was hidden beneath the deep purple gown.

Rhysand's gaze flickered over to himself — to the child in his arms. His son. Your son. He traced his small head of messy black hair and the tiny Illyrian wings on his back; the glass of the frame was cool against his fingers. 

His eyes lingered on the four of you. You. Him. Your son. And the bump, that had ended up being his daughter. His precious little girl. 

Then the violet depths traveled to the other family members in the picture, and he couldn't help but chuckle. 

Knelt on the ground before you was Feyre and Cassian, each grinning broadly at the camera, pointing to your rounded stomach with both hands. 

Mor sat between them with a smile, an open bottle of Rhysand's fine wine in one hand, a glass of it in the other, the rim of the crystal wine glass stained with her deep red lipstick.

Nesta could be seen in the background with an exasperated expression as she stared at her sister and mate, a little girl that was practically the carbon copy of Cassian nestled safely in her arms. The girl was just a year younger than your son. 

Azriel stood off to the side, his arms crossed, though he wore a fond smirk, his gaze locked on you and Rhysand simultaneously. 

Elain and Lucien were tucked away in the corner, observing the scene with a mix of amusement and adoration.

Rhysand chuckled once again, his hand slowly dropping back to his side. 

The picture was only a few months old. It meant everything to him. You, his children — the friends he picked up along the way that became the most important people in his life. Strangers that became friends, and eventually, family. His family. His heart. His soul. His court. 

Tiny feet padding against the hardwood floor, running right for him, grabbed his attention. He turned just in time to see his son running right for him with a bright smile, giggles falling from him.

That smile. Oh, that smile was every bit of Rhysand. But those eyes? Those were your eyes. And every day he saw your eyes on his son, he loved them even more. 

Rhysand swept the giggling boy up into his arms and kissed his cheek, just in time for you to round the corner with a soft, yet tired, smile and a three month old cradled to your chest. 

The baby's wings fluttered and twitched slightly in her sleep, soft coos falling from her tiny, parted lips as she slept comfortably in her mother's arms. 

“Is everything okay?” You asked softly, so as to not wake the baby. 

Rhysand looked at you with the utmost love in his eyes. Stunning. You were stunning. Even exhausted with baby drool on your clothes, you were the most beautiful female he had ever seen. 

He gently wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you into his side, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Everything's perfect.” He whispered, his gaze going right back to the picture of his chosen family — the family he didn't know he needed until he had it. “Absolutely perfect.”

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Eddie Munson's family dinner

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 23

Prompt: Uncle Wayne adopts Steve

Rated: M

CW: nudity

Tags: Modern AU; Rockstar Eddie; Royal Steve; Established relationship

Notes: Continued from days 11 and 14. I can't get this AU outta my head, halp!

Eddie can't recall the first time he saw Steve. 

In all likelihood, he was two years old and Steve a tiny, wrinkly baby. His face was all over the news in the days and weeks following his birth, after all. Cradled in his mother's arms, staring bleary-eyed into the world as newborns tend to do - only that in his case, the entire world was staring back. The birth of the King's and Queen's first child had been long-awaited after all, a once-in-a-generation event. 

In the years that followed, Steve was always just … kind of there. A strange-but-familiar boy who kept popping up on TV and the front pages of magazines, living a life so different they may as well have been from different planets. 

Eddie still remembers fixing dinner in the trailer's tiny kitchen one night, news droning in the background. 

"Poor kid," Wayne grumbled. 

Eddie, sixteen and a giant shithead at the time, paused in putting the plates down on the table and glanced up to follow his uncle's gaze to the TV. 

"Oh yeah, woe is him. Must be so fucking hard, living in a palace. Having an army of servants to wipe your ass and shit." 

On the TV, the Prince sat between his parents at some sports event or other, a tiny carbon copy of his father with his Italian suit and carefully styled hair. Clapping at all the right times, face a polite, empty mask of a smile.

Wayne huffed. "Ain't no kid deserve that kinda shit. Always under scrutiny, paraded around like some trained dog." 

Eddie rolled his eyes and changed the topic and they didn't talk about it any further. 

*

Wayne's plates are still the same ones that Eddie was putting on the table all those years ago. Eddie has offered time and again to buy something new, but the stubborn old shit won't have it. Insists that Eddie already bought him a whole-ass house with the money from that first record deal, a car after the second, he won't die of a chipped plate or ten, thank you very much. He'll just have to get him new ones for Christmas, he guesses.

"This is delicious, Mr Munson," Steve is saying. He's sitting next to Eddie, back ramrod straight, elbows at a perfect angle, dissecting the meatloaf with careful precision. 

Like some trained dog. 

"My mom's recipe," Wayne hums, but then he sets down his own cutlery, expression serious. "Now … what are your intentions with my nephew?" 

Eddie flushes about twenty shades of crimson. Incidentally, so does Steve. 

"I …" he sputters, all traces of composure suddenly gone. "Well, I like Eddie a lot." 

"I figured …" Behind Wayne's beard, his mouth twitches. "Seeing how you're wearing his clothes and all." 

Steve blinks down at himself. They make sure to keep it low-profile when they're together. The paparazzi never sleep, after all, and they've both had their fair share of run-ins with the fuckers in the past. Which is why he's wearing a red-and-black flannel he stole from Eddie, faded and soft from too many cycles in the wash. Eddie wants to burn all the Italian suits in the world, wrap him up in soft and comfy clothes always. 

"Um …" Steve says. 

Wayne smiles. 

"Relax, son, I'm pulling your leg." If he notices how Steve tenses at the word son, he graciously ignores it. "Now are ya gonna take my boy's hand, or what?" 

Steve gapes. 

"Might as well," Eddie winks, takes the knife from Steve’s limp fingers and entwines their hands. "He'll just keep nagging until he gets what he wants." 

Their gazes lock and Steve smiles. Not a mask. The real one. The one where his eyes light up and he looks five years younger. The one that Eddie is rapidly becoming addicted to. 

He turns back to eating his dinner one-handed and remembers another boy, a boy from a very different planet, getting coaxed out of his shell over the same plates, the same meatloaf. 

Fuck the plates, he decides. Wayne is getting a whole damn kitchen for Christmas, whether he likes it or not. 

*

"He's a great guy, your uncle," Steve mutters into Eddie’s chest later that night. They're all curled up in Eddie’s bed and he's naked except for the flannel. He claims it's to ward off the cold air seeping in through the open window, and Eddie isn't about to argue. Not when the sight does things to him. 

"Sort of thought he was gonna hate me," Steve continues, and Eddie hums quizzically. 

"Why's that?" 

"Hm, let's see …" Steve's brow crinkles in mock-thought. "He raised the guy who wrote two top-ten songs about how much the monarchy sucks, that could've been a hint." 

"Nah," Eddie chuckles. "Guy would've adopted you as a kid, if he could've. He's always loved you, way-" 

Large hazel eyes blink up at him and the words get stuck in his throat. 

Because he hasn't said it yet, even though he's rapidly coming to accept that it's true. 

Way before I did.

"And apart from that," he says instead, "if you marry me, I'll be a princess. What parent doesn't want that for their kid?" 

"Hold your horses," Steve grumbles, but his eyes are sparkling again. "We can't get married if your uncle adopts me." 

"Shame," Eddie quips and presses him down into the pillows. "Would've loved to wear a tiara on stage, that sounds like a killer look."

Eddie doesn’t recall the first time he saw Steve, but he doesn’t really think it matters. Not when he gets to see the real him now, with no-one else watching. Blushing and naked, lips kissed pink, glowing with happiness.

It's an image he's sure he won't forget.

Part 4

All my holiday drabbles

[ipso-faculty]

Five new autistic flags! And a nautilus as a symbol of the spectrum 💛

My current autistic hyperfixation has been the question of the autistic flag. By this I mean a flag for autism specifically rather than a broader neurodiversity flag.

Between autistic flag designs that look too similar to the Métis flag to a new flag design that looks annoyingly similar to intersex flag designs, none of the designs I've found for an autism-specific flag I've found have felt right.

So, I've made a whole bunch of alternative flags, varying from tweaks to existing flags to ground-up redesigns. Here's my current shortlist. Feel free to use any or all of them, or remix as desired! <3

I'll start with describing the flags that are tweaks of existing designs, and work my way to the nautilus, which I'm introducing as an alternative symbol for the autistic spectrum.

Flag Idea 1: golden infinity symbol on white background Most neurodivergent flags I've seen is a rainbow infinity (usually an infinity loop) on a white background; this is the oldest kind of design, from 2005. Many people are already using a gold infinity symbol (ideally an infinity loop) as a symbol for autism, because Au = gold.

I took the gold infinity symbol used to represent autism in the 2023 Autistic Progress Pride Flag, and stuck it on a white background, in the style of neurodiversity flags. I tweaked the infinity loop a little bit to further visually distinguish it from the Métis flag.

Flag Idea 2: fixing the red-yellow-green autistic flag This one takes the 2021 red-yellow-green autistic flag and replaces the problematic white lemniscate infinity symbol (which has been used to represent the Métis since 1815) with a dark red infinity loop. Red is another popular colour in autistic designs as a fuck you to Autism Speaks (fuck Autism Speaks).

Flag Idea 3: recolouring the Disability Pride flag (AuTiSTiC) There are two ideas in this flag. The first is to take the Magill disability pride flag and recolour the diagonal stripes to represent autism.

Since gold is used in autistic designs because Au->Autistic? Let's go all in. This flag has the colours of: Au: gold Ti: titanium (light grey) S: sulphur (light yellow) Ti: titanium (light grey again) C: carbon (off-black)

This is unashamedly dorky and I feel like if any minority group gets to have a dorky flag it should be us autistics.

Flag Idea 4: golden infinity + disability pride flag These flags represent the accumulation of the ideas thus far. Gold infinity symbol plus disability pride flag. I tried putting the infinity directly on the diagonal stripes and it was too busy, so I've moved them to the corners.

On the left is a version with the disability pride flag colours. On the right is a version using a yellow-white-yellow stripe design from the 2021 neurodiversity flag that's based on the disability pride flag.

Flag Idea 5: the rainbow nautilus for the spectrum After showing earlier drafts of all of these flags to a bunch of my autistic friends, a consistent feedback was that none of us were actually that keen on the infinity symbol as a symbol of autism (even without the Métis issue).

I think flags are an opportunity to tell outsiders about what we’re about. One thing I want to convey about being autistic is that the autistic spectrum does NOT mean a gradient from autistic to non-autistic. Here’s a visualization I like:

So I got to thinking about how to visualize that polar graph. I realized a nautilus shell works on a number of levels:

To convey the polar graphs in a stylized way

A fractal shape keeps with the theme of infinity

We autistic folks tend to live in our metaphorical shells =)

Best as I can tell from google text & image searches, the nautilus is not used by any minority groups or geographic regions for flags. A handful of businesses and software projects have nautilus logos, so I iterated design to be nice and distinct.

Here's another version with the gold-and-white neurodiversity stripes:

I also wanna note that as somebody who has ADHD and autism that I am 100% fine with anybody who wants to use the nautilus for AuDHD - the very idea of the autism spectrum was to unite highly intertwined diagnosis categories and personally I think it's reasonable to include ADHD in the autism spectrum.

If you would like alternative versions / tweaks to these flags, let me know in the comments. I also want to be explicit that I release all of these designs in the public domain, so you are free to reuse and remix as desired! 💛

I've tried to provide a nice range of options from remixing existing designs to new ideas, and I hope everybody can find at least one autistic flag they like that is also distinct from other minority groups (e.g. Métis, intersex). I've also posted a detailed overview on infinity symbol design for anybody designing new flags! 💛

If you have any favourites or ideas for flags let me know! I'm curious which ones people will like most. edit: uploaded the SVGs to Wikimedia commons for anybody who wants to play with them.

[callboxkat]

One of those Yule Log videos, but make it Infinitesimal

I'm a little late, since this idea came to me courtesy of some Yule Log videos that we played in the background on Christmas Eve. I recommend one called Puppies Crash Christmas on Hulu. 10/10.

Writing Masterpost

I would make this for real if I had 1: the time 2: my stylus (I'm visiting family and left it behind, smh) and 3: any animation skills to speak of. Alas, I lack all three.

But! I'm still sharing the idea with you all. Enjoy!

...

Roman and Logan live in an apartment without a real fireplace, so this is a little different than the usual Yule Log video. Instead of watching a roaring fire, the camera view centers on a laptop sitting open on a table. On it, a fullscreen video of a campfire plays.

Above, stockings are hung up on the wall, each already filled. Three of them are full size: a red-and-gold one embroidered with the name Roman, a stylish blue one embroidered with the name Logan, and a black one with REMUS crudely hand-stitched in an alarming shade of neon green. (Remus originally brought in an actual knee-high, black-and-green-striped sock, yanked right off his foot, but this was immediately shot down by all other parties).

The remaining three stockings are of the miniature kind: one purple, one sky blue, and one green. The letters V, P, and E are hand-sewn on each one, respectively.

These stockings all hang below a shelf, which is adorned with LED candles, a small statue of Santa Claus in a space ship, a toy Dalek in a Santa hat, and various Disney snow globes. The whole setup is framed by a large garland, which is interwoven with Christmas lights that twinkle in a rainbow of colors.

As the video begins, voices can be heard in the background. They are accompanied by footsteps as their owners walk around out of view.

0:00 "It isn't even a real fire."

"It's festive, Logan!"

"The combustion of fuel to create heat, carbon dioxide, nitrogen, water vapor, and oxygen is festive?"

"Yes. Yes it is."

Logan sighs. "I suppose I can admit that lit fireplaces are an image that Christmas conjures. But, again, we do not posess a fireplace."

"Hence the video."

"Roman, that video is of a campfire."

"Fire is fire."

The voices and footsteps pause for a beat.

"....Why does it have to stay on when we aren't here? This seems like a waste of electricity, especially given your insistence upon the purchase of gifts for the holiday."

"What if Pat stops by? Or Virge, or Emile? It's for them!"

"I am unsure what desire they would have for--"

"Do you want them to have a bad Christmas?"

"I don't see how--"

"Do you?"

"I'm impartial to Christmas, as you know."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"...No."

"Great! Then it stays."

Another pause.

"Why does it have to be my laptop?"

"Because yours has a bigger screen. Ooh! There's a last-minute Christmas present idea for you!"

"My laptop?"

"No, a new one for me."

"I am not purchasing you a laptop. Yours functions just fine."

"Fine. Oh, wait, did you plug it in?"

"Naturally. When have I ever neglected to plug in my laptop?"

(Please note, dear reader/would-be viewer: the laptop is not plugged in)

0:05 The footsteps retreat. We hear the jangle of keys, then the door closing and locking. Flames continue to flicker on the laptop screen. We can hear them crackle and pop.

0:06 A car honks outside.

0:07 We hear footsteps and laughter in the hall, which quickly move on.

0:08: The seam in the wallpaper just above the shelf, visible under the garland and lights, silently opens. 5-inch-tall Virgil pokes his head out, then steps onto the shelf and beckons to someone behind him. He walks using a pair of forearm crutches.

Emile emerges a second later. He carries a fishing hook and rope and wears a hand-sewn backpack secured with a button.

The pair look around, before Emile secures his hook on the garland above the shelf. He carefully rappels down to the first of the miniature stockings, sky blue, and starts pulling out candies, stashing them in his backpack. Virgil leans over the edge of the shelf and watches, occasionally pointing or gesturing to his brother.

With the stocking visibly more empty, Emile climbs back up on the rope to the shelf. He slides off the backpack, which Virgil carries back the way they came, out of sight. He returns with an empty backpack.

Emile takes it and once again rappels down, this time moving to the purple miniature stocking.

0:12 As Virgil and Emile collect candy from the stockings, Patton arrives. He pushes a present the size of a ring box in front of him. It's wrapped in red paper, with green ribbon. He waves to Virgil, then leaves.

0:13 One of the Christmas lights goes out, not far from the doorway into the wall.

0:15 Emile finishes taking candy out of the last miniature stocking. He and Virgil leave with the candy. The three stockings are about half as full as before.

0:20 Patton returns, pushing another present ahead of himself. This one is a black box, with a too-large blue bow on top.

0:24 Virgil and Emile return with the third present. This one isn't in a box. Bafflingly, it's a medicine bottle, with a too-large green bow on the cap. Virgil uses one crutch and pulls on a string tied around the bottle. Emile pushes. As we watch, Virgil trips, and Emile accidentally tips the bottle, nearly knocking it over completely. The cap comes off, which Virgil quickly grabs. A piece of candy shaped like an eyeball tumbles out. As Emile rights the bottle, we watch the candy bounce off the laptop keyboard (causing the volume of the video to rise by 1), then hear it hit the floor, bounce, and roll away.

(It's old Halloween candy. They're expired. Remus will love it)

They position the gifts on the shelf, then whisper an inaudible conversation. Emile goes to make sure the cap is tight on the medicine bottle this time.

Virgil notices the Christmas light that has gone out. He looks for a moment, then smacks it with his crutch. The light comes back on. He and Emile leave.

The digital flames crackle and pop.

0:35 Patton reappears at the bottom of our view, carrying a bag on his back. A candy wrapper pokes out of the top. He climbs up the ladder attached to the table and sits down beside the laptop and its campfire video. He pulls out the candy and starts to unwrap it.

0:37 Virgil and Emile arrive. Virgil has both crutches now, and Emile carries a larger bag of candy on his back. They climb up the ladder to join Patton. They eat the loot from their stockings in the light of the "fire".

0:40 A notification pops up in the lower right-hand side of the laptop screen: Battery Saver Mode Engaged. The littles don't notice.

0:50 The littles finish their candy, climb back down the ladder, and leave.

0:55 Another notification pops up on the laptop: Warning! Low Battery.

1:00 The laptop dies, and its screen goes dark. A moment later, so does the video.

...

Thanks for reading! Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, and Happy New Year!

[lestapiastrisgirl]

Slipstream

by nitaekook | 1/? | NR | 3,109

Akaashi Keiji prepares for his Formula 1 debut at the Bahrain Grand Prix, determined to prove himself amid accusations of nepotism. His confidence is shaken when Bokuto Koutarou, a mechanic from Vetra Dynamics, unexpectedly joins the race as a last-minute substitute, starting from the back. Despite having no formal racing background, Bokuto’s raw, instinctive driving style allows him to surge through the pack. As the race progresses, Akaashi’s calculated precision is tested when Bokuto closes in, leading to an intense battle between the two, neck and neck for position.

-

Chapter 1 - Reckless Precision

The roar of engines filled the air, reverberating through the cool night of Bahrain’s desert circuit. Under the brilliant glow of the floodlights, the track gleamed, a dark ribbon twisting through the desert. Akaashi Keiji stood in the pit lane, fingers curled tightly around his helmet as his eyes swept the grid. The sharp scent of fuel, the acrid bite of hot tires, the weight of expectation—everything felt electric, alive. His pulse synced with the low rumble of the cars lined up, ready to unleash their raw power under the stars.

His car. His debut. His future.

The red and silver of Keiseki Racing stood out among the sleek bodies of the competition, its lines clean and unblemished under the lights. The number thirty-three, his number, glinted like a promise. A promise he intended to keep. Akaashi tightened his grip on his helmet, feeling the pressure of the entire racing world settle on his shoulders. The media called it nepotism, the world called it luck, but Akaashi knew it had been neither.

He was here to win. To dominate. To show them all that his place wasn’t just his father’s legacy, but his own.

Yet as the seconds ticked down toward the start, something disrupted the precise choreography of race day. Over by the Vetra Dynamics garage, a ripple of confusion spread through the pit crews. Akaashi’s sharp eyes followed the disturbance—technicians muttering, cameras flashing, and then, walking through the center of it all, Bokuto Koutarou.

Akaashi’s lips parted in disbelief.

Isn’t he the lead mechanic? Bokuto, suited up in the black-and-yellow of Vetra, casually adjusting his gloves like this was just another day under the hood of a car. Akaashi blinked, his mind struggling to catch up with the sight in front of him. The idea of someone like Bokuto—a mechanic, not a driver—taking the grid in a Formula 1 race was absurd. This wasn’t a joke or a test lap. This was the race.

“Last-minute replacement,” one of the nearby drivers muttered. “Their second driver pulled out. Vetra’s desperate.”

Akaashi’s jaw tightened. Desperate was putting it mildly. F1 was a world built on fractions of a second, on razor-thin margins where the smallest mistake could cost a team millions, or worse. Bokuto was not a racer. He was a technician. A man who knew the cars inside and out but had no place behind the wheel at this level.

Akaashi forced his gaze back to his car, trying to shake off the distraction. Focus. The rest of the field didn’t matter. Not Bokuto, not anyone. His eyes traced the familiar contours of his machine—the one that would take him to victory. The media had circled him like sharks for weeks, waiting to tear him apart if he faltered. They’d whisper that his father had pulled strings to get him here, that he was untested, that he didn’t deserve his seat. They were all waiting for him to fail.

He slid into the cockpit, the snug fit of the seat wrapping around him like armor. The familiar scent of carbon fiber, the faint chemical tang of fuel, the hum of the engine beneath him—it all worked to settle his nerves. Here, in this space, he was in control. His fingers flexed on the wheel, the leather soft and worn beneath his grip. He could feel the pulse of the engine through his palms, a perfect connection between man and machine.

His starting position wasn’t ideal—P8—but he would change that soon enough. Mid-pack meant strategy. Precision. Passing the slower drivers in front of him one by one, with ruthless efficiency. If Akaashi had one thing to prove today, it was that he belonged here. The pole position would come with time.

As the lights on the starting grid began their countdown, Akaashi’s heart steadied, beating in time with the blinking reds.

Red. Red. Red.

-

Bokuto could feel the engine’s growl deep in his bones.

The vibrations thrummed through the car, a hum of power barely restrained beneath his fingertips. He’d been in an F1 car before, but never like this—not in the heat of a race, not surrounded by the top drivers in the world. He grinned, the floodlights above reflecting off his visor.

He shouldn’t have been here. Not really. He knew that. The rest of them? Seasoned, battle-hardened professionals. Bokuto was just the guy who kept the cars running. Until today.

The call had come at the last minute—Vetra’s second driver had pulled out, a family emergency—and now here Bokuto was, sitting at the very back of the grid in an F1 race, heart pounding like a drum. The track stretched ahead of him like an open invitation, the night air cool and charged with energy. It was everything he’d imagined and more.

He knew these cars better than anyone. Every adjustment he’d made over the years, every minor tweak to the aerodynamics, every upgrade in the power unit—it all pulsed through him now. The car beneath him was no stranger. It was his, in a way none of the other drivers could understand.

As the lights flickered above the track, ready to blink out in the space of a heartbeat, Bokuto’s fingers flexed on the wheel. He could feel the other drivers around him—all veterans of this sport—ready to pounce. He might’ve been the wildcard, the unknown, but none of that mattered. Not when the car beneath him felt like an extension of his own body.

Red. Red. Red.

The lights disappeared.

-

Akaashi launched forward, his body snapping back into the seat, the G-forces clawing at him as his tires screamed against the asphalt. The rest of the pack surged ahead, engines roaring as they barreled down the straight, weaving into position for the first corner. It was chaos—pure, calculated chaos.

Akaashi’s focus narrowed to the task ahead. He wasn’t at the front—yet—but he could already see the gaps forming, drivers too hesitant on the throttle, too cautious on the brakes. His training, his precision, had prepared him for this exact moment.

Two cars in front of him tangled in a tight corner, their lines overlapping as they jostled for position. Akaashi slid through the opening they left, his car skimming the curbs as he made a clean pass. The tires gripped the tarmac perfectly, just as he knew they would. Another driver, another obstacle, left behind.

Behind him, he could feel the field tightening, the pressure building. There was a hunger in the air, a tension that coiled around every driver. Everyone wanted a piece of the front, but only a few of them had the skill to take it.

-

Bokuto’s body moved with the car, every muscle attuned to the forces whipping around him.

The G-forces pulled at his chest, the tightness building in his arms and neck, but it only made him feel more alive. The pack was chaotic, a blur of gleaming cars, but Bokuto’s car was already surging ahead, cutting through the gaps. He started at the very back—P20—but that number was falling fast.

He felt the car, the way it danced under him when he pushed it just a little too far—just far enough. The margins were so thin, but he knew exactly where the grip would give and where he could steal it back. He could feel the machine speaking to him, singing almost, and he listened.

The drivers in front of him were cautious, braking into the corners too soon, too heavy on the throttle coming out of them. Bokuto took the lines they wouldn’t dare. He edged closer, sneaking his nose past one car, then another. The tires skimmed the edge of the track, the rumble strips a low vibration under him, but the grip held, and he passed them cleanly.

As he made another pass, pushing his car to the very limit, his eyes caught the faint glint of red and silver up ahead—a Keiseki car. Maybe that young rookie. He’s already working his way through.

Bokuto pushed harder.

-

Akaashi sliced through another two cars, climbing from P8 to P5, his movements as precise as a scalpel. He barely noticed the cars he overtook; they were already in his rearview by the time he finished his thought. His mind was calculating distances, working out the braking points, the exact millimeters he needed to avoid wasting time.

But there was something else now—a shadow in his mirrors. A flash of black and yellow closing in.

Bokuto.

It couldn’t be anyone else. Akaashi’s jaw tightened, his grip on the wheel just a little harder. Bokuto wasn’t supposed to be here. Not in this race, not on his tail, and certainly not pushing his car to its limits as if he belonged in the upper ranks of Formula 1.

But as much as Akaashi wanted to dismiss Bokuto, he couldn’t help but notice something unsettling. The way Bokuto was driving—wild, instinctive, unpolished—was different. It wasn’t clean, it wasn’t perfect, but it was… working. Bokuto was taking risks that more veteran drivers wouldn’t dare, and somehow, the car was responding.

How?

Bokuto’s raw talent—his natural, unrefined skill—was on full display. He wasn’t playing by the rules of precision that Akaashi had honed his entire life. He was pushing the car beyond what Akaashi thought it could handle, and it was paying off. He’s reckless. But he’s good.

Akaashi grit his teeth and forced his focus back to the road. He wouldn’t lose to a mechanic.

-

Bokuto didn’t let up.

His car was screaming, but he knew it could handle it. He’d built her to handle it. The gap to Akaashi was closing, every corner bringing him closer, the heat of competition sizzling through the air. He wasn’t driving for points. He wasn’t driving to prove something to anyone else.

This was for him.

The next corner came fast, and Bokuto leaned into it, letting the machine dance on the edge of grip, the G-forces pressing him deeper into the seat. And then, as he came out of the curve, he saw Akaashi’s car just a few spots ahead—red and silver against the dark strip of tarmac, as flawless and controlled as ever.

Time to see if he could catch him.

-

The cool night air and bright lights of the Bahrain circuit painted the track in sharp contrasts. Akaashi’s heart was steady, but his pulse was sharp, focused. He slid through another turn, the wheel firm in his hands, his car gliding through the field. P5 now.

The air around him was thick with the smell of burned rubber and fuel. The cars he passed felt almost irrelevant, mere obstacles on the way to the top. He didn’t need to prove anything to them. He just needed to prove it to himself.

P4.

His fingers flexed over the wheel, adjusting to the vibration through the tires as he exited the corner. Another driver ahead—his teammate, no less—was slow through the chicane, a fraction too cautious. Akaashi carved through the inside line, his car biting into the curb. There it was—another clean pass, just as he knew it would be.

P3.

But no time to breathe.

The black-and-yellow Vetra car was there again, closer now, filling Akaashi’s mirrors. Bokuto. Akaashi could feel the pressure mounting, the weight of Bokuto’s relentless pace pushing against him. It wasn’t enough that he was making his way through the pack—Bokuto was following, clawing his way up, hot on Akaashi’s heels like a storm on the horizon.

Akaashi’s jaw tightened as he took another turn, faster now, more aggressive. The car trembled beneath him, but his control was absolute. He wasn’t going to let a mechanic—a mechanic—get the better of him.

-

Bokuto was flying.

He wasn’t just racing; he was alive, more alive than he’d ever felt. The cockpit around him was a furnace, the air heavy and metallic, but none of that mattered. The track stretched ahead of him, curving, twisting, daring him to push harder—and Bokuto answered without hesitation.

Every curve, every corner, every tight gap between cars was an invitation. He wasn’t afraid to take the risks the others wouldn’t, to let the car dance on the razor-thin line between control and chaos. It was thrilling. Exhilarating. The machine beneath him, the car he had built with his own hands, felt like it was breathing with him.

P9. P7. P5.

Each overtake had been quick, decisive, like a predator pouncing on its prey. The others were too careful, too tentative. Bokuto felt no such restraint. He knew this car. He knew its limits better than anyone else on the track. He knew how far he could push it, and he was pushing it all the way.

And now? Now, he was in that young rookie’s wake.

Bokuto could see the clean lines the Keiseki car cut through the corners, sharp and perfect, almost mechanical in its precision. But Bokuto had never been interested in perfection. He was interested in speed, in the thrill of the moment. In the feel of the car as it begged for more.

-

Ahead of them, the lead cars were in sight. But first, he had to get past Akaashi.

Akaashi’s focus was unshakable, his movements crisp, almost robotic in their precision. P3. The top two cars were only a few seconds ahead, and the gap was closing with each lap. He could see the leaders fighting for space, their cars weaving through the tight bends of the circuit, jostling for position. He just needed one more clean pass and he’d be there.

But Bokuto’s presence had become impossible to ignore. The Vetra car was pushing harder with every lap, taking lines no other driver would dare to take, wheels kissing the curbs with a recklessness that sent sparks flying. Bokuto didn’t just know his car—he was part of it, every inch of it pushed to the edge of its design.

Akaashi’s teeth ground together as he downshifted into the next corner. He was flawless—he knew he was—but Bokuto was relentless. The mechanic had no right to be this good, but here he was, eating away at Akaashi’s lead with every lap.

The air inside the cockpit was thick, the pressure was starting to climb, heat swelling inside. Akaashi could feel the sweat at the base of his neck, his breathing slow and controlled, but his fingers gripped the wheel a little tighter as he came out of the next bend.

Damn it.

-

Bokuto grinned beneath his helmet, his fingers dancing over the controls. He could see it—the frustration, the small but telling movements of Akaashi’s car as he pushed to stay ahead. Every corner brought Bokuto closer, every burst of speed down the straights cut the distance between them.

He could hear the team principal in his ear, cautioning him to back off, to maintain position, but Bokuto wasn’t interested in caution. He wasn’t here to maintain. He was here to race.

The next corner was coming up fast—a tight right-hander where everyone took a conservative line, careful not to lose grip. Bokuto watched as Akaashi’s car swept through, precise as always, his rear tires holding perfectly as he exited the turn.

Bokuto’s turn.

He could hear the faintest squeal of the tires as he dove into the corner, braking later than he should have. The car shuddered beneath him, a wild beast barely held back, but Bokuto leaned into it, feeling the G-forces push against his body. His tires screamed against the edge of the track, clipping the curb as he came out of the turn—and suddenly, he was closer.

Too close for Akaashi to ignore now.

The gap between them had shrunk to nothing.

-

Akaashi’s heart leapt into his throat. The Vetra car was right there, filling his mirrors, closer than it had any right to be. He pushed harder, faster, cutting every line tighter, but Bokuto was sticking to him like a shadow, pressing him into every corner.

They were neck and neck now, two cars fighting for position as they tore through the field, carving through the straights like missiles. Every time Akaashi thought he’d created enough space, Bokuto came flying back into view, taking turns at impossible angles, daring physics to stop him.

It was reckless. It was insane. It was working.

P2 was just ahead, but Akaashi couldn’t think about that now. The battle was right behind him. Bokuto wasn’t just another driver; he was something unpredictable, something wild, and Akaashi couldn’t shake him off. No matter how perfect his lines, no matter how flawless his execution, Bokuto was still there, attacking every corner with ferocity.

Damn him!

The next set of corners came in quick succession—a fast left-right combination leading into a straight. Akaashi’s eyes flicked to his mirrors again, calculating the space, the timing. He was faster through the technical sections. He just needed to hold Bokuto off long enough to break away on the next straight.

He entered the corner, his car hugging the apex with precision, his exit clean and controlled—but then, in the corner of his eye, he saw it.

Bokuto.

-

Bokuto felt the adrenaline surge through his veins as he took the corner harder than anyone else would dare. His tires screamed against the tarmac, the car trembling beneath him, but he held it. He held it.

And as they shot out of the corner, he was side by side with Akaashi.

The two cars screamed down the straight, engines wailing as they fought for position. Bokuto’s heart raced, the thrill of it all pulsing through him like fire. He wasn’t supposed to be here—not in this car, not in this race—but none of that mattered now. This was the moment.

Akaashi was good, maybe even better than good, but Bokuto had something else—he had the machine. He’d built it with his own hands, and he knew how far he could push it. The car roared beneath him as he floored the throttle, refusing to back down.

-

Akaashi’s teeth clenched as he slammed his foot on the gas. They were side by side now, the roar of Bokuto’s engine deafening as it pushed against him, wheel to wheel, the air between their cars crackling with tension.

The next corner was approaching fast, a sharp right-hander that would decide who came out ahead. Akaashi’s heart pounded, his fingers gripping the wheel so hard they ached.

He wasn’t going to let Bokuto beat him.

[wallpapers4screen]

[nocentis]

Light of the Cove ┆ AU

Name: Jellal Fernandes Age: 29 Home Planet: Evra Status: Intergalactic Fugitive, Vagrant Affiliations: Pyk'ryan Rebel Faction Occupation: Defense Pilot, Supplier Classification: Carbon-based sentient life-form; bipedal, mammalian

Background: The universe at large has been dominated by the Lythrum for thousands of years.

Jellal spent many of his formative years helping to organize and direct his planet's department of defense. When his home was invaded, he helped lead the resistance against the Lythrum army. Unfortunately, the Evran Allied Forces were outnumbered and, subsequently, overpowered. His home was instated under Lythrum rule, and he, among many of his peers, was taken prisoner.

A select few of the Evran people inherited the ability to control the fundamental elements involved in nuclear fusion, such as helium and, eventually, hydrogen. Jellal was one of these generational Evrans, and as such, was the subject of study for a handful of years whilst held in captivity.

The prison ship which held him passed through a highly volatile, atypical magnetic field, which disrupted their technology and caused a shipwide blackout. During this blackout, Jellal managed to escape using an emergency pod and assigned his landing to the nearest heavenly body.

After nearly a week of drifting through the dense vacuum of space, breaking two days' rations into smaller and smaller pieces, his pod finally met the surface of a kingdom-sized asteroid. An ostensibly abandoned Lythrum outpost lay a few miles from where he landed, so he mustered what little of his strength remained, and he suited up for the journey, expecting to scavenge more supplies. When he stumbled through the outpost, he was met with hostility from its occupants — Pyk'ryan Rebel Captain Ynxa and their crew.

Over time, Jellal proved his credibilty to Ynxa and their crew, and joined the Rebellion as an official member. Due to his Evran stature, he became one of their main suppliers, often sneaking into Coves and "borrowing" precious supplies — namely fuel and advanced technologies — from especially heinous fugitives to stoke his rebel faction.

Lythrum: A bipedal mammalian species most often known for their cruel and destructive nature. Most Lythrum have thick skin with short, fine fur in a range of red-yellow hues. Their ears are typically long and pointed, though they come in a range of shapes and sizes. They might be described as fox-like by humans.

Cove: An intergalactic black market typically found on asteroids or small heavenly bodies far outside of claimed star systems. These markets are unregulated and often avoided by Lythrum forces, but they are lawless wastelands wherein there is no true authority and no protection.

[kozukenkitten]

🧚🏻‍♀️.)) hii!! I saw your matchup is open, and tbh I don't know if you get my request before or not, but if you haven't, can I get a haikyuu matchup? 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

she/her. a 5'2" curvy asian girl with a rbf. long wavy black hair that I let down all the time. only wear a little make up everyday, but always with a very bold red lipstick. love perfumes and comfortable clothes.

personality : ENFP, taurus, and Gryffindor. veeeeery friendly, and loud (a chaotic clown). Loyalty and honesty means so much to me. ☀️

I have a lot of insecurities and got depressed easily, so I'll need a lot of attention and validation from my loved one. I'm also a hopeless romantic that believe in soulmate 😆

love singing, playing games, tarot readings, and watching horror movies (which gonna ended up with me being too scared to sleep) are some activities that I really enjoyed doing. 💫

okay thats it!! have a nice daaay.♡

Okay, hear me out on this one:

Ryunosuke Tanaka would 100% be OBSESSED with you. Would almost literally worship the ground you walk on. Would give you all of the love, affection, and validation that you could ever wish for.

He's a dork, sure, but he will absolutely do everything in his power to bring a smile to your face every day, and to hear your laugh whenever possible. He's super supportive and will quickly learn how best to help you through your depressive episodes. He will not ever let you feel unwanted. He is literally incapable of it.

Need something sweet to brighten your day? Tanaka's bringing you a popsicle or some candy and a sweet carbonated beverage from the convenience store. Need some extra rest? He's got a little blanket nest ready for you to curl up in for a cuddle, and a comforting movie to play in the background (and let's be honest, he's probably also got plenty of water bottles and your favorite takeout for when you feel up to eating, bc he wants to take care of your physical needs as well as your mental/emotional ones).

He'd be so fascinated by watching you do tarot readings, and he'd love to play video games and watch scary movies with you (he'll be wide awake with you, too, bc he's absolutely also the type to be scared of falling asleep afterward).

He will ask for you to sing for him and tell him all about your favorite things, bc he loves hearing your voice, whether you're just chatting or singing to him.

If you're looking for someone with the energy to match yours, who will give you all of the emotional and physical support you could possibly ask for, Tanaka's your man!

[ipso-faculty]

Favourite autistic pride flag?

Autism Pride Day is coming up! 💛 Which autism-specific flag do you like most?

Note: I am intentionally not including flags that use a solid white infinity symbol because that belongs to the Métis (a major Indigenous group), and I think it's time the autistic community was more aware and respectful of this. I know not everybody knows about the issue so am hoping this helps spread the word 💛

I am also not including flags with solid gold backgrounds because that's an intersex flag thing. I know the goal of early autism flags was to give an alternative to Autism Speaks but I think we can do that without colonizing other minority groups' flag designs. 💛

[driftnoob3]

But for the moment, car specs!

NISSAN GTR R33 V SPEC WB Color: Midnight Purple I

Exterior: Nismo 400r fender package, Nismo 400r carbon bonnet, Nismo 400r spoiler, 18" BBS LM rims (silver), single-exit hand-made exhaust (88mm), vinyl 400r styling with "W.Bonnie" text (purple/black surrounds and text), east bear sport mirrors.

Interior: sparco MOD 345 3R calice 65mm MSN steering wheel, switch on left bar of steering wheel to change turbo and ECU modes, Recaro baket seats, 30cm bar gear lever, roll cage, 70% black tinted windows, adapted aluminum pedals, HKS analog turbo indicator (black background). Mecanical parts: RB26DETT Rebuilt Nismo 400r (500-1250hp), HKS large capacity turbine, HKS turbo boost controller, AEM ECU with 2 power configurations, Nismo R34 Z tune exhaust manifold, Nismo 400r suspension, Brembo sport brakes (red).

[estellamiraiauthor]

Oooh oooh ooooh can I add the Japan version?

- If you’re drinking in Japan, it’s likely going to be at an izakaya, which is more similar to a pub than a bar in that it also sells food, but is really just kind of it’s own thing. American-style bars exist but mostly only in areas with a large foreign population or in expensive business districts. Some British and Irish pubs also exist but are also largely patronized by people with international backgrounds.

- A “snack” is a smaller drinking establishment that usually only has a very basic food menu and a limited selection of alcohol (mostly Shochu, see below). Most are run by women, and serve as much as places for people to socialize as to drink. These are NOT hostess clubs or “cabaret clubs”… most of the women who run them are older, and many are immigrants. They’re not sex workers, but largely provide conversation. Hosts and hostesses are not always sex workers either, although the line is a bit blurry.

- The types of cocktails commonly served in Japan don’t always match what’s popular in the US at least. You rarely see something like a martini or a cosmopolitan on the menu at an izakaya, but creme de cassis and Campari are popular mixers. Vodka and gin are popular; some izakayas dont even have tequila or rum. You usually can’t order a specific brand; most places only have one type of vodka so you can order a vodka soda but not necessarily specify that the vodka is Absolut or whatever. Some higher end places do offer multiple brands; those would be listed on the menu.

- sake (which is called “Nihon-shu”; sake just means “alcohol”) is mostly popular among older men. I really only drink it at business functions when an older manger orders it for the table. You usually CAN order it hot, but it’s more commonly drunk cold. Sake bombs are not Japanese. I’ve never seen sake used in any kind of cocktail here, it’s just drunk straight, like wine.

- Shochu is another local type of liquor, there are different types like barley, rice, sweet potato, and soba (or my favorite, Shiso) shochu. It can be drunk on the rocks or mixed with hot or cold water, sparkling water, or tea.

- “sours” or “chu-hi” are a popular cocktail that isn’t really considered a cocktail (they’re usually in their own category on the menu, while a gin and tonic or a screwdriver would be under “cocktails”). The word “chu-hi” comes from “Shochu highball,” but some are made with vodka instead of Shochu. It’s basically carbonated water, fruit juice or artificial fruit flavor, and alcohol. Yum!

- Most places only serve one type of beer on tap, or might serve two types made by the same company (like Suntory Black Label and Premium Malts). Kind of like most restaurants don’t serve both Coke and Pepsi in the US…. They have a contract with one specific company. They might sell other companies’ beers in bottles. Some craft beer places have lots of beers on tap, but even then there will probably be only one “major” brand if any.

- Wine bars and some higher end French or Italian restaurants will have a wine list, but at the average izakaya or bar, your choices are house red or house white!

- Alcohol prices are always listed on the menu. It seems weird and shady to me in the US when they don’t. You also don’t tip bartenders, waiters, anyone.

- Not Japan-specific but also adding to the above posts that a person’s tolerance can differ GREATLY based on the type of alcohol. I drink vodka, gin, and Shochu fairly regularly, but don’t drink beer that often. So even though they have about the same alcohol content, I’ll be completely fine after a shot of gin, for example, but feel a little woozy after the first beer!

Alcohol tips for newbie writers (or non drinkers!):

At bars, people who order “chasers” after their shots are ordering something to wash down the taste of their shot with. This can be juice, soda, more alcohol, or even pickle juice

Hard liquor is generally sold in stores as shots (tiny bottles), fifths, liters, and handles or in ml (50, 100, 200 etc)

Most people can’t finish an entire fifth of hard liquor (vodka, etc) on their own without being very ill

Conversely, many people can finish an entire bottle of wine on their own without being ill

Liquor can be “bottom shelf” or “rail” or “well” – all synonyms for the cheapest version of alcohol a bartender has. Bars generally keep several “levels” of alcohol stocked

You order a drink with the alcohol first, then the mix – e.g., a “vodka soda” or a “Tito’s and tonic”

When you “close out a tab”, you pay for all of the drinks you’ve had that night. Either the bartender already has your card (you “opened a tab” earlier) or it was quiet enough that they just kept an eye on you and tallied your bill up at the end

“Doubles” are drinks or shots with double the standard pour of alcohol

In the US, most shots (pours) are 1.5 oz by default. 

Mixed drinks (gin and tonic, vodka lemonade, cosmos, etc) are generally made up of 1-2 shots and a mixer 

If you don’t specify which type of alcohol you’d like in a mixed drink (vodka cranberry, for example) the bartender will put whatever the “house” liquor is – and this depends entirely on the establishment. A dive bar will pour rail by default, whereas a nicer tavern might make all vodka cranberries with Tito’s

PLEASE TIP YOUR BARTENDERS THEY WILL REMEMBER YOU I PROMISE

[vedantsart]

The Art of Duality: A Spiritual Painting with Mahakal’s Essence

Creating art is more than just putting paint on canvas—it's about capturing emotions, beliefs, and the very essence of life. In this blog, I’ll walk you through the story behind the creation of a spiritually-inspired painting, exploring the materials, methods, and meanings that brought it to life.

The Vision

This painting draws inspiration from the divine duality embodied by Mahakal (Lord Shiva), where serenity and intensity coexist. The Hindi text provided served as the spiritual backbone, guiding the composition with its profound exploration of life, death, time, and cosmic energy. My goal was to portray these themes through abstract techniques like knife painting and spray painting while retaining a sense of balance and peace.

Materials Used

Creating a piece like this requires specific tools and materials to ensure the desired textures and effects:

Canvas: A stretched cotton canvas, size 24"x24", primed for acrylic painting.

Acrylic Paints: Chosen for their vibrant colors and versatility.

Primary Colors: Ultramarine Blue, Titanium White, Carbon Black.

Accents: Metallic Gold, Vermilion Red, and Deep Purple.

Palette Knives: To create bold, textured strokes.

Spray Paints: Used for soft gradients and to add an ethereal touch.

Calligraphy Tools: Fine brushes and metallic ink for the Sanskrit text elements.

Water Spray Bottle: For blending and creating fluid textures.

Masking Tape: To protect areas and ensure clean edges.

The Process

Preparing the Canvas: I primed the canvas with a neutral base of gray and let it dry completely. This gave the painting a balanced background tone, perfect for layering contrasting elements.

Outlining the Composition: Using light chalk lines, I sketched the central figure of the meditating model, ensuring the pose exuded both calmness and spiritual energy.

Building the Background:

Knife Painting: The vibrant swirls in the background were achieved with palette knives. Layering acrylic paints in bold strokes gave the painting a textured, almost three-dimensional feel.

Spray Painting: I used spray paints to create a soft, misty effect, blending the duality of light and dark tones. This technique gave the background its celestial quality, representing the infinite cosmos.

Highlighting Divine Elements: I painted significant symbols:

The Crescent Moon: A small yet striking element on the meditating figure’s forehead, symbolizing calmness amidst chaos.

Trident and Ganga: Flowing water cascading down from the head into swirls of energy, representing purification and life’s continuity.

Incorporating Calligraphy: Sanskrit-inspired calligraphy flowed around the figure, reflecting the essence of the text provided. I used metallic gold ink for its spiritual and divine significance.

Final Details: The last steps involved adding subtle highlights and shadows to the meditating figure, ensuring harmony with the vibrant background. The edges were cleaned, and the entire canvas was sealed with a matte varnish to preserve the textures and colors.

The Message Behind the Painting

This artwork is more than just a visual representation; it’s a meditation on the infinite nature of life and time. Through Shiva’s essence—Mahakal—it reminds us of the delicate balance between creation and destruction, serenity and intensity.

The knife strokes represent the sharp challenges in life, while the spray-painted gradients symbolize moments of clarity and calm. Every element works together to celebrate the cosmic energy that flows through all living beings.

Conclusion

Creating this painting was both a spiritual journey and an artistic challenge. By combining traditional and modern techniques, I aimed to craft an image that speaks to the heart and soul. This piece is a testament to how art can capture profound spiritual themes while inviting the viewer to find their own connection to the divine.

Have you ever created or encountered a piece of art that made you pause and reflect on life’s deeper meanings? Share your thoughts below—I’d love to hear about your experiences!

[realjaysumlin]

If you're going to talk science, please get to know and understand how science function, not the opinion of science, because when bias opinions rules science? It's no longer science. Jay Sumlin.

I thought it would be helpful to you if I share the breakdown on the different levels of melanin.

Melanin is a natural pigment found in the skin, hair, and eyes of humans and other organisms. It is produced by cells called melanocytes, and its primary function is to protect the skin from UV radiation by absorbing harmful rays. The amount and type of melanin produced by these cells can vary significantly among individuals, leading to differences in skin color, hair color, and eye color.

There are three main types of melanin:

Eumelanin: This is the most common type of melanin and is responsible for black and brown hues in hair and skin. Eumelanin is further divided into two subtypes: black eumelanin and brown eumelanin.

Pheomelanin: This type of melanin provides yellow and red hues and is found in lighter skin tones, red hair, and freckles. Individuals with high levels of pheomelanin typically have lighter skin and hair.

Neuromelanin: This type of melanin is found in certain parts of the brain and is thought to play a role in neurological function. Its exact purpose is still being researched.

Levels of Melanin and Their Implications

High Melanin Levels: Individuals with a higher concentration of eumelanin tend to have darker skin, which provides greater protection against UV radiation and may reduce the risk of skin cancer. They may also have darker hair and eyes.

Low Melanin Levels: Individuals with lower levels of melanin tend to have lighter skin, hair, and eyes. While they may have a higher risk of UV-related skin conditions, they can also synthesize vitamin D more efficiently in low-sunlight conditions.

Melanin and Race

It's important to note that while melanin levels contribute to physical traits like skin color, they do not determine race. Race is a complex social construct influenced by a variety of factors, including culture, history, and geography. Skin color is just o.ne of many characteristics that can vary among individuals within any group of people; depending on the environment and diets.

The diversity in skin color within populations is a result of evolutionary adaptations to different environmental conditions, particularly exposure to sunlight. This means that people with similar skin tones can belong to different racial or ethnic backgrounds, and individuals of the same race can have a wide range of skin colors.

In summary, while melanin plays a significant role in determining physical characteristics, it does not define race. There's no such thing as white people or biological races. We are all Black Africans on earth.

[horusstraps]

Setting Trends in Watch Accessories: A Closer Look at Horus Straps

Discover Horus Watch Straps and elevate your timepiece with our premium, innovative rubber and leather watch straps.

Why choose Horusstraps?

In the world of luxury watches, accessories play a significant role in elevating the overall look and feel of timepieces. One brand that has been setting trends in watch accessories is Horus Straps. Founded in 2014, Horus Straps has quickly become synonymous with innovation, quality, and style in the watch industry. Their range of watch straps, particularly their rubber and leather options, has garnered attention for their unique designs and attention to detail.

History and Background

Horus Straps was founded in Miami, Florida, by Mark Margulies. From the beginning, the brand's mission was clear: to offer watch enthusiasts a way to personalize and enhance their timepieces. What sets Horus Watch Straps apart from other watch accessory brands is their commitment to pushing boundaries and setting new trends. Rather than following existing trends, Horus Straps strives to create its path, leading to some of the most innovative and stylish watch straps in the market today.

Innovative Designs

One of the hallmarks of Horus Straps is their innovative approach to design. Leather watch straps are a timeless accessory, prized for their durability, comfort, and classic aesthetic. For example, their rubber straps come in a variety of colors and finishes, including camouflage and carbon fiber patterns.

Unique Patterns and Textures: Our straps come in a variety of patterns and textures that you won’t find anywhere else.

Vibrant Color Options: Whether you prefer classic black or want to make a statement with bright red or blue, our color choices ensure that there’s a perfect match for every watch and every personality.

Bespoke Customization: Our bespoke customization options allow you to tailor your strap to your exact preferences.

Quality and Craftsmanship

Premium Materials: Whether it’s high-grade silicone for our rubber straps or luxurious, hand-selected Italian leather, every material is chosen for its durability, comfort, and aesthetic appeal.

Meticulous Craftsmanship: Skilled artisans hand-stitch our leather straps and carefully mold and finish our rubber straps to ensure each piece meets our exacting standards.

Durability and Comfort: Quality craftsmanship translates to superior durability and comfort.

Collaborations and Partnerships

Creative Visionaries: We collaborate with designers and artists who share our passion for innovation and creativity.

Exclusive Designs: Our collaborations result in exclusive strap designs that are not available anywhere else.

Brand Partnerships: We partner with renowned brands in the watch and fashion industries to create special edition straps that complement their products.

Setting Trends

Through their innovative designs, commitment to quality, and collaborations, Horus Straps has succeeded in setting trends in the watch accessory industry. Their straps have been seen on the wrists of celebrities, watch enthusiasts, and influencers around the world, further solidifying their status as trendsetters.

Conclusion

In conclusion, Horus Straps has established itself as a leader in the watch accessory industry through its innovative designs, commitment to quality, and collaborations. Whether you're looking to add a pop of color to your watch or want to personalize it with a unique pattern or texture, Horus Straps has something for everyone. With their finger on the pulse of the latest trends, Horus Straps is sure to continue setting trends in watch accessories for years to come.

Shop now from Horus Watch Straps for the ultimate in watch personalization

Horus Straps - Where Style Meets Innovation.