#tessellate: gum

[elderwisp]

◁ || ▷ now playing

Atlas: Hola hola.

Dan: Atlas? I tried looking for you and then they started performing!

Atlas: It’s okay! Is it just you?!

Dan: Yea! I’m sorry, I told them-

Atlas: Don’t worry about it!

Dan: You sure?

Atlas: Mhm, let’s enjoy the rest of the show!

[brimycave]

Yay, another finished Krita Artwork!! This time it’s Fat Gum! Everyone’s favorite BMI Hero <33

[insomniamamma]

Tessellation: Cee and Ezra

A/N: written for @oonajaeadira and @yearofcreation2023. Year of kisses. The prompt is kiss while sleeping. This one ended up being far more about Cee than Ezra. As Stephen King says "Memory is the basis for every journey."

Warnings: medical trauma, drug abuse, illness, angst, Damon is a terrible father but he wasn't always, death.

He looks small. This man who has upended her life. Ezra. She doesn't even know his family name or where he hails from or which ship he dropped down to the Green on. She's known him two hands of cycles, much of that as he is now. What's left of his right arm is buried in white bandages, strapped to his chest. Tubes snake beneath the nest of blankets, draining murky pink froth from his lungs into oddly prissy containers hanging below, dust infection measured out into fill lines, blood and puss and Kevva knows what. Tube stuffed down his throat and taped to his face. His left arm turned palm up like a gesture of supplication, large-bore IV line spiked into the crook of his elbow, pulsoxometer clipped to his index finger.

He looks small. And deathly sick. His skin has a grayish cast she doesn't care for at all, the dark stubble on his cheeks screaming out like exclamation points. Cee's seen this before. Seen her dad pale and sallow-grey, breath slow, tucked some stim gum between his parted lips and smacked at his arm until he reflexively started chewing.

"I was sleeping, Cee." "but--" "Do NOT do that again. We've got a big drop coming up. We need to be sharp." "but--" "Just hang with me. This job pans out the way it should and we'll be out of the shit for good. Back to Central. But you've got to trust me. You've got to trust me and do what I say, clear?" "but, Dad--" "Are. We. Clear?" "Yeah. clear."

That familiar knot coils itself in her belly. The long greyed out days in between drops ending with her dad doped up to the gills, I need it to sleep, Cee. You'll understand when you're older, nodding off to leave her with his soupy snores and the endlessly shifting light through the pod's tiny rounded windows, little nights and dawns as the freighter spins. She'd copy out what she remembered of The Streamer Girl and listen until she felt confident that he wasn't going to die in his sleep.

"Can he hear me?" She'd asked the medic when they finally allowed her to see him. "Hard to say. We had to put him down pretty deep. He's got a lot of fight in him." "That's a good thing, right?" "Look. Your dad's real sick. He got pretty well dusted. If we can get him to the Pug he's got a shot. But that's a long haul from now. Clear?" "Clear."

She doesn't bother to correct the medic. Maybe things will play better for them if people take them as kin.

Ezra wasn't waking up. But he wasn't dying either. He just stayed stone still, swaddled in white, his stump buried in med-gel and bandages. His eyes flicked back and forth, caught in some endless looping dream. Cee takes his hand sometimes, careful not to dislodge the monitor clipped to his finger, always surprised at his warmth. She tells him about the endless days, doing whatever odd jobs need doing on the freighter, which she understands as charity disguised as work, a way to square their room and board until they hit the Pug. "--channel rat crawled up into the aft intake and died it was just bones and dust, I wanted to keep the skull but Leroy said it was bad luck so it just went in with the rest of the swill--"

Ezra starts twitching, small choking sounds around the tube down his throat.

"Easy," says Cee, "you're okay." And lays her hand on his forehead, smooths the taught skin there, presses the furrows down with her thumb, "You're okay."

"Did I tell you about when your mom used to hypnotize you?"

Cee slides her music player off. She knows by his tone that he is going to have his say. This has become something familiar. He puts the drops in his eyes and then talks. Sometimes it's names and places that she doesn't know and sometimes it involves her. If she doesn't at least make a show of listening he'll yell sometimes, his slurred out voice why don't you ever listen? So it's best to keep her ears half-cocked until sleep claims him.

"Mom used to hypnotize me?" "Mmmh-hmmm. You used to cry so much. You were colicky. We used to have to rub your belly to get you to fart--" "Ewww. Dad--" "They were baby farts! They didn't--they didn't smell--" "But mom?" "Yeah, she'd do this thing--" Damon sits up and lurches towards her and she flinches back a little, and even in his fuzzed out state she registers the hurt in his eyes. Damon smooths the pad of his thumb up and down between her eyebrows "She'd do that?" Cee can't help smiling a little. Damon rarely shows affection these days, and the feel of calloused thumb on her forehead is nice, makes her think of better times, makes her think of being small and Damon picking her up under her arms and covering her face and head with loud smacking kisses while she shrieked in delight, three of them instead of two, a job on some soft, barely remembered world a place of gentle grav and cool breezes, a hand held in each of hers and they'd swing her high, almost flying in the low grav-- "See? I hypnotized you." Cee breaks out of her reverie. "Did not." Damon lays back on his cot. "I freaked out. I told her don't you hypnotize that baby and she laughed and laughed--she--you--miss her…I miss.." and then he's gone. Drawn down into whatever relief the drugs give him, an ill rhythm of slow snores. And Cee waits, waits for the short term sedation of the drops to wane, for his breathing to even out into something more normal.

She remembers being sick. Got bit by a drill worm, Damon told her later, spiked a fever. Like touching a hot engine skirt. She remembers her mother's voice singing low and soft, can't remember the words, she was too small for that, but remembers the cool washcloth on her forehead, removed and re-wetted, Mom kissing her there, right between her eyebrows, where the pad of her thumb once passed.

Ezra sleeps swaddled and small and pinned by machinery, her hand folded around his, careful, fingers tracing the lines of his calloused palm. For now he is still, soothed by her touch. "Ezra? You need to wake up. I don't know what's going to happen when we get to the Pug."

Cee leans over and kisses him, presses her lips against that little space between his eyebrows.

"You need to wake up."

[fecklessgreebobastard]

3 years, 12 hours, 42 minutes (spring cleaning up my act)

i used to have dreams of vanity

now i’m stuck on the nightbus to holborn with no clarity

lingerie in the front pocket of my dysphoria hoodie

the boy next door with a god given ass

that has come to steal the show from my brain

is the taste of petrol forever stuck to my gums?

it used to sting in the back of my throat, turning my stomach into a haunted house

i feel comfort in numbers

i guess that’s what they mean by community

i didn’t think about the horrors too much today

(‘how are you?’

‘so good’ i said

and just for today, i kind of actually meant it)

my mind was on the 1095 days previous that i carved myself out of

i didn’t think about my shaky hand, slurred words and being empty behind the eyes in a room full of people

i didn’t think about sweet talking a number out of a stranger

i didn’t try to remember the black out hours, long forgotten

i didn’t think about death.

i didn’t think about being covered in paint, hyperventilating outside a stranger’s house, till they asked if i was okay

i said i was fine

not wanting to drag them into the mess of a martyr

it’s funny how strangers know what’s up before you do

the lamppost outside the station flickers like my moods

some tessellated piece of shit of a building chokes the sky with smog

another vague attempt at stripping london of its personality

it reminds me of old kent road, closer to dawn than night time, about six months ago

i talked to my friend about how i was disenchanted with the skyline that used to sing me to sleep

how we all used to have hope before the storm

before we traded in dreams for magic beans

all i know is

whatever i’m looking for, i never found at the bottom of a bottle

keep my best days in memories

and my best lines stuck in lana del rey songs

my shower gel mixes with dirty water at the bottom of the shower tray

it looks like the ocean, blue and foamy

i hold onto romanticism like it’s someone i can’t bear to fall out of touch with

bang bang kiss kiss

[ladyoriza]

oc + ship themes

cause i feel like it. gonna be loooong (and this isn't even everybody) so have a cut:

(and Ethan)

SHIPS:

Garth and Sparrow: Hozier - Work Song (was is ever anything else lmao)

Sam and Max: Hozier - De Selby (Part 2)

Roz and Ulysses: Vance Joy - Missing Piece

Suze and Johnny and Aisha: Alt-J - Tessellate

Fauna and Carmina: The Daughters of Eve - Hey Lover

Hannah and Joseph: Sofia Isella - Hot Gum

Hannah and Staci: Vance Joy - I'm With You

[hanmin-elite]

Horarios

Próximo miércoles 23 de octubre

México, México: 11:00

Madrid, España: 19:00

Santiago de Chile, Chile: 14:00

Buenos Aires, Argentina: 14:00

Normativa

Las reservas de físicos tendrán una duración de 7 días.

Se permiten 4 reservas de físicos, pueden estar hechas bajo diferente seudónimo pero tienen que hacerse en el mismo ask.

Solo se aceptan reservas mediante ask.

No se permiten reservas para búsqueda.

Se puede reservar por un amigo, pero se tiene que especificar en el ask para separar los usuarios.

Citando el reglamento del foro

Edades: Los físicos a utilizar no pueden ser menores de 18 años a fecha del año en curso.

Formato de reservas

Nombre del Face Claim - Seudónimo del usuario - Contraseña

Líder ó sublíder de fraternidad - Seudónimo del usuario - Contraseña

Consejo estudiantil universitario - Seudónimo del usuario - Contraseña

Por el momento, solo se permite que el personaje tome una posición de autoridad (ser líder/sublíder o ser parte del consejo). Un usuario puede reservar los puestos que desee, pero no para el mismo personaje.

Reservas

A — B — C

Baek Jiheon  - Strawberry Matcha

Choi Beom Gyu - Tophee

Choi Soo Bin - Gwen

Choi Yeon-jun (Yeonjun) - SugarRush

D — E — F

Danielle Marsh - Capacity

Enami Asa - Leixah

Fukutomi Tsuki - Tessellate

G — H — I

Han Dong Min (Taesan) - strawberry cupcake

Hanni Pham - deadpool

Huh Yun Jin - bones.

Hwang Hyun Jin - Vhereux

J — K — L

Jake Sim - Latte

Jang Won Young - BitchyMe

Jeon Jung-kook (Jungkook) - Pirate

Jeon Won Woo - Nanba

Kai Kamal Huening (Huening Kai) - Pirate

Kang Hae Rin - bluepace

Kim Dong Hyun (Lee Han) - Ezy

Kim Jennie - Lilac

Kim Ji Soo - manzanita

Kim Min Gyu - Sunday

Kim Min Jeon (Winter) - strawberry cupcake

Kim Tae Yeon - powerpuff girl

Kim Young Hoon  (The Boyz) - VIVIAN

Lee Felix - SugarRush

Lee Hee Seung - vortex

Lee Jae Wook - Pikachu 

Lee Min Ho (Lee Know) - BitchyMe

Lee Na Gyung - Resonance

Lee Taeyong - Blveberry

M — N— Ñ — O

Myoui Mina - sincerity.

Nicholas Wang - bones.

P — Q — R

Park Bo Gum - powerpuff girl

Park Jeong Seong (Jay) - VIVIAN

Park Sung Hoon - Oyuki

Park Seong Hwa - Alex99

Park Won Bin - Stormy

S — T — U

Sakura Miyawaki - aqua

Song Min Gi - zeroberries

Seol Yoon Ah (Sullyoon) - Strawberry Matcha

V— W — X — Y — Z

Watanabe Haruto - manzanita

Yang Jung Won - Tessellate

Yoo Ji Min (Karina) - bubblegum

[rdm-digital-image]

I'm currently a second year grad student (M.A. in Photography at CSU, Fresno). I work in both film (35mm, medium, and large formats) and digital. I work in alternate process (mostly, salt and gum bichromate printing), gelatin silver, and inkjet. I am currently working a lot in stereoscopic photography (film and digital) and have been photographing Monuments of Empire in the UK as well as Neolithic and Medieval sites in Scotland. This blog is driven by my enrollment in ART 133 - Alternative Digital Imagery. A current project is photographing origami tessellations. I want to do images of the tessellations in different lighting as well as macro shots of the patterns of folds.

[crater-lake]

149

8/26/24

I like that Piscataway bleeds into South Bound Brook partitioned by the Raritan River, which traces the Raritan Valley to Bridgewater, where Cris (with no H, which is evil) works at Abercrombie. I can see Cris stumbling through long nothing hours not caring that I love him and that I have made him feel like the opposite of retail by letting him sit on my face and be unfungible. I could taste who he was becoming from under there and he did not like that which is why he unadded me the morning after. That morning the light transfixed gray and odd, the wind stiffly blew and coughed humidity into my nothing neighborhood. Cris's body left a body sized void only I could see, that Abercrombie air was trying to destroy.

But I am someone perplexed and rattled by cartology. I like how a line makes a vein through the Earth and represents a real connection. I like grasping through the dark. I like my palm on the fresh pavement of Rose street imagining pushing my consciousness through the tar all the way to North Plainfield, where Cris resides. I can feel the black and white stars of that name: North, its sinking coldness, and Plainfield, like stars spangle long languid grasses and what shines down on them is us. As a child, I would draw train maps in notebooks and have a central station and make sure the whole paper was connected and made sure that line 23 and line 5 could get to work at line 9. I liked suffixes and express trains, the order of a thing, I liked all of the syllables next to each other. I liked that each Nj transit line hosts its own color. I could rub my face into that. The Northeast Corridor, for example, feels regally red. It's just correct.

But the black and white stars were escaping the Raritan Valley. Where the hills begin tells you you've made it. Unlike my stretch of suburbs, low and minimally hilly, branching northward into Somerset and Union counties brings higher elevations and rising hills. You can see you've crossed into that line by the raised trackage of the Raritan Valley line, track 5 at Newark Penn Station. Hills are not the architecture of my upbringing, except for the Roosevelt Park old people's home, or Beacon Hill where all of the popular kids grew up, or Cliffwood. But Cris came from beyond the trackage eventually bringing me to Route 22, the carotid artery of the Raritan Valley. But those chains were not my chains and those dusk laden trees shook with the wrong darkness. I had different lines, simply.

I like how Ananya once walked to the edge of South Bound Brook, I love Bound Brook, the alliteration and how it feels like suffocating: a creek bound, pinched by land, thirsty Americans stealing its rain water. I imagine the ache of my best friends knees and the imperceptible difference between Bound Brook and Piscataway soil. We gummed the distance of Bound Brook like old people on dentures. She got far, like a Kuiper Belt object. She saw the white and black stars clambering and tumbling and jamming and enjambing past the water. Drum sounds, cymbals falling, loud whoops, a shrill metallic jab- the black and white stars rattled the landscape up there. She knew to turn around.

Piscataway, which bleeds into Edison and Highland Park, is demarcated by garish yellow signs that feverishly display its towns name across it, delimiting the city boundaries. Ananya and I used to walk the self similar roads of her complex to the 4 lane highway, empty as Pluto in Winter in night, and traipse our wondrous way to the Piscataway sign, feeling like we traversed insurmountable distances. Our jackets felt like super suits and our breath spiraled into abyssal dark, jilted exhales, our dreams wet on our breath, a kiss's memory, in almost. In almost.

Ananya and I would follow the long curves over white concrete, the complex rising all around us like an infinitely tessellating plane of sheet rock, wide hungry windows, and pavement. Everything was car sized near Yosko Drive- distances swollen uncontrollably. How it took nearly 35 minutes to walk to the train station, and it was a barren walk. Wide open lots thronged by dingy buildings housing professionals and businesses that could only ever be relevant to a few people, and string together a few lives. Opposite her house, the vocational school baseball field loomed under those Raritan Valley hills. In summer, evening was fiery over the farness. Clouds looked almost like insurmountable peaks. Anything to house the destitution of our loneliness and untapped dreams and which could make the black and white stars lessen their strange parade violence. We could hear echos of their collusion in the Dismal Swamp, it carried on the screams of the Livingston Foxes and the Highland Park albino buck once was fleeing near the Raritan as a strange bright light rose over the wine water. It was an angel trapped inside an animal.

We know, for example, that the Deer Stratagem, the four chosen deer who sit in a square near Yosko are discussing methods for dealing with the carnage: it's getting harder to rest with the stars venturing increasingly further from the Raritan Valley, which came from Essex Country in the first place, Morris-Essex rumblings, big huge deliveries of sound from New York City: a dam of dreams aching the throat of night. Even vowels felt nervously. The deer knew the 24 hour restaurant that must never be entered would be a great waypoint for other deer. Ananya and I discovered where the deer would exchange information, where they would sell secrets and badges, and where the spying deer would log their info. Usually professional lots host fields of regular nothing grass which made for good secrets. Highland Deer kept the best ones: his wisdom was inimitable. Being albino endows you with a certain je ne sais quoi.

And foxes used to steal car tires and people's voices to seek to the Black and White Stars, and some people would wake breathless and afraid, not realizing that something awful had this transpired. Ananya and I got in good with the foxes because we knew to tell them good information, but not we were going. And we kept special lock boxes in our hearts for our real voices, which we mustn't use when the foxes ask us where to next. We say Blueberry Village and then collide with the surly geese of Strawberry Village. Those geese groups do not like reach other. The hissing is really laughter. The geese warn us at twilight about the stars and rumors of where they'd be tonight. They said to walk back over the creek to Blueberry Village since the foxes have left, trying to lure some unlucky novice deer towards Bound Brook, where the feasting is happening. The feasting, that's what is must be.

[dani-meme]

Recognising the Eucalypt

Written as part of an assignment on Australian Landscapes.

A photo of Eucalyptus camaldulensis, a common kind of gum tree known as the Red River Gum. Photo taken by Bindy Welsh, 2011.

Should you ever come to Australia, the most common kind of tree you will find will be the Eucalypt.

You might be able to recognise them by shape: They aren't very tall — most varieties average 10 to 20 metres — but that's primarily due to the poor soil quality in urban areas. They aren't very straight either; their trunks are crooked and will split off early. Neither do they have very full canopies; their crowns appear patchy, with gaps between clumps of leaves.

But there are other trees with crooked trunks, other trees that are short, and other trees with mottled canopies, so more likely than by any of these characteristics, you'll recognise a Eucalypt by its bark, leaves, or fruit — all of which appear rather distinct.

Start with the bark: A Eucalypt grows a new layer of bark every year. This layer grows under the surface, and ends up pushing off the old bark, which ends up scattered across the ground in pieces. However, different species of Eucalypt shed bark differently: Some have bark that peels down in long sections. Others have bark with tessellated patterns, which comes off in chunks. Some have long, string-like fibres, which crumble apart to the touch — these ones are known as stringybarks.

Certain varieties of Eucalypt, however, don't shed their old bark; layers instead pile up over the top of each other. The dryness of these dead layers causes them to crack, leaving large fissures down the tree which bleed kino, a kind of red sap. These trees end up resembling iron slag — which is what earns them the name of Ironbark.

SCAR TREES: Various groups of Aboriginal people would occasionally carve out pieces of bark from Eucalypts — for use in canoes, containers, or shields. As the trees regrew from these carvings, they ended up with round, bulging scars, which is why these trees get called scar trees. After colonisation, most scar trees got cut down, meaning that very few remain today.

Alternatively, you can look at a tree's leaves: Eucalypt leaves don't tend to be as green as those of other trees — often more mixed with shades of grey or faint blue — and they all have a waxy texture to them. The leaves themselves are long and pointed — like spear tips — but they often aren't straight; they bend to one side, and end up pointing downward like a willow's. This is one of the factors that contributes to the patchy appearance of Eucalypt canopies. Almost all varieties of Eucalypts are evergreen, so instead of shedding their leaves seasonally, they scatter about dry leaves all year.

EUCALYPTUS OIL: Like the leaves of all trees in the Myrtaceae family, Eucalypt leaves are covered in glands which secrete oil, which is what gives them their waxy texture. Eucalyptus oil has historically been used for its medicinal properties — both by Aboriginal peoples and European colonists. The oil also ends up making Eucalypt forests especially flammable.

But the most distinguishing feature of the Eucalypt is their flowers: they grow in bunches — like berries — and they barely look like flowers. The petals and leaves are fused together into a small cap known as an operculum. Out of that cap sticks the flower's stamens — long, straight, colourful hairs which are each tipped with pollen. The whole thing together ends up looking like a little broom. After the flower is pollinated, it begins to turn into a fruit — but like the flowers, Eucalypt fruit barely resemble fruit. The inside of the operculum falls out, and the rest hardens into a woody, bell-shaped container, which holds the Eucalypt's seeds inside. These fruit look a little bit like nuts — which is why they are often called gum nuts.

If you ever come to Australia, be on the lookout for Eucalypts — though as has been mentioned, they aren't hard to spot.

[mnemememory]

every mistake in the book

Sprinkle is probably biohazard at this point, and Yasha has taken more than a few bites to the hand.

(or; why is it that Beau can talk eye-to-eye with the Bright Queen of Xhorhas, but trying to comfort her friend is the hardest fucking thing in the world?)

“Hold still.”

The look that Yasha gives Beau could have broken glass. Beau ignores it with the long-ease of practice, spreading out each of Yasha’s fingers to thoroughly rub in the ointment Caduceus had given her.

“I…don’t know what Sprinkle has on his teeth,” Caduceus said, voice mild but eyes troubled as he imparted the jar. “We have gone quite a few places, and Sprinkle has eaten quite a few different…things.”

Yasha doesn’t look like she’s in pain, but she’s very good at pretending to be fine, so Beau just takes that as permission to keep being rough. She has a whole kit laid out next to her – bandages in neat rolls, Caduceus’ jar, what’s left of the antiseptic from her own personal kit and some numbing cream. Looking at Yasha’s stoic face, Beau wonders if she should have brought an ice bath as well.

“You did this to yourself, you know,” Beau says, unable to fully keep the amusement out of her voice.

Yasha scowls. “It was bothering me.”

“How feral Sprinkle looked?”

“A little,” Yasha says.

Beau narrows her eyes and gives a sharp tug to Yasha’s pinkie. She lets out an involuntary hiss.

“Fine, fine,” Yasha says. Beau doesn’t even bother not looking smug. “Jester looked so sad whenever she tried to hug him. I thought I would try something…different.”

“If you’re lucky, maybe you’ll get to keep your hands,” Beau says.

“I have survived worse,” Yasha says.

“Yeah, I don’t know about that,” Beau says. “I’ve seen what Jess feeds that little rat. ‘Toxic’ doesn’t even begin to cover whatever’s cooking in those gums.”

Yasha pulls back as Beau scrubs some more of the stinging ointment along the open wounds. Despite being made in the hot tub – or, maybe, because of that – they look remarkably dirty and ragged at the edges. Beau really has to put her elbow into it to get the cream into all the different bites and scratches.

“It is a weasel,” Yasha says. “It can’t be that bad.”

Beau purses her lips. “When I was a kid, there was a cat.”

“Like Frumpkin?”

“Not really,” Beau says. She’s lessened the tension in her muscles, letting the memory turn her gleeful rubbing into something a little more absent-minded. “It was pretty cute, though. Every day, I would walk along the road and see it just lying in the sun. Eventually, I got curious enough to pet it.”

“Where is this going?”

Beau switches to massaging the other hand. “Just wait. So it was cute as shit, and really fluffy and clean and stuff, so I thought it was okay. It got dark eventually, though, and I was kinda hungry, otherwise I would have just stayed and skipped out on whatever domestic horror-story had been cooked up for dinner. So I went to leave, and I must’ve jostled it or something, because it sunk its fangs into my hand and wouldn’t let go.”

“Beau,” Yasha sighs. “How old were you?”

“Not important,” Beau says. “So I was like, bleeding and shit. I walked all the way home with this fucking cat latched onto my hand. As soon as it saw dear old Dad it dropped to the ground and got the hell out of there, though, so maybe it wasn’t totally stupid. Anyway, I got it bandaged up and stuff, everything was fine.”

“Please don’t try to turn this into a life lesson,” Yasha says.

Beau continues to ignore her, grabbing a clean roll of bandages and starting on Yasha’s fingers.

“The next day, my hand was like, three times its normal size. Infection for days. We had to go to a healer for that shit. So much blood and weird-looking puss just everywhere. Smelled really funny. Awful experience. Traumatising.”

“Mhm,” Yasha says. She doesn’t sound very impressed.

“So what you should learn from this,” Beau says, ignoring Yasha’s muttered “I knew it”. “Is that you shouldn’t mess with crazy animals.”

“You mess with Caleb all the time,” Yasha says.

“He’s crazy in a different way to that cat,” Beau says. “If anything, Nott’s more likely to bite me than Caleb.”

“I don’t know, he keeps turning into a gorilla,” Yasha says.

“Fine, you can say ‘I told you so’ if he turns into a giant snapping turtle and bites me unconscious,” Beau says. She finishes up Yasha’s left hand and inspects it for any holes.

“But only in that very specific situation,” Yasha says. She almost sounds amused, which Beau is going to take for a win.

“Only then,” Beau says solemnly. “Alright, other hand.”

Yasha obediently gives Beau her right hand. Beau flatters herself by thinking that her story had scared Yasha into compliance.

“It’s nice of you to do that for Jess, though,” Beau says.

“I can be nice,” Yasha says. Something catches in her throat, and the way it twists out of her mouth makes Beau look up sharply.

She tries to smile. “That’s not what I meant,” she says, only stumbling a little over the words. This is brutally unfamiliar territory. She can’t quite get past the memory of Yasha’s bruised, bloody face smiling so peacefully in the dirt. “I mean – Jester appreciates it.”

“She told me,” Yasha says, almost patiently.

Beau clears her throat. “You don’t have to do nice things for us,” she says, and then immediately regrets it.

Yasha pulls her hands back closer to her stomach, shoulders going up to her ears.

“Wait, shit,” Beau says, reaching forward and grabbing onto Yasha’s palms. “No, that came out wrong.”

“Then what did you mean?” Yasha says.

“We haven’t had a chance to talk,” Beau says. She has to lay out each word in her mind before it comes out of her mouth, building a pavement of interlocking stone from the way her sentences tessellate. “About everything.”

“We’ve been busy,” Yasha says. Her guard is up, eyes shadowed. Beau kind of hates the way her new face-paint is so effective at obscuring her expressions.

“What I meant to say is – we know. We know you didn’t want to. This isn’t – I don’t want to – fuck,” Beau says. She shakes her head and tries again. She’s very good at being stubborn, if nothing else. “I know you’re trying. We know you’re trying. I promise, we don’t think any less of you because of – that.”

“That,” Yasha says, voice expressionless.

Beau makes an annoyed sound in the back of her throat. So much for being a diplomat. Why is it that she can talk eye-to-eye with the Bright Queen of Xhorhas, but trying to comfort her friend is the hardest fucking thing in the world?

Yasha’s jaw flexes as she clenches and unclenches her teeth. “His voice is still in my head.”

Beau almost drops the antiseptic cream. Her eyes snap up to meet Yasha’s.

Her smile is such a ghastly thing – bloodless, all bone. “He’s still in my head. He’s still talking, telling me when to sleep, when to eat.”

“Yasha, he’s dead,” Beau says, reaching out to take both her hands and clutch them tightly between her fingers. “He’s worse than dead.”

“I wish he was,” Yasha says. Her voice is flat and emotionless. “But I’m still alive, aren’t I? He won’t die until I do.”

Beau grabs the first thing she can get her hands on and throws it at Yasha’s head. It’s the jar of cream, and it shatters when Yasha dodges on instinct.

“You’re not allowed to say that,” Beau says, teeth bared. She’s so scared. “You can’t say that, especially not around Jester.”

“I know,” Yasha says, tentatively reaching up with her bandaged hand to touch her temple. A shard of glass has rebounded and slashed across the skin, and she’s started bleeding everywhere. “I’m not stupid.”

Beau jerks her hand away from her face and leans up to examine it closely. “You sure say a lot of stupid things, though.”

Yasha shrugs.

“Hey, look at me.” When Yasha doesn’t comply, Beau grabs onto her chin and forces their eyes to meet. “Look at me. We finally got you back. Don’t think we’re going to let anything take you away again – not even you. Got it?”

Yasha’s eyes are so blank. Beau reaches up to wipe away some of the blood. Their faces are close enough that Beau can feel Yasha’s near-invisible breath against her cheek.

“The next time you think like that, you come to me,” Beau says. “Or Caduceus. Or Fjord. Fuck, literally anyone. You come to us. We’re your fucking family, idiot.”

“I know,” Yasha says. Her voice is small.

“Do you?” Beau says. She wants to take Yasha by the shoulders and shake her, until she isn’t hurting anymore, until none of this has happened, until everything is right in the world. Beau wishes she could fix everything by punching things. She’s so good at punching things.

Yasha closes her eyes and breaks the contact first. “It won’t happen again, Beau. I promise.”

“Don’t promise stupid shit,” Beau says. “It’s going to happen again. We don’t care. Just come to us.”

Yasha nods. It’s small. It’s barely there.

It’s better than nothing.

[elderwisp]

◁ || ▷

?: Copperdale, are you FUCKING ready?!

Dan: [ grumbles ] You said that the last three songs.

Icarus: Dan? 

Dan: Hey red.

Icarus: [ chuckles ] Are you here alone?

Dan: Unfortunately.

Syx: Wanna join us? Ares said he was gonna meet us out here after the show. 

Dan: Yeah- Actually. I’ll be back actually, there’s someone I need to find first.

Icarus: You gonna make it back in time?

Dan: I will. Don’t think Ares would forgive me for ditching his set.

-

[ plastic crinkles ]

Atlas: [ internally ] I’ve been here before. No, we’re not talking about being locked in a stall taking a bump off my finger. What? Did you think I’d do it off the toilet? I’d like to think I respect myself. Sometimes. It’s the inevitable route to disappointment. So what did the first time teach me? I remembered running. 

[ footsteps echo in the distance ]

Atlas: It was the most important night of my life so why was I alone?

Rowan: Bunny.

Atlas: [ internally ] But you weren’t alone, were you? [ outloud ] What do I do?

Rowan: Nothin’. I’m gonna make it better.

Atlas: [ internally ] Is that what he said? Doesn't matter. Even if you tried to remember, the past’s no help to you now.

Gum: [ microphone feedback ] Hey, uh, we’re Valentina. [ clears throat ] Cool. Ares, would ya mind starting us out?

Ares: Sure thing.

[peterjudson]

Gum #pattern #graphic #80’s #euclid #axiom #grid #tesselation #design #repetition #abstract #art #artist #designer #postmodern #textile #fabric #illustration #peterjudson https://www.instagram.com/iampeterjudson/p/BvSKoyslbW3/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1a8wybg5jvemq

[longdirector]

Eating honeycomb

It’s a mix of the pollen and nectar they collect from flowers, honey, beeswax and saliva. Propolis is rich in polyphenol antioxidants that our bodies use for preventing cellular damage and disease.īee pollen is also a product of the work that bees do. Propolis is produced by bees as a result of mixing beeswax, their saliva and sap that they collect from evergreen trees. Honey bees use propolis to help seal up gaps in their hives and it’s perfect for the job since it’s so sticky and glue like. They don’t have the same effects on our mood and behaviour as regular alcohol, so don’t worry, eating honeycomb won’t make you drunk! Also known as esters, these alcohols are actually very healthy and help to protect the liver. These oils help to protect our hearts by raising levels of good cholesterol and lowering the bad.īeeswax also contains long chain alcohols. Honey bees secrete beeswax to build their honeycomb and it contains natural oils made up of long chain fatty acids. These are rich in nutrients too, adding to the nutritional content of honeycomb. These include beeswax, propolis, bee pollen and royal jelly. The heat processing and filtering used on other honeys without the comb removes some of these enzymes, giving honeycomb more antibacterial power.Įating honeycomb means that you’re also eating small amounts of other bee products. Because honeycomb such as our Australian Red Gum comb honey contains honey that hasn’t been processed in any way, it’s rich in the enzymes that give honey its antibacterial nature. Instead, honeycomb comes drenched in pure honey and together the taste experience is sweet, sticky and slightly waxy.Įating honeycomb has many of the same health benefits as eating hone y. It’s unlikely you’ll find honeycomb available to eat on its own. Since it’s an entirely natural product, you most certainly can eat honeycomb. They use it as a framework for the hive and need it to store honey and pollen as well as using it to home their larvae. And it’s made solely by female worker honey bees – nature truly is amazing.īees produce honeycomb using beeswax. It’s a fantastic repeating pattern of hexagons, that tesselate and fit together perfectly. If you’ve ever seen honeycomb up close, you’ll know that it’s a beautiful feat of natural engineering.

[architectnews]

Stealth House, Hunters Hill Sydney

Stealth House, Sydney Home, NSW Real Estate Building, Australian Architecture Development, Photos

Stealth House in Hunters Hill

5 Jul 2021

Architects: Bijl Architecture

Location: Hunters Hill, Sydney, New South Wales, Australia

Stealth House

The recently completed Stealth House is an alterations and additions to an interwar cottage located in Hunters Hill.

Together, architect and client collaborated to establish a site-based logic for the project – while effectively seeking to ‘fly under the (planning) radar’ with significant yet furtive side and rear additions to the dwelling.

The new two storey addition comprises a standing seam clad folded form that draws the dwelling and site together, with a new pool and cabana providing a terminating view to the ground floor level. The additions augment the dwelling’s accommodation and provide contemporary living spaces with compelling connections to the external landscaped spaces.

Key to the project is its material expression with steel, concrete and timber presenting and developing the folded language of the design and providing warmth, strength and stealth.

What was the brief? Our clients and their children saw the untapped potential in this modest interwar home in Hunters Hill. Working from home had increased in frequency, with the usual tensions of accommodating a growing family becoming more apparent. The typical residential brief they provided – one of more privacy and amenity – embraced a whole-site approach. For our landscape designer client, the beloved garden was to be retained in its entirety. The site’s natural focal point, a significant existing tree, steered both built form and landscape response.

What were the key challenges? To achieve the brief of significant yet furtive side and rear first floor additions to the existing house, we as architects collaborated with our client to establish a site-based logic for the project – while effectively seeking to ‘fly under the (planning) radar’. This approach was necessary particular as the design footprint for the dwelling was limited to the existing rear setback line. By leveraging the topographic levels and landscaping to amplify the experiential and spatial qualities of the home, we were able to minimise any streetscape interventions and maintain privacy for our clients and their neighbours.

What were the solutions? The roof became a natural opportunity to express architectural value and manage physical constraints. Within a site-responsive roof, occupants gain a sense of the sheltering form, how spaces feel, and why. It encourages active habitation, key to the client brief for the project.

Co-designed and crafted by our landscape designer client, the garden anchors the home. Within the semi-undercover outdoor area concrete is both connector and extension of ground plane. Concrete blade walls fold up to seize the balcony. Viewed from the kitchen and living areas, a broad concrete section outlines sharpened pool edge. Enclosed formed seating holds in place with blade steps inviting to the pool. The self-contained cabana is a focal point and expressive fragment of house shielding overlooking from neighbouring properties. The canopy of a retained Willow Myrtle shades expansive grassy terraces.

How is the project unique? The project’s namesake; the roof form carving out dynamic new internal spaces with only a shard visible from the street – stealthy indeed.

Through iterative detailing and site testing, Stealth House’s standing seam-clad folded roof envelops the spectator, dipping and folding to reveal all planes of site – sky, canopy, interior, shadow, landscape, neighbour, foundation. Micro views puncture the building. The specificity of each fold enlivens the design through the tessellated ensuite; the spotted gum lining boards in the bedroom; the six-metre void over the staircase; and the directive nature of the roof pulling building to ground. Through exploiting qualities of form the roof sculpts dynamic, yet porous and humble spaces.

Stealth House in Sydney, NSW – Building Information

Architects: Bijl Architecture

Builders: Driftwood Joinery

Photography © Tom Ferguson

Stealth House, Hunters Hill, NSW images / information received 050721

Location: Hunters Hill, Sydney, New South Wales, Australia

Architecture in Sydney

Sydney Architecture Designs – architectural selection below:

Sydney Houses – a selection of the best contemporary properties in this New South Wales city.

Sydney Architecture

Sydney Central Station Development, Henry Deane Plaza, Central Business District Design: SOM and Fender Katsalidis image © SOM | Fender Katsalidis Sydney Central Station Development The design by SOM and Fender Katsalidis is set to transform the western edge of Central Station. New commercial buildings and public realm improvements will enhance this southern gateway to the CBD, revitalizing and reconnecting the precinct to the city.

Pitt Street OSD and metro station, corner of Park & Pitt streets Design: Foster + Partners image © Foster + Partners Pitt Street Over Station Development The building is located immediately above the northern entrance to Pitt Street Station, a crucial hub for the new Sydney Metro. The north station entrance plaza naturally fronts onto the tree lined Park Street which is one of the most prominent east-west cross-streets in Sydney.

NSW Properties

Twin Houses Architects: Architecture Saville Isaacs photo : Kata Bayer Twin Houses in Sydney Responding to the irregular site boundary and contextual differences, the houses take on different yet complementary forms. No.2 presents a street façade of sensually curved brick mass with window penetrations.

Garden House Architects: James Design Studio photograph : Simon Whitbread Garden House in New South Wales Garden House is a new house in the upper north shore using vernacular forms and gables defined by differing materials with a link in the middle giving a glimpse of what lies beyond while providing a framework for privacy.

Tennyson Point House Architects: CplusC Architectural Workshop photograph : Murray Fredericks Tennyson Point House

YrdPods Architects: Kreis Grennan Architecture photo : Douglas Frost YrdPod Garden House

Sydney Architect Studios

Australian Architecture

Australian Houses

Comments / photos for the Stealth House, Hunters Hill page welcome

Sydney, NSW

The post Stealth House, Hunters Hill Sydney appeared first on e-architect.

[rainwarmclearcold]

Illegible and skewed upward by A shooting star in broad daylight,

Hail Mary, devour me in bites then Grind me into your gums while you sleep.

If the sky turns jade as far south As Illinois, sweat-smudged and snowblind

We will tessellate our scars until Their shimmer outshines the glow

Of those million billion aubades, Dancing dawn onto their wistful lover’s face.

[kidslovetoys]

Easy Christmas Crafts

“Every child is an artist. The problem is to remain one when we grow up.”

Pablo Picasso

Do you cheat when you do craft activities with your child?

Do you 'fix' mistakes and tidy up the messy bits?

How does your child feel about that?

When we embark on a festive, creative activity with our children, we are often consumed with producing something that is universally recognisable, accurate, aesthetically pleasing or that mirrors an example made by us. We set up the activities with carefully selected resources and we hold those little hands to ensure the prints and marks go in just the right places. We adorn their marks with our own, to really make sure the end product looks as it was intended to. Then, perhaps, we photograph and display the work on our social media platforms and in our homes, to show the world what those little hands can do. But was it truly those little hands? Or was it really our grown-up hands, that have lost the art of, well, art?

What about the children? Where do their own thoughts, skills, ideas and wonderings come into the process? At what point during the carefully planned and prepped activity, does the child become passive and disinterested? When they are visiting home in 30 years and they see the immaculate handprint Christmas wreath displayed proudly on the mantlepiece of their family home, are they looking at anything more than a physical indicator of how small their hands were when they were 4? Whilst there is a place for the odd hand or foot print picture, there are so many other wonderful crafts and activities that we can arrange for our children during the festive period, that allow them to play more freely, create more honestly and produce things that they are truly proud of.

The post ‘Down with Pinterest-friendly craft ideas!’ reminds us of the importance of open-ended resources and how this freedom to explore and create can really support children’s development in ways that recreating Pinterest products simply cannot. Activities that value the process over the end product, ensure that children are engaged, enthralled, immersed and excited throughout the task. By celebrating these creations, we are actively showing our children how much we love and are proud of their ideas and abilities, by investing in their unedited, honest art and sharing this openly with the most special people in their lives. After all, ‘Art has the role of helping children become like themselves instead of more like everyone else’ (Sydney Gurewitz Clemens).

Here are some simple, cost-effective and easy Christmas craft activities that you could carry out with your children:

Making Paper chains

You can buy pre-cut paper-chain strips - and for the youngest children this might be OK - but best of all is to make them from scratch. It's hard to overstate how important cutting, sticking and glueing are for your child's development. Using both hands together, or bilateral co-ordination, is an essential skill. One hand to hold the paper steady while the other uses the scissors or glue. There are other learning opportunities, too. You could count the chains as you go, measure the length needed or length achieved, therefore developing skills in maths and problem solving. And, best of all, have lots of fun.

Tip: Using those squares of shiny, gummed paper that we are all familiar with from school is an easy way to make paper chains, but you can get by equally well with plain white paper. Just rub the side of a crayon across the entire sheet on both sides and you have a unique material packed with home-made charm.

Paper snowflakes

I think we all remember making these at some point or another! Folding a paper circle into eighths (maths) and cutting small shapes into the sides (cutting, fine motor skills and hand/eye coordination) before opening it up to discover what pattern we have made. Children love the anticipation of finding out how their snowflake will look and will likely make adaptations to their cuts and snips each time they produce another one, therefore applying new knowledge to existing ideas and stretching them beyond their capabilities.

Tree decorations

Children can draw and design their decorations on card before cutting them out and decorating them with paints, environmentally friendly glitter, stickers, buttons or any other decorative items you may have to hand. Then, using PVA glue to stick them together, punch a hole and use a ribbon to hang them on the tree. There are so many skills involved with such a simple and easy activity such as applying the right amount of glue, positioning a hole in the right place, threading the ribbon through, selecting and using different decorations. Children love to let their creativity run wild with their choices in shape, design and decoration, and then they get to see their beautiful decoration on the family Christmas tree, which is a huge confidence booster because it is 100% their creation.

Salt dough decorations

Salt dough is a cheap and more readily available option than clay. It is easy to make, dries hard enough to paint/decorate and will last many years in the Christmas decorations storage box in the loft!

Using the salt dough recipe here, you can allow children to create their decoration shape, or use cutters and objects to make prints and patterns in circles or balls. Children can create the shape and then after baking the items with help from their adults, they can be painted and adorned with all manner of festive decorations. Conversations during modelling with dough or clay are wonderful! Lots of talk around texture and shape, ideas and stories. Children often change their ideas as they progress and talk you through what they are thinking.

Potato print wrapping paper

Buy a roll of drawing paper if possible as this works well with wrapping gifts as opposed to A4 (although that will work just as well for smaller gifts). Cut a potato in half and carve some shapes into the ends. The children can use these potato stampers to create patterns. They will naturally explore tessellation, pattern, grouping shapes, counting and concepts of space and measurement.

Pine cone decorating

There have been a lot of opportunities for being outdoors lately during walks and you may have stumbled upon some pine cones. Collect some pine cones and, using PVA glue, adorn these with splendid Christmassy things like environmentally friendly glitter, any craft items you may have in the home such as pom poms or stickers. Tie a ribbon or string to the top and make decorations to hang on the tree, or just for placing around the home.

Christmas card collage

Using old or unused cards and wrapping, alongside some safety scissors and glue, allow children to cut out shapes and pictures and create their own Christmas collage! They may wish to tell a story, catalogue things they like or simply create something decorative. This offers children the chance to cut around shapes and pictures, developing cutting skills.

Snowglobes

Using old jars, biodegradable glitter, glycerin and water (or baby oil if you do not have this) and some objects to stick inside the lid of the jar, children can make an effective snowglobe. This activity is very scientific in nature and there are opportunities for conversations about how and why things work the way they do such as how the water/oil stays in the jar, why the glitter moves more slowly or how the light reflects. Then, at the end, watch their eyes as the glittery snow falls down through the liquid.

Making Christmas stockings/sacks

Using an old bag for life, old clothing or fabric, socks, or some cardboard cut into the shape of a stocking, children can decorate with anything to hand (buttons, stickers, shapes, pom poms, photos). You could introduce sewing or fabric glue with older children and allow them to really let their hands get busy with new skills and thought processes. 

Wrapping presents

At this time of year, we tend to have a lot of excess boxes from online deliveries and purchases. Children always seem to gravitate towards the good old fashioned cardboard box as it represents freedom to be anything they wish! They could wrap them, tie bows on them, make up presents for others, or just decorate them as Christmas props. Perhaps they want to turn one into a present costume or hat. The options are endless, but the process of creating the end result is going to involve a lot of different skills and ideas along the way.

Icing Christmas biscuits

This could can be as basic as taking an existing cookie or biscuit and simply icing it with a variety of sprinkles, or baking them together and then decorating in any way they choose. Mixing icing to the desired consistency, using it with different utensils (piping bag, spatula, spoon etc) and then waiting for it to set and be ready for eating, will support development in science, understanding of the world and the properties of various liquids and mixtures, patience, resourcefulness and consequence.

Christmas cards

Folding (maths, fine motor skills, hand/eye coordination), decorating (creativity, colours, confidence, expression), writing, sealing, sending. An oldie but a goodie! Children enjoy all of the stages of making cards and they can really feel a sense of pride when the card they took so much care in making, is sent to someone they love and care for.

Stained glass windows

These are fabulous! Using tissue paper and sugar paper or card, cut the frames out by folding and cutting shapes into whatever patterns the children choose. Stick the tissue paper over the spaces created and then stick to the window. Children can really play with colours, shapes and experience the illusions shadows and silhouettes can make. Children may need a sample to help them with the initial concept, however this shouldn’t be something they are expected to copy, but rather an example to inspire and guide them. Christmas is a great time to do these activities because shapes such as stars, Christmas trees and snowflakes are familiar, recognisable and easy for children to cut out, if they choose to. 

Junk modelling

Christmas often accumulates a lot of waste packaging. You could provide your children with a crate or bag of boxes, wrapping paper, cardboard inserts, plastic pots/bottles, tags, sweet wrappers, packaging fillers such as shredded cardboard or polystyrene. Along with some glue, scissors, decorative papers, pens/crayons to construct and decorate, let the children model something. Junk modelling is a wonderful way of supporting children’s problem solving skills by posing different opportunities to solve problems (why wont the cylindrical tub stick to the cardboard box? Could I do anything differently to make that work?). It also supports their gross motor skills such as lifting, reaching and stretching, as the objects are bigger and more difficult to manoeuvre than small, tabletop items. 

In all of these suggested activities you will find opportunity to explore every area of development. There are chances to introduce new vocabulary, extend existing ideas by asking questions, model your own thinking by talking out loud about what you are doing or how you could approach something differently. There are opportunities to develop maths by using mathematical language (is this big enough? How many will we need? Are there more or less here?), counting, measuring and estimating. Science is introduced with mixing, experimenting, hypothesising (I think I will be able to do this because…). You can encourage children to express how they feel, articulate their thoughts and ideas. You can help them to develop physical skills from both large scale movements to small fingertip work. Children will engage in highly focused, deep play, that is powered by their own ideas and motivation, thus empowering them and their ideas. The end product may not be a perfectly replicated Pinterest reindeer, but it will be something your child has enjoyed making and is pleased as punch with in the end.

from One Hundred Toys - The Blog https://ift.tt/2JLhWiu