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#logo designing skills
fishyartist · 6 months
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Ghost hunting/patrol outfits, early vs late/post series
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unexpectedbrickattack · 8 months
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Does Peppino actively enjoy using himself as a subject or does he just use it for marketing? What other things does he usually like to draw or make? Is he a wood carver? I can see him as a wood carver
Oh this is interesting; ive been stuck on this for a little bit. The needle swings between yes and no mid response lol. I think he enjoys being able to use his likeness for marketing, but less so for personal, artistic use. It feels obvious to use ur own face and/or name for ur business (one that u put so much blood sweat n tears in) but he doesnt feel compelled to draw himself. There is a level of self awareness(?) i think u have to have to even desire depicting oneself in art and i think he would be too focused on his failing business to start that process. He has more important things to do. But on the flipside; i think he would look at his own creations (for his business) and regard them as reminders of his failures. So he wouldnt have the best opinion of himself.
But! i think he would enjoy others depictions of his likeness. Despite his awkwardness, he enjoys putting on a show, he enjoys performing to some degree, he likes entertaining a crowd. He feeds off of positive attention (like most people do) even if it leaves him a little flustered. People take pictures of him and he smiles earnestly. He doesnt have the words for it, but it is grounding to see himself outside of his business and existing outside of his failures.
This obv gets better postgame as he gets more support for his business. But also, as Pepperman starts to take genuine interest in his form to use as a muse. It is the perfect balance of him enjoying being an art subject, without him having to Make the art. And tying his visage to a now profitable, successful shop, makes him feel a bit better about seeing his own caricature on the storefront. I can see him in Peppermans studio being convinced to draw himself on canvas, and instead of his usual caricature style, it is an attempt at realism with him waving hi towards the ‘camera’, which is a nice contrast to Peppermans first picture of Peppino looking very blue and very sad. Pepperman is delighted lol look at his muse branching out !!!! Pepperman does not do this for anyone but he lets Peppino take the picture home with him (‘But you must promise to give me a copy of this to hang in my studio 😊 PROMISE ME-‘)
And yes, Peppino wood carves bc Peshino is a wood carved toy!! Hes got some bits in him to let him move around w a simple wind up mechanism. I dont think Peppino would do this in his free time prior to postgame, but as he gets more (positive) time to himself, he starts to take up some easy crafts. Wood carving when hes home and watching tv, and sculpting/painting when hes at Peppermans studio.
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theheadlessgroom · 11 months
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https://www.tumblr.com/beatingheart-bride/716259973868486656/theheadlessgroom-beatingheart-bride
@beatingheart-bride
“It’s okay,” Randall assured her gently, seeing how unsettled she was by all the attention being on her all the sudden, while Wilhelm found himself smiling as he looked between his wife and son, saying, “That’s...that’s incredible! She must have the memory of an elephant-better than an elephant, even! A-And that sound, it’s...it’s...!”
“Beautiful,” June finished, trying to settle down her excitable husband so as not to ruffle their guest’s feathers (or scales, perhaps, would be the better comparison) too much, her too noticing how nervous she was at having an audience-to try and calm her, she gave her an honest applause, saying, “You have a very lovely voice, Emily.”
“Y-Yes, you-you do!” Wilhelm stuttered out, smiling to her as he paid her this compliment, saying, “I, uh, I’m not much of a singer myself, I just play this...”
“Oh, Wil, you’re a lovely singer!” June replied, kissing his cheek as Randall, smiling as well, encouraged, “Why don’t you show her your voice, Pa, I’m sure she’d like to hear it!”
Although Wilhelm good-naturedly protested, he just couldn’t say no to his family, and so, he smiled lightly to Emily as he once again began to play, his low, warm voice filling the room as his fingers ran along the strings:
“…Well, I'm sorry for the things that I told you, but words only go so far, and if I had my way, I would reach into Heaven and I'd pull you down a star  For a present, and I'd make you a chain out of diamonds, and pearls from a summer sea, But all I can give you is a kiss in the morning and a sweet apology...”
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confirmed-for-trash · 8 months
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is there anything better than remembering you have fruit in the fridge BEFORE it goes bad? sometimes life really is a bowl of cherries I guess
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Video
Level up your skills 🤙
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made-nondescript · 2 years
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normally I'm very patient about mega base progress but I am like a lion stalking around my cage waiting for scar progress I have so many ideas for fake jellieland merch (should that be the name) you have no idea
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monstertsunami · 1 year
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word gets out that local amateur graphic designer did a job for free incident, 7 dead 304 injured
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marywoodartdept · 10 months
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Brand Guide
For her final post before passing the baton to the next Illustration blogger, Vanessa shares about a creative brief and brand guide she created for The ALS Foundation as a project in her Intro to Graphic Design course. #MarywoodArt #Illustration #Design
As my last post for this blog, I wanted to switch things up a bit and talk about my final Graphic Design assignment. I am really proud of the progress I’ve made in Graphic Design (and with Photoshop and Illustrator in general), and so I think this will be a nice way to conclude my time here on the blog.  For the first half of this project, we were given a creative brief written by a classmate of…
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topandbest · 1 year
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The #1 Design Software Of All Time For EVERYONE. Try it here
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pictopye · 1 year
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The Green Devil
Fictitious Logo Design: “The Green Devil Absinthe Bar & Hooka Lounge” Designed: 2009 This is one of many fictitious Logo & Branding designs I’ve created to keep building my skills.
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goldenlikedayl1ght · 5 months
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lover, you should've come over - m. schmidt
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a/n: you guys should have seen this one coming! as always i appreciate any likes and reblogs and hope you enjoy :) warnings: suggestive themes, big angst, lots of talk about tattoos and pain and needles, mike having horrible anxiety and commitment issues, reader is mostly gender neutral except for one thing ! tattoo aftercare, hurt/comfort, kissing word count: 3.6k summary: you get a tattoo, and it terrifies mike. mostly because he realizes how much you love him. pairing: mike schmidt x gn!reader now playing: lover, you should've come over - jeff buckley "my body turns and yearns/for a sleep that won't ever come/it's never over/my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder."
Penny has done almost all of your tattoos, save for the stick and poke star you gave yourself while you were way too high to be handling that sort of equipment, and a few flash designs you’ve gotten for holidays. And usually, you keep it simple and easy, pitching a design idea and getting a finished stencil a few hours later.
But this time, you go into the shop a few months before you plan to get the tattoo and describe to her what you want. She’s shocked that you want a half sleeve—It’s a big step, she tells you, and it’ll mean sitting for a few hours while she does her work. It’ll be painful, and the design will take a few weeks to get made, because she wants to give you the best possible design.
She does good work. When you visit again in about three weeks, you put down a deposit and make an official date to get it done. October 9th.
You go home that night to your small, but warm home to find your boyfriend trying to make chicken parm. His goal all year has been to learn how to cook, not just to make things out of a box. You know a bit better how to cook, but you let him improve his skills, always providing helpful, gentle critiques.
Abby is worse at being gentle.
She’s brutal with her brother’s cooking, and even though Mike loves your gentle words, he appreciates Abby’s feedback, and just wants her to eat a full plate of food before bed each night.
Tonight, his food smells good. You mentioned about a month ago how you missed your mom’s chicken parm, and since then, he’s been reading and researching different recipes at work. Ever since he quit working at Freddy’s, he’s put down the book of dreams and has picked up cookbooks, working his way up slowly.
You tell him he’ll be making Thanksgiving Dinner in no time. You kiss his jaw when you say that, and later, he returns the favor by placing a kiss to your shoulder.
You go to him, standing in the kitchen, as he squints at the recipe book in front of him. He wears washed blue jeans, an old Foo Fighters tee shirt and a pair of blue fuzzy socks. A towel hangs over his shoulder as he mutters to himself, as he gets ready to put some garlic bread in the oven.
You’re still in your work clothes, though, it’s not as if you’re wearing anything fancy. Just a different pair of jeans, and a tee shirt with your shop’s logo on it. Your hair is messy, and you smell vaguely of dirt. The smell has become comforting to him in his time knowing you.
You step closer to him, a hand resting gently on his shoulder. He relaxes at your touch.
“Hey, Mike.” You say softly, leaning your head on his shoulder.
“Hey, how was your day?”
“Not too bad. The food smells pretty good.”
“You think so?” His voice is hopeful, especially since he’s trying to live up to your memories of the dish as a kid. It’s his way of thanking you for being so good to him while he’s gotten his shit together.
“Mhm. I’m gonna go wash up and have Abby help me set the table.” You tell him. You kiss his jaw quickly before heading off to the bathroom to scrub the dirt from beneath your fingernails. You wash your face and arms too and begin to realize how domestic this all is.
You never saw yourself having kids, and never thought of yourself dating someone who did.
And you still never think about having kids, but you did find yourself treating Abby as if she is your own. This has nothing to do with how much you adore her brother. Abby is just easy to love. You wonder if anyone’s ever told her that.
When your work boots find themselves at the end of your bed, you change into a muscle tee. You’re awfully fond of them. You find a pair of Mike’s fuzzy socks and slip them on too. You take a moment to stare at your shoulder in the mirror, imagining how it’ll look when ink covers it. Most of your tattoos are on your legs, and for a long time, this arm has been bare of any ink. You’ve been saving it for this project for years.
You go to Abby’s room and knock gently before entering. You find her painting at this aisle you got for her birthday. She’s been working on this painting for a few days now, and it’s turning out quite nice.
“Hey, Abs.” You say softly, and she puts her paintbrush down to give you this big, toothy grin. “Go wash up and help me set the table?” You ask.
“Sure.” She hums and starts to skip along to the bathroom, but you stop her at the door.
“And remember, even if Mike’s food is bad, what do we say?”
“Mm, this food is so good and not horrible at all!”
“Abby.”
She sighs.
“This is unlike anything you’ve made before, and I appreciate the effort?”
“That’s it.” You let her go wash up, and then go to set the table.
When Mike eventually serves dinner, you’re starved. You don’t care if it’s bad, or if it’s burnt, you know you’ll like it because you weren’t able to take a lunch break that day. But it genuinely looks good.
He cuts up Abby’s food and puts the plate in front of her before sitting down and looking to you two for a reaction. You take a bite, and you have to pause.
Did Mike really cook something not just edible, but… good?
Not fine, not decent, really good.
“Mike, this is—”
“Amazing!” Abby gasps, going in for another bite. His cheeks flush.
“You guys don’t have to pretend, it’s alright—”
“No, Mike, we’re not pretending, it’s really good!” You defend, going in for a second bite yourself. “Try it!”
He does, and he even looks shocked at the quality of the food he’s produced. And it sets the mood for the whole dinner, until you eventually blurt out,
“I booked a tattoo appointment for next week.���
“What are you getting?” Mike can’t ever admit this to you, but he adores your tattoos. He thinks the placement of them are all wonderful, even if they’re smaller. He likes to kiss them, to trace his fingers over them, to just admire them in the summer.
“It’s a surprise.” You tell him. Owning your own shop and being your own boss has its perks. You have no worries about people judging you for your half sleeve, deciding that you can just ban them from your shop.
Your conversation drifts off and you focus on other things. When you’re done, you and Mike begin to clean up with him, letting some of the pan soak in the sink. You sit on the counter, drying some of the plates as Mike rinses.
“Thank you for dinner.” You tell him.
“I’m glad you liked it.” Comfortable silence fills the room. “You’re really not gonna tell me what you’re getting?”
“I told you, it’s a surprise.” You smile softly. He dries his hand and steps between your legs. His hands land on either side of you, caging you in.
“Tease.” He mumbled, leaning forward, and kissing your shoulder. A hand goes to his hair, your fingers tangling in his locks.
“I’m not teasing, I’m just being a little secretive.” You tell him, playing with his hair. You’re a fan of the scruff he’s been growing out lately.
“Isn’t it gonna hurt?”
“Yeah, but I’ll take breaks and remember to eat.” You tell him. “This isn’t my first tattoo, Mike.”
“I know, baby.” He says softly, “I just get worried—”
“You get worried about me? And yet, when I’m worried about you, you ignore me but—” He cuts you off with a kiss, and your hands land on his jaw, the scruff tickling your face.
• • •
The ink swirls around your shoulder, a moth wrapping around your shoulder and reaching to the top of your arm. Vines wrap around the moth, as flowers bloom in different places. Your birth flower is one of them, as well as your mother’s. You also place Abby and Mike’s around the moth, maybe protecting it. Thorns poke out of some of the vines, and the ink covers your shoulder, and down to just above your elbow.
You got it done on a Saturday afternoon, leaving late enough so Mike could sleep in without having to deal with Abby, but being able to give them some time to relax together.
It takes a few hours, and by the end of it, you’re exhausted. As with all your other tattoos, you’re sore, but this is a new type of sore. You ache for Mike’s hands on you, to hold you and kiss your shoulders, even though he can’t kiss your left shoulder for a few days.
The second skin will remain on your arm for a day or two, and then you’ll have to go through the process of moisturizing your tattoo.
You have Penny take lots of photos of it before you head home, Mike and Abby both waiting in anticipation for you to come home and show them your new ink. You’re excited to show them, since there’s a connection to them in the art. 
When you open the door, Abby runs to you and immediately starts to look for the ink in question. She gasps when she sees it, all wrapped up on your arm.
“It’s a moth,” You tell her, “With my favorite plants.” You crouch down to point out different plans in the works. “These are my mom’s birth flowers, they’re carnations.” You tell her, “Do you know what these are?” You point to another flower.
Abby shakes her head, resisting the urge to reach out and touch the fresh, raw flesh of the person she considers to be her caregiver.
“They’re lily of the valley flowers. They’re your birth flower.” You reach out and tuck hair behind her ear. Then, you point to the third flower. “And these? They’re honey suckles. They’re Mike’s birth flower.”
Mike watches your interaction, listening to your explanation of the tattoo. Suddenly, this anxiety pools in his chest. You’ve been living together for a few months, but somehow a symbol of him and Abby being engraved on your skin makes things all too real.
He could cry.
“Did you get the flowers because you’re a flower person?” You grin, knowing she doesn’t remember the title of your job.
“Botanist, you mean? Sort of, but you two mean a lot to me, and I wanted to tribute something to you guys.” You confess.
She grins and turns to look at Mike.
“I wanna be a tattoo artist when I’m older.” Mike is pale with anxiety.
He wants to tell you it looks good, that it’s brilliantly done, but he doesn’t find it in himself. He wants to run, to abandon this relationship at the door, to never speak to you again to avoid the fact that he wants you desperately and thinks he might marry you one day.
He walks off to the bathroom, and he’s unsure if it’s to throw up or to cry.
You’re disappointed, because you wanted him to like it desperately, since this tattoo is now on you forever, and you wanted it to be a tribute to him. It almost hurts you that he doesn’t love it. Or at least pretend to. Instead, his disdain is visible on his face, and you do your best to turn your attention back to Abby.
“Wanna help me make dinner?” You smile softly, and she nods.
“Did your tattoo hurt?” She acts gently.
“Yeah, but with a good artist it goes quickly, and they don’t aim to torture you.” You explain, as you begin to make mac and cheese.
As she sets the table, you turn back to her and ask, “Can you go get Mike for dinner?” She nods and skips along to your bedroom, where Mike sits on the bed, frustrated with himself.
“Mike?” She asks gently. “We’re making mac and cheese.”
“I’m not hungry.” He says softly, and Abby can just tell something isn’t right.
“Are you okay?”
“I don’t feel well..”
“Oh…” she suspects this is a lie.
“I’m sorry. Tell them I said sorry.” Tears prick Mike’s eyes. He’s unsure why he’s like this, and why he can’t just admire your tattoo and love you and tell you how much you mean to him. But he can’t. He gets the words out. He wants to love you so badly but something in him demands to not let him be happy.
He lays on the bed and tries to stay quiet as he cries.
• • •
Hours later, you sit at the table anxiously, your hands tapping on the wood, a cold bowl of Mac and Cheese on the table. You decide to get up to clean up dinner, and just as you do, soft steps creep out of the bedroom and into the kitchen area.
Mike stands and stares at the cold dinner that he feels bad for rejecting. He should just tell you what’s bothering him. Instead, his gaze turns and looks at you, doing the dishes.
“You didn’t have to make dinner.”
“You didn’t seem well, and Abby needed to eat.”
This comment sparks a much larger fire in Mike, and he isn’t sure why he’s angered by how much you care about his sister, his world.
“You aren’t her mom, you don’t have any reason to make her dinner or put her to bed—”
“Yeah, Mike, well, You’re not really her dad.” You glare. “I’ve taken care of her for months, fed her, made sure she’s taken care of, I’ve picked her up from school, and now suddenly, you’ve decided I have no right to just care about her? Fuck you, if you don’t love me anymore, then don’t take it out on your sister, talk to me like a god damn grown up and stop acting like a child.” You spit, angrily turning back around to keep doing your dishes so that Mike doesn’t see your red face or your tears.
With your back turned, he can see the moth on your shoulder blade, and he aches to trace the lines of your tattoos, kissing the skin around it. But cotton fills his mouth every time he tries to sew the gap between you two.
And your words strike him. He knows why you might think he doesn’t love you anymore, but he does. He loves you deeply and finds himself enamored with you, and yet he can’t even compliment this tattoo that you have obviously put a ton of time, effort and money into.
“I’m sorry—” You start, but he cuts you off.
“I think we should give each other some space.” The words hit you like a ton of brick, and you’re ready to get on your hands and knees and beg him, beg him to not leave, beg him to forgive you (for what, you don’t know), beg him to touch you, beg him to want you.
“What..?”
“I just think I need some space.” He said softly, leaning against the kitchen doorway. You want to ask if he’s hungry, to kiss away all the sadness in the worry lines of his face.
You nod, bite your tongue. He wants to hold you and tell you he doesn’t mean it.
“I’ll sleep on the couch.” You mumble, sighing softly. You also plan to leave early before Mike gets up.
Mike steps towards you, maybe to apologize. You step past him to go get pajamas from your dresser, not letting him grasp onto you. You don’t want him to apologize now. You want him to sit in his regret and you want to sit in your anger.
As you attempt to fall asleep that night, you pray Abby didn’t hear your conversation with him.
Both of you try to drift to sleep and salt streams from your eyes and into your ears.
• • •
A few days pass. Your tattoo starts to heal, and you take the second skin off your shoulder and arm and begin the process of aftercare.
You and Mike exchanged a total of about thirty words over the next few days. Abby noticed your angst towards each other and tried to get the two of you to make up. She figured that Mike was being an idiot, and just needed to apologize.
She was right, but he didn’t want to admit that to his kid sister.
It’s hell. You have to pretend that you don’t want to beg for his forgiveness, but you know that neither of you are blameless. Your pride tells you not to be the first one to cave. His anxiety tells him that you hate him.
When he gets home one afternoon from work, you’re napping in bed. He knows the couch isn’t that comfortable and he’s sure you’re home because you’d mentioned to Abby that you weren’t feeling well. You probably didn’t expect to still be asleep when he got home.
But you’re wearing one of his shirts. He kisses your head and leaves a glass of water and cold medicine on the nightstand, before going to make himself busy somewhere else, as if not to disrupt your rest.
He takes one last glance at you before he leaves.
One night, he comes home from work late. You take it as an opportunity to take a hot shower after putting Abby to bed and taking a few minutes to sit in the bedroom that you missed while sleeping on the couch.
Besides, your bones ached from that uncomfortable couch while you were spoiled, used to Mike’s warm bed.
You barely hear the front door open as you continue your nightly routine. You need to apply lotion to your tattoo, to keep it moisturized as it heals. But you find yourself struggling to reach your shoulder.
Mike watches you from the doorway of the bedroom, biting his lip. The bags around his eyes have grown darker since your fight.
He takes off his boots first, and then strips his top down to an undershirt, then takes off his jeans. If you weren’t so busy, you’d acknowledge how handsome he looked in just his boxers and a gray tee shirt.
The bed dips behind you, as he sits behind you. You stop what you’re doing.
“Give me the lotion.” He says softly, and with a sigh of defeat, maybe even a bit of relief, you hand him the lotion. He squirts some lotion on his hands, then begins to rub it into your skin. You shudder at the contact, and he feels tears in his eyes again. He missed you. “I’m sorry I didn’t say I liked your tattoo. I love it.”
“I’m sorry I said you didn’t love me, and I’m sorry I said you weren’t Abby’s dad.”
“But I’m not—”
“But you are her parent.”
“So are you.”
A silence fills the room.
“What happened on Saturday?”
“I got anxious when I saw Abby and I’s birth flowers on you. Like how much I loved you was just engraved in your skin, and I didn’t know what to do with it. I didn’t mean to push you away, I was just terrified. Terrified that you’re going to leave. Terrified that I won’t be able to protect you.” His voice cracks at the end, and he leans his head against your shoulder that isn’t inked.
Your head turns to kiss his head.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“I know..” he says softly, but a part of him doesn’t believe it. You and Abby, you’re the only ones who have stayed, the only ones he’s been able to save. He doesn’t know who he is without the two of you. “I’m sorry, I was such a dick.”
“Yeah, but so was I.” You tell him.
“I love your tattoo. I love all of your tattoos. All of them. I love kissing them. I’m desperate for this one to heal so I can kiss this shoulder again.”
“Thank you for helping me with it. It itches like a son of a bitch.” You tell him, a weak smile on your face. Tears stain your shirt.
“Can we go back to normal now? I’ve missed you.”
“I miss you so much.” You turn and wrap your arms around him, the warmth radiating from his body as he holds you close. You wonder if either of you will ever be able to let yourselves be loved.
You hope to let each other try.
You kiss him, salty tears mixing, as you hold him close. He’s careful of your tattoo, not wanting to scratch or hurt you. He’s gentle in a way that betrays him. He desires you in this way that transcends want or need, something that is vital, as if it were breathing.
Yet his hands remain respectful. Gentle. You’re the one that adjusts your position to be over him, as you gently push him back against the bed, kissing him deeper.
He decides he will marry you someday. That maybe the idea of being with you for the rest of his life isn’t scary.
Not when you kiss him like that.
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lxndonorris · 1 month
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racing surprise for Lando - Lando Norris (SFS24)
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fem!reader x Lando Norris Theme: Smut (you've been warned) in the midst of pre-season testing, Mclaren invited you to surprise Lando x word count: 2710+ taglist: @game-set-canet another edition to the suit fitting saga 2024 (SFS24). Quite similar but I hope you like the added twist. Oh and I needed that picture so dont blame me. Next one will hopefully be este, and if you have any request, for SFS24, testing or simply something else, dont be shy and hit me up!
The air crackles with anticipation as the new season of Formula 1 looms on the horizon, heralding a fresh chapter in Lando Norris's illustrious career as a professional racing driver. With the promise of new gear, a state-of-the-art racing suit, a meticulously crafted helmet, and a gleaming Mclaren race car awaiting him, excitement pulses through his veins like the roar of an engine.
Amidst the flurry of activity in the Mclaren garage, you stand, a silent observer disguised as one of the team members. Dressed in the team's iconic orange shirt, dark pants, a cap, and sporting a headset, you blend seamlessly into the backdrop, your heart aflutter with anticipation as you await Lando's arrival.
He initially invited you himself to join him here, but you had to decline. Unbeknownst to him, his team has already reached out to you, preparing a surprise for your boyfriend. 
And then, like a whirlwind of energy and charisma, he enters the scene. Clad in his new racing suit, adorned with sponsor logos, he cuts a stroking figure. The fabric hugs his form in all the right places, accentuating his athletic build with precision and care. His curly locks framed his face, adding a touch of boyish charm to his rugged allure.
As Lando moves through the garage, his presence commands attention. There is confidence in his stride, a swagger in his step that speaks volumes about his self-assurance. He greets everyone with a warm smile and a handshake; his enthusiasm infectious. There is a genuine camaraderie between them, a sense of unity forged by their shared passion for racing.
With the assistance of two friendly mechanics who shield you from view, you watch as Lando prepares for his testing session. The air is thick with excitement and tension, a tangible buzz of anticipation that electrifies the atmosphere. The scent of his cologne lingers in the air, a subtle reminder of his proximity that sends shivers down your spine.
Each step Lando takes seems to echo purpose, his eyes alight with a belnd of determination and curiosity.
You watch from your vantage point, hidden in plain sight among the team members. As a conversation turns to the upcoming training session, Lando's demeanor shifts slightly. A curious, shy smile played on his lips as he listens closely. With a hand on his hip, he leans in slightly, his posture relaxed yet attentive.
There is a quiet determination in his gaze, a hunger to extract every ounce of potential from the testing session. He understands the importance of these moments, recognizing them as opportunities to fine-tune his skills and familiarize himself with the nuances of the new car.
You can't help but admire the way the fabric hugs his body tightly, emphasizing the curves of his backside and the strength of his arms. His movements are fluid and purposeful, each gesture imbued with quiet confidence.
With each glance, your eyes trace the lines of his suit, lingering on the subtle details that hint at the layers beneath. You know that beneath the sleek exterior lies a network of tight undergarments—fireproofs designed to protect him.
This knowledge adds an extra layer of allure to his already magnetic presence, heightening the intensity of your admiration.
As the conversation draws to a close, Lando offers a grateful nod to his mechanics. With a sense of purpose, he turns his attention toward the track, eager to put their plans into action and unleash the full extent of his talents.
With practiced ease, Lando slips into the remaining racing gear—his gloves and a tight balaclava—each movement deliberate and precise. The helmet, adorned with beautiful colors and logos, completes his ensemble, its glossy surface reflecting the glow of excitement in his eyes.
With a playful twirl, he settles into the driver's seat, his grin widening as he prepares to start testing. With a loud roar, the engine comes to life, and slowly but steadily, he makes his way out of the garage. Your stomach tightens in a mixture of anticipation and pride.
Through the crackle of the radio, his voice rings out, a symphony of exhilaration as he tackles each corner with precision and finesse. You listen intently, your heart swelling with joy as he pushes the limits of his Mclaren. You know he is so happy to be back, and you can actually see him smiling when you close your eyes. His voice is a little rougher, yet it carries his joy and passion through the radio.
Once his session is over, he returns to the garage. As Lando emerges from the cockpit of his Mclaren, he lets out a jubilant cheer with a triumphant flex of his arms. Shaking your head, you can't believe him actually doing that. Licking your lips, you still can't tear your eyes away from his arse, filling his suit fully.
The testing had been a success, and he surpassed all expectations. Running a hand across his chest, he can't help but revel in the rush of adrenaline that still courses through his veins. The fabric of his racing suit clings to him, damp with sweat from the intensity of the session—a sensational sight that you missed during the winter break.
In one swift movement, he reaches up to remove his helmet and balaclava, revealing a mop of tousled curls and a flushed complexion beneath. His lips part slightly with a satsified smirk, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes as he licks his lips, sending shivers down your spine. He looks so happy and excited, and you smile seeing him like that.
As he moves through the garage, shaking hands with his team members, he can't contain his joy. His tongue darts out playfully, a gesture of exuberance that shows his satisfaction with the achievements so far.
Lando chats with a few mechanics for a while, and you can tell the residual excitement from the testing session continues to surge through his veins, pulsating with every beat of his heart. He keeps stroking his chest, touching his arms, and subconsciously, he touches himself through his suit—just barely, yet it catches your attention. 
It is as if the adrenaline of the track has infused his very being, filling him with an exhilarating energy that seems to amplify with each passing moment.
Entranced by his every move, the sound of his voice, and his cologne's scent still hovering all around you, you miss the opportunity to reveal yourself—Lando has already left for his private quarters.
Leaving your headset and cap behind, you rush after him and spot him strolling through the paddock. Unable to tear your eyes away from him, captivated by the effortless grace with which he moved, you follow him. Every step seems to exude confidence, joy, and self-confidence.
As he runs a hand through his messy curls, you can't help but notice the way his hair fell in disarray, framing his face in a way that is both endearing and alluring. There is a rawness to his appearance—a sense of vulnerability—that makes your heart flutter in your chest.
And then, as if sensing your gaze, he runs a hand across his chest, a subtle gesture that speaks volumes about the excitement still running through his body. You can almost feel the electric energy radiating off him, a tangible reminder of the thrill of driving an F1 car.
In this moment, you are struck by the sheer magnetism of his presence, even though you're just looking at his beautiful back. And as he disappears into his quarters, leaving you to ponder the whirlwind of emitions he had stirred within you, you can't help but feel a sense of awe and admiration.
As you knock on his door, a nervous anticipation grips you, your heart pounding with uncertainty—how is he going to react?
"Coming." Lando's voice echoes through the door before it swings open, revealing your boyfriend standing right in front of you. With an almost shocked expression, your breath catches in your throat.
"Y/N?" He asks, and in an instant, his entire face lit up with a radiant smile that reaches his eyes, filling you with warmth and joy. 
"Hi." You smile shyly, your face flushing with heat. 
Without hesitation, he pulls you into a tight embrace, his arms enveloping you closely. You melt into him, running your hands across his firm back.
"What are you doing here?" Lando smiles, separating himself just enough for his face to be mere inches away from yours. He places a hand on your cheek, tracing your skin with his fingertips.
"Surprising you." You motion for a few Mclaren team members to film the two of you from afar. 
Both of you turn your heads and wave toward the camera. 
"They offered to get me here; we just needed a few clips for their channel." You shrug, and he nods in agreement and curiousity.
"This is great," he leans into you, kissing you gently. You lock eyes with him for what feels like an eternity.
The film crew gives you a thumbs up, telling you that it's now time for some alone time. 
As Lando welcomes you into his private quarters, a rush of excitement surges through you, mingling with the lingering traces of adrenaline from his testing session. Your gaze is drawn irresistibly to the contours of his chest, the fabric of his racing suit accentuating every curve and sinew.
He meets your gaze with a knowing smile, a spark of amusement dancing in his eyes as he senses the admiration and desire in your gaze. There is confidence in his demeanor, a quiet assurance that speaks of his comfort in his own skin.
"So, how was I?" With a playful grin, he steps closer, closing the distance between you until the warmth of his presence envelops you.
"Amazing." You lift your chin slightly, meeting his confidence with your own. "And you look the part too." Smirking, you lick your lips.
Without a word, he takes your hand and guides it to the fabric of his suit, allowing you to feel the sleek material beneath your fingertips.
"I know how much you like this on me," Lando breathes, locking his eyes with your own. However, you're unable to withstand his burning gaze and lower your eyes, following the movements of your hands instead.
As your hand traces the lines of his chest and arms, you can't help but marvel at the strength and resilience that lie beneath the surface. The fabric is cool to the touch, yet it seems to hum with the energy of the track, a tangible reminder of the passion and dedication that fuel his every movement.
"This feels so good." You breathe deeply while you keep stroking his chest, feeling his biceps, and watch his chest move with every breath he takes, eliciting a low rumble of pleasure deep down his throat.
"Fuck," Lando can't hold back a low moan, his hand now following yours closely, his body yearning for so much more. He leans his head back, embracing both of your hands now on his chest.
You know how much he loves to be teased, touched, and stroked. Effortlessly, you push all of his buttons and his most sensitive spots—his nipples, pecs, arms, and most importantly, his member filling his suit.
"Good." You whisper, leaning in to him, tracing the outlines of his stubble just above his lips. A shiver races down your spine, the rough texture of his beard contrasting with the softness of your touch. There is something undeniably alluring about the way his beard frames his lips, adding a touch of raw sensuality to his appearance. 
With each passing moment, the desire to feel the roughness of his stubble against your skin grows stronger—a primal urge that threatens to consume you completely. You lean in, brushing your lips against his in a tender caress. The sensation of his beard against your skin sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body.
With your hand on his crotch, he moans softly against your lips. Lost in the heat of the moment, you surrender yourself to the heady rush of emotions. Your lips meet in a fervent kiss, craving his delicious taste.
"Y/N." Lando murmurs, his hands now steady on your waist, holding you close.
"Care to give me a show?" You bite his lower lip teasingly, causing him to chuckle. "I want to see all of you in that." Tugging at the zipper of his racing suit, you stroke him firmer, encouraging him to show off.
"Of course." He giggles, and you settle onto the sofa, anticipation tingling in the air, thick with the electricity of the moment. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, Lando takes center stage, spreading your legs to make some space. His movements are fluid and confident as he begins his private show.
With each flex of his muscles, his form seems to come alive, the contours of his body highlighted by the sleek fabric of his racing suit. He lets you feel his muscles tense, letting out more guttural growls.
"Very good." You smile, and with a playful smirk dancing on his lips, he turns around, giving you a tantalizing glimpse of his firm back and arse. He bends to show off his butt even more, much to your amusement. 
And then, with a sudden burst of energy, he begins to dance, his movements a mesmerizing combination of grace and athleticism. His hips sway to an invisible rhythm, and his body moves with a natural ease that shows off his innate charisma and confidence.
As he twirls and turns, the fabric of his suit seems to come alive as well, clinging to his form as he moves with effortless grace. With a slow and deliberate motion, he reaches for the zipper, his fingers tracing the line with teasing slowness.
As Lando slowly unzips his suit, his eyes never leave yours; their intensity like a flame igniting the air between you. His gaze is electric, a silnt invitation that sends shivers down your entire back. Hidden beneath his beautiful eyes lies hunger—a raw desire that mirrors the heat pulsating through your veins.
With each inch of fabric that melts away, inch by inch, he reveals the tight garments—a glimpse of the tight fireproofs. Easily, he slips out of the upper half of his suit, giving you a good look at his chest. His defined muscles barely conceiled, he flexes again, straining the fabric even more. 
Lando closes the distance between you until you feel the warmth of his body radiating against your skin. His gaze is never wavering, pulling you so much closer.
"Fuck." You reach for his chest, tracing the tangible outlines of his abs, as he licks his lips. With the sleeves of his suit dangling down his waist, he stands before you, his form outlined against the soft glow of the room, a vision of strength and sensuality that takes your breath away.
In that moment, as you drink in the sight of him, you know you want him. 
You motion for him to sit down right next to you, and right away, you lean in, kissing him passionately.
Lando embraces your body against his, and at the same time, your hand slips underneath his suit. His skin is warm and tight; all of the tension is showing its effect on his body.
"Mhmmm." He purrs into your mouth, one of his hands firmly on his length, bulging against his clothes.
In one swift motion, you manage to get into his pants and pull his member out of his clothes, causing him to moan in agreement.
"That would be so good, Y/N." Fully aware of what you're about to do, you keep kissing him while simultaneously running your hand up and down his length.
With every breath he takes, Lando lets out guttural groans before leaning his head back against the sofa cushions.
Looking into his eyes, you bend down and take him into your mouth. 
"That's what I meant." He swallows hard, running a hand through your hair.
Together, you easily catch up to each other's rhythm, moving as one. His husky, rough voice echoes through your mind as more and more drops of his taste cover your tongue. 
Then, his body gets stiff and rigid, and he holds his breath before letting go of all this tension, pressure, and desire. It feels so good. Letting out a long, breathless moan, he relaxes quickly, leaning back even more. You let go of him, licking your lips to savor the taste.
Lando fondles with himself for a while while you catch your breath.
"This was so good." You sigh deeply before a chuckle leaves your wet lips. He smirks, leans in, and kisses you.
"Thank you for being here." Lando rubs his nose against yours gently.
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000marie198 · 18 days
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I think Sonic characters should be allowed to be artists more often
...
Amy is already a painter, a culinary artist, and a chef. She also has a lovely aesthetic sense. I can also kinda see her collabing with Honey to design dresses and outfits. She also making screenplays & comics!
Cream compiling flower vases and bouquets and crowns.
Rouge having a knack for interior designing and makeup and blending in skills while still standing out.
Vector being a sound and music artist, composing remixes and mashups etc
Tails creates logos and graphic interfaces and has architectural designing skills
Knuckles being a damn good sculptor and being great at wood carving
Sonic secretly makes chaotic graffiti's and him doodling on random stuff and having a talent in music and singing and similar performative arts. Not to mention that swordsmanship is also an art just as much as it is a skill.
I think Shadow would enjoy learning crochet. He'd also kill at figure skating.
Espio setting up a meditation garden, Espio doing calligraphy, Espio doing poetry!
Charmy doodling cartoons and stickers.
I can definitely see Blaze doing fiery ballet. And other recreational arts.
And Silver with his awe-inspiring massive structures made using random scraps and debris
....
Let Sonic characters be artists
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lilis-palace · 2 months
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🛠️ HEIRLOOM UPDATE !!!
>>>>> RE-DOWNLOAD THE UPDATED VERSION NOW! <<<<<
I use this set in all of my builds and since my skills have improved a lot, i decided to make some updates on them. ⚪ Hanging & Table Portraits
Changed the intensity of the specular maps in the portrait area
Reduced the extreme brightness of the portraits
Applied a little sepia effect
⚪ Bust of Vlad
NEW .PACKAGE FILE! NEEDS TO BE REPLACED!
I remade the mesh & added a LOD1
I added a detailed bump map
Changed the specular map to look more marble-ish
Replaced the existing swathes with 8 new better looking ones
⚪ Persian Rug
NEW .PACKAGE FILE! NEEDS TO BE REPLACED!
It had lighting issues so I fixed them
⚪ Small & Wide Etageres
Specular map got fixed
Even more slots added
⚪ General
Missing logos were added to swatch thumbnails for most of the items
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saintvainglorious · 2 months
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My First Fanbind! A Black Sails Fic Anthology Series
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It took me a year (and a lot of anxious research) before I worked up the courage to bookbind fanfiction, and after months of on-again-off-again work, my first fanbind is finally done!
I knew that if I was going to bookbind fic, I had to bind something from the Black Sails fandom, aka the fandom and show that have had the biggest impact on my life. Y'all, I almost went into academia to study slavery in the 17th-18th century Caribbean because of this show - when folks say this show rewires your brain chemistry, they are NOT kidding. THEE show of all time. Happy 10th anniversary to Black Sails! This fandom is small but mighty. May we continue to get our hearts and souls blasted to smithereens by this show for many years to come.
Ao3 abounds with magnificent Black Sails oneshots, so I decided to put together an anthology of my favorite Silverflint fics under 20k, which I split into two volumes. Included are works by @justlikeeddie, @vowel-in-thug, @balloonstand, @annevbonny, @francisthegreat, @nysscientia, and more! Thank you, thank you all, you brilliant wonderful people, for gracing the Internet with such amazing writing. When I read the fics in these anthologies I want to fling myself into the sun.
More on the design and binding process below the cut!
Vol. 1 Page Count: 270 (12 fics) Vol. 2 Page Count: 248 (11 fics) Body Font: Sabon Next LT (10.5 pt) Title Font: Goudy Old Style Other Fonts: IM Fell English, pirates pw
The typeset (which I did in Word) took a while, mainly because I'd never done it before. Manually adjusting the hyphenation line-by-line was especially tedious. After making these books, I abandoned Word in favor of InDesign, in large part because InDesign gives you way finer control over your justification and hyphenation settings.
Regarding my actual design choices, I'm happy with how the ocean motif on the title page turned out (it's not the same pattern as my endpapers, but they're complimentary) and I'm very fond of my divider dingbats, which are little swords! Goudy Old Style was a fun title font to use, since it's the font that Black Sails uses as its logo. The stories in Vol. 1 are divided into parts based on what Silver WAS at that point in the show (cook, quartermaster, or king), and Vol. 2 is split up into comedies, histories (AUs set in the canon universe) and tragedies - befitting Black Sails' Shakespearean ~vibes~.
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I stuck to a flatback binding, as I wasn't feeling quite ambitious enough to try rounding and/or backing. I've learned that I ~Anakin Skywalker voice~ hate sanding, enjoy folding/sewing, and don't LIKE edge trimming but enjoy the results enough to make it worth it.
The real adventure was decorating the cover, which remained bare for months. After agonizing over Illustrator and experimenting unsuccessfully with HTV and lokta paper embossing, I ultimately turned to using stencil vinyl to paint on the designs. There was a bit of seepage under some of the stencils, but I was able to scrape off the excess with my Cricut weeding tool without damaging the coated surface of the bookcloth (probably Arrestox Blue Ribbon from Hollander's). Even though it was very time-consuming, I'm so happy with the end result of the stenciled paint job and I intend to stick with stencils for my foreseeable future binds.
Are there things I would change? Sure. It was humid out when I printed, so the pages have got a wave. There’s an extra two pages in Vol 2. that I have no idea how I missed, and I got a line of glue in the middle of one of my Vol. 2 endpapers. I’m pretty sure I didn’t case in quite right, since my endpapers pull away from the case at the spine. I think the inner margins are a bit too big, and despite going line-by-line there’s still some wacky justification spacing in the typeset. But man, am I proud of these books! It is so satisfying to learn a new skill - MANY new skills, if we’re being honest - and to make something both beautiful and practical. If I’m still binding in two years or so, I can see myself redoing the typeset in InDesign, cutting out the existing text block, and reusing the cases. I’m also already planning for Vol. 3, which will be Silverflint Modern AUs.
Thanks for reading!
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grafixdesigngoodies · 2 years
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