#dugout
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1978 Philippines, Palawan, Western Visayas, Balabac, autoportrait
#1978#philippines#palawan#westernvisayas#balabac#pirogue#dugout#vintage#analog#photooftheday#filmphotography#1970s#photo#photography#photographylovers#trix#blackandwhitephotography#selfportrait#autoportrait#original photographers#pierre wayser
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When archaeologists unearthed five dugout canoes at La Marmotta, an Italian archaeological site nestled in the Mediterranean basin, little could they know that they had come across the earliest Neolithic boats found to date.
By conducting extensive research into these ancient remains, they ended up determining that they were actually over 7,000 years old. They were also found to demonstrate the ingenuity of their era, having been built using a technology far more developed than previously understood, revealing hereto unknown insights into Neolithic navigation and boatbuilding culture in the Mediterranean.
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Enlarged by 2.5x and enhanced image for clarity.
#shirtless#muscle#jock#college jock#college dude#college guy#frat bro#baseball player#country boy#cowboy#cowboy hat#baseball glove#dugout#nice smile#amazing eyes#eye black#blue jeans#belt buckle#outdoors#photo enhancement#photo enlargement
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Difference between boys and men, we just have bigger toys. Jock Spank Away!
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Touch
Dugout-focused CapOut drabble, 860 words.
Dugout wasn't popular when he was young.
He went to high school in a small town. He had his handful of friends who he would sit with, share sillybandz with and trade Pokemon cards with. Friends who he weathered middle school dances with, who made eye contact with him when group projects raptured the classroom four kids at a time, who carefully misspelled his name in his yearbook in the spring.
But by the turn of the fourth spring, he and those friends of his were at a mutual understanding. This is where they find a fork in their road: where they part, but without the sweetness of sorrow, and, instead, the weight of the facade of an empty "goodbye".
And Dugout was alone... Without a lasting friendship, and without ever having felt the warmth of another hand in his.
...
Nearly five years later, he finds himself in New York. He finds himself woven into an everyday rhythm, one that harmonizes with the city.
By day, he runds errands for Mrs. Quail. He walks through the streets, hands tucked in the pockets of his long, brown coat, arms looped through the loops of bulky, plastic, grocery bags, which's wrinkled edges sway and sing in the mild breeze of the city streets.
It's not unusual for someone to bump him, nudge him, even trip him, their larger bodies always enough to make him stumble, whether they mean it or not- he's stopped wondering. He'll huff, regain his footing, and continue on his way, not bothering to shout at anyone if he still stands upright, if his groceries are still intact, still wrapped in the plastic safety of the grocery bags, the butter still in one piece, bread un-crunched...
By night, he transforms. He dons his necklace of miracles, and finds himself on the rooftops of New York City, donned in white baseball gear, a baseball cap on his head, adorned with floppy ears, face concealed under a dark mask to protect his anonymity.
And at night, he isn't alone. Bobunny assigns patrol partners, and more often than not, he finds himself at Capricorn's side. It's just how their schedules line up, strings of fate tangling with coincidence, it's just how their cookie crumbles.
Dugout finds more and more that he spends most his time in the graces and warmth of Capricorn's company. Under the ray of their blazing smile, beside the wonder of their paintbrush, and the kindness of their gaze. And in the everything, everything, that is Capricorn, he finds comfort, safety, a home.
And he realizes, by day, that he wishes they were there at his side. There to make a quiet quip about the absolute Karen at the CVS counter, there to buy a donut for, to walk beside, to join he and Mariquita- all as citizens, like the friends he sees sitting in the coffee shop, giggling at the absolute Karen at the counter.
...
It's an accident, the first time he does it. Central park is under the terror and attack of a giraffe-themed akuma. And as a rock flies, soars, shoots, whizzes, over the deep emerald fuzz of the park's grasss, he realizes it's heading right for himself and Capricorn.
Without thinking- acting fully on heroic instinct and fear- fear of losing them. Dugout leaps, practically tackles Capricorn into the soft grass. The chunk of Earth lands, kicking up dirt and dust.
And just behind it, Dugout lays atop Capricorn, body hovering over theirs.
They both gasp, pant, realize that they're still bound to their mortal coils, both still in our realm, intact, and breathing.
Dugout blinks, eyes locked with Capricorn's. His heart leaps in his throat, chest seizing with an anxiety separate from the adrenaline rush of the battle.
His hand is on their cheek. Tenderly, delicately, brushing aside a stray strand of their blue locks.
The moment then fades into the chaos of the battle, lost to the stress and raging adrenaline.
...
Some number of times later, it's no longer a mistake.
Capricorn and Dugout stop by a bakery in the early morning hours. And as they sit atop the small building's roof, they chatter. About things that don't dare approach the risk of revealing their identities to one another: topics that maintain the safety of anonymity. New shows, movies, music.
Capricorn giggles around a bite of donut. And mumbles something through the crumbs. Dugout leans closer to hear her. Only, it makes her stutter, and Dugout feels the warmth of unfettered affection flaring in his chest, as he realizes that he's intentionally teasing her. He chuckles with her as she stumbles. And then, they both find themselves laughing. Dugout leans away, just to see her laugh.
And when they're done, and both flushed from their laughter and joy, Capricorn is left with her wild hair flittering in the breeze.
Dugout reaches, delicately, and tucks Capricorn's hair back into place. Neither of them say anything of it, instead just enjoying the sweetness of donut frosting on their lips, the quiet of the night, the chill of the night air, and the warmth of one another- close enough to touch.. but neither yet reaching out.
#mlb irl#gabby drabbies#cullykisser#capout#dugout#mirakinnie#>_< experimenting with a new writing style!!!! tell me what u think ;;;;
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ive been in love with the color brown lately
#if any images are yours pls lmk so i can credit or remove the image if you wish#fashion#hair#jewelry#hello kitty#dugout#brown#fashion mb#moodboard#fashion moodbard#plaid#mmb#up
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#boston red sox#sometimes we wear yellow#red sox#baseball#mlb#world series#49 forever#batter#3rd base#pitcher#dugout#massachusetts#bruins#celtics#patriots#boston#boston redsox#redsox#major league baseball#bobby dalbec#rafael devers#masataka yoshida#wilyer abreu#tim Wakefield#triston casas
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1978 Philippines, Palawan, Bucxuc (Bugsuk), Balabac
#1978#philippines#palawan#bucxuc#buksuk#westernvisayas#balabac#pirogue#dugout#vintage#analog#rollei35se#photooftheday#filmphotography#1970s#photo#photography#photographylovers#trix#blackandwhitephotography#original photographers#pierre wayser
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Dear Vector Prime
Do you know of any Cybertronians who have taken echidna or platypus beast modes?
Dear Monotreme Master,
Ah yes, you speak of Riposte and Dugout? Riposte was a heroic Maximal, a high-ranking member of the Maximal Diplomatic Corps. On paper, the Corps was merely one cog in the Maximal soft power apparatus, a means of countering the aggressive negotiations employed by the Tripredacus Council’s Xeno-Relations division. In reality, however, the Diplomatic Corps existed solely to facilitate the insertion and extraction of a small cadre of highly-trained special operatives into high-risk situations that would otherwise jeopardize the interests of the Maximal Imperium—including rogue alien warlords who’d been persuaded, or bribed, by Predacon operatives such as Thinktank to act against the Maximal government. In his role as a special operative, Riposte was a consummate professional: a quick-witted, tight-lipped, ‘bot of action who maintained a cool head in even the most dire situations. On Cybertron, his amphibious car alternate mode allowed him to operate in a wide range of environments; in those rare realities where his mission took him to Earth, he adopted a platypus beast mode, confident that its venomous spurs would serve him well in close-quarters combat.
Dugout was another member of the Diplomatic Corps: although only a rookie member of the organization, he stood out for his unusual land mine alternate mode—while not rigged to fatally explode, any unwary Cybertronian who trod on his unprepossessing form would find themselves on the receiving end of a deadly flechette hailstorm. In combat, Dugout was a gruff, two-fisted warrior, fond of up close and personal combat; in those realities where he adopted a beast mode alongside Riposte, a prickly echidna form suited his defensive nature quite adroitly.
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Nothing brings me more joy than my brother coming home after losing a baseball game biggest smile on his face and showing me the Snapchat videos of him and his teammates fucking around in the dugout. Every baseball player is the same
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After its unexpected discovery, the Waccamaw Siouan Tribe and archaeologists came together to recover a rare 1,000-year-old Native American canoe found in incredible condition in a North Carolina lake.
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For more sports content like this follow oraclesportsnetwork on Instagram!
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Outback NSW 2022. Downtown White Cliffs as seen from the top of one of the “white” “cliffs”. We’re actually standing on the rock roof of one of the many dugout homes in this blisteringly hot (in summer) opal mining town.
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Sunset
He wipes sweat off his wet, wet brow.
His costume is stained with dirt and grass. Plenty of times falling, and even more times being shoved down by the villain of the week. Pinned under superstrength, or a psychic force unseen. Flecks of blood speckle the white collar of his jersey, reminders of cuts and bruises from combat.
The sun is setting over the distant hill, and Dugout thinks of home. He thinks of the time before he made it to New York. A small town, not far from the sea. Nothing like city life, especially as a superhero.
Dugout stretches his arms over his head, locking his fingers.
And then he begins another lap around the field, limbs pumping for speed, not stamina. His cleats kick up dust with each stride, scratching through the lane’s dirt. His strong legs flex, broad chest bobbing with slow, steadied breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth.
He reaches the first base, skidding around the corner. He grunts, low in his chest, as his arms work to re-steady himself, charging to second. Sweat drips down his brow, over the dust and dirt on his cheek.
The sun sinks below the horizon, but the heat still settles heavily over the field.
Dugout slides around second base. He digs his cleats into the dirt, and launches himself down the third stretch of the diamond.
He’s not someone who many people get. Between his teammates, Mariquita might be the only who goes out of their way, even just to talk to him.
Dugout spins around third base. Back to home base. His legs burn from the last hour of laps. From the strain of this final lap.
He wonders who will strike the Bug Apple next as he slides back to home base.
Dust billows up, sticking to the sweat of his skin, laying across his tongue. Dirtying his uniform.
Dugout pants where he lays. The toe of his cleat just touches the rubber of the base. He shuts his eyes, and lets his shoulders fall.
The pink of the sky is fading when he gets to his feet. Covered in sweat and dust, he walks. And where he’s heading, he’s not sure if he can call it home. It works fine for now.
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