#Craft Projects with Pebbles

[waterbeads1993]

Unveiling Elegance: 15 Hidden Marvels of BUM BUM BHOLE 10Kg Multicolour Pebbles for Garden and Home Decor Bliss!

Learn About Water Beads

FAQs About BUM BUM BHOLE 10Kg Multicolour Pebbles

[mewguca]

Shame

this is a rather personal piece; it's primarily based on my own struggles

It probably could've been executed better (like having more of the interaction she's agonizing over), but I really wanted to focus on that visceral reaction of shame, guilt, and self-criticism

here's a long ramble I wrote while starting this ...

I realize, perhaps much of the reason certain depictions of moon trigger me so much is due to my own overwhelming shame and guilt. It's a defense mechanism crafted because I yet lack the strength to accept myself. I suppose that's why characters like Five Pebbles are so appealing to me — he is someone I've given the room to express his faults, his flaws, his hatred, his despair, his pain, and all his imperfections... For him to be mean or angry is natural and expected, so it's not as scary to express my negative feelings with him as the instrument. He's not a "good person", after all, so it's fine if he is "bad." His standards aren't as high.

Conversely, because I idealize LTTM so much and connect her to myself, I deny her the same things I deny myself. I do it without even thinking, really...

I've often thought, "but this sort of emotion doesn't really suit her... isn't this sort of projection too self-indulgent? If I made this, it'd be too obvious that my own emotions are bleeding through onto the canvas..."

So, I wonder if she's experienced that same sort of emotional repression. It'd be cathartic, in an unfortunate way. To see someone else struggle to grapple with such things, because they want to be pure and virtuous and not upset others...

It's harder when you spend so much time shaping that perfect, faultless, virtuous sort of image, especially when you do it reflexively. Unconsciously. You're making the pressure for yourself worse, but you can't stop... I'm actually not a very friendly person. I'm actually quite afraid and irritable, and I push people away when they get too close. I don't want to hurt anyone, and I don't want anyone to hate me... I don't want to cause suffering or strife. Sometimes, I wish I could just be a completely passive observer.

But I suppose I'm a human being instead, so I have to accept that. Thanks for reading, I guess. I'm not really looking for emotional support here... I just want to be understood.

[oldschoolfrp]

I completed the fantasy barn based on the "Modelling Workshop" article in White Dwarf 140, August 1991. The structure is foamcore covered with craft wood sticks and coffee stirrers, based on matboard with sand and pebbles, painted with inexpensive craft paints. To keep with the 1991 theme I used simple wood turned barrels from a craft store and carved some lines to suggest staves, instead of using 3D printed models. The basing includes the same types of Woodland Scenics ground foam flocking I would have used in 1991. My one concession to more modern materials was to add a variety of premade static grass tufts.

This project started as a community challenge from the Summon Lesser Maker channel, one of the YouTubers keeping Mordheim alive online.

[mc-revived]

Okay, but isn’t it fucked up that the ancients made puppets for iterators?

There’s some oc ideas bulleted for you guys ;)

Iterators are more that their puppets, they are their cans. However as we see in the game, as Moon and Pebbles deteriorate, one of the few connections they can maintain is with their puppets.

The ancients essentially gave godlike supercomputers a form to project themselves onto, to help them form their own sense of identity.

What were their motivations for this? To create a recognizable “mascot” for ancients in the city? Considering the existence of advertisements in pebble’s city, the iterators could have been used on the face of advertisements.

But really, there is no technological reason to have given them puppets. Yet in doing so they have a proper “body.” We as humans attach a lot of our identity to our physical form, which is why we have dysphoria or dysmorphia if there is a disconnect.

So is it a blessing or a curse that iterators were given a form to project themselves onto, allowing them to more easily explore their sense of self?

It seems cruel that ancients crafted these puppets to be tethered to a chamber, a chamber hidden deep within their superstructures away from the world outside. So while they do have a body to project themselves onto, they can’t commune face to face with the outside world.

These iterators develop whole ass personalities while being reduced to their computations for eternity. They aren’t truly allowed to to be living yet have the capacity to form meaningful relationships. What were the ancients thinking??That’s some insane torment.

I want to see iterator puppets explored more. Like:

Why did the ancients create puppets?

Were iterators able to make requests to alter their puppets?

How is an iterator’s sense of self affected if they were never given a puppet to project onto?

Were newer iterators sometimes given the puppets of older (maybe discontinued) iterators? And did they consequently feel their identity tied to that iterator?

What are the iterators opinions of having puppets?

Do some iterators not use their puppets because they don’t see the point?

I’ve also seen some cool ocs where iterator puppets are designed to leave their cans! So for those with this type of oc:

What are other iterators’ opinions about this. Do they feel envy?

How strong are these iterators’ connection to their can? And are they much more “themselves” since they are given the opportunity to roam and create new experiences?

Do they visit other iterators, and if so do they visit the can or their puppets?

Do they collect scraps on their travels to modify their appearance? Do they run similar errands for other iterators?

Do these iterators ever choose to wander the empty cities atop their cans, now devoid of ancients? (angst angst angst)

Were their puppets always mobile? If so, how were their interactions with the ancients while they were alive?

And that’s all for now! I’d love to see if anyone has more ideas to spitball.

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1936 Bugatti T57S Atlantic Coupe

The third of four Atlantic coupes built by Jean Bugatti, this one is famously known for having been hit by a train at a railroad crossing in the French countryside in 1955. Much has been written regarding this car's authenticity, and it is true that not every panel is original. Yet before that tragedy this car had experienced a storied and historically important life. Many a race car has been saved from the scrap heap because it had a unique provenance. This car was worth preserving for its unique beauty alone, as well as for the same reasons that any unique historical object is saved: to continue its history, to honor the craft of the original builders, and to illustrate it's story to those who may not already know it.

This car is uniquely different from the other Atlantics as it had been restyled soon after it was built. The evidence indicates that the styling changes had been commissioned by the car's original owners and completed by renowned coachbuilder Joseph Figoni, who had his own singular ideas about flowing surfaces and shape.

The first owners, Jacques and Yvonne Holtzschuch, took delivery of 57473 in 1936. In the earliest known photograph of the car, taken at the Concours d'Elegance de Juan les Pins in 1937, the body was black with a light beige pigskin interior. In the next known photograph, taken in 1951 at the Circuit International de Vitesse de Nice, the body and interior had been significantly restyled. In order to participate in the race, the body had also been repainted blue in accordance with the Code Sportif International de la F.I.A. After changing hands several times, the car was eventually purchased in 1952 by René Chatard, who had it repainted gray near the end of 1954. Chatard and a female companion were driving near Gien, France when they were struck and killed by a train on August 22, 1955.

Paul-André Berson recovered the remains in 1965, and started a decade-long project to rebuild the car. In the restoration he chose to work with the intact right-hand coachwork, and replaced the damaged parts. Upon completion in 1977, he sold the car to collector Nicholas Seydoux, who later had it restored again by André Lecoq. In 2006 the current owner purchased the car from Seydoux, and the unused dashboard, trim pieces, engine block, mechanical parts and original damaged body panels from Berson.

The car was then on display at the Pebble Beach Concours d'Elegance, the perfect environment for the world to rediscover this very special car.

[buttermander]

Buttermander's Craft Sibling Headcanon Masterpost

Goob and Scraps are two of my fav toons and now I'm going to unleash my headcanons so everyone can use them.

Goob's fur will stand on end if you startle or or scare him. It looks ridiculous to behold

When she was first made Scraps had a habit of investigating random inanimate objects around Gardenview by clawing them

If presented with cardboard boxes the craft siblings will attempt to fit themselves into them due to instincts they claim they cannot control.

Scraps enjoys all sorts of arts and crafts projects in her spare time, although having claws means she has to be extremely careful to not tear things up on accident.

Given that goob's hands seem too heavy for him and his arms are literal cables, it is likely Deliliah Keen had to get specially made artifical arms for the craft

Goob originally spent several weeks with no arms after he was made until he was considered healthy enough to get the custom set attached to his body.

Adding onto the previous Headcanon Shelly gave Goob the nickname " G. Rex " during this time.

Goob and Scraps cannot resist the call of the ALMIGHTY RED DOT ( a laser pointer )

Both of the craft siblings are capable of purring when happy and it's adorable.

Scraps has to ensure her brother doesn't ingest too much caffeine in one sitting or else he will go nuts and his arms will get caught in everything in his warpath.

Trace amounts of DNA of actual house cats were used in the creation process of the siblings. Goob lacks a tail due to the Manx breed being his genetic source. Scraps meanwhile, has the genetic material component of a Domestic Shorthair. Only around 15 percent cat DNA makes up the crafts.

Without regular maintenance the craft siblings' claws can become " deadly weapons "

Goob and Pebble actually get along pretty well since the rock dog knows he can get a lot of attention from the younger of the two siblings

Goob used to have biting related issues that got worked out with time

Shrimpo can only really mess with Goob when Scraps is occupied because if he tries it she WILL claw his face.

Goob's fur has historically been a nightmare to maintain. Its required weekly brushing and he constantly ends up getting crumbs caught on his own fluff, especially in the large tuft around his neck.

Scraps' tail will wag around at hyper speed if she's really excited about something, the paper cup will make a lot of noise if she's standing near something by while doing this.

The siblings really enjoy the taste of fish, when Gardenview was still open sometimes they were caught raiding the freezer for an entire box of fish sticks.

Scraps has an entire hidden stash of yarn balls in the siblings' shared room, even if you manage to clear out her side of the room it's going to be covered in yarn again in a matter of minutes.

If you want more headcanons tell me what toon I should do next in the replies, I got some fun ones lying around. I just started with these two because they're my favorites. Also let me know which of my headcanons are your favorites I wanna know which ones the public likes the most.

[lyss-butterscotch]

au lore facts?

Moon has good aim but can't catch batflies

Pebbles taught arti how to craft electric spears

Sig's garden project is him developing plants that can witstand the rain

Suns' territory is near an active volcano

UI's can is half dissolved because of acid

Wind is a cleanfreak

Sliver's territory is an ecological deadzone

[ariadne-mouse]

So with Mercaleb being over for a while now, I’ve felt a bit bereft as an author and found myself working on my next project pretty quickly.  I wanted to explore the wizards through a different lens, as I do, but with Caleb once again taking the form of the Other contrasted to Essek.  Mercaleb, Volcaleb — this is definitely one of my jams.  I hope you will enjoy the start of something new!

The title is from William Cullen Bryant's A Forest Hymn.

(~1400 word snippet, shadowgast, rated G for now)

.

the groves were god's first temples

The night was dark, and the windows of Essek’s office were speckled with water droplets, each pane a portrait of the rain’s ever-changing visage as it peered in at the room’s lone occupant.

Essek of Den Thelyss worked by candlelight, and by magelight, comfortable with the dark and yet preferring illumination as he bent to his studious labors: a spell theorem that could unlock a new sub-branch of dunamancy.  A fire in the hearth warmed his back.  A cup of tea steamed at his elbow, hot only due to refreshments of Prestidigitation.  Essek had not arisen from his chair in several hours.

“It’s really quite simple,” Essek said aloud, tone edged in frustration. “I don’t see why you must persist in seeking complications.”

For Essek was not truly alone, whatever it might appear to an outside observer.  He was never alone here in the study, the sanctum sanctorum of his tower.

“Let us begin again,” he continued. “Beginning with the Principle of Infinite Division, which is the concept that there are a limitless number of divergences from any given point in time, and thus the isolation of a single timeline thread in continuity carries with it the complications of having to specify infinite selections within an infinite number possibilities.”

He paused, letting the words sink in.

The potted plant on his desk listened serenely, the green faces of each leaf gleaming handsomely.  This was a being of the sunlit hours, displaced in the eternal darkness of Rosohna, requiring specialized care and constant light.  A mark of status.  But for Essek, it was someone to talk to.  

Well — something.  Of course.

Merely something.

It didn’t feel that way, though; it was the strangest phenomenon.  It felt as though his words were being heard, and understood.

He had dreams, sometimes, where it answered him.

Essek cleared his throat.  “As you can surmise, this represents a challenge if you wish to locate a specific timeline in its entirety.  Now, if I can craft a formulaic element to the incantation or inscription — a repeatable recipe, if you will — I could solve the selection process without having to account for each of these divisions individually.  Namely, by identifying a unique signature that is ascribable to multiple points within it—”  He trailed off, and sighed.  “I’ve lost you again, haven’t I.  Here, let me better illuminate you.”

He beckoned several magelights — amber-colored, as the last afternoon sun — to hover closer to it, lips quirking wryly at his own joke.  

Was it his imagination, or did the leaves turn to seek the light?

“You are very patient with me,” Essek said.  “I have been preaching to you all day, and still you endure it.  I know what I mean, but when I say it aloud, I hear all the faults of each idea.”  

The tree rustled, as if to reassure him.  

It was probably just his sleeve brushing the branches — almost assuredly — almost — but he nodded in acknowledgement, feeling touched and a little chagrined.  “I know, I know.  It takes time.  You are constantly teaching me this.”

Carefully he tested the top of the plant’s pebbled soil with his fingertips, and then lifted the container from its dish to see its base, and found no chill of moisture in the sturdy clay. 

“Ah!  I am neglecting you, as well.  I am sorry.”

The remnant of his tea, made cold with the wave of a hand, went into the pot.

Essek leaned on his palm, maudlin.  “My theorem is a bit like you.  It started small and unrestrained, and over time has grown and been pruned and trained and refined until it is something worth looking at.  An elegant echo in miniature of a larger concept.  Or at least, that is what it is supposed to become.  I wonder, is there a Dwendalian tree somewhere in the Empire that looks like you, but as tall as a tower?”

It truly was a beautiful thing, a tree tricked by skilled gardeners into staying absurdly small, and yet lasting centuries, turning colors or bearing fruit as a full-sized tree might.  It was currently fashionable for Kryn nobility to own at least one.  His mother had a garden full.

“Maybe I’m wasting my time,” Essek sighed, rotating the pot with restless fingers, a centimeter at a time.  The tree was lovely from every angle.  “Maybe I am all tangled up in my own ideas, roots snarled together, strangling my own progression.  Maybe I’m not a prodigy after all, and my critics are right about me.  Maybe— oh!”

A bright crimson-orange flower had interrupted his vision of greenery.  Diminutive but striking, its petals were ruffled in an imitation of flame.  Had it been there before?  

Essek dared to touch the bloom and found it whisper-soft.  “Is this for me?”  He smiled and looked down at the desk. “Thank you.”

He didn’t let himself be vulnerable in public, especially not with his peers at the Marble Tomes.  Encouragement was usually concealing condescension, and praise, envy, and Essek had no appetite for these poisoned gifts.

Here, though, speaking to his quiet listener, he could be imperfect.  He could make mistakes, and be treated with grace.  Free of judgment. 

He traced the edge of the flower one more time, then took a breath, emboldened.

“Alright.  Starting once again, from the beginning.  Once we accept the Principle of Infinite Division, a challenge in identifying a single timeline occurs when—”

The rain pitter-patted on the windows, as though the night was curious too about how Essek’s research was progressing and wished to listen in.  The low murmur of Essek’s voice mingled with the crackle of the hearth, the space warm, and though Essek was alone, he was not lonely.

Hours passed.  The fire grew low, and the candles short. 

Essek was slumped on the desk, head pillowed on one arm, and the other loosely circling the base of the potted tree, knuckles resting against cool ceramic.  His magelights had gone out a while ago and he had not recast them.  A few fresh pages of scribblings were scattered around him.  A few had fallen to the floor among a modest graveyard of crumpled rejects.

His eyes were closed, neither fully trancing nor true-sleeping, but a hazy mixture of both in which reality felt surreal and soft-edged.  A well-earned doze after his academic fugue: he had made progress.

He was not alarmed when there was the muted susurrus of a throw blanket unfolding, nor the weight of it coming to rest on his shoulders.  He accepted these things each as they happened, feeling content.

“It’s me,” came a low voice, pitched soft as a midnight breeze through new leaves.  

“I know,” Essek said sleepily, eyes still closed.  “I always know when it’s you.”  

Fingers carded through his hair.  “Resting at your desk again?  I hope it is because things are going well.”

“It is,” Essek answered. “I have been using the method you suggested.”

“Oh?”

With a yawn, he straightened up and opened his eyes.

Caleb was there, leaned against the desk, looking down at Essek with fondness crimping his expression, his red hair turned bronze by the glowing embers in the hearth.  He looked travel-weary and wonderful.

Essek took up Caleb’s hand and held it to his cheek, just because he could. “Yes, I have been explaining the concepts aloud, as if to an ignorant audience.”  He indicated the potted miniature tree next to Caleb’s hip.

Caleb nodded sagely, eyes twinkling.  “Ah, and is our green friend here now fully educated in the Principle of Infinite Division?”

“He’s getting there,” Essek replied.  Then he tugged gently on the hand he held captive, turning his face up to Caleb as a morning flower does the sun.  “Now, come here.”

Caleb smiled, and went.

.

(Happy April Fools! 😁💜🌳)

(also the bonsai is a dwarf pomegranate and would not be "as tall as a tower" in the Empire. Essek knows nothing about botany except where it crosses into alchemy.)

[rare-agere-reverie]

I have a fanfic request for welcome home (if your don’t mind!)

Caregiver(s): Eddie Dear

Regressor(s): Wally Darling

Plot: Eddie is going back to his home after he finished his mail route and spots an overstimulated, regressed Wally trying to hide his regression. Eddie decides to help Wally.

Please and thank you! 👋😅

Woo my first fic for the blog and it’s my hyperfixation! Hope I did your idea justice anon 📬

Something to Hold

CG!Eddie Dear + Little!Wally Darling

“Here’s your mail, Julie!” cheerfully proclaimed Eddie. He pulled a primary-colored letter with a pawprint stamp from his bag. The rainbow monster joyfully took it from him.

“Thanks for the letter, Eddie,” she replied, “Can you play Magic Bakery with me?” The mailman froze a little, remembering the last time Julie played that game. Poppy’s kitchen needed an entire week of cleaning after her sugar potion erupted in a splash of batter.

“I’d like to, but I don’t think I’m up for it,” Eddie excused, his right hand scratching at the back of his neck.

“That’s okay, I bet Frank would love to play Magic Bakery,” reassured Julie confidently. “Bye Eddie! Hope your day’s fun!”

“I’ll see you later!” He tipped his hat as he strolled away. Feeling his hand around inside his mailbag, Eddie sighed freely when he didn’t touch a single letter. Now that his day’s work is done, his schedule is free. Maybe I should fold some paper butterflies; Frank would love that. How about I cut a ribbon of stars? I could even deliver it to Sally. 

Caught up in his thoughts, Eddie tripped over a pebble. Slight pain flared a bit as he landed face first on the grass. He propped himself up, only to spot something small behind the post office.

Huh, did someone leave a package? 

Eddie kept walking, then realized the figure was one of his neighbors. His steps slowed stealthily, as if worried about scaring the person off. Hiding around a corner of the building, the mailman realized it was actually Wally.

The small darling seemed quiet and tense, unlike his usual content self. His ascot hung loose around his neck, his cardigan unbuttoned and nearly falling from his shoulders, and his chest heaving unsteadily. In Eddie’s favor, Wally’s eyes are too trained on the apple in his hands to notice someone spying on him. A self-soothing behavior taking virtually no effect.

The taller friend’s worry only grew at the sight. What could’ve scared him so badly? …I finished my route; it wouldn’t hurt to take a break. A sporadic yet subdued burst of footsteps carried Eddie closer, alerting Wally of his presence.

“Hey Darlin’,” the concerned man sat beside the shorter, “do you need any help?” With a slight turn of the head towards his friend, Wally’s shaking pupils dragged themselves to meet Eddie’s gaze. 

“No,” he decided, his voice soaked in anxiety. A blatant lie, unfit for a usually happy friend and neighbor.

“Oh, Wally, it’s okay to ask for help,” Eddie soothed, reaching a hand out for the frazzled artist. The painter hesitated, glancing wearily between his apple and his friend’s palm. Said friend never stopped displaying such genuine affection, effectively winning Wally over. Wordlessly, one hand held the red fruit while the other hovered over Eddie’s hand. The mail carrier kept a loose yet secure grip, propped Wally up, and led him inside the post office.

For the most part, the inside sparkled with cleanliness; only a side table was littered with scrap paper from a previous crafts project. Eddie placed his hat and work bag on the wall hooks behind the reception desk, and let go of Wally in the process. Free to explore, Wally felt drawn to the table of leftover materials, eyeing every individual paper. When the off-duty mailman returned his attention to his friend in need, his confusion grew a little. After all, Wally’s tantalized by spare pieces of the paper crowns he made for Sally’s last play.

“What is it, Darlin’?” Eddie asked, joining Wally at the cluttered table.

“Red,” mumbled the yellow puppet, pointing at a pile of paper triangles with the same color. He thoughtlessly placed his apple on the table, and admired the differing shades between the maroon scraps and the scarlet fruit.

“That’s right; they’re both red,” awkwardly added Eddie. Despite his quiet exhale unknowingly releasing itself, he couldn’t stop thinking about the unfamiliar behavior unfolding next to him. I’m glad he’s feeling better, but something ain’t right.

“Gween,” Wally muttered, now pointing towards a couple of poorly-cut ovals. That certainly snapped the distracted mailman out of his thoughts.

“Green?” repeated Eddie, mental wheels finding enough courage to turn. Maybe he wants to distract himself with colors, he rationalized. At this apparent correction of pronunciation, the secretly-regressed little darted his eyes down to his fingers, which gently tapped on the table.

“Yeah, that,” spoke Wally, voice shy and small. It melted Eddie’s heart with melancholy, yearning for the artist’s happiness to return. 

“I didn’t mean to make you sad, Darlin’,” affirmed Eddie, his words sweeter than any apples Wally had seen. “Just know I want to help you find your smile again, okay?” The regressor nodded confidently, his clear gaze fixed onto Eddie’s while his hands made a grabby motion towards the mail carrier.

“Oh! You want a hug?” Words escaped Wally; he could only repeat his grabby hands. “Aww, of course I will, Darlin’!” Protecting arms wrapped snugly around the little’s limp body.

Smiles on their faces, they stayed like that until Wally’s eyes slowly closed. Naturally, Eddie pulled out his Murphy bed and tucked the sleepy darling underneath soft blankets. As one of them napped, the other lovingly watched over them.

[ask-the-splitmind-au]

Meet the Spearmaster! (Splitmind AU)

Reblogs > Likes (Reblogging helps out a lot, even if it doesn't seem like much!)

The fucked-up science fair project

Some more lore on the designing of Spearmaster is that I wanted my iterator-made sluggies to learn a lot harder into the 'slug' part of slugcat. As such, Spearmaster (and Hunter) have the little feelers on their face, as well as feeling a lot slimier and lacking a lot of fur. Plus, the little ruffle thing around their sides looks really cute to me.

Tagging Station

@doodlebug091

@keeper-of-magic

@angeliteonfridgeduty

@stupidscav

@batnip

@riverripplespeaks

@cherry-b0mber

@luxdraconia

@voldkat

@lunas-sketchbook

(I was also gonna ping every follower, but 1) they'll see this anyway probably and 2) THERE'S ALREADY 20 OF YOU WHAT??)

Pre - Suns

Well, as 'Pre-Suns' as it gets, considering they made them.

Spears was initially created by Suns as a way to deliver the gold pearl to Pebbles. Suns carefully made their organism, placed the pearl inside it's body, and sent it on it's merry little way. Spearmaster did it's duty, delivering the pearl, but on it's way back, was viciously attacked and the pearl was ripped from it's body. Not sure if Suns wanted a pearl like this floating around, Spearmaster decided to lay the pearl to rest somewhere far, where (hopefully) nobody else could find it.

When Spears got back, Suns mostly just told it to do fuck-all until they needed a messenger again. It was always to give sensitive information, usually to Five Pebbles, regarding the process of self-ascension. Overall, Spears grew used to this routine and Suns never really saw Spears as a living creature, rather, an object.

That changed upon the latest, deep red pearl, once Pebbles began rejecting normal communications. After seeing the pearl so violently ripped out, and realizing just how diligent the messenger was in their journeys, Suns' opinion of the little fellow changed and they treated it more like a pet cat when it returned.

Post - Suns

Similar to Ruffles and Moon, Suns was visited by a small dark slugcat that spoke perfectly with no clear indication as to how. After it explained how it was an iterator living within the creature's mind, Suns became intrigued at the idea that this could be the answer. It gave Suns the unique pearl with the information on how to do such, and told it that should the process be a success, pass the pearl on to others nearby when it was no longer of use to them. The creature also advised Suns to craft the ideal body for this, and Suns simply held up Spearmaster, believing their organism to be a perfect host.

Suns attempted to explain everything to Spears, but (in typical cat fashion) they weren't particularly listening. Suns went ahead with the procedure, and bound their mind to Spears'. When the pair came to, Spears was terrified at the sudden loss of life in Suns' puppet until they explained everything from within their head. Suns wanted to take the pearl to Pebbles first, hoping he was still in good enough health to make use of it, but Spears refused to set paw near his can again. Suns decided to let Spears keep doing their thing, but wanted to explore the world a little before they'd think about trying ascension.

Despite this, Spearmaster never really met any other slugcats, even though they were a fast traveler. Suns kept encouraging them to visit other iterators, but each one they went to already seemed to have gotten the message. Interestingly, Spearmaster did meet a green pup with the same eye, and he was quick to spill that Unparalleled Innocence was in his head. Spears found the fellow charming, but had no interest in keeping a young child alive and left shortly after.

Spearmaster travels afar, guided by Suns to find any remaining iterators and share the message with those it has not reached. Secretly, Spearmaster hopes to find the first slugcat who shared the idea with them, since they found themselves quite fond of the creature, despite only seeing them.

[melishade]

Prompt # 94

This ask game

Moblit admiring the intricacies of Optimus Prime.

Moblit was afraid when the Metal Titan known as Optimus Prime showed up in Trost and helped protect both soldier and civilian. This titan took out at least 100 titans. At least according to the official report. The titan could have killed way more. However, he grew more fearful when Optimus Prime was given to the Survey Corps. It wasn't because he feared the titan at that point. The altruism it displayed in the courtroom was a marvel. No, he feared what Hanji was going to do to it when they had the chance.

But Optimus Prime was putting effort to have them exhibit restraint and patience. It helped, but not that much in his opinion. He still had to help out Hanji with experimentations, so he kept a close eye on the both of them. Now he sat in another one of Hanji's many experiments with this titan. Thankfully, it seemed that Optimus was keeping them in line, so Moblit continued to study the titan in his own way.

Moblit wanted to be an artist when he was younger. He practiced and took lessons, but being an artist was competitive, and he needed to find a way to make a living. The Survey Corps were enrolling people, so he joined. His sharp mind and desire to learn caused him to be placed under Hanji. The squad leader's heart was in the right place, but they stressed him out so much to the point where he would have to get alcohol poisoning in order to get drunk. Still, Moblit was able to cover some of Hanji's weaknesses, and create diagrams of perfection for Hanji to further analyze and speculate.

His art allowed him to capture the beauty and the details that many with a normal eye would miss. The shine in the eyes of a living human and the lack of warmth in a dead one, the dead yet manic expressions of a titan, the strands of someone's hair, the wrinkles in the fabric of someone's clothing, he used his artistic ability to capture the life that someone had once lived.

Drawing humans and titans was one thing; however. Drawing a titan, or Cybertronian, like Optimus was another. The titan...was a marvel in terms of art. Humans and titans are detailed in their own way, but many vital organs and details of the human body are covered with a layer of skin. The titan's body had metal parts sticking out of him that wasn't covered by his skin, or armor. Metal protruded out of his joints, he could physically see the muscle lining of his abdomen, the wheels attached to his feet had groves and indents, and he could see rocks and pebbles stuck in between it. His armor had scratches and indents, he could see his reflection in the silver of the Prime's gun and sword. The way his eyes rotated and shined was so fascinating.

His first time drawing the Prime was...lop-sided. Uneven. Ugly. It was the first time in a long time that he's been stumped with a new project like this, since this was his first time encountering a titan like this. But time passed. Pages upon pages of his sketchbook filled with the titan in order to study him. To understand him. Hanji understands the world through science. He understands the world through art.

And Optimus Prime was...magnificent. Beautiful. A marvel to behold. Wherever he had come from, and whoever created him, took time love, and care into making someone as mighty and powerful as him, but ensured that despite all of his power, he would still have a kind heart.

Moblit's pencil continued scratching along the paper as he finished up another sketch of Optimus' face. This time he did put more detail into crafting his facial features instead of a contour pose. He did draw him with the mask because without it made him feel weird. It was so weird seeing someone without a nose.

"Moblit, how's the work coming along?!" Hanji called out to him.

"Fine, Hanji!" Moblit reassured, "Just doing another study of Optimus."

"Oooo, that means he's drawing you!" Hanji grinned to Optimus as they walked up to him.

"Drawing me?" Optimus questioned in surprise.

"No! He doesn't need to see!" Moblit tried to hide his drawing, but Hanji grabbed the sketchbook and showed it to the Prime. Moblit grew nervous at the thought of the Prime judging his art as he examined it, but...the Prime's expression morphed into something of amazement.

"You are very talented, Moblit," Optimus complimented.

"It's nothing," Moblit proclaimed as he snatched the notebook back from Hanji.

"I do mean it," Optimus reassured, "You have an amazing gift."

"Oh...thank you." Moblit rubbed the back of his head.

"Although that was still rude to take his belongings without proper permission," Optimus scolded Hanji.

"Moblit is a great artist, but he sells himself short," Hanji retorted.

"That is still quite rude," Optimus insisted.

"Fair enough," Hanji sighed before turning to Moblit. "Sorry about that."

"It's fine," Moblit reassured.

(I did Moblit dirty in AOP so I thought I'd show him a little love. 32 has been asked but everything else is free game.)

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Silk and ink

Commission by @estethell!!! Look how beautiful he is!!!! -> Link

Please go give this amazing artist some love!!!!

Words: 2k

Characters: Ori x OC

Warnings: Nothing, just innocent fluff

When she had first arrived in Erebor with her two younger siblings, Wai had held very little hope that they’d find a place in this war-stricken, miserable colony.

Besides the ancient inhabitants of the Lonely Mountain, returning to their ancestral home, there were many refugees from near and far as well and, just like Wai and her family, these were looking for a better life out here.

Who could fault them for that with the shadows growing ever longer and darker in territories so remote that the esteemed royalty of Erebor could not even imagine what they looked like?

Pushing aside all thoughts of societal norms and aspirations, Wai kept her head down and worked hard to build a new and better life for her family—she could and would not fail, not when she had gotten so far already.

Wai the Weaver, that was what they had called her in the wide prairies of her native country and—due to her exceptional skill and her reasonable prices—she soon found enough work to occupy her hands and feed her brother and sister at least one warm meal a day.

Moreover, as the weeks turned into months, she managed to unpack her loom and strike up some bargains and exchanges with the local dwarves to pursue her more intimate passion projects—life was good and yet, Wai could not help but feeling that something was missing.

One day, upon strolling around a rather secluded part of the Mountain proper, she found a lonely courtyard, decorated with a gallery of artworks depicting the heroes having undertaken that foolhardy quest that had ultimately provided a safe harbour for 3 orphans.

Kneeling on the cold ground, Wai touched her forehead to the slippery stone and said a prayer of gratitude. She knew not whether these brave dwarves had even survived or if they had been returned to the cradle of stone from whence they had come, but she was filled with a profound sensation of love at the sight of their stern, resolute faces.

As she walked down the row of expertly painted portraits, her eyes fell on someone who looked much less hardened than the others and a wistful smile bloomed across her face—deciphering the name underneath the stunning work of art with much difficulty, Wai cocked her head in surprise.

“Ori,” she whispered, already stepping closer and lifting a calloused, skilful finger to hover just a breath away from that delicate face that had so captured her attention—he was beautiful in a soft, inviting way, and the half-smile he wore complimented his big, curious eyes perfectly.

“Please be alive,” Wai spoke insistently to an inanimate rendition of a person she had never known; for some reason, she could not bear the idea of the world having been robbed of such a glorious, gorgeous creature. “Please, please, be happy and thriving. You look like you deserve it.”

From that day on, she would steal away with the hard-won results of her wearying and meticulous work, harvesting and processing different materials in long hours of quiet contemplation, to weave and craft while sitting under this specific painting. Somehow, she felt less alone and abandoned here.

“Do you like knitwork?” she asked the painting as she rolled up the fine thread produced by the worms which she had brought all the way from her home onto little spools. “I wonder what you’d say to the fabric of my people.”

Unbeknownst to her, Ori himself was contemplating the same question.

“I wonder what fabric that is,” Dori muttered as they stood on the porch of their little abode and watched a young boy with jet-black hair hasten down the street.

“Why don’t you go and ask him?” Nori said, his eyes twinkling with mischievous glee because he realised that he had captured both his brothers’ attention—he so loved it when he knew more than them.

“I cannot very well go and pounce upon a pebble, don’t be absurd,” Dori replied in a flustered tone that betrayed that he very much would have liked to do just that. “What is he carrying there and where is he going?”

For a long moment, Nori merely polished his nails against his own worn coat and let them stew in their curiosity.

“It’s wool,” he finally informed his spell-bound brothers. “He lives with a woman—too young to be the mother, maybe a sister or an aunt—and she’s made a deal with Dwalin. I say ‘deal’, but it was more akin to a bet.”

“Go on,” Dori pressed when the thieving rascal relapsed into enigmatic silence; Dori was convinced that he merely wanted to annoy his older brother when, in truth, it was Ori’s startled reaction that had distracted Nori from his tale.

“Her brother went and brushed the rams for months to see when their fur would be ideal for shearing and processing,” Nori finally picked up his narration again. “It seems, he’s finally content and so, I venture to say that he’s bringing the wool to that mysterious lady. She’s promised to give the first result of her craft with it to Dwalin and we’re both so impatient to see if those old, grumpy monstrosities will actually earn their keep even in times of peace.”

With a lopsided grin and a shallow sigh, he aimed his final blow, keeping both his brothers in his line of sight. “She’s doing marvellous things, that one. It’s come to my attention that she likes sitting under that piece of vandalism some unknown scribbler has put on the walls of an abandoned courtyard. If you’re really that interested in her fabrics, Dori, I’d suggest you seek her out there and talk to her. She’s more than open to trades, you know? I predict that, very soon, the little lady will have convinced someone to let her crossbreed her own sheep with the local animals to create the best wool of the region.”

“Ambitious little thing,” Dori admitted, searching his memory for that lady—he could not recall ever having seen anyone matching his brother’s description in the halls or the market stalls and he said so rather suspiciously.

“Oh no,” Nori laughed, “she’s very secretive and only those who know about her ever manage to find her. I’m just providing this information to you because you’re my brothers and I love you.”

“Are we talking about the same courtyard?” Ori squeaked into the silence of the standstill in his brothers’ conversation—his face was flushed with shame because he knew exactly which one Nori was referring to, mainly, because it had been him who had done the illegal paintings.

“Yes, she seems to be quite enamoured with it and with that illicit art, of course,” Nori grinned. “She’s not part of society and I doubt whether she has ever seen any of us in the flesh. Who knows? She might think that we’re some kind of ancient kings or revered servants of Mahal?”

“Pah!” Dori exclaimed. “Don’t talk such nonsense! We are clearly none of these things, but yes, one should go and find that lady, if possible.”

“I’ll go,” Ori volunteered and, to his brothers’ surprise, packed his own drawing kit and another shawl before rushing out of the house as if he was afraid that they’d ask him to clean out the whole kitchen with a tiny brush if he didn’t disappear fast enough.

Humming to herself, Wai let the delicate fabric glide through her fingers like woven water.

Her brother had brought home sturdy wool that was soaking in a tub—giving her a few hours to work on the art of her ancestors in the deserted courtyard—and she felt happier than she had in a long time.

“I think that, if we got to crossbreed the beasts, we’d get some very good wool,” she told the man in the painting in her soft, lilting voice.

His kind eyes and gentle face had become the very symbol of hope and comfort to her, and she came to look at it whenever she could.

“Who are you?” she asked, not expecting an answer, and almost kicking over her loom when an equally soft voice replied to her.

“He is a scribe, a member of the company, and a mediocre artist. He is I, Ori, at your service.”

Wai whirled around and there he was—in the flesh—the pale, copper-haired beauty she had been gazing upon for so long that his breathing, living pulchritude filled her with the immense joy of finding something familiar in a foreign land.

“My brother sends me to inquire about the fabric he’s seen on a young boy,” Ori started and then stepped forward eagerly. “Is this it? Do you make it yourself? Oh…may I touch it?”

Struck dumb by his overwhelming, cautious sweetness and the gleam in his dark eyes, Wai simply motioned invitingly at the loom.

“My name is Wai,” she then whispered. “I am so sorry. It must be strange to find someone talking to your likeness like a demented woman.”

Ori looked up from the swatch, blinking in surprise. “Not at all. Do you like them then, the paintings, I mean?”

“Immensely, they are breath-takingly beautiful,” Wai assured him with a shy bow. “This one especially.”

With a half-smile, Ori cocked his head inquisitively. “I am flattered,” he admitted quietly, “for I am not only the subject of the one you seem to favour but I am also the artist who made all of them. It’s a secret though; you won’t betray me to the others, right?”

He waved at the rest of the gallery.

“He,” Wai pointed at the painted Ori, “is the keeper of my secrets so, in gratitude for this extraordinary gift with which you have graced this oasis of peace, I shall, in turn, keep yours.” She smiled broadly—Ori felt a treacherous blush creep up his neck; he had never known a woman who could grin at him as if he was the most marvellous sight she had beheld in forever.

Then, her gaze fell on his art supplies. “Do you still draw?” she asked curiously, drawing a bit nearer until she could feel the fragrant heat emanating from his warmly clothed form.

“I do,” he acquiesced in a choked squeak.

“I want to offer you something,” she said fervently. “I’ve brought it from my home and I think that you would use it well. May I meet you again?”

Colour rose into her cheeks as she heard herself make such forward and indecent demands, but she gritted her teeth and tilted up her face bravely.

“My brother is a draper,” Ori replied, “and we’d be honoured to welcome you in our home. You can sit there and weave if that would please you.”

“Will you be there? I have grown used to your face—as undignified as that sounds—and it brings me great solace and joy!”

“I shall,” he promised, “and I’d love to be the keeper of your secrets.”

“If that is so,” Wai cheered, “I shall bring you one of the sticks of ancient ink from a faraway land.”

Ori was unsure what made his heart beat like a frantic, startled bird within his chest—the idea of precious ink or the knowledge that he had made a new friend—but he couldn’t help chuckling nervously. “I shall await you impatiently.”

“I have to go wash a whole batch of wool first, but I should be able to call on your eminent beauty tomorrow if that is agreeable to you?”

“Tomorrow,” Ori nodded, visibly dazed and delighted. “Until then, Miss Wai.”

Once again, many thanks to @estethell for this beautiful piece of art!

Lots of love from me <3

[besties-breakup-poll]

Besties Breakup Bracket!!

It's timeeeeee! Here are our match-ups!

Round 1 is split into four groups, with each group of polls going up every few days. Polls are a week long. As per the rules, propaganda is welcome, just keep it civil :)

Round 1A and B are up! Let's do this!!

You can also find the full list of competitors under the cut!

Round 1A:

Kiryu & Nishiki (Yakuza Kiwami) vs The Doctor & The Master (Doctor Who)

Sasha, Anne & Marcy (Amphibia) vs Mami & Kyouko (Madoka Magica)

Gojo & Geto (Jujutsu Kaisen) vs Sunny & Basil (Omori)

Thatcher & Dave (The Mandela Catalogue) vs Shauna & Jackie (Yellowjackets)

Todd & Copper (The Fox and the Hound) vs Sarah & Nancy (The Craft)

Ruth & Debbie (GLOW) vs Joey & Dick (Me And My Dick)

Kara & Lena (Supergirl) vs Juno, Mick & Sasha (The Penumbra Podcast)

Kaeya & Diluc (Genshin Impact) vs Fushima & Yata (K Project)

Round 1B:

Regina & Janis (Mean Girls) vs Rebecca & Paula (Crazy Ex-Girlfriend)

Michael & Jeremy (Be More Chill) vs Greg & Rowley (Diary of a Wimpy Kid)

Jon & Tim (The Magnus Archives) vs Arthur & John (Malevolent)

Daisy & Fitz (Agents of Shield) vs Fitz & The Fool (Realm of the Elderlings)

Matt & Foggy (Daredevil) vs Gihun & Sangwoo (Squid Game)

Anakin & Obi Wan (Star Wars) vs Azula, Mai & Ty Lee (Avatar The Last Airbender)

Rin & Kitay (The Poppy War) vs Kaito & Shuichi (Danganronpa)

Charles & Erik (X Men) vs Vander & Silco (Arcane)

Round 1C:

Catra & Adora (She Ra) vs Nana & Nana (Nana)

Grace & Simon (Infinity Train) vs Silence & Saria (Arknights)

Steve & Tony (MCU) vs Reki & Langa (SK8 the Infinity)

Dia & Bort (Houseki no Kuni) vs Rapunzel & Cassandra (Tangled)

Keefe & Fitz (Keeper of the Lost Cities) vs Jo & Laurie (Little Women)

Jennifer & Needy (Jennifer’s Body) vs House & Wilson (House MD)

Rashmi, Amelie & Loam (Entropic Float) vs Chloe & Adrien (Miraculous Ladybug)

Amity & Willow (The Owl House) vs Serval & Cocolia (Honkai: Star Rail)

Round 1D:

Annabeth, Thalia & Luke (Percy Jackson) vs Midoriya & Bakugou (BNHA)

Taylor & Rachel (Parahumans) vs Gilgamesh & Tarvek (Girl Genius)

Seven Red Suns & Five Pebbles (Rain World) vs Chell & Wheatley (Portal 2)

Wei Wuxian & Jiang Cheng (The Untamed) vs Colm & Pádraic (The Banshees of Inisherin)

Naruto & Sasuke (Naruto) vs Mercedes & Annette (Fire Emblem: Three Houses

Cole & Jay (Ninjago) vs Lelouch & Suzaku (Code Geass)

Roxas, Axel & Xion (Kingdom Hearts) vs Rudolph & Tobias (Ghost Eyes)

Kirk & Spock (Star Trek) vs Caesar & Brutus (Julius Caesar)

[norwegianvisagecrusher]

There was an estate sale on our street today, so my roommate and I walked over to take a look around and see if there were any good fiber craft materials around. And boy howdy were there and now I'm emotional. The woman that lived there was obviously a quilter, because there were two absolutely stunning hand quilted quilts hanging on a blanket ladder in the living room for sale. If I had $200 I would have taken one home because her stitches were so tiny and straight and her piecing was impeccable. And there was a box of crocheted doilys and pillow case edging, and another box of vintage glass buttons, and another box of embroidery floss, and another box of embroidery practice sheets and fabric. I ended up buying her sewing kit basket because I saw some lovely needle books from the 40s in there at first glance.

And in the process of going through her kit, I found bird feathers and small smooth pebbles and little bits and bobs she had tucked away for some reason or another. She kept her straight pins in an old prescription bottle from 1969. She strung all her safety pins onto a kilt pin. She had 6 packs of upholstery needles in her kit. I have no idea who this woman was, but I know she went to Paris in 1971 and brought home a hotel sewing kit and took the time to write down the dates of her trip.

And then I found her chunk of bees wax and got so so emotional. She'd obviously used that particular chunk for countless projects and it looks like a flower from all the times she's pulled floss over it. I'm holding all these parts of this woman's life and I'll never know her or her story, but I do get to marvel at her tools and her work.

[tvreadsandsleep]

» Sparring!Attoye || Attoye Prompt Drabbles || Master List «

Attuma had heard Okoye speak often of how unappealing she found her Midnight angel suit. She said it looked alien with its bulbous blackened eye coverings and the projections cascading from the back of her head. She felt—with its, borderline, ridiculous design, it didn’t command respect as her Dora Milaje armor had. Still, she wore it with honor, now only occasionally complaining to Shuri about what the Princess had crafted. With time, Okoye had come to appreciate how the armor enhanced her abilities and provided her with protection, and did her best to focus on that.

Attuma, on the other hand, didn’t much mind how the suit looked. In fact, he liked it, not only because it kept his love safe, but also because it vaguely reminded him of the ocean and his people. He’d always ascribed azul, the color blue, with Talokan. It was the hue they attributed to Chaac, their god of rain and abundance, as well as the shade Talokanil skin turned when on the surface. Her helmet’s projection, for which Okoye had so much dislike, brought to mind octopus tentacles. He held a begrudging fondness for the intelligent, sometimes meddlesome creatures, who���d once been bothersome to the Talokanil people, but now gave them a wide breadth. Lastly, the armor gave her the ability of flight, evoking images of K’uk’ulkan and his winged ankles.

Attuma’s biggest quarrel with the helmet, and suit of armor in general, was that it kept her face entirely covered. During training, he mourned the loss of Okoye’s beautiful, expressive eyes and lush, pillow soft lips from his sight. He longed to caress her cheeks and rub his nose against hers. Her visage was sorely missed, but its absence helped to keep him focused on the day’s task.

Though, that wasn’t the complete truth. Despite the identical look of their uniforms, Attuma was able, without fail, to tell his Okoye apart from Aneka. Of course, he recognized her voice, but he’d also memorized the cadence of her walk and could pinpoint the fluidity of her movements from miles away. In his inability to see her face, he’d taken to more closely ogling what he could of her body (not that that hadn’t already been one of his favorite pastimes).

Watching as she presently fought against one of his fellow Talokanil soldiers, his eyes took in the length of her torso and the strength of her thighs, though his view of the backside he so adored was obstructed. He’d moved to take a step closer and circle the battling pair, for a better look, when he felt a sting upon his forehead. Rubbing the spot, he looked around to find its cause. He found Namora, the smaller woman juggling what looked to be a pebble between her hands, and knew right away.

“Stop your staring and get back to work. You are to be leading a session,” she sternly proclaimed.

Annoyed and grumbling, Attuma spared one last glance at Okoye before forcing himself away.

[kookyberry]

"Vase Hacks: Creative Ways to Repurpose and Revitalize"

Vases are much more than mere vessels for holding flowers. With a dash of creativity and a sprinkle of imagination, these versatile objects can be transformed into captivating decor pieces. In this blog post, we'll explore a collection of ingenious vase hacks that will breathe new life into your old vases. Get ready to unleash your artistic side and give those dormant vases a chance to shine!

1. Terrarium Magic:

Turn your vase into a miniature garden by creating a stunning terrarium. Start by layering small rocks at the bottom for drainage, then add a layer of activated charcoal to keep the soil fresh. Finally, top it off with a mix of potting soil and your favorite plants. Succulents, air plants, and mosses are excellent choices for low-maintenance terrariums. Place your creation in a well-lit spot and watch as your vase transforms into a mesmerizing green oasis.

2. Illuminating Beauty:

Give your vase a luminous makeover by turning it into a unique lamp. Purchase a lamp kit from your local hardware store and follow the instructions to safely wire the socket and attach the bulb. Fill the vase with decorative items like seashells, marbles, or colorful beads. Then, simply insert the socket through the vase opening, and voila! You now have a stunning DIY lamp that will add a warm and cozy ambiance to any room.

3. Seasonal Sensations:

Celebrate the changing seasons by transforming your vase into a seasonal centerpiece. Fill it with an assortment of seasonal items such as pinecones, colorful leaves, or delicate spring blossoms. For a festive touch, add some miniature ornaments during the holiday season. This simple hack allows you to effortlessly infuse the spirit of each season into your home decor.

4. Artsy Brush Holders:

Give your artistic tools a stylish and organized home by repurposing a vase as a brush holder. Whether you're a painter, a makeup artist, or simply enjoy the occasional craft project, a vase can make the perfect storage solution. Fill it with glass beads, pebbles, or even colored sand to keep your brushes upright and easily accessible. This practical hack will not only keep your workspace tidy but also add a touch of elegance to your creative endeavors.

5. Delightful Dining Accents:

Elevate your dining experience by using vases as unconventional table accents. Fill tall, slender vases with water, add floating candles, and scatter some flower petals for a romantic ambiance during dinner parties. Alternatively, use shorter vases to display cutlery or napkins creatively. The possibilities are endless, and these simple hacks will undoubtedly impress your guests and make mealtime an extraordinary affair.

Conclusion:

With these creative vase hacks, you can breathe new life into your old vases and unlock their hidden potential. From transforming them into lush terrariums to repurposing them as functional decor pieces, the versatility of vases knows no bounds. So, don't let those forgotten vases gather dust in the corner; instead, let your imagination run wild and explore the endless possibilities that await. Get ready to revitalize your space with these simple yet ingenious ideas and let your vases shine in all their newfound glory!

Check out this kooky face vase!