#crumble creations

[dragonmom-art]

This is a birthday gift I made for my gamer girl friend. She's a huge fan of the game Unravel, so I made her a Yarny from Unravel 2. This game is so beautiful and has yarn in it so I got hooked to it automatically (pun intended 🤭)

Pattern by Crumbly Creations

[serpentface]

Faiza performing the Kagnoma Odo (pretty literally 'lion dance'), a weapons dance and one of the more important ritual duties of Odonii priestesses. A relatively new addition to this traditional dance involves the musket as the primary weapon, which is fired mid-twirl into the ground at the climax of the dance. Faiza is experiencing an 'oh fuck' moment because her shot is more than ideally diagonal, but she’s being so cool with it.

This is a wholly ceremonial performance at the onset of the pilgrimage, performed in full regalia and lion skin (of the small, semi-domesticated strain) but no armor. It’s also distinctly a display of political allegiance between the powerful and beloved Odonii priesthood (and its loyal military) with the increasingly reviled and destabilized imperial family, with Faiza prominently wearing a bracelet of the royal serpent, which was gifted (along with the musket) by the usoma Stavis Amanti himself (Usoma is the Wardi word for king, which has been retained in the context of emperors).

The Kagnoma Odo is the ultimate demonstration of the Odonii as an embodiment of the Lion Face of God and living vessel of military might and sovereignty, demonstrating her fitness and proficiency with weapons and as a spiritual unifier for soldiers. It is accompanied by drumming and occurs in stages, running through the three keymost weapons used in war- the spear, the sword, and the musket. The musket is of the most significance, given the weapon has developed a particular esteem as the ultimate embodiment of might and superiority. Assistants (almost always other priestesses, occasionally high ranking soldiers) load and prime the musket to be fired at the climax of the dance, where it is shot into the ground as the priestess leaps out of range of the shot. The firing signals the end of the dance and the rite itself.

While not the utmost exemplar of trigger discipline, only fully inducted and senior (and therefore very thoroughly trained) Odonii are permitted to perform the dance, and injuries during actual performances are quite rare (though are known to occur during training, more than a few Odonii have burns and wounds on their feet).

The most important renditions of this dance are performed upon declarations of war and before battles (in this case, generally done in full armor along with the lion pelt). It is also done during some trainings (while a dance, it is carefully choreographed to include naturalistic maneuvers of the weapons involved and helps soldiers limber up and learn to move their weapons). It is regarded as an impressive and motivating sight and a morale booster, and, seen at a distance, potentially intimidating to enemies.

A special variant of this dance is performed as means of fully incarnating the Odomache, which is done in full nudity with the body covered in the blood of the freshly sacrificed lion and cloaked in its raw pelt (the lion has become the corpse of Odomache in the moment of death, as part of its recreation of God's sacrifice). Her public, full nude appearance once (and only once) in this act is what allows the Lion Face of God to incarnate within her. Those in attendance see the spiritually vulnerable, naked human body obscured with the sanctified and deified blood and cloaked in the sanctified and deified skin. It is a merger of the contradictions of mortality and divinity, the boundaries between the two indistinct in flickering firelight and the flash of musketfire. She is witnessed by her people, dangling in between humanity and divinity and leading them in dance, and and is thus transformed.

[m0rninglatte]

What if- what if I told y'all there was one photo from the Fable and Icarus photoshoot that was still being edited?

What if I just *slides piece of paper across the table and walks out the door with haste*

[Image 1 is with references, Image 2 is without]

[Icarus: @snakey-sanders, any pro-nouns

Fable: M0rninglatte, they/it]

[lylahammar]

tbh I'll never truly consider genAI to be a threat to art because humanity's capacity to create things is literally our most powerful strength and calling as a species. It's the instinct that advanced our species to this point, and onward. No matter how big and scary genAI feels, people will always continue to create no matter what. Humans can literally lose their limbs and still make art with their mouths. Like absolutely nothing can stop us.

[loderlied]

i will go to sleep NOW 🫵 (pointing at myself)

[cluepoke-archive]

Working out some frankensteiny character concepts ! feel free 2 ask me questions about them :]

[kurara-black-blog]

White Lily/Dark Enchantress: I must know why cookies where created!

Me: Dear, probably not even the witches know why they were created, calm the fuck down

[burningstarfishqueen]

spoilers for the season five finale

Wrung Out

Chat Noir’s legs hung limp off the ledge. The sun rose over Paris. Clouds tinged the sky orange and scarlet. His eyes stung. 

His cheeks had dried. Salty tear tracks stood out on his skin, all the way to his collar. 

Ladybug’s breaths were quiet, even in the silence. He didn’t look at her. 

Echoes of shouts rasped in his throat. 

They’d sat on the Eiffel Tower, just apart enough they didn’t touch, for long enough. 

Rising to his feet, Chat let his gaze rest on her. Slowly, her head turned to him. 

She’d been angry—scared—before. The line of her mouth had softened. Her eyelids drooped. 

Her cheek could’ve been swollen. A bruise in purple, his father’s colors. For all his rage he’d never touch her. 

A nightmare burned to dust. 

He offered his hand. Her grip was strong. 

His voice was a weak croak. “You and me against the world?” 

It wasn’t a smile on her face, but she didn’t let go. 

“Always.” 

[actualaster]

DotNW basically rewired my brain.

At this point I don't think it's even possible to extricate the game and resulting blorbos from my self without turning me into an entirely different personn

They're like, a permanent part of Me by now.

[katranga]

i made a thing!! :) air dry clay and acrylic paint. it’s ummm a whimsical little dish idk i was simply vibing

[lastoneout]

I keep thinking about all of the disabled activists and people before me who stranded themselves on the 4th floor of buildings for weeks and crawled up stairs and fought with airline staff and schools and doctors and refused to stop existing in the face of injustice and bigotry no matter how big and scary and hopeless it seemed. Every time I get angry and scared the protests that lead to the creation of the ADA pop up again and remind me that disabled people are so much fucking stronger than anyone has ever given us credit for, and I can't help but be proud of that. And I know not all disabled people feel like we should take pride in our disabilities and have flags or whatever, but I think not just living, but thriving, in spite of a world that wants us dead and gone, in the face of both illness and persecution, and how we've not only bought ourselves forward, but uplifted the disabled people around us, secured more equal futures for everyone who will come after, and truly changed the way so many abled people have seen us for the better is something to be damn fucking proud of.

We have always been here and we always will be, there will never be a world without disabled people because being disabled is not bad, it's a natural part of the human experience and yeah it sucks some times but even when it sucks we have fought to build beautiful, unique, happy lives with people, both like us and not, and that should be celebrated.

The first sign of human civilization is the healed femur. The body of the profoundly disabled person who would have needed help to even just eat being carefully laid to rest after decades of a full, happy life. The medicinal plants showing even before we were entirely human we were doing what we could to not just survive, but alleviate suffering while we're at it. Above everything, evolution selected not the baby who can walk and eat and be quiet, but the one that can ask for help.

Disabled people are not just angry cockroach motherfuckers who refuse to die, we are proof of humanity's HUMANITY. Proof that natural selection selected a species that takes care of each other. From healed femurs and medicinal plants to vaccines and IVs and insulin to now, we are driven to help one another, we are at our strongest when we don't leave our most vulnerable behind. And I am living proof of that. My mother is living proof of that. Every disabled and chronically and/or mentally ill person I know is living proof of that.

And I don't know about the rest of you, but will carry that shred of humanity's true nature inside me like it's my fucking soul. I am scared and angry and hurt, but I have a lifetime's experience being scared and angry, and I can shake off the kind of pain that would make Atlas crumble to dust like it's nothing but a stiff fucking breeze. Disabled people have always been here, turning fear and anger and pain into joy and beauty and connection, and I'm not going to let everyone who came before me down. I'm not going to give up. Not now, not ever.

It's okay if you're disabled and you've hit your limit, you're too scared and tired and hurt, I won't blame you. But I won't abandon you, either. I might not be able to right all of the wrongs in the world, but I'll be strong, I'll carry all of you with me, I will not give up.

As I've said before, society hates a cripple who won't die, so we must spite them and live anyway.

Please, live anyway. I know if anyone can, it's us.

[laurasimonsdaughter]

Picture this: Dragons using their caves to age cheese. Dragon Cheesemakers!!

The dragon coiled his enormous body, completely blocking the entrance of the tunnel that lead to the caves.

“No,” he snarled, smoke pluming from his nose.

The cheesemonger pinched the bridge of her own nose. “Look, I explained this to you at the start,” she tried once more. “I make cheese.”

“Yes,” the agreed, nodding his scaly head.

“Then I bring the cheese here.”

“Yes.”

“Then you store all the cheese in your cave, keeping it at the perfect temperature and humidity.”

“Yes.” He sounded particularly proud of this part.

“And then when the cheese has ripened,” she concluded. “I come to pick the cheese up again.”

A thunderous scowl clouded his maw. “No.”

“But that’s how it works!” she cried in exasperation. “I make the cheese, you store the cheese, I sell the cheese, I make more cheese!” She peered up at him. “You do realise I cannot bring you new cheese until I have sold this cheese.”

The dragon considered this for a moment. “Ah, but what if—” he began. “What if you go and make more cheese. And bring me the cheese. And I put it in my cave, with the rest of the hoard. And then I keep it there forever.”

“No,” she said flatly.

It was remarkable how much a dragon could look like it had just swallowed a lemon.

“You can’t keep cheese forever,” she insisted. “It will spoil and go bad!”

“You said it would get better and better!” the dragon roared indignantly. “And I take good care of them! With the air flow and the humidity and the temperature!”

“And that is great,” she said, trying to smile through her frustration. “But when a cheese is ripe, it’s ripe! Then you should not be kept anymore, it should be eaten.”

The dragon scraped it’s formidable claws against the stony ground and sulked.

“Look…” The cheese mongering business did not tend to require a lot of sweet-talking, but she was making an effort. “I’m sure the cheeses that aged in your cave are the best cheeses people have ever tasted. When they find out how delicious they are they will want us to make loads more. Maybe several caves’ worth!”

The reptilian eyes stared at her with disgruntled, reluctant interest. “Several caves?”

“If we’re lucky! And I could make so much cheese that I could bring you new cheese as soon as I pick up the aged cheese. Your cave would never even be empty!”

This seemed to strike a chord. The dragon lifted his head a little.

“And that would really be much better for the rest of your hoard,” she continued with fresh inspiration. “Because if you leave cheese too long, it might go bad and spoil the cheeses next to it too!”

A nervous ripple went through the beast’s scaly body, but he clearly was not convinced just yet. “But what sort of a hoard is it if I have to give it away,” he complained.

“Well! Cheese is not just any old hoard! It’s a developing creation! And you will have a hoard that is constantly developing too. Constantly changing, but, if we do this right, never shrinking.”

The dragon looked at her solemnly, wavering with uncertainty. Perhaps she shouldn’t hold it against the poor thing, it must be a difficult concept to wrap his head around.

“And I will tell you what,” she said encouragingly. “If business is good, I can start investing in some really good crumbly cheeses. You can keep those in your cave for five whole years!”

“That is quite a long time for humans, is it not?” he said, sounding a little more cheerful.

“Very long. Especially when it comes to cheese. Cheeses that have been aged that long are very expensive.”

In retrospect, she should perhaps have led with that. Gourmand or not, a dragon was still a dragon after all. A glittering, toothy grin appeared on her recalcitrant business partner’s shout and he moved just enough for her to move past him into the mountain.

“Tell me more about this expensive cheese that crumbles.”

She hid a smirk. “If you help me carry some of the current ones out, it would be my pleasure.”

[godzexperiment]

Humans with their eyes fixated on marble, white wings and crystal clear water. Angels as perfect beings, soft edges and forgoing that angels were beings just like them. Yielded as weapons, messengers of course and so vastly capable of more than just white. Could scrub at the stains, look away from the neon smears pouring out of the celestial but light can't exist on it's own. The waterfall full of color, toxic paint that splashed all over the marble tiles. Stains that never went away, marks that only grew more murky or brighter. Harmless pigment, or toxic paint depending on the day dripping everywhere. Often he wonder about just sticking his hands into the falling water. If the colors get everywhere, then maybe it could become even more artful. And if he reduced it to dust; perhaps the silver-red gashes could fade away. Hands constantly an color filled blur, his form comprised of neon smears and dark trailing droplets. But was it his own, or another- other's. Did it even matter all that much. If it stained and poisoned better him than somebody else. Take the lead out so the runoff was lesser. Bits of crushed up stained glass underneath his feet. Always there since day one reflecting blinding light that become the absence of it kept firmly against the ground. Technicolor wings drawn with finger tips onto spaces on the floor. From the dark droplets that mixed with the neon from his physical form. And it was an mindless art that felt authentically his own. Seemed out of focus but the most solid artwork he could be certain of.

[suzie-guru]

Despite the heavy rain in Grand Rapids, I took myself out and about and finally made it to where @hellenhighwater’s breathtaking and deeply moving work for ArtPrize, “Old Stories”, was being displayed.

It was thrilling to see all of this in person after watching their progression on @hellenhighwater’s tumblr. I kept wanting to grab others and go “Make sure to follow their tumblr! It’s a treasure trove!”

The pieces that moved me the most are incontestably the ones featuring the Minotaur - after Medusa, his story is the most tragic of the Greek Myths to me and these pieces made me ache for him even more. I fell in love with these statues through watching the progression of their creation, but seeing them in person? All I could think of is how badly he deserved to be rescued, saved from his imprisonment, his loneliness. It hit me like a gut punch.

Which is why I loved the third and final piece for his story so much. The original ending will always be told, but on the other end of the labyrinth, there’s a more hopeful, gentler ending where the walls crack and crumble, and Asterion steps out and away from his prison, gets to see the stars and feel the sun…

The piece I didn’t expect to move me so deeply was Narcissus.

As it says on the artist’s statement for the piece, in a mythos full of capricious gods, ravaging heroes, and half-human monsters, Narcissus’ only crime was being beautiful and solitary. How many girls have had to deal with the same persistence and accusations of coldness? Can’t he have the same protectiveness we give them? I never would have thought such things, but this work opened my mind. Thank you for that, @hellenhighwater.

Please, if you’re able to do so, come to Grand Rapids and see all of the works in person, especially @hellenhighwater’s! And vote for them!!!

Now, I’m off to write that story about Ariadne and Asterion being siblings that I always wanted to get around to…

[kidpool]

tiny tag drop

ooc. / mia speaks. — ❝ the girl behind the chaos. ❞

in character. — ❝ you were creation's first mistake. ❞

shitposting. — ❝ danger: mouth operates faster than brain! ❞

hc. / meta. — ❝ ethan... atlas would crumble under the weight of your grief. how do you carry it? ❞ ❝ it's the only thing i've known. ❞

study. — ❝ tell me where to put my undying rage. tell me where to put my unending grief. ❞