#moldeable

[shr00mie-rat]

Hi fellas, I made more

Video in Spanish under cut

(This will sound silly, but uh, Alcohol and domestic violence warning, although in a joking manner)

[afreakingmilkshake]

OUGH. THE GUY...

@dimeadozencows

made a bunch of gasters from fucked up scrub daddies

[deoxy-ribonucleic-acid]

Sometimes I want to be clay

[villaburbuja-blog]

Acompáñame a ver como se hace esta divertida masa moldeable

[argent-sz]

Scary to thibk that there are people here that have seen my irl face 😦

[lore-grandma]

I think an interesting concept would be a rival group full of characters that parallels of the characters of the main cast.

Caine’s would probably be a drill sergeant like character that’s named Abel and has a nose as its head with only eye brows to expression himself.

Jax’s character would probably be small fox character, who’s actually pretty nice and actually tries to help gangles parallel when their mask gets broken.

Gangle’s opposite would definitely have the mask motif but probably wear a sad mask but have a happy mask underneath, kinda like a “woe is me” but in a way where it’s obviously fake. I don’t know what their actual body would be, probably cardboard tubes because ribbons are usually sold on a tube, though they could be a knotted string.

Kinger’s would be a checkered piece who’s very level headed that does rebel against Abel a lot.

Now we’re getting to the harder characters, ragatha’s character would be a toy that can’t be changed or moved easily, I was thinking of a little toy soldier, kinda like the ones from Toy Story, I think this little man would be very blunt. I like the concept that the little fox follows them around like they’re this cool older brother.

Ok I know that everyone is going to be asking why I made ragatha’s character a toy that can’t be easily customized when zooble is right there being ripped apart and remade. Well the thing is ragatha is made from a material that can be squished and added too very easily, zooble is made to be customized, that’s their whole gimick. Also zooble is what I can only assume is hard plastic.

Zooble’s oppisite is a slime, I don’t have much on this one, it’s moldeable, but can’t be changed once you add color to it. I don’t have much for its character, it’s just there, but unlike zooble we don’t get the angsty teen attitude, in fact Abel is the only one that knows what it’s saying.

Pomni is probably one of the harder characters to think of, because every archetype is taken. Let’s make them a king/queen, oh we already have royal characters, let’s make them a ringleader because actually pomni’s “jester’s” motif is actually a fool, oh wait there’s Caine. Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, idk a maid? While yes in media it’s directly opposite would probably a king or a ringleader leader especially since they’ve basically become lower in status than those characters. Jesters were a pretty high level status, so our best option for an opposite character for pomni would probably be a maid character that’s name roughly translates to forget or something. I’m sure y’all could think of better.

Anyways of course glitch studios isn’t gonna do this idea, because that’s way too many characters in one episode, coffmo already had to be killed off because the main cast was too much. Also then the question of who created them or if they’re npcs. Would come into play. I’d imagine that Caine made them to add more pizzazz to adventures but like, I like to imagine Caine hates Abel so why even make them? I just think this concept is fun and would work for fanfic adventures especially since I’m sure tadc is only getting one season, of course that can change.

[likurooh]

✧ Mychael crafted from foam clay. ✧

✧ Mychael hecho en foamy moldeable ✧

Intentar cosas nuevas es bueno, incluso cuando el miedo a que los resultados no sean los esperados nos detiene. Lo importante es atreverse, porque al final, más que el resultado, vale el aprendizaje y la satisfacción de haberlo intentado.

...

de repente me puse un poco muy existencial (　；∀；)

☆゜+．．+゜☆ ～

Trying new things is good, even if the fear of unexpected results holds us back. What truly matters is taking the leap, because in the end, more than the outcome, it's the learning experience and the satisfaction of having tried that count.

...

Out of nowhere, I got way too existential. (　；∀；)

[carnatus89]

I have a great apreciation to c!Dream, he's so moldeable. So, I decided to draw some Dream AUs I like.

First two are my own Dreams I just rotate in my mind. The last two are Black Dog!Dream or Laelaps from @simplepotatofarmer and The Villain needs a therapist!Dream from @rainystressed247

Version 2 since I looove drawing hair and I liked to draw the mask bloddied.

Close ups and rambling below

Voices in my head Dream, my blorbo, my baby boy. This design is kinda in the future? The scars don't really heal and he get's a little gift from a special someone.

Canibal Dream. My main source of inspiration is my spotify playlist and I have some, songs that talk a lot of blood and flesh and eating, so. In both DreamXD is a bitch, all my homies hates DreamXD. Basically Dream having the hungries but fighting it, geeting thinner and thinner until is just to much and just starts literally biting people.

Black Dog Dream, one day I just scrolled all the tag on tumblr and I haven't know peace since. But holy fuck I hate the fucking mask, I spend like an hour on the sketch just for the dog mask. On the other hand, the hair? God. And the scars, I really like how it turned out. And dead eyes, loooove it.

The villain needs a therapist Dream. I don't know, I just think he's neat. Also I love drawing eyes so I had an excuse to draw spiral eyes. And long hair.

[megacristalixblue]

Un Will Cipher hecho con foamy moldeable, me quedó muy bien para ser la primera vez que usó este tipo de material.

[silence-book-and-tea]

“Con los años he aprendido que el amor no es estático, ni constante, ni de una forma, color y sabor fijos. El amor es elástico, moldeable, ajustable a lo que necesitas, buscas o te agarras en un momento indicado.”

Te espero en el fin del mundo - Andrea Longarela

[deepinsideyourbeing]

Solstice Tales - XXII. Subspace (Sub!Enzo Vogrincic)

"Me bajó la presión" es lo primero que piensa Enzo luego del cuarto o quinto orgasmo, cuando la mínima corriente de aire en la habitación lo hace temblar. Respira lenta y profundamente en un intento de recomponerse, convencido de que tiene que esperar un poco, pero la extraña sensación de estar suspendido en el aire persiste.

La voluntad le falla y su mente está en blanco, desprovista de cualquier pensamiento o resistencia, dejándolo vulnerable y moldeable. Observa el subir y bajar de su pecho, pesado y lleno con una mezcla de emociones, desde euforia e incertidumbre hasta una quietud desconocida que no recuerda haber experimentado antes.

Deja caer sus párpados -lo suficiente pesados como para poder controlarlo- por un breve instante y las lágrimas se deslizan silenciosamente por sus mejillas. Humedece sus labios, intenta hablar, repite el proceso hasta que comprende que no tiene voz y que las palabras en su mente no son verdaderas palabras.

Es un alivio cuando el blanco del techo, cada vez más borroso por las lágrimas que inundan sus ojos, es remplazado por tu rostro. Observa el movimiento de tus labios y se pregunta si estarás repitiendo su nombre, si estás preguntándole u ordenándole algo, pero su audición está perdida junto con el control que tenía sobre su cuerpo.

Jura que sus oídos están llenos de algodón.

Cuando masajéas sus brazos se sobresalta y tu expresión le genera dolor. No era su intención preocuparte, no quería entrar en pánico por el contacto físico, pero en este momento sus sentidos hacen de su cuerpo una especie de incendio forestal.

Es consciente de tu mano en su mejilla, evitando que rompa el contacto visual, y cuando desaparecés la distancia entre su rostro y el suyo, tu respiración golpeando sus labios mientras tu mano caliente descansa sobre su pecho, parece recuperar los múltiples fragmentos perdidos.

El eco de tu voz es cada vez más nítido.

-¿...bien?

-¿Qué?

-¿Estás bien?

-Sí- sujeta tu muñeca-. ¿Lo hice bien?

Besás la comisura de sus labios y cuando se remueve, suplicándote desesperadamente por un beso, descansás tu frente en la suya. Tus pupilas están dilatadas y tu piel está perlada por el sudor, más que seguro producto del esfuerzo de robarle hasta el último gramo de cordura que tenía, pero no puede molestarse por lo que le hiciste.

Quiere recompensarte.

-Lo hiciste muy bien, mi vida, muy bien- tus besos recorren su mandíbula-. Uno más, ¿sí? Uno más y te dejo dormir.

Un gemido roto y patético brota de sus labios cuando comprende -con tus dedos trazando la vena que recorre su miembro- que era una orden disfrazada de pregunta. Está tan perdido en sus deseos de satisfacerte que para cuando procesa el dolor de sus músculos, el cansancio corporal y la incapacidad de hilar un pensamiento, la posibilidad de negarse no cruza su mente.

-¿De verdad lo hice bien?- pregunta, con un hilo de voz, sus labios fruncidos en una mueca que resulta tierna y tentadora. Deslizás tus dedos por su cabello, largo y sedoso, mientras asentís con una sonrisa en tu rostro-. Quiero...

-¿Qué querés, bebé?- torcés tu muñeca y todo su cuerpo se tensa-. ¿Eso querés?

Delineás su punta con tu pulgar, roja y extremedamente sensible luego de tanto abuso, privándote de sus preciosas expresiones por unos segundos para contemplar el líquido que brota de su cuerpo. Las primeras gotas son traslúcidas, débiles, pero luego una cantidad más significativa, manchada con blanco, cae hasta terminar deslizándose por el dorso de tu mano.

Enzo solloza y sus uñas dejan una marca en tu cadera.

-No puedo- repite entre jadeos y sollozos cada vez más desesperados-. Me duele, no puedo.

-Sí, sí podés- insistís para luego masturbarlo más rápido. Mordés tu labio mientras él se retuerce sobre el colchón, tirando con fuerza de las sábanas, sus pestañas brillantes por las lágrimas-. Más tarde te dejo cogerme, ¿sí...? Hacelo y...

No terminás la oración porque su gemido, ronco y profundo, reverbera entre las paredes de la habitación. Observás los músculos de su abdomen tensándose y lo sentís palpitando con fuerza en tu mano, pero para tu sorpresa no hay semen alguno manchando tu mano, tu cuerpo y el suyo.

Jamás había tenido un orgasmo seco. Sonreís.

Mientras los últimos espasmos sacuden su cuerpo sembrás besos en sus mejillas, en sus labios y en su pecho, intentando consolarlo y procurando ser el ancla que lo mantenga en esta realidad. Ignorás la sensación desesperada en tu centro.

-Sos hermoso, ¿sabías?- decís contra sus labios mientras entrelaza tu mano con la suya-. Sos el más lindo, mi vida, el más lindo de todos.

En lugar de contestar te mira, expectante y débil, suplicando con la mirada.

-¿Qué querés? ¿Un beso?

Con el último gramo de fuerza que le queda, niega.

-Muchos.

¿Cómo podrías negarte?

[lightcofi]

Cocoa×Princess×Strawberry toxic ship

1. Juego de control: “Háganme caso o…”

Cocoa Cookie inventó un juego que parece inofensivo…

> "Háganme caso o lloraré en la cocina hasta desmayarme…"

"Háganme caso o tiraré sus vestidos favoritos…"

"Háganme caso o me encerraré en el armario…"

Lo que parece un juego, se convierte en una forma suave de control, donde el consentimiento es solo una ilusión.

2. Inseguridades como cadena emocional

Strawberry Cookie sufre inseguridades con su cuerpo.

> S: "Mi cuerpo no es bonito…"

P: "Sí, pero yo sé cómo hacerlo bonito!"

C: "Tu cuerpo es bello, pero ese no lo es todo..."

Princess la transforma en una muñeca.

Cocoa la consuela mientras refuerza la dependencia.

Y Strawberry, al final, ya no sabe qué parte de su cuerpo es suya.

3. La noche del escape fallido

Strawberry embriaga a Cocoa y Princess para huir.

Pero…

ella misma había cerrado la puerta desde dentro.

> “¿A dónde vas, mi fresita? ¿Querías irte sin despedirte?”

El intento de escape solo la encierra más en la idea de que tal vez… tal vez es mejor quedarse.

4. Princess y su obsesión con la inocencia (loliconera!!!)

Princess Cookie no busca amor. Busca inocencia moldeable.

Ve a Strawberry como una muñeca emocional, alguien a quien vestir, corregir, amar… como se ama a una cosa.

> “Siempre buscaste a alguien que no supiera decirte que no…” — Knight Cookie.

Es un rasgo no declarado, pero presente. Y Cocoa lo permite… mientras pueda controlarlo.

5. Cuando los exs intentan intervenir

Knight Cookie y Mint Choco Cookie —exparejas de Princess y Cocoa— intentaron detener la relación:

Knight confrontó directamente, pero fue desechado como un celoso amargado.

Mint Choco intentó llevar el caso a las autoridades… pero quedó congelado. Literal y figurativamente.

[drawaddict]

I had fl make a prop for my school- so in like one day- I cooked this skull up. Entirely made by hand and with moldeable foam- which- was a mistake since it’s so flimsy but whatever!!!!

Process pics✨

I have probably ever only seen one gameplay and know vaguely about lore- so I’m a bit of a fake ok but it’s for a school project!

[maripapercat]

Owynn!

Hecho con borrador moldeable y papel y como sea que se llamen esas cosas azul y verde

No se, no sabia que hacer durante la clase de historia

[piece-of-mind-sandwich]

Crust writing for y'all.

Warning: cersored cuss words; and for the story if you don't like it, don't bother it

The upper current of the waterfall ran silently in the crevice between the rocky ledge and the stomach-turning drop. It will fall in time, cascading down with gradual, small roars that will join into an almighty one, like a thousand tiny creatures merging as one bigger, meaner one.

That way, while the destructive force of the blue stream is stored in an otherwise unnoticeable energy, that of height, it masters the art of keeping silent, shutting up when it needs to keep the ones it holds safe. The tiny fish, black against the water, just so very under the surface.

Cross likes the water.

It's blue, serene, tranquil, and it has this protective, gentle nature of it that is strong when time comes. It's moldeable, it can hide, and it envelopes fish that swim against its current sometimes.

As such Cross wonders if they therefore agitate their blue guardian, and as it turns out, in his respectful footsteps carefully laid near the side on the wet grass, perhaps the fish do indeed tickle the stream, yet in time it has accepted in its loving yearning for what it never asked for in some sort of helpless gratitude.

'Does that remind you of me?'

His breath hitches in his throat, and his foot is stuck in midair as he casts around with his peripheral vision for the origin of the headless voice.

'Heedless in glory, I feel your beating, live heart. It makes me want to be like you.'

Cross feels like air is sucked out of his lungs automatically as he finally spies the cluster of echo flowers laid side at the right. And the air goes right back in when he realized two things: one, obviously, a previous knack that someone has been here.

Two, the flowers aren't fluttering their petals in the breeze that should be caused by temperature differences. In fact, it seems like they were quite literally hanging onto a thread under the soil.

This was new.

And this was awful.

Cross felt his gait unconsciously, automatically, hurry into a sprint as he cast left and right for other hints.

Baseless.

Baseless in bashful he worried no more for trampling on the murky soil which transitioned into a soupy, muddy texture the deeper he went following the stream.

Ahead, there will be a swash of forest, filled with thistles and low bramble, overhead a populous gathering of branches which at worst will blot out any light from above within a small area. Not that the slanting blue light of after-dusk outside of this massive underground chamber has much guidance to offer. But if he just run straight - ahead there will be a break of the bushes - and he will be glancing around ten meters away from a ledge leaving a sheer drop.

There was nothing in this mortal world known of that could speak like that in the echo flower, and from what Cross could tell, either this is the work of some cruel mountaineers with oddly specific intentions, or his predictions are right, and -

Dust is in trouble.

The voice sounded pretty grim.

He had no time to hear some three follow-ups by the friends of those misfortunate magical plants.

Ever since the last five years under Nightmare came to a close because of Dream, Cross lived in a husked reality of the shock that Dust had died. It was complicated, but at least it was resolved. Five years traumatized on nothing.

He wasn't going to let that go now.

-

It was just a mission - just a harmless quest (well, for the most part, and what is supposed to be for them) - but Cross had eyed Dust charging into a forest (that looked nothing like the one he was in right now, thankfully) after a lesser enemy, and after a few audible blasts of a gaster blaster that missed, curses, and a few bones launched out of the treeline, everything became eerily silent. Of course it was slow for Cross to notice as he was busily engaged with the combat at hand, but when he finally fended off enough blows to tilt an ear to the forest, it was already too late.

As he felt his direct adversary was struggling to get up, Cross was still gazing queerly intently at the quiet forest. His soldiers' sense was watching, biding, its back arched as it prepared for a danger it is beginning to doubt itself. The flash of a blade came at Cross from the side and he deflected it, then everything happened at once.

Killer flew full force and collided with Cross from behind, knocking his breath out, shouting for him to 'Get down!', before a blade swiveled overhead in finality as Cross' combatant lost his strength. Almost immediately a massive crunching sounded within the forest, like the very trees were bending over as they snapped and buckled in half.

A gush of fire, orange, yellow, dancing, howled in agony and rage as it came billowing out of one channel too close to directly above Cross and Killer's heads.

And when it cleared, in the forest there was nothing but in its wake.

Their enemy was vaporized in the heat.

Like the inanimate snow under their bodies.

Killer felt a rush of sympathy for the snow, metaphorically, though it came more of a statement than an expression of emotion.

Cross slowly lifted his gaze as his breath came in jagged lengths, his throat moving as he began gulping imaginary air.

There was a flash - a white hot one - somewhere deep in the cold heart of the natural forest - and then everything turned orange. Cross lost all sense of direction as no matter where he threw his vision, his world remains nothing but one color and sound - the roar of the fiery unforgiving.

And then the heat came. Just as Cross and Killer were thrown off their feet and ragdolled into the snow by the immense wave, the aftershock of the first tremulous explosion.

His eyes closed, Cross felt around for his weapons, having lost more than half of his inventory in the tussle.

He frantically blinked open his eyes.

There was no doubt - nature has bested him again, proven all futile pride of its puppetery only but a joke, a river that will always come around at a bend.

They were no masters of control - they were slaves of this delicate web of science.

And he has paid the price for being foolish, and putting his carelessness above what is important, and forgetting his past leanrnt lessons.

Cross was a changed person since - he became more meticulous, careful, irrationally, impulsively so; like he once again couldn't let the past go.

He stopped pushing his problems onto other people.

And then, years later, he found out Dust was somehow still alive.

Alive, somehow; shaken, still.

He was on the verge of being freed from Nightmare. How and why he was still working for this tentacled being he was not sure; only he knew that loss is a part of the game, and his trauma will probably alter him forever.

-

A bend in the river, the water has met up with him in the forest again.

From now on, three bends later as the river goes in an 'S' shape, he will come through the clearing, and find out whatever is happening on the other side - and if it is the creepy figure again.

The creepy figure with the grating huffs, hunched posture, creaking sighs, and bone-rattling chill. An hourglass swings from its hand.

It, looking like its very back has given up on it, never ceases to chase Cross into his dreams whenever he thought his fault in any fatalities during the forest battle.

"What do you want?!" He'd always scream, but it would gaze back at him levely with its unblinking voids of eyes, like they want to suck the very life out of Cross. He was not sure what it wants - just that it probably hates him a lot, and it is after what he loves and owes.

Cross was reminded uncannily of the climax scene from 'The Lord of the Flies' each time he was stared at. Judged at. Too much for his comfort.

And just as he was thinking that he came crashing out of the bush border of this forest, shouting, out into the meager blue aura of the waterfall, liberated air, and-…

Those black hollows for eyes.

Like its owner does not even deserve the gift of sight from life.

Cross almost hurled his weapon as he stumbled, but rolled on his shoulders to a stand not far from the creepy figure.

It reached out a boned talon-like hand as it easily caught the handle of the great knife and deflected its blade to the side.

It was protecting something.

Therefore it is not looking for a fight.

Then…

Cross and the deathly thing stared at each other in this awkward imaginary contest with sparks dancing in the air.

'Let him go, he's not on offensive.' Came a semi-annoyed voice from behind it, as its flowing robes parted like fire to make way for something to pass through. Why, though? It is nearly fluid.

But Cross noticed more in the voice the disembodied note, this familiar detatched tone…

'You're so annoying when you do that, I get that you have heightened senses or something.'

The figure peered at something that wasn't there and sighed in agreement before disappearing in flicks and flashes, at one with the wind.

'What do you want now, I know you're shadowing me and all because this guy told me. If this is some sort of weird reunion thing, I don't want to feel it. If you stalked me for the past ten days into this cave, well let me tell you, yes I come here a lot, and yes I do miss you. So if you came here finally, planning to tell me finally, that how much you heart me, then I-I don't want to hear it. Because I do know, and what kind of positive relationship needs that kind of feedback.'

Cross, stunned, peered ahead at where the black flames had flickered away into opaque, at the lonesome familiar outline in the faint blue light.

It gazed back, impassionately, accusingly, like the sting of the water when it crows its rage of maternal protection over the small fish.

Like it wants to cry.

'It's me, Dust. And I'm not fcking dead yet. You fcking idiot…'

FINISH

Note: this was rushed; apologies for the misshapen world building and hurried plot

[waltfrasescazadordepalabras]

Tu culo... Ruptura involuntaria de tu carne, geometría que escapa a tu deseo, territorio acotado por mis sueños, punto de mira de mis madrugadas insomnes, cuando siento en mi cuerpo la necesidad de posar mis desnudas manos y dibujar en él, el mapa de mis sentimientos. Tu culo... Pareado de curvas insinuantes, soneto de incandescente rima, cántico invertido para voz átona, tiernos brotes de ortodoxia discutible, pétalos arrebolados por mis caricias, violenta emancipación de tu yo externo que se torna moldeable entre mis dedos cual suprema concepción de mi deseo. Tu culo... Vaivén que me estimula cuando andas, ominoso balanceo que me aniquila, feroz conjugación de amor y deseo, asunción de tu cuerpo con mi ansia, arquitectura febril que me atosiga cuando, al fin, te apoyas sobre mi sexo y expandes mi universo que te aguarda mitigando el dolor de mis sentidos. Tu culo... Urbe donde habitan mis anhelos, sobria trasposición de lo oculto, panorámica imprevisible, sugestión de mis sentidos, remanso acogedor, arrebato lujurioso en mis mañanas cuando, aún adormecida inicias el simple proceso de acurrucar tus nalgas junto al ardor de mi sexo. Tu culo... ¡Ah, niña!..., tu hermoso culo, configuración etérea de tu carne mía, añoranza de un momento compartido, suavidad sobre la que se desliza mi deseo en la forzada soledad de mis ardores cuando, a solas, contigo en el recuerdo, con tu boca amordazada por mi boca... mi alma entra en él y lo hago mío.