#where is the cowrie shell

[strifetime]

TIL that cowrie shells come from cowrie sea snails

( /) ____(\);;;;

[mostlyjustgoose]

don’t mind me, just thinking about how in 1941 Aziraphale stepped in to cover for a magician who was specifically a deserter and ended up having to pull off a legitimately deadly trick, under intense scrutiny and pressure, with no miracle other than somebody he trusted

just thinking about how Aziraphale is now stepping in to cover for a deserter and is going to have to pull off the highest stakes magic trick of all time (saving humanity), under intense scrutiny and pressure, with no one he trusts immediately within reach

just thinking about a lone caraway seed and three cowrie shells, and the art of making sure your audience is looking exactly where you want them to look, so you can hide the trick in all the spaces they’re not paying attention to

just thinking about how he can only ever pull off a magic trick when it’s either very close quarters or vitally important

you know, just thinking

[goofy-clan]

Heyo! Narrator peep and creator of goofy clan! I wanted to share this fanart I made as a gift to the clan series that inspired this entire series! Enjoy!!

And now it’s time to pair cat with creator! Click more to see notes I left for the creators too!

————————————————

Goldsight belongs to @gray-thistleclan , I loved the way the cats were drawn in this series, and especially how the story progressed! Gold was always my favroite -w-! Even though she has the crazy disease now ;-;.

Eukltna belongs to @loudclan-clangen ! I loved the silly cats in this series, the artstyle actually helped me draw mouths easier! I love our doomed religious kitty, even if she was a bit odd. That crude oil does get everywhere huh…

Longstrike belongs to @juniper-clan ! The fact that the entire series was set in olden times is really neat! I also love the theme of seashells/ cowrie shells being bad, those are spooky! Long was my favroite, I was sad to see him go. So he’s drawn in the cozy sunshine!

Tigertoe Belongs to @circus-clangen ! Circus clan was actually a big inspiration for the puzzles/cipher aspects of my blog! I was always a sucker for finding stuff out, plus clowns are cool! I love tiger with all my heart, she was so fun to draw! Best entertainer :)!

Ravenstar belongs to @fallenclan ! Oh boy where do I start. I think it’s super impressive how far the series is now, even if I picked up halfway through! I love how the cats look, fun fur colors! Raven is such a good villain, evil stinky cat. So here he is with a totally real (and not painted) star!

Kestrelstar belongs to @echoes-in-echoclan ! I love this series, even though I don’t get what’s going on sometimes, it’s still a wonderful read! I also loved the connected universe with circus clan, what a twist! Kestrel is my favorite, he’s such a cool old dude!

Sweetkit belongs to @mourningsbane ! It isn’t every day I see a eldritch horror/spooky clangen series! As an avid horror fan, I love how body horror is drawn and shown in this series! Honey is the best cat :)! But, I drew sweet today! They’re a good protagonist, because who better to explore the spooky uknown than kittens?

NettleIris belongs to @moons-of-dewclan ! I adored the art style of this series, and the fact all the backgrounds are drawn so beautifully! Even though this series tugs at my heart strings, it’s lovely! Makes me wanna go wander in the woods! Nettle is my favorite lil’ peep, best medicine cat. Plus, puffy cats are fun to draw!

ConiferSun belongs to @castaway-clan ! I love the trope of “rebuild and build anew” in clangen runs! Seeing the clan in this series slowly grow in size and for the leader to not be alone anymore was very comforting. Conifer is my favorite simply because they’re blue and just a wonderful cat in the series! They also get to look at the lady bug :)!

And that’s all! Y’all are cool Peeps, keep on rocking!

[blackhistorystoryteller]

ALL YOU NEED TO KNOW ABOUT THE HEAD OF OBA

THE BENIN KINGDOM

THE LOOTED TREASURES BY THE BRITISH EMPIRE

BLACK HISTORY IS DEEPER THAN SLAVE TRADE

The head sculptures of the Oba of Benin, also known as the Benin Bronzes, are a collection of intricate bronze and brass sculptures created by the Edo people of Nigeria. These sculptures typically depict the reigning Oba (king) of the Benin Empire and were produced over several centuries, with some dating back to the 13th century.

They are renowned for their artistic and historical significance, representing the cultural heritage and power of the Benin Kingdom. These sculptures often portray the Oba wearing coral beaded regalia, symbolizing his divine status and authority.

Many of these artifacts were taken from Benin during the late 19th century by British colonial forces, and they are now scattered in museums and private collections worldwide. There have been ongoing discussions and negotiations regarding their repatriation to Nigeria to restore their cultural heritage.

The head sculptures of the Oba of Benin remain a testament to the rich artistic and historical legacy of the Edo people and the Benin Kingdom.

HOW THE BRITISH STOLE FROM THE EDO TRIBE

1. British Punitive Expedition: In 1897, a British expedition, led by British officials and soldiers, was sent to the Benin Kingdom (in what is now Nigeria) with the stated objective of punishing the Oba of Benin, Oba Ovonramwen, for resisting British influence and trade in the region.

2. Sacking of the Royal Palace: During the expedition, the British forces entered the royal palace in Benin City, where many of these intricate bronze and brass sculptures were housed. The palace was looted, and numerous artifacts, including the Benin Bronzes, were taken.

3. Confiscation and Dispersal: The looted artifacts were then confiscated by the British authorities and later distributed to various individuals, museums, and institutions. Many of these artworks ended up in European museums and private collections.

The theft of the Benin Bronzes remains a contentious issue, as these artworks are considered cultural treasures of the Edo people and Nigeria as a whole. There have been ongoing discussions and demands for the repatriation of these artifacts to Nigeria, which has gained momentum in recent years as part of broader efforts to address historical injustices related to colonial-era looting.

The head sculptures of the Oba of Benin, like many traditional African artworks, hold deep symbolic significance within the context of the Benin Kingdom and its culture. Here are some of the key symbols and meanings associated with these sculptures:

1. Royal Authority: The Oba's head sculptures symbolize the authority and divine status of the reigning monarch, who was regarded as a sacred figure in Benin society. The elaborate regalia, such as coral beads and headdresses, worn by the Oba in these sculptures signifies his royal and spiritual power.

2. Ancestral Connections: The sculptures often depict the Oba with distinctive facial scarification patterns and detailed facial features. These features can represent specific ancestors or dynastic connections, emphasizing the Oba's lineage and connection to past rulers.

3. Historical Record: The sculptures also serve as historical records, documenting the appearance and regalia of the Oba during their reigns. This provides valuable insights into the history and evolution of the Benin Kingdom over the centuries.

4. Spiritual Protection: Some sculptures may incorporate elements like beads and cowrie shells, which were believed to have protective and spiritual qualities. These elements were worn by the Oba not only for their aesthetic value but also for their symbolic protection.

5. Cultural Identity: Beyond their specific symbolic meanings, the head sculptures are integral to the cultural identity of the Edo people and the Benin Kingdom. They represent the rich artistic traditions and heritage of the kingdom and its rulers.

It's important to note that the symbolism of these sculptures is deeply rooted in the cultural and historical context of the Benin Kingdom, and their interpretation can vary among different individuals and communities.

[littlestpersimmon]

Mancala really is that deep.. Just played a round with my friend that I was 100% sure I was gonna win.. but then she pulls a stunt where she randomly got 15 of the cowry shells.. I didn't know that was a rule where if you run out of cowries, the enemy gets all remaining on their side... I was so flabbergasted.. she played me like a kazoo. I have no idea how it happened.. this is like 10d chess. To me.

[creatingblackcharacters]

a couple of questions:

what if someone has a weird autistic thing (source: am autistic) where they don't capitalize anything in casual online text, not even capitalize proper nouns like given names and place names. should they still capitalize the b in Black?

what are the little bits of jewelry and things that Black people wear in their hair? like especially with locs and braids

1) in my opinion, yes. I think everyone's ethnic or racial identity deserves to be capitalized. But I can't make anyone do anything I want outside of here lol. I simply ask that when you speak directly to me, you capitalize Black.

2) we wear lots of jewelry lol. Bands, beads, cuffs, links, cowrie shells, charms, gemstones. It really just depends on what you want in your hair! If you go through Google, you can get lots of ideas to describe. But you can say "Loc/braid jewelry" or "ornaments" as a general term.

[pinkanonwrites]

YES beachcomber would be such a collector of rocks and minerals and show them to his human friends. Especially unique ones like fulgurites

Him sharing all his different rocks he's collected with you and you sharing your different seashells with him.~ <3

I think he'd be REALLY into fossils and amber too. The idea that over time a once-living organic creature can slowly but surely become an indelible mineral, a snapshot of a bygone era, is deeply fascinating to him.

"This one's called a cowrie shell." The shell that fit so snugly in the palm of your hand is dwarfed in Beachcomber's massive servo, but he still handles it with incredible care. "This one's on the bigger side, but small ones used to be used as currency in different parts of the world."

"It's beautiful. And it ain't polished or anything like that?"

"Nope! Sometimes you'll find them covered in salt in the water if they've been there for a while, but while it's alive the snail inside keeps the shell shiny and clean. Not all shells are like that, though."

You can tell you've piqued Beachcomber's curiosity, so you quickly take the next shell you've brought out of your bag. "This is an abalone shell. The rough outside helps them to camouflage with coral and rocks. But on the inside..."

You turn the iridescent inner shell to Beachcomber's gaze, and his faceplate lights up with awe.

"It's beautiful."

You take the cowrie from his servo and press the abalone into it. He cradles it so tenderly, rocking it gently back and forth to catch the rays of light bouncing off the glistening, pearlescent interior. Before knowing the Autobots, you wouldn't have expected their stern metal faces to be capable of this level of soft sincerity. How foolish you were, back then.

"We could go shell-hunting sometime, if you'd like!" You add. "I can show you where I found some of my collection, see if we find anything good?"

He turns his attention back to you, his voice low, smooth, and achingly tender.

"I'd like that very much."

[mushyposts]

"No thing defines a man like love" crew summary!!

Here we GO!!! This is the OFFICIAL list of the crew's descriptions in my ATLA fic. If there are any inconsistencies with appearance in the characters LMK!! I only finished this like, the other day and tbh I should have written this all out before starting to post but I also didn't expect the OC's to become so enjoyed AND important to the plot, but I'm so pleased they are and I hope u all enjoy this and enjoy seeing the characters in more detail : D

Buteq : Mid length hair that just brushes his shoulders, half of it is tied up with a braid on each side of his face. The left side has one bead at the base of it, the right has two beads at the base. He has light stubble over his jaw, patchy and salt and pepper coloured. His eyes are thin, dark blue with the right eye being half brown, partial heterochromia. Thick, bushy eyebrows with a slight unibrow. A large nose with a thick bridge and slightly pouty lips. He has the mark of the Brave.

Neter :  Missing his right arm from the centre of his upper arm and the limb is generally wrapped in leather and bandages to protect it. His hair is shorter, shaved underneath and tied back into a very wavy wolf tail with two braids sticking out, a bead on the end of each. His eyes are brown, a bit droopy at the sides with a very defined cupid's bow on his top lip. Very angular eyebrows. He's clean shaven and has a cut in the centre of his bottom lip. He has a few piercings, wears a lot of bracelets on his left wrist. He has the mark of the wise.

Kaiqa : Short, wide and muscular, long hair usually in a ponytail that's then braided. Prefers to wear sleeveless clothes and long, loose pants, White, bone piercings all through his ears (a few metal) and a bone septum piercing. His eyes are wide and dark brown, thick eyebrows, a large, hooked nose and pouty lips. His canine teeth stick out a bit, missing a tooth in the back of his mouth. He has coming of age tattoos associated w first menstrual cycle, FTM (He/him). His coming of age mark was the Brave, incorporated to his other tattoos very subtly. 

Mikla : VERY tall, thin with wiry muscle. He looks young, a bit of a baby face. His hair is tied back into a ponytail, either all the hair is braided or only the top half of it. He has one singular bead at the end of it. He has thin eyebrows, thin lips and brown, almond shaped eyes. He has the mark of the trusted.

Sorqai : Tall, muscular, long hair, no beads. Very wide, broad figure. Chipped tooth, his first and seconds pierced and his earrings are simple bone and shell ones. Has a beard with a large scar on his right side which goes into it, stopping hair from growing in that area. His eyes are a dark blue, bushy eyebrows, a hooked nose and thin lips hidden behind his beard mostly. He has the mark of the wise, but it looks slightly different (more detailed) due to being from a different tribe. 

Natai : Long hair he usually braids back loosely, blue eyes that are almond shaped with a few brown freckles through them. Thick eyebrows, no piercings aside from his firsts in his ears which have simple cowry shell piercings with small, blue leather tassels on them. His hands, up to the middle of his forearms, are slightly discoloured, and are lighter than the rest of his body, not intensely so but noticeably. Stains his nails with dye. Tattoos associated with first menstrual cycle, he never went ice dodging for coming of age and thus does not have a mark incorporated into his tattoos.

Kutai : He’s short and stocky with thick, wavy hair, a few small braids around the crown of his head keeps the hair out of his face, five braids with five blue beads at the base of them where the braids becomes loose again and joins the rest of his hair, where it isn't tied back and is left to go free around the back. His eyes are round and droopy, almost sleepy looking, at the outer corner, and are light brown. His eyebrows are thick and dark, a wide nose with the mark of the trusted tattooed on his head. His arms are full of tattoos too, and so is his chest. 

Kovak : Hair is shaved, the shortest on the whole crew, his arms are mostly black from ink with sparse spaces of geometric designs cutting through the black out. He has a lot of scars through the tattoos, showing which tattoos are pre-fleet and which are post. He has gauges, thick eyebrows, bright blue eyes. He has the mark of the brave.

Mori: Tall and very thin, generally a long distance fighter so not a lot of muscle on them, very pale blue eyes (almost otherworldly), with no eyebrows (They shave them off as a coming of age tradition from their tribe) and thick, curly hair and darker skin than most other warriors. Tattoos associated with the first menstrual cycle, extra details associated with having a child. GNC (He/they).

Luqait: Short, broad, chubby kinda muscular build. Paler skin, but still not white. Hair done in two braids with thin bits of blue leather woven into his braids with numerous beads on them. Soft, round features, thin eyebrows, scar on lip, amber eyes. They have the mark of the wise.

Saila: Very androgynous, dark, curly hair. Thin eyebrows, their eyes are round and doe like, dark brown in colour, almost amber in certain lights. They have a very intense, almost uncaring air about them. They have the mark of the trusted and tattoos up and down their arms that are generally hidden by their clothes. (They/them) 

Morqa: Grey hair, but very young in his features, doe eyes that are a light blue, grey eyebrows and eyelashes and pale skin. A broad nose, eyebrows are thick, a rounded cupid's bow and pouty lips. No coming of age tattoos, his hair is tied back into a ponytail with two thin braids through it and a bead on each one. LOTS of piercings, the most out of the crew. A mix of different metals he finds at ports and trades for, along with traditional bone and bead ones. He sports no tattoos on his person, but his hands up to his elbows are stained maroon.

[themarginalthinker]

Undertow

Laddie and the Boys go beach combing. Laddie shows Dwayne some shells he found.

-

Hey guys! Back with another one! A cute scene between Dwayne and Laddie I've had in my head for forever, and finally getting around to writing it.

However, before the drabble, there are a couple of things I'd like to say about specifically our version of Dwanye here:

In our headcanons and worldbuilding, Dwayne is Native Canadian, from the Haida people of Haida Gwaii off the coast of BC Canada. In this drabble, he tells Laddie a story of Raven. I, nor my co-author, are Indigenous. The information on the story nominally comes from the University of British Columbia and the Canadian Museum of History. Here and here.

As someone who is not part of the culture and wishes to be respectful, I am open to concrit and suggestions for how to change or improve the character's representation or dialogue, and corrections about the presentation of the story or alternate sources of information!

As always, thank you. :>

When Laddie runs back to him, he's covered in sand.

"Did you fall in?" Dwayne asks with a laugh at the sight of the boy. The large shirt they'd cut down to size that still hung off his small frame was soaked, a smear of red, slimy algae coating the lower edge. His shorts, that were at least made for his small stature, are no better, wet on the front at the backside. There's sand coating Laddie's legs up to his knees and crusted on his forearms. Dwayne will end up brushing out his hair later and come away with enough to make a sandcastle, he's sure.

Laddie is grinning from ear to ear, though. He rushes to Dwayne, barefoot on the deserted beach. The epitome of a child in summer.

"Paul was giving me a piggy back ride and Marko pushed him and we all fell in the water!" Laddie says as he comes close.

Dwayne raises an eyebrow and looks up, to the pair further down the way. Paul and Marko are dancing around each other, feet barely touching the surf as the waves flow and ebb, pants rolled up to their knees and similarly barefoot to avoid soggy boots. They laugh, call each other names that Dwayne is glad Laddie is out of earshot for, and attempt to toss each other into the waves - or failing that, throwing gobs of wet sand at each other. Their jackets are stashed at the bikes that they'd parked up the dunes, where the beach turns into rocky outcroppings overlooking the little curve of hidden cove.

Up there, the glow of a lit cigarette brightens and dims with each pull on it, David huffing out the smoke as he watches the dark ocean and his pack, away from the grit and dampness.

Dwayne thinks priss, and even from this distance, he can see David pause in his smoking and shoot a look down at him. Dwayne just smirks and turns back to Laddie.

"Find anything good before they started being idiots?" He asks.

Laddie nods, and holds up the plastic yellow toy bucket in his hands, rattling its contents. Inside is a collection of shells and stones, glinting under the moonlight, washed clean.

"Uh huh! They showed me the best tide pools. Look! Paul even found some alive snails!"

Laddie reaches in and wedges one off the side of the bucket where it had been attempting to make its escape, the creature sliding wetly back into its shell to hide at his touch. The shell is striped orange and brown and faintly pink at the edges, pretty. Dwayne hums his approval at the treasure, though knowing Laddie might want to toss it back when he's told he can either let it die and keep the shell, or have to give it up anyway because, according to David, "Marko's flying rats are enough."

Dwayne glances into the bucket, pawing through them himself to see what else Laddie had managed to find.

A good handful of seaglass, blues and browns, worn smooth and frosty with the endless sands and waters. There were a good number of cockle shells, small and grey and pretty, a couple spiraling augers like little unicorn horns, a broken half of a scallop, and cowry shells jingling like coins in his palm. One, two, three four, five-

Dwayne closes his eyes, and takes a breath, banishing the numbers from his head. Waiting until the urge to count, count, count passed.

When he opens his eyes again, he sees something else, near the bottom of the bucket, grey and round and unassuming.

Dwayne reaches in and pulls it out, tugging off some seaweed clinging to it, scraping off the sand coating the inside so the pearly white interior is better seen.

A clam shell, dead and empty, but still attached by the connecting hinge.

"Hey Laddie," Dwayne says, "do you wanna hear a story?"

Laddie, previously entranced with the crawl of the whelk on his hand, leaving wet little trails along his skin, looks up.

"Yeah!" He nods his head, long sun-streaked hair flying around his ears. Dwayne reaches out and hooks a truly wayward lock behind his ear. If he wasn't careful he'd start to look like a mini Paul, and then where would they be.

Dwayne rubs the clam shell between his thumb and finger, and the words come quietly.

"A long time ago, when the world was very new, there was Raven. And because the world was so new, Raven was alone."

He lets the count of each pass of his fingers keep the words from catching behind his teeth. Letting them pass.

"One day, Raven flew down to the beach, where he watched the waves come in and out. He didn't find anything new, anything to catch his interest. He very well may have left, if something new hadn't caught his sight, at the last moment."

Laddie tilts his head, eyes intent, on Dwayne and the shell.

"There was a clam shell in the sand, but not like any other shell Raven had ever seen. It moved around, wiggling like no clam ever did. There was something in it."

"What?" Laddie asks, the conspiratorial tone Dwayne had unintentionally adopted having wormed into his own curiosity. Dwayne smiles with him. Leaning in a little. Thirty one passes of his thumb, thirty two passes, thirty three-

"Well, Raven flies down, and he lands on the shell. He pecks it, he prods it, he tries to see it all. And when he tries to open it, a hand comes out! Inside the clam shell are creatures that Raven has never seen before. Very strange looking, too. Bare skin instead of fur or feathers or scales, and just one patch of long black hair, the same color as him. When they see Raven, they are very afraid, and want to stay in the shell, but Raven calls them out. The world is very big, but Raven wants friends, and eventually, they emerge. The first people in the world."

As he has spoken, Dwayne's soothing of the shell hasn't stopped, the numbers in his head keep ticking up. He's smiling down at the shell in his hand, hearing the hush of the ocean nearby. The words come easy, as a scar on his palm catches on the edge of the clam.

"That's a funny story," Laddie says. His smile has turned into a little contemplative frown, shifting from foot to foot as he waits for Dwayne to finish.

Dwayne blinks.

"Yeah, it is, huh."

"Hey! Laddie! Over here!"

Laddie turns around as Paul calls out from down the beach, he and Marko crouching by some big, flat rocks, poking at a pool. Waving to him to come and see and fill his bucket more.

Dwayne breathes.

"If you find any more shells small enough, you can ask nicely for Marko to make them into a bracelet for you," Dwayne tells Laddie, standing up properly. Laddie's eyes sparkle at the idea, and he nods vigorously again, hair flying back out of place from his ear. He's off before Dwayne can reach out to put it back, legs kicking up sand as he runs, bucket of finds swinging.

Dwayne watches him go, and only realizes he's still holding the clam shell when the edge digs into his fingers. Held too tight in his hand.

Looking back out at the dark ocean, Dwayne pulls his arm back, and throws.

-

"Laddie-!" Star exclaims, eyes wide from where she'd looked up from her seat on the bed. She tosses aside the book she'd been reading to rush up to Dwayne.

Laddie is in his arms, barely awake. "Relax, Star," Dwayne shrugs. "It's summer. Let him live, huh?"

Star pointedly looks over the boy, covered in leftovers of the night's escapade from head to foot. Sea salt and sand and stained shirt, hair tied back with a bit of dried kelp of all things - matching Paul's own hair, evidence of the culprit of such a silly thing. A faint smile still on his face as his hands barely keep hold of his bucket.

With a sigh, Star just reaches forward and gently lays a hand on Laddie's back. "Fine. But you're washing it all tomorrow. Child included."

"Fair enough."

[slippinninque]

Like, y'all remember that part in Pride & Prejudice movie (2005) when Mr. Bingley was trailing after Jane and he just lightly touched the ribbon of the bow at the back of her dress? And she didn't even notice? But he was just so so so delicate?

That's Fontaine.

When you aren't looking, he'd touch the corner of your oversized hoodie sleeve. Picks up one of your fallen hair clips or cowrie shells and keep it in his pocket, running his thumb over it time and time again.

Fontaine will stare at the passenger seat, where you just were, and imagine if you stayed a bit longer.

He'd clean out a space in his head everyday just for you.

[80ssuperstar]

Here's another Story Script I wanted to do which is a part from Madagascar Escape 2 Africa 🌍 When Alex and Marty tries to find the Water from the Humans and Gloria Rescuing Melman from the Volcano Sacrifice 🔥

This Time I want to change the characters from Regular Show which is the following:

Benson as Alex

Rigby as Marty

Mordecai as Melman

Samantha ( @80ssuperstar ) as Gloria

Hot Dog Leader as King Julien

Fat Hot Dog as Maurice

"Operation Water Rescue: The Volcano Dilemma"

[In the woods, Benson and Rigby go to look for the clog.]

Rigby: Is this place starting to freak you out?

Benson: We'll slip in, find the problem. Hunters will never know we were here.

Rigby: Why are we doing this?

Benson: Look Rigby, maybe my dad will think I'm... I just want to show him I'm a real Boss.

Rigby: As opposed to a chocolate Boss.

Benson: Shh. I know this may sound hard to believe; but apparently, Bosses don't dance.

Rigby: [shocked] WHAT?!?

Benson: SHH!! As far as my dad is concerned.

Rigby: As far as people are concerned, you're a huge hit.

Benson: That was California. This is Africa... it's much tougher crowd. Rigby! Rigby, this is it! This is the clog! Come on.

Rigby: Well, there's the water.

(Rigby drinks some of the water. While Rigby is drinking the water, Benson notices Nana)

Benson: Rigby, stay down. Look at that.

Nana: Knit one, purl two.

Benson: It's her.

Man: Is this right?

Nana: Very good.

Man: Nana, slow down.

Nana: You're a little tangled, aren't you? No, don't pull. I'll do it.

Benson: We need dynamite. Got any dynamite?

Rigby: (loudly) Oh, snap! I just used my last stick this morning!

[Benson tells to quiet down, but an arrow hits the fruit hat of shame 🏹]

Rigby: Savages!

Benson: Evasive maneuvers!

Rigby: Serpentine, serpentine!

Benson: Squiggly squid maneuver!

Rigby: Zag, zig-zag, zig ziggy zag!

Benson: No, no! Squiggly squid!

Rigby: Etch A Sketch! Etch A Sketch! Etch A Sketch!

Benson: That's too complex! Octopus, octopus!

Rigby: Benson!

Benson: Run, Rigby!

Rigby: Come on, I can't leave you here!

Benson: Go get help! Squiggly squid maneuver! Go! Go! Squiggly squid!

Rigby: ETCH A SKETCH!!! ETCH A SKETCH!!!

[The camera changes to the volcano where Mordecai, Wearing a White Orchid Flower Cowrie Shells Veil Headwear, 4 Flower Lei's, Black and White Feathers on his Ankles and Wrist, is about to go into the lava, but he is looking to the deep of the volcano.]

Mordecai: OK. OK, OK, OK. OK, here we go. OK, OK. Here we go! Here we go!

Joe: What's all the hoopla about?

Blue Jay: Joe?

Blue Jay 2: Joe the Witch Doctor? We thought you were dead!

Joe: So did I. Then I realized I'm covered in brown spots.

Blue Jay: So, Mordecai's not dying! [suddenly realizing the truth] Mordecai's not dying!

Blue Jay 1: Oh, no!

Samantha: Excuse me! Mordecai!! Move! Don't do this! Hot Dog Leader, stop this! This is crazy!

Hot Dog Leader: Oh, suddenly throwing a blue jay into a volcano to make water is crazy!

Samantha: Yes! Please, Mordecai! STOOOP!!!! 😱😱

Mordecai: Samantha? 😯

Samantha: You can't do this! 😭😭

Mordecai: Why not?

Samantha: Because...Oh! 😯😯

[But as she could finish, she trips which causes cracks to come out, Mordecai is shocked at what he's seeing, he runs up, but begins to fall. Samantha stops him from falling]

Samantha: You can't do this, Mordecai. 😢😢

Mordecai: First of all, that hurts. Second of all, I've only got 18 hours to live, anyway. 😢😢

Samantha: Mordecai, I gotta know...did you really mean those things you said about me? 🥹🥰

Mordecai: Of course I did. 🥲🥲

Samantha: That's crazy 😧😧

Mordecai: It Is? 😟😟

Samantha: It's crazy to think I had to go halfway around the world... to find out that the perfect guy for me lived right next door. 🥹🥹☺️😊

Mordecai: Then I guess it's you and me, neighbor. You and me for the next 18 hours. 😻😻😻

Samantha: I'll take whatever you got 🥹❤️🩵

Hot Dog Leader: WHOA WHOA WHOA Fat Hot Dog, what just happened?! 😱😱😱

Fat Hot Dog: I believe the Hot Sassy lady has sung. 😏❤️

HERE'S THE END TO THE PART! 〽️ I Hope you guys love it!!!

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For: @fxe4596 , @nicomxm23 , @mordorigs , @jgquintelslut , @pinkcandycatmakesart , @anifaz , @isrrael120 , @notadumbdog , @martingeekermmd , @eeveepalooza , @apollothedeity , @sidoresca , @siinhorhy , @insomniacz , @rhyliethecaterfly , @yeetafry , @at-weeb96 , @kiwithekool11437 , @kiko2032 , @orchestralauthor , @untitled14360 , @loudlyhappycupcake

[naffeclipse]

Hey Naff! How are you foing? ^_^

Just had a couple questions about Oceane! In the picture of the fish you posted, it seems to have a red-white stripe on top, so does she also have something similar on her back? Or is it more just general red gradients? Oh and! Just to make sure I'm not completely misreading the reference you provided of her as example dñgkjhdsfakjh, her fins are to the side of her tail and not vertical like the actual fish right?

And last question would be! I don't know if her tale takes place on actual Earth or if it's more of a fictional world, but what sort of environment would you say she finds herself in when it comes to the ocean? A coral reef, more open sea, or maybe somewhere with lots of kelp? (If it's not spoilery for your story of course!) And is she particularly fond of anything found in the sea?

Lots of questions I know haha 🙈

Heya, babe! I'm doing good and I hope you are too! <3

Oh ho, okay! *rubs my mitts together*

The red-white stripe is a gradient to her fins, specifically to one side and bit on her tail fin. Yes, her fins line the sides of her tail! So, not vertical like the fish reference. I have this saved in my reference folder if it helps (forgive the crude drawing, it's just there to emphasize the tail position on her body)!

The setting is very earth-like with the story taking place off the coast of California in the Pacific Ocean. She loves open waters with lots of warm sand where it's a gorgeous turquoise color, like this:

She loves seashells, especially cowrie seashells and triton shells! (Those are the seashells on her bracelet in the art!)

(cowrie seashells)

(triton seashells)

Whew, I hope that's not too many references but here ya go! I love the questions so don't worry <3 I'm not normal about this for no reason once so ever!

[procrastiel]

Let’s imagine Metatron threatened Aziraphale flat out.

We already know our dearest Aziraphale is not 100% reliable when it comes to telling stories, and we get to see the talk with Metatron only through his narrative in the show.

Michael had already started earlier with the erasure from the book of life palaver. So, let’s say Metatron comes in and (figuratively) grabs Az by the balls.

He says you either take this offer or we will disintegrate you.

Now, imagine being Aziraphale. Do you want to be responsible for leaving Crowley behind to face eternity on his own, without you?

There has always been a fear of you two being torn apart eventually. You have never been able to openly be ‘together’. You are quite familiar with the act of hiding things, heck, you two have been playing hide the cowrie shell for 6,000 years now. You even developed your own little coded language around it. You made it romantic, having to love in secret. Somehow you managed to make it even more meaningful, because it’s forbidden.

And now this twat is forcing you to choose between being wiped out, thus leaving Crowley by himself, or becoming heaven’s full-time slave (aka away from Crowley), but at least there’s still a slither of hope that you could fix this.

What would you choose? Would you try to temporarily break up with the love of your life so you can both keep existing and work out a plan to re-unite, or would you tell the Megaphone Metatron to get stuffed and risk being smote right where you sit?

I think I’m starting to understand Aziraphale.

[zoandreez]

1, 2, you're the girl that i want ☄. *. ⋆ kiri drabble

pairing: kiri x metkayina!reader

summary: it was a tradition to make shell decorated accessories with people you held dear to you. kiri didn't know the differences between shells however, so you decided to make her a necklace with a slightly more special meaning.

word count: approx 700

warnings: none really just some fluff

a/n: im not entirely sure if shells mean different things in metkayina culture but i DO know that tsahik/in training's evolve from pearls->shells and that's where i got the idea

"and you wrap it around the twine in the star shape i taught you earlier," you said, mimicking the process with your hands as kiri watched you intently.

"like this?" she asked, wrapping it around the shell.

"yes, like that." you smiled as she folded it, concentrated. her tongue stuck out her mouth slightly as she squinted, trying to tie it on her own. you watched her for a moment before offering help.

"no, i got it."

"if you say so."

eventually she got it, and smiled at you as she proudly held up her necklace. it was beautiful, made with clear blue rocks and shells of different assortments.

you had developed a bond with kiri, and enjoyed her company.

one day, you and your sister tsireya were walking around the beach looking for shells and such for your bracelets. secretely, you picked up some things that reminded you of kiri. you wanted to make something for her, but ironically enough, she asked you to first.

she loved the metkayina culture, and you couldn't help but say yes when she asked you to make her one of the necklaces you had. it reminded you of her, and that's why you had picked those in specific for her.

in metkayina culture, different shells represent different things. scallops represented success and power, and it was what tsahik's normally wore before their initiation before their traditional headpiece. cowrie's were for good fortune and luck. conch shells, your favorite, represented appreciation and love.

bits of kiri's shell were made of conch, and if you angled it just right with yours, the necklaces intertwined, showing a connection beyond barriers.

you smiled at her as she held up her necklace, before showing her. "hey, look," you said, before taking her necklace and connecting it with yours. she watched with awe as you carefully attached the two.

"woah, that's so cool!" she said, seeing you unconnect them and place it around her neck. she lifted her hair out of the way as you tied it.

kiri turned to you, gesturing to her neck as a "how does it look?"

"it looks great, 'ki." you called her ki for short, even though her name was short already it made her feel appreciated that someone thought to give her a nickname.

"well, it was made by the best!"

"shut up, it's nothing that great." your cheeks flushed as you looked away. in the distance, you saw tsireya.

"hey!" she said, running up.

"hey, tsireya!" you and kiri said, looking at her.

"aw, am i too late to the necklace making session?" she said, pouting. she looked at your necklaces. "they look great!"

"i picked out the beads myself." you said, smiling at your choices.

tsireya looked at you as you said that, before taking a closer look at kiri's necklace for a second time. she saw the conch on kiri's necklace, and looked back at you before smiling like a madman.

"i'm telling ao'nung." she said sing-songy.

"tsireya," you threatened.

"telling ao'nung what?" kiri inquired, confused out of her mind looking at the both of you.

"kiri, do you not know shell code?" tsireya said, hinting at the conch.

she was confused for a moment. she was taught shell code, but it seemed to have left her mind when you were making her necklace. she looked at the conch, before her eyes widened.

"oh. oh."

"oh?" you said, looking at her, hoping for some form of response. you were hoping your confession would be a bit more.. detailed, but instead it happened this way.

"oh!" tsireya said, sort of just happy to be here.

"i guess i have to explain myself now," you said, stammering over your words. "kiri, i-"

you were cut off as kiri pulled you into a hug, and you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.

"i'm guessing you like me too," you said, wrapping your arms around her gently.

"shut up," kiri said, burying her head in your shoulder. she sighed.

using conch was defintely the way to go.

a/n: im so bad at writing confessions goodbye

[jojotier]

the station looks like a tin can the more you drift; each blinking porthole window decorating the label as the space between you and the SS Atlantic turns the only home you have left into just another star in the sky.

the snap of the tether breaking in half is still the only thing you can hear.

you had your moment of panic, though. you clawed and struggled and tried to orient yourself in the vast emptiness of space and turned up nothing. there's still static somewhere in the back of your head and helmet as someone- shit, has to be Macy, there's no one else on board who shares your accent, your food, your history- frantically calls. you can't make out a single word.

you wish you could make a joke, here. put the poor girl at ease. she's young; still doesn't believe you when you say the old Terran dustball used to hold oceans of bioluminescent water and sugarcane fields far as the eye could see. you've been alive long enough to learn that being an astronaut and being a sailor aren't too terribly different, when it comes down to it. different equipment, yes; different tide, different gravity. same work songs. same dangers. same prayers.

you know prayers don't get answered out here in the black. the sea almost ate you whole when you were a child and now the void will finish the job.

they're probably mounting a rescue now. this is the first time someone unmoored has gotten so far, and the ship is full of young people and bravado. you wonder how the fresh-faced lieutenant's doing- never caught their name, but they have a kinda swagger to them under the color-changing twists and a voice to beat out the last chanteyman who led the songs. capable, sure. well-read, sure- but twenty-five is practically still a child's age, on your new home where nothing ever changes but the artificial seasons.

now, here's something new. it's a new problem. and truth be told, you don't got much oxygen left.

you've been out here for a long while. so you can't offer a joke or a condolence, or even an apology, as a girl's cries start making the static over the radio peak. if you could, though, what could you say? you lived longer than you thought you ever would. the dimming at the corners of your eyes and the itch in your throat remind you that you know what it's like to drown. you were always bound to die.

that doesn't stop the tightness in your chest as your shallow breaths, your sips of air, feel heavy on your tongue. your lungs are starting to notice what you've been putting to the back of your mind. coming to terms with your death isn't the same thing as accepting it. not really.

you don't move, even though conservation of energy doesn't make a difference. there's nothing around you but void and the fractionation of stars reflected off your helmet's glass. and the further you drift, the more they seem to wink out, one by one, as the distant station begins to disappear into the stasis of the cosmos.

over the comms you think you hear the lieutenant, maybe. it's hard to catch the actual pitch of the voice. just stops and starts, saying "come- we- are incom- stay tight-!"

it almost makes hope well up. you crush it the same way you did when you dreamed granddaddy being knocked off the mast and into the storm, the night before he went overboard just the same way. if you don't heed omens then you can't feel grief before it's due. if you don't hope then it means you can focus on passing on.

but it means you have to think. you have to think and hold still and ignore the way your skin itches under your gloves- ignore the static buzzing against your eardrums- ignore the

maybe you should give the last of your belongings? you don't even know where to start. give Macy the cowrie shells, because your grandma told you beading them in your rows would protect you and your granddaddy said they could tell the future. give the lieutenant your locket? it'd go good with their uniform, same as it did with yours, when captains cared for that sort of thing, back in the Atlantic seas your mother and your mother's mother and your grandmother's family had sailed.

you wanted to tell those stories. your granddaddy told you his daddy was a baker with one hand and made you memorize your great-granddaddy's name, so you wouldn't forget. you want to tell someone that name. you wanted to bring the memories of Earth with you.

so maybe those are your final words. maybe not.

you feel your heart trembling at a different rate than your ribs; your meat trying to squirm away from the bones keeping you hostage in this deep-space suit, waiting for the little gauge at the corner of your vision to hit zero. your lips open and they're cracking, splitting along the seams, and you say- what in the hell...

"---?" the static buzzes, "who-" but you're not listening, and the oxygen deprivation must be getting to you, because there's a dog floating in front of you.

you're in the deepest reaches of the ether. you can barely even see the light in front of you, because the stars are so much farther apart than you would ever think, and the earth you knew is currently being swallowed up by the sun so many billions of lightyears away, and there is a dog floating in front of you. and not just any dog, but Laika- and you know it's Laika, because your childhood dog looked just like her.

you remember because when you were seven you were crowded around the sole tv with five of your cousins and grandma darting, ducking in and out of the kitchen- offering guayaba here, tembleque there, eat a sandwich, have a coffee- and everyone was talking over each other because yelling is a love language when thirty close family members do it at once while trying to speak over the squawk of all the birds in their cages and the ticking knickknacks on the shelves on the yellow-painted walls- and because the tv was saying that the Russians killed a dog, the same Red-Scare tactic shit you didn't know you'd see a million more times, you were hugging Nena so tight that she was whining to be let go of. and you remember just holding on tighter because Nena was your personal Laika- looked just the same- and you could never imagine letting her go.

as you grew, you began to understand why humans forced the old girl to make the sacrifice. progress can only be done in increments. space, sea, frontier- all are unforgiving and yet so beautiful that humans can't help but reach. so you mourned her, as did the rest of humanity.

she floats in front of you now, her fur alight with stardust, bright eyes wide and locked on the lights reflected off your helmet's glass. the static burns brighter in your brain and her head cocks to the side, one ear perking up. you can't move more than the heaving of your chest as you've shifted to panting to try and gather back the oxygen you wasted by continuing to live even still.

you always wondered what the old girl thought, being left out here in the nothing. whether she was sad to see the world change so much without her being able to chase a single other squirrel. whether she missed getting her belly rubbed and treats and sleeping in the sunshine. whether she waited.

and maybe you're right about the last thing, because Laika's tail is wagging, and she pushes her head into one of your frozen, outstretched hands. even through the thick fabric you feel the softness of her halo-sewn fur, and it feels so much like your Nena that through the tears in your eyes you half expect to see your grandma walking into the room to tell everyone that dinner's ready.

and Laika yaps, bumping her silver-shining head against your palm and closing her eyes in delight, and you wish you could move. you wish the ice wasn't already settling in your joints. you want to pet her as much as she wants to be pet.

it's almost enough to make you forget this is an illusion for a dead man.

when Laika drifts slowly back you try to open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. it's no use speaking. you know this. you are drifting farther than the radars can reach and even when they do reach you, it will have been too late. more than that, what right do you, another creature lost to the void, have to ask her to remain longer in this frozen abyss?

your eyes start to drift closed.

you may have come to terms with your death, and you may just be coming around to accepting it. maybe now you are discovering that they really are the same thing.

there will be no more stories. there will be no more memories. there will only be you, at eternal rest, until the universe finally rips under its own weight.

there isn't anything more for you to do than wait for the end.

until you feel a tug.

eyelids unstick painfully as you stare ahead into the dark, and Laika is still there. you blink heavily, but each time your eyes open again, she remains floating outside. the mirage doesn't go away.

as you finally realize it, you notice the snapped tether she holds within her jaws. she tugs. in the vast range of the ether, you move a minuscule nanometer, and there's ice clinging to your bottom lashes as you try to tell her, that's enough now.

she tugs again. you move, but the distance is still too little. it's okay, you try to tell her, but she doesn't seem to hear.

she pulls and pulls with all her spectral might and you try to tell her you're so good- you're such a good girl- but please stop because it's not doing anything, really. you're still running low on air. you've already accepted your death, and now there's a pesky ember of hope burning at the bottom of your stomach.

humans have already done so much to her. you've already done so much to her, in an abstract way. you don't want to make a spirit cart around your damned corpse into eternity. but she still continues to pull.

the voices over the static are still shouting coordinates and asking questions, but you're distracted by the impossible creature trying to pull you back and the way the ice seems to retreat from your veins and the way, miraculously, the meter showing your oxygen levels begins to rise.

there's a sparking at Laika's heels like metal on the grindstone. she growls her frustration through teeth of platinum and her ears cock back as her muscles strain. and then, she runs.

the distance between stars suddenly shrinks into the size of a pin's head. you see constellations you haven't seen in years- Orion's belt, the Big Dipper, the Eagle. The stars fly by in a flash and yet you can chart the exact course as Laika's tail, more comet than dog, blazes through the night.

you remember now, why the jump from sailing to aerospace was so intuitive. navigating by the stars is in your blood.

and you can't help it. you laugh. because what else is there to do when relief balloons your chest out and makes your numb fingertips light? what do you do when you finally realize you're not going to die after all?

what do you do when you hear the young Lieutenant over the comms, comforting Macy, telling her you'll be found soon? when Macy says "Bayo, please-" and you realize you knew the kid's name after all?

what do you do when Bayo goes silent for a moment. when they finally ask, "is that- is that a dog...?"

what do you do when you're being saved by a ghost dog?

it's so beautiful, so ludicrously brilliant, that you can't help but laugh through the tears running hot on your cheeks.

and the way back isn't as long as you thought, but you sing regardless, and Laika's singing along with you, howling through the rope in her mouth with yips and starts as she runs you home.

[thesherrinfordfacility]

Honestly? The most striking thing about the sideburns and other continuity errors isn't even how bizarre they are, how numerous or how they mostly seem like easily fixable things. It's Neil's non-answers! Except for the missing fifteen minutes in the Final Fifteen I don't believe he's outright called any of them continuity errors even when that's surely the simplest option. Of course, even odds he's doing it just to wind the fandom up, but that still leaves a fifty percent chance there might be a Reason. Or, if it is specifically to wind us up and make us chase our own tails, you could argue that makes it a red herring. In which case, what Clues are the continuity errors meant to distract us from?

hey anon!!!✨ okay so here's where im just basically going to talk about good omens in general, both seasons, because honestly? im completely with you, and i think that rationale is bang on the money. its the whole reason why i try to look at outside, sometimes blatantly in a different direction, to what the show (ignoring the book for a hot minute) is telling us.

s2 in particular, but i'll include s1 slightly, feels like it really leans into misdirection as a narrative technique - the red herring. as you rightly pointed out, we have the baby swap/three card monte in s1. we have three cowrie shells in s2. we have the goats hidden as crows, where (by my count) you see two, possibly three, flying off in the background behind crowley. we have the three children hidden as lizards (lots of threes which is interesting but not my Point rn). the bullet catch. aziraphale distracting furfur with the envelope whilst he hides the photograph up his sleeve. probably others that ive forgotten.

so, suffice to say, it's a fairly major part of the story, and this is where i come to my point; in my opinion, tricks are being played on us as the audience, and we ourselves are being led by misdirection. now, im sure some of these may turn out to be true, but the below are a couple of examples of things from s2 specifically that have been spoonfed to us, and therefore - i think - are not 100%, if at all, true:

crowley was a high-ranking angel/archangel

maggie is a demon because she misspelt 'urgency'

the book of life is a book, and has the ability to erase existence

the 25-lazarii miracle was successful in hiding gabriel, or was as powerful as it was because aziraphale and crowley did it together simultaneously.

i've talked about all of them in various tags, so i won't go over them, but i think we need to consider that what we've been taking as read needs further evaluation. that's not to say that one or multiple could in fact be the truth - there is, after all, the actual money card in three card monte - but im hesitant to put a guess on which one is the case.

but this does kinda come back to the batshit time travel theory - does the magic trick extend that far? or, at the very least, what is the trick being played by the varying hair length/sideburns/glasses change, if we accept that they're not factors external to the narrative? if they're deliberate, in-story choices, what is it telling us? there's the speculation that the flashbacks in s2 are skewed because they're all told from aziraphale's perspective - is possibly the case for the entire season? does that explain the colour grading?

personally, i think we're seeing more red herrings than we realise!!!✨