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Gläss - Blog Posts
Is anybody up for giving me their kneecaps I need bowls
Modern Landscape - Privacy Image of a sizable, private, modern backyard formal garden.
Sun Room Large Large traditional sunroom design with a glass ceiling and a limestone floor but no fireplace.
Light as Air: One of my original creations from a few years back. The inspiration came from a mixture of the elements light and air.
Dangerous glass walkway on Tianmen Mountain, Hunan, China.
Oh my god Artie look...I'm gonna bandage you up to stop the bleeding okay? *takes out some bandages*
“A....a...piece of the b...roken w....windshield hit m...me”
Contemporary Pool Miami An illustration of a medium-sized modern rooftop with a custom-made infinity pool fountain.
San Francisco Contemporary Wine Cellar Inspiration for a small contemporary wine cellar remodel with display racks
Weno..como estan.. se van a preguntar por que estoy asiendo esto.. bueno aqui esta mi respuesta no lo se , tal vez sea por practica o por ser una “fan de este tipo”...weno en describirlo me gusta mucho la trama de sus comic y si estilo de arte casi a black and white..y parece fantasmita X3..le un gran detalle de todo.. ah cierto como se llama esta persona o ser..huh....
: @thebestosunglass
si no mal lo recuerdo...quien sabe..
PARTES Y SERVICIOS
zona de desmadres..
Uncovered Deck Toronto Example of a large trendy backyard deck skirting design with no cover
Modern Deck - Deck Inspiration for a large, contemporary backyard deck renovation
My Toy
My Time
My Pleasure
A sexy hotwife
Home Office Study DC Metro Inspiration for a small contemporary medium tone wood floor study room remodel with gray walls
OCtober Bingo: Multilingual
“Come here,” Glass signed.
Sprocket shifted forwards, sand sliding over and into his joints, tubes bending to follow the movement. He was sitting cross-legged on the ground, hands folded in his lap. Opposite him, Glass kneeled in the sands.
The mid-morning sun fell through eir body, refracting and splitting through the glass, shining brilliantly on pieces of metal and bulbs of green liquid before falling onto Sprocket. It would be warm, if either of them had the skin to feel it.
(Natural heat was lost to Sprocket in the storm of his own whirring processors and grinding motors. He just had the vague impressions offered to him by an internal thermometer ticking up or down: 42.3°C.
He’d once asked Glass if ey could feel warmth, could feel the sun beating down on them.
Ey said it felt like life, which sounded very different from 42.3°C.)
Glass pressed eir palm against Sprocket’s chest, warping the way the light fell, and hummed three notes.
They slid together like the gradient of a sunset, each higher than the last. They sat somewhere in the middle of Glass’s vast spectrum of sound, a neutral sort of tone that shook around in Sprocket’s chest but didn’t quite stay there. He raised a hand from his lap to grab onto Glass’s forearm, fingers clinking into place. Another point of connection, without the leather of Sprocket’s vest separating them.
“Go again,” he said.
The same three notes played. Sprocket could feel the vibrations humming against his sensors, sound washing through him. It brushed over those parts of him designed only to detect pain, to alert to problems, gently passing by without alarm.
The sweeping rise in pitch felt whole in some way, complete. Someone with more musical knowledge than him, with more knowledge of the language Glass was trying to speak to him, could have had the right words to describe it. Sprocket had neither of those things, so all he had to offer was-
“It sounds nice. What does it mean?”
Glass nodded. Ey pulled eir hand away from his chest, and Sprocket followed suit, disengaging.
“It’s supposed to sound nice,” ey signed. “It means ‘to give comfort.’ We have many words like this, that represent concepts, that can be used in many different ways as long as the emotion is there.”
Those bulbs of liquid rolled around in Glass’s chest, occasionally colliding with each other to become one, other times clinging to the clear walls surrounding them. A pool of it splashed in eir head, right behind the pair of white, glowing eyes that watched Sprocket intently, making sure he understood. Glass continued.
“It means ‘it’s okay.’ It means ‘it’s alright.’ It means ‘it’s over.’ It means ‘I’m here.’ It means whatever it needs to mean.”
“And does it… work? Do you feel comforted by it?”
“Of course. That association has been well-established for me. The same will be true for you, eventually.”
Glass hummed the notes again. Ey nodded at him to do the same.
Sprocket took a moment to find the first pitch, letting it hum in his speaker before he climbed to the next, and then the next.
Glass tilted eir head at him. “You’re climbing stairs.”
“What?”
“When you move from one syllable to the next, you find in betweens and jump to them, instead of sliding up the scale. Here, try it with me.”
Ey reached out, pressing a hand against his chest, the globs of liquid in eir fingers twisting and reforming. Sprocket reached back, grabbing onto eir arm. The tubing that coiled loosely around him flexed and shifted, filled with that same blood.
Glass held the first note, leading the way for him to follow. Sprocket could hear the vibrations, could feel them thrumming in his veins of tubes, buzzing where cheers of metal met each other. The sound rattled discontentedly while he tried to find the right note, warping and grating until it fell into place.
Glass raised eir pitch, and Sprocket clumsily followed em up the scale, resting together at the three notes along their journey. When Glss nodded, Sprocket already knew what ey meant, and they starting over, and he led the charge.
They traded off like that several times, taking turns to find the right notes to play, each time getting closer to each other’s rhythm. Until the need ceased for a lead at all, and Sprocket and Glass spoke as one.
Liquid danced in Glass’s body, bulbs of it twisting in eir chest, all surrounded by singing glass.
Sprocket’s metal sang, carrying waves of sound. Gentle hands, not ones that poked or prodded, cupped his sensors, pressed against his vest.
They reached what Sprocket knew would be their final iteration and grew silent together, the last of the sound fading out of reach. Only when every last bit of it was gone, when Sprocket couldn’t possibly feel it, did Glass pull away. Sprocket’s hands fell into his lap.
“Like that,” ey signed.
“Thank you,” Sprocket responded. “I understand.”
@glacierruler
Another square down! I actually wrote this story a while back, it was one of the first things that went into my Deslotair notebook. Just some thoughts on the glass bot language and how we can communicate even when we're so different. Languages are very important to Glass (ey used to be a translator) so this was a really good prompt for em!
Little fit doodles for the Deslotair gang! We got a clothing swap for Sprocket + Alonze, Desmona in some clothes I saw in the store the other day, and Glass wearing a fit I saw someone on the bus in. Feels weird to draw em in clothes, but I think it works!
This is for @glacierruler's OC Bingo! Board below the cut
Currently going down my list of people to ask about OCs because they rbed my OCtober bingo card :3
Tell me of the OCs!
Deslotair gang! Deslotair is a sci-fi western story that follows a group of scavengers through the desert as they fight to survive. If you already know the team, here are my bingo board ideas! If not, read more
For the board!!
Involved in crime is good for Sprocket and Alonze, obviously.
Sign language and multilingual are good too, most of the gang has some knowledge of sign language, and both Glass and Sprocket know several other languages as well.
They all need a Fucking Break. Probably Sprocket the most.
Ghosts could be fun!!
For outfits: i need to draw Sprocket in Alonze's jacket don't ask me WHY i just have that image in my brain.
Fucked up character dynamics for suuure. What do Sprocket and Alonze have going on? Who knows? Canon relationship??? Maybe!
Desmona has a pet! We love Tak! Weird lizard dog!
queer. obviously.
Tragic antagonist DOES fit but we're not getting into all that lol
Outer space was MADE for me <3
Inventor is interesting. Sprocket is a mechanic but he doesn't typically invent things? Him and Glass invented a 'suit' for Desmona though.
Alonze would commit murder, so would Glass! Sprocket tries not to but it's probably happened. Occupational hazard. Desmona would rather die.
Sprocket - he/him, their leader. Used to be a mining bot, where he learned mechanic skills to take care of the other robots down there. He's since made it out of there and has been scavenging the longest. Knows a lot about machines and how to strip things for the highest quality parts. He's a fairly straight-laced guy, and absolute worry-wart trying to keep everyone alive.
Glass - ey/em, primarily a navigator. A glass bot, which are a type of robot naturally created from old scrap that becomes encased in glass. Ey was raised completely around glass bots and worked as a translator between them and humans, but it was a pretty shitty environment to be in. Ey is very curious about humans and is an excellent teacher, specifically of languages.
Desmona - she/her, the outcast. Desmona is a 17 year old girl that came in contact with vitrel, the unstable energy source of Deslotair, which became a part of her. She left home after the accident and met Sprocket and Glass soon after. She's very shy and withdrawn, generally more comfortable around bots or animals than humans. Very crafty, likes sewing and embroidery.
Alonze - he/they/she, the sharpshooter. Used to work with Sprocket in a bandit group, before being caught and arrested after a train robbery gone wrong. Spent his life moving around with his dad, who was a rancher, and deeply loves Deslotair. Very opinionated and hotheaded, but deeply loyal once she's decided she's on your side.
Jazz is Like Glass and Yarn
Cutting quick and deep
Sharp melodies
Sassy tones
At times smoother than cream
In a rich cup of coffee
•
Notes, unseen
Cascade down the blank page
Of a musicians mind
Spilling out clear and sweet
Softer than snow blanketing a bungalow
•
Chords, a medium to be measured with infinity
Spinning eigth notes like cotton on a spindle
Pricking your eardrums with phat, coordinated rhythms
Low and as thick as molasses
Higher than the moon
•
Fuzzy, soft and neat brushes lightly caresss the snare
Chunk, Chunk, Chunk the constant thrum of the guitar
Propelling the group as the bulky anchor, the bass
Crystal tones, loud and bossy, the trumpet commands
The saxophone pleads mournfully to be heard, like a lost colour in an intarsia pattern
Every window I find is your reflection in the pane.