the vault @pixelatedstarlight - Tumblr Blog

Zacharie's Mask tutorial!!

Hey since I’ve seen a lot of OFF cosplay, and most of the Zacharies haven’t seemed to know how to make a mask properly, so i decided to make a tutorial!! MAKE SURE YOU READ THE WHOLE THING, THERE MIGHT BE SOME PICTURES MISSING. PREPARE AT LEAST 20 DOLLARS/EUROS/ W/E FOR THIS! There will be leftovers so you can make the other mask as well!

WHAT YOU’RE GOING TO NEED:

- A glue stick, different sizes on paintbrushes, scissors, pencil, a water cup

- rubber gloves, elastic web, black and white acrylic paint

- staples and sandpaper

- now this is hard to say, because i just found a piece of black plastic that i can see through. but you can also use sunglasses under the mask, or some black film, for example. improvise !

-this is a mass called Fim air light, i found it at a local handcrafts shop

-Big ass carton YOU ALSO NEED HOT GLUE, AND SOME SOFT FABRIC ! Now that you have everything we can get started!!

So first what you going to do is measure your face to know how big the mask has to be. Then you simply draw it on the carton.

When you feel like its symmetrical enough, cut it out!

NOW DRAW ANOTHER MASK ON THE CARTON, BY USING TO OLD ONE (AT THIS POINT YOU HAVE ALREADY CUT THE MOUTH AND EYE PART OFF. DO NOT CUT OFF THE TEETH!!)

DRAW BOTH MOUTH AND EYE HOLES SMALLER ON THIS ONE!

REPEAT, YOU’RE GOING TO NEED THREE PIECES OF CARTON MASKS

LIKE THIS:

Now glue them together!

It should look like this now!

Now glue two carton pieces behind the mouth!!

Yeah! You’re doing gr8

Make holes for the elastic web

Now start putting on the mass! You’re going to need water to attach it, but not too much!

Cover everything with a thin layer of mass, EXCEPT FOR THE MOUTH!

Once you’ve done that, let the mask dry! And to get it some shape, put something to hold it still. (Im poor so i just used cups)

Now you’re going to need sandpaper to hone the mask!

Now paint the mask! First with white and bluhh you know

DETAILS!

Now make two pieces like this out of the mass:

Then cover them with the fabric:

And hot glue them at the spot your forehead and nose touches

(I just glued and taped the black plastic)

Measure the elastic web and secure them with two staples

REMEMBER TO PAINT THE BLUSHES!

Aaaaaaand we’re done! wooo good job! thanks for sticking around!

b6omg

COQUETTE SYMBOLS PACK

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༶⋆˙⊹｡⋆ʚ♡⃛ɞ ✩ ˛˚.

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✧ : *✧･ﾟ:*

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*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

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xylttae

﹒⊢ ✶ ˖ ࣪ 🦇 .ﾟ۪ ♡ ۫ “ ࣭⸰ ★🎞️ ᜔. ✦ ˖

ılıl﹔ ◌ 𓂂 ˳⁺ 📀 ꯭ ⊹ ⋆ ࣪ 𓈒 𓆇 ˚ 🔌 › ✶ ˖ ࣪ ⌅ ◦

᧓ ﹒ 🔭 ༻ .ﾟ۪﹙☆̲﹚ ◌ ⃘ ₊ ⏳ •ִ ﹗ ˳ ׄ ⟡

ִ ﹗ ˳ ׄ ۪ ⚓️ 🖱️ ꯭ ⊹ ⋆ ࣪ ﹒₊⿴﹒ 🎙️ ⭒ ݁ . £

ritikajyala

Last night, I told my mother "I wish I was dead" in a fit of rage and winter clouded her eyes. But it wasn't white and it wasn't quiet, it resembled something like helplessness and rage. She was in pain and I knew I hurt her. I wanted to say something, anything, but how do you withdraw a declaration of war? How do you stop the bombs that already destroyed homelands? In that moment I remembered how she always told me that when she was a kid, she was too afraid to sleep with the lights on. Not because she was afraid of monsters, but because she feared her grandmother would die. Because when you're a kid, not seeing it means it doesn't exist anymore. I saw the winter in her eyes again and I knew I had switched off the light, she wasn't angry, she was afraid.

And I also remembered how she always told me I'd always be 3 years old for her, always a child, and for the first time, I heard in the voice of a three year old "I wish I was dead". My heart broke. And I wanted to hug her and hold her, tell her I was sorry, that I didn't mean it. Before I could move a hand, she left the room. The entire evening, I saw myself as she saw me, a 3 year old child. I saw the child hurt herself and cry herself to sleep every week, fight her friends with her tiny hands and two ponytails, I saw her depression and her anxiety, I saw her yell "I wish I was dead" and I knew. I knew. I wanted to shout through the walls, yell and cry and tell my mother that now I KNEW, but I didn't. I wept and wept until I heard a quiet knock and a soft familiar voice whispered, "Dinner is ready".

-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The world is a sphere of ice and our hands are made of fire

inside-my-gay-mind

ex

iunmadeher

louis de pointe du lac — denial is a river

dying-hemlock

Twitter Gothic

Today's news about the Elongated Muskrat has inspired me to write this.

Your friends have left and moved to other places. You are left here alone and stranded. Yelling into the void.

There are more bots than people. Day by day their numbers are growing.

Whenever you try to type *his* name your post becomes c̸̢̡̡̝̭̲̪̣͓̠̟̼̚ó̴̢̧̨̦̱̙̦̹̠̬͍͉̖̋̀̀̕͜r̷̗͚͚͊̍͌̓̒̔́̔̿ŕ̵̞̗͉͓͇̾̈́̑̕͜ṷ̵̙̝̿̄̓̈́͗̚͝p̴͓͉̬̲̠̟̘̱̘̝̤̠͈̉͛̒̍͂̒͊̚͜t̶̛̛͕͍͎̒͌̈́̍̓̓̌́̐͝͝ę̶̘͖͖̦̥̻̲̭̳̫̻̞̓̾͑̾̓͘̚͘̚d̷̦͔̥̤̗̮̤̩͚̲̝̼̔̑̉͝͝.

Every other post is an ad leading to dead end links. There is no life here. There is no life here. There is no life here. There is no life here. There is no life here. There is no life here.

After weeks, you finally see a post from another person again. It is your friend, but his words make no sense appearing more incoherent with each character.

The bots numbers keep growing. They are harder to tell apart from humans than ever before.

G̴̢̡̰̼͙͔̝̏̊́͊̿͆͗̂̚o̴̧̧̬̦͈͇͙̞̝̘͔͚̞͔͑͋͋d̸̛̲̩͍̩͔͕̉̉͋̔͊̽̐͛̈́͌̐̕̚͠ ̶̨̡̡̛̦̯͕̽̋̄͋̋̑̊̈́͒̐͘͠ş̷̢̝̲̯̟͍̩̖̳̜̋̀͛͊̂̀͋̚͘͜͝ą̴̹͉̹͍͓̙̍̌̄͆̾̈́́̑̎́͑͐͝͠v̴̧̲͉̮̝̭͇̪̥̺̰̙̽ĕ̶͇̖̪̦̖͈̺͕̣͑̌ ̷̡̨̨̫͙̹͕͕͎̗̺̇̍̓̈́̄̂̊̽͂̀̊̑́͜ͅyỏ̴̡̡̬͖̖̭̞̭̥̻̻̲̠̥̘͗̏̍̔͗͂̍́̍̎u̶̗̥̎͌̏̀̒̉̀̋̎̒ȑ̸̢̥̪͔̫͉̣̲̩͈̍͗̓̏̆͐ ̶̡̰̰͕̞̑̓̊̋̿͆͆̚͝s̷̭̳͙̥͈̙̻͒͊̇̀͒̆̉͒̽͆͆͋̏́͝o̸̡͖̥̱̹͋̀̅̍̿͗͒͊̃͊͘͝ȕ̶͈̪͌̀̏̌̓̌̐̈́͑l̷̳̯͎̈́̎̋̃̂̋̇̎̽

mazamun

Walking through the south is like. Someone died where you’re standing. Magnolia trees so big they’re going to swallow you. Cicadas so loud your head’s going to cave in. Humidity so thick you’re suffocating. Hot, wet cement that smells like the fear of god. A swirling black hole of forests so labyrinthine you’ll never escape. Prophetic billboards by empty highways. Jesus on the dashboard. Cold hands pouring something sweet down your throat until you drown. Faceless eyes on you when your mother calls asking you the last time you went to church. Nameless voices urging you to pick up that Bible in the free bin outside the library. There are more gravestones around you than people. Proud history funneled through the skulls of the dead. Clean white chapels neighbored by crumbling plantations. Cloying smiles and hollow eyes that follow you everywhere you go. That overgrown schoolhouse down the street was burned to the ground and you don’t know why.