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#workbenches
threeriversforge · 1 year
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The glory of a workshop cannot be easily put in words.  A testament to man’s ingenuity, the drive to build and create, workshops like this are a vital part of the culture.  Often unappreciated, sadly, but so very important to who we are!
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ayaitch · 2 months
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I had had a hope that each tribe would have their own spin on the workbenches. But the Quen, Carja, and Oseram all use the Oseram style one. The Utaru and Tenakth workbenches are similar, but are different enough to be unique. I know it's a lot of design elements for something that doesn't really matter, but still, it would have been neat.
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ramo1x · 6 months
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верстак с доставкой
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High-Quality Industrial Workbenches Across Varied Industries
Industrial workbenches play a pivotal role in optimizing productivity and ensuring seamless operations in a wide range of industries. From mining and manufacturing to commercial workshops and military applications, these workbenches serve as essential tools for accomplishing tasks efficiently and maintaining a safe working environment. This article will examine the necessary requirements. of high-quality industrial workbenches across various industries and highlight the ways in which leading suppliers like Actiwork can assist these sectors.
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newtonwoodcraft · 2 years
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Every day until July 31st… 20% off everything to celebrate our re-launch. Hundreds of woodworking tools. #handplanes , #chisels , #carvingtools , #mallets , #forstnerbits , #squares , #workbenches , #sharpeningsupplies , #markinggauges and more… https://www.instagram.com/p/Cf4X0gppa8I/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
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fluffyartbl0g · 1 year
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I GOT SO MUCH INSPIRATION FROM THIS FIC. It’s about luffy bein a goofball in the afterlife and doin things like shining the sun too bright on zoro or tiptoeing the shadow away so zoro can’t nap in the shade haha.
Anyways not be a debbie downer or anything, but luffy’s dead in this comic >_> DONT BE SAD THOUGH! He adventured with all his nakama for a good bunch of years before passing away at the ripe age of like 60 somethin ig??? But I absolutely ADOOOORE the idea of luffy still messing with everyone a bit, even when he’s dead LOLLL.
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centralbunnyunit · 5 months
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epitomereally · 8 days
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LA, Who Am I To Love You? by me 💕
finally got around to binding my @hd-wireless fic from last year! Faced some technical difficulties but I’m happy with my design choices & how they reflect the vibe of the fic! Featuring art by the lovely @babooshkart and a praise page with comments from @stationintern, @tackytigerfic, @sitp-recs, and @skeptiquewrites among others (all the comments on that fic gave me life! tysm 💕)
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Materials:
Dupioni silk which I made into bookcloth for the covers
Fonts: Brim Narrow, Rage Italics (California license plate font)
HTV: Siser Holographic Vinyl (would not recommend from this experience, but also my tools are suboptimal so could be a me problem!)
shelf update 💕
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coolthingsguyslike · 9 months
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prudentfolly · 3 months
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Prudence's apartment so far. I need to pick out some rugs and fill those frames, still, and I have one corner that is not... done at all but!! So far I really like it!
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vandafineclothing · 5 months
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Shades of green and grey from the workbench today.
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queencryo · 2 months
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would give it all up to be a driver for a minor noblewoman (widow) (vaguely western-european) stuck with her in the coach after i was forced to release the horses: this is the worst storm in decades, not even my paw coulda kept these posting-station horses calm through the peals of sky-splitting thunder.
We came to a stop in the middle of the road, the churned mud of the road eagerly assisting the coach's brakes. I'm completely drenched by the time I enter the cabin to report that we'll not be going anywhere, not that that isnt already clear. Plenty of Ladies like this, they would howl and beat at me for getting the road's mud into their carriage. but not mine: she worries only of the mud's water, and my hair's water, and my clothes' water, and how these all offer ample avenue for the night's cold to pierce my frame.
And pierce it does: now that the exertion of driving is ended, i am alarmed at how the cold has already convinced my body to take its side over mine, chattering and shivering so I can hardly understand it when my Lady pushes a parcel of cloth toward me. Its dry, she says, and she'll turn her back while I replace sodden roughspun with dry linen. after a moment of shivering hesitation, she does while i do. The fit is odd, in style as well as cut. She's plush where I'm paucious, I'm fowl bones failing to fill out sheep's skin. I keep the comparison to myself. I cough, and she turns, and she smiles. Says this frock suits me. The blood rushing to my face warms it, almost enough I stop chattering.
We start making the carriage a little warmer, lining the door with another of her dresses. It is a summer cut, too thin to keep the chill from your skin; cladding the coach door, though, it keeps the worst of the wind at bay. And once my cloak mirrors it on the door's opposite, the cabin changes. Less now a channel whose seams the wind can run through unabated. A haphazard little down, and we the rabbits.
And like rabbits, we huddle together. She has a great fur cloak, surely a gift from some earl or czar or other title. It's warm, utterly so, and so is she. The thought of her as a sheep was untoward, but I can't help but think of it again now. I had tried to avoid touching her for propriety, but she had insisted. Wrapping her arms around me like a child, but I was so cold I hadn't stopped her as she encompassed me. I'm not cold anymore, but I stay in her soft embrace nonetheless. She doesn't evict me, and I do not bring myself to ask why.
She asks me questions, about my family and my trade, about horses. It takes time, but soon I ask in turn. We have little in common, but that's an object of fascination rather than deviation. She's never horsed a shoe, I've never ridden in a coach. Her brother is a bore, mine is dead. Before we know it we are talking like friends, conversation passing between us like the present situation was the comfortable norm rather than the best way to avoid death by frost.
I don't know how long we talk, but in time the night in the cracks of our den turns from dark to pitch, and the rain calms from diluvian to quotidian. Our conversation slows with the rain, we sit in warm silence. I look up from a rambling story about my grandmother, and the lady is sleeping. Her snoring is just audible over the rain, and my heart flutters to hear it. I pull myself closer into her, and sigh through my smile.
I close my eyes, and sleep. I am warm.
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ramo1x · 6 months
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качественный верстак
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satyrmagos · 5 months
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Large bronze pendant in the image of the Horned God, beloved of Wiccans, inspired by the Gundestrup Cauldron, with a bronze snake in his left hand and a silver torq in his right hand.
This piece is the first in planned series of increasingly intricate devotional images exploring the power and potency of this mysterious unnamed god.
https://www.etsy.com/listing/1321487758/horned-god-sculptural-pendant-no-1
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