pa-hey:

Words to live by

disteal:

disteal:

shout out to everyone who participated in the january-february mass depressive episode

Thank you everyone for another great turnout to the january-february mass depressive episode

tanoraqui:

professorsparklepants:

professorsparklepants:

The really funny thing about Hobbits dressing like 19th century gentleman farmers and everyone else looking generically renaissance/medieval is that it kind of heavily implies that Hobbits are the only ones who developed advanced sewing techniques.

Hobbits are the best tailors #confirmed

Merry: do you have any scissors?

Éowyn, who lives in the early medieval period: what are scissors

forget Entwives theories—the real secret of the Shire is that Miriel Therindë snuck overseas at some point in the late Second Age and has been living with hobbits ever since

I really started noticing this on my most recent reread and now cannot UnSee.

Bilbo has MASS PRINTED BOOKS and UMBRELLAS IN UMBRELLA STANDS and pens and teapots and basically lives in the 19th Century. Everyone else has just discovered how to make steel.

Which means the hobbits are so technologically advanced they’d be flying around in spaceships now.

dduane:

(sigh) Sweet fucking Goddess in a flatbed truck, THIS.

lgbt-history-archive:

Lani Ka'ahumanu, co-founder of BiPol (the first bisexual political organization), marches in the San Francisco Lesbian & Gay Freedom Day, June 24, 1984.

A+ signage here

fdevitart:

I have no new character design to show but this unnecessary thing I did two weeks ago.

And yes, I know that Howl maintains anonymity through his many different names but.

C'mon.

He would definitely plaster his face all over the city to show off.

oh 💕

unhookedwings:

During an interview about her incredible costumes for the film Crimson Peak (2015), Kate Hawley mentioned two paintings that particularly inspired her design of the leading female cast’s iconic attire. Proserpine by Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1874, top left) was taken into consideration for the character Lucille Sharpe, otherwise known as The Moth (top right). For Edith Cushing (bottom right), thought of as The Butterfly in contrast, The Bridesmaid by John Everett Millais (1851, bottom left) was said to have greatly influenced the character’s hauntingly beautiful look of cascading hair and the bridal-esque nightgown attire.

angelsaxis:

I love when information revealed at the end of a story recontextualizes something said or done at the beginning. Like yes queen make the story a loop let the story keep developing even though the book is closed and the credits are rolling. The story never ends it just starts over.

fierceawakening:

rotationalsymmetry:

froody:

froody:

froody:

froody:

froody:

I like stories where a normal human child is being raised by a sinister supernatural being who is totally malevolent except when it comes to their kid. Those are so much better than the “kids are scary” changeling type horror movies.

Like a perfectly well-adjusted well-mannered friendly child that is like “This is my dad, Surazal. He comes out of the mirrors in dark rooms. He makes really good blood pudding but he’s bad at playing catch. Most people can’t see his corporal form but I can because he says I have special eyes.”

“Mom says that you can stay over but you have to promise not to leave my room between midnight and 1 am. You can play Mario Cart with me! But you have to knock on every closed door in the house before entering just because dad might be in there and if you look upon his visage without drinking the holy fruit juice, you might go crazy or something. Also dad is really excited I have a new friend and he’s going to to make hardtack and mystery stew for us! You’ll love it!”

In high school the kid gets a friend that is an amateur demonologist who initially befriends them in hopes of exorcizing their house but ends up becoming buddies with Surazal too because they crave parental affection.

Surazal stands at the end of the vast dark hallway and says “You Too Have Special Eyes, Little One. You Can See Me Without Being Taken By The Madness. Within You, I Sense Great Turmoil And Sadness. In My Younger Years, I Would Have Exploited The Sadness As Weakness In Your Very Soul. I Would Have Worn Your Skin Like A Mask And Run Through The Village Streets, Supping Blood From Every Man I Encountered. But Now I Have No Use For Woe. Perhaps You Would Like To Watch Beetlejuice In The Family Room With My Daughter While I Prepare Cupcakes. I Am Sensing You Have A Fondness for Red Velvet.”

Monsterfucking is out. Monsterparenting is in.

Why would you hide this in the tags

thelovelessgeneration-deactivat:

cant believe it’s 31st january already. whats next, the rest of the year? i think the fuck not

dateamonster:

dateamonster:

dateamonster:

dateamonster:

dateamonster:

dateamonster:

final girl x girl who died offscreen but continues to haunt the narrative

gothic sacrificial bride girl x fridged wife

girl transformed by monstrous adolescence x girl killed off by the narrative for having too much sex

cute girl born to suffer as a symbol of the death of childhood innocence x girl who died and came back wrong

and most importantly!

girl who must kill to survive x girl who kills for fun

ALT

homunculus-argument:

The chili plant made a deal with their God to only be consumed by things that could spread its seeds and fly. The chili received capsaicin, making itself painful to eat for mammals, but not birds, and all was well for the chili.

Then the human shows up, tastes it, and likes the pain. So now there’s this flightless fucking mammal eating the chili. Like not even a fruit bat or anything, a flightless fucking mammal chomping on the chili.

What the fucking shit, God, cried the chili, I specifically requested the opposite of this.

Now hold on, wait a moment, replied the God who talks to plants but has no idea what the fuck these apes are going to do next. It might be something cool.

And in a flash of a second, in barely fraction of the time that chili took to develop capsaicin, the humans went from walking across land bridges and rowing little boats across small waters, into building ships that could cross oceans. More humans tasted the chili, and liked the pain. They took the seeds with them, and planted it elsewhere.

See? They spread the seeds.

They’re still not flying, said the chili, still feeling insulted and betrayed.

But before the conversation was over, the humans were still not done fucking around and nowhere close to finding out. The ships became machines, and another machine was invented, capable of flight. Now, not only were the humans farming chili on continents far too far away for any of the birds that originally ate it could dream of flying, but the chili flew with them to lands where it could possibly not grow, so that humans over there could also eat it and enjoy the pain.

You see? They spread your seeds and fly.

It doesn’t count as keeping a promise if you only manage it by a fucking accident, said the chili, still somewhat insulted. But nonetheless, the chili thrived.

word-wytch:

lesbianfanfictionenthusiast:

“you read a lot, right?”

“yes!”

“what are some books you’ve read recently?”

“uhh i don’t remember”

“oh you’re a writer? what do you write about?”

neil-gaiman:

ALT

ALT

1996 photos (a Polaroid and the proposed cover) that were meant to have been on the cover of Wired magazine in the UK. I think I preferred the one they finally used from a different part of the photoshoot because it was impossible to see what I looked like in it, so I was on the cover of a magazine and anonymous at the same time. But these were sweet. I guess they would have painted out the wires if they had used one of them.

This is the most ridiculously 90’s thing I have ever seen and I love it.

I also have no context for it at all (Good Omens maybe???) and I think I prefer it that way. It’s a baby Neil Gaiman in angel wings. What more do you need to know??

I want to tell a story about a Santa and a fiddling Christmas Tree.

primarybufferpanel:

simonalkenmayer:

kristina-meister:

afrodesiaq:

voidbat:

cronepunk:

simonalkenmayer:

kristina-meister:

natisnothere:

kristina-meister:

So I make costumes. Not your average fitted attire. I mean I do that too, but not just that. I make BIG costumes. Like with metal and shit. So about October-ish, I contacted a costume making studio that does work with a convention called “Dickens-fair”. Maybe You’ve heard of it. It is a Christmas fair that turns the whole center into a replica of Dickens’ London, complete with actors who represent his characters. I had always wanted to go and was just trying to think of ways to help out.

I contacted the head person for costumes for the actors and I told her I make period pieces and I specialize in weird stuff, but also in turning old thrift store items into period attire. She emailed me back and was like “Come meet me” and so I did. I came out to her studio and was sitting with her folks, showing her pictures of all the stuff I’d done I was proud of. Then she says…”Wait…I have an idea.”

She tells me that every year, Dickens-fair has this one performer who is a fiddling Christmas tree. Like What? yes. A tree…that fiddles. Apparently it’s like the fucking Mickey of Dickens-fair. Only, her outfit was made a few years back  from fabric, and kind of looked like a dunce cap with streamers. She told me that this year, the Fiddling Tree wanted a new costume. She says “Can you make a Christmas tree that can fiddle?”

I’m like…no. “If she can fiddle and wear a tree, then I can build a tree that can be worn by a fiddler. Hell yeah.”

And she’s like…”It can’t touch her shoulders, and it has to fit over her normal costume, and it has to be period accurate, so all period ornaments.” 

And I’m like…bitch, “I got this.” 

She says “Come back in a week and meet her and give us your idea.”

So I designed…because I make costumes and I have Christmas in my blood. My mom always tells this story about how when I was like 4, I was with her at the train station in LA and I saw this man sitting on a bench. Now this man wore blue denim overalls, with a long sleeved red shirt, had a white beard, and carried a wooden cane carved with Rudolph, who had a gemstone nose…He was fucking Santa. Admit it. And 4 year old me was like……SANTA? My mom always says I stared at him hard and then tried to climb in his lap, like for real Tim Allen from Santa Clause style, but he was cool, and pulled me into his lap and had a whole conversation with me about whether or not I was being good…in July. According to my mom, he told her he was a professional Santa and this was something he always got from kids, and that he loved it. He then got picked up by a woman in a convertible and drove away.

My mom has been telling me this story since I was five. 

So this year, about 3 years ago, I was like…A Christmas tree that fiddles…I got this.

I mean, I drew this shit. I went to hardware stores and craft shops and I priced out this shit. There were emails about what I could expect to be the substructure. I made a barbie doll scale model with pipe cleaners. I came in with a fucking Plan.

And they laughed and said… “We love the barbie…OK.”

So I had a budget. I had an idea. And I went with it. I made measurements and all sorts of stuff. Let me tell you about this costume…

This woman is 6′2″. She fiddles. She wears, beneath the tree, a full period costume. This means a bell hoop skirt and a corset. I made sure they had a hoop for her that was carved from fucking PVC pipe and a steel boned corset, and I went to work. I had frames…on fucking chains…from MY CEILING. I had the whole thing mapped out.

A lightweight metal skirt in a grid pattern made from chain, linked together in a mesh. gathered at the waist and clipped like a belt. Over the head, a cone-like structure carved out of mesh, mounted on braces that were lashed to the torso with straps bolted into the metal cross-braces. A light aluminum frame. And over this…a cape, made from long dangling chains. Every inch of chain was coated in weatherproofing green paint. Every few links…a limb hacked off a fake plastic Christmas tree. Woven amidst these? A series of handmade and donated ornaments, including fake cookies made from clay, fake candles with a remote control that controlled the flicker. I had paper ornaments, streamers, instruments made of brass, birds, candies made from plastic…I mean I had everything, and all to period. I worked and worked on this for months and had numerous fittings.

The aluminum headpiece came along. I was stressed. I didn’t know exactly how I was going to make this fucking cone mount on her chest so her shoulders would be free. I mean I had ideas - like a cone, but with a back and front piece that came down her torso and to which, straps were fixed that clipped at the sides. This would distribute weight evenly through the corset and allow for freedom of the shoulders. But! I didn’t have a firm plan. I went to the hardware store.

Me. Three months pregnant. All cute and glowy and shit.

And I walked into the section where all the plumbing and flashing is. Now I know my way around. I hate going here because I’m usually hassled by a dude who thinks girls can’t know shit about hardware. But this time…this time it was a nice old man with a snowy white beard, wearing a red shirt and a green apron. I’m like…he’s a Santa…this is fate.

He comes over and says “What can I help you with today?”

And so I tell him the whole story. About the tree, and the odd parameters, the physics, the complexities. I tell him what I’m trying to create, this cone of metal lashed to the chest, and he…

Smiles. 

He tells me, “I’m a Santa. I do it every year. I love this project! I want to help!”

As we are brain storming, and he’s showing me all the products that might work, he mentions to me that he isn’t the first Santa in his family.

“My dad did it for most of his life.”

“Man, I have such respect for Santas. My mom always tells this story about me meeting this man who looked like a Santa at a train station and trying to sit on his knee.”

The man got very quiet. “At a train station?”

“Yeah, like he was wearing overalls and a red shirt and had this carved cane…”

“I remember that cane,” he says.

I turn to him… “The one with Rudolph?”

“With a ruby nose. Yeah. After he died I looked everywhere for it, but I couldn’t find it.”

I stopped. Like straight up stopped moving, with like my limbs all cold as snow. “Wait a minute? What? Are you telling me you know that Santa?”

“I think that was my dad. He is exactly as you say. He worked on the railroad as a conductor for most of his life, and when he retired they gave him free travel. He was always taking trips, and he always went as Santa, because after he retired, he did that full time.”

“Did your mom own a convertible? Like a sleek one?”

“Yup.”

I lost it. I’m in the middle of fucking Ace Hardware, talking to Santa, about my Santa, the one I can’t remember, but always knew existed, and that man is this Santa’s daddy. And here I am…shopping for parts to a fiddling Christmas tree. I cried like a little kid. He hugged me. I apologized and told him I was in my first trimester. He said it was fine. He gave me his card. Told me he was glad to hear his father had had such an impact on kids. He helped me pick out my tree pieces and then checked me out.

I built the best fucking tree you ever saw. I wove metal. I bent aluminum. I used riveters. I worked with saws, and vices, and paint, and glue, and fucking plastic clay. I did everything wearing gloves and a mask because of baby. I did it all like I had a fire under me, because fuck that…I’m not letting Santas down.

And this is what I made.

This was the dry fitting, the trial run. We fluffed it out with more limbs, added bits here and there, or planned for more. I strung this fucking thing from my rafters on a mannequin and we had a tree decorating party, putting ornaments on it like it was a real tree. Then we had her put on the whole thing, and we watched her play “O Tannenbaum”

And it was the best Christmas moment ever, for me. 

That year, I had free tickets to Dickens-fair. I went and caught sight of my Christmas tree fiddling around, playing songs for kids and spreading the spirit. Then later I saw the fiddler dancing in Fezziwig’s ball, with her tree skirt still on over her dress. It was awesome, seeing this 7.5′ tall tree gliding around, this thing I made, with help from My Santa’s Son.

I was Santa that year. It made my holiday.

So the next time you meet a Santa… it might not be the real guy… but you needed to meet him. And if you are a Santa… this is what you do. This is your legacy.

Keep it up.

Hi! Person who works the Great Dickens Christmas Fair here. I have seen this tree about in our fake London and I was always so in awe of it. I can’t stress this, the women who wears this literally looks like a Christmas tree and it’s magical and I was always like ‘that’s crazy and definitely Fair, I love it’. 

You’re a joy and always welcome at the Fair :) I would love to give you tickets for this year and/or future years. You’ve made our fake London more magical and for that I can’t thank you enough.

Wow that’s so sweet!!!!

Unfortunately, I’m not going to be there this year as I’m traveling literally the entire time the fair is on, but I might just take you up on this in future years if you’re game! I love going to this fair and wearing my period costume I made. Really a fun fair. Thank you so much for the offer.

Ah bell hoops…

Are you wearing bloomers also?

That is a very fine gown.

True Story: I’m dating the Fiddling Christmas Tree.

oh my god every single part of this was magical but then i get to the end and THE TREE IS YOUR GIRLFRIEND this is the best thing ever.

why do we have 567898475 hallmark christmas movies about some bland woman being shown the magic of christmas by falling for an equally bland man when we could have generational santa magic inspiring intrepid costumers to bring fiddling trees to life? a Travesty

Hey if you wanna reach out to Lifetime network, that’s totally fine with me.

Touched By A… No. Let me think through this again.

Fiddled By A… nope