It's All About Timing. Formerly an IC blog, but since the retirement of Millicent Bowyen, now just sort of my personal blog. She/her. You'll find RP, GW2 stuff, and League of Legends.GW2 GW2 ID: Raevyn.9102 LoL ID: Raevyn Grove
1968 posts
Clockwork-kisses - Clockwork Kisses - Tumblr Blog
i know its the mets, but this is the coolest shit i’ve ever seen a human being do
reblog to share a plate of delicious waffles with your followers :D
the extent that i would be at emo night at sneaky dees every single weekend is crazy. you would think i was canadian.
Beth Cavener Stichter and Alessandro Gallo Collaborate on Ornate Sculpture
by Nastia VoynovskayaPosted on February 24, 2014
Beth Cavener Stichter’s (Hi-Fructose Vol. 26 cover artist) sculptures have an intensely-visceral quality. The ceramic animals she hand-builds demonstrate an human-like sense of understanding with their sensitive gazes and anthropomorphic eyes. But despite their thoughtful countenances, these characters are also perfectly at home in their animal skins. Cavener Stichter’s work does not shy away from the brutality of the animal world, from its untamed sexuality to its endless cycle of predator and prey.
She recently collaborated with Italian artist Alessandro Gallo (previously featured in Hi-Fructose Vol. 24), who embellished her latest sculpture, Tangled Up in You, with painted tattoos reminiscent of traditional Japanese tattoo art. The 65-inch-tall sculpture (15 feet total, from the top knot of the rope to the floor) shows a lanky rabbit intertwined with a snake in mid-air. It is unclear whether the two figures are caught in a struggle to the death or a passionate embrace. Tangled Up in You is currently on view at the Milwaukee Museum of Art. Take a look at some detail shots of the elaborate piece as well as some photos of Cavener Stichter in her studio.
http://hifructose.com/2014/02/24/beth-cavener-stichter-and-alessandro-gallo-collaborate-on-ornate-sculpture/
Much more at http://hifructose.com/
A free one-page RPG for playing out the final days of a spaceship hotel.
Cinderella Doesn't Believe in Fairytales (pt 10)
(part 1) (part 2) (part 3). (Part 4) (part 5) (part 6) (part 7) (part 8) (part 9)
Summary: There are many sorts of meetings. Meetings you dread and meetings you anticipate. Baron Ramsey is overdue for both.
“I did not expect you to return so soon,” the Queen says. Her coal-like eyes flick over the Baron, cataloguing every inch of him. Did she see the dust clinging to his trousers, evidence of his haste to arrive? Did she see the tightness in his jaw at her welcome? Did she see the new bead of sweat rolling down his cheek? “Another week at the earliest.”
“I—” The Baron has to summon moisture to his mouth to speak. He swallows. “I was already within our borders when your message found me. Of course, I had no choice but to return.”
The Queen’s expression doesn’t change, but her aura does. She leans back in her throne and watches him through half-lidded eyes. “Why is it you think I called for you, Baron David Ramsey?”
To torment me, he thinks and doesn’t say. He wishes he would have listened to his wife all those years ago. She told him they must go unnoticed. He thought he had rid himself of his arrogance when he married her, but he was wrong. It had been arrogant of him to not heed her warning.
“There is a new type of dye in the southern islands,” he says. He spreads his hands wide. “If I had known your majesty had already heard of it, I would not have delayed in finding a sample. I hope you will understand. I was returning home after so many years abroad.”
The Queen never admits to not knowing. Her expression flickers. “Yes, the new dye…I am interested in it.”
A wave of relief rocks through him. This is familiar territory. Every request for a new product she gives him is another handful of months he can keep her attention away from his home and the secrets he has kept hidden there for 19 years. “It would be my privilege to acquire some products using this new dye for you, your majesty. I have made a promise to the Baroness to return home this month however, so there will be a delay—”
“Returning home to an empty house?”
The Baron blinks. “Pardon?” Then her words register and a surge of sick fear makes him sway on the spot. What has she done? He swallows twice before he can speak. “N-no, to my daughter – my daughters. To the Baroness.”
The Queen studies him. The Baron desperately tries to hold himself still. The Queen always speaks vaguely. He is hearing a threat where none exists. The Queen’s domain may extend past his manor, but her magic doesn’t. She doesn’t know, she can’t know. She is testing him. Should he have denied knowing that the higher nobility of this land were, in fact, the Unseelie Court?
Sweat rolls down his temple and he feels the Queen’s eyes track its progress.
“Then rejoice,” the Queen says at last. Her nails trace the arm of her throne. “Your journey is at an end. Your family is in the Capital.”
“Wha—” What?! The Baron bites his tongue so hard blood wells. The pain does little to clear the panic from his mind. “I—I was not aware.”
“I can see that,” the Queen says. The sharp edge in her gaze softens. Calculation crosses her face briefly and settles into an unsettling amusement. She smiles. “Yes, that makes sense. You wouldn’t have been home to receive the invitation. There is a ball, Baron David Ramsey. All eligible ladies of the kingdom are in the Capital for it, of course. Your…daughters included.”
A ball? It’s been three decades since the Queen last a held a ball, perhaps longer. Why now? His wife told him that the Unseelie Court was confined to the very core of their territory after the last great war. She predicted that their power would not be enough to free them for another hundred years. So why a ball? Why invite the human nobles across the land to come into the heart of the territory before they were recovered? Why—
The Prince. These are politics the Baron knows. The Prince has come of age this year. This isn’t an ordinary ball. The Royal Line must continue regardless of the powers they may or may not have recovered. A Prince needs a Princess.
The Unseelie Court is hunting for new blood.
“Then I suppose,” the Baron says faintly, “that I am not going home quite yet after all.” The unease the Queen voicing his name evokes fades next to the sick fear roiling in the Baron’s stomach. “By your leave, of course.”
“Nothing would make me happier than having your attendance at the ball tonight,” the Queen purrs. She extends a hand and an invitation appears in the air between them. She crooks her finger and it drifts into the Baron’s chest. “I guarantee that this will be a surprise reunion that no one will want to miss.”
The Baron’s clammy hand presses the invitation over his heart. Is it his imagination or can he feel oily tendrils seep from it and into his heart? Is the air colder? Without thinking, the Baron says, “Thank you for your consideration, your majesty.”
A wave of weakness washes over him as soon as his thanks leaves his lips. He staggers and his vision wavers. The Queen’s nostrils flare as she breathes in deeply, eyes fluttering shut. Does the King laugh behind his hand? Or does he cough?
His wife’s voice echoes in his mind. Never thank the fae. Never apologize. And especially never give thanks nor apology to the Unseelie.
“Don’t thank me yet, Baron,” the Queen says. When she opens her eyes they gleam with an unearthly purple. Black stains her mouth when she smiles. “Tonight. Thank me tonight.”
The order slips around his neck like a noose. The invitation throbs like a second heart. “Yes, my Queen,” the Baron whispers.
---------.
Cinderella watches the colors of the sunset catch in the crystals embroidered on her dress, red and pink and gold against the eggshell blue of the silk. Helga’s hands are gentle as she weaves Cinderella’s hair into an intricate knot.
“There,” Helga says. There’s a faint press of lips on top of Cinderella’s head, the move so effortlessly affectionate that Cinderella’s heart sings. Helga gently lifts Cinderella’s chin. “Take a look. We can change anything you don’t like.”
This afternoon with Helga has been magical. Cinderella doesn’t remember the last time she felt so at ease with another person besides the Prince. They talked and laughed and commiserated over her friend’s lack of communication, about nature, about what type of jam goes best on what type of bread, about everything and anything. Good food and good company has healed something deep inside of Cinderella, another crack sealing tight and holding. She can’t imagine not liking something that Helga has done for her.
She is still surprised when she sees herself in the mirror.
Last night’s gold jewelry highlighted Cinderella’s hair and the deep green of the dress. She remembers feeling beautiful and elegant and so, so confident.
Tonight is—well, it’s everything Cinderella feels.
It’s as if Helga listened to Cinderella’s recounting of the previous night and manifested every hope and every joyful memory into what Cinderella sees before her. She feels like she’s glowing. Rather than focus on her hair this dress throws her light eyes into brilliant focus. She blinks quickly. She didn’t realize she had her mother’s eyes until this moment.
Her jewelry is still dainty, but it all shines as brightly as the crystals dotted like flowers through the skirts of her dress. A single teardrop pendant hangs from a silver chain around her neck and diamond earrings reflect firelight as the castle lights the sconces around her room. Silver thread holds Cinderella’s hairstyle in place.
“I’m the sky,” Cinderella says breathlessly.
“And more,” Helga promises. There’s a knock on the door. Helga meets Cinderella’s eyes through the mirror and she smiles. “Your carriage has arrived, my lady.”
Cinderella’s heart leaps as she rises. The Prince is here. Her friend. Suddenly she feels…not insecure, not quite. There is a fluttering in her stomach as Helga goes to the door, a breathless anticipation that makes her feel weightless. She finds herself following Helga to the door, stopping a few feet behind her when the older woman opens it.
Oh, Cinderella thinks as, unerringly, the Prince’s eyes meet hers. The Prince is draped in a deep, night-sky blue, the same crystals on Cinderella’s dress sewn in clusters on his jacket. His black hair is swept away from his face and a thin, silver wire twines around one ear like a vine.
“You’re early,” Helga chastises the Prince.
The Prince jolts as if he didn’t notice Helga at all. “I thought it best if we had dinner before—”
“We match,” Cinderella says.
Helga jumps, spinning on one foot with her hand presses over her heart. “Oh! I didn’t hear you come up behind me...”
“Why,” the Prince says and pretends shock as he looks down at his outfit. “I think we do.”
Cinderella fights against a smile. “You knew I would choose the blue dress.”
“I had an inkling.”
Cinderella slides around Helga, barely noticing as the older woman wordlessly gives way. She takes the Prince’s arm when he offers it. “You said dinner?”
“That I did.”
Cinderella is full on bread and jam and juice. “I’d like that.”
“You could have sent a note,” Helga mutters. But she drapes a buttery-soft shawl around Cinderella’s shoulders to protect her against the evening chill and does not protest when the Prince leads her from Emerald Castle and into the gardens rather than to the carriage.
The gardens are a different world at night, especially seen from the ground rather than the window of her guest room. Small, wrought iron torches mark their path past the flower beds and towards the hedge maze.
“If you get us lost and we wind up being late again, I’m not walking in with you,” Cinderella says as they enter. The hedges smell slightly floral and she breathes the fresh scent in hungrily. Jasmine, maybe? “I saw the look the Queen gave you last night.”
“My mother doesn’t give looks to me,” the Prince denies. He grins at her. “And we won’t be late. Or, if we are, neither of my parents will be upset.”
Something in his voice gives Cinderella pause. “Because they love you so very much?”
“Because if we’re late, they’ll be late too,” the Prince says and directs her around one last corner into the center of the maze where the Queen and King are waiting at a table set for four.
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(Patreon)
if you’re ever in the position to choose between giving up and accepting defeat, and actually trying to fight the ancient unkillable god that is about to peel apart reality like a string cheese, remember this: scientifically speaking, you might as well give it a shot!
1.there were trees at the beginning of the world! there were trees so long ago that they predate bacteria that causes wood to decay. when a tree fell, it would lie there in stasis and there wasn’t any way of breaking down wood xylem on a molecular level in that way.
2. it seems obvious to say, but wood eating bacteria are literally incapable of comprehending what they’re breaking down. It’s just not information conciously available to a microorganism. they don’t know what they’re deconstructing, where it came from, bacteria have no way to even fathom the existence of a tree as a concept.
3. Regardless of the facts above, the world we live in today is a world where wood inevitably decomposes
it is worth fighting the unkillable god no matter how pointless it seems. it is worth taking the risk even though youre trying to accomplish something impossible. the reality in which you live was also once reality in which trees didn’t rot. You live in a reality that allows for existence before the possibility of destruction. you live in a reality where uncomprehending microbes break down matter that is so far beyond the scope of their comprehension that it feels comical to specify something so obvious. you live in a reality that occasionally allows unshakeable physical truths to be altered with no warning.
It is worth fighting the unkillable god because trees are so old they predate the source of their destruction, and it still did not spare them. It is worth fighting the unkillable god because bacteria rots unthinkingly, because there is room in our cosmos for destruction without comprehension on the part of the destroyer. It is worth fighting the unkillable god because now and then reality retracts the promise of immortality without fanfare, and when that happens there is no mercy for the ancient. the unmaking is not softer for the desecrators ignorance. for all things, existence is endless until the exact point where it ends.
so you might as well try to kill the unkillable god. it doesn’t seem likely, but at the beginning of the world, trees didn’t rot. so you never know! you never know
Alright, I will start with this one then - everything starts with the glorious revolution and everything starts with the night watch 🌸
Please, please be considerate of your fat friends' needs and limitations. Fat bodies are heavy to carry around. I move about the world slower than my thin peers, and I've often had to choose between pushing myself to keep a pace that takes absolutely all my energy, or being left behind, when walking in a group. I don't always feel safe to ask that everyone walk slower, because there's a prevalent idea in society that fat people need to exert themselves as much as possible at all times in the service of weight loss, and that we never "really" need rest, therefore it's a good thing whenever we're exhausted. Fat people and thin people alike are taught that fatness is a flaw, one that fat people ourselves are to blame for, so we're not entitled to any accommodation or consideration. A friend of mine who is fat recently told me about a dinner party she went to where the chairs were far too small for her and she was sitting very uncomfortably. After the meal she politely suggested moving the party to the couch, but the others didn't want to. She spent another couple of hours in unnecessary pain, and didn't dare tell them about it. I love my thin friends, but some of them just don't realize that I weigh probably twice as much as them, and yet I balance it all on the same size feet and carry it on about the same size bones. I'm like if they had a whole other them to carry around at all times. Why would that not have an impact on how I function? Please - take us into consideration when we're part of activities. Ask us which activities work and which don't. Adjust the pace so no one has to be dry heaving and sweating barrels on what's supposed to be a casual walk. Make sure venues have seating that fits us. Make it safe for us to speak up if we need something. When we do, don't treat us like we're the problem. Finally: yes, we have heard of losing weight. Even those of us who might (and many never will, whether you like it or not), won't do it on a moment's notice. If your response to "fat people deserve accommodations" is "what if they weren't fat though", you're playing a fantasy game. It's pointless. We are fat and we are here and we do partake in society. Work with that.
My god y'all if you don't have a Dropout subscription get a Dropout subscription. I just started binging Game Changer and what the hell is this show.
It's a Saw-like dissection of Brennan Lee Mulligan's psyche and last nerve.
It's Sam Reich telling the players one episode that he's phoning it in today and they're just gonna play Jeopardy and then the Jeopardy board becomes an elaborate pirate adventure with custom art of a sexy octopus man, a city inside a whale, and a Jimmy Buffet-esque parrothead Poseidon.
It's Ally Beardsley getting paid $5000 to buzz a notch into one of their eyebrows on camera.
“average person eats 3 spiders a year” factoid actualy just statistical error. average person eats 0 spiders per year. Spiders Georg, who lives in cave & eats over 10,000 each day, is an outlier adn should not have been counted
in mesopotamia there were no 'cover letters' or 'curriculum vitaes'. there were just, pots.
Black cats are lucky. (via leahweissmuller)
ecclesiastical calendar
high holy days: rosh homestuck (4/13), yom star trek (9/8), yom fullmetal alchemist (10/3, also ta'anit mean girls in some parts of the world), chag ace attorney (12/24-12/25)
standard holidays: chag pokemon (2/27), yom mario (3/10), yom star wars (5/4, sometimes also 5/5 by sect), yom digimon (8/1)
minor celebrations and fasts: ta'anit homestuck I (6/12), ta'anit homestuck II (10/25), yom destiel ha'kadashboard (syncretized bacchanalia; 11/5-9)
It's gonna be such a funny mess when Donald Trump dies of a stroke on April 1st, 2024.
Naturally everybody will think it's fake because of the date only to lose their minds (both positively and negatively based on their opinion of trump) when realizing it's real
There will be massive celebrations in the streets and on social media and lots of predictable "don't speak ill of the dead" discourse about those celebrations
Weird evangelicals will pull some weird number trick talking about how Jesus was conceived on April 1st and that makes Trump a sort of messiah and people will make fun of that
The Republicans (after they're done with the faux-sadness and faux-outrage) will stomp over each other to be his successor but none of them will succeed. They'll tear each other apart and have no single nominee for the November elections.
There will be discourse about if Biden and the living former presidents should go to his funeral (they won't, he was a traitor insurrectionist)
The Ukraine-Russia War immediately goes in favor of Ukraine as morale in the Kremlin is reduced. China similarly backs off from its threats on Taiwan.
Ten thousand new memes are made, some sticking around for years to come.
Not a month later a bunch of unofficial biographies of Trump hit the bookshelves, many with new details about just how awful he was.
Leia post in honor of Carrie Fisher’s passing which was 7 years ago today.
Alisaie: You have NOTHING THEY WANT! They won't fight you just because you WANT TO BE FOUGHT! Zenos: ...I see...so I must needs provide them with a better reason to fight me. Alisaie: That's not what I-- Zenos: Hear me then, hero. And know by fighting me, I shall guarantee an increase in your glamour dresser slots, an additional retainer free of charge, a new glamour of separate pieces, free of gender AND dyable of course, and lastly, I may or not drop a mount or minion that you may collect. Jullus: JESUS IT THERES LIKE TWENTY OF US, HOW CAN WE NOT HOLD THEM DOWN!? Warrior of Light: *dragging an entire army of people as well as the Scions* Zenos: ACKNOWLEDGEMENT AT LONG LAST! COME HERO! LET US SET THE STARS ABLAZE AND PERHAPS YOUR HOUSE INVENTORY SHALL INCREASE AFTER OUR BRAWL!
A strange alien doctor stands near the unconscious body of Padme Amidala. “It appears she has lost the will to live.” A older man with a limp hobbles closer with the aid of a cane. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” says Dr. Gregory House.