misscrazytastemaker

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It's time we decolonize the Cascadian volcanoes

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Dear God please please please please please.

The captain, knowing they could pull the biggest prank on planet earth:

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i always thought of a king sized bed as being a bit bigger than a queen, but now that i have one, i can tell you that a king sized bed is an absurdity. i can sprawl out, and my husband can sprawl out, and the cat can sprawl out, and none of us are touching. i reach out in the night, and find only pillows and plush walruses. i reach further and eventually find his elbow. he rolls over the comforters to try and find me. “i have crossed oceans of bed to be with you,” he says. there is a vast expanse of bed untouched, unmapped, unexplored. the cat is still trying to sleep on my face.

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I miss when electronics came in at least six colors and none of the colors were beige

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listen people are starting to realize tumblr isn’t dead we all need to be as cringe as possible for the next few months, it’s vital to our survival

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Andy Nyman and Jeremy Dyson wrote a minisode set in London during the blitz.

Apparently it’s ‘very naughty’ :D.

(also don’t get excited about the year, I think it’s only a mistake and we will still see all in 2023 :))

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Do you know how hard it is to live with a cat that has the intelligence level of literally like a 3 year old but the pure chaos of a high ranking demon?

He’s learned to open the lazy Susan and won’t stop clawing open the flour and rolling in it like a little chinchilla

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Malvolio’s Revolve

The joy of Shakespeare is that even if you see the same play dozens of times, each production is its own, unique experience.

Having said that… there are certain bits of stage business that often crop up in numerous productions. One of my favorites is Malvolio’s revolve.

Just for fun, here are various examples of Malvolio’s revolve that have been captured on film. (If the gifs don’t work, check out my original post here.)

Alec Guinness in the 1970 ITV Saturday Night Theatre production  does the classic dubious, self-conscious revolve, although Sir Toby and his gang are safely behind a hedge and don’t have to hide.

Nicholas Pennell in this 1986 filmed production at the Stratford Festival of Canada executes a confident and rarely-seen double revolve, forcing his peanut gallery to duck out of sight.

In this filmed version of the Renaissance Theatre Company’s 1988 production, Richard Briers executes a very slow , dubious revolve that is notable for being counter-clockwise. In my experience, most Malvolios revolve in a clockwise direction.

Finally, this Stratford Festival production milks the revolve for all it’s worth, with Tom Rooney’s Malvolio turning at just the right speed to miss Sir Andrew’s desperate dash across the stage.

Some productions choose to have Malvolio turn the letter around, rather than himself. Others either blow past the line without acknowledging its comedic gag potential, or cut it in its entirety. All are valid choices, but honestly… why look a gift gag in the mouth?

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I’ve been wanting to do a thing like this for a while. Behold my amazing animu mongah skills there wow swoons

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ok but if bruce wayne somehow came upon zuko fresh out of banishment he would lose his mind.

black hair? check. bad parent(s)? check. trauma? double check.

bruce: how’d you get your scar?

zuko: my dad got mad at me for saying that killing people is wrong so he lit my face on fire and banished me.

bruce, vibrating with excitement, already pulling adoption papers from his utilility: that’s terrible. how do you feel about capes.

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anyway jeff bezos could eradicate homelessness. he could literally give each homeless person 100k and it would only take less than .5% of his entire wealth. what the actual god giving fuck

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Sounds like most Chihuahuas and I would bet a prior Chihuahua owner would take him.

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Watching my toddler figure out how to language is fascinating. Yesterday we were stumped when he kept insisting there was a “Lego winner” behind his bookshelf - it turned out to be a little Lego trophy cup. Not knowing the word for “trophy”, he’d extrapolated a word for “thing you can win”. And then, just now, he held up his empty milk container and said, “Mummy? It’s not rubbish. It’s allowed to be a bottle.” - meaning, effectively, “I want this. Don’t throw it away.” But to an adult ear, there’s something quite lovely about “it’s allowed to be a bottle,” as if we’re acknowledging that the object is entitled to keep its title even in the absence of the original function.

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They were sitting in another diner, a plate of cold fries pushed to the side to make room for several books and notes as they mapped out the case in town.

But Dean couldn't keep his eyes on the papers. Not when Cas was sat on the other side on the booth, biting at his lower lip as he skimmed through a book they'd borrowed from the local library. It was distracting.

But not as distracting as Cas' left hand. Cas was flicking pages with his right hand, but his left hand was just resting on the table between them. And Dean had the overwhelming urge to press their hands together and interlock their fingers.

They hadn't held hands before; at least not in public. Private kisses and gentle touches behind closed doors over the last few weeks, yet they'd never discussed anything about them being affectionate around other people.

And yet now, sitting in this dimly lit diner at 9 o'clock at night on a random Monday, Dean absolutely yearned to link their hands together. He ached to feel Cas' hand brushing against his own. All he had to do was inch his own hand just a few inches forward and he could slide his pinky finger across Cas'. But he didn't know if Cas would want that.

So Dean sat there and pretended to research while he pined.

Until a ridiculous idea popped into his mind. Grabbing one of the spare napkins from the holder, Dean pulled out a pen and scratched a quick message onto the napkin.

He waited until Cas had finished his page before he nudged the napkin across the table into Cas' space. Cas looked up, squinting his eyes and tilting his head at Dean before finally looking down at the note Dean had written.

'Can I hold your hand?'

Cas glanced at the paper, then back up to Dean, then down to the napkin again before a soft little smile graced his face. When their gazes locked again, Cas was absolutely beaming as he flipped his left hand on the table so his palm was facing up; an invitation for Dean to take.

Quietly, Dean inched his own hand forward until he slipped his hand into Cas'; pressing their palms together softly. Simultaneously they both intertwined their fingers, causing Dean to grin at Cas. The touch was warm and comforting; a perfect fit. It was everything Dean has been aching for, and his heart hummed in pleasure as Cas' thumb graze across the back of Dean's hand.

"Is this okay?" Dean finally asked into the quiet space between them.

Cas squeezed Dean's hand in response. For a few seconds, they stared at each other, and Dean swore his heart began to kick up speed against his ribs.

"It's perfect," Cas said, squeezing Dean's hand again before glancing back to his book.

They sat for another 30 minutes researching with their hands interlocked before they finally packed up and headed back to the motel where Sam had just found something useful.

And if Dean saw Cas tucking the little napkin note into his trenchcoat pocket with a fond smile, well, then Dean just had to hold Cas' hand as they left the diner because he was overcome with another surge of affection for his angel.

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favorite costume detail from the untamed belongs (big surprise) to nie huaisang, whose wardrobe gets darker and plainer and more nie-like the further into the story he gets, so that he starts out in gentle ivories and then moves to stiffer silvery-greys as sunshot takes place, and when we meet him again in the present he is dressing like the longtime clan leader he now is, with sweeping sedate overrobes and subtle detail in dark serious colors, except for scenes in which, as we learn, he’s deliberately projecting incompetence or naivete: then he’s back to the soft cream shades. until by the time the final showdown in guanyin temple takes place, he’s in full gunmetal grey, no pattern, and he is dressed almost exactly like mingjue did on an everyday basis. it reinforces how in his own, less-direct but no less effective way, he emulates his family. he’s not a soldier, but he’s still a nie, he has a fight to win here, and by god he’s dressed for it. and then at last, in his final appearance, he gets some color and pattern back again. it’s still on the darker side, but we see some muted greens in there,  a bit of dove grey. now that he has done the thing he set out to do, he can start to reclaim the older parts of himself. that cool tessellated fabric is the most distinct pattern we ever see him in, it has a lot of contrast; it’s a visual shorthand for a person who is something of a mosaic now, with pieces of the person he became and the person he originally was. his costumes track his evolution from quiet, naive artist to heir of a military clan to tactician at the moment of victory to sensible survivor retreating to a quiet life.