myberrymuffin - Tumblr blog

[myberrymuffin]

[myberrymuffin]

New piece! Am calling her “Skör” (fragile in Swedish).

Assembled from strips of lace, a doily, and some fiddly needle lace and crochet for the teeth. Starched with diluted wood glue.

Perfect in time for Halloween!

[myberrymuffin]

I'm Joe. An illustrator from Colchester, England. With 'Tales From A Gay Fantasia', I am able to combine my love of illustration, creative writing, and design with a lifelong fascination with medieval fantasy. My current goal is to create an illustrated collection of interwoven queer romance and adventure stories within a beautiful and diverse fantasy world.

All my links

You can find links to the individual tumblr posts for each piece of artwork at the bottom of this post or just deep dive into the #gayfantasia tag :D

Artwork links in order of appearance:

"Sword-Crossed Lovers", "The Prince, The Mage, & The Unicorn", "Sanctuary"

"First Date", "I Got You Baby", "Take Your Himborc To Work Day",

"The Parade (Colour Bleach)"

"Admiration", "The Knight & The Ranger", "The Mage & The Knight"

"Restoration", "Trepidation", "Reunion"

"The Rogue & The Bard", "The Paladin & Her Sorceress", "Reciprocity"

P.S: The final image is a concept page without an individual Tumblr post.

[myberrymuffin]

My late 40s to early 50s boss just asked what’s wrong with 18-25 year olds these days

And as a 21 year old all I could think was

The world has been on fire since we were born and we’ve been told the adults are putting it out and now we’re old enough to realize they’ve been pouring kerosene on the flames instead of water.

Before my first birthday, 9/11 happened and the world wouldn’t let us forget it. When I was 6 years old, on September 11th, my teacher sat us down in front of a tv and showed us footage of 9/11 and then told us we weren’t allowed to cry. She said that it was real and those were real people jumping from the building because jumping was a faster death than burning.

When I was 7 years old, the economy collapsed and my family went from lower middle class to poverty, we went from healthy home cooked meals every night to mac and cheese and beans for weeks in a row. We started skipping holidays because mom and dad couldn’t keep the lights on and buy us new toys. We started wearing clothes and shoes until they fell apart.

When I was 11 years old, Sandy Hook was attacked by a grown man with a gun and 26 children and teachers were brutally murdered. My teachers never looked at us the same and I haven’t felt safe in a school since. After that, once a month we would have active shooter drills and we were taught to fight and cause as much damage as possible if an armed man entered our classroom because it gave other classes a few extra seconds to escape, it gave our siblings a few extra breaths of safety. We were taught to cover ourselves in other students blood and play dead if we weren’t hit, we were taught that we weren’t safe and we wouldn’t be safe as long as we were in school.

When I was 15 years old, my high school art teacher locked us in the classroom and told us if we heard gunshots we should line the desks up lengthwise so that they reached the other wall because that would be harder to break through than a barricade. She told us that she knew about the threats and she wouldn’t judge any of us that wanted to leave. She told us to get our siblings and stay in the buildings as long as possible, to duck in between the cars so we couldn’t be seen until we got to ours. She told us about the trail behind the auto shop that was lined with trees and led off campus. I got my brother and his friends and we left, we spent the day sitting on the floor in my living room waiting for a phone call that the people we left behind were dying.

Two weeks later, one of my friends dragged me out of a football game and forced me to go home with him. He grabbed my brothers and my best friend and forced the six of us into a two seater car before he would tell us anything. His mom worked for the school board and had told him the police found an active bomb under the bleachers in the student section, and they weren’t informing anyone because they didn’t want to incite panic.

When I was 16 years old, ISIS set off a bomb at a pop concert in Britain and killed 22 people, injuring at least 100 more. The next day at school, our teachers went over how to stay safe if we ever experienced something like that. They told us the most important thing to remember was to not remove any shrapnel because it could be keeping us from bleeding out, they said it was more important to get yourself out safely before you worried about anyone else.

When I was 18 years old, my teachers stopped teaching and put the news up on the projector and we watched as the Notre-Dame burned. The boy I had sat next to since second grade spent the entire day trying to call his sister who was studying abroad in Paris, I watched this kid I had never even seen frown fall apart in English because she wouldn’t pick up the phone. We didn’t know it at the time, but she was okay.

Six months later, my history teacher put the news on the projector again for another fire. This time, we watched as an entire continent burned for three months. We watched their sky turned orange from the smoke and their wildlife drowned in pools because they were trying to escape the heat.

When I was 19 years old, the whole world shut down because of a global pandemic. I didn’t meet a single new person for eight months, despite the fact that I had just moved across the country. I watched as people didn’t wear masks and spread it to everyone around them, I was so scared when I went back to my room every night because my roommate was immunocompromised and I was terrified I would give her Covid and kill her.

Just two months later, I watched a video of a black man being murdered by police officers. I watched the world around me explode after George Floyd’s death, people destroying businesses and police stations. I watched some of my friends realize police officers didn’t exist to keep them safe, they existed to keep the people in power in power. I learned that some of the people I had grown up with would rather watch a black man die than admit that maybe, maybe, the system was broken.

When I was 20 years old, I went to the mall with a friend to buy a birthday present and I was pulled to the ground by a twelve-year-old girl after gunshots went off in the mall. I held this child’s hands as she cried for two hours until we were evacuated by police, and then I waited with her outside and helped her look for her mom. I gave her my phone to call her mom and I watched as she called the number over and over and never got a reply. I waited with her until a police officer took her to the station to try to find out more information about the girl’s mom, I hugged this girl I had never seen before and I wished her the best. I never found out what happened to her or her mom, it keeps me up at night sometimes worrying that this little girl was orphaned.

When I was 21 years old, I started working at a daycare and exactly a week later, Uvalde happened and I found myself crying because my students are the same age those kids were. When they came in after school the next day, one of them had asked me if I had heard about Uvalde and I told her I had, I asked her if she was scared of going to school because of it. Her reply broke my heart. “We practice for it every week so that when it happens to us, we know what to do. I’m just worried that the shooter is going to start in my baby sister’s classroom and not mine.” I listened as other students with younger siblings agreed with her, one of them saying “I would take fifty bullets, if I had to to keep my little brother safe.”

Early this year, I watched Russia launched bombs into Ukraine, blowing up churches and schools and hospitals and apartment buildings. I watched as the estimated death count rose from the hundreds to the thousands to the tens of thousands. I watched men send their wives and children to bordering countries for refuge while they stayed behind to fight, knowing they would probably never see each other again.

Just four months ago, I watched as my right to medical privacy got taken away. I watched my old roommate fall apart because she was denied the right to have her dead fetus removed from her body for almost two days, I worried every time I looked away from her that the next time I saw her would be in a casket. I watched as the women around me realized the military-grade weapons that had torn children in classrooms apart were protected by the government but our bodies weren’t.

There is nothing “wrong” with my generation, we’ve experienced all these things as children and were expected to respond with patriotism for a country that continuously sacrificed their children for the “right” to military-grade weapons, that took away my freedom of choice. We are tired, we were told the world was a wonderful place then shown, at every step, how the world was a place of destruction and pain. And we are angry. We are angry because no one but us seems to be trying to fix anything. And we are scared. We are scared because our children, our nieces and nephews, our cousins and our friends children are growing up in a world that won’t protect them.

[myberrymuffin]

Of the four models, this sword-wielding dandy has incorporated the most European elements into their wardrobe. Their black shirt features a wide crossover collar band reminiscent of an áo giao lĩnh, while the sheer bishop sleeves are gathered into scalloped cuffs finished with olive binding. Over this is buttoned a double-breasted waistcoat with a shawl collar that has been melded with a vân kiên or “cloud shoulder.” These pieces are paired with mannish black cycling breeches. Their boots feature green toe-caps and lacing panels that echo the shape of the waistcoat collar. They sit off-center, framed by pale tendrils of vapor enclosing a golden sun against a blue sky, elbow jutting out. Their other arm is outstretched, hand resting lightly on the pommel of a sword similar to a traditional European longsword, but with stylized bronze crossguard and pommel resembling the fittings of a kiếm. The hilt is lacquered black and inlaid with mother of pearl lozenges.

~~

Do not edit or remove my caption, crop, edit, or repost on any platform.

Installment 2….. Round Two Electric Boogaloo!

For the last few months I have been mentally stewing over the original background of this piece. The linework felt unbalanced and awkward, and the rusty orange was simultaneously lackluster and overwhelming. I told myself it was good enough, and it kind of was, but mostly it was just too much effort to try fixing it.

The theme of this piece was supposed to be clouds, and I just wasn’t getting that from the first version. I overhauled entire sections of the frame, added the sun, and replaced the orange with this muted blue and grey scheme. Overall this is just so much better and this will be the version that gets printed.

[myberrymuffin]

Códice de Trajes, costumes from the realms of Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor and King of Spain, made in Germany in mid 16th century (1540s-1550s)

Prussia

Prussia and Friesland

Schwabia and Elzach

Juelich

Frisia

Germany

German dance

[myberrymuffin]

Page of Swords

[myberrymuffin]

I scribed all the spells my wizard learned in our last D&D campaign!

[myberrymuffin]

this took me an hour (well spent)

original post by @metallicat5678

[myberrymuffin]

For anyone wanting to use the Popia Vest Details:

I put the files available for download here, for anyone who wants to download and use the full res version instead of the little screencap I posted earlier.

I drew it as vector art in Clip Studio Paint. I've uploaded both the original .clip file and an exported .svg. The best quality version is the .clip file, for those who use CSP.

The .svg works, I tossed it into InkScape to make sure before uploading it, but it misses a lot of the nice line strokes n stuff that the .clip has. It gets the general idea across, at least? Just, it's best if you turn off any fill and have a low (~1px) stroke width or it gets messy. Maybe in the future I'll get around to optimizing it and making sure it's not ugly as sin, and updating the symbols as I get more/better references... but for now, this is all I got.

ANY AND EVERYONE WHO WANTS TO USE IT, PLEASE FEEL FREE TO DO SO, FOR FREE!

But if you'd like to send me links of the stuff you make with it, that'd be super cool~

and lemme know if the download doesn't work or something, so I can fix it.

💙💙💙

~Asellas

( your friendly, resident satanic potato)

[myberrymuffin]

“ My aunt also had a girlfriend. Supposedly this aunt swore to me in my cradle that I would turn out like her. Even as a child I preferred pants and a boy’s haircut. I didn’t want to wear dresses and skirts. When I first started working at AOK, I had to run errands and get files from the basement. There was always a group of women in the basement sitting, singing, and dancing with each other; I’ve always loved to dance. Sometimes they had a bottle and we drank a bit. It was there that I saw Hilde Berghausen, and I thought to myself “Gee, you could fall for that Hilde!” But I still didn’t really know why. Hilde was older than me; I was fifteen and she was twenty or twenty-one. Once she invited me home with her; I went with her—brought a pounding heart and a bouquet from our garden with me. Her parents were on vacation. We were talking and she asked me if I had a girlfriend. “Of course. Herta, my friend from school.” “There are two kinds of girlfriends.” “What do you mean, two kinds? I really love Herta!”

[…] I started going to the clubs and got to know everything around 1931, when I was fifteen. Back then, before Hitler came to power, we had a lot of clubs. For example, at the Andreas Festival Theater on Andreas Street there was a ball once a month. Through the Magic Flute, I joined a lesbian bowling club, “The Funny Nine”, which was led by Lieschen and her girlfriend Gertrud. We went bowling once a week, and once a month we rented a really big room in a dance hall on Landsberger Street. It was really nice, young and old together, fifty- to sixty-year-olds, the rest around twenty, and I was always the youngest. Later, after 1933, the proprietors–they were Nazi supporters–they stopped renting to us. Lieschen, who was in her sixties then, said “Let’s just forget this club.” And so we just forgot about it. I also went to the Monocle Bar…I still remember a lot of women who frequented that club. But they closed the Monocle Bar in 1933.

[…] When I went back home after the Labor Service, my mother found out, since all my girlfriends had written to me. I had stolen chocolate and cigarettes—we had everything in the restaurant—and I sent all my sweethearts little packages and they wrote, “My dear little Johnny-mouse, thanks so much for the wonderful package. I’m lying on my bed smoking a cigarette from you and I think of you always. Oh, I wish you were still here with me!” When my mother saw all the letters she thought “Oh my goodness, that isn’t normal; there’s something not right here.” Every day four or five letters arrived.

[…After the official ban on homosexual clubs,] outside it always said “Private Party.” You had to ring a bell and she only let in people she wanted. In 1941 there was also a very nice club on Hoch Street… but that one closed suddenly too. Even during the Nazi period there were always clubs you could go to, but they always disappeared again after a while. After 1938 there were more and more raids. If we went to one and it was closed, then we didn’t know what had happened. Before the war, Lotte Hahm had also opened a place, at Alexanderplatz in the teacher’s association building on the second floor. There used to be a dance café there. Lotte Hahm had rented it and organized ladies’ nights there. But that didn’t last very long either. […] I knew that Lotte Hahm served time in jail for seduction of a minor. That’s just nonsense; I’d never believe that about her. It was just a pretext. Then I heard that she was supposedly in a concentration camp. She really had disappeared from the face of the earth for years, so that must be true.

[…] Margot and [her girlfriend Hildegard, aka] Peter, both lived with Lissy, a woman like us who still lived at home and had already hidden one Jew, also one of us. Margot was in hiding there and Peter lived there officially. […] All of a sudden [the Gestapo] came from Gesundbrunnen Station. I said to Margot, “Don’t even bother going home; come with me.” She stayed with me at least three to six months. I had a one-room apartment. We only went outside in the dark at night; she had to get some fresh air. I had really nice neighbors who didn’t support Hitler at all. Our landlady was Jewish; the landlord wasn’t, but because they were married—a so-called privileged mixed marriage—he had been able to save her. The Jewish woman was really great; she tolerated our having girlfriends, that is, this homosexuality. She was the only one who knew I had hidden Margot. The neighbors didn’t know; I never would have said anything. Back then children even denounced their own parents. […] One evening we were at Vineta Square again and a woman from the house saw her. Margot hadn’t noticed that she was being watched. The Russians were already in Berlin, but there was still a lot of shooting. The next day the Gestapo came again—to me this time. If they had gotten her then, they would have shot her. Of course, they would have shot me too. But Margot wasn’t there; she was upstairs at Hanni’s—also one of us… When they came to check on me, I simply said “I don’t know any Margot” and they were finished with me. It was May, right before the war ended. ”

—Anneliese W. (1916-1995), from Claudia Schoppmann’s Days of Masquerade: Life Stories of Lesbians During the Third Reich

[myberrymuffin]

New Release: 【-Lost in the Dark Mist-】 #GothicLolita Blouse and Corset JSK

◆ Shopping Link >>> https://lolitawardrobe.com/lost-in-the-dark-mist-gothic-lolita-blouse-and-corset-jsk_p7150.html

[myberrymuffin]

Good news: if you’re currently laying around and not producing anything, you are a credit to your species.

[myberrymuffin]

Carnevale - personal project by Connor Sheehan

[myberrymuffin]

fucked up how colors look different depending on what screen you’re looking at them on. that should be illegal I think

[myberrymuffin]

all these fucking fools on my dashboard talk about how they love bats but only show pictures of fruit bats fuck you start posting pictures of all bats i can’t stand this fucking bat erasure

[myberrymuffin]

The finished result! I’m so ridiculously proud and pleased with how it turned out!

This was an ordinary door + 3 pieces of mdf board. I carved and sculpted them with my dremel multitool, inspired by the carvings I saw in Bali, mounted them and then painted and sanded the whole thing in several layers before adding a final tint of gold. 💙

The door and side panel I sculpted myself. The top carving is from Bali.