Because I didn’t know. Arwen was my entry point into fandom, period. Arwen was. Like, I can’t even begin to tell you how important Arwen is to me, or how important she was to me when I was eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen. And, and she entered into the movie sword-first, guys. She was brave and strong and a faster rider than Aragorn and a healer and I loved her so much and I wanted to grow up and be her so badly. But cortue and I were just talking the other day about how once Elrond shows up at Aragorn’s camp in the third movie, Arwen loses the ability to speak. She shows up in flashback, lying in bed, and she shows up at the wedding, smiling and happy, but she doesn’t get even one more line. “Every time I watch it, I hope against hope that the elf under the cloak is going to be Arwen.”
We got an extra, “non-canon” book scene in which Arwen lay upon a fainting couch and was going to die because of Reasons, and then after that she fades out of the story, except as a smiling face at Aragorn’s coronation.
And she was supposed to be in the battle of Helm’s Deep? She was supposed to show up grim and beautiful and dangerous and save Aragorn’s life? She wasn’t just supposed to choose Middle-Earth, she was supposed to fight for it?
I can’t begin to tell you what that would have meant to me. I can’t begin to tell you how furious I am that this scene was cut, even from the extended editions.
hey, do you know why Arwen at Helm’s Deep was cut? Three guesses, and the first two don’t count. Fucking fanboys. Fucking Tolkien purists. Apparently they threw such a big shitfit when news of this storyline was leaked that Jackson et al scrapped it.
The website I found this on said that the internet outrage was so personal and vicious that it made Liv Tyler cry. I don’t know if that’s true, but if I’d known that this was a possibility, eleven year old me definitely would have cried. ten years later I still kind of feel like crying.
like, not just deleted from the movie. not just deleted from the fucking director’s cut. deleted so well that, like. well. a girl who’s been in love with Arwen for half her life never heard of it. I feel robbed.
and, it’s just. it’s been ten years, and people are still at that exact same level of outrage about Tauriel.
Unconsciously, I had these feelings even before I came
here. Once when I was spending the night at Jacque's, I could
no longer restrain my curiosity about her body, which she'd
always hidden from me and which I'd never seen. I asked her
whether, as proof of our friendiship, we could touch each
other's breasts. Jacque refused.
I also had a terrible desire to kiss her, which I did.
Every time I see a female nude, such as the Venus in my art
history book, I go into ecstasy. Sometimes I find them so
exquisite I have to struggle to hold back my tears. If only I
had a girlfriend!"
You're alright but I wish you'd stop drawing the saiyans so dark skinned. I know it's popular these dayhs to draw white characters the other race but you should know better
you’re so right anon. it was wrong of me to change their race to something else than white. i realize my mistakes now. how dare i. and to prove how misguided i was i’ll use this occasion to show that old illustration colored by toriyama himself showing goku looking like the perfect pearl-white caucasian that he is as we all know
“It doesn’t escape me for one moment that so much joy in my life is thanks to so much pain in someone else’s. So I want to salute the spirit of Patsey for her guidance. And for Solomon, thank you for telling her story and your own.”—
this is so important. too many actors fail to thank the people they play on screen. They often think they are those people and that they have actually done something through acting a part. Lupita knows the importance of playing the role of Patsey, but she always pays tribute to this real historical person and all the Patseys who have suffered. Lupita reminds everyone that Patsey is very real. That Solomon Northrup’s story is very real. This history from this movie is real and we must not forget. Thank you, Lupita. You’re an angel.
When I was seventeen and preparing to leave for university, my mother’s only brother saw fit to give me some advice.
“Just don’t be an idiot, kid,” he told me, “and don’t ever forget that boys and girls can never just be friends.”
I laughed and answered, “I’m not too worried. And I don’t really think all guys are like that.”
When I was eighteen and the third annual advent of the common cold was rolling through residence like a pestilent fog, a friend texted me asking if there was anything he could do to help.
I told him that if he could bring me up some vitamin water that would be great, if it wasn’t too much trouble.
That semester I learned that human skin cells replace themselves every three to five weeks. I hoped that in a month, maybe I’d stop feeling the echoes of his touch; maybe my new skin would feel cleaner.
It didn’t. But I stood by what I said. Not all guys are like that.
When I was nineteen and my roommate decided the only way to celebrate the end of midterms was to get wasted at a club, I humoured her.
Four drinks, countless leers and five hands up my skirt later, I informed her I was ready to leave.
“I get why you’re upset,” she told me on the walk home, “but you have to tolerate that sort of thing if you want to have any fun. And really, not all guys are like that.”
(Age nineteen also saw me propositioned for casual sex by no fewer than three different male friends, and while I still believe that guys and girls can indeed be just friends, I was beginning to see my uncle’s point.)
When I was twenty and a stranger that started chatting to me in my usual cafe asked if he could walk with me (since we were going the same way and all), I accepted.
Before we’d even made it three blocks he was pulling me into an alleyway and trying to put his hands up my shirt. “You were staring,” he laughed when I asked what the fuck he was doing (I wasn’t), “I’m just taking pity.”
But not all guys are like that.
I am twenty one and a few days ago a friend and I were walking down the street. A car drove by with the windows down, and a young man stuck his head out and whistled as they passed. I ignored it, carrying on with the conversation.
My friend did not. “Did you know those people?” He asked.
“Not at all,” I answered.
Later when we sat down to eat he got this thoughtful look on his face. When I asked what was wrong he said, “You know not all guys do that kind of thing, right? We’re not all like that.”
As if he were imparting some great profound truth I’d never realized before. My entire life has been turned around, because now I’ve been enlightened: not all guys are like that.
No. Not all guys are. But enough are. Enough that I am uncomfortable when a man sits next to me on the bus. Enough that I will cross to the other side of the street if I see a pack of guys coming my way. Enough that even fleeting eye contact with a male stranger makes my insides crawl with unease. Enough that I cannot feel safe alone in a room with some of my male friends, even ones I’ve known for years. Enough that when I go out past dark for chips or milk or toilet paper, I carry a knife, I wear a coat that obscures my figure, I mimic a man’s gait. Enough that three years later I keep the story of that day to myself, when the only thing that saved me from being raped was a right hook to the jaw and a threat to scream in a crowded dorm, because I know what the response will be.
I live my life with the everburning anxiety that someone is going to put their hands on me regardless of my feelings on the matter, and I’m not going to be able to stop them. I live with the knowledge that statistically one in three women have experienced a sexual assault, but even a number like that can’t be trusted when we are harassed into silence. I live with the learned instinct, the ingrained compulsion to keep my mouth shut to jeers and catcalls, to swallow my anger at lewd suggestions and crude gestures, to put up my walls against insults and threats. I live in an environment that necessitates armouring myself against it just to get through a day peacefully, and I now view that as normal. I have adapted to extreme circumstances and am told to treat it as baseline. I carry this fear close to my heart, rooted into my bones, and I do so to keep myself unharmed.
So you can tell me that not all guys are like that, and you’d even be right, but that isn’t the issue anymore. My problem is not that I’m unaware of the fact that some guys are perfectly civil, decent, kind—my problem is simply this:
In a world where this cynical overcaution is the only thing that ensures my safety, I’m no longer willing to take the risk.
do you ever get in one of those moods where you’re like feeling okay but you’re really sad at the same time and you just want to talk to someone and make them hug you but you feel annoying so you kind of just sit there being really sad
disclaimer: i want attention. i want sympathy. i want company. i want to impress people and i want people to like me. i don’t really understand why i’m supposed to pretend i don’t want those things, so i won’t.
Love also emailed Fan Expo and said the reply she received was “inadequate” and felt like a complete brush off. Pirko had a more worrying response:
They stated that their attendees and their team were adults, and it was all a bit of fun that people wouldn’t take seriously. A direct quote from the email ’We thought about clarifying that cuddles must come with consent, but we thought if we’re always putting the rules in front of the fun – well that hurts the spirit of Fan Expo as much as the people that try to abuse our rules.” They also stated that they hadn’t gotten around to putting their harassment policy up yet, but had made it a priority.
Reminding people not to harass other attendees only makes the convention less “fun” for those who were inclined to harass in the first place. For everyone else, it reassures them they can have real fun in a safe environment with fellow fans.
Recently, I decided to try to find a blog that showcased cosplays that were done by trans women only, hoping I could find some sort of inspiration for me, a trans woman who hasn’t done a cosplay since 2010 and wants to get back into it. I found none. I then tried to find a blog showing off cosplays done by trans people in general, yet found none. This is going to be that blog.
We welcome all trans people, including trans women, trans men, non-binary people, and genderqueer individuals to submit their cosplays from their favorite media! These can be cosplays can be of characters with your gender or any other gender, including the gender you were assigned at birth, so don’t be shy!
do u offer ur sailor scout commissions in other fabrics besides satin?
While I prefer working with the satin I use because it is low sheen and has the right weight to drape the way I like, other fabric choices can be arranged.
I can’t, however, properly discuss commissions on anon though, or even on tumblr, so I do ask if you do have commission questions or what to discuss other options to please email me at firstname.lastname@example.org