Wow, what a busy year I had!
A big, heartfelt THANK YOU to everyone who helped make this cosplay year worthwhile for me by encouraging me, dressing up with me, and taking beautiful pictures — this means in particular nanahayashi, consultingmisha, featherycompanion, blooodymoon, corgithecaptain, charleypollard, littleeliot, rosa-aristides-chalybeia, raganiazumi, yao84, hipsterbrigadier, stephenstillsofficial, theheroheart and gelegenheits-stalker. (Did I forget anyone? I hope I didn’t.)

Have peaceful holidays and a good start into 2015, my friends.
xx, Norah

If DS Characters had tumblrs

Willie would run a DIY blog, filled with life-hacks, no matter how shady. His most popular post is “Don’t rob graves or you’ll be enslaved by a vampire. It’s not fun.”

Julia and Stokes are the science side of tumblr, but Julia has a romantic side blog that frequently tags Barnabas.

Carolyn’s blog is filled with cute animals, porn, alcohol, and fashion

Roger’s blog is just alcohol- pictures he took himself

David runs a supernatural phenomenon blog

Liz runs a Downton Abbey blog and follows parents on tumblr

Barnabas thinks his blog is filled with poetry and high-brow lit. He got tumblr famous because he makes strange typos (“Tonight must go nothing wrong” “Innocent until proven innocence”) and his blog is basically a meme

Angelique is a virus

Nicholas Blair runs a strange blog that’s filled awkward images and trolling

Quentin’s blog is about himself

Mrs. Johnson vague-blogs about everyone else

What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
—  from The Waste Land by T.S. Eliot
Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion, it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those who have personality and emotions know what it means to want to escape from these things.
—  T.S. Eliot