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Beans.
My partner and I have a running joke with a friend. Every time he goes on holiday we increase the quantity of beans in his flat.
The first time we bought ~30 cans of kidney beans and hid them around the house like some Easter egg hunt thing but with beans.
The Second time we bought ~6kg dried white beans and hid those in various places. Nearly every receptacle that could safely hold beans became the home of beans. My personal favourite was emptying an oat milk carton, very carefully washing and drying it, filling it with beans and then just putting it back among several other cartons.
He went on holiday again a couple of weeks ago. Obviously there is an expectation of bean-based shenanigans. And obviously we have to beat our previous efforts.
Our friend has (had) a mosaic on his wall of the famous Marilyn Monroe Pop-Art by Andy Warhol. He made the mosaic himself. Over the last couple of weeks we have spent hours and hours assembling a frame, drawing up a pattern and gridding out a 70 x 70 frame and gluing an untold amount of beans to it. I have spent over 21 hours gluing beans to a frames.
For the last couple of days I ended up going to bed at 5:00 am because I lost track of time whilst experimenting with which types of glue works best with different beans (I now have *opinions* on this, y’all). The day of our friend’s return we spent the morning and afternoon grouting the piece and wiping it down and wiping it down again and wiping it down again because grout is just like that. In the evening we went to install the mosaic, just a few hours before his return. Here’s a comparison between the original and our clearly superior replication, and the new piece installed in its rightful place.
It took him over a day to notice. So for over a day he was wandering round his house knowing there were beans somewhere, but not knowing where.
One difference between the Lord of the Rings books and the Peter Jackson films that I find really interesting is what the hobbits find when they return to the Shire.
In the books, they return from the War, only to see that the war has not left their home untouched. Not only has it not left their home unscathed, battle and conflict is still actively ravaging the Shire. They return, weary and battle-scarred, to find a home actively wounded and in need of rescue and healing. All four launch themselves into defending their home and rousting those harming it, and eventually succeed. But their idyllic home has been damaged, and even once healed, is never quite again the Shire they set out to save.
In contrast, in the Jackson films, they return to a Shire shockingly untouched by the horrors of war. The hobbits of the Shire talk, in the Green Dragon in Fellowship of the Ring, about not getting involved with issues "beyond our borders," and it seems those issues have not invaded their sanctuary. After having been bowed to by kings, dwarves, elves, and men alike at the coronation in Gondor, their only acknowledgment upon returning home is a skeptical head shake from an older hobbit.
One of the most poignant scenes to me in Return of the King (and there are a considerable amount) is the scene where Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin are sitting in the Green Dragon. The pub patrons bustle around them, talking loudly, clapping excitedly, drinking cheerfully, just as they had in the beginning of the story. But the four hobbits sit silently, watching almost curiously at what was once familiar but is now foreign to them. Their home has not changed. But they have.
Which is the deeper hurt? To come to your home to find it irrevocably changed, despite all you did to keep it untouched and the same? Or to return home but no longer feeling at home, because it is only you that is irrevocably changed?
70s tumblr would be like
guys if you pretend to be gay you can dodge the draft
whos pretending
This always fucks me up to think about
Im now picturing touch sensitive autistics just feeling a fabric and thinking. "Omg this feels like horrendous city planning i CANNOT wear this!"
#sorry darlin but I'm going with the doc who'll hop on a broomstick with a naked policeman#to assist a woman dying in childbirth#also the implication that sexworkers are refused treatment by conventional doctors and midwives and Mossy Lawn is ready willing and able#and extremely capable and even proud of his work#love it
I just watched @wearewatcher's new Mystery Files and I loved it (great, iconic, etc.) but the whole time I was like why??? do I know this story???
But then they got to the end and showed the picture books and I was like OH!!! THE GUY!!!
I saw D.B. Tuber talking to some children over on HiHo a few years ago and it was really cute and interesting. He seems like he really wants kids to learn from his mistakes, and those HiHo kids were so hilariously judgy.
It's always interesting how trans people see their transition. Some people are like "I was a boy now I'm a girl" and some are like "I was always a girl" and every once in a while you get a fun one like "I used to be a boy but the girl won"
This vessel used to belong to a young man but he had a weak will and gave in to my dark influence
Lmao
Diversity win: your arch nemesis accepts your atypical gender identity but shall never accept the evil in your heart
An important rule of discworld is that whatever goes down 50 pages from the end of the book will make you feel shrimp emotions
(me, my parents, my sister, and the baby are sitting at the kitchen table eating lunch)
baby, pointing at the light fixture over the table and signing "on": o.*
my sister: we actually can't turn that light on right now, because the lightbulb inside is burnt out! it needs a new one.
baby: ighbu.
sister: yes, lightbulb! granddaddy said after we eat he's going to climb up there on a ladder and change it, and then the light will come on!
baby: gadada! adda, uuu! ighbu o!
sister: exactly!
baby, signing "on" and pointing at the light and then my dad, with increasing urgency: GADADA ADDA UUUU. O.
my sister: we're going to finish eating first though, ok?
baby: nonono. O. gadada adda uuu.
[a split second goes by]
baby, pointing to himself: ba. adda uuu. ighbu.
me: you're going to climb the ladder and change the lightbulb yourself?
baby: dzyeah. *pointing to the buckle where he is buckled into the high chair* ububu.
me: unbuckle you? so you can change the lightbulb?
baby, highly businesslike: dzyeah.
*pronounced like "on" without the n
the doctor says i got an attention deficit so y'all gotta gimme more
Reblog if you honestly have NEVER sent anon hate.
It pains me that only 14,000 people can honestly reblog this














