torrilla:

Andy Gotts:I took about 150 fabulous shots of @twhiddleston. From the ones ‘spreading on social media’ This is my favourite! pic.twitter.com/CsW6QNnte0

torrilla:

:I took about 150 fabulous shots of @twhiddleston. From the ones ‘spreading on social media’ This is my favourite! pic.twitter.com/CsW6QNnte0

torrilla:

Tom Hiddleston by David Venni

torrilla:

Tom Hiddleston by David Venni

(via mojobaby75)

ficklefandoms:

genderqueerbarnes:

upallnightogetloki:

whatifigetbored:

stevesbuck:

captain america | crack!vid

this is literally the most perfect thing I have ever seen

The best part is that every single time I said “This is where they should’ve used ‘I Will Always Love You’ in the video”, THE GODDAMN SONG POPPED UP! EVERY SINGLE TIME!!

THIS VIDEO IS SO FUCKING GLORIOUS I JUST…

I can’t breathe. I started laughing at the “bi bi bi” part and couldn’t fucking stop. The Michael Scott part is all of us, too. I’m fucking wheezing holy shit.

I think “Wrecking Ball” is my favorite bit.

(via booksomewench)

mirandemia:

I saw this step-by step tutorial of how to Gird Your Loins and it needed to be readjusted. 

(Source: firewings86, via zenish)

dduane:

onebay1:

SMELL LIKE A MAN
SPORT SCENT SO EVEN WHEN YOUR CLOTHES ARE CLEANED AFTER SPORTS YOU STILL SMELL LIKE SPORTS
SMELLING LIKE SPORTS MEANS YOU ARE A MAN BECAUSE ALL MEN PLAY SPORTS AND IF YOU DO NOT ALWAYS HAVE SPORTS SMELL YOU NEED TO MAN UP!
SMELL LIKE YOU CAN MAN AND ALSO LIKE YOU CAN SPORTS


Really, really restraining myself from laughing out loud. Because Peter is asleep next to me and would want to know what made ne wake him up and I’d have to say “Men’s laundry products” and he would roll his eyes SO HARD that the Earth’s rotation would be disturbed.

ETA: I wasn’t sure this wasn’t a hoax. Here’s their web page. You tell me.

dduane:

onebay1:

SMELL LIKE A MAN

SPORT SCENT SO EVEN WHEN YOUR CLOTHES ARE CLEANED AFTER SPORTS YOU STILL SMELL LIKE SPORTS

SMELLING LIKE SPORTS MEANS YOU ARE A MAN BECAUSE ALL MEN PLAY SPORTS AND IF YOU DO NOT ALWAYS HAVE SPORTS SMELL YOU NEED TO MAN UP!

SMELL LIKE YOU CAN MAN AND ALSO LIKE YOU CAN SPORTS

Really, really restraining myself from laughing out loud. Because Peter is asleep next to me and would want to know what made ne wake him up and I’d have to say “Men’s laundry products” and he would roll his eyes SO HARD that the Earth’s rotation would be disturbed.

ETA: I wasn’t sure this wasn’t a hoax. Here’s their web page. You tell me.

canadianbeerandpostmodernism:

She walked screaming out of the white smoke, a black-clad goddess of death, exuding aggressive sex. Her eyes held just a tinge of threat. Her nails, phallic daggers of implied violence. Waist shrunken to a ghastly circumference, her eyebrows archly painted, her long black hair swirling behind and around her, she shocked, titillated, angered, obsessed.

She called herself Vampira.

She introduced every show with a scream, a bloodcurdling extrusion that had to issue out of some cavern too big, dark, and lonely to live inside her impossible 36-17-36 figure. She screamed and looked directly at the camera, a goth Garbo who seized the eye of the audience, refusing to become a simple object of their regard. She seduced them with the offer of a night of B-movies, horror and sci-fi fare, mostly execrable, but seasoned with her spicy sweetness and her undertone of aggression that radiated underneath heavy white pancake make-up.

Nobody could turn off the TV. It was 1954.

Maila Nurmi screamed in a postwar America of chilling optimism, everyday repressions, and awkward silences. She was the child of Finnish immigrants, a runaway in the 30’s who worked as an actor, a model for softcore men’s magazines, and a burlesque dancer. She had a taste for the macabre that led her to delve into the sediment of midcentury America until it yielded its dark treasures. A pin-up model who found herself turned into the 50’s American middle class housewife, she refashioned herself to escape the confines of cultural expectation.

Nurmi had explored the tangled underside of the country since the mid-1940s; an underground gothic land lived beneath the sun- lit world of postwar America. As a young runaway, she performed in a New York horror/burlesque show known as “Spook Scandals” that had called for her to rise out of a coffin and scream. There she had begun to craft the character of Vampira, thinking about how the sexy and the horrific could intertwine, a dance between Eros and Thanatos.

“Dig Me, Vampira” was like nothing that had yet appeared in television’s brief existence. Premiering on April 30, 1954, it became an instant hit in the Los Angeles area. Then things exploded. *****

Vampira quickly reached a larger audience through a Life magazine photo shoot. She appeared on Red Skelton’s popular show alongside Lon Chaney Jr. and Bela Lugosi. She hung out with James Dean and his entourage at Googie’s Restaurant, one of the few late night spots in 1950s Hollywood. She became part of “the night watch,” aspiring actors and directors that hovered around Dean, the strange and beautiful boy from Indiana who had yet to reach superstardom in East of Eden.

Ratings for the Vampira show shot through the roof in the year to come and Nurmi seemed on the verge of major stardom. But KABC cancelled her contract around the time of the death of James Dean. Despite her popularity, Vampira had spun a web of controversy that entangled her and the station. FCC warnings, a lawsuit by a starlet who thought her career had been ruined by the image of Vampira, and, finally, the end of Nurmi’s marriage to Reisner, a blow to the station’s public relations campaign that had attempted to portray her as a normal housewife who liked to play dress-up as a bit of “horrific whimsy.” Dean’s death, or at least the bizarre rumors that surrounded Nurmi in the aftermath of it, represented the final straw.

By the late 1950s her television career was over; she lived with her mother while receiving unemployment benefits. She appeared in the Ed Wood directed Plan 9 from Outer Space that, while later a cult hit, barely had any audience at all in the first years of its existence. True and lasting stardom never came calling again. By the 1960s, Nurmi supported herself as a tile contractor. Stories, patently untrue, circulated of roles in pornographic films. She became a figure of local legend in West Hollywood, part of a cast of peculiar characters who’d once been famous and now were not.

Vampira disappeared. But she thrived in the cultural underground. Maila Nurmi hung out with the punk/metal band the Misfits in the 80s at places like West Hollywood Vinyl Fetish. She also worked on a book she never finished, a memoir of underside of a 50s Hollywood that stayed up late nights at Googies Restaurant, popped pills, and lived off the warm glow of stardom it stalked.

She died, alone, in 2008.

Perhaps this is all that we need know of her story. Perhaps it’s more or less all that can be known. It’s true that her influence has spread far and wide. There may not be a horror convention where her visage doesn’t influence the tattooed seductress cos-players, not a horror host who doesn’t owe something to her camp humor, no mistress of the night anywhere whose ultimate origin point can’t be traced to this runaway, this late night comedian.

Vampira borrowed from many of the ghosts that haunted American culture, elements never before brought together with the kind of sexual energy and threatening cultural pose that Vampira adopted. She described her character as a monster crafted out of the elements of American history, the terrors of the great depression, and the postwar style of the Beats. She raises questions about everything we think we know about the American fifties.

Excerpted from Vampira: Dark Goddess of Horror. Copyright 2014 by W. Scott Poole. Published by Soft Skull Press. All rights reserved. Photos: Collection of the Author

(via everythingsbetterwithbisexuals)

Tags: vampira

This is why the internet can’t have nice things

nanaea:

So, I’m turning off anon comments ‘cause ya’ll are abusing them.  I’ve gotten about fifteen hate messages - from different IP addresses - in the last 48 hours.

I didn’t know what post blew up, or when or how, because 1) your spelling is terrible 2) your grammar makes no sense 3) your list of insults was utterly uncreative and not actually helpful to tell me what you were upset about.  I had to sleuth. 

My meta brings all the people to the yard, and if you don’t like it when I quote canon, stay off my blog.  It’s not hard.

Better yet, don’t call me names and tell me I’m a terrible human being and claim I’m marginalizing a fictional character’s trauma when I talk about how another character is being presented by an actor and the contextual meta surrounding the scene.  And don’t put words in my mouth about other characters when I make it quite clear I am examining it from only one perspective.  I’m perfectly happy to discuss film and comic meta and various schools of critique with ya’ll any day - I am trained in it! - but I’m not going to allow personal attacks in my inbox.  Especially ones that claim I’m marginalizing mental trauma or illness.  That shit ain’t kosher.

See, this is just more proof that fandom is fucking insane. I really have to wonder about people who feel compelled to anonymously spew insults because they think someone is interrogating a character from the wrong perspective.

To the haters, I can only respond in the language of my people:

GET TO KNOW ME MEME: [2/5] favorite female characters; lagertha lothbrok

(via nanaea)