via littleclaudy (originally nightgownyi)
via tokidokifish (originally themoviehunters)
i visited the friend zone to see if i could make some friends but it was just a bunch of angry men’s rights activists in fedoras???
via fujiidom (originally misanderysoncooper)
“You named your hammer Meow Meow?”
#my life will now be forever inadequate bc this’ll never happen
via fujiidom (originally treatyoself)
via luckypressure (originally mynameismad)
Guess what!
June 23-24 | Monk Space gallery4414 West 2nd Street Los Angeles, CA 90004Find out a little bit more.
via communitythings (originally nondesignated)
“Earlier,” he starts, then stops to gain his bearings, “Earlier, when you were breaking the laws of common decency by hunting me down in the men’s room… You asked me if I wanted you. I couldn’t give you an answer then, because I was confused and afraid. I’m still pretty guilty on both counts, but I just sprinted for about a mile and it’s Colorado in January, so I can’t even feel my face right now let alone complex emotions.”
via communitythings (originally towerandbishop)
pretend this is lucid because my feeling-generating mechanisms have scutted into potshards with stick drawings of flippy-haired copywriters and beehived/queenhived partners:
This is Atia in the series finale of Rome, the empress at the triumph, perfumed & burnished & resplendent against the roar of the unknowing rabble. Only instead of Marc Antony’s charred remains on display, the corpse is Joan’s — her belief that the SCDP heads respected her for her intelligence, her belief that her bodily autonomy is more important than any account. Pete Campbell oozes to her of Cleopatra and the man who buys her calls her Helen of Troy, and there are so many names, so many names that all mean the same thing. This is her prize: Her silent coronation as a partner, a supposed equal to these men who abided her prostituting herself, these men who voted on a cash amount to buy her assent, these men who will alternately pity and disdain her for what she has done. A supposed equal to men who are inferior to her in every way.
So the else-proclaimed Whore Queen turns with ashes smeared into her lips and catches Peggy walking away, coat in left hand, thermos in right, plain and lithe and free, this wayward stoneborn protege who never did purr or hiss but sat haunch-side and roared.
And Joan, lashed to the ground in emeralds and gold, prays with grief/envy/pride that feels like grief, Take me with you.
via fujiidom (originally emerald--city)
via laksjdhfg09 (originally youpagedme)
via communitythings (originally communitythings)
