Just A Reminder That Stone Bottoms/pillow Princesses Aren't Selfish For Just Existing And Their Boundaries

i haven’t been on here in ages but i think w the end of the new season it might be time for a new vi and cait layout on main and the other blog soon 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

But would you promise to never leave me in the sense that even if we grew apart, even if we went different ways physically you would carry the pieces that i gave you forever? that even if the memories were no longer taken out and polished everyday that you would keep them in a well loved box in the attic of your mind? That you wouldn’t toss every bit away and instead would let them linger and love them even if they were tainted by the lens of hindsight. Would you promise to love me in the sense that even if we left each other behind we’d never be able to call one another strangers

In this house we do not equate being butch w being a dom any more than we equate being a femme w being a sub

me, having deeply fallen out of the practice of writing poetry: I can’t write any more, I am now a Talentless Hack

the voice of my 11th grade journalism/12th grade creative writing teacher who rly did know everything: if you stop writing for a while the words will build up and stagnate. to clear the water, you will have to open the dam completely, and accept the fact that what initially comes out will not be palatable

welcome to my page ! ~ ପ(๑•ᴗ•๑)ଓ ♡

BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER | S4E9: Something Blue (requested)

I think if you're still supporting Harry Potter at this point (and to be clear, this post is not about if you should or shouldn't), then you need to understand that trans people will not trust you. And you have to be okay with that. You can't get upset about it.

WHY am I only just realizing that spike was calling tara ‘Glinda’ not just because she’s a good witch but also because Glinda’s a friend of Dorothy’s

I Imagine the Butches’ Stripper Bar

At my butches’ stripper bar you can watch butches fold laundry, iron. Objectify them while they slowly refinish a rolltop desk, take off a trailer hitch. They file taxes, wear waders, bake you a layer cake. I’ll lay her cake, my imagined patrons mutter. I think of who I eroticize, how: they’re always getting stuff done. At real stripper bars women just dance—so many things they could be checking off their lists. I guess men don’t want to see women work? They get that at home? In my Champagne Room the butches plant bulbs, build bookshelves, clean basements, write checks to the ACLU, retrain your dog. Fantastic grow the flannel plaids; they lean and squint, lick pencils, adjust a miter box. They make box lunches, chicken stock. The butches make your day.

                                                                                                                                               -Jill McDonough