hipster nonsense.

rip to athenian sacrificial virgins but i’m different

i would be found by the minotaur in the labyrinth and i would remain still and not show fear nor aggression and allow him to approach me and i’d slowly reach out my hand for him to sniff and perhaps even lick and he’d ponder the hand for a moment and the let out a big soft snort and id pet his nose and then his head and he’d lean in closer and id massage behind his ears and he’d close his eyes and we’d sit against the dark cold damp labyrinth wall with his head in my lap as he revels in the first friendly touch he’s known since his mother last dared to touch him so many years ago and after some time he’d reach out and start to tentatively rub my leg in an attempt at reciprocity, his hand clumsy and unpracticed at the act of gentle touch, and id lower my head and press a light kiss on his temple, and there in the prison crafted expertly to contain him, only him, only ever him for the rest of his life, the minotaur would feel warmth enough to remind him that though he may be a beast, he is no less worthy of love than the rest of us

oh yeah. and then we’d fuck nasty

something terrible has befallen me....

They’re not called posts anymore, we’re calling them “rebloggables” now

nice rebloggable bro

its always cock block and never cock parry. or god forbid cock riposte

applying to be the elephant in the room but the interviewer won't even look at me

everyone get kinder and gaudier now

being kind and having large breasts, for dolly

per my last desperate howl at the heavens,

I feel like in the past ten years, boycotting has stopped being a tool for forcing action on specific policies and become a form of harassment and monastic self-denial. Less “I will not be giving my money to you until you improve these specific conditions” and more “don’t touch the contaminated thing, lest you also become contaminated.”

In the American leftist cultural consciousness boycotting takes the place of lent

And he spake thusly: “From the shadow of death you can no longer save Lúthien, for by her love she is now subject to it. You can turn from your fate and lead her into exile, seeking peace in vain while your life lasts. But if you will not deny your doom, then either Lúthien, being forsaken, must assuredly die alone, or she must with you challenge the fate that lies before you—hopeless, yet not certain…”