when someone says “boobs,” and you along with every straight guy in the room turn and look.
(submitted by Anon)
who’s arms would I run and fall into
if I were drunk
in a room with everyone
I have ever loved
MY TABLET CORD CAME! And this was the sketch thing that I actually wanted to line and color. BECAUSE THEY’RE SQUISHY.
Citation: Off the top of my head, places where I’ve seen Cas with a bee plush and/or Sam with a moose plush: quietersideofbullerbyn, askbabynatural, this pic by prinzik. There are more but I can’t remember them >.>
this is so sad.
The Victoria & Albert Museum
What’s a “half-mourning” dress? Mourning in the front, party in the back?
Half-Mourning was the third stage of mourning for a widow. She would be expected to mourn her husband for at least two years, the stages being Full Mourning, Second Mourning and Half-Mourning. The different stages regulated what they would be wearing, with Full Mourning being all black and with no ornamentation, including the wodow’s veil, and the stages after that introducing some jewellery and modest ornamentation. When in Half-Mourning you would gradually include fabrics in other colors and sort of ease your way out of mourning.
Wow, I am happy you made that joke so I could interpert it as a serious question and have an excuse to ramble on about clothing customs of the past, I am a historical fashion nerd.
That’s very informative, but I’m going to stick with my original head canon:
I love both the informed fashion history and the hilariously off-the-wall halves of this post.
When I was 16, I had a fake I.D. and decided to go to a gay bar by myself because some friends bailed on me. While there, an older gentleman bought me a drink. He wasn’t a creeper, and he definitely wasn’t unattractive. I accepted the drink and began talking to him. No big deal. As the hour progressed, I felt myself feeling strange. I mentioned that I felt like I had a headache, and this guy helped guide me out of the bar. As we were walking down the street, the thought of, ‘Oh god, he’s drugged me, I’m going to die’ came to my head. I tried to get away, but I was so drugged up that I could barely walk, let alone speak. It also didn’t help that I had really large ‘goth’ platform shoes because I was going through a phase. Anyway, this guy brought me to his suv and began undressing me. As a final act of defiance, I hit him over the head with my platform shoe. He then punched me, and I remember thinking, ‘Why don’t they ever give workshops to gay guys about being victims of rape too?’ While I was as careful as possible, I never saw the guy slip something in the drink. I even watched the bar tender make the drink. Anyway, I lied there completely paralyzed while this pervert was lubing up. I locked eyes with his for a moment, and that’s when it happened. A very large and angry drag queen opened the door of the vehicle and beat the shit out of my attempted rapist. She and her other drag friends helped dress and care for me while the police arrived. I was saved by a group of guardian drag queens. They were basically the modern day ‘angels from heaven.’
God bless drag queens.
I will always reblog this
Whenever drag queens are present, you best believe they will save the fuckin day.
Oh fuck yes.
If this isn’t on your blog I’m judging you.
Every time a bell rings, a drag queen gets his wings.
God bless drag queen omg