If there are women in the room, their objectification seems to be a bonding mechanism for the butches and men, laughing about who has the best ass, the best tits, who they’d fuck or not fuck. I can show a picture of my girlfriend to a man and know I will get instant respect from him based on her attractiveness. I know that because I’ve done it in the past, and that respect felt good to me, like my masculinity was confirmed by “the source.”
And that, my friends, is unbelievably fucked up.
I’m still scribbling away, but I don’t generally post anything unless a) I’m moderately happy with it, and b) it’s finished or I have tremendous confidence that it will be finished; and for some time now nothing has met both of those requirements. But thank you so much for the kind words and encouragement, and I’ll keep scribbling on in hopes that I can share with you again. <3
My favorite thing about Sweeney Todd is that they come up with their evil plan and then just make puns about it for 10 minutes and that’s the act one finale
uh. weird? like the love child of Dot Marie-Jones and Merida?