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One Nice Bug Per Day
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Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
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Peter Solarz

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Mike Driver
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@perfectlycapable
disneyliveaction’s 10k followers celebration: 6. Mary Poppins (1964)
i’m not going to apologize for being iconic
disney aesthetics: Mary Poppins (1964)
Winds in the east, mist coming in, like somethin’ is brewin’ and bout to begin. Can’t put me finger on what lies in store, but I fear what’s to happen all happened before.
mcu meme » 8/8 outfits
Phantom Thread (2017) dir. Paul Thomas Anderson
I AM THE SWALLOWER OF SINS. THE LUST GODDESS WITHOUT GUILT. THE DELICIOUS DEBAUCHERY.
an independent, in-progress revival of Doña Pirata as loved by Aleah. dash only for now.
Hand kissing is sacred, high romance and I think we need to revive it
@perfectlycapable
@mxdam from here
“No, I…” It’s not agreement. It’s a protest. Margarethe’s first instinct is always to resist.
Her voice peters out. She only looks at Pamela, brows drawn together, frown gathering on her lips, the recalcitrant look of a child who sees a hated thing looming, a bath or a brushing of the hair or a green vegetable. It’s the vulnerability of that word: feel. Admitting there’s a soft, sensitive thing locked inside the lacquered, painted shell. Something that feels. Something that hopes. Something that can be denied.
She tries again. “I’m sure I don’t know what on earth…” The words die. It’s hard, being so caught between her opposing desires: to bristle, defensive, derisive, and deflect such pointed evidence of her feelings; to give in, with all her natural greed, to what seems to be precisely what she wants, dangling before her eyes.
“You certainly don’t make it easy, do you, Pamela,” she mutters. She wants to have it both ways. She punctuates the sentence with her hand on Pamela’s arm, a slow stroke up from her wrist, red nails bright. Ordinarily, Margarethe doesn’t like such lingering touch.
❝ nothing worth pursuing is ever EASY, Margarethe. surely you must know that. ❞
The woman is a mystery: Travers has never met a soul more full of CONTRADICTIONS than herself, leather-bound-pages padlocked with GRIM IRON, and yet this one manages it with COOL EASE. She sees in her that same reluctance, RESISTANCE to lower one’s boundaries, to accept the frivolity of those wretched feelings and peel back the layer of red, strict lip to expose the PINK of vulnerability. ( Russel would say that they were made of the SAME STARDUST. ) The poet in her only longs to prod at the yet-sheathed passion, an errant tongue DELVING into the cavity of forgone tooth with desperate curiosity.
Nails burn like ICE up her arm, but she eyes them only for a moment: rather, gaze remains TRAINED on the intensity of irises glinting malevolent as GREEK FIRE, an unvoiced challenge issued with unwavering resolve. She wants more, to touch and stroke until embers bear FLAME, but she restrains with STIFF UPPER LIP, merely capturing the errant hand for her own and pressing a POMEGRANATE stain to the ridge of knuckles. ( in mind’s eye, she is at her wrist, a kiss along the veins of forearm, to shoulder, to bared, white throat. ) But she says nothing. There is only the quiet hunger in her eyes.
❝ do I bore you? ❞
ruth.
❝ Exactly what I mean. ❞
She spoke up before Pamela had even a chance to finish her sentence, partly because she was rather attached to this idea of SHOCKING her loquacious companion, but also because Ruth had never been one to beat around the bush. It was an attitude that had earned its fair amount of OUTRAGE: from colleagues to superiors and even her own brothers on occasion, but it had not deterred her in the slightest. Where was the sense in acting meekly while men could be as loud as they wanted? Growing up in such a male-dominated family, Ruth had always been one of the boys, speaking freely and frankly whenever she had the opportunity, and that was something which had – for better or worse – stuck with her ever since.
A smile soon settled on her lips and she sat back in her seat, CONTENT. She wouldn’t push too unreservedly, but her instincts were correct. There was something here, and by God would she try to make the most of it while it lasted.
❝ We can still have just as much fun as we were having a moment ago. Perhaps even more so. ❞ Now she truly was teasing, but it was difficult to rein in her BOLDNESS while it was having such a desired effect on her companion. ❝ It’s just a word, is it not? You’re good with words, Pamela. ❞
❝ —— am I ? ❞
A quiet, DEFEATED murmur: she could not HELP, now, the relentless focus on Keegan’s lips, red and soft and sinful and red, eyes drawn as though by some MAGNETISM. ( distracted, ambient attempt to bring to mind symbol, MOTIF. love in Hemingway. blood in Yeats. SIN in Hawthorne. ) But she was GIVING IN, she could feel it now, abandoning what little remnants of fortitude remained in that carved marble heart of hers to let the GOLD pool into the cracks. Warm and familiar and soft, but DEADLY, to make no mistake. And Pamela Travers felt quite certain already that this pistol of a woman was to to be the death of her.
❝ I suppose if this were to be a date then the SETTING is not quite so appropriate, is it? perhaps you and I ought to find a venue more suitably TASTEFUL. ❞
There was comfort in propriety, in the FORMALITIES to be observed when courting a woman, and Travers let herself ease a bit into tradition —— even if the script were somewhat LESS DEFINED when it came to matters that involved duality of femininity. ( never mind that Ruth would almost certainly PREFER the cigarette whiskey haze of Greenwich’s more welcoming establishments, and the POLICE to wit, quite keen to keep the odd out of sight ) But a FIRST DATE, if that were truly what this was, merited only the FINEST locale. She fully intended to present merely what was DESERVED.
❝ unless of course, you PREFER the company of organized crime. ❞
rules: tag ten(ish) followers you want to know better !
tagged by: my fellow meme thief @mxdam tagging: shrugs loudly and with force
name: aleah, I should have come up with a cool internet nickname but it’s too late now. star sign: leo. height: 5′2″ what’s your middle name? kay. put your itunes on shuffle. what are the first 6 songs that popped up?
1. for the first time in forever - frozen 2. cancelling the bar mitzvah - falsettos 2016 revival 3. jack sparrow - potc dmc ost 4. poem: we have been metamorphosized - when you’re strange 5. what you mean to me - finding neverland ( original bway cast recording ) 6. i’ve been waiting for a day like this - an american victory
grab the book nearest you and turn to page 23. what’s line 17? "they appeared as complete prisoners as they would be in gaol,” remarked one observer to the Peel Committee. from the fatal shore by robert hughes, bc australian criminals are fascinating. when was the last time you played air guitar? yikes uh .. when i was at dca i think. who is your celebrity crush? jack davenport all the way babe. but also lowkey mia wasikowska that girl is a goddess. what’s a sound you hate; sound you love? tornado drill sirens ?? idk like i can handle fire drill ones but i hate that one particularly. and then i love the sound of typing and page turning and typical library noises. do you believe in ghosts? how about aliens? i wouldn’t be a potc stan if i didn’t. do you drive? if so, have you ever crashed? ha ! terrified to drive no thanks ! what was the last book you read? im in the middle of reading a farewell to arms ( which sucks, 0 out of 10 do not recommend ) and the pirate king ( barely better, like 2 out of 10 ) the last book i finished was marilyn monroe’s autobio, which was a dazzling 10/10 ! do you like the smell of gasoline? ye what was the last movie you saw? wonder what’s the worst injury you’ve ever had? i got a chunk taken out of my knee by the kitchen cabinet. do you have any obsessions right now? uh, always : / pirates forever, vinyls, georgian harlots, broadway, walt disney, the holy trio jdav/kat mcphee/meg hilty, also like just vintage fashions and disney bounding stuff in general. do you tend to hold grudges against people who have done you wrong? : ) mmhmm yep in a relationship? “lesbians don’t date, we pine.” - rabbit, 2018
sparrow.
❛❛ The poet? ❜❜ He frowned. Oddly SPECIFIC. ❛❛ Why him and not Joyce? You’d have to be the intellectual sort to get through something like Ulysses. ❜❜
❛❛ Joyce ?? ❜❜ Travers is disbelieving, INDIGNANT at the mere comparison. ❛❛ Mister Sparrow, it is not simply the aspect of intellectualism, but the SOUL of the matter, the beauty and higher understanding, not a TOLERANCE for dirty, clumsy attempts at literature. ❜❜ a short-lived scoff. ❛❛ Ulysses. the very idea. ❜❜
bold the city related aesthetics that appeal to / apply to your muse. REPOST, do not reblog. feel free to add !
smoke escaping a dark alley. speckled lights up a skyscraper at night. the business of the morning rush to work. the smell of freshly baked bread and pastries from bakeries in the early morning. the crack of dawn walk of shame (nothing shameful about pleasure though). lines of cabs and buses filling the main streets. sunrise breaking over the skyline. neons flashing against brick. lightning bolt cracks in the pavement. sunset streaming through buildings. a theatre district full of tourists and performers. night time rain hitting long glass windows. activity on every street corner. shattered glass littering the concrete. wind tunnels passing through a maze of buildings, churches nestled within high rises. breakfast on a small balcony. sirens echoing and bouncing off the inner city walls. dirty rivers breaking up the concrete jungle. season changes : burnt orange of autumn trees , light white snow of winter , midday sunshine of summer , blooming flower bushes in spring. crystal canals littered with houseboats. dusk falling and lights flickering on. lightning striking the tops of skyscrapers.vague reflections in the water of fountains. cigarette ashes in the gutter.darkened and empty side streets. lines of people and chatter outside of clubs. fire escapes trailing down the sides of buildings. high ceilings in industrial studio apartments. rainbow hues reflected in glass. city escape views from monuments. rain gutters swelling during heavy downpour. a park oasis in the middle of the city. new years fireworks lighting up the night sky. airplane trails littering the sky. polished corner offices. strip club pamphlets strewn across the damp footpath. rooftop gardens. oil pools staining asphalt. sky scrapers protruding thick cloud. helicopter spotlights. litter piles surrounding dumpsters nestled down alleyways. window displays of designer stores.streets lined with thin trees. the contrast of the white paint and asphalt at crossings. street views from the bathroom windows. low lit bars permeating red light.
Tagged by: @immobiliter Tagging: @hcrsmile & @yourfcntasies
ruth.
To catch such a woman – an eloquent, sophisticated, MASTERFUL purveyor of the English tongue, a walking epitome of class and the stiff upper lip that defined her country – off-guard, was more satisfying than Ruth could have ever expected. But here she was, having uttered one sentence that had Pamela Travers stumbling over her words, which no doubt proved the point she was trying to make. In all honesty, when they’d first met, she’d had the other woman pegged as possibly the least likely person to ever look at her in that way, a way that went deeper and more INTENSE than mere friendship. A lusting for something more.
That had certainly taught her not to JUDGE by appearances.
❛❛ I think you know exactly how, Pam. ❜❜
A knowing smile curved her rouged lips as she reached for her own glass of whiskey, taking a sip in – what was uncharacteristic for her – a rather ladylike fashion. The woman fascinated her; that much was for certain. And, without succumbing to that most AMERICAN of tendencies, Ruth was sure that she could listen to Pamela talk in her crisp, clean British accent all day long. She cleared her throat. ❛❛ No need to be coy or reserved about it. We could even call this a date if you like. ❜❜
@perfectlycapable | cont.
She had been ready to object —— after all, how she normally so detested that nickname, LOATHED the perversion of Pamela, an elegant moniker CHERRY PICKED as her own. ( Pam. short, crude, HORRENDOUS. ) But not so coming from Ruth: no, Travers found she did not MIND it from her lips, PETAL RED with rouge and likely just as soft from the looks of them. It was SWEET, quaint even, the warm spice of IRELAND kissing her words ever so coyly and sending cherry blossom butterflies BLOOMING in the stomach pit of the poetess. And so her mouth hung open, opposition UNDELIVERED, mind all but BLANK in the face of such a brilliant woman: like facing a GODDESS, she mused, a deity of beauty and charm.
But that single word broke the spell in an instant, and the mere mortal was sent CHOKING ‘pon her nectar.
❝ a ... date ? you don’t mean —— ❞
By God, she was forward: how it sent her pulse RACING ! She could hardly deny her —— what human being could deny a woman like THAT, after all ? ( although it stood to question why a woman like that was even showing interest in her in the FIRST PLACE ) But it didn’t matter. Better to just REVEL IN THE MOMENT, so to speak.
❝ I suppose I —— if that’s what you’d like to call it. ❞
Open up, ma'am. Lower the drawbridge.
succubusvenus:
I wasn’t asked to a single dance in high school and didn’t have a serious romantic relationship until I was 22. And like, yeah that shit hurt when I was younger. I had a lot of fears that I was unlovable and that I didn’t deserve to be happy. And every time I would try to talk to anyone about it, the conversation became, “you’ll find someone”, when it should have been, “you don’t need a relationship or a date, you’re lovable & complete & beautiful on your own”.
So yeah, please normalize young people not dating, and please stop shaming them for it. There’s more to life than romance, despite what the media wants us to think.
mr. sparrow
❛❛ Depends on what your TYPE is, luv. Enlighten me and I’ll see what I can do. ❜❜
❛❛ ... interesting ?? of course physical features are APPRECIATED but so long as she isn’t dull I’d consider myself satisfied. and she MUST like Yeats, of course. ❜❜