It's too late. They've abandoned us.

Hello, I'm Lily and I don't even know anymore.

I feel like shit most of the time so this isn't the happiest place to be,sorry. I have a terrible Yorkshire accent and I need to learn when to shut up.
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lovetoflyanditshows:

Famous Viners?

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khaleesibelius:

allystruggles:

leaveyourkeyinthemailb0x:

see that girl you just called a lesbian? is she? can you help me get her number?

notice how the gay community is always asking US for help but never trying to see if we need help…

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lipsitck:

When i was little i never thought that eyebrows would ever be this important to me.

I could talk about the PE teacher in my town who was asked to resign due to his harassment of female students, who was then hired as a school bus driver for a rural route with both primary and high school students. I could talk about how, from the age of seven, I refused to wear skirts or dresses, and from the time I entered high school at 10 to when I moved at 16 I always wore bike shorts or CCC shorts under my dress, because he was not particularly subtle about the way he looked at us – and those bus steps are high. I could talk about how this was common knowledge and was never denied by any authority figure we ever raised it with, but rather we were just kind of brushed off. I could talk about how, sometimes, I was the last person on my bus in the afternoon and I was never quite sure if something bad would happen to me, even though for a long time I probably couldn’t have articulated what it was that I feared.

I could talk about how I spent ten years of my childhood believing it was perfectly normal and acceptable for a seven year old child to stop wearing her favourite clothes because a grown man she relies on to get to and from school from a relatively remote location gets a thrill from looking up her skirt.

I could talk about the art teacher at my high school who used to run his hands up and down our backs, right along the spot where your bra sits. Considering most of us were fairly new to wearing bras in the first place, this was a decidedly uncomfortable experience. I could talk about how he used to get just a little too close for comfort in the supply room. Nothing overt, nothing nameable – just enough to make you drag someone else along with you if you needed a fresh piece of paper or you ran out of ink. I could talk about how the odd comment or complaint that was made was completely handwaved, that we were told to be very careful about what we were saying, that we could get someone in a lot of trouble by “starting those kinds of rumours”, and did we really want to be responsible for that?

I could talk about the first time I was made to feel ashamed of my body, at twelve or thirteen, getting into a water fight with my stepfather and uncle in the height of summer. I could talk about my grandmother completely flipping out, talking about how disgusting it was, how grown men should be ashamed of the way they were behaving with a girl. I could talk about how she then spent the next few hours trying to convince me I was being somehow victimised, while I was mostly confused about what had taken place – it took me a long time to work it out. I could talk about the unvoiced but ever-present fear for months afterwards that my grandma would bring it up again, that she would bring it up in the wrong place or to the wrong people and that my uncle, a schoolteacher, would suffer for it.

I could talk about how that destroyed what had been a fantastic relationship with my uncle, and how, ten years later, he still won’t hug me at Christmas.

I could talk about being called a frigid bitch and a slut in the same breath in high school. I could talk about multiple instances of sitting in a big group of friends, hearing someone trying to get into someone else’s pants, starting off sweet enough but quickly descending into emotional manipulation and thinly veiled abuse. I could talk about the time I went off with someone willingly enough and being followed by someone I considered a friend, someone who would not leave no matter how many times I said “no”, who only went away when the person I was with said that he “didn’t feel like sharing”.

I could talk about the family friend who always made me feel a little bit off for no discernible reason. The one who if I was left alone in the room with him, I would always find an excuse to leave. The one time I expressed this, I was told I was being a drama queen, and that I needed to grow up and stop being so precious, that one day I was going to have to deal with people I didn’t like and I might as well get used to it. I could talk about how he never did anything untoward, never gave me any specific reason to feel unsafe – but years after I last saw him, when he was found guilty of four historical sexual assault charges, one of rape and three of indecent assault on girls under twelve, I was, for reasons I still don’t entirely understand, completely unsurprised.

I could talk about my boyfriend justifying his rape of me with “you could have fought me off if you really wanted you, you slut”. I could talk about how, when I tried to tell people, I was told I was being a nasty, spiteful, vindictive bitch. I could talk about how selfish it was of me to say such things, that he’d overcome such a hard life and was going to go on and make something of himself, who the hell was I to try and stand in his way?

I could talk about how my response to being raped was to sleep with anyone and everyone because I rationalised that if I never said no, then no one could force me. I could talk about how I have been told time and time again, by people who should know better, that this is a sign that I wasn’t really raped at all.

I could talk about how, when I finally worked up the courage to make a formal complaint of sexual harassment against my boss, I was asked why I had let it continue for so long, and what I had done to make him think his behaviour would be welcomed.

I could talk about how when a much later boss got me completely wasted at my leaving party, to the point where I couldn’t walk, and fucked me in a back alley, he waited until I was sober the next morning to tell me that he had a pregnant wife, because he heard through the grapevine that I was very strict about not sleeping with married people or straight women, and he thought I should “learn my place” and realise that I’m “not such a high and mighty bitch with a moral high ground after all”.

I could talk about these things, but I very rarely do. Since I was seven years old, I have been told that my body is not my own, that my consent is not my own, that my feelings of discomfort are not my own. I have taught myself to suppress my gut instinct upon meeting people. I have been taught to smile, to be polite, to suck it up if I feel unsafe. When I complain, I have been told I’m being irrational, oversensitive, and selfish. The underlying message is, how dare I try and ascertain any kind of control over my own body?

I should talk about it. But I don’t actually know whether I can.

An anonymous guest post on The Lady Garden. This is the reality for so many women. #YesAllWomen (via takealookatyourlife)

when ur mom comes home early and u gotta change back from ur shark form QUICK

grawly:

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colonelhathi:

  • japan ≠ korea ≠ china
  • pakistan is not in the middle east
  • most muslims aren’t arabs
  • geishas are not prostitutes
  • mexico is a very small part of latin america
  • there are 54 countries in africa
  • china has 56 different ethnic groups and none of them eat chop suey
  • singapore is not part of china
  • most singaporeans speak english as their first language, please don’t ask, “why is your English so good”

telapathetic:

Your party mustn’t be very good if you have to snapchat me all of it

centifolias:

smooch

In history class…

onlyblackgirl:

"White people built america"

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"Columbus is a hero"

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"Manifest Destiny" 

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"Survival of the fittest" 

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"Slavery, segregation, some MLK & Rosa Parks happened, end of racism"

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"The Melting Pot" 

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"Land of the free/opportunity" 

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acidicmoons:

kids with broken legs dont have to do PE but kids with social anxiety still have to do public speaking, isnt there a problem there

ivorysorrows:

lil-miss-choc:

bonerack:

princessnecrophilia:

weeaboo-chan:

vhscars:

protest-resources:

50 Shades of Abuse Flyer - Canada
Use, redistribute, print. 
Click image and magnify for large version.

Okay. I understood all the flack Twilight got for being an abusive relationship. Because it was and it was being read by a very young and impressionable audience. But ffs, 50 Shades is an ADULT NOVEL. Iit is about a BDSM couple. Which - newsflash - do exist. It is a completely consensual form of dominate/submissive sex play. The whole concept of domestic violence and abuse is that one side exerts control over an unwilling victim. I don’t recall Anastasia, or whatever she’s called, protesting to Christian’s form of sex. If I remember correctly, she quite enjoyed it! So before you condemn a work of romanticizedfiction, actually consider it’s audience and remember that they are mature and capable enough to know the difference between reality and fiction.

so i guess you didn’t read the parts where he coerces her and the part where he continues after she has used her safeword and acts like a fucking creep whenever they aren’t having sex
it is the worst possible introduction to BDSM i could imagine
i know my shit okay

im hoping the people defending this book are 1. never getting into BDSM 2. not currently into BDSM 3. havent read the book bc i dont want to believe anyone is that fucking stupid

Let me
just
fucking
drop
some fucking
knowledge on you right now.
Wanna know the BDSM mantra? Safe, sane, consensual.
So let me explain why this book was devoid of all three of these things.
Safe - In the first few chapters of the novel, Christian Grey tracks Ana’s cell phone to find her at a club. Takes her home when she’s drunk, changes her when she’s so intoxicated she doesn’t remember him doing so,and informs her he will be keeping tabs on her for her own benefit. This is not the behaviour of a respectable Dominant. This is the behaviour of a power hungry, abusive asshole who really can’t take no for an answer.
Sane - One of the most important parts of BDSM is aftercare. Scenes can be extremely traumatizing and intense for the submissive. Aftercare is anything from petting to cuddling to holding to sweet talking, whatever degree of gentleness a bottom would need to pull them out of “subspace”. How does Christian provide aftercare? He submits Ana to a traumatizing first time spanking experience AND THEN FUCKING LEAVES. AND GETS MAD THAT SHE DIDN’T TELL HIM SHE WAS UPSET. He’s the one who should fucking know better! That, again, is not the act of a responsible Dominant. It’s the act of a selfish abuser.
Consensual - Did I mention he undressed her when she was belligerently drunk? Tracked her phone to locate her? He also buys her a new car despite her saying no countless times. Now, consent is important for any kind of sexual activity at all. Consent means informed, consent means enthusiastic. Informed, enthusiastic consent. This is crucial in a BDSM setting. Scenes can be extremely intense, especially for the bottom. What is Christian’s form of obtaining consent? Handing Ana a fucking contract highlighting all the things he wants to do her asshole and asking her to sign it. She was a virgin (Don’t even get me fucking started.) who had never before been exposed to BDSM. Entering in that kind of relationship takes a gargantuan amount of trust and knowledge so you know exactly what you’re getting into. Not reading a list of kinks on a piece of paper and signing your rights to say no away. Christian didn’t offer her resources, he didn’t offer her information. He gave her an ultimatum. That is not the sort of consent a responsible Dom/me would seek from their submissive.
Fuck. This. book. It’s written in a shitty way, it’s a terrible example of a BDSM relationship (ask anybody already involved in the lifestyle and watch them go blue in the face just thinking about it), which is already faced with enough prejudice and misunderstand, and it romanticizes and glorifies abuse.

And this post is going into my bookmarks, because it is beautiful.

What scares me most is the fact that people, misinformed and ignorant people, will now try to enter the community/find play partners with the dangerous ideas of what BDSM is. They won’t respect a sub, they won’t listen. And that can seriously hurt people. People can DIE.

j-a-s-u:

My friend told me about a watercolouring techinque where you mix sugar and water and after “painting” the paper with the liquid, you add the watercolour.

I wanted to try it out and took a couple of photos…