noise dept.
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
trying on a metaphor
YOU ARE THE REASON
NASA
The Stonewall Inn
The Bowery Presents
★
One Nice Bug Per Day
No title available
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
art blog(derogatory)
gracie abrams
Monterey Bay Aquarium
Today's Document
RMH
Show & Tell
ojovivo
seen from United States
seen from United States
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seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Canada
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@lalaland-forever
I don’t get how some mothers can say “i don’t care the gender as long as the baby’s healthy i will love them” before going into labour for 8+ hours then 17 years later kick their daughter Jessica out of the house because she was born a Justin.
SAY IT AGAIN FOR THE PEOPLE IN THE BACK
Rape culture is when I was six, and my brother punched my two front teeth out. Instead of reprimanding him, my mother said “Stefanie, what did you do to provoke him?” When my only defense was my mother whispering in my ear, “Honey, ignore him. Don’t rile him up. He just wants a reaction.” As if it was my sole purpose, the reason six-year-old me existed, was to not rile up my brother. It’s starts when we’re six, and ends when we grow up assuming the natural state of a man is a predator, and I must walk on eggshells, as to not “rile him up.” Right, mom? Rape culture is when through casual dinner conversation, my father says that women who get raped are asking for it. He says, “I see them on the streets of New York City, with their short skirts and heavy makeup. Asking for it.” When I used to be my father’s hero but will he think I was asking for it? (will he think) Will he think I deserved it? Will he hold me accountable or will he hold me, even though the touch of a man - especially my father’s - burns as if I were holding the sun in the palm of my hand. Rape culture is you were so ashamed, you thought it would be easier for your parents to find you dead, than to say, “Hey mom and dad,” It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t ask for it. I never asked for this attention, I never asked to be a target, to be weak because I was born with two X chromosomes, to walk in fear, to always look behind me, in front of me, next to me, I never asked to be the prey. I never wanted to spend my life being something someone feasts upon, a meal for the eternally starved. I do not want to hear about the way I taste anymore. I will not let you eat me alive. Rape culture is I shouldn’t defend my friend when an overaggressive frat boy has his hand on her ass, because standing up for her body “makes me a target.” Women are afraid to speak up, because they fear their own lives - but I’d rather take the hit than live in a culture of silence. I am told that I will always be the victim, pre-determined by the DNA in my weaker, softer body. I have birthing hips, not a fighter’s stance. I am genetically pre-dispositioned to lose every time. Rape culture is he was probably abused as a child. When he even has some form of a justification and all I have are the things that provoked him, and the scars from his touch are woven of the darkest and toughest strings, underneath the layer of my skin. Rape culture leaves me finding pieces of him left inside of me. A bone of his elbow. The cap of his knee. There is something so daunting in the way that I know it will take me years to methodically extract him from my body. And that twinge I will get sometimes in my arm fifteen years later? Proof of the past. Like a tattoo I didn’t ask for. Somehow I am permanently inked. Rape culture is you can’t wear that outfit anymore without feeling dirty, without feeling like you somehow earned it. You will feel like you are walking on knives, every time you wear the shoes you smashed his nose in with. Imaginary blood on the bottom of your heels, thinking, maybe this will heal me. Those shoes are your freedom, But the remains of a life long fight. You will always carry your heart, your passion, your absolute will to live, but also the shame and the guilt and the pain. I saved myself but I still feel like I’m walking on knives. Rape culture is “Stefanie, you weren’t really raped, you were one of the lucky ones.” Because my body wasn’t penetrated by a penis, but fingers instead, that I should feel lucky. I should get on my hands and knees and say, thank you. Thank you for being so kind. Rape culture is “things could have been worse.” “It’s been a month, Stefanie. Get out of bed.” “You’ll have to get over this eventually.” “Don’t let it ruin your life.” Rape culture is he told you that after he touched you, no one would ever want you again. And you believed him. Rape culture is telling your daughters not to get raped, instead of teaching your sons how to treat all women. That sex is not a right. You are not entitled to this. The worst possible thing you can call a woman is a slut, a whore, a bitch. The worst possible thing you can call a man is a bitch, a pussy, a girl. The worst thing you can call a girl is a girl. The worst thing you can call a guy is a girl. Being a woman is the ultimate rejection, the ultimate dismissal of strength and power, the absolute insult. When I have a daughter, I will tell her that she is not an insult. When I have a daughter, she will know how to fight. I will look at her like the sun when she comes home with anger in her fists. Because we are human beings and we do not always have to take what we are given. They all tell her not to fight fire with fire, but that is only because they are afraid of her flames. I will teach her the value of the word “no” so that when she hears it, she will not question it. My daughter, Don’t you dare apologize for the fierce love you have for yourself and the lengths you go to preserve it. My daughter, I am alive because of the fierce love I have for myself, and because my father taught me to protect that. He taught me that sometimes, I have to do my own bit of saving, pick myself off the ground and wipe the dirt off my face, because at the end of the day, there is only me. I am alive because my mother taught me to love myself. She taught me that I am an enigma - a mystery, a paradox, an unfinished masterpiece and I must love myself enough to see how I turn out. I am alive because even beaten, voiceless, and back against the wall, I knew there was an ounce of me worth fighting for. And for that, I thank my parents. Instead of teaching my daughter to cover herself up, I will show her how to be exposed. Because no is not “convince me”. No is not “I want it”. You call me, “Little lady, pretty girl, beautiful woman.” But I am not any of these things for you. I am exploding light, my daughter will be exploding light, and you, better cover your eyes.
slk
Rape Culture (Cover Your Eyes)
Jesse’s “Rocky” moment!
“Do I love you? My God, if your love were a grain of sand, mine would be a universe of beaches.”
William Goldman, The Princess Bride (via memorablequotations)
The reason why dads lie. This completely wrecked me haha. Go hug someone right now.
Please.
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you know what i really love about headcanons? is when unlabeled characters are given a label b/c the viewer says, “i think they’re ________, because i am.” or even better: “i think they’re ________, because i see myself in them.” that line of thinking is beautiful and fragile and deserving of protection and validation.
I was chatting with a donor before I drew his blood, and he was a dentist. when I actually drew him, there was just a little squirt of blood and it surprised him
I looked him in they eye and told him “you’re bleeding because you don’t floss”
and he went dead silent
had the opportunity and fucking seized it
“Do I love you? My God, if your love were a grain of sand, mine would be a universe of beaches.”
William Goldman, The Princess Bride (via memorablequotations)
every single person you know has something in their life and past that is probably worth collapsing to the ground in an uncontrollably sobbing heap over, so be nice to each other and tell good jokes
I can never tell if I’m the biggest asshole to exist or a huge sweetheart because some people I care immensely about and would drop everything for them and other people I could punch in the eye for just speaking.
seriously the most accurate thing I ever read.
my life
#worst #punishment #ever
You either love The Princess Bride or you’re wrong.
THOSE ARE THE OPTIONS YOU HAVE
This movie can get me through absolutely anything
Mandy Patinkin considers Inigo to be his favorite role of all time, and one can hardly blame him; in the midst of such a hilarious yarn, Inigo’s fight to avenge his father is perhaps the most moving subplot of the film. But there’s another layer to this tale: it turns out that not long before taking the part, Patinkin’s own father had died of cancer. He said that while filming the final duel between Inigo and Count Rugen, he imaged it as a fight between himself and that cancer. That whole habit of art imitating life allowed Patinkin the opportunity to truly mourn his father. So if watching that scene doesn’t already make you tear up, it probably will next time. If it already had you crying, you’ll be weeping into buckets from now on.
(source)
o god
“Her heart was a secret garden and the walls were very high.”
William Goldman, The Princess Bride (via wordsnquotes)
“But I will say this: When the scientists of the future show up at my house with robot eyes and they tell me to try them on, I will tell the scientists to screw off, because I do not want to see a world without him.”
