Sometimes I wonder how many people are theatre fans on tumblr.
Reblog if you enjoy theatre.
Any straight play.
If there is a single one you like, reblog.
Reblog if you are insecure about anything below:
-intelligence (or lack of)
-skills (or lack of)
-friends (or lack of)
Who ever reblogs this will get a message in their inbox.
“You’re so pretty.
— Female Socialisation by Gia Milinovich (via plansfornigel)
You’re my beautiful little girl.
Sweet little lady.
Careful! Don’t get hurt!
Don’t get dirty.
Be more ladylike.
Don’t eat too much.
Girls are duuumb!
Girls have cooties.
No girls allowed.
Hahahahaha! You have boobs!
Look at her boobs!
Ewwwww. Periods are disgusting.
Hahahahaha! You’ve got your period.
Let me touch them!
I want to touch them!
Let me touch it.
I only want to touch it.
She’s a slut.
Show me your tits.
Get ‘em out!
You want it.
You’re not quite right for this.
I’m not sure you can do it.
I just want to fuck you.
Come on, you want it.
You’re not confident enough.
You need more experience.
No one will take you seriously.
You’re too emotional.
It’s just a joke.
I don’t care what you think.
I just want to fuck you.
Don’t wear that.
You’re getting fat.
You’re too messy.
Come on, it was a joke.
Don’t be such an idiot.
Why are you so tired?
If I’m honest, I’m not really interested.
You do it.
I can’t I’m working.
You wake up with it.
You take care of it.
I’m too busy, you do it.
You need to lose weight.
You don’t spend enough time with me.
You aren’t interesting.
Really, I’m not interested in that.
You’re looking a bit tired.
You should take care of yourself more.
You should take care of me.
You’re looking a bit old.
Sexualities (And Other Terms One Should Know)
when people get angry at you for liking snakes
THAT IS THE CUTEST FUCKING SNAKE
Peter Capaldi Says Moffat Will Do As He's Fucking Told
Peter Capaldi has revealed in an interview with the Telegraph that he is essentially in charge of Doctor Who as Steven Moffat basically does whatever he tells him to do. “Ste-mo was all like ‘You a…
The truth is, I was bored.
My mother blissing ahead of me, rosebuds rising in her footsteps,
And I skulking behind, thinking,
Oh look. She walks in beauty.
Her power could boil rivers, if she chose.
She doesn’t choose. She scatters
Heliotrope behind her.
And me, I’ve no powers. I think she’d like
A decorative daughter. A link to the humans
She feeds with her scattered wheat.
A daughter wed to a swineherd’s just the thing
To show that Demeter’s a down-to-earth
Kind of goddess.
Do you know what swineherds talk about?
Diseases of, ways to cook;
“That ‘un’s got no milk for ‘er shoats;
Him, there, he’s got boggy trotters.”
And when he leaned in, smiling,
While we sat in a bower sagged with Mother’s honeysuckle,
When he said, “Now,
My herd’s growing and I’m thinking I could feed a wife—”
That’s when I snapped, I howled, I ran.
And when a hole opened up, a beautiful black, in all the pastels of my mother’s sowing.
Let me fix the lie: Nobody grabbed, nobody pulled.
I thought it was a tiny earthquake,
Thought I was killing myself,
Starting a long journey to Hades.
It was a more direct trip
Than I’d imagined—
I landed in his lap.
He just looked at me, said “Well,”
And kept driving his chariot down,
Flicked his leather reins near my face.
He did not give me flowers.
He never spoke of pigs.
Didn’t speak much at all. Just took me down in darkness
And did dark things.
I liked them.
I stumbled through his grey gardens, after,
Sore and smiling.
And the gardener said, “Little girl,
Little sunlit flower,
You belong in the world above.
Trust that they’ll come for you,
But while you wait
Don’t eat the food of the dead, for it will trap you here.”
And I said give me the fucking fruit.
But when I ate I could hear her howling,
See her spreading winter on the world.
My poor mother, who missed me after all;
My poor swineherd, starving.
Huddled up for warmth with the few he hadn’t eaten.
I spat out half the seeds.
So now I suffer through the summers,
Smile at the swineherd who tells me
Which shoat is off its feed.
Smile at my mother and walk behind her.
My powers have come to me now, and in her candy-colored wake I scatter
Sundew and flytrap, nettles and belladonna.
I smile and wait for November,
For when I come back to you.
Your clever cold hands and your hard black boots.
I don’t ask what the leather is made from.
I don’t think I want to know.
So my boyfriend did a thing.
My boyfriend of over 2 years sent me a game over skype. He said he wants to try and make Pokemon games since I play them so much. I opened it up and was super excited.
It seemed really well done and was super ready to start on my adventure!
He left a lot of cute notes and tips around town.
He remembered my favorite Kanto starter.<3
I was surprised it ran pretty well. I went on my journey and leveled up my Pokemon!
He showed me support and encouragement through a ton of NPC dialogue.
Then as im ending the game I come across this.
The most dangerous phrase in the language is, “we’ve always done it this way.”
"Come on, let’s mix it up!" The heart surgeon says.
"B-but we’ve always done it this way!" The other replies, "this is how you replace a heart valve."
"That’s the most dangerous phrase in the human language!" The first surgeon replies haughtily as he inputs a fruit loop into the patient’s heart. "This will be his valve. He will be a fruit loop in a world of Cheerios."
(taken from this post on the experiments of Harry Harlow)
This is serious business, because this is a large part of how sexism, racism, homophobia, rape culture, ethnocentrism, etc. continue to happen.
Look at the beautiful puppy I’m getting on my birthday though (black and brown pup). Despite not liking the name my brother and Dad chose - Charlie, I can’t wait to meet the little guy! :D