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barefootdramaturg:

jewlesthemagnificent:

oldtobegin:

velveteenrabbit:

englishpracticenow:

commonly misused words - learn the proper usage of these words to get your way up to any English proficiency exams - IELTS, TOEFL, GRE, etc.

2,000 notes.

JERKING OFF TO THIS

OH GOD LESS VERSUS FEWER THANK YOU FOR ACKNOWLEDGING MY PERSONAL GRAMMATICAL VENDETTA.

By accident. On purpose. Never on accident.

(via kinneysexual)

The effects of the incident last much longer for the abused woman, of course, and pretty soon the abuser may be snapping at her: “What, aren’t you over that yet? Don’t dwell on it, for crying out loud. Let’s put it behind us and move forward.” His attitude is: “I’m over it, so why isn’t she?”

Genuine remorse and theatricality are not mutually exclusive. Most abusers are truly sorry - though perhaps largely for themselves…

Remorse usually tends to decline as abusive incidents pile up. The genuine aspect fades as the abusive man grows accustomed to acting abusively and tuning out his partner’s hurt feelings. The theatrical part fades as he becomes less concerned about losing the relationship, confident now that she is fully under his control and won’t leave him.

The salient point about remorse, however, is that it matters little whether it is genuine or not. [Abusive men in an abuser program] who get very sorry after acts of abuse change at about the same rate as the ones who don’t. The most regretful are sometimes the most self-centered, lamenting about all the injury they’ve done to their own self image. They feel ashamed of having behaved like cruel dictators and want to revert quickly to the role of benign dictators, as if that somehow makes them much better people.

— Lundy Bancroft, Why Does He Do That? Inside the Minds of Angry and Controlling Men (via seebster)

(via setphaserstostunning2)

edenidoigo:

whalegod:

tell me a secret

One time during class my drama/english teacher, who’s a devout vegan and all about not killing animals, accidentally stepped on a ladybug. He froze up and slowly cradles it in his hand and he was so heartbroken and started quoting Hamlet.

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that it was a red m&m.

(via setphaserstostunning2)

It’s Monday. I’m going home at 6pm and a middle aged man and a teenage boy are the only people left on the bus with me. I consider the fact that because the driver is also a man I am the only person left on the bus with the correct genetic makeup for boobs. I’m automatically scared, scared because of my own anatomy. I wonder how old I was when I realized that my own body was going to be the cause of the constant anxiety and fear I feel in situations like this. I get off at the last stop and the older man smiles at me while following me up the street. His smile drips, drips, drips and my heart is pounding, pounding, pounding. He turns off down another road, but I run the rest of the way home.

Not all men.

I’m at home on a Tuesday, beginning to plan the travels I want to go on next year. I dream of wandering the streets and meeting strangers. I just can’t wait to escape the city I’ve lived in for 17 long years. But… my mum is hesitant. She’s forever worried about the danger that being a young girl traveling alone can bring. I’ll be alone and she’s scared. Surely I’m invincible. I feel invincible. But I know, I know this danger is real and I can’t help but think to myself, if I feel unsafe in my own city, how am i going to feel in a strange place with strange men who don’t speak the same language as me? If I was my brother planning this, I would probably just be wondering if European girls are going to be hot.

Not all men.

Wednesday is a beautiful sunny day but I’ve always been told that I don’t have a “nice enough body” to wear a bikini on the beach. Ever since I was 6 years old I’ve thought that having tummy fat was ugly. That skin that doesn’t have a perfectly golden glow is undesirable. I amble to a clear patch of sand in my one piece and I can feel pairs of eyes latching onto me. Hairy men in speedos who I don’t look twice at eat into my body with their stares. I’m a piece of meat. I am a piece of meat? I am here for their amusement. Please don’t let me be eaten alive.

Not all men.

Thursday night two friends and I are walking to our god damn school dance when we hear “Jesus look at you! You sluts heading to a pole?” These words snarl out of the mouth of a respectably dressed man and we stop in horror. Shivers roll up my back in fear. It’s dark. We are alone. What. Do. We. Do??? One of us pulls the finger back. I can never be sure how quickly a sexist man can get angry so we walk quickly away. We’re angry, so so angry. But also so… deflated. I wonder if we deserve this shame.

Not all men.

Sitting on the internet, Friday night and scrolling down my Facebook newsfeed:

“Haha, good job at the game today bro. You RAPED them!”
“Damn with tits like that, you’re asking for it :P”

Another sexist comment…
Another sexist comment…
Another sexist comment…

I’m shrinking and shrinking and shrinking and I want to CRY because these boys don’t realize how small they make me feel with just pressing a few keys. I see these boys on the streets, I talk to these boys, I laugh with these boys. Dear GOD, dear GOD i hope these boys don’t think actions speak louder than words…

Not all men.

Three rules that have been drilled into me since I was young run through my mind at 1.30am on a Satur… Sunday Morning:

-Don’t ever talk to strange men
-Don’t ever be alone at night in a strange place
-Don’t ever get into a car with a stranger

I break all 3 of these laws as I pull open the taxi door. Making light conversation with the driver, he doesn’t see my sweaty hand clutching the small pocket knife I keep hidden on me at all times. He doesn’t even realize the fear I feel at his mere presence. He cannot comprehend it, he never will. How easy would this 15 minute car ride be if I was born a boy?

Not all men.

It comes to Sunday, another snoozy, sleepy, Sunday and someone has the AUDACITY to tell me not all men are rapists. I say nothing.

I’m a 17 year old girl.
When I am walking alone and it’s dark, it’s all men.
When I am in a car with a man I don’t know well, it’s all men.
When men drunkenly leer at me on the streets, it’s all men.
When a boy won’t leave me alone at a party, it’s all men.

Not all men are rapists. But for a young girl like me? Every one of them has the potential to be.

Not.
All.
Men.

a piece i wrote for an english assignment about my personal experiences with rape culture, in particular with the saying “not all men” which i know has been makin a lot of controversy on the internet recently! idk just wanted to share (via trueho)

I am almost in tears because this hit me so hard

(via badgorlbribri)

(via setphaserstostunning2)

purplespottedsunnies:

itsstuckyinmyhead:

Australian Tumblr Photoset #13

Want to see more?

American photoset #12 

Hahaha
Haha
Ha


It is nice to live in Australia, I swear…

(via the-kellin-under-the-vic)

"Do you consider yourself a feminist?"
“I don’t really think about things as guys versus girls. I never have. I was raised by parents who brought me up to think if you work as hard as guys, you can go far in life.”

- Taylor Swift 2012

"As a teenager, I didn’t understand that saying you’re a feminist is just saying that you hope women and men will have equal rights and equal opportunities. What it seemed to me, the way it was phrased in culture, society, was that you hate men. And now, I think a lot of girls have had a feminist awakening because they understand what the word means."

- Taylor Swift 2014

— Growth (via mjwatson)

(via setphaserstostunning2)

thefingerfuckingfemalefury:

deltaqoodrem:

Michelle Rodriguez laying down truths
[x]

That third gif also sums up the reason why so many queer women in fiction get treated like shit and why we barely get acknowledged as existing at all

These pathetic excuses for writers have no idea how to write a woman who doesn’t want to fuck a man

(via setphaserstostunning2)

egriz:

Regeneration outtake.

(Disclaimer: I love Capaldi)

(via coolerthanbeans)

kanayahummel:

theperksofbeingdornish:

ohanameansfamily24:

-behindbars:

the-grand-highboob:

thusmylife:

b1ush:

condescendingchristian:



oh my god

As a person from California, this is 100% accurate

As a person from Michigan, this is 100% accurate

As a person from England I was so confused because I forgot you use the Fahrenheit system 

50 degrees in England 
100 degrees in England

 

I don’t know why I found the skeletons so funny, it’s almost like they’re dancing really sarcastically?

they’re british skeletons of course they’re dancing sarcastically. 

kanayahummel:

theperksofbeingdornish:

ohanameansfamily24:

-behindbars:

the-grand-highboob:

thusmylife:

b1ush:

condescendingchristian:

image

oh my god

As a person from California, this is 100% accurate

As a person from Michigan, this is 100% accurate

As a person from England I was so confused because I forgot you use the Fahrenheit system 

50 degrees in England 

100 degrees in England


 

I don’t know why I found the skeletons so funny, it’s almost like they’re dancing really sarcastically?

they’re british skeletons of course they’re dancing sarcastically. 

(via setphaserstostunning2)