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Latest Posts by megame

I was there the day the strength of tumblr staff failed.

a prayer

Les Félins (René Clément), Days of Being Wild (Wong Kar Wai), Malcolm T. Liepke, Gustav Vigeland (Eros and Psyche), Stephan Sinding (Adoration), Soul Eom (kiss, hug and die)

“Those poor boys”

“She deserves to be punished too.”

“I’m not saying I support rape, but-”

“Sorry to say - she deserved it.”

“She put herself in harm’s way”

“But if she was fingered, then that’s not rape.”

“She ruined their lives.”

When I was 13 years old and curious about sex and love, I asked my mom if she had had sex before marrying my father (of whom she is still married to, and has been since before I was born). She said that that wasn’t really a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question. I said ‘sure it is, you’ve either had sex before him, or you haven’t’. She brought me onto the couch and sat me down and told me about the boy she liked when she was young and how one night she snuck into his house while his parents were gone and they were kissing and he said they should have sex and she said that she wanted to save sex for marriage and he laughed and basically took all her clothes off and he raped her and as my mom was telling the story she cried and this was the second time I had ever seen my mom cry. She was 12 when it happened.

In grade 8 I got a call from my friend in the middle of the night and she was drunk in the park crying and told me that she went out that night with some other friends and they drank a little and her guy “friend” starting flirting and yes she laughed at first but then he tried to pull her shirt over her head and she pulled away and he ripped her shirt and it was her favourite shirt and then he pushed her to her knees and HIS BEST FRIEND HELD HER JAW OPEN WHILE HE FACE FUCKED HER. And so I went to the park and picked her up and took her home and slept in her bed with her except we didn’t sleep because she just cried and her mouth bled and this was four years ago but I still have to be the one to bring her items to the till it the cashier is a man, and she still has anxiety attacks and she’ll get a rash all over her body and I just want to kill those boys but instead they are still walking around. And I’m in the bathroom with her, dabbing at her skin with a warm cloth until it returns to its regular colour.

And in grade 9 one of my closest friends was kinda seeing this boy and so they hung out one night and then she said that she really had to be getting back home and he said that she wasn’t going anywhere until she gave him what he wanted and he parked the car and took off her clothes and she said no and he ignored her and so she laid in the backseat totally limp and just cried and it wasn’t even sex, he just masterbated by using her body instead of his hand and she came to school the next day with vodka in her water bottle and she drank all day and I had to fight her to get the alcohol away from her and she just cried and threw up and I skipped class while I held her hair back and that same boy texted me a month later, asking if I ever wanted to hangout sometime.

And in that same year my very best friend who has never even kissed a boy, confessed to me that when she was 9 years old, her 12 year old cousin made her give him a hand job and he told her that was what cousins do and he gave her a chocolate bar afterwards and she told me that he probably doesn’t even remember it but that it’s something that she’ll never have the luxury of forgetting.

And in grade 10 I knew a girl who invited her best friend over to watch Disney movies and then he started to put his hands down her pants and she said no but she is 130lbs and he is 220lbs and he called her a tease while she tried to fight him but he used one hand to hold her down, and the other to put inside of her and i was the one to push her inside of a classroom and stand in front of her while calling the police when he showed up at our school looking for her and she was so damn scared.

And a few months later I skipped class and was in the car with a guy who i had had unprotected sex with in the past while under the influence of cocaine but this time I was sober and I insisted we use a condom but he told me he couldn’t feel anything while the condom was on so he ripped it off and I said I refused to have unprotected sex again and so he just grabbed me and forced himself into my mouth and I was crying and he pulled me onto him and I just came saying “stop” over and over like a broken record but he must’ve heard something different because he went until he came and I just sat naked in the backseat while he drove me back to the school and said “we should do this again sometime”. And I had five showers that night and I scratched at my skin so hard to try and rip his fingerprints off of me, I still have the scars.

And I found out soon afterwards that that same guy had raped a classmate of mine, 5 months earlier and she told me about how he brought her McDonald’s first, and how he said they could take things slow and she told me about how he didn’t listen to her either. And he goes to our school and so after she told me about her incident and I told her about mine, we decided to report it to the police and the trial is currently still going on and he told people about it, except in his version we are just “asking for attention” and all his friends talk about how bad they feel for him. As if HE is the one that still wakes up screaming. As if HE felt like his skin no longer was beautiful, no longer belonged to him. And I held her in my arms as she bawled after giving the police her statement. And she did the same for me.

And I met a woman a year ago in a paint store and she had a service dog and I asked what the dog was for and it turns out that she had been so brutally raped and abused in her life, that the dog is literally trained to keep men away from her.

And I’m so FUCKING SICK AND TIRED OF THIS WORLD WE ARE LIVING IN. How many rape victims eyes have I already looked into? How many more will I? And how many more friends will I hold while they shake? Because I don’t know how many more I can take. And who the fuck still has the nerve to make rape jokes? And… Something just has to change. Please, someone just start being that change.

-16 year old girl

please raise your children to wash their hands after they use the restroom I’ve watched too many men walk straight out of the bathroom from the stall without a second thought and it’s keeping me up at night

Avengers: Endgame (2019) dir. The Russo Brothers

Brenda had TIME today

it’s hilarious to me when people call historical fashions that men hated oppressive

like in BuzzFeed’s Women Wear Hoop Skirts For A Day While Being Exaggeratedly Bad At Doing Everything In Them video, one woman comments that she’s being “oppressed by the patriarchy.” if you’ve read anything Victorian man ever said about hoop skirts, you know that’s pretty much the exact opposite of the truth

thing is, hoop skirts evolved as liberating garment for women. before them, to achieve roughly conical skirt fullness, they had to wear many layers of petticoats (some stiffened with horsehair braid or other kinds of cord). the cage crinoline made their outfits instantly lighter and easier to move in

it also enabled skirts to get waaaaay bigger. and, as you see in the late 1860s, 1870s, and mid-late 1880s, to take on even less natural shapes. we jokingly call bustles fake butts, but trust me- nobody saw them that way. it was just skirts doing weird, exciting Skirt Things that women had tons of fun with

men, obviously, loathed the whole affair

(1864)

(1850s. gods, if only crinolines were huge enough to keep men from getting too close)

(no date given, but also, this is 100% impossible)

(also undated, but the ruffles make me think 1850s)

it was also something that women of all social classes- maids and society ladies, enslaved women and free women of color -all wore at one point or another. interesting bit of unexpected equalization there

and when bustles came in, guess what? men hated those, too

(1880s)

(probably also 1880s? the ladies are being compared to beetles and snails. in case that was unclear)

(1870s, I think? the bustle itself looks early 1870s but the tight fit of the actual gown looks later)

hoops and bustles weren’t tools of the patriarchy. they were items 1 and 2 on the 19th century’s “Fashion Trends Women Love That Men Hate” lists, with bonus built-in personal space enforcement

Please stop and read this.

I’m doing a project on gay rights in today’s society.

So if you believe that same sex couples should be allowed to get married, please reblog this.

This would be a lot of help, thank you.

“All men have fears, but the Brave put down their fears and go forward. Sometimes to Death, but always to Victory.”

(insp)

The other week, I had another badminton class and my friend was still not wearing shoes and when my teacher noticed I think he died a little on the inside.

Shoes

The other day in physical education, one of my friends wasn’t wearing his shoes during warm-up. The teacher (a sexist and arrogant asshole) called us to try to teach us something about badminton, he noticed that my friend wasn’ t wearing shoes. He asked why and my friend told him that he felt more comfortable for the warm-up and that it allows him to be more performant. My teacher asked for an exemple in sports where people do that and my dumb ass friend obviously told him, like the genius he is, that some people in Kenya train for marathon shoes-less. Long story short, they argued a little, but my teacher eventually made my friend shut up and the class went on.

Eventually, the teacher was playing games against two students and he wasn’t able to reach back enough to catch the birdie and the opposite team got the point.

And that’s were my dumb friend comes in. He screamed:

‘Maybe if you weren’t wearing shoes, you would have caught the lil birdie.’

The teacher ignored him, but now I’m pretty sure that my teacher hates my friend.

I just wanted to share this story.

Tilda Swinton risked arrest waving a rainbow flag in front of the Kremlin in violation of Russia’s new homosexual propaganda bill. And she wants everyone who can to reblog it in solidarity.

Guys please reblog this, it won’t ruin your blog, this is important

Shoes

The other day in physical education, one of my friends wasn’t wearing his shoes during warm-up. The teacher (a sexist and arrogant asshole) called us to try to teach us something about badminton, he noticed that my friend wasn’ t wearing shoes. He asked why and my friend told him that he felt more comfortable for the warm-up and that it allows him to be more performant. My teacher asked for an exemple in sports where people do that and my dumb ass friend obviously told him, like the genius he is, that some people in Kenya train for marathon shoes-less. Long story short, they argued a little, but my teacher eventually made my friend shut up and the class went on.

Eventually, the teacher was playing games against two students and he wasn’t able to reach back enough to catch the birdie and the opposite team got the point.

And that’s were my dumb friend comes in. He screamed:

‘Maybe if you weren’t wearing shoes, you would have caught the lil birdie.’

The teacher ignored him, but now I’m pretty sure that my teacher hates my friend.

I just wanted to share this story.

a secret code between women: are you safe? in a contact of eyes. i’m here if you need me, the littlest shift of a skirt, of an inclined head, of watching the man who is asking you to smile, bitch. you aren’t alone on the walls of restrooms, i was where you are too. the quiet doling of emergency numbers, the shelters. the space between two women in a largely empty train station. the waiting game of two women strangers who walk, quietly and quickly, to their cars in abandoned parking lots, who watch to be sure the other leaves safely. text me you get home safe. the tally marks of drinks on hidden wrists, carefully disguised as other things ever since men picked up on what it meant and used it to target the “weakest link.” 

my father tells me we have nothing to worry about. last night he sent me one of those email chains that say at the top “Safety Tips For The Women In Your Life!!!! Don’t Let Her Die!!” 

me, and the stranger on the train. she is asleep and the man is asking me who i am going home to. i feel tears pricking the sides of my eyes. i am 13 while he towers over me. he reaches out one hand, and while i don’t know how she knows, she speaks up without opening her eyes: “If you touch my daughter, sir, I will murder you.” Whatever he grumbles is lost in history, because this moment I am so grateful for the existence of other people that I cannot breathe.

I am 19 and on my phone when i become aware of a 13 year old girl is smiling nervously at a man who’s saying disgusting things. I grab her arm. “There you are, cindy,” I say, and then look at the man like he is bile. “Do you need something from my sister?” i ask, and i walk away with her. she cries later.

this is the way of things: a silent, secret web. our promise to each other that despite our differences, when it comes to the wire, we become family, instantly. the unspoken promise. i’m here. i’m watching. i’ll witness.

Don’t patronize me.

I ran to the Devil, he was waiting.

Ser Amory dragged Princess Rhaenys out from under her father’s bed and stabbed her to death. 

Reblog if you respect fanfiction writers and believe a fandom would be nothing without them.

Someone: Wow you're so easy to talk to! I feel like our personalities fit so well together!

Me: thanks i made this one special just for you

Committing murder

Connor: *attractively freaks out*

Michaela: *annoyingly, yet cutely freaks out*

Laurel: *doesn’t freak out, was probably born for this*

Wes: *casually burns, decapitates and hides a body*

How to get away with murder

Connor: I've gone mad.

Oliver: No, you haven't

Connor: No, I haven't

‘You shouldn’t do... that...’ I started as the new girl started conjuring... something green with her hands.

She fell to the ground and she hit her head on the metal toilet when she receives electric shocks. I looked at her, lying on the ground and holding her head, I took a deep breath in and got up from the bed. I knelt beside her and I took her face in my hands.

‘Are you okay?‘ I asked.

She grabbed my wrists, most likely surprised. At first, I was sure that she would push me away, but she didn’t and I could look at her small wound on her forehead.

‘That was dumb, I sure hope that you know that.’ I told her.

She didn’t answer anything, she only lifted her eyebrows, most likely repressing a sarcastic comment. I stood up when I assumed that she would be okay. Smiling at her, I flipped my hair behind my shoulder and proposed her my hand so help her get up. But she ignored it and her eyes fell on my neck, noticing for the first time the same little machine that she has around her own neck.

‘Are you a mutant too.‘ She asked.

‘Nah... I just like the fucking neck-cage.’ I answered and I winked.

She smiled at me, sending me a knowing look.

We won’t go quietly.

Damaged people are dangerous. They know they can survive.

Polaris: I failed my safety course today

Eclipse: Why? What happened?

Polaris: Well one of the questions was "In the case of a fire what steps would you take?"

Eclipse: And?

Polaris: Well apparently, "FUCKING LARGE ONES" isn't an acceptable answer.

The Small King

When she spoke, her voice broke the silence. It was loud and deep. It was so unexpected that the tone of her words made the men shiver. The sadness she expressed made the gloomy night even colder than it already was.

On her knees, she tried her hardest to seem strong, but the mud on her face and her wet hair falling in front of her eyes made her look like the child she was. Her tormented and saddened dark eyes reflected the picture which stood before her, bodies laying on the ground, friends no longer of this world, strangers already on the other side and their murderers.

The events of that night felt so unreal that she almost thought she was in a dream; the ones her brothers had after coming back from the last war. Fields filled with corpses that will be buried all together in the same hole, lacking time and space.

The wind howled, sounding almost like the cries of the dying men. Her breath, although the excruciating weather of the North, was steady and slow. Her heartbeat was the calmest it had ever been. She did not understand where this peace, floating in her soul, came from, but she knew she was lucky to have it in such time.

On her own, facing an army that was endless, she did not feel scared, she felt disgusted. How could a man convince so many others to slaughter solemnly to destroy and claim what is not his?

The bells of justice rang in her heart even though she knew she couldn’t have it. She knew her vengeance would never end, for she was the last one standing. If being still alive meant standing. And to achieve it, she must kill all the men standing before her, thousands

In this treeless valley, surrounded by high mountains, she felt the ground shake under her and her mind trembled with it. Her thoughts began swirling around in her head as she looked upward and saw the majestic white moon showing itself through the clouds of the storm. She was there, between the darkness of the night and the light of the moon, so lonely.

The man that was leading them all stood before her. His presence was enormous. He took so much place for a man that was so small.

He didn’t seem that evil if you truly paid attention. His small stature couldn’t scare a wolf. His feminine looks couldn’t impose any man. However, his blue eyes were piercing, so much that she thought he might have killed everyone around her with them. And the strong warriors following him were a sign of his true brilliance for he was able to convince hundreds to follow him, whom they called The Small King, although he was no true king.

Her pupils kept moving from one face to another, from one body to the other. She wanted to remember, she wanted to think, she wanted to act all at once.

The birds in the night couldn’t do anything to distract her.

Lightning struck in the distance and it electrified her body. Her heart was moving faster; the beating took the control of her body. She grasped in her cold hand the mud of the ground and squeezed so hard it could have transformed into a rock. In the anger that was growing inside her little and weak body, she made herself strong and indestructible. Her breaths, once peaceful, sounded like the one of a soldier fighting on the battlefield.

She didn’t feel the rain on her cheeks anymore, nor did she feel the weak tremor under her knees that were sinking deeper and deeper into the earth.

She had never felt such a way. She didn’t know what exactly it was, but she knew she liked it, and she also knew she shouldn’t.

A cold wind started to wage the valley and some of the killers felt it, like she did.

‘Kill me if you must, but I shall not bow to a king who wears a crown studded with jewels of every life he has ended.’

And her words were the thunder that followed the lightning. Her anger flowed through the ground and touched every single living being in the area.

Their leader, The Small King, took a few steps forward and looked down at her in such a way that for a moment, a split second, she felt like nothing. And she could have sworn that his clear heavenly eyes flashed darkness and wickedness. But perhaps it was only her own reflection she saw.

The man placed his right hand on his sword handle, but didn’t slipped it out of its holder. The knob of his weapon interested the young girl for it seemed to have the shape of an animal, actually the head of a beast. It was not quite a bear, nor a wolf. He slightly lifted it and she saw what it was. It was the creature her brothers had nightmares about. The one that could live in darkness and in light, the one that could hunt you down even after its death, the one that was the most feared monster of the known world through all species: the man, half beast, half thinker.

And finally, the King closed his eyes and whispered a few words she couldn’t understand for her hearing was gone when the enemy had thrown bombs through the air and on her village. All she could hear was a buzzing sound. He looked up at the sky and got the long piece of metal out of its place.

He raised his hand up, up in the air. Then, he swung his great sword and ended the girl without a second thought.

The survivor was no longer, the war was ended, the air became thicker and the reign of the Small King greater.

The battle is lost and the child with it, for the Queen rests on a bed of mud, without a crown, without a people.

What makes you think, my friend, that you’ll win this time?

Be Brave

Has anyone else seen the quote: “I’ve never met a strong person with an easy past?”

I have. On multiple occasions. And although, as a realist, I have some difficulty believing this, I see it everyday without noticing it. I’m not saying there are dragon slayers and knight in shining armor all over the place, but you have to admit that someone who gets up everyday even though they know it’s going to be a shitty day is truly brave.

My point isn’t to define who deserves to be called strong and who doesn’t, because that is a subject that would create too much problems and I don’t think I get to judge anyone, ever. The reason why I stated this was that I wanted to tell everyone how brave they are. Now, don’t go away thinking that I am trying to please your ears. I want to let anyone and everyone who needs it that they are good and strong and that I admire them for being so brave.

As a matter of fact, I will enumerate all the things I think make someone strong. The following are things that takes a lot of my energy and my courage to do, but that I do anyway:

·       You’ve been able to get up in the morning without snoozing you alarm clock.

·       You’ve actually asked a question to the teacher in front of the whole class even though you thought you might sound stupid (which I am pretty sure you didn’t).

·       You have planned you study or your school working time in advance.

·       You have chosen school before going on the internet.

·       You’ve gone to sleep at a reasonable hour (considering the hour you would have to get up).

·       You’ve taken someone’s shit and haven’t tormented yourself afterwards with what you did or what you could’ve done.

I could go on for a while, but I’m guessing you get what I mean. You are strong. You may not think so, but I do and even though I don’t even know you, I care. Know that if anything happened to you, my heart would ache, and I would actually be sad.

And just so you know, although you may not realise it, I am far from the only one who thinks that way.

-The Quiet One