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WARNING: TRIGGERS IN AMERICAN HORROR STORY HOTEL

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE BE CAREFUL AND READ THIS BEFORE WATCHING THE NEW AMERICAN HORROR STORY PREMIERE! 

 Within 20 minutes of the episode starting there is an extremely violent, graphic, bloody, loud rape scene. It comes out of nowhere, there is no build up to it, it just happens. It is not brief, it is very long and loud and the camera hides nothing. It’s extremely disturbing and could seriously affect your mental state. 

PLEASE PLEASE DO NOT WATCH IT IF YOU ARE SPECIFICALLY TRIGGERED BY SCENES OF RAPE OR EVEN DISTURBED BY SCENES OF RAPE. 

 It is beyond disturbing and it really comes absolutely out of nowhere. 

 IF YOU STILL WANT TO WATCH THE EPISODE BUT AVOID THE SCENE IT STARTS JUST AFTER 18:00 (18 minutes in) AND CONTINUES UNTIL 22:30 (22 minutes and 30 seconds in) 

 Please share this as much as possible to help others avoid being triggered!!

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Poke-Shaming

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Cyndago & Markiplier fans.

They are people too. I’ve seen that many people have unsubscribed, or badgered Mark when his videos will be out, or ranted at Cyndago that they should continue on anyway.

Shame on you.

They have all experienced a very tragic and no doubt blindsiding loss. They are people too. They are entitled to take time because of this. They are entitled to do whatever helps them to grieve and heal over this.

It is not your place to badger them or harrass them. The only thing they should all be experiencing from their loyal fans, from their community, is encouragement, support, and understanding.

Daniel was and still is their friend. If the guys decide that they cannot continue Cyndago without him, then that is entirely their choice and they deserve our support in it. If Markiplier decides that he does not want to do videos for awhile because of the tragedy, than he deserves our support.

Someone died. Someone who was very much loved and will be missed beyond words. This is about them. This is their time to heal, to take time away if they need it. Someone they were all close to, friends with, and cared about is gone. For them, I can only imagine what they are going through. But thousands of people warbling impatiently at them is not only rude and distasteful, it is beyond disrespectful, to Cyndago, to Markiplier, and most of all, to Daniel.

They are all people too, and they are people who are dealing with a very real, very heartbreaking and life changing loss. They are not just monkeys to dance and joke on screen for your entertainment and nothing else. They are people, they are human beings…And they have lost someone.

Show some damn compassion.

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Caitlyn Jenner

Is a bad parent

Doesn’t support gay marriage

Is a republican

Said she wants to be treated like a “normal woman” by a man (aka a cishet woman as if transgender women aren’t “normal”)

Is not offended by the Caitlyn Jenner costume

But Tumblr folks will probably drag me bc yall uphold this woman and put her on the highest of pedestals…She’s trash if you ask me

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REMEMBER THAT POST WHERE THERE WAS A PICTURE OF HEATH LEDGER AS THE JOKER WITHOUT MAKEUP DISGUISED IN A GROUP OF POLICEMEN AND THE CAPTION SAID "JOKER WITHOUT MAKEUP" AND PPL WERE OFFENDED AND THOUGHT IT WAS A JAB AT SOME SOLDIER W/ SCARS I STILL THINK ABOUT THAT GOODBYE

please don’t remind me i can’t deal with the people here on tumblr.com 

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reblog to delete country music

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JUST FUCKING LISTEN. 

THIS IS HALLOWEEN BUT NOT LIKE YOU KNOW IT

reblog so others can hear it!

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When people give Elsa crap for being "too sexy" for Disney

It’s like,

have

you

seen

what

Disney

has

done

before?

For gods sake, Ariel had a nude scene.

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the ashley madison leak outed gay people in countries where homosexuality is punishable by death so @ straight feminists stop celebrating it

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He’s a mouse in the book

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It Was Easier to Give in Than Keep Running

By Anonymous

In first grade, a boy named John— a notorious troublemaker—systematically chased every girl in our class during recess trying to kiss her on the lips. Most gave in eventually. It was easier to give in than keep running. When it was my turn, I turned and faced him, grabbed his glasses off his weasel face, and stomped on them on the hard blacktop. He ran to the principal’s office and cried.

In fifth grade, I was asked to be a boy’s girlfriend over email. It was the first email I ever received. He actually told me he wanted to send me an email, so I went home and made an AOL account. We went to a carnival and he won me a Garfield stuffed animal, and then he gave me a 3 Doors Down CD. A few days later, he broke up with me, and asked for Garfield and the CD back. I said no.

In sixth grade, a girl in my year gave head to an eighth grader in the back of the school bus while playing Truth or Dare.

In the summer after sixth grade, I kissed a boy for the first time at sleep away camp. He was my summer love. During the end-of-the-summer dining hall announcements, where kids usually announced lost sweatshirts and Walkmen, an older girl stepped up to the microphone, tossed her hair behind her shoulders, and proudly stated, “I lost something very precious to me last night. My virginity. If anyone finds it, please let me know.” The dining hall erupted into laughter and cheers. She was barred from ever coming back to the camp again, and wasn’t allowed to say goodbye to anyone.

In seventh grade, I told my brother I decided when I was older wanted a Hummer. What I really meant was I wanted a Jeep, but I didn’t know a lot about cars. My mother overheard and screamed at me for “wanting a Hummer.”

In the summer after freshman year of high school, I went to sleepaway field hockey camp with many of my close friends. One of them, named Megan, I had been friends with since kindergarten. One night when I was showering, she ripped open the curtain and snapped a photo of me on her disposable camera. I screamed. She laughed. We both laughed when I got out of the shower a few minutes later. After camp was over, her father took the camera to the convenience store to get it developed. When he gave the finished photos back to her, he said, “Your friend [Anonymous] has grown up.”

Sophomore year of high school, one of my best friends Hilary had a party in her basement while her mom was away. We invited some of the guys in our grade and someone’s older brother bought us a handle of vodka. One of the boys who came sat next to me in Spanish class. His name was Thomas. I remember playing a simple game, where we passed the bottle of vodka around in a circle and drank. I remember being happily tipsy and having fun, to suddenly being very drunk. Thomas and I started chanting numbers in Spanish, and he leaned towards me and kissed me. We kissed in the middle of the party, with all of our friends cheering. Then we went into Hilary’s bedroom.

Hilary’s bedroom was in the basement, on the ground floor, with a large window next to her bed. When someone went outside to smoke a cigarette, they realized it was a front row seat to what was happening in the bedroom. It was dark outside, and the light on was in the bedroom. They called everyone outside to watch. I don’t remember getting undressed, but apparently we were both completely naked in Hilary’s bed. A friend of mine told me later she tried to open the door and stop what was happening, but Thomas must have locked it. They said they pounded on the door. I don’t remember hearing them pounding. I don’t remember seeing everyone’s faces outside the window.  I remember Thomas holding my head down, and shoving his penis into my mouth. I remember trying to resist, pulling back, but he held his hands firmly on my head, pushing my face up and down. That’s all that I remember.

The next day, my friends and I went out to dinner at one of our favorite local restaurants. I couldn’t eat anything, and it wasn’t because I was hung over. Every time I tried to put food in my mouth, I felt like I was choking. Anytime a flash of the night before appeared in my mind, I felt like vomiting. My friends sat with me in silence. Then they told me a girl named Lindsey, who had briefly dated Thomas freshman year, had stood outside and watched the entire time. Even after everyone else stopped watching. My friends said they didn’t watch.

On Monday, Thomas and I sat next to each other in Spanish. We didn’t speak. We didn’t make eye contact. I went to the girls bathroom and threw up. I hear Lindsey and Thomas live together, now, ten years later.

Junior year of high school, my teacher for Honors Spanish was named Señor Gonzales. Señor Gonzales had all of the girls sit in the front row. Señor Gonzales called on any girl who was wearing a skirt to write on the chalkboard. Señor Gonzales asked a friend of mine, who had broken her finger playing an after school sport, if she broke her finger because “she liked it rough.” Señor Gonzales was a tenured teacher.

Senior year of high school, I got my first real boyfriend. His name was Colin. He was on the lacrosse team with Thomas. He told me that sophomore year, Thomas told everyone on the team what happened that night at Hilary’s. Everyone cheered. Colin said that, even then, he had a crush on me. Even then, he wanted to punch Thomas.

Colin and I lost our virginities to each other. Colin said if I got pregnant, he would make me have the baby. He didn’t believe in abortion. Colin said if I got pregnant, he would make me have a C-section. Colin said that if I didn’t have a C-section, my vagina would be too loose for him to ever enjoy having sex with me again. Colin said that he wouldn’t let our child breastfeed. He said his mother gave him formula, and that he turned out just fine. I didn’t get pregnant.

Junior year of college, I lived in Denmark for the spring semester and studied at the University of Copenhagen. Copenhagen is one of the safest cities in the world. Guns are illegal there. Pepper spray is illegal there. One night, my friends and I went to a concert at a crowded club in a part of the city I didn’t know very well. I brought a tiny purse with money, my apartment key, and my international cell phone. For some reason it made sense at the time to put my purse inside my friend’s purse. Maybe I didn’t feel like carrying it. We were both drinking. My friend left the concert to go home with her boyfriend. One by one, everyone I was there with left the concert, until I was suddenly alone and I realized I didn’t have my purse, or any money for a cab ride home.

I started walking in the direction that felt right. I walked for a long time. I had no idea where I was, and didn’t recognize the area. It was almost 4 am. I was on a residential street when a cab pulled up next to me. I asked the driver if he could drive me to an intersection down the street from my apartment.

I don’t have any money, I said.

I really need your help, I said.

I will do it for free, he said.

Sit in the front, he said.

I sat in the front. We drove in silence for some time, until he pulled over on the side of a dark street.

I don’t want to do it for free anymore, he said.

He locked the car doors and reached across the center console and slipped his hand up my skirt. He grabbed my vagina. Hard. I pushed his hand away and unlocked the door. I ran down the street and realized he had taken me a block away from the intersection I wanted. I walked to my apartment and threw rocks at my roommate’s window until she let me inside. She yelled at me for waking her up. I escaped. Nothing happened. I was fine.

The summer after I graduated college I helped Hilary find an internship. She was an art major and wanted something for her resume besides waitressing. We found a posting on Craigslist to be a studio assistant for a painter in the Bronx. It was listed as an unpaid internship. The toll for the George Washington Bridge was twelve dollars, plus gas, but she got the internship anyway. She wanted the experience.

The artist was a 38-year-old Canadian painter named Bradley. Hilary was 22.There was another intern there, an art student from Manhattan named Stella.  Bradley needed assistants to help him make bubble wrap paintings. Stella and Hilary would take a syringe and fill the tiny bubbles with different color paints until it formed a mosaic. Bradley always had Hilary stay after Stella left to clean the paintbrushes and syringes. He told Hilary she was beautiful. More beautiful than his wife, who he only married for citizenship. He told Hilary they had a loveless marriage. He told Hilary he wanted to have her beautiful children. They began an affair. He told Hilary has wife knew and didn’t care. He told Hilary he was going to leave his wife soon.

Everyday Hilary drove to the Bronx, cleaned Bradley’s paintbrushes, and had sex on the studio floor. Everyday she went home with no money, and everyday she paid the toll at the George Washington Bridge. She needed the internship for her resume, she said. It was too late to find a new job, she said.

I could go on. I could tell you a lot more. About the whistles on the sidewalk, the kids who sat at the bottom of the stairs in high school to look up our skirts, my friend who was a prostitute in South Carolina, the men who’ve cornered me in parking lots and bars calling me a tease, the unwanted grabbing on the subway, the many times my father has called me fat, the time I traveled to the Philippines and discovered Western men pay preteen locals to spend the week in their hotel, the messages on OKCupid asking to “fart in my mouth.” About how I wasn’t sure if I had been raped because I was drunk and kissed Thomas back. How he raped my mouth and not my vagina, so that must not be rape. How easy it was for me to escape the dark street in Copenhagen, and how that made it not matter since “it could’ve been worse.”

Men have no idea what it takes to be a woman. To grin and bear it and persevere. The constant state of war, navigating the relentless obstacle course of testosterone and misogyny, where they think we are property to be owned and plowed. But we’re not. We are people, just like them. Equals, in fact, or at least that’s the core of what feminism is still trying to achieve. The job is not over. We’ve made great progress. There are female CEOs, though not very many. There are females writing for the New York Times and winning Pulitzer prizes, though not very many.  There are female politicians, though not very many. But these advances are only on paper. The job won’t be over until equality permeates the air we breathe, the streets we walk and the homes we live in.

I think back to how easy it was for me, in first grade, to feel fearless and strong in my conviction to stomp on John’s glasses. I felt right in reacting how I did, because John’s behavior was wrong. But his was an elementary learning of the wide boundaries his gender would go on to afford him. For me, it would never again be so easy.

- Anonymous, age 25

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Didn’t this happen in Interview with a Vampire?

a support group for vampires who were turned as children or adolescents. a bunch of small, melancholy kid-shaped vampires sitting around in somebody’s living room talking very seriously in tiny voices about current events in the vampire world. a lot of them dress like grandmas because they are as old as a grandma, maybe even ten grandmas. they have a network system where they can call adult-looking vampires to help them get things, drive places, pretend to be parents so child-looking vampires can get into adult movies 

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Watch, they are just going to be 3 feet tall, green and have huge heads.

THEY FOUND A SECOND PLANET EARTH

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(although there is some controversy about this seeing as how the Mongols went East to West and only conquered what we recognize as Southern Russia but I say it counts because it never says how much of Russia you have to conquer)

my favourite thing about history is how everyone tries to invade russia but are somehow caught off guard by the russian winter 

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This is what happens when you politely turn down a date. I called the mesa police department. She literally told me to “ignore it, he’ll shut up eventually.” He’s given me 48 hours to change my mind or else he will be making the decision for me. Over 24 of them have passed. I do not know this person. They know exactly where I live and have been watching me for some time now. Please signal boost this. Even if you don’t live in Arizona. I want everyone to be aware that this type of stuff is happening and the police are letting it. I am trapped in my house, and they don’t care. They know this man’s plans to harm me. I am in immediate danger. I am afraid for my life. And the police are letting it happen.

I usually don’t care for the “signal boosting” but this dude deserves to be dragged.

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Your mental illness is lying to you.

You are not stupid. You are not ugly. You are not worthless. You are not weak. You are not a burden. Your mental illness is lying to you.