Things women should never feel ashamed of:
• Orgasms
• Receiving money
• Receiving compliments
• Pretty privilege
• Being smart
• Dressing up
• Menstrual cycles
• Emotions and being sensitive
• Expressing our sexuality
• Resting and relaxation
• Asserting our sexual needs
• Maintaining our standards
• Saying No
• Wanting or having children
• Choosing to be childfree
• Our body count
• Our nude body
• Wearing makeup or not wearing makeup
• Having boundaries and protecting ourselves
• Our spiritual practices
• Using witchcraft
• Being ambitious
• Going to college
• Being a housewife or stay at home mom
• Loving who and what we love
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You’re not behind; however, life will continue to go by while you’re standing still. Just remember, little steps matter, too. ❤️🩹
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People may not tell you how they feel about you, but their actions will speak for themselves. Pay attention.
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thinking about this on my most recent rewatch
(gif source: ferndaphnia)
It can be kinda easy to get exasperated with Aziraphale sometimes for how much he’s struggling with what seem to us like really obvious moral non-dilemmas. How slowly and arduously he comes to the conclusion that Elspeth and other resurrectionists are meeting a need that polite society’s nonsensical arbitrary rules don’t yet have an answer for.
But this shot, this scene, just underlines to me how genuine and earnest his struggle is. He’s not being squeamish about graverobbing, like it offends his delicate sensibilities. He’s slowly unlearning some bullshit, and he comes by it honestly and is doing his best. He’s just learned that the contents of the glass jar in his hands are a tumor that was surgically removed from a 7 year old boy, who did not survive the ordeal. Look at his body language, look at his face (so much sorrow between those mutton chops!). If he were just squeamish, he would, idk, push the jar away from him, set it down, grimace. Not cradle it closer to his chest, as if it were the 7 year old boy he wishes he could comfort, as sadness and understanding washes over him.
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I need him in a way that'd make the devil blush and repent
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you nod to everything of smooching nothing not even cosmic staircase
talkative outfit of blessed blooming day
st thomas hoists your brother from dead
that was then now cornfields are holy war blindfolds
take in that other force dilute yourself
resistance is only when you mountain
resistance is only flightless flight people meet at wagah border every year
naan with beef kebabs fancy some
most sacred passions lay university aflame
black snow and your hermetic lips
a christmas loneliness haunts dum conderet urbem after coal mines
all apostles live in that magenta tower
croon disused airport speeches et al
during riots thigh bruises of an ordinary kind claque foists authority
tell me there are utopias in expiry stars
auctioned to narcose highest bidders
paid in emotion bubbles that spurn to ever pop like moi
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