me, sobbing over all these goshdarned adaptions: why isnt bossuet bald? why is he never bald?? hes supposed to be bald???
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We all know Disneys first openly gay moment was the alley scene in Newsies (1992) dir. Kenny Ortega. Lefou who?
Look me in the eye and tell me this is heterosexual
(Source: lesbianshakespeare, via softgrantaire)
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(Source: wescravn, via enjolrastbh)
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I just opened up a check in the mail, went to the ATM & found 20$ 😭 I’m not passing these shits up NO more on my mama!
im desperate
God-presenting nipples
(via hey-im-a-goblin)
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dealing with the worst case scenario
- your condom breaks
- you feel a lump on your breast
- your friends are ignoring you
- you’re stranded on an island
- you got rejected by a crush
- you get into a car accident
- you got stung by a bee/wasp
- you got fired from your job
- you’re in an earthquake
- your tattoo gets infected
- your house is on fire
- you’re lost in the woods
- you get arrested abroad
- you get robbed
- your partner cheated on you
- you’re on a ship that’s sinking
- you fall into ice
- you’re stuck in an elevator
- you hit a deer with your car
- you have food poisoning
- your pet passed away
- you fall off of a horse
- you or your friend has alcohol poisoning
- you have toxic shock syndrome
- your house has a gas leak
I feel like this could be useful in my future
REBLOG THIS. I CANNOT STRESS HOW IMPORTANT THIS GUIDES ARE, BOOST THIS SHIT
If I don’t reblog this one of these things is definitely going to happen to me
(via lesamisdelgay)
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colossalcryptid asked: (1/2) In elementary school, when I was around 9 or 10, I started presenting symptoms of asthma. Hadn't had any issues before then, but one day in gym class I had an asthma attack. It wasn't so severe that it put me in danger, but it was scary (as not being able to breathe tends to be) and prompted the nurse to call my parents. My dad said "she doesn't have asthma" and we went home. The first time I saw a doctor about it at all was when I was 13, and he diagnosed me with an Anxiety Attack
2/2) I was only 13 but I nearly argued with this grown man because I thought that sounded like absolute bullshit. We saw one more doctor after that, I forget if it was my PCP or not, but I was finally Officially diagnosed with asthma after 3 years of being completely untreated and several asthma attacks. Since then I’ve been scared of being brushed off or not taken seriously by doctors, and I’ve watched my friends (all women) deal with being treated poorly or brushed off as well. It’s scary.
It’s god damn terrifying the level of medical neglect that happens to female bodied patients, especially those of us with chronic conditions. When I was home I wet to see my NHS doctor and have started the laborious process of having the diagnosis of “bulimia” and “ednos” removed from my file, because, as I knew all along, I don’t have an eating disorder.
I do have a problematic relationship with food because it makes me ill due to severe allergies, but I don’t suffer from the other defining characteristics of an eating disorder. But, y’know, I’m a woman, so these issues with food must be purely psychological…why else would they keep me heavily sedated and put me through rehabilitation for 7 years trying to convince me that I was making myself sick, when in actual fact I was going into mild to steadily worsening anaphylalctic shock several times a week for over two decades which was quite literally killing me from the strain on my body…who knew? Not my doctors that’s for sure. They just upped my sedative prescription whenever I complained of more pain and told me sweetly, “it’s just nerves, you need to calm down.” And this wasn’t just one doctor, this was several specialists across the board over many, many years. But they all had one definite trait in common. They were all male. And they were angry that I kept challenging their diagnosis.
They didn’t even offer anti-depressants. Just a sedative. It was literally a case of “shut up and go away you hysterical female”.
Which isn’t to say it hasn’t happened over here too with private care.
I presented in the ER with chest pain and not being able to breathe and the attending physician saw “anxiety” in my file (which by the way, has gotten better since I’ve started to get my allergies under control. I’m still fucking nuts, but at least I know I’m sane about it), didn’t bother to do a physical, and prescribed a sleeping pill, while talking over the top of my head to my husband about how “some women can be quite anxious”. I thought ETD was going to murder him with his own stethoscope. But instead he advocated for me and pushed for an EKG, and exam where the doctor put his stethoscope to my chest but didn’t actually listen and said “you’re fine”. The following day my female PCP, in a tower of fury screamed “oh my god I think you’re having an asthma attack, didn’t he listen to your chest?!” and started me on a course of medication. She was wrong about it being asthma, but it was allergies causing my airways to close, so she was closer to the mark than “your wimmin parts are making you hysterical, here is a sedative”.
Which is why I now bring ETD with me to all new medical appointments. I shouldn’t need my husband there to verify my pain and symptoms, but that’s the way this world of ours works.
When I handed over my US doctor’s diagnosis and treatment plan, the (new) doctor I saw in the UK went ashen, his skin literally went grey the more he kept reading and then he looked up at me and said “why didn’t anyone test you for any of this?!” to which the reply was to smile sweetly like poison and reply, “apparently it was just nerves.”
I thought he was going to throw up when I told him about my teeth problems. I didn’t even get to the part about potential mercury poisoning, I just got to “which was when they did the root canal without anesthesia” and he demanded to know how I could be expected to cope with such pain, to which I glanced again towards my medical file at his fingertips and was able to say with complete honesty: “Practice”.
I’m 100% convinced if I’d just had a single doctor who listened to me when I was 12 when I said “this is making me throw up”, I wouldn’t be in the situation I am now. Even at 15, if someone had listened to me sobbing “but I’m not making myself throw up I’m not, I’m not I promise” as they put me into a “special wing” in the hospital, I wouldn’t be in the situation I am now.
But then I’m also 100% certain if I was born with a dick instead of a uterus, none of this would have ever happened. And not because my illness(es) itself doesn’t affect male bodied people.
But hey ho…can’t be bitter about it…cause then you get all the Positive Thinkers telling you you’re Keeping yourself sick, which, y’know, always nice to be gaslighted by the internet for not being a ray of fucking sunshine they can wank off to for their Positiviity Porn along with “tragic event happens but some fucker makes it about them” and “it could be worse you know”.
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Everyone deserves the opportunity to dress their best. That’s why I’m so glad to be able to share Tommy Hilfiger’s innovative #TommyAdaptive collection with you. #TommyPartner
fuck yeah!
(Source: joshsundquist, via hey-im-a-goblin)
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Alienate Nazis from your content. Make them feel like it is not for them and is explicit in working against them. Whatever ways we can make Nazis feel socially unsafe and unwelcome on the basis of being Nazis is a good deed done.
reminder that nazis aren’t allowed to enjoy my posts
Get the fuck off my blog if you’re a Nazi or a Nazi apologist or think that we need to reach out to them
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im a gay theatre nerd and feeling depressed so the only thing for me to do is watch les mis
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(Source: gacktova, via fyeahshakespeare)
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I don’t think we talk often enough about how Iconique it is that Grantaire is able to sleep through a huge raging battle with cannons and gunfire but still able to wake up in time to die next to Enjolras on the off chance his spirit can Get Some in the afterlife.
Nice
Victor Hugo would be so proud.
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The inside story of the BBC adaptation of Les Misérables… by the man who sexed up War and Peace
On a summer’s morning in a park outside Brussels, one of European literature’s most wretched characters is having a laugh. In Victor Hugo’s gargantuan 1862 novel Les Misérables, the naive young Parisian seamstress Fantine is dealt a rotten hand: she loses her wealthy boyfriend, her daughter, her job, her hair, her two front teeth and her life – all within the book’s first act.
If you are one of the 130 million people to have encountered Fantine in the world-conquering stage musical (or 2012’s big-screen incarnation of it, in which Anne Hathaway enacted the character’s misery through an Oscar-winning outpouring of tears), you will know her as a figure of abject tragedy.
Yet here she is in the Belgian sunshine, as played for the cameras by Lily Collins – the 29-year-old daughter of musician Phil – bonnet off, flirting on the lawn with her lover, Félix (Johnny Flynn), while her giggling girlfriends lark about on a swing, like a Fragonard painting come to life.
“Having set out to improve upon the musical, he now finds himself wondering if, in places, he’s also surpassed the novel. ‘We tell Fantine’s story more fully than I think Hugo did,’ [Andrew Davies] says. ‘We’ve explored the Javert and Jean Valjean relationship more deeply, too.’“
So he’s better than Austen, Tolstoy, AND Hugo. Good to know.
I was fine with davies hating the musical but having read this bullshit article finally turned me from meh to absolute bile… I really hate this man?
I’m definitely not watching it now lol
(and pls Benjy don’t describe lily collins as “the 29-year-old daughter of musician Phil” she has a career of her own you know)
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The most Brian May sentence I’ve ever read in my life
is Brian May issuing this monumental understatement about why he couldn’t complete his Ph.D. thesis in 1974 as though anyone reading fucking Brian May’s thesis isn’t gonna fucking know
“REGRETFULLY, I WAS THE LEAD GUITARIST IN QUEEN”
(via hey-im-a-goblin)
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