Allison Argent + perfectly capturing my emotions
Hannah is I! All you really need to know is that I'm a hardcore Spider-Man and Deadpool fan, but I have a bunch of other interests like Teen Wolf, Supernatural, Merlin, Doctor Who, Sherlock, Star Trek, and just Marvel in general! I cosplay Fem!Sam, Gwen Stacy, Lady Deadpool, and as part of the Half Life 2 resistance team! The Fem!Benny I cosplay with is amazing, I love her so much! I also love drawing, you might see it when you are stalking my blog!!
Parineeti Chopra responds to a male reporter who claims to know nothing about periods (menstrual cycle). [X]
I started my period when I was 10 years old. But we didn’t tell my grandma for three years because she subscribed to the “old traditions”, where a woman on her period could not enter the house, not even to bathe. Where she had to sit outside in front of the house (where the whole village could be witness to her shame and isolation) for the entire duration.
My friend started her period unexpectedly while we were at our local temple (in America) for dance class. Asking around if any of the parents had pads (all of them apologized and acted like adults about it), I thought surely the front office has a first aid kit. Don’t they have pads? When we asked, not only did they not have any, when one of the women gave one from her purse, the head secretary told us “There are men who need to use the first-aid kit, ya? So we don’t keep period things there.” Not even ibuprofen (which has so many more uses than period pain).
There are girls in India and Nepal (and other places, but I just read an in-depth piece about the situations in Nepal) who have to go to the “period hut” when their period comes and not leave until its over. They can’t wash and dry their cloth pads in the daylight, so they do it at night when the pads won’t dry properly before their next use, making them vulnerable to infection.
It is incredibly important, especially in India, to break the taboo surrounding periods. Break the secrecy around an event that happens to almost every woman, every month for literally half of her lifetime. Break the hiding, break the cover-up, break the SHAME.
Just break EVERYTHING. So little girls can go to school every day of every month without feeling ashamed. So women can work every day of every month to provide for their families without being glared at. So single fathers can confidently take care of their daughters’ health. So that women can talk about how terrible their period is or isn’t and give each other advice on how to deal with it without looking around to make sure men aren’t listening.
So that Whisper doesn’t have to be called Whisper, it can be called SHOUT. It can be called PROUD. So that we don’t NEED to fucking WHISPER about our bodies and our health.
Never apologize for your fluency in english.
If you have a different mother tongue, you are under no obligation to know english at all, let alone fluent english.
Never let anyone make you feel bad for not speaking proper english.
Be proud of your mother tongue.
Why should we learn their language when they mock and refuse to learn our own.
There’s a hole in my lawn and evidently Welly just discovered it’s perfectly dog shaped
no, but how high do you have to be to write a movie about a toaster and a vacuum cleaner going on an adventure to Mars riding a ceiling fan
imagine using this shampoo in the shower and staring at Shrek’s hazel eyes as he watches you in the nude
In 2006 AOL search logs got leaked and it was the funniest day in the history of the internet
female actors getting pissed off at sexist interview questions is my new favourite thing
tina and amy’s faces omg
and cate blanchett calling out the cameraman on the full body pan
scarlett is so tired of this shit
Robert’s face in the first picture, though….
Like “oh son, you just opened up a large can of fuckery, she’s gonna murder you”
There’s a guy standing by the pumps when he comes back outside. He’d seen him through the window, seen him edging closer to the car while kicking sand in his worn-out sneakers. Derek tucks his wallet into the back pocket of his jeans and meets the guy’s eyes—brown, beautiful—as he approaches.
"Nice ride," the guy says with a faint smile, pulling one hand out of his pockets to let it wander across the pump, long and distracting fingers drumming on the surface.
Derek arches an eyebrow as he stops barely three feet in front of the guy, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. There hadn’t been enough people appreciating his choice of wheels, most not understanding why he’d pick a black ‘68 Camaro rather than one of the newer models. But then most people didn’t know where he got it from.
"You like American muscle?" He asks.
What had been a smile turns into a smirk as the guy gives him an unabashed once-over.