combustible lemon

itsjustaswell:

runningtothefinish:

blondegirlfit:

clype:

He gets it.

actually so powerful

praise this post

what doesn’t this man get right..seriously.

jokerstrife:

helens78:

zillah975:

goldenorbrokenorlost:

jacobtheloofah:

butterfly-zombie:

meow—lex:

proletarianinstinct:

batlesbo:

airspaniel:

This is literally breathtaking.

My friend just sent this to me… wow. Watch until the end.

Jesus Christ

Nothing makes sense anymore

holy shit.

Oh my god.

Wow. Wow.

Wow. I literally have tears in my eyes, that was spectacular.

This exact act was part of Amaluna when I went to see it earlier this year, and I swear, I have never heard an audience so quiet in my LIFE. I remember thinking at the time, too, that I had never imagined an audience holding its collective breath to see if someone could keep a stack of things balanced that way before, but the audience reactions were very much like the ones in this video. It was amazing.

WHAT

effin4:

bettythetl:

adriofthedead:

brianmichaelbendis:

Annie Leibovitz’s Disney Dream Portraits

I like how there’s just two pictures of Jack Sparrow

I was going to just like this but then there was Jack Sparrow. Twice.

(Source: anni-thii)

just shut up.

gyzym:

First, a story. 

So, my first semester of my freshman year of college, I took this Intro to Women’s Studies class. The class met for five hours a week, one two hour session and one three hour session, and the breakdown of students was what I eventually discovered to be the typical sampling in any Women’s Studies class with no pre-recs at my mid-sized, southern Ohio state school. There were a number of girls who would become, or were already part of, the feminist advocacy groups on campus; there were a number of girls who would prove themselves to be opposed to feminism in both concept and practice, one of whom I distinctly recall giving a presentation on the merits of the “Mrs. Degree,” while my professor’s eye twitched in muted horror; there were a handful of girls and at least one guy I’d come to know later through assorted campus queer groups; and there were, of course, the three to six dudebros, self-admittedly there to “meet chicks,” all but one or two of whom would drop the class after the first midterm. At eighteen, I was myself a feminist in name but not in practice—I believed in the idea behind feminism (which is, for the record, that people should be on equal footing regardless of gender, not that we should CRUSH ALL MEN BENEATH THE VICIOUS HEELS OF OUR DOC MARTENS GLORY HALLELUJAH), but I didn’t actually know anything about it. I could not identify the waves of feminism. Intersectionality and how the movement is crap at it were not things of which I was aware. Never had I ever encountered the writings of bell hooks. In a lucky break, you do not need to know about the waves of feminism, or know what intersectionality is, or have read bell hooks to read this essay! (But you should read bell hooks. Everyone should read bell hooks. bell hooks is FUCKING AWESOME.) 

The first couple of weeks of this class were about what you’d expect. The professor was fun and engaging, but she was not exactly pulling out the eye-opening stops on our wide-eyed freshman asses. There were handouts. There were selections of the textbook for reading. There was a very depressing class about domestic violence, abuse, and rape that was the typical rattling off of terms and horrific statistics that everyone winced at, but that nobody really internalized. The dudebros snickered in the back corner, grouped together like they would be infested by cooties if they spread out, occasionally chiming in with helpful comments like, “Dude, the lady on the back of this book is smoking,” and getting turned down by each girl in the class, on whom they were hitting in what I can only assume was a pre-determined descending order of hotness. The queer kids, myself included, huddled in the other corner making pithy comments. The up-and-coming active feminists glared at the bros, who leered back, and the Mrs. Degree-friendly crowd mostly texted under their desks and made it very clear that they were only there for humanities credit. Again, it was a fairly typical southern Ohio state school class full of fairly typical southern Ohio state school freshmen. Nobody was super engaged, is what I am saying here. Nobody, myself included, was really eating it up with a spoon. 

And then one day, my professor opened the class with, “So, who here has seen Beauty and the Beast?” 

Read More

jentnova:

This is all Derek needs from Stiles. The quiet shifting sound of fabric against fabric, the soft taps of the keys, an occasional breath as whatever page he’s looking at proves useless.

This is all he needs: opening his eyes to see Stiles right there beside him, eyes focused on the screen, fingers rubbing restlessly over his lips, completely lost in thought.

He remembers the way Stiles looked at him when he told him that, the odd circle of confusion and relief in his eyes, and remembers haltingly trying to explain and Stiles getting it before he even started, with a snap of his fingers and small smile. No-one had understood before, not that there’d been many to try, but that Stiles got it without the carefully selected words Derek had stored away for that occasion - that means something that makes Derek’s heart squeeze in his chest.

“Did I wake you?” Stiles asks, his voice quiet. He reaches a hand out and brushes it over Derek’s hair. Derek doesn’t resist the urge to press into it.

“Wasn’t asleep,” Derek says. Stiles makes an indulgent face at him and threads his fingers into Derek’s hair, fingertips scratching gently against his scalp. “You should be.”

“Probably,” Stiles admits, looking back towards the screen. “Can’t though, too much going on in my head.”

“Your dad will kill me if he thinks I’m keeping you up,” Derek says, rolling onto his side. Stiles slips his hand out of Derek’s hair and traces his jaw with his fingers. Stiles snorts.

“He knows you aren’t,” Stiles rolls his shoulders, tilting his head from side to side. Derek reaches out to cup the back of Stiles’ neck, rubbing his thumb up and down soothingly. Stiles closes his eyes.

Stiles looks numinous in the light of the laptop screen and Derek still has to take a breath every time and remind himself that he’s allowed this, this one good thing, to balance all the shit.

“Okay,” Stiles says, opening his eyes again and nodding. He shuts the laptop and puts it off the end of the bed. He shucks his shirt and Derek follows suit, long used to the way Stiles’ eyes flicker briefly over his chest.

They lay down together; Stiles drawing Derek’s head down to his chest instinctively, letting Derek find Stiles’ heartbeat safe and secure under his ribs. Derek presses a hand against Stiles’ skin and lets it ground him, breathing in the scent of home and family Stiles doesn’t even know he wears.

This is all Derek needs from Stiles and Stiles’ pleasure at giving it wraps Derek in the most profound peace he has ever known. Stiles’ fingers drowsily sliding through his hair, the rise and fall of Stiles’ chest, the half a kiss pressed to the top of Derek’s head before Stiles drifts away.

This is all he needs: home.

Happy Teen Wolf Monday, artist!

(Source: snufffie)

Why aren’t more people freaking out about the new Venezuelan labor law?

monetizeyourcat:

dancepunksnotdead:

You know, the one that gives housewives/full-time mothers a pension— wages for housework?

It’s ONLY A HUGE VICTORY FOR FEMINISM, SOCIALISM, AND WOMEN OF COLOR. Not a big deal or anything. Tumblr is mysteriously silent about this.

http://rabble.ca/columnists/2013/05/venezuelas-new-labour-law-best-mothers-day-gift

holy shit!

skullmarrow:

I FLIPPED A BUNCH OF PICTURES OF MY SNAKEBITES AND IM CRYINGG

bemusedlybespectacled:

ramoorebooks:

opinionatedlez:

Here are some awesome and empowering quotes from several very strong female celebrities. 

And Kristen Stewart.

No, you know what? Fuck you.

Let me tell you about Kristen Stewart.

Let’s talk about how she’s the centerpiece of one of the most inexplicably popular misogynistic pieces of film shit and somehow gets blamed for it sucking, despite the fact that, hey, the books were actually worse. For those who were lucky enough to escape reading the actual books, her apparent lack of emotion is 100% accurate to Bella’s character, because Bella is in fact not a character but a blank white wall for fourteen-year-old girls to project themselves onto. Robert Pattinson is not the only one in the cast who hates Twilight, thank you.

Let’s talk about how she got crucified in the media for having an affair with a married man, when that man was her director. And let’s remember that she was called all manner of things for “ruining her relationship with RPattz” when she wasn’t even engaged to the dude, let alone married with kids. But oh no, she gets called a slut because she’s Kristen Stewart, she gets her career fucked because she’s Kristen Stewart, and the dude gets off scott free.

Let’s talk about how she is incredibly shy and anxious (rather, incidentally, like Chris Evans) but does film anyway, because she’s just that awesome.

Fuck your noise. She’s not the best actor in the world but she sure as hell doesn’t deserve that kind of shit.

dreamberks:

berks-dragon-trainer:

ifell-through-theice:

hiccup-horrendous-haddockiii:

ami-sempai:

jackfrost-flakes:

this-gay-gypsy-bar-mitzvah:

everafitzherbert:

OLÉ

fUCK

WHY OMFG

Foiled again by Pitch.

I was like. “Forbidden” OLÉ! “friendship”

That’s me in the middle! OLÉ! Ruining your dreams!

WHO THE FUCK BROUGHT THIS BACK

I laughed so hard I farted.

iT’S BACK YES

g-erti:

Every Series, Every Episode!

StarTrek.com has made every episode available for streaming on their website! (and there doesn’t seem to be any indication that its only temporary!)

Have a series you’ve been meaning to watch? Can’t afford Netflix? No problem! Go forth; all of Star Trek is now at your disposal!