“Stevie Nicks surrounds herself with girls. Wherever she goes, she brings girls. “I can’t imagine you in a bathing suit,” someone says in an interview for Rolling Stone, when Stevie says she likes to play in the pool in her backyard. “Yeah, well, you never will,” Stevie says. “And there is never — ever — a man in the backyard. If there is, he is banished to the front of the house.” Men don’t get to look at Stevie Nicks unless Stevie Nicks wants men to look at Stevie Nicks.”
— (via bjorkdoll )
i think about this every day of my life
A punk stops during a gay pride parade to allow a mesmerized child to touch his jacket spikes.
I lost control about reblogging this picture.
and this is the perfect “fuck you” to people who stereotype people like this.
literally one of my favourite pictures ever
nothing more punk than letting small children touch your clothes spikes or hair spikes
If you think punks would miss the opportunity to be a good fucking human to kids you don’t know much about punks
Being nice to kids is literally the number one punk activity
BITCH NO WAYYYY
I have a vivid memory of being about 14 and seeing a hardcore punk walking down the street in a busy shopping district with a tiny white kitten tucked in his leather jacket. That’s goals.
one of my favorite memories is my first punk show and how welcoming and friendly everyone was. I was 9 and my brother brought me and people were putting me on their shoulders and telling me about where they got their clothes or how much a little punk I was.
I love punk culture because from the outside it looks aggressive and harsh. But once you realize that’s just their armour and that they are kinder and more proactive about human rights than the “nice” looking people you get comfort from their presence.
Not all things that look aggressive are aggressive. Not all things that look safe are safe.
Punk is safe BECAUSE it is aggressive.
Punk - when done right - kicks out fascists and rapists, defends communities, fights injustice. All of which require aggression.
This reminded me of, of all things, this quote from the Chronicles of Narnia, from Mr. Beaver referring to Aslan: “Safe? ‘Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good.”
I’ve always loved it. It does feel rather punk.
It is the same thing with Bikers because Bikers are another form of Punk. That’s why there is Bikers Against Child Abuse (BACA). Which is a bunch of this big dudes (I use it as a collective term sorry if it offends someone) letting this kids climb all over them or having the kids sit in there laps while braiding there hair and doing anything to make the kids comfortable with people again before escorting them to court against there abusers. Be Punk is about giving out kindness most of us were denied.
^^^ ALL OF THIS
Hilda by Duane Bryers
in this family we love and support Hilda.
What i love about this artist’s depictions of women is even the sexualized ones the woman is always genuinely happy and enjoying herself. Frolicking or making funny faces, she’s living her life and looking sexy while doing it, not sitting in a sexual pose for the audience’s view.
I always forget about Hilda and am so pleased when she randomly shows up on my dash. Always makes my day
I love Hilda so much and I want her to be happy
I freaking love Hilda, there’s needs to be more art like this.
I will never not reblog Hilda
People need to know big girls are pretty too
She looks so happy
Love being reminded she existed
This is the way you’re supposed to do pranks!
I try SO hard not to make faces when I hear someone around me say wild shit but I just can’t stop myself
I love pranks that aren’t at the expense of others.
My favorite prank that I pulled was when I worked at a hotel that was across from an old theater. Behind the desk, we had autographed pics of the celebrities that stayed at the hotel.
So one year for April Fools, I printed a black and white picture of myself, signed it and put it on the wall behind the desk.
There it sat…in plain view…for 1.5 years.
One day a guest was checking in and my boss just so happened to be behind the desk with me. The guest is looking at the pics and gets to my pic and says “Wait…is that you?”
My boss looks at it and says “Luke, why are you on the wall?” (He was Indian with an English accent so it makes it even better the way he said it.)
I replied “That was my April fools joke…from over a year ago! This guy was the first person to notice it!”
The guest laughed, I laughed, my boss just rolled his eyes and told me to take it down.
this is iconic
This shit is so hilarious
Dude: Do you wanna get married?
Dude: …..I gotta…..
“YOU’RE FAT!! 😢” LMAO homie was hurt
actual definition of BDE
• Being watched/followed. Can be used with plots like a home invasion or someone watching another person through a webcam.
• Losing control. Can be used with plots like possession, being forced to kill/hurt people to save oneself or a loved one, being blackmailed, etc.
• The nature of humanity. This can work when the “monster” is a human, and can call into question the concept of good and evil. Works well with the above in my opinion, as a human being doing monstrous things can sometimes lead to questions about humanity and whether humankind is good.
• The end of humanity. Can be cheesy (like in a lot of zombie plots), but is innately scary to a lot of people to think about. Things that seem more plausible, such as an apocalypse related to pandemics or environmental pollution, can come across in a more serious way when done subtly.
• Isolation. In some cases this can seem a little too convenient to the plot, but when done right isolation can up the terror of the plot, or even serve as the plot itself. Being trapped somewhere, like in the woods or in a small space, could work for this.
• One’s own insignificance. Most cases I’ve seen where this works well show the character’s smallness in relation to something else. The ocean, space, cosmic gods, etc.
• The unknown. Often works well with the above in my opinion. The ocean and space, for example, would be good settings for this.
• Instinctive responses. The human brain tends to naturally react to things like violence, disease and contamination, and other things that threaten survival. Using these things too gratuitously can easily become campy or even voyeuristic and insensitive, but they can be used well.
Tumblr deleted my long ass rant while I was in the middle of writing it so you’re spared and will only get a summed up version
Long story short; your abs are supposed to be covered with a healthy, protective layer of fat. The shape Jason Momoa is in during his movies is achieved by a diet designed to lower his body fat to unhealthy numbers, dehydrating him and enhancing his abs with make up. This is what ripped, muscular, healthy person looks like on their off time. If you think this is a dad bod, for the love of everything that is holy, shut up and absolutely never comment on a man’s body ever again. I mean hell, you can still see his damn v-line, what fucking dad bod has that?!
Don’t believe me? Google some bodybuilders who are off their contest diet. The men who literally make a living for having defined muscles. For 360 days a year, they do not look like the way you think they do. During a bodybuilding contest, these men’s body fat is under 7%, they’re dehydeated and covered in fake tan that helps the muscles show up. And it’s literally only for that day, because it’s extremely unhealthy. Same goes for actors who are known for being ripped - they’re at their worst when they’re filming. This exact same shit happened with Vin Diesel few years ago with people getting a paparazzi shot of his “beer belly” and I’m genuinely worried of the young men who grow up in this society thinking being muscular means having defined abs 24/7.
Jason Momoa looks ripped and healthy, yall are just blind with unrealistic standards.
“This is what actors (& models & bodybuilders) do. If you see them with razor cut abs, they have been on a low carb, water-reducing diet to get there. You cannot retain that and be healthy. When we shot WOLVES, Jason asked me, “Do I have to have abs n’ shit for this?” I said no.”
- David Hayter, director, Wolves
“The wood chopping scene in The Wolverine was all the footage they could get before Hugh Jackman passed out from dehydration. Dehydration and steroids are the big secret behind Hollywood muscle definition.”
“Yeah there was a huge piece a few years ago about the prevalence of doping in the aftermath of Dark Knight (roughly), it became an arms race of every male actor going on roids for definition. Compare Jackman in XMen 1 from 2000 to him in Logan, for example.”
“The Hollywood roid phenomenon in one picture”
“The Guest” movie -
I like how they call starvation and dehydration a “trick” :)))))))))
I KNOW. Fucking killed me. “There’s this neat trick where we encourage disordered eating and dehydration. That’s what bodies should look like!!! This is the Norm!!”
Wait so that text wasn’t from a criticism of abusive practices?? It was just “here’s how we did this neat-O special effect!!!!!” ???!???
Thought was timely to reblog this with all the flack R Patz is getting for choosing not to work out right now. You may not like him, but the man had a point.
SO glad this is on my dash again. My ex husband was a competative body builder and honestly, the shit he put himself through every day was frankly ludicrous. And in the run up to a competition? Jesus fuck, it was horrific.
We should all be in fear of anyone strong enough to balance and literally support their entire mass in that pose on tiptoes.
She ain’t even wearing a decent heel support like the lady behind her. No, this queen is wearing goddamn stilettos. You know how hard it is to walk in stilettos, let alone balance your weight on one foot? And she’s doing more than that, she’s literally resting all her weight on that foot. This is insane, she could kick all of our asses.
I love genuinely innocent “boys will be boys.” Just saw a guy come out of a frat house to poke a pair of jeans they’d left outside - they were frozen solid, and as soon as he confirmed that, like twenty more boys came rushing out of the house going “YOOOOOOOOOO”
I heard grunting outside my window the other night and there were four boys struggling to push this giant snowball (like 7 foot diameter) down the sidewalk.
I once lost my keys at a frat house.
My drunk ass had actually walked home without them, pounded on my apartment door, gotten let in by my rightfully-disgruntled roommate, and proceeded to pass out on the couch. Apparently I puked in the toilet before passing out. I do not remember this part.
The next morning, I schlepped back to the frat house. I stood there, right in front of the front door. This was a novel experience for me. I’d never been at a frat house in broad daylight before.
A boy, presumably, of the house, asked me what I was doing.
“I lost my keys in here last night,” I called back. “I was seeing if I could go in and look for them?”
He opened the door and gestured for me to come in.
“Go wherever you want.”
I’d never seen a frat house post-party before. Wandering up the stairs and through the halls, I was surrounded by hungover and still-drunk frat boys stumbling around in their socks and sandals and gym shorts, seeking out food and showers like moths to a porch light. A few of them threw puzzled glances my way. I’m sure they thought I was some post-bacchanalia hallucination.
I entered one room where a boy was drunkenly watching some Old Yeller-esque movie on a tiny TV in the corner of his room from his bed.
“Do you like dog movies?” he asked, voice all mumbly from grogginess and also from the fact that his face was squished against his pillow and half-buried by his blanket.
I told him I did.
He mumbled again, pleased, and asked what I was doing. I told him I was looking for my keys.
“Sorry, I haven’t seen any keys around here.”
I didn’t doubt him.
Twenty minutes had passed. I’d searched just about every bedroom and nuclear-waste-dump-site of a bathroom in that house. I’d given up on ever finding my keys and was prepared to beg my roommates’ forgiveness and get a new set copied.
As I stood there in the hallway, silently bewailing my predicament, a particularly-burly frat boy approached me.
“You need help with something?”
“I lost my keys here last night and I can’t find them, I’ve looked everywhere.”
“What do they look like? I’ll put it into the group chat.” He was already pulling out his phone.
No one ever checks a group chat, I thought, but what the hell. It was worth a shot. “Um, it’s just a ring of keys. The keychain is a pink plastic cat, though, like yea big. Like bright pink, you can’t miss it.”
He nodded, presumably typing this description faithfully into the group chat.
“Alright, I sent the message out. Good luck.”
And with that, he turned and left.
A few moments later, I heard a distant thundering. It was coming from upstairs, and it was getting louder and louder. One assumes that how I felt in that moment was how Simba felt seeing the wildebeest stampede through the ravine as a horde of large young men all thundered down the stairs, making a beeling for me.
“Someone tell the girl!” One of them shouted, faceless in the mob. “Girl! Hey, GIRL!!! We found your keys, girl!!!”
They circled around me. I hadn’t felt that small since I was maybe eleven years old. One of them split himself off from the crowd.
“Are these -” he pulled out a ring of keys from his pocket, “your keys?”
And lo, there was the distinctive bright millennial pink cat keychain dangling off the ring.
“Yes,” I whispered. “Oh my god, yes.”
The cheer went up.
Turns out he found them in the bathroom upstairs. I thanked them again profusely. There was a scattered round of “no problems” and then, just as suddenly as they descended, they all dispersed, like ships in the night.
THIS is boys will be boys
on a camp with teenage boys recently and as i was one of the camp leaders, it was part of my duties to help wake said boys in the morning (at 6am or a similar ungodly hour).
we (the camp leaders) found the most efficient way to do so was to blast music from a tinny little speaker one of us owned.
so before the sun itself has risen, we’re walking down a corridor with 8+ rooms filled with 6 or more boys in each, blasting the one and only Let It Go from Frozen, hoping to wake a few students, preparing for hateful commentary.
instead, what we got was the thumps and shouts of boys excitedly leaping from bunk beds, stuffing on shirts and bursting into the corridor to scream the lyrics to Let It Go.
as soon as the song finished, they acted like it never happened and went back to their rooms to get dressed.
you will all be pleased to learn that provided with the zero-gravity environment of scuba diving, it is not uncommon to turn around to see 3 or 4 teenage boys t-posing mid water column
Young men and boys! Please reclaim ‘boys will be boys’ by doing chaotic good things, having good clean fun, and engaging in benevolent bro culture.