particularscarf:

evmlove:

damecatoe:

"By far, one of the best scenes in the book is where Kaling writes about the photo shoot she and Office co-star Ellie Kemper did for People’s Most Beautiful issue. When the stylist brought a trailer full of size zero gowns, Kaling found herself crying in the children’s bathroom of the public school where the photo shoot was happening. In the bathroom stall, she discovered a smear of what looked like excrement and a child’s graffiti: “This school is bulls–t!” which made her a) laugh and b) demand that the stylist alter one of the gowns to fit her. In the end photo, she’s smiling in a gorgeous fuchsia dress that the stylist had to rip down the back and alter with canvas. Looking at beautiful Kaling, though, you’d never know. It’s a sweet moment of chubby girl victory.” (via afterellen)

This is the story that truly made her my hero.

Here’s the thing: why the FUCK would a stylist- who, on a shoot like this, would obviously be considered a “professional”- ONLY bring tiny-sized gowns? 

Does this happen all the time? Seriously? Like… do they just not MAKE gowns that- 

Oh, wait. 

They don’t. 

Time and time again, we know, we’re told, upscale designers actually ADMIT and are PROUD of the fact that they don’t make gowns for “plus-sized” women.

Mindy Kaling had to have the gown she wanted ripped down the back with canvas tacked onto it AT HER OWN FUCKING PHOTO SHOOT.

Melissa fucking McCarthy couldn’t find a SINGLE designer to fit her for a gown at her own fucking Oscars ceremony.

Hell, I can’t even decently priced off-the-rack REGULAR FUCKING CLOTHES that don’t look something my grandma would wear on a Norwegian cruiseliner.

Because apparently “fat” people don’t deserve to take pride in how they look.

And I actually AM fat. Mindy Kaling ISN’T EVEN.

(via waitingintheflowers)

ten-and-donna:

kissnecks:

THIS OKAY

You want to get kids out of foster care and into good, loving homes? I’ve got a simple solution to your problem.

ten-and-donna:

kissnecks:

THIS OKAY

You want to get kids out of foster care and into good, loving homes? I’ve got a simple solution to your problem.

(via gymleaderzelda)

thelethifoldwitch:

Imagine Hogwarts after the Battle, after the War, sure –
But imagine Hogwarts’ students, after their year with the Carrows and Snape.
Imagine a tiny little first-year whose porcupine pincushions still have quills, but to whom Fiendfyre comes easily. The second-year who tried to go back, to fight; whose bravado got Professor Sinistra killed, as she pushed him out of the way of a Killing Curse. The third-year who perfectly brewed poisons, hands shaking, wishing for the courage to spike the Carrows’ cups. The fourth-year who throws away all of their teacups, their palmistry guidebooks, because what use is Divination if it didn’t see this coming? The fifth-year who can barely remember what O.W.L.S. are, let alone that she was supposed to take them. The sixth-year who can’t manage Lumos to save their life, but whose proficiency with the Cruciatus Curse rivals Bellatrix’s.
Imagine the seventh-year who laughs until he cries, thinking about the first-years who will fall asleep in History of Magic while their story is told.
Imagine the Muggleborn first-years left alive, if there are any: imagine what they think of the magical world, when their introduction to it was Death Eaters and being tortured – by their classmates –for having been born.
Imagine the students who went home to their parents (or guardians, or wards, or orphanages) and showed them what they’d learned: Dark curses, hexes, Unforgiveables; that Muggles are filth, animals, lesser. Who, yes, still can’t transfigure a match into a needle – but Mum, there’s a hex that can make you feel as though you’re being stabbed with thousands. (Don’t ask them how they know.)
Imagine the students who will never be able to see Hogwarts as home.
Imagine the students Hogwarts has left, when it starts up again – the lack of Muggleborns, blood-traitors, half-bloods, dead and gone – the lack of purebloods; the Ministry would have chucked everyone of age (and possibly just below) in Azkaban for Unforgiveables, wouldn’t they?
Imagine how few students there are left to teach; imagine how few teachers are left to teach them.
Imagine the students who can’t walk past a particular classroom, who can’t walk through a hallway, who can’t walk into the Great Hall without having a panic attack or breaking down. Imagine the school-wide discovery that the carriages aren’t horseless after all; that everyone, from the firsties to the teachers, can see Thestrals.
Imagine the memorials, the heaps of flowers and mementoes – in every other corner, hallway, classroom; every other step you take on the grounds.
Imagine the ghosts.
Imagine the students destroying Snape’s portrait, using the curses, hexes, even Fiendfyre they’ve been taught how to wield – it has to be restored nearly every week; Snape stays with Phineas Nigellus semi-permanently. (None of the other portraits will welcome him. His reasons do not excuse his conduct.)
Imagine the students unable to trust each other – everyone informed on everyone, your best friend might turn you in.
Imagine the guilt that everyone carries (it should have been me, it’s my fault s/he’s dead, I told on them, it’s all my fault), the students incapable of meeting each other’s eyes because it’s my fault your best friend, your sibling, your Housemate, your boy/girlfriend is dead.
Imagine the memorials piled high with the wands of the dead. Imagine the memorials piled high with the self-snapped wands of the living.
Imagine the students who are never able to produce a Patronus.
Imagine Boggarts being removed from the curriculum because Riddikulus is near impossible to grasp, even for the sixth- and seventh-years. Because their friends and families dead will never, ever be funny.
Imagine the students for whom magic feels tainted.
Imagine the students who leave the wixen world – hell, the students who leave Britain entirely, because there’s nothing left for them there.
Imagine the students who never use magic again.
(Image source.)
(From the mind of the wonderful lavenderpatil, a keen look at how students might be after war.)

thelethifoldwitch:

Imagine Hogwarts after the Battle, after the War, sure

But imagine Hogwarts’ students, after their year with the Carrows and Snape.

Imagine a tiny little first-year whose porcupine pincushions still have quills, but to whom Fiendfyre comes easily. The second-year who tried to go back, to fight; whose bravado got Professor Sinistra killed, as she pushed him out of the way of a Killing Curse. The third-year who perfectly brewed poisons, hands shaking, wishing for the courage to spike the Carrows’ cups. The fourth-year who throws away all of their teacups, their palmistry guidebooks, because what use is Divination if it didn’t see this coming? The fifth-year who can barely remember what O.W.L.S. are, let alone that she was supposed to take them. The sixth-year who can’t manage Lumos to save their life, but whose proficiency with the Cruciatus Curse rivals Bellatrix’s.

Imagine the seventh-year who laughs until he cries, thinking about the first-years who will fall asleep in History of Magic while their story is told.

Imagine the Muggleborn first-years left alive, if there are any: imagine what they think of the magical world, when their introduction to it was Death Eaters and being tortured by their classmates for having been born.

Imagine the students who went home to their parents (or guardians, or wards, or orphanages) and showed them what they’d learned: Dark curses, hexes, Unforgiveables; that Muggles are filth, animals, lesser. Who, yes, still can’t transfigure a match into a needle but Mum, there’s a hex that can make you feel as though you’re being stabbed with thousands. (Don’t ask them how they know.)

Imagine the students who will never be able to see Hogwarts as home.

Imagine the students Hogwarts has left, when it starts up again the lack of Muggleborns, blood-traitors, half-bloods, dead and gone the lack of purebloods; the Ministry would have chucked everyone of age (and possibly just below) in Azkaban for Unforgiveables, wouldn’t they?

Imagine how few students there are left to teach; imagine how few teachers are left to teach them.

Imagine the students who can’t walk past a particular classroom, who can’t walk through a hallway, who can’t walk into the Great Hall without having a panic attack or breaking down. Imagine the school-wide discovery that the carriages aren’t horseless after all; that everyone, from the firsties to the teachers, can see Thestrals.

Imagine the memorials, the heaps of flowers and mementoes in every other corner, hallway, classroom; every other step you take on the grounds.

Imagine the ghosts.

Imagine the students destroying Snape’s portrait, using the curses, hexes, even Fiendfyre they’ve been taught how to wield it has to be restored nearly every week; Snape stays with Phineas Nigellus semi-permanently. (None of the other portraits will welcome him. His reasons do not excuse his conduct.)

Imagine the students unable to trust each other everyone informed on everyone, your best friend might turn you in.

Imagine the guilt that everyone carries (it should have been me, it’s my fault s/he’s dead, I told on them, it’s all my fault), the students incapable of meeting each other’s eyes because it’s my fault your best friend, your sibling, your Housemate, your boy/girlfriend is dead.

Imagine the memorials piled high with the wands of the dead. Imagine the memorials piled high with the self-snapped wands of the living.

Imagine the students who are never able to produce a Patronus.

Imagine Boggarts being removed from the curriculum because Riddikulus is near impossible to grasp, even for the sixth- and seventh-years. Because their friends and families dead will never, ever be funny.

Imagine the students for whom magic feels tainted.

Imagine the students who leave the wixen world hell, the students who leave Britain entirely, because there’s nothing left for them there.

Imagine the students who never use magic again.

(Image source.)

(From the mind of the wonderful lavenderpatil, a keen look at how students might be after war.)

(via regionsofkindness)

1-2magulio:

your-bodyisbeautiful:

jlareine:

OMG LOVE THIS S/O to whoever made this

Reblogging again because it’s literal perfection

This is brilliant.

(via bowserfucker)

fiftyshadesofdebauchery:

kvotheunkvothe:

Animal fun fact: Chinchillas can’t get wet. Their fur retains too much water and will start to grow mold. So they bathe by rolling around in dust.

Chinchilla fun fact: Chinchillas have around 20 hairs per follicle; unlike humans who have 2-3 hairs per follicle. Because their fur is so dense, they cannot get fleas or other parasites. The bugs will suffocate in their fur.

Chinchilla fun fact: Petting one of those awesome little guys feels like touching a motherfucking cloud.

Chinchilla fun fact: Their newborn babies are like little pieces of fluffy popcorn. You could easily just toss a handful in your mouth.

Chinchilla fun fact: Don’t toss a handful into your mouth.

(via lucifers-ass-cheek)

kirschtein-relatable:

cedrikaprovencher:

landorus:

i feel like ‘restaurant’ shouldnt be spelled like that

les anglophones volent des mots à d’autres langues puis chialent parce qu’ils ne sont pas orthographiés comme ils le voudraient

IM GONNA REBLOG THIS POST UNTIL I DIE IM CRYING 

(via jontheangel)

dduane:

princehal9000:

winstons-and-enochs:

the guardian imagines what historical figures might look like today. my personal favourite is shakespeare, reincarnated as a shoreditch hipster.

but can you imagine how’d he’d sound a loft party? 
“I’m going to subvert the whole, like, narrative ideal by telling you upfront that these two, like, teenagers are going to fall in love and die, and then do it. So there’s no more hiding in the words. Stark, yeah? And then, I think I’ll hide a sonnet in their big scene together, right? It’ll be subversive, because only, you know, people who are up on sonnets will get it…..what? No, she’s thirteen—a little edgy but that’s art, man. Art.”


(snicker)

dduane:

princehal9000:

winstons-and-enochs:

the guardian imagines what historical figures might look like today. my personal favourite is shakespeare, reincarnated as a shoreditch hipster.

but can you imagine how’d he’d sound a loft party? 

“I’m going to subvert the whole, like, narrative ideal by telling you upfront that these two, like, teenagers are going to fall in love and die, and then do it. So there’s no more hiding in the words. Stark, yeah? And then, I think I’ll hide a sonnet in their big scene together, right? It’ll be subversive, because only, you know, people who are up on sonnets will get it…..what? No, she’s thirteen—a little edgy but that’s art, man. Art.”

(snicker)

If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also
Matt 5:39

This specifically refers to a hand striking the side of a person’s face, tells quite a different story when placed in it’s proper historical context. In Jesus’s time, striking someone of a lower class ( a servant) with the back of the hand was used to assert authority and dominance. If the persecuted person “turned the other cheek,” the discipliner was faced with a dilemma. The left hand was used for unclean purposes, so a back-hand strike on the opposite cheek would not be performed. Another alternative would be a slap with the open hand as a challenge or to punch the person, but this was seen as a statement of equality. Thus, by turning the other cheek the persecuted was in effect putting an end to the behavior or if the slapping continued the person would lawfully be deemed equal and have to be released as a servant/slave.   

(via thefullnessofthefaith)

THAT makes a lot more sense, now, thank you. 

(via guardianrock)

I can attest to the original poster’s comments. A few years back I took an intensive seminar on faith-based progressive activism, and we spent an entire unit discussing how many of Jesus’ instructions and stories were performative protests designed to shed light on and ridicule the oppressions of that time period as a way to emphasize the absurdity of the social hierarchy and give people the will and motivation to make changes for a more free and equal society.

For example, the next verse (Matthew 5:40) states “And if anyone wants to sue you and take your shirt, hand over your coat as well.” In that time period, men traditionally wore a shirt and a coat-like garment as their daily wear. To sue someone for their shirt was to put them in their place - suing was generally only performed to take care of outstanding debts, and to be sued for one’s shirt meant that the person was so destitute the only valuable thing they could repay with was their own clothing. However, many cultures at that time (including Hebrew peoples) had prohibitions bordering on taboo against public nudity, so for a sued man to surrender both his shirt and his coat was to turn the system on its head and symbolically state, in a very public forum, that “I have no money with which to repay this person, but they are so insistent on taking advantage of my poverty that I am leaving this hearing buck-ass naked. His greed is the cause of a shameful public spectacle.”

All of a sudden an action of power (suing someone for their shirt) becomes a powerful symbol of subversion and mockery, as the suing patron either accepts the coat (and therefore full responsibility as the cause of the other man’s shameful display) or desperately chases the protester around trying to return his clothes to him, making a fool of himself in front of his peers and the entire gathered community.

Additionally, the next verse (Matthew 5:41; “If anyone forces you to go one mile, go with them two miles.”) was a big middle finger to the Romans who had taken over Judea and were not seen as legitimate authority by the majority of the population there. Roman law stated that a centurion on the march could require a Jew (and possibly other civilians as well, although I don’t remember explicitly) to carry his pack at any time and for any reason for one mile along the road (and because of the importance of the Roman highway system in maintaining rule over the expansive empire, the roads tended to be very well ordered and marked), however hecould not require any service beyond the next mile marker. For a Jewish civilian to carry a centurion’s pack for an entire second mile was a way to subvert the authority of the occupying forces. If the civilian wouldn’t give the pack back at the end of the first mile, the centurion would either have to forcibly take it back or report the civilian to his commanding officer (both of which would result in discipline being taken against the soldier for breaking Roman law) or wait until the civilian volunteered to return the pack, giving the Judean native implicit power over the occupying Roman and completely subverting the power structure of the Empire. Can you imagine how demoralizing that must have been for the highly ordered Roman armies that patrolled the region?

Jesus was a pacifist, but his teachings were in no way passive. There’s a reason he was practically considered a terrorist by the reigning powers, and it wasn’t because he healed the sick and fed the hungry.

(via central-avenue)

(via captain-bbennet)

A lot of Doctor Who, tea, Sherlock, and cats.
I regret nothing.

view archive



Ask me anything

Submit