I’ve created these flyers for a school activist project where I bring more attention to the women in history that have been forgotten or ignored. This blog will be an extension of those flyers where I post longer biographies of these women and other bad-ass women like them. Too often women’s achievements have been pushed aside, either by others in their lives, or else by the historians who choose to ignore them. This tumblr is dedicated to celebrating them and bringing their achievements to light!
(via creativefangirlurl)
yo forreal though who was mad confused when they randomly decided to change up libby’s look from
to
halfway through jimmy neutron
like wtf was even up with that
didnt she figure out she was related to cleopatra in one episode and then wear her hair like that for the rest of the series because of it or was that just my jimmy neutron headcanon
I’m pretty sure the Cleopatra thing happened. unless we’ve both got the same headcanon.
(via creativefangirlurl)
idiosyncrasiesbetweenthepages:
It’s not your body anymore, when there is a baby present. Carry that child to term responsibly, or you’re a murderer.
No, I’m sorry, but that’s idiotic. It’s my body no matter what. If I wanted to get an abortion i’d get a fucking abortion regardless if that made me a murderer in someone who doesn’t have to actually carry a baby’s eyes. Birth control being more widely available is a serious issue. You’re stupid if you think every situation that leads to abortion makes someone a murderer. 11 year old gets raped by her cousin “No girl, you carry that child, you squeeze that out of your currently underdeveloped vagina. It’s the right thing to do. You’re a murderer if you don’t. Who cares that it’ll emotionally scar you for life and you’ll forever be reminded of it every time you look at your child or cousin. It’s the humane thing to do. If you were older you’d understand.” Shit, the same thing happened to a nine year old “Who the fuck cares if you’re only a baby yourself, you’re totally going to go through with this, I don’t care if it’ll nearly kill you or damage your insides. Raise that baby like a good non-murderer.”
Then we go overseas where it’s all “You’re pregnant out of wedlock, let’s stone you to death instead of giving you and others like you birth control or the option to abort. I’m sorry that we live in such a fucked up society that if I force myself on you and get pregnant you’re still the one who is shamed. Wait no I’m not, suck it up and deal with it”, “You’ve been told your baby is dying in the womb, no abortion for you girl, you have to keep it and die of blood poisoning. Too bad we could have avoided it if we were more understanding of a woman and her body”.
Open your eyes for God’s sake. You can’t even get pregnant, you’re a man and I get that you have a right to your unborn child and the potential for mental trauma. But you personally are not at risk of dying from pregnancy complications. You personally are not at risk of being shunned by your community and killed for carrying someone elses child. You personally are not having to carry the mental and physical scars of going through an unwanted pregnancy with your potential rapists child. You personally are not at risk of being considered used, dirty and unwanted because of something you could have avoided if proper health care was available to you. You aren’t personally responsible for raising a child (or person with mental capacity of a child) who also has a child because “Abortion is murder in all circumstances”.
It’s not your body either, and until you have to deal with everything above then you cannot tell a woman what she can and cannot do with her body.
My roommate, laying it the fuck down.
^^^^YES
If you don’t have a uterus you will never be personally affected and should not have a say in the matter.
If a person doesn’t want to be pregnant, they shouldn’t have to be. End of story. Make birth control and sex ed more available, make abortion legal and abortions will happen less frequently and more safely. Why is that so hard for people to understand?
And fuck you it’s not my body anymore! If I get pregnant I stop mattering? What? Am I no longer a person once there’s a baby in me? Is the baby all that matters? Am I suddenly just a vessel to hold it? How the fuck can you not see the issue there?
*slow clap for everyone* I fucking love you all damn straight
and…once again it is proved that tumblr houses some very intelligent people.
(Source: katzecatchat, via creativefangirlurl)
i’m just gonna leave this here as a reminder that “hitting bottom” doesn’t mean “staying on bottom for the rest of your life and dying as a piece of crap”
I will never, ever, not reblog this.
*huggles RDJ* Anyone on here who loves him, someone posted an amazing story about him when he was younger. I wish knew where the link was so I could share it. Instead, it’s just cut and pasted below. If I find the link, I’ll replace it with that.
I will also say that I have read this several times now and it still makes me cry.
“True story: His Name is Robert Downey Jr.” by Dana Reinhardt
I’m willing to go out on a limb here and guess that most stories of kindness do not begin with drug addicted celebrity bad boys.
Mine does.
His name is Robert Downey Jr.
You’ve probably heard of him. You may or may not be a fan, but I am, and I was in the early 90’s when this story takes place.
It was at a garden party for the ACLU of Southern California. My stepmother was the executive director, which is why I was in attendance without having to pay the $150 fee. It’s not that I don’t support the ACLU, it’s that I was barely twenty and had no money to speak of.
I was escorting my grandmother. There isn’t enough room in this essay to explain to you everything she was, I would need volumes, so for the sake of brevity I will tell you that she was beautiful even in her eighties, vain as the day is long, and whip smart, though her particular sort of intelligence did not encompass recognizing young celebrities.
I pointed out Robert Downey Jr. to her when he arrived, in a gorgeous cream-colored linen suit, with Sarah Jessica Parker on his arm. My grandmother shrugged, far more interested in piling her paper plate with various unidentifiable cheeses cut into cubes. He wasn’t Carey Grant or Gregory Peck. What did she care?
The afternoon’s main honoree was Ron Kovic, whose story of his time in the Vietnam War that had left him confined to a wheelchair had recently been immortalized in the Oliver Stone film Born on the Fourth of July.
I mention the wheelchair because it played an unwitting role in what happened next.
We made our way to our folding chairs in the garden with our paper plates and cubed cheeses and we watched my stepmother give one of her eloquent speeches and a plea for donations, and there must have been a few other people who spoke but I can’t remember who, and then Ron Kovic took the podium, and he was mesmerizing, and when it was all over we stood up to leave, and my grandmother tripped.
We’d been sitting in the front row (nepotism has its privileges) and when she tripped she fell smack into the wheelchair ramp that provided Ron Kovic with access to the stage. I didn’t know that wheelchair ramps have sharp edges, but they do, at least this one did, and it sliced her shin right open.
The volume of blood was staggering.
I’d like to be able to tell you that I raced into action; that I quickly took control of the situation, tending to my grandmother and calling for the ambulance that was so obviously needed, but I didn’t. I sat down and put my head between my knees because I thought I was going to faint. Did I mention the blood?
Luckily, somebody did take control of the situation, and that person was Robert Downey Jr.
He ordered someone to call an ambulance. Another to bring a glass of water. Another to fetch a blanket. He took off his gorgeous linen jacket and he rolled up his sleeves and he grabbed hold of my grandmother’s leg, and then he took that jacket that I’d assumed he’d taken off only to it keep out of the way, and he tied it around her wound. I watched the cream colored linen turn scarlet with her blood.
He told her not to worry. He told her it would be alright. He knew, instinctively, how to speak to her, how to distract her, how to play to her vanity. He held onto her calf and he whistled. He told her how stunning her legs were.
She said to him, to my humiliation: “My granddaughter tells me you’re a famous actor but I’ve never heard of you.”
He stayed with her until the ambulance came and then he walked alongside the stretcher holding her hand and telling her she was breaking his heart by leaving the party so early, just as they were getting to know each other. He waved to her as they closed the doors. “Don’t forget to call me, Silvia,” he said. “We’ll do lunch.”
He was a movie star, after all.
Believe it or not, I hurried into the ambulance without saying a word. I was too embarrassed and too shy to thank him.
We all have things we wish we’d said. Moments we’d like to return to and do differently. Rarely do we get that chance to make up for those times that words failed us. But I did. Many years later.
I should mention here that when Robert Downey Jr. was in prison for being a drug addict (which strikes me as absurd and cruel, but that’s the topic for a different essay), I thought of writing to him. Of reminding him of that day when he was humanity personified. When he was the best of what we each can be. When he was the kindest of strangers.
But I didn’t.
Some fifteen years after that garden party, ten years after my grandmother had died and five since he’d been released from prison, I saw him in a restaurant.
I grew up in Los Angeles where celebrity sightings are commonplace and where I was raised to respect people’s privacy and never bother someone while they’re out having a meal, but on this day I decided to abandon the code of the native Angeleno, and my own shyness, and I approached his table.
I said to him, “I don’t have any idea if you remember this…” and I told him the story.
He remembered.
“I just wanted to thank you,” I said. “And I wanted to tell you that it was simply the kindest act I’ve ever witnessed.”
He stood up and he took both of my hands in his and he looked into my eyes and he said, “You have absolutely no idea how much I needed to hear that today.”
Re-blogging because this is awesome and its RDJ!
(via creativefangirlurl)
The chained up Dalek Clara will eventually be the chained up Dalek in the episode ‘Dalek’ that Rose touches and makes too human. The Dalek eventually kills itself and splits its atoms (I think?) because it has become ‘too human.’ That’s why there’s so many Rose references.
this…i accept.
(via doctorwho)
…so if you’re going to hate Martha Jones- fine. I don’t really care. If you plan to go on a hate rant about her let’s get a few things straight- SHE WAS NOT A HELPLESS COMPANION THAT NEEDED HIM TO SAVE HER ASS! Have we got that clear?
She saved his ass more than he saved her. So don’t give me that bullshit.
She was in love with him while he was in love with Rose- your point? That happens all the time in RL too. So please shut up.
She fell in love with him so fast…and you’ve never had a crush on someone? Damn must be nice to never crush on someone so hard.
She hated/was jealous of Rose…let’s be clear- Martha didn’t give a rats ass about Rose Tyler. She was hurt/upset that it was implied she was not as good as Rose. That she was seen in Rose’s shadow. Martha didn’t care about Rose, she was upset/hurt that her own achievements weren’t being acknowledged by the Doctor.
-end rant-
Kickass Ladies of Television - Martha Jones
“Women might train to be doctors, but hardly a scivvy and hardly one of your colour.”
“Oh, d’you think? Bones of the hand. Carpal bones, proximal row: scaphoid, lunate, triquetral, pisiform. Distal row: trapezium, trapezoid, capitate, hamate. Then the metacarpal bones extending in three distinct phalanges: proximal, middle, distal.”
And that is how you own a bigoted person.
(via darvillspond)
obviously the Dicken’s novel
(Source: drunkonstephen, via creativefangirlurl)
XD
(Source: makemestfu, via losttoysintheattic)
