stall face

Secret Deodorant Debuts Groundbreaking Transgender Ad

A new deodorant commercial released this week perfectly captures the anxiety that some transgender people face while having to navigate public restrooms.

The latest commercial in the Secret #Stress Test ad campaign features a young transgender person working up the courage to leave the bathroom stall and face other women in a public restroom. The tagline reads, “Dana finds courage to show there’s no wrong way to be a woman.”

Read more.

crybbydemon  asked:

I am constantly running into poles/walls/doorways and falling off chairs and somehow no one else realises how clumsy I am! I opened the door to a bathroom stall directly into my face around lunch time. Unbelievably enough no one noticed lol. I've also walked into quicksand if that counts?

Andy: You’ve walked into quicksand?!?!

My secret: the reason I’m so short is that I have called down the stairs so many time my legs were like “Bruh if we get any longer, you’ll die”

Marilyn is not a great dancer and she knows it. The motivation is a terrible fear of failure. She is a great star without the background or experience. She is afraid and insecure. That’s why she is late. That’s why she stalls. She is always looking for more time - a hem out of line, a mussed hair, a scene to discuss, anything to stall facing the specter, the terrible thing of doing something for which she feels inadequate. — Jack Cole ( choreographer on Let’s Make Love)

the first time bones receives a legitimate compliment from spock he doesn’t even notice it for several seconds. the vulcan is straight-faced and blunt as ever, seemingly casually pointing out that he’s the best surgeon in the fleet

he’s so used to the not-so-indirect jabs and insults that he’s ready to bite something back at him and it takes him a moment to go hold on a damn moment. spock’s just paid him a compliment and suddenly he’s forgotten how to react to him

his brain stalls and his face has gone completely blank and spock momentarily entertains the illogical idea that he’s maybe broken the cmo

they kind of stand there until bones slowly grinds back into motion, mouth briefly moving soundlessly until his brain spits something out, which is a strangled “you’re a real flatterer, huh, spock”

he quickly makes a tactical retreat all the way to his office after that and as soon as he’s through the doors chapel asks him why he looks like he just got hit with a stun blast

all he can manage is a strange flapping motion with his hand before collapsing in his chair to stare blankly at the opposite wall and wonder what the hell just happened

30 Day OTP Challenge: Dirty

Specifically made with fenhawke in mind and to encourage my filthy friends, this is for artists and fanfiction writers alike. Happy smutting!

1 ] Someone’s hanging from the ceiling.
2 ] By the bed, not on it.
3 ] There’s goo.
4 ] We were cuddling, and it got too intense.
5 ] Show and tell, but not show and touch.
6 ] Phone sex.
7 ] In the kitchen.
8 ] Confined space (hiding, stuck in closet, now or never and the only place we could find was this bathroom stall).
9 ] Orgasm faces.
10 ] That’s gonna leave a mark.
11 ] Your OTP’s nudes.
12 ] There’s so much leather. Where did all of this leather come from?
13 ] If you drop me in this shower, then I swear to God.
14 ] If you stop, then I also swear to God. Please. Don’t stop.
15 ] Riding.
16 ] We wanted to roleplay and the costumes we ordered offline are unbelievably tacky, but we tried them on anyway, and now we’re into it.
17 ] Did I say you could?
18 ] Missionary with the lights off solely for procreation. Remember. God is watching.
19 ] “Studying" in a dorm room while the roommate is out.
20 ] I’m pretty sure this is a public place.
21 ] “Goodbye" or “we’re divorcing” sex.
22 ] We’re making a sex tape!
23 ] This was supposed to be hot. Stop making me laugh.
24 ] “Draw me like one of your French girls.”
25 ] We were so eager we couldn’t even get all of our clothes off.
26 ] That sure is an entire box of toys beneath your bed.
27 ] Fill as many holes as you can.
28 ] Thigh highs.
29 ] Netflix and chill.
30 ] Anything — anything your dirty little heart desires.

Imagine: After being kidnapped by a recent unsub, you have began taking drugs to numb your memories. Spence catches you in the act.

Your body trembles as you grip a needle in your right hand, pulling the belt fastened securely around your left arm even tighter, causing a few veins to rise to the surface of your skin. Taking a deep breath, you plunge the needle into your arm, placing your thumb on the top of the needle, about to inject the foul mixture of harsh chemicals into your body when you hear a soft voice calling your name. You rip the needle out of your arm, scrambling to your feet in the small bathroom stall. You repeat the same action with your belt, placing it securely around your waist.

“Are you alright?” the gentle voice asks, concern laced in his voice. You flush the toilet behind you, taking a deep breath to steady your breath. 

“Yeah!” you call out, gathering yourself before you unlock the stall. You come face to face with Spencer Reid, a fellow colleague, and friend, of yours. “Uh Spence..” you smile, lightening the mood, “I think you’re in the wrong bathroom." 

"Hotch is ready to give the profile. What are you doing?” he asks, his voice never faltering, “Why are you lying to me?" 

"Lying? About what?” you shrug, stepping past the worried profiler to wash your hands. 

“About being fine.” he states, crossing his arms, “You told me you were fine." 

"I am fine.” you insist, refusing to meet his big brown eyes.

“Please stop lying to me.” he begs you, “Please be honest with me. You can talk to me." 

"I don’t know what you’re talking about." 

"I recognize the signs.” he explains, uncrossing his arms and meeting your eyes once again, “The isolation,the irritation, the lack of colour in your face. You aren’t fine, you’re killing yourself. What are you taking?" 

"Nothing.” you insist, biting your lip nervously and ripping your eyes from his. 

“You’re lying again.” he pouts, “Please talk to me." You contemplate lying to him for a moment, calling him crazy and running out of the room. "I know how you’re feeling right now, trust me, I know. You think that by hurting yourself like this, you will forget about what happened to you. You think that injecting yourself with a combination of chemicals is the only way to reduce the pain. I did too. But it isn’t. I just want you to know that you aren’t alone in this. I’m here for you." 

Your breath hitches in your throat as you peer up at him, teary eyed. His eyes immediately soften as he studies the pain in your once bright eyes. 

"Can you just hold me?” you whimper, a silent tear rolling down your cheek. 

Spencer takes a few steps towards you, wrapping his long arms around your tiny body. You begin to sob into his chest as he rubs your back soothingly. 

“We’ll get through this.” he whispers into your hair as he leans down to kiss you on top of your head, “I promise.”

mischiefandmystics  asked:



Zaoka Aloka examined the meagre amount of coin in his hand as he wandered Hawkers alley, his Aetherical formed Familiar, the Carbuncle known as Aquamarine, named after the gemstone from which it was summoned, followed closely behind, giving many a perplexed passer by a sour look of disapproval.

  ‘S’got ter be special…’ the Lalafellen youth uttered to himself in a nervous yet jolly tone, as his red eyes glanced from one stall to the next, scrutinising the wares that were currently on offer until he finally arrived at a small flower stall, tucked away in the corner of the alley, manned by a single Goblin, currently in the process of haggling with a prospective buyer. It was then that he spotted it, hanging from the awning of the stall. Zaokas face lit up in an instant and he hurried over to the pedlars stall, eyes fixed on the sole remaining garland, white, blue and red flowers woven between one another in a fashion that he could only describe as “bonny”. 

It would make the perfect Nameday gift for the mother he had not seen in over an entire Summer. He had been too ashamed to show his face around his home after the incident with his eldest Brother, Nalaji Nolaji. The urgings of his Master, Ormr Ironmane, fell on deaf ears as the young Lalafell stubbornly refused to listen. Nor would he answer the summons of his surviving siblings. Seeking to secret himself away from the rest of the world in his Masters study, lost in various tomes on medical procedures and chirurgical practices.

As time went on, Zaoka began to feel an ever increasing urge to come home to the woman who gave him life and who nurtured him all throughout his early Summers. It was then that he decided he would make his return to her, gift in hand, not only as a means to celebrate his Mothers nameday, but to apologise to her for hiding himself all this time.

Barley able to contain his excitement he pointed out the Garland to the Goblin Merchant, handing over all of the coin he had earned over the past few Moons during his apprenticeship. When the soon-to-be gift was handed over to him, he spun round on his heels and left Hawkers Alley as fast as he could, his Aquamarine Carbuncle struggling to keep up and letting out “meep”-ing sounds in protest as it tried to keep up. The pair navigated the winding, serpentine streets of Limsa Lominsa, before finally arriving at the docks where his family was housed.

Zaoka could make out the form of his master, Ormr Ironmane standing beside his father, Oruma Taruma, the latter of which appeared to be staring blankly into space. Zaoka assumed that he was most likley drunk, as was his usual state of being when he wasn’t working the docks or one of his latest cons, though the presence of his master was a queer occurance indeed. Perhaps he was here to wish his Mother a happy namesday? Zaoka thought to himself as he approached the two. 

It was then that his Father looked in his direction, eyes glassy, his expression one of confusion before turning to recognition, but there was no joy to be found in it. Ormr turned to face the direction that the elder Lalafell was looking at and he looked to the ground awkwardly as soon as he set eyes on his Apprentice. With a long, drawn out sigh, he made his way towards the Lalafellin youth, slowly and deliberately, stopping but a few ilms from him only to kneel down and bring himself level with him.
 ‘Zaoka..” He began before pausing, his aged features conflicted as he was clearly struggling with what to say next.

It was strange. Zaoka could see the Master Arcanists mouth move, forming the shapes of words, but he could hear no sounds. Zaokas eyes drifted from Highlander to the front door of his childhood home. He felt his legs begin to move of their own accord as he entered the abode, though he felt as though he had no weight to him. It didn’t take him long to reach the room in which his parents slept, though to the young Lalafell, it felt much longer. He reached out towards the door gingerly before pushing it open. The hinges letting out a tortured whine in protest, piercing the silence of the house. It was then that Zaoka saw her. Pepeca Peca, mother of four and loving wife, lay in her bed. Her features, normally filled with a comforting warmth, were waxen and peaceful. Zaoka approached the still form of his mother, his legs becoming leaden as he drew closer. Almost on instinct he reached out for her and shook her gently as if trying to wake her from some deep slumber. When no response was forth coming, the realisation of what was going on finally hit him, and he collapsed to his knees like a puppet that had been cut from its strings. He felt something press against his leg gently and his gaze drifted to the Aquamarine Carbuncle by his side, its features, which would normally be dour, were instead filled with concern and in that instant Zaoka let out a tortured cry before wrapping his arms around the Carbuncle, and began to mourn the loss of the mother he so adored.

Old lady at the tobacco stall made this cheeky face and was like ‘hey you want ‘cigarettes?! Duty free!’ and I was like um yeah and then she pulled out this bad boy and it was only $14.50 (that’s cheap for my foreign followers) she passed them to me, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, covering the packet with her hand, It felt like I was buying drugs. Couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw the blue clout of the packet. She must’ve just got back from South Korea. And that’s how cigarette laws and a branded sky blue pack of camel lights made me feel like it was 1999.

So I went ahead and transcribed that big paragraph of Theban from “Phonogram: IG #3″...


That thing is me. There comes a point where you realise if you’re to be objectified no matter what you do, you may as choose what object you want to be. So many options! An endless department stall of faces, all for you, all as fake. Where do you go? What thing do you become? Post-escape Hill chose hers and wears it well. Hill made hers. Note that “Hill”. Like Dylan or Costello or all those artists who seem aimed at posterity rather than anything you may feel, she calls out for the surname. I want to disrespect. I want to say “Loz.” That urge curls inside me and I stomp it down. “You wonder why women hate men?” Flip that – “You wonder why women hate women?” Instead I recognise her as a kindred spirit. Authenticity is fakery, the most elegant, seamless mask, and the one that shatters easiest. Mine will be stronger. I cannot risk it shattering, and I run my fingers along the shelves and look for the most plastic, wondering to myself about The Re-education Of Claire, and I watch the video and see society and art across time and can almost imagine a wink.


kc + getting their hands dirty

If your idea of flirting is taking someone’s phone and refusing to give it back, just know that it isn’t cute, it’s downright annoying as fuck. Bonus annoying points if you think it’s funny and cute to lock them out of their phone or go through their pictures and/or texts while they “jokingly” yell at you to stop. 50 points to gryffindor if you get all defensive when they actually show they’re irritated and demand their phone back.

So I was gonna put this under a Read More like I usually do with my personal stuff, but this one is kinda important, so I’m gonna keep it like this (but I’ll be quick, promise)

Basically, like a few of you know (and nobody was surprised) I’m going to be transitioning! Not straight away, but in the sense that I’ve started telling people, and I’m halfway through sessions with the shrink, and since you guys are basically family, I’m telling you here :) I know, it’s been a long time coming, but after 7 months of what-is-wrong-with-me-is-this-normal-why-am-i-so-sad I think I have the beginnings of an answer. I know I’m on the first rung of the BE A MAN ladder, so it’s exciting and scary and occasionally overwhelming, but I wanted to tell my family before I go tell my IRL family.


dis mah face

if look like boy, smell like boy, says is boy, then is a boy.