Yulia Viktorovna Vins, or Julia Vins, as she is known in the online bodybuilding and powerlifting communities, is a 17-year old Russian powerlifter who recently shot to Internet fame after a series of photos showing her doll-like face and impressive physique went viral.
STRENGTH IS NOT UNFEMININE
She could probably easily chuck me across the room if she so felt like it. That would be an honor.
A young Pakistani musician treats the guitar as percussion — with surprisingly shimmering results.
That was one of the most amazing things I’ve seen in a very long time. This guy is a genius. And there’s something so fascinating about how meek and unsure of himself he seems when he speaks, and how incredibly confident and powerful he becomes when he plays.
#if you don’t think Natasha ‘I published all my criminal wrongdoings to save the world’#’potentially earning myself a lifetime in jail or a death sentence in multiple countires’#’and holding my own against gods and superhumans because shit needs to get done’ Romanoff#is a Big Damn Hero let me explain you a thing (x)
Think about the first name you were ever called,
and then think how long it took until
you got called a pussy
or a slut,
or a bitch,
or a whore,
all of which are words that fall too close to ‘girl.’
Think about the first time you got called a ‘girl’
and they said it with a sneer.
Like it was a bad thing.
For a boy, it is the lowest degradation to get called a girl.
For a girl, it is the lowest degradation to get called a girl.
Remember, black widow spiders and female praying mantises eat their partners after intercourse.
Remember, it’s the lionesses who hunt.
They come back with bloody muzzles, dragging bloated carcasses as the alpha lion strides around with his mane puffing out.
Remember, it’s only the female mosquitoes who drink blood.
We’re the ones who do the necessary work, dirty our hands,
fuck or fight or both.
We’re often the smaller sex, which makes us a harder target
as we slink close and sink our teeth in.
Remember: we’re deadly.
You should be proud to be called a girl.
I find rage to be an interesting feeling - both emotionally and physically.
Emotionally, it feel rather simple and pure - it is my soul screaming at something so wrong it can’t find words.
Physically, it’s so strange and complicated. My stomach drops; my heart suddenly feels like it is in my throat rather than my chest. My jaw slams shut and my tense in an unusual way. I feel frozen in my belly but my chest is hot and my head is surprisingly clear.
Rage isn’t an emotion I deal with particularly well - it always catches me off guard, popping up unexpectedly on occasion at things that shouldn’t bother me (not to this extent, anyway). Yet, here I am in the aftermath: trying to breath deeply, reminding myself every 15 seconds to unclench my jaw while I feel the very beginnings of migraine settle into my brow.