(Source: change.org, via pinkmice)
I’m tired of being told everything I wear is “slutty”, tight fitting, or just looking for attention etc etc when that is bull. I just have big breasts, which are impossible to hide on account of they stick out from my body. Of course, it doesn’t matter what you wear “sexy” or not. No one ever “asks for it”. Unless that “it” is respect.
My boobs aren’t big, but seriously. Quit blaming victims for what appens to them. No one asks for it, and if you think they do then you’re an ignorant asshat.
I used to work at a department store and I had this asshole manager who kept writing me up for ‘dressing inappropriately’. I wear a 38G bra, and as this illustration shows, my breasts are also near to impossible to hide. I would wear a crew neck top with dress slacks and a cardigan, and still get written up. The guy they replaced him with didn’t ever write me up because he loved looking down women’s blouses at the store. He eventually assaulted my friend who worked there as well, because she was ‘coming on to him’ in the stock room. He specifically made her go with him to restock some lamps (Dale-Tiffany, leaded stained glass. heavy ass motherfuckers), this little 5’2”, 17 year old girl, instead of one of the adult men whose job it was to do such things. Really, it was because she was a gorgeous Puerto Rican with a hot body and he felt entitled to help himself because her curves were impossible to hide.
(via pepperminteyecandy)
![There is a trend in media for strong women who are outwardly so. They are witty, snarky, toned, and know how to hold a gun. The role model being pushed is that of the ultimate woman. It’s progress – I wouldn’t trade River Song for a hundred people from Hollywood’s past – but there’s a silent repercussion, a fortification of the idea that women have to be twice as accomplished to be considered half as good, to deserve this screen time at all. They are always extraordinary, always the one in a million. Importantly, there’s no variety – only one mould to fit ourselves into. A great mould, yes, but not if you don’t fit into it.
Molly Hooper is different. Molly Hooper is kind, thoughtful, always smiling, and intelligent in a way that you don’t really notice until you remember she’s a pathologist. She asks after people and cares about the answers, remembers little details because everything someone says is important. She probably still remembers how Sherlock likes his coffee. Her blog is pink, covered in kittens, and uses Comic Sans. She blunders her way through speaking, has serious foot-in-mouth syndrome, and can’t put on a pair of plastic gloves without making faces. She is one of the strongest women I have ever seen.
She puts up with what can only be described as “total bullshit.” You might say that makes her a bit of a doormat, but for people like Molly (like me), who like kindness and hate conflict, it takes serious guts to call someone on their behaviour and say you’re hurting me. It takes guts to carry that kind of unrequited love and still first and foremost be a friend, to ask what do you need? Molly Hooper makes Sherlock Holmes, a man who can barely articulate anything beyond the scientific, try to be kinder. In the end, Molly isn’t the woman who counts [like Irene Adler], but the friend.
The Real Woman: Why Molly Hooper Is The One Who Counts
She always breaks my heart, especially in this scene.](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lyvv413PnC1qitmgyo1_250.gif)
There is a trend in media for strong women who are outwardly so. They are witty, snarky, toned, and know how to hold a gun. The role model being pushed is that of the ultimate woman. It’s progress – I wouldn’t trade River Song for a hundred people from Hollywood’s past – but there’s a silent repercussion, a fortification of the idea that women have to be twice as accomplished to be considered half as good, to deserve this screen time at all. They are always extraordinary, always the one in a million. Importantly, there’s no variety – only one mould to fit ourselves into. A great mould, yes, but not if you don’t fit into it.
Molly Hooper is different. Molly Hooper is kind, thoughtful, always smiling, and intelligent in a way that you don’t really notice until you remember she’s a pathologist. She asks after people and cares about the answers, remembers little details because everything someone says is important. She probably still remembers how Sherlock likes his coffee. Her blog is pink, covered in kittens, and uses Comic Sans. She blunders her way through speaking, has serious foot-in-mouth syndrome, and can’t put on a pair of plastic gloves without making faces. She is one of the strongest women I have ever seen.
She puts up with what can only be described as “total bullshit.” You might say that makes her a bit of a doormat, but for people like Molly (like me), who like kindness and hate conflict, it takes serious guts to call someone on their behaviour and say you’re hurting me. It takes guts to carry that kind of unrequited love and still first and foremost be a friend, to ask what do you need? Molly Hooper makes Sherlock Holmes, a man who can barely articulate anything beyond the scientific, try to be kinder. In the end, Molly isn’t the woman who counts [like Irene Adler], but the friend.
The Real Woman: Why Molly Hooper Is The One Who Counts
She always breaks my heart, especially in this scene.
(Source: wholockianmisfit, via lipstick-feminists)
Dorian Solot, I Love Female Orgasm: An Extraordinary Orgasm Guide. (via feministhistorian)
fix’d by emma.
(via neonmedusa)
(Source: historicalslut, via neonmedusa)
