Mornië illumë na mahtanna calima
stonedhungrycat:

imsorryimovedtoaidanturnerspants:

looksomewhereelse:

I was wearing this outfit today to a grocery store when I made a baby smile. I was wearing this outfit today when I threw my head back and laughed, when I sang in the car with my family, when I filled it with yummy food to keep it healthy.
I was wearing this outfit today to a grocery store when I overheard a woman telling her young daughter who was pointing and laughing that I would get what’s coming to me. I was wearing this outfit today when a woman told a man that it was the wrong kind of attention and that I was asking for someone to get me. I was wearing this outfit today when the same man stared at my body longingly and then agreed with the woman that I was asking for an attack.
I was not wearing this outfit when I was raped. I was wearing a size XXL hoodie and a pair of my mom’s sweatpants, much to the shock of the friend I told after, who asked what she’d been taught to ask: “What were you wearing?”. I feel so terrible for the little girl whose mother was teaching her at the grocery store that she deserved to be assaulted if she dressed comfortably for the weather, which was climbing above 80 degrees, or for an injury, which called for a brace and a boot that doesn’t allow room for long pants, or for her body, because it’s hers and she can put on it what she damn well pleases. I feel terrible for the man who will look me up and down as though I was a 5 for $20 steak deal he might purchase and will immediately after speak to a presumable stranger about the violent fate I deserved. I feel terrible for the woman with fabulous hair who feels she can express herself but refuses to let me do the same.
Summer is coming up. It’s hot outside. I have an injured ankle, and a tight boot and brace to wear on one leg. I will not dress uncomfortably to protect complete strangers who are so offended by an expanse of skin that they console themselves by predicting my next rape.
Stop perpetuating slut-shaming and thus perpetuating a culture of excused rape. Stop perpetuating slut-shaming and thus perpetuating a culture of insecurity, inherent shame, and body image distortion which can cause an innumerable amount of incredibly dark issues nearly impossible to overcome.
My body is mine, and I love it. It is the house I live in, with which I will someday create a family, with which I run and dance and hold the strong lungs I use to sing. I refuse to be ashamed of it for any reason, especially the reason being that this culture which glorifies sex and punishes those who have it, which encourages being sexy and then preaches that sexy girls ask for attack, has taught its people that my stomach is a sin.
Please think twice this summer before you choose to say anything at all to or about anyone who wears something they choose to wear. Please think twice before you say that a girl deserves to be raped for wearing shorts. Please try and catch yourself when you think things like that. Please be courteous and gentle and loving, and spend your effort tackling real problems. My stomach and legs are not a real problem.

This. Spread this like wild fire.

Amen

stonedhungrycat:

imsorryimovedtoaidanturnerspants:

looksomewhereelse:

I was wearing this outfit today to a grocery store when I made a baby smile. I was wearing this outfit today when I threw my head back and laughed, when I sang in the car with my family, when I filled it with yummy food to keep it healthy.

I was wearing this outfit today to a grocery store when I overheard a woman telling her young daughter who was pointing and laughing that I would get what’s coming to me. I was wearing this outfit today when a woman told a man that it was the wrong kind of attention and that I was asking for someone to get me. I was wearing this outfit today when the same man stared at my body longingly and then agreed with the woman that I was asking for an attack.

I was not wearing this outfit when I was raped. I was wearing a size XXL hoodie and a pair of my mom’s sweatpants, much to the shock of the friend I told after, who asked what she’d been taught to ask: “What were you wearing?”. I feel so terrible for the little girl whose mother was teaching her at the grocery store that she deserved to be assaulted if she dressed comfortably for the weather, which was climbing above 80 degrees, or for an injury, which called for a brace and a boot that doesn’t allow room for long pants, or for her body, because it’s hers and she can put on it what she damn well pleases. I feel terrible for the man who will look me up and down as though I was a 5 for $20 steak deal he might purchase and will immediately after speak to a presumable stranger about the violent fate I deserved. I feel terrible for the woman with fabulous hair who feels she can express herself but refuses to let me do the same.

Summer is coming up. It’s hot outside. I have an injured ankle, and a tight boot and brace to wear on one leg. I will not dress uncomfortably to protect complete strangers who are so offended by an expanse of skin that they console themselves by predicting my next rape.

Stop perpetuating slut-shaming and thus perpetuating a culture of excused rape. Stop perpetuating slut-shaming and thus perpetuating a culture of insecurity, inherent shame, and body image distortion which can cause an innumerable amount of incredibly dark issues nearly impossible to overcome.

My body is mine, and I love it. It is the house I live in, with which I will someday create a family, with which I run and dance and hold the strong lungs I use to sing. I refuse to be ashamed of it for any reason, especially the reason being that this culture which glorifies sex and punishes those who have it, which encourages being sexy and then preaches that sexy girls ask for attack, has taught its people that my stomach is a sin.

Please think twice this summer before you choose to say anything at all to or about anyone who wears something they choose to wear. Please think twice before you say that a girl deserves to be raped for wearing shorts. Please try and catch yourself when you think things like that. Please be courteous and gentle and loving, and spend your effort tackling real problems. My stomach and legs are not a real problem.

This. Spread this like wild fire.

Amen

I swear to god I will lose my mind if I hear the “sex sells” fallacy one more time. Sex does not sell. If sex sold, we would see penises where we see boobs. Naked men would be on everything that naked women are on. Sex isn’t what they’re selling you. They’re selling you an impossible, pornographically fueled misogynistic idea of the perfect woman.

(via menstruate)

FUCKING THANK YOU

(via fozmeadows)

soulrevision:

[For more on social justice, follow me on Instagram: soulrevision , Tumblr: soulrevision , Facebook: soulrevision , Twitter: soulrevision]

There was a lot of talk today about the media’s failed coverage [read: non-coverage] of the 234 Nigerian girls, thus came the #234WhiteGirls hashtag.

No, none of us wants any white girls to go missing. We just want these Nigerian girls to get the same amount of coverage that white girls get (or would get), because EVERY girl matters.

#BRINGBACKOURGIRLS

#every woman should have a butterfly knife  #and just play with it while dudes ask her dumb things (via leupagus)

I actually did this once, talking to a jackass while sharpening/playing with my pocketknife and staring at him all creepy-like. It was my badass moment of the month.

tmi-tuesday:

It’s that time again! It’s what time, you ask? Why, it’s time for my IRL friends to look at me in horror and exclaim, “R.C., you spent a ridiculous amount of your own money on sex paraphernalia and you’re not even keeping any of it?! You’re crazy!” 

I am. 

I am crazy. 

CRAZY ABOUT SPREADING JOY LIKE SOME KIND OF SEX TOY SANTA, THAT IS.

It’s October, which means it’s Orgasm Awareness Month (idk I made that up last year and I’m sticking to it), which means…

Wait for it.

… It’s time for the second annual TMI Tuesday Sex Toy Giveaway! 

Last year, I gave away about $150 in sex paraphernalia and this year I’ve upped the ante. I’m very excited about this year’s haul. Are you ready for this jelly? Okay, here we go.

1 Grand Prize winner will receive:

- 1 Le Reve Femme Vibe (R.C.’s personal favorite)
- 1 Thunderbird Dual Action Vibrator
- 1 Doc Johnson Sliders Anal Vibrator
- 1 Pipedream Beginner’s Penetrix Strap-On with Dildo
- 1 Mini-Miracle Wand (like the Hitachi wand, only smaller)
- 1 Tenga Egg (penis masturbator)
- 1 set of Ben Wa Balls
- 1 bottle of spray anti-bacterial toy cleanser
- 1 bottle of Vlube water-based, glycerin-free, ultra-sensitive lubricant
- 1 25-pack of Crown Skinless Skin Condoms (voted #1 Best Condom by condomdepot.com 12 years in a row!)
- 1 12-pack of Glyde Sheer dams in assorted flavors
- 1 storage box
- 1 4-pack of AA batteries
- 1 4-pack of AAA batteries
- 1 $25 Amazon.com gift card

2 Runners-up will receive:

- 1 Sexology Bullet (each)


RULES:

All you have to do is reblog this ONCE. You can like this post all you want, but likes will not be counted. Reblogging more than once will nothelp your chances—let’s keep this fair. No need to follow me, either (unless you want to!). This is pure charity. The best kind of charity. The orgasm charity. 

YOU MUST BE 18 OR OLDER TO PARTICIPATE. I will not have angry parents suing me or coming after me in the night.

The contest will close on November 12th. Got that? Five weeks from today (Oct 8) I will choose a winner at random (by compiling everyone’s Tumblr handle, assigning each one a number, and using a random number generator) and send their care package of awesome just in time for the holidays! 

I will ship anywhere. Europe, Asia, Gallifrey — wherever. This is not limited to US/North America.

Please share this with all your followers and friends! Get ‘em in on the fun. 

RECAP:

- Over $250 of toys, lube, cleanser, condoms/dams, and an Amazon.com gift card for one lucky winner
- 1 Sexology Bullet to two runners-up
- Contest ends November 12th, 2013
- Must be 18+ (or the legal age in your country)
- Only one reblog is counted
- All winners will be chosen at random

That pretty much covers it. So, get to reblogging and signal boosting, and I’ll see you all in a month’s time with our winners.

GOOD LUCK!

(Any questions regarding this giveaway can be directed here. Please note: Not everything that is included in the grand prize is shown in the above image.)


There are things that machines will never do. They cannot possess faith - they cannot commune with God… They cannot appreciate beauty - they cannot create art. If they ever learn these things, they won’t have to destroy us. They’ll be us. 



…is this Summer Glau?!?!Night = Made.
There are things that machines will never do. They cannot possess faith - they cannot commune with God… They cannot appreciate beauty - they cannot create art. If they ever learn these things, they won’t have to destroy us. They’ll be us.

…is this Summer Glau?!?!

Night = Made.

trappe:

so Spencer

his mother is a schizophrenic

his father is a workaholic

he was brutally kidnapped and tortured and given dilaudid

his mentor leaves because of his own emotional/mental break

Prentiss’s pseudo-death features him admitting that he went to her house for—fuck, and I quote, “ten weeks,…

Western Shore

The sun was setting, and 

I knew it meant the end. 

No way this unblemished light 

could remain, and fight 

the shadows on a 

salt-bare shoreline, as a 

final tide rolled out. 

I seemed to sense a moisture 

in the air, as of tears, as 

of sorrow. This one, infinitesimal 

moment, a creation in its own, 

charmed, somehow, and I knew it

would never be recaptured. 

The world reduced to its 

most miniature elements, 

like the mountains will one day 

become a handful

of sea-smooth pebbles:

after the soaring, only the 

purest parts remain. There was 

a milky whiteness to the sand, 

a blinding, radiant brilliance on 

the final night of red sunset, 

truest possible rendering of life: 

always an ending, 

always a beginning, 

always and ever a falling of light. 

I clutched it to my breast, 

one last glorious hope on the 

last night, last sun falling 

into a gem-red sea. I would 

carry this ending day into Eternity, 

short and abandoned as it might 

be, a bastion of joy against

sadness, of unmitigated 

hope against despair. 

 

I will hold it evermore

safe, shattering, vulnerable 

in my embrace. I will 

sail on the ending tide of 

the ending setting sun. 

 

Darkness is ever but a striving toward light.