I need to prove a point to my homophobic friend.I’m writing down the urls of everyone who reblogs this in a notebook, and will present it to my friend when it is sufficiently full.
- Your real name:
- your detective name (favourite colour and favourite animal):
- your soap opera name (middle name and street you live on):
- your star wars name (first three letters of last name, first two of middle): Garma
- superhero name (color of your shirt, first item to your immediate left): Blue Desk
- goth name (black and one of your pets):
The last picture is the face of fear.
I’m a grade 12 in high school who just happens to wear a K-cup bra. I live a fairly normal high school existence, except for the fact that my bust size often gets me in trouble with teachers, especially female teachers.
Now, my school has a uniform that involves a blouse. Being a busty person, I need to undo three buttons in order to have it fit right without it being undone to below my breasts. Even then, it’s a bit of a stretch. There is literally no way to disguise my breasts. Even when I’ve bound them for crossplay, they still look like really large pectoral muscles. I’m also really confident with my body, so I don’t see why I should have to hide what my body looks like at school.
So you can imagine how angry it makes me when a teacher pulls me aside and whispers “you need to do your top up,” as if my life depended on it.
“You know what? You need to mind your own business,” is what I want to say.
Most of my bras don’t push my breasts together that much, anyway, so most of the time, you’ll see my sternum before any cleavage. If you’re so offended by a bone that protects the heart or a whopping whole inch of two bags of fat on either side of it, then I suggest you get a life.
The way the neckline of my blouse is cut also covers the centre of my bra (most of the time), and I have to either spread it apart (like in the picture), sit or kneel below someone, or lean forward for anyone to actually see it.
Now, notice the little white bow right at the top of the bra’s centre in the picture. Most bras have some little ornamentation there, like a bow or a crystal.
I think that’s there in case the bra accidentally peeks out from a shirt or dress; to make it look pretty as opposed to something with a purely industrial purpose. It almost glorifies the sternum and the rest of the bra, which is how I think every inch of someone’s body should be treated.
Bras don’t see anything offensive about a bone that shields the heart.
Bras are smarter than people.
One of my cousins hit puberty in the second grade.
She had an hourglass figure by the time she entered middle school.
Her first boyfriend thought she was just a bigger girl until the first time they went swimming together, because she’d gotten into the habit of wearing huge sweaters- even in the middle of summer, which can get hot enough to warrant heatstroke warnings- to try to disguise her chest.
This is because everywhere she turned, she was painted as a deviant, sexually promiscuous and attention-seeking youth. She started babysitting for a family friend when she was twelve, and grown women stared in open disapproval when she took the little boy out in his stroller for some fresh air. Men started catcalling at her and approaching her on the street when she was barely thirteen. Teachers looked down on her despite her uniformly excellent grades. Parents of friends immediately pointed to her as a bad influence when things went wrong, despite her immaculate record of just generally being a sensible sort of girl. She had very few female friends, and most of her high school peers assumed that she was sexually involved with most, if not all, of her many male friends. She never was.
This needs to stop.
This isn’t a fanservice video game where you get to choose cup size and bounciness before you start a round. This is real life. Unless she resorts to surgery, the amount of tissue a girl carries on her chest is completely outside of her control, and has nothing to do with her personality, abilities, or achievements.
Stop demonizing breasts. They’re just breasts.
From the barest bump to the cup that runneth over, a breast is a breast, and it should never be an object of shame.
She who carries the chest in question wasn’t doing anything shameful.
But if you feel the need to shame her, you were.
just slow clap it out
I went to the bathroom in a building on my campus and saw this on the back of the stall door. While I’m deeply upset that a young woman went through such a horrible ordeal, I’m also very touched that so many other girls wanted to help her and offered advice as well as ways to seek help. We are women hear us roar.
WOMEN HELPING OTHER WOMEN
WOMEN BEING GOOD TO OTHER WOMEN
THIS SHIT IS REVOLUTIONARY.
If you haven’t read Speak, this photo is why this book is so, so important.
This is also why I will always, always advocate for the right to be anonymous on the Internet, because sometimes that’s the only way for those without power to tell the stories they need to tell and find support from others in the same position.
“@Luke5SOS: Find something that makes you happy and don’t let anyone take it away from you :-)”
HERE is the DIFFERENCE. So many people get so confused. Difference between having anxiety and having an anxiety disorder.
We’ve got class.
goddammit so close
this was the greatest movie ever and nothing you say can change that
FIRST KISS: We asked twenty strangers to kiss for the first time…
"What’s your name again?"
The guy in the beanie hat and the blonde girl really go for it. He’s hot too!
this shark is hungry. dangerous.
ｔｈｉｓ ｓｈａｒｋ ｗａｎｔｓ ｔｏ ｅａｔ ｙｏｕｒ ｂｌｏｇ．
if u dont reblog this cyber shark you’re blog will be delieted DONT RISK IT
youve angered it
An original I made for Slacktory.
another post that- if I don’t reblog, you can assume I’m dead.
HOW HAVE I NOT SEEN THIS BEFORE JESUS SHI T .
I thought this was gonna be helpful and then
It will take just 37 seconds to read this and change your thinking..
Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room.
One man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour each afternoon to help drain the fluid from his lungs.
His bed was next to the room’s only window.
The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back.
The men talked for hours on end.
They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military service, where they had been on vacation..
Every afternoon, when the man in the bed by the window could sit up, he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all the things he could see outside the window.
The man in the other bed began to live for those one hour periods where his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and color of the world outside.
The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake.
Ducks and swans played on the water while children sailed their model boats. Young lovers walked arm in arm amidst flowers of every color and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance.
As the man by the window described all this in exquisite details, the man on the other side of the room would close his eyes and imagine this picturesque scene.
One warm afternoon, the man by the window described a parade passing by.
Although the other man could not hear the band - he could see it in his mind’s eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with descriptive words.
Days, weeks and months passed.
One morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths only to find the lifeless body of the man by the window, who had died peacefully in his sleep.
She was saddened and called the hospital attendants to take the body away.
As soon as it seemed appropriate, the other man asked if he could be moved next to the window. The nurse was happy to make the switch, and after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone.
Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look at the real world outside.
He strained to slowly turn to look out the window besides the bed.
It faced a blank wall.
The man asked the nurse what could have compelled his deceased roommate who had described such wonderful things outside this window.
The nurse responded that the man was blind and could not even see the wall.
She said, ‘Perhaps he just wanted to encourage you.’
There is tremendous happiness in making others happy, despite our own situations.
Shared grief is half the sorrow, but happiness when shared, is doubled.
If you want to feel rich, just count all the things you have that money can’t buy.
‘Today is a gift, that is why it is called The Present .’
STOP SCROLLING AND READ THIS