pretty young woman wearing make up

Women's HERstory Month

In honor of woman’s history month I’d like to take a moment to thank the women who came before me, the women standing beside me and the women who will carry the torch of our future.

I’ve been in Halestorm for nearly 20 years. If it wasn’t for our “Fore Mothers of Rock n Roll” who came before me, I may not be where I am today. They showed me that it was possible, and that even with all the odds against you, and obstacles in your way… you can achieve your dream. They did not give in, they did not quit, they did not wither. They were a powerful force in inspiring and encouraging me to go after My dream.

It’s a reminder, ladies, of how important it is for us to encourage one another. We must be examples, and show our fellow femmes that society’s definition of a “woman” is false. To be a Woman is not One idea of what a woman should be. We are the sum of many women who were brave enough to take risks, carve paths, stand out and be unapologetically themselves. All the great women of history were not the ones who followed the rules, or kept their eyes to the ground. No, all the great women thinkers, inventers, artists and leaders were the woman who broke from the chain, and swam against the current.

As girls we are taught from an early age that beauty is our number one priority. We play with dolls we will never look like, we have make up kits and sticker earrings, glitter and pink. We wear dresses, are told not to get dirty, to be perfect, to be seen and not heard. We learn that “pretty” equals acceptance and love.

We are taught as young ladies that the world is a scary place, and that we should get married and settle down lest we die alone. And be sure to have a few kids before it’s too late and your ticking time bomb of a body blows up! And we need products! Products to grow our hair, soften our face, melt the fat, plump our lips, grow our tits, erase scars and stretch marks, make our asses bigger or smaller… because without all these things we are undesirable and therefore not worthy of love.

As we begin to grow, ask questions, and find ourselves as women, everything that makes us happy is somehow wrong…
They say, Be independent, but know your place. Make money, but not too much. Be smart, but not too smart, be strong but not too strong or you’ll be a bitch. If you like sex, you’re a slut, if you drink you’re a lush, if you cut your hair your a dyke, if you like rock n roll and metal obviously you’re on a path to hell. We are told that to be women we need to be the Un-be-able, and because societies view of women is such an unattainable goal… inevitably every women loses.

Before I go on, I must be clear that This post is not about a double standard. This is Not about boys vs girls. Because our boys are taught some pretty warped things too about what it means to be a “man”. This post is about the the history of women, battling social “standards” and the evolution of women as we move forward.

I stand on my meager platform, as a women I have fought to proudly do what I love everyday, I am living proof that it is possible and I am in a rare position to encourage… and empower.
So, Let’s empower, encourage and teach our girls to be strong, to be smart, to be independent, to ask questions, to be tolerant, to be kind, to be fierce, to love, be passionate and to dream. Show them that their beauty lies within their individuality and doing things that truly make them happy. Lets wear sizes that fit us, not try to fit into sizes that society tells us we should be fitting into. Let’s Get dirty, climb trees, be artists, mechanics, scientists, rockstars and presidents. Let’s stop listening to all the things we are supposed to be and truly start being who we are.
We are Women


to any closeted trans guys following me and had to wear dresses today because its the “acceptable Easter clothing,” i am sorry and i hope your dysphoria wasnt too awful and i hope you have a good day despite any misgendering or dysphoria and i love you all

you’re no less of a guy because you had to wear a dress, I promise

One Piece fanfiction ~ ‘Am I Though?’

A short story inspired by a post made by @sableu about Sabo, I couldn’t help myself XD

Sabo had been training to use Haki for years, a task that had not been easy to say the least (and with Dragon as his teacher no less). At nineteen years old, he was confident that his Armament Haki was the most developed of the two he’d learned; he’d started imbuing his pipe with it during battle, and whilst it was somewhat draining even for him, it was very effective. His Observation Haki was still a bit sketchy at times, and he couldn’t even blame his left eye for it. Nevertheless, he was improving, getting stringer every day, and he was proud of himself.

However in this particular instance, he didn’t need his Observation to know that Elric, a fellow colleague he’d known for years since he’d joined the Revolutionary Army, was staring at him from the other side of the room from the corner of his eye. They were sorting through documents that Dragon had wanted to dig up again after recent happenings in the South Blue, and though the silence had at first been companionable, Sabo was starting to feel…awkward.

Just when he was about to give in and ask Elric what his deal was, the man himself spoke up, “…I don’t mean to be weird or anything, but chief, you know…”

Sabo looked up from the cabinet he’d been sifting through and turned to Elric expectantly. “Hm?”

Elric shifted, looking suddenly uncomfortable as heat crept up his neck and turned his cheeks pink. “Uh well, this is just an observation really, but,” he said, rubbing the back of his head abashedly. “…you’re really pretty.”

Sabo nearly dropped the papers in his hands as he stared at Elric blankly. Elric stared back for a moment before clearing his throat roughly and turning back to his own stack of files, the conversation left awkwardly at that. Sabo blinked once more.



Sabo was…pretty?



Did…did people actually think that, or was it just Elric? Then again Elric did have a relationship with Mary that was clearly more than just a professional one but…still…



Sabo was pretty?

It was only until Elric announced that he’d found the documents that Sabo realized he’d been virtually standing there staring into space for the past five minutes, and he snapped out of his trance and followed the man out of the room and back into the hallways of Baltigo.


For the rest of the day, Sabo could think of almost nothing else other than the comment Elric had made. He’d even looked at himself in the mirror to understand how or why. He stared into the reflective surface, turning his head this way and that; blonde curls he’d decided to let grow out, blue eyes with a hint of green (aside from the left eye, left discoloured due to whatever incident had left the scars that marred that side of his face and half his body), the shape of his face, his skin easily tanned, his build…

Sabo thought himself to be a lot of things over the years; a soldier, a friend, the Chief of Staff, an amnesiac, a little crazy maybe – a monster, a criminal, in the eyes of enemies or the world government – but, holy hell, he’d never pegged himself as pretty of all things. He’d never even considered it.

So later that evening, as he and Koala were finishing up the final stack of reports until they retired to their rooms, Sabo stood abruptly from his desk and asked, point-blank because he couldn’t quite take it anymore, “Hey Koala, am I…pretty?”

Koala’s pen froze over her final report. She lifted her head and slowly turned in her chair to face him, and any other day at any other time Sabo would’ve laughed at the look she was giving him. “…what the hell kind of question is that?” she asked him.

Sabo gestured himself, namely his face, and pinned her with his own look that screamed ‘I don’t know either but I can’t stop thinking about this so help me I’m desperate’. Am I though?” he insisted.

Koala opened her mouth to answer, and then slowly closed it. Blue eyes stared at him, looking him up and down, calculating and considering, and Sabo waited in silence, though his patience was wearing thin. Finally, Koala leaned back in her chair, looking defeated yet slightly awed, and muttered,


Sabo blinked. “Hm?”

“You really are,” she said. “That’s so annoying.”

“How is that annoying?!”


“I dunno, it just –“ the young woman gestured wildly at nothing, “it just is!”

“You’re making no sense, oh my god.”

“Hey you asked me if you were pretty! You’re the one not making any sense, Chief! Where, where the hell did that even come from?!”

“Elric said so!”

“Out of the blue?!”





“I don’t know!”


“Hey, what’s going in in here?”

It was then that Hack burst in through the door, pinning the two humans with a confused and somewhat annoyed gaze. “You’re aware of what time it is, aren’t you? What’s with all the yelling?” the fishman asked, looking at Sabo in particular. Noticing his stare, Sabo pouted. “Why’re you looking at me when you ask that?”

“Because you’re the one who causes the most trouble.”

“I resent that.”

“Hack,” Koala snapped her fingers to gain the fishman’s attention, and both he and the young blond turned to her as she jabbed a thumb at Sabo. “Do you think Sabo’s pretty?”

Hack stared at her, then looked at Sabo. “What kind of question is that?” he muttered.

Is he though?!” Koala cried at the same time Sabo cried “Am I though?!”

Hack then turned his full attention to Sabo, a webbed hand stroking his admittedly extravagant moustache as he hummed thoughtfully. Just as Sabo began to feel just a tad like a lab experiment under the fishman’s intense gaze, Hack dropped his hand back to his side, his expression unreadable as always.


Sabo’s jaw dropped, and Koala threw her head back and howled with laughter. “Seriously?!”


Outside the room, Revolutionaries heard the mini shouting match as they moved down the hallways, catching bits and pieces of the conversation, and whilst some laughed and some shook their heads with exasperated grins, Dragon, leader of the Revolutionary Army and reputed as the most dangerous man in the eyes of the government, shook his head and sighed from his seat in his own office a few doors down.

Don’t they have work to get on with? He muttered inwardly as he scanned through sheets of data. Outwardly though, he found himself smirking in wry amusement.

He is prettier than other nobles I’ve met, that’s for sure.

anonymous asked:

You should write a little fic with Sherlock sneaking up on Molly like your husband sneaked up on you. ^_~

Okay Nonny… this should have been a tiny little story about this post. But it grew, into this. It’s been suggested to me by the lovely and talented @mizjoely who also betaed it, that I should perhaps write a follow-up containing sexy times. Frankly, I think that’s a fine idea. I hope you like it! ~Lil~

Oh, yes quick note… the ‘bee’ business is actually more for my husband’s benefit than for Sherlock’s, although it fits quite well, as we all know. But Mr Lil kept bees in his youth. It was my little wink to the man who stole my heart and then nearly stopped it the other night. Isn’t he adorable? Hehehe…

Sherlock Holmes wasn’t playful. No, playful wasn’t a word often used to describe the detective. However, he was in a very good mood today. He’d just solved a case, an interesting one involving a bee keeper and his unfaithful wife. Bees had always fascinated him; their precision, their single-mindedness, their finely honed senses. The science of the inner workings of The Hive intrigued him to no end and he’d spent an inordinate amount time studying up on the subject. He had enjoyed every minute of his little excursion to the countryside, even if John had remained in the city with his family. Once back at Baker Street, he’d grabbed a sandwich from Mrs. Hudson and taken a short nap. Now all he needed was a captive audience to bask in his glory as he regaled them with… hmmm, what would John call this one? he wondered. Something boring like The Bee’s Knees. He shook his head. Ah, Royal Jelly-see. That’s much cleverer… take that John Watson! I can be creative too. He laughed as he walked into St. Barts.  

Molly Hooper, on the other hand, wasn’t in a good mood. No, not at all. It was the end of a fourteen hour shift, during which she’d completed six autopsies and mountains of paperwork. She was exhausted. So exhausted in fact that she was just praying that she could make it through the next thirty minutes without vomiting, which she had a tendency to do when extremely tired. Knowing if she sat down that she’d most likely doze off, Molly popped in her ear buds and busied herself with cleaning the lab benches in the back of the Path Lab. It was late, nearly midnight, and she wasn’t expecting to see anyone. Unfortunately…

Sherlock walked into the lab and saw his favorite pathologist cleaning like her life depended on it. She had her back to him and he saw the white cord of her ear buds hanging down. He suddenly had a marvelous idea. As quietly as he could (which was pretty damn quietly as he prided himself on his stealth) he began sneaking up on the young woman. Making his way towards her, he considered exactly what he’d do once he go there. He could grab her shoulders or shout or both… yes, he thought. That would scare her. As he got closer he realised that she wasn’t wearing her lab coat but rather a white jumper. An easy mistake to make as he had only seen the top half of her when he’d first walked in. Suddenly a little devil whispered a suggestion in his ear. He had to stop himself from giggling. He was really enjoying his jovial mood.

Just before he reached her she put down the cloth she that was cleaning with and wiped her hands on her trousers, bending slightly in the process. Sherlock took the opportunity to grab her around the waist… goosing her.

Molly screamed and jumped more than a foot in the air. She swiftly turned to face the detective, but before she recognized him she managed to get her tiny hands around his neck and tighten them for a split second. Sherlock had adjusted his hold and was now practically embracing her around the middle. Finally, she loosened her grip, but didn’t let go. She pulled him closer and buried her face in his chest, breathing heavily.

Sherlock couldn’t control his laughter. He also couldn’t find a reason to object to their rather intimate position. Molly was warm and soft. She also smelled delightfully of strawberries and vanilla, and he could tell that she’d showered recently. He knew she would occasionally utilize the staff showers if she had a particularly nasty postmortem, which was clearly the case today. He shook as he laughed and tightened his hold on the woman until he felt moisture soaking through his shirt.

He gently removed the buds from her ears. “Molly?” he asked trying to pull back, but she wouldn’t move an inch. “Why are you crying?”

She shook her head. Her denial was absurd since he could actually feel her tears. “I’m not. It’s j-just… ahh… y-you…”

Sherlock stroked his hand down her back and brushed his lips against the top of her head. “I just meant to startle you. I’m sorry, I suppose I shouldn’t have done that.”

Molly was mortified. Dear God was she actually holding Sherlock? She sniffled, then jerked away from him. Turning around she fished a tissue out of her pocket. “No, you shouldn’t have,” she said as she wiped her eyes.

“Hey, what’s wrong? You’re not this upset because of a fright.”

She huffed. “Oh, sure. Deduce me now that I’ve humiliated myself. This day just keeps getting better.”

“You’ve had a bad day?”

She turned back around. “I’ve had a long day, Sherlock. Okay. And it’s nearly over. So…” She looked at his shirt. “Ah, s-sorry about… weeping on you.”

He waved his hand. “Sod my shirt, Molly. Come here.” He held his arms out to her.


“You heard me. Get over here. I wasn’t finished holding you.” He gave her a cheeky grin.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why would you want to hold me?”

“You want the whole list?”

She thought for a moment. “There’s a list?”

He nodded.

“Then, yes. List please.”

He cleared his throat. “Fine. First of all, you’ve had a bad day- a long day, sorry, and could use a hug. This may surprise you, Molly but I do know how to behave when a friend is distressed. Secondly, I frightened you. So your discomfort is at least, in part, my fault. I’d like to remedy that. Thirdly,” He paused then added, “Ilikehowyousmellandhowyoufeelinmyarems.”

Molly shook her head in astonishment. “Wait, what… was that last one?”

He rolled his eyes. “I said: I like how you smell and how you feel in my arms.” He turned his head away and looked across the lab, casually.

“Oh. O…kay.” She stood frozen looking at the awkward man in front of her. “So, now?”

He looked at her again. “Yes, of course!” he said in an exasperated tone.

She huffed and walked back to him. Now standing less than a foot apart, she didn’t quite know what to do. The first embrace had been spontaneous; a fear response. Did she put her arms back around his neck or perhaps… Her thoughts were cut off by Sherlock grabbing around the waist and pulling her into his body.

“There, that’s more like it.” He rested his head against the top of hers. “I like this.” He sighed.

Molly’s hands were trapped between their bodies, which was fine, she really didn’t know what to do with them anyway. They stayed that way for several minutes. She could feel his heartbeat, which had be rapid when they’d first embraced, but was now slowing down to normal. It felt… nice to be held, to be comforted. Though she still didn’t quite understand what was going on. He liked how she smelled and how she felt in his arms? What the hell did that mean in Sherlock speak? Unless…



“Ah, I’m not upset anymore,” Molly said gently pushing against the detective’s chest.

“I’m glad,” he said in response, though he didn’t move much, just adjusted his hold, getting more comfortable.

“So, you can let go of me now.”

“Could, yes. If I wanted to.”

“You don’t?”

Sherlock lowered his head until his mouth was right next to her ear. “Not particularly, no,” he whispered.

She swallowed. His breath in her ear was causing all sorts of feelings to crop back up. Feelings that Molly was certain she’d completely dealt with. She was trying to calm her racing thoughts when she felt the first kiss land on her neck. “Sh-Sherlock?” Then another, feather-light and absolutely lovely.


“I, ah, I need to ask you a qu-question.” She pushed back and looked up into his eyes. His dilated pupils, coupled with his oddly playful behaviour and now the kissing… Molly was beyond suspicious.

“I’ve taken nothing, Molly. I’m just having a very good day and finally realised, while I was holding you, that I didn’t really want to let go.” He licked his lips as his eyes darted over her face. “If you object, I fully understand. Things have… changed between us. Perhaps irrevocably. But I’d like a chance…” He paused, looking thoughtful. “Is there any way we could possibly make this a permanent arrangement?” He grinned like a schoolboy when he finished.

Molly couldn’t help but smile, he seemed so proud of himself. She soothed her hands up over his chest then linked them behind his neck. “We’d never get anything done, Sherlock. And people would talk. Us standing around holding each other all the time,” she teased.

“Hmmm, that is a problem, Doctor. Suggestions?” He lowered his head once again, kissing her on the corner of her mouth.

“Ah, you could take me some place more… private. Less chance of becoming fodder for gossip. And perhaps if you hold me for a while, you’ll get it out of your system. Then you can get back to your busy life.” She giggled.

Sherlock studied her for a moment before pressing his lips to hers. Molly instantly lost herself in kiss. His lips were soft and warm. They caressed and teased. Soon his tongue snaked its way between her lips and she found herself moaning against it.

Breaking the kiss Sherlock said, “I’m afraid, Molly, that I will never be able to get you out of my system.” He kissed her temple. “Now, your shift is over and I’d like to take you home, put you to bed and continue this holding thing we’ve started.”

Molly couldn’t find a single reason to object to his plan.

She’d never been so pleased to be scared half to death, in her entire life.

didadompie  asked:

Hi Claudia, I've been watching your videos for a while now. I have noticed that you talk about women being oppressed a lot. I don't feel that way at all and I think that both men and women have problems and both suffer from genderroles. Could you explain to me how exactly women are oppressed? Thanks in advance :)

Well close to home there’s the pay gap, sexist portrayals of women in media, catcalling, gender roles which make it impossible for women to be successful without backlash of some sort, women who speak politically publicly receive rape threats and gendered abuse (YouTubers, MPs, pretty much all women that speak out publicly). 

In some places in our world women have only just been given the vote and are not allowed to drive. In Saudi Arabia women cannot wear make up, participate in sports, or go anywhere without a male chaperone. 

In other countries women must be covered up or they are punished. Many young girls are forced into child marriages with adult men. (A woman or girl is FORCED into marriage every 2 mins). FGM is still at a scarily high level. Many women have no access to birth control or are forbidden from using it. 

We often blame female victims of rape for what happened to them. Women are routinely dismissed for being emotional and unable to lead as well as men even at the highest level (look at the coverage of Hilary Clinton). 

Many girls around the world are denied the right to education, and are expected only to marry and bear children. 

In Ireland and Brazil women cannot legally seek an abortion. 

In Afghanistan a woman can go to prison for leaving her abusive husband. 

Women’s contribution to history is often erased or the credit is taken by men. 

I could very easily go on. 

I also want to say that if your response to this is that only the very worst cases of oppression matter, then you don’t really care for equality. ALL cases of oppression and gender equality matter. It is no good telling American or European feminists that they have no right to complain when

 1) we have a right to equality and not to suffer oppression. We have a right to be respected as people and have the same opportunities as men. Injustice is still injustice no matter what scale it is on, and we should all strive to stand against it.

2) because we are in America and Europe does not mean we think our problems are worse than those elsewhere, in fact many of us do what we can to help women in other countries. The point of feminism is equality and liberation. That means ALL women. Everywhere. 

Also I find it despicable to use the horrendous situations of women globally as an excuse to shut up women who identify sexism closer to home. As a woman I want all my fellow women to be treated fairly. Be that in terms of wages, or not being forced to marry against their will. 

The sentiment: ‘they have it worse elsewhere so be thankful you aren’t suffering what they are!’ is used by people ALL OVER THE WORLD. It is used against women in the most dire of situations. A woman being forced into marriage may be told that she is lucky she has not been killed because of her gender. 

I hope this is enough to answer your question. There are so many resources online about how women are oppressed all over the world in different ways, and ways you can do your bit to help.