There are the occasions that men—intellectual men, clever men, engaged men—insist on playing devil’s advocate, desirous of a debate on some aspect of feminist theory or reproductive rights or some other subject generally filed under the heading: Women’s Issues. These intellectual, clever, engaged men want to endlessly probe my argument for weaknesses, want to wrestle over details, want to argue just for fun—and they wonder, these intellectual, clever, engaged men, why my voice keeps raising and why my face is flushed and why, after an hour of fighting my corner, hot tears burn the corners of my eyes. Why do you have to take this stuff so personally? ask the intellectual, clever, and engaged men, who have never considered that the content of the abstract exercise that’s so much fun for them is the stuff of my life.
Is nature a gigantic cat?
(via loveyourchaos)
While you are celebrating Obama publicly making comments supporting gay marriage, his actual policies are putting queer and transgender people at risk. While you are signing Think Progress forms thanking Obama for making comments in an interview, transgender women in immigration detention centers face extraordinarily high risks of rape because of Obama’s stances on deportation and PREA. While you are saying Obama has your vote because he said something sensible, B Manning, a member of the LGBTQ community, faces the death penalty for blowing the whistle on war crimes.
(via loveyourchaos)
(via loveyourchaos)
today a red jetta was confirmed to be believed the car that “took” sierra lamar…
REBLOG
THIS IS WHAT WAS NEEDED TO BE RELEASED. one step closer to finding her <3
I haven’t heard about this case here in the UK, but damn, I hope she’s found safe.
(via genderbitch)
I am driven by two main philosophies, know more about the world than I knew yesterday and lessen the suffering of others. You’d be surprised how far that gets you.
You must lurk in libraries and climb the stacks like ladders to sniff books like perfumes and wear books like crazy hats upon your heads.
(via courier5)
I don’t think that people accept the fact that life doesn’t make sense.
I think it makes people terribly uncomfortable.
(via artificialisland)
The first time John sees Sherlock wearing one of his jumpers around the flat, he stays quiet about it. Chalks it up to Sherlock’s attention being too focused on the network of maps and notes currently tacked to the kitchen cabinets and maybe Sherlock grabbed the first thing he found in their small laundry room. So he says nothing about it and is a bit surprised when he finds the jumper folded neatly on his bed three days later. He tries not to think about why he brings the sweater to his face and is disappointed to find that Sherlock’s done him the favor of washing it, leaving no trace of his own scent.
The next time John catches Sherlock with one of his shirts, he’s wandered blearily into the kitchen to get tea started. It’s not surprising to find Sherlock hunched over his Microscope on the kitchen table, but the loose-fitting button up hanging off of his frame is entirely out of place. Not sure what else to do, John plucks at the sleeve of the shirt and raises an eyebrow at Sherlock. Sherlock, for his part, keeps his attention on the specimen he’s currently studying, save for a dismissive hand he waves in John’s direction. It’s too early for a row yet, and it’s a small thing, so John just rolls his eyes and puts the kettle on. He watches Sherlock’s back while the water heats, and realizes that the last he saw that shirt it was hanging neatly in his closet. His mouth opens to ask Sherlock what he was doing going through his clothes, but decides even if it’s a bit odd, it’s unimportant.
He’s making his way through my wardrobe, John decides. Only without my permission. An experiment? Curiousity? John has asked about it a few times now, and Sherlock always just shrugs the questions off or blithely changes the subject. And really, the clothes always return washed and in good condition and John can find no evidence of tampering of any kind, and now his face grows warm whenever he puts on a jumper he’s seen Sherlock wearing.
Eventually it dawns on John that he’s not seen Sherlock wear any of his clothing outside of the flat, which is probably for the best because then people would certainly be talking. And he starts to think of Sherlock sleeping in the Jumpers that hang just a bit too loose on him and really he needs to talk to him about this.
A few days after that, Sherlock finds John in his bedroom, shifting through the neat rows of pressed button down shirts hanging in his closet. John’s been there longer than he’d intended, letting his hands ghost along the fine cotton, each shirt probably worth more than most of his own wardrobe. Sherlock’s eyes flick to the bed, and he sees that the striped shirt, the only one he hasn’t nicked himself is lying across the duvet.“I was going to suggest we share, if you’re so keen on wearing my stuff as pyjamas each night anyway. But I think I’d be a bit too nervous to even try any of your stuff on,” John murmers, not even turning to face Sherlock.
Instead of responding, Sherlock comes to stand behind John and reaches around him to pluck a familiar purple shirt from it’s hanger.“I think this one would rather suit you.” As he says this, Sherlock presses the shirt against John’s chest, and surely he can feel how fast my heart is beating, John thinks before tipping his face towards Sherlocks.
I wanted to draw Sherlock and John wearing each others clothing and then I had to write about it too :|
(via penns-woods)
