@sharonelle @Sopeadeniranye @kiingwilliamz @TzOlawale @UncleShukura @Hoekage77 Madam grown woman, from your pinned tweet i know you're a rape apologist. Better unlearn that shit and teach your son consent.
What lecture do you want to give about life? Patriarchy princess 101?
Girl bye
This video is a call for help.
My mum is battling with stroke, and it is slowly taking her life. She needs urgent medical funds to stay alive, and I cannot do this alone anymore. Please, if you have it in your heart to help or retweet this to someone who can, I beg of you 🤲🏻🙏
coming back to this…the sweat, the hair gripping, the chest to chest contact, the nose deep in the neck, the cheek kissing, the direct eye contact… it’s all so good 🚬
Sam Reid recalls his first impression of Jacob Anderson:
“I thought, What a gracious person. I’d never had anybody call me before and ask me how I want to work. I mean, I started sending him selfies of myself, which is a kind of unprecedented thing for me to do.”
(Source: https://t.co/UpeXcK90Of)
it sounds dumb but it took me until 30 to internalize that people just say anything and it behooves you to ignore them and focus on what they do and how what they do makes you feel.
In 1965, a 17-year-old girl in Sicily was kidnapped, assaulted, and held captive for over a week.
Then her attacker offered her a deal:
Marry him, and everything would be “forgiven.”
At the time, Italian law allowed rapists to avoid punishment if they married their victims.
It was called “reparatory marriage.”
The logic was horrifying:
A woman’s “honor” mattered more than her consent.
If she married the man who violated her, her reputation could supposedly be restored — and the rapist could walk free.
Most women had no real choice.
Families pressured them.
Communities expected obedience.
The law itself encouraged silence.
But Franca Viola said no.
At 17 years old, traumatized and publicly shamed, she refused to marry the man who assaulted her.
That single word changed Italy forever.
Her decision sparked outrage in her town.
Neighbors turned against her family.
Their vineyards and olive groves were burned in retaliation.
But Franca’s father stood beside her and supported her decision to press charges.
In 1966, Franca testified publicly against her attacker in court.
At a time when most victims were expected to stay silent forever, she spoke openly in front of the entire country.
Italy watched in shock.
Her attacker, Filippo Melodia, was convicted and sentenced to prison.
For the first time in Italian history, a woman had publicly rejected “reparatory marriage” and won.
The case became international news.
But the law itself still remained.
For another 15 years, rapists in Italy could technically still escape punishment by marrying their victims.
Then finally, in 1981, Italy abolished the law completely.
And many activists pointed to Franca Viola as the moment the country first began confronting the cruelty of that system.
Years later, Franca married a childhood friend who had stood beside her through everything.
Not because she needed her “honor restored.”
But because she deserved love, dignity, and a life defined by her own choices.
That’s why her story still matters.
Franca Viola wasn’t just resisting one man.
She was resisting an entire culture that treated women’s suffering as something to hide rather than something to fight.
At 17 years old, she stood against her attacker, her community, and even the law itself.
And eventually, the law changed.
Sometimes history moves because powerful people decide to act.
And sometimes history moves because one terrified teenager quietly refuses to surrender.