she’s 23 and she didn’t know she had a vagina until 5 days ago
This is why we don’t do close readings of 50 Shades of Grey.
I’ve never been more emotional about any social media post in my entire life
UPDATE: guys Beth Broderick tweeted yesterday that this Salem is THE SAME SALEM!!! He’s 20 years old man!!!! 20!
That Salem is still kicking is all I care about.
Angry comic from an angry Californian D:
btw everyone, California is in a drought. Not cool. Literally not cool. :C
Assassin’s Creed Style Hoodie by The Brother’s Cut
ON SALE for $28 (plus free international shipping!)
i’ve been doing research about jobs/companies that are accepting of trans and the like since i’m going job hunting again next month, and i found this list, which lists trans-friendly businesses. it links to this page, a directory for employers.
tagging so people can see it, i figured this might come in handy for some people!
Signal boost for any of our trans followers looking for work.
~ Mod Maya
Ferguson police are being sued for $40mil, +++ some of the officers are facing individual lawsuits for rights infringement. fucking break those cops.
this is some of the best news I’ve had in days and I want you to be excited about it too
is this ok can i have this blanket please
are we talking about loading my blog or my life here, tumblr?
Well I already know that
I re arranged my room last week and forgot to take pictures of it.
MY ROOM IS ENTIRELY LIT BY FAIRY LIGHTS.
Headcanon: when Danny eventually dies and becomes Phantom for good, he doesn’t stick around on Earth or in the Ghost Zone - maybe he worries that since he’s now full ghost he’ll turn out like his alternate-future self? - so instead he flies out into space - he only needed a mask the last time because he was still somewhat alive. He spends his whole afterlife exploring the universe, just like he always dreamt of doing.
Optional add-on #1: for the next few dozen generations of Amity Park, parents tell their kids that maybe, just maybe, that shooting star they just saw was the legendary Danny Phantom coming back home.
Optional add-on #2: Danny never returns to Earth, and eventually he forgets it and everything on it, because human minds were only built to hold so many memories and space is so infinitely vast and infinitely beautiful that everything else just pales in comparison.
Ok but can you imagine though
Centuries after Danny’s death and retreat/escape into the stars he comes across a spaceship full of pilgrims from Earth en route to colonize a new solar system, and it’s been so long since he’s been home the primary languages have evolved into something completely different so he can’t even speak to any of them, the cultures have transformed, maybe even basic physiology has changed (due to dramatic upheaval in the environment and/or body modifications, due to any dozens of things that happened since he fled)
And at first he’s frightened and wary of these people, who point at him and hiss and bare their teeth (excited whispering and smiles, but he’s been alone for so long he’s forgotten even basic human gestures, or maybe culture has evolved so people do hiss and bare their teeth, options), and he nearly phases through the hull because noppppe people are weird, he has forgotten how the hell people work, swimming in the ice rings of gas giants in the radioactive light of distant stars is much simpler wow bye folks
But then someone says his name, it’s awkward and accented but undeniably Danny Phantom so he looks back and there’s some old historian flapping their hands excitedly, says his name again and pulls out a holofeed or some other bullshit sci-fi info dump device
And then, for the first time in centuries (but what’s time to a ghost in the furthest reaches of outer space, where time is such a huge and unknowable concept he gave up keeping track because the mental calendar in his head grew too long, it was easier to stop counting, to take fistfuls of alien soil in hand instead and marvel at the squirming of tiny lifeforms uncountable miles from Earth), he sees himself, he sees his human face, his family, his friends, his whole life written out like a Wikipedia article in a language he can’t begin to parse but there are movies about him, novels, historical reenactments, documentaries, statues and famous buildings, he’s even been on money, everyone knows him still, recognizes his face from a hundred different places because Earth never forgot him, humanity never forgot him because how could they? He saved them all, proved to everyone that it was possible to band together in times of crises and not go for each other’s throats, that Peace with a capital P was possible
And he looks at all the people around him, and they’re all so happy, talking to him in languages he can’t understand but they’re saying his name, the same words again and again (“thank you” maybe, or “it’s really him,” or “sign my boob,” i’m not picky here), and it’s just so overwhelming, it’s so much, he can’t help but be frightened because he was just one man, one ghost, why would anybody bother to remember him
And then the old historian pulls him aside and in halting, broken English tells him that the only reason these people are all out here, traveling to a new planet, throwing away their lives on Earth to begin anew on a planet scarcely terraformed, scarcely developed, is all thanks to Danny’s descendents, the children of his children’s children, and the historian asks him to please, stop wandering, you don’t need to run anymore, you can come home
And Danny looks at the historian, and he realizes that under all the superficial changes, physiological, cultural, whatever, that this stranger has Jazz’s eyes, and the historian smiles just like Jack, a little too big, a little too boistrous
damn my sci-fi feels, damn them to hell
A Response to ‘Women Against Feminism.’
The year is 2014. You are a white Western woman. You wake up in the morning in a comfortably sized house or flat. You have a full or part-time job that enables you to pay your rent or mortgage. You have been to school and maybe even college or university as well. You can read and write and count. You own a car or have a driver’s licence. You have enough money in your own bank account to feed and clothe yourself. You have access to the Internet. You can vote. You have a boyfriend or girlfriend of your choosing, who you can also marry if you want to, and raise a family with. You walk down the street wearing whatever you feel like wearing. You can go to bars and clubs and sleep with whomever you want.
Your world is full of freedom and possibility.
Then you pick up a newspaper or go online. You read about angry women ranting about sexism and inequality. You see phrases like ‘rape-culture’ and ‘slut-shaming.’ You furrow your brow and think to yourself: ‘What are they so angry about? There is no such thing as sexism anymore.’
Now imagine this:
The year is 2013. You are a 25 year-old Pakistani woman. A few months ago, you married the man you love. A man you choose for yourself. You are also pregnant with his child. You see your life stretching out before you, filled with hope and happiness. Suddenly, you and your husband are dragged away from each other. You are both beaten with bricks and batons. You can’t fight back. You can’t escape. No one comes to help you. Through your fading vision, you look up, and look into the eyes of one of your assailants: into the eyes of your father.
The year is 2013. You are a 23 year-old Indian woman. You are a physiotherapy student with a promising career ahead of you. You are sitting on a private bus travelling home alone on a warm December evening. You gaze out of the window as the buildings of New Dheli rush past you and feel content. Suddenly, a blunt force hits the back of your head and you fall to the floor of the bus. A group of strange men are standing over you. They bring the metal bar down on you again and again and again until all you can taste is the blood filling up your mouth. You pray that you will die soon. And you do, but not then. You are raped, beaten, and tortured over and over again. Death is slow and agonising.
The year is 2014. You are a 13 year-old girl from Niger. You no longer live there though. You are now living in the neighbouring country Nigeria, sitting alone in small room on a small bed in a small apartment high above the city of Kano. You are not allowed to leave. Your stomach is swollen from the unwanted life growing inside of it. You had no choice. The father is a man in his 40s. He is a businessman. He has bought you as his wife. You were a penniless, uneducated girl when he came for you. You don’t know of any life you could have had. Neither did your family: just one less mouth for them to feed. You still have the body of a child, and it’s straining under the pressure from the one inside of you. You feel like you’re about to be split in two. You don’t wonder if you will survive the birth. A part of you doesn’t want to.
These are fictionalised accounts of real events that have happened to real women living in our world today. They follow the past 250 years of women and men campaigning for women to be given equal rights to men to prevent these kinds of injustices and abuses on the grounds of gender taking place. Over the course of this time, campaigners – Feminists, both female and male – have been locked up, beaten, tortured, and even killed, in the pursuit of equality. They did this with pen and ink and print; they did this with their voices; they did this with their bodies; they did this with art and music; they did in courts of law and halls and houses of government that they fought be to allowed into.
They did this so that women would no longer been seen as property, livestock, breeding machines, sex objects, punching bags, or infantile morons. They did this not just for themselves, but also for their daughters, and their daughters, and their daughters for generations to come. They did this for women they would never meet – women who lived across countries, across vast oceans, across the entire globe, and even across time.
They did this so that women like me – a white Western woman – could attend school and university; to learn to read, write, and think critically; to gain a degree; to get a job and be paid an equal salary to a man in the same position; and to sit here with my own computer and type all of this.
Feminism is a movement for freedom, equality, choice, love, compassion, respect, solidarity, and education. We may argue, we may disagree, we may struggle to understand the choices and perspectives of others sometimes, but these core beliefs of the movement have never changed, and they never will.
That is why I am a Feminist.
If you feel that you have so far lived your life unaffected by even the mildest form of sexism – anything from feeling uncomfortable when a man catcalls you in the street, to feeling scared walking home alone at night in a secluded area – and are treated with love and respect by every man in your life, then to you I say: I’m glad for you. If you don’t think you need feminism, then that is a victory for the movement. You have fulfilled all those dreams that every suffragette being force-fed in prison and every ‘witch’ burnt at the stake dreamed you would one day.
But perhaps take a second to consider the life of the Pakistani woman who was beaten to death by her own family for marrying a man of her choosing. Or the life of the Indian woman who was raped, beaten, and murdered on a bus by a gang of men. Or the life of the little girl in Niger who was sold to a man more than twice her own age and forced to carry a baby that may kill her to deliver. Do they still need feminism?
And perhaps take a second to consider this too: Even in our liberal, Western world, why do women still only fill 24% of senior management jobs? Why are more women than men domestically abused or even killed every week at the hands of their male partner or ex-partner? Why is there still a pay gap (in the UK specifically) of 15% for women doing the same jobs and working the same hours as men?
And what about on a cultural level? Have you ever noticed how comedy panel shows usually only have one female panellist compared to 4-5 male ones? That almost every dieting product on the market is solely aimed at women? How a lot of newspapers and advertising campaigns will use a sexualised or pornographic image of a woman to sell news or products that have nothing to do with sex?
Or perhaps on a personal level: Do you choose to wear certain clothes because you want to or because you feel ‘unfeminine’ if you don’t? Do you choose to cover yourself up because you want to or because you feel ashamed or intimidated by a man looking at your body? Do you shave your legs and underarm hair because you want to or because you will look ‘ugly’ if you don’t? Did you parents dress you in pink as a baby because they liked the colour or because you were born a girl? Do you want to have children because you want to or because you are a woman?
When you look at yourself in the mirror in the morning, do you see yourself through your own eyes, or through the eyes of the men that will look at you when you walk out the door?
The fact is, like it or not, you still live a world where gender matters. Where gender controls not just the entire course of your life – but the lives of women all over the world. Every second, a child will be born female in a country where she will persecuted for this random biological occurrence for the rest of her life. So before you hold up your anti-Feminist placard proudly and smile at your own sense of empowerment, think not what Feminism can do for you, but what it can do for that one girl. She needs someone to stand up for her. That someone could be you.
[ x ]
Read this. Read all of this. Then read it again.
This sign is in my doctors office above the scale and I really love it. It actually made me feel a lot better after reading it