#blame the community for doing this
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canon-gabriel-quotes · 2 years ago
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Transcript:
Machine, people want us to "do the do".
How would that even work, Machine?
We don't have lips with which we can tenderly kiss.
I suppose my hand could go down here and- Oh yes. That's nice.
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poorly-drawn-mdzs · 11 months ago
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I'm not going back to Gusu with you.
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arcanegifs · 7 months ago
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maybe if these people spend a lick of their time creating for the media they love instead of harassing other people with what they enjoy, they'll be less miserable.
if you're wondering why there's less fan content here over the years.... it's this. this is why.
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rottengurlz · 9 months ago
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she’s like if the virgin mary smoked a pack of pall malls every day 🚬
#sims 4#the sims community#simblr#ts4#sims 4 edit#mysims#drawing/editing these tears took actual years off my life#editing this in general did but the tears were my hell#her name is norma jean named after her grandmother but she goes by either jeanie or jj#she works at the local convenience store and bartends at night when shes able to pick up shifts#shes the worst bartender in existence and refuses to lift anything over 2 pounds#she once convinced a customer to buy her a sweater because she looked a little cold while working#she lied and said her manager never lets them turn on the heat and casually mentioned pennys was selling her favorite sweater#and then described in detail exactly where the sweater was in the store#all she had to do was blink her big brown eyes and call them baby a few times and they immediately folded#she goes to church 7 days a week even though she hates it because that's what she did when her mom was still alive#and its one of the few things that helps her feel close to her mom#her mom died after she had to drop out of highschool to take care of her#she holds a lot of resentment for having to give up such a big part of her life#but at the same time blames herself for not being able to make her mom better#she doesnt believe in banks and hides money around her house to store it but she's also super forgetful#she'll randomly find money around the house and then treat herself like it was present she meant to leave for her future self#she loves crosswords but treats it like a fun game and refuses to check if her answers are ever right#there's ur fun little facts about jeanie 🫵🏼
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bluebird8683 · 2 months ago
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dc x DP familial hanahaki idea
Tim gets familial hanahaki, for the batfam, but no one notices since he lives alone and it starts off v mild.
Then he runs into Danny who catches him puking petals in costume after patrol and offers support, since he had the same issue, but with his parents… and it didn’t turn out well- he had to get ghostly intervention (Frostbite) to save his life. So he offers Tim a fall back- he comes clean to his family about the situation and if it doesn’t go well, Danny now knows how to remove the flowers without surgery- though the feelings/memories will still be gone. Tim doesnt know why he trusts Danny, but he does, so he spends the night at manor, packs up the last of his things ( just in case ) and goes on patrol with them for the last time before telling them and coming clean. Except they don’t react to the news. Stunned/shocked they stare at Tim as he shares his predicament ( in horror) uncaring. So Tim flees, promises he will get it fixed and runs off to meet with Danny, who gives him a small smile and knows. The bats are unable to cat ch up to Tim before Danny takes him to the Realms to make sure he got everything, leaving only a bouquet covered in blood for his frantic family to find.
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gingerswagfreckles · 5 months ago
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Not really loving how my post about the left's love affair with eugenics and blood and soil ideology framed as "decolonization" got coopted into another "wait it's all Christianity??" "It always has been" post." Y'all are sticking your heads in the sand if you think this is a problem with "cultural Christianity." This is the exact same pattern we saw play out in the 1979 Iranian revolution and much of this ideology was coopted from the Nazis by the Soviets and reframed as progressive. This is not an issue with Western "cultural Christianity" and it would be great if Jumblr could stop engaging in the same "there's actually one secret root cause of every problem in the world and if we get rid of it we will have utopia" thing that antisemites have been using against Jews for 2000 years.
#i stg some people really dont understand that the problem with that ideology is not ~we are blaming the wrong religion/people~#there are recognizable patterns of oppression and social issues that have to do with Christianity but not every problem in the world is#rooted in cultural Christianity and the only reason you see so many issues with cultural Christianity is because you live in a majority#Christian country where Christians are in charge#i promise the samd ideology that we see antisemitic ~activists~ in Lebanon using are not caused by their extremely oppressed tiny Christian#community. i promise that the Iranian revolution that found roots in much of the same ideology and thought was not caused by their tiny#oppressed Christian community either#the similar arguments about who is indigenous to the contested areas of Pakistan and India and therefor who can kill which civilains and be#justified has 0 to do with Christianity#and im sorry but the concerted effort by Hamas to insist that Jews are not indigenous to Israel and that therefore it is acceptable to kill#Jews is not rooted in Christianity it is rooted in the co opting of Soviet antisemitism to justify their very much not Christian religious#extremism in a way that appealed to the communist bloc and now appeals to the Western Leftists that have adopted this ideology as well#jumblr#antisemitism#leftist antisemitism#soviet antisemitism#im sorry but the only reason you dont feel the need to be sensitive when talking about Christianity is because you do not live in a country#where Christians are a oppressed or scapegoated minority but i promise that does not mean those countries do not exist or those communities#do not exist and scapegoating Christians or cultural Christianity for problems that have very little if anything to do with Christianity is#the extact same shit people have been doing to jews for 2000 years#this eugenics shit has become a very common argument for the murder of jews and other communities living in the Wrong Place#all over the world and it is not at all contained to ex Christian leftists#this exact anti imperialist rhetoric was used to justify the expulsion of the jews from egypt in the 1950s#and from Iran in the 1979 when jews were charged with being imperialist spies for Iran and America#do you think those countries were Christian? lol#this eugenics shit framed as anti imperialism is not rooted in Christianity or ~cultural Christianity~ and has basically nothing to do with#Christianity at all#christianity#jewblr
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the-broken-pen · 6 months ago
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Hey hey
Could you perhaps write a snippet where the building hero is in, gets bombed? Its bombed as an assassination attempt to get them, however the people in that building die and hero, succumbed to their injuries couldn't save everyone of them. At last they watched the last ambulance left without them, even as they called for help
Villians villa is just few kilometres away
Thankfu hero's legs aren't broken
They begin walking
The problem? Vil is way to composed and prim and perfect to let all of hero's blood get on their expensive carpets and fabrics. They could even be mad at the hero for reddening their porch if they hero stood their asking for bandages. What now? And the fight the two had yesterday that ended with "never see me again" and "don't ever talk to me"s.....vil was stopping hero from attending the event the building....
Will vil help them? They can just ask for bandages and leave.
What hero doesn't know: vil would literally destroy the world for hero, and there's no way in hell are they leaving hero on their doorstep.
(Anon you were cooking with this ask, thank you!)
The hero realized the building was going to explode a split second before it did, which wasn’t enough time to do anything other than brace.
They tensed, and there was a horrible screeching of metal and brick, followed by a deafening silence that covered them more completely than the rubble did.
The hero coughed once, weakly, pain rocketing through their chest, and shoved a piece of concrete off themself.
From somewhere else in the building, a soft, terrified wail began, broken around desperate sobs.
The hero coughed again, hand rising to their ribs. They didn’t have the energy to be surprised when their fingers came back coated in blood and dust. They grimaced at it, struggling to their feet–
And oh, god. That hurt.
The hero had a surgery once, the kind that resulted in bandages and a care regime and a set of stitches, and when they had woken up in the recovery unit, it had felt sort of like this. A moment of loopy half-awareness, and then a pain that had knocked the breath out of them, hands clenching into the sheets as a nurse tried to figure out if they needed more medication. 
This was worse. Their vision swam, and they blinked it back with a hiss.
Because someone, somewhere in the wreckage, was crying. And if one person was crying, it meant there was someone who survived. Which meant it was likely there were other survivors–ones too hurt to make any noise, ones knocked unconscious, ones still too shocked to do anything other than lay there–and it was the hero’s job to find them.
It took them far too long to locate the source of the crying. Longer to dig them out, vision going white as the person slammed into the hero’s chest in some facsimile of a terrified hug.
“You’re okay,” they managed, voice like gravel. “It’s okay. I’m going to get you out, and you’re going to be just fine. Were you with anyone?”
And then again, and again, and again.
The hero panted, hands on their knees as their body fought them in an attempt to just collapse onto the concrete below. They just–they just needed a minute. Just one, maybe, and then they could–
This time, the hero wasn’t even aware of it before it happened.
The remains of the building shook, then disintegrated into itself in a plume of dust and rock. The hero shielded their eyes with one hand, blinking against the onslaught.
What little air they had managed to get stuttered out of their lungs in something close to a sob. They had done this enough times to know there wasn’t anyone in that building left alive. 
They sagged down against the nearest thing–more rubble, maybe? They didn’t know–and this time when they rested a hand on their side, there was a considerably larger amount of blood.
“That’s…not great,” they said, and their fingers blurred in front of them slightly. There was an ambulance right there. Just a couple feet away. They had already helped most of the survivors, so maybe it would be okay for the hero to–
A paramedic rounded the back of the ambulance, and the hero lifted a hand, reaching–
“Please, wait, I think–I think,” it hurt coming out of their mouth, “help. Please I need–” they trailed off as the paramedic took the step up into the ambulance.
And closed the door behind them.
The hero wasn’t even that surprised when the ambulance began to drive away.
“Help,” they finished weakly, then sucked a breath in through their nose.
They were supposed to be good at this kind of thing. Surviving, no, thriving in catastrophe. A pillar of light. The one with the plan. 
The kind of being that didn’t beg for help on the ground.
The hero wasn’t entirely sure how they managed to get themselves back to standing. It was as easy as that–one moment they were on the ground, gravel embedded in their knees, and the next they were up and shaking but they were up.
“If I stay here, I’ll die,” they murmured. They had hoped maybe the threat would keep their legs from buckling again. It didn’t.
They weren’t near any place that could be trusted. There wasn’t a safe clinic for heroes on this side of the city, and even if there was, the hero wouldn’t trust them. Couldn’t afford to.
But as for near…the hero swallowed the nausea as it rose in their throat. There was one place they could go. One person they could go to.
Four miles. They could do four. There was no other option.
Where the hero had had some blurry recollection, or at least, a good guess of how they got to standing, they had absolutely no clue how they made it onto the villain’s porch. They managed a blink, retching slightly as they stared at the villain’s wavering door, then had to freeze just to bite down the pain that had come from the gagging.
They tried to knock and ended up collapsing against the villain’s door, knees giving out entirely as their fingers scrabbled for purchase and left behind smeared bloody marks on the wood.
They weren’t entirely sure how that happened either, or how long it took the villain to answer the door. Just that it hurt—so, so much, it hurt so–and that they managed to shove themself back into some semblance of standing right before the villain pulled the door open.
The villain’s face did a sort of spasming thing as soon as they saw the hero, jaw dropping slightly in what the hero could only really read as shock.
There was a very considerable amount of blood on the door. They were cold.
“I–” the hero tried, but they weren’t really sure where they had been going with that sentence, and after yesterday and the screaming and the fight the villain probably didn’t want to see them at all, didn’t want to ever see their face again, so–their mind blanked. “I got blood on your door.”
They tried to gesture towards it, but that hurt, so their hand simply twitched slightly from where it hung by their side.
They glanced down at their feet, because they didn’t want to see what the villain’s face was doing, especially if what it was doing was anything resembling anger.
“Oh.” There was blood at the hero’s feet. “And on your porch, too, I guess.”
They looked up at the villain, but they were still staring at them, brow furrowed, hand clenching on the doorframe.
“I’m sorry.”
There was a very faint quiver of tears when they said it, and the hero knew better than to hope the villain didn’t catch it. 
Were they saying sorry for the porch or the door or yesterday–
“Holy shit,” the villain finally breathed, and it sounded like it had been punched out of them. The hero froze, panic rising in their chest.
“I’m sorry,” the hero blurted out, stammering. “I’m–I’m so sorry, I’ll go, just–could I maybe have some bandages? Just–just one, maybe, please? I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” they said uselessly, head swimming. They couldn’t even remember what they were doing here. The villain was perfect in every sense of the word, stoic and proper and collected in a way the hero would never be; a marble statue brought to life. The idea of them letting the hero–the personification of a train wreck in motion–in to bleed all over the villain’s soft carpet and nice shoes and cause irreparable damage to their very expensive house was almost laughable. 
If they had had the breath to laugh.
More of the hero’s blood dripped onto the slats of the porch, and they stepped back. “I’m sorry–”
The villain reached for them, and the hero flinched, taking it for the dismissal it was–
The hero blinked, and it stuck for a moment too long as the world tilted, and when they pried their eyes open again the villain was staring at them with something the hero was too out of it with pain and possibly delirium to identify. Their gaze drifted back to the blood smeared on the door, and the villain’s grip tightened on the hero’s bicep–when had they grabbed the hero’s bicep?–until the hero’s gaze returned to theirs.
The villain said something, but there was a roaring that had started up in the hero’s ears. They seemed to take the uncomprehending blink the hero gave them in return for an answer anyways, and guided them down until they were both sitting on the cool wood. A tug, and the hero was resting against their own propped up knees, villain’s hand still firm on their arm.
“How much blood did you lose?”
It was like screaming underwater, the hero reasoned. Or through a mirror. But they heard it nonetheless, and that was their villain, and even in hatred and war they would always answer them.
“Was ‘supposed to be counting?” If they had any more energy–or maybe slightly more blood–in their body, the slur to their own words would have been concerning.
The villain’s lips pursed into a thin line, and the hero felt them begin to run an assessing hand over their injuries, cataloguing them, brow furrowing further with every second.
“M’sorry,” they managed, tongue thick. The villain didn’t pause.
“For what?”
“Bleeding on your door,” they managed. The villain stopped them from raising their head from their knees. “And your–porch.”
“I don’t give a shit about either of those things,” the villain said, simply, easily. Like it was nothing. Like they didn’t feel the weight of it as they threw it into the air.
The villain sat back on their heels, clearly having learned what they wanted from the hero’s injuries.
When the hero didn’t immediately look at them, the villain grabbed their chin, gently turning it until the hero faced them.
“How far did you walk,” they said slowly, and the hero had never been more grateful for anything in their life.
“Four miles,” the hero said, and they couldn’t hear their own voice above the roaring, but the villain obviously could from the way their eyes darkened.
The hero wanted no part in making the villain angry again–I never want to see you again, do you hear me? If you ever try to talk to me again I will kill the both of us, I promise you that–, but when they attempted to push themselves up to leave, the only thing they managed was a piteous whine and a stab of pain so intense they forgot to breathe.
“Idiot,” the villain hissed. But oddly, the hero didn’t sense any anger coming from the villain.
They blinked–too long, again–and found themselves in the villain’s arms as they walked through the house. Their head lolled back onto the villain’s shoulder, and the villain glanced down as if–to make sure the hero was okay. That they were conscious, and breathing.
Oh.
Oh.
The villain wasn’t angry.
They were afraid. For the hero.
Which didn’t make any sense, because–
I never want to see you again–
“You’re mad at me,” the hero reasoned, and it came out half strangled and petulant. The villain looked down at them, and the hero caught the tiniest flinch in their jaw.
“I’m not mad at you.”
“That’s not what you said yesterday,” the hero whispered, and the villain flinched.
“I wanted to stop this from happening.” The villain settled them onto a bathroom counter, lights flickering on as the hero leaned back against the mirror. Blood began to dry, sticky, between their fingers.
The hero’s mouth went dry, and it caught in their throat when they tried to swallow it.
“You could have just left me there.” Their voice only shook a little bit, but the villain’s head still snapped up from where they had been digging through a drawer.
“What?”
“On the porch,” the hero clarified, clearing their throat. The lump didn’t go away, and they had begun shaking at some point, and they couldn’t stop. “If you didn’t want to deal with me you could have just left me there–”
The villain’s face had darkened into something the hero almost didn’t recognize. 
“I would burn the world for you, and you think I would leave you to die on my porch?”
“You said you didn’t want this to happen.”
“No, that’s not–” the villain rubbed a hand over their brow, and the hero winced at the blood it left behind. “No. No, that’s not what I meant. I was trying to keep you from going to that stupid event and getting hurt. I knew it was going to blow.”
“I would have gone anyway.”
The villain stilled. “I thought maybe if you never wanted to see me again, and you knew I was there…”
“I would,” the hero repeated. “Have gone anyway.”
The hero watched as the villain’s face rippled through a dozen emotions, settling onto something unidentifiable.
“Why?”
“Because you were there,” the hero said easily, shrugging one shoulder. Because when it came to the villain, it really was that easy. They could scream, and shout, and hold a knife to the hero’s throat, and the hero would still follow them into hell. That was their villain.
The villain looked like the hero had stabbed them, face draining of color. Their fingers went white around the edge of the counter, as if it was the only thing keeping them upright.
“What,” the villain’s voice was hoarse.
“I went because I was hoping you would be there,” the hero said honestly
“Stop,” the villain raised a hand between them, a shield, voice breaking. They sucked in a breath, then another, like they were trying to keep themself from breaking down onto the tile.
“You would have gone to the event no matter what, just to see me,” the villain said slowly, and the hero nodded
“Yes.”
“Even though I screamed at you?”
“Yes.”
“And told you I hated you.”
“Villain, please–”
“Now you know,” the villain interrupted, voice incredibly soft. “Why I would have never left you on that porch.”
The hero forgot to breathe for a moment, tongue going numb in their mouth. The villain couldn’t mean–
They blinked for a moment too long, and then the villain was standing between the hero’s knees, hand on their chest.
“You love me,” the hero said a moment later.
“Ruinously,” the villain agreed.
“So you–”
“I was trying to save your life,” the villain’s hands were gentle as they began to patch up the hero’s side. “And now I’m saving your life in a new and unanticipated way. But there is nothing you could ever do to stop me from saving your life.”
The hero’s heart clenched. 
“Really?”
The villain caught their chin, eyes boring into the hero’s. They brushed a piece of hair off the side of the hero’s face.
“Really.”
The hero sighed, and the villain caught them as they slumped.
“I thought you hated me,” the hero said, and they hated how raw they sounded. The villain made a choked little noise.
“I’m so sorry.”
The hero sniffed.
“Don’t do it again.”
The villain simply hummed, and smoothed the ends of a bandage down against the hero’s abdomen. The hero could feel their hands shaking.
You scared me.
A second later, their hands settled on either side of the hero’s head, and the villain rested their face into the hero’s hair. They pressed a kiss to the hero’s temple, tension easing from their shoulders.
I’m sorry.
The hero clutched the front of the villain’s shirt between their hands, drawing them closer. The villain went willingly, loose limbed with affection and the rapid draining of terror from their system.
“I would have never left you on that porch.”
The hero had never believed anyone more.
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themarsbar · 1 year ago
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real talk: how do they manage any conversation with this serious a case of Beautiful Big Brown Eyes on the both of them
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fatedroses · 29 days ago
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A different kind of nightmare.
#ffxiv#sketch#zenos yae galvus#adventurer zenos#estinien wyrmblood#thancred waters#its literally just his arm and hair but him being there is still important#behold the concept that zenos has suppressed too much for so long#that if his occasional non-final days nightmares are bad enough (or very rare instances when he's awake)#that his body recognizes it as physical pain because he responds to that more than his own emotions (marginally- anyways)#really “just damn why does this hurt” -> is so sad his heart is going “hey asshole listen to me”#meanwhile poor thancred and estinien getting tossed just for using the scion's communal pillow#estinien was already awake but he wasnt expecting to get lobbed#thancred gets to faceplant because he was asleep on his bicep#this entire things spawned from me doing some writing and theorizing#that zenos unfortunately actually has a really good memory#but he spent so much of his life probably repressing a shit-ton that anything he doesn't deem immediately important#just kinda gets caught in the crossfire#so him being with the scions and working through it#he does start to remember- but its horribly jumbled at the beginning#he has vague memories of his “mother” saying some horrible things (it wasn't her but his conscious fills it in to be her)#because I get the horrible feeling he was probably blamed for her death#and (despite even me affectionally referring to him as murder husband) I write that the reason he dislikes killing unnecessarily#is probably lingering resentment over both his own existence and that “he killed” someone#who he later comes to realize loved him#(because I do like writing that carosa did love him for the brief time they had together ;-; and I will continue to do so)#there's also some aether fuckery going on with him but it only adds to the intensity- not just being the sole cause
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candyheartedchy · 4 months ago
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It’s been 4 days since I drew any of my self ships.
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#like yeah I drew a few f/os and fankids#even drew some stuff with my original characters#but nothing with my f/o(s) and my self inserts together#and trust me I’ve been trying for days!!#I keep thinking that maybe I’ll get new crushes since I been rewatching old childhood shows and that it’ll get my creative juices flowing#but I keep stressing myself out about it#that I keep jumping around too much#like I keep disappearing offline lately and then every time I return some drama is going on in the self ship community#and then I’m just confused as hell because no one really tells me anything#I’m just left in the dark#and maybe folks just assume I already know when this shit is happening but no#and then I feel kinda left out#which then I feel like I’m not close enough with people to know what’s happening in the community#which I guess I mostly blame myself that I don’t interact with others much because I’ll post something and then disappear out of nervousnes#and I’m always too scared to interact with any fandom to try to make friends with others who are into the same things#fearing I’ll be looked at like a freak for self shipping#hence why I usually only interact first with other self shippers compaired to those who don’t#well self ship#I didn’t mean for this to turn into a vent#it’s like 4am I should be sleeping#but I mostly feel just… numb#where I wouldn’t say it’s my depression acting up again (it was at first)#but I do feel like I’ve been on autopilot lately#💬 chy chatter 💬#ventish#vent
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vesna-v-irkutske · 4 months ago
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Mom's influence on Artyom was enormous: one day she brought her son to the hairdresser and told the master, "Cut the boy's hair like mine and give him a perm." The hairdresser barely talked her out of it: they'll laugh at the boy… And they did laugh at Artyom: from the 1st grade he was an outcast, although he studied well. And only in senior classes, when his classmates gradually matured and became more friendly, Anoufriev managed to get rid of this stigma, but at the same time, while in the 10th grade, his performance worsened and he graduated from school with a diploma with 3's (they call it a "satisfactory", passing grade, but it's not good (2 is the lowest, 5 is the highest)). At the graduation party, Anoufriev's mother suddenly approached her son's homeroom teacher and said, "Thank you." The teacher replied, "I carried this cross for seven years. I removed it from myself. You're left with who you raised one on one."
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feministfang · 11 months ago
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HERE WE GO AGAIN!!!!
Just recently, an Indian woman’s brutal rape case shook the entire world to the core, Indian women are out on streets protesting and fighting for her justice, women everywhere are scared for their lives and angry, but men somehow made it about themselves once again.
These shameless south asian men are making and sharing disgusting dark memes on social media about the victim and cracking jokes, but women are not even allowed to speak a word against these bastards cause the pick me pricks won’t stop bringing their swords in, protecting these men who should be lynched to death.
All men are busy "nOt aLL mEning" like always, but women can’t point fingers at them because "i hAvE hUGGeD mEn yOu gUys thEy’rE grEaT"
In India, one in every three women is raped every minute, but let’s not blame all men, it’s just a fEw oF thEm. PlEaSe tHinK bEfoRe yOu sPeAk!!
Men are happily cheering on the victim’s death and going on with their privileged lives, but let’s give them a tissue paper because tHey’re sUbjEcTed tO thE sAme tUrmOil tHe wOmEn fEEl. 🥺
South Asian men are number one in the list of all trash men and yet these dumbfucks cannot stop worshipping their ugly dicks. But enough is enough now!! This happens every time a woman goes through something worst. Every single time the pick mes and their favourite m@les pop out of their garbage dumpsters making it all about these mEn. But not anymore!!!!
Please start calling out these type of people and publicly shame them! I swear if i see any other person saying shit like "nOt aLL mEn bUt aLwAys a mAn" it won’t be my fault whatever happens to them next.
I will blame all men because YES IT IS ALL MEN! ALL MEN ARE TRASH! ALL MEN SHOULD DIE!
PS. the last pic is the screenshot from the instagram story of a Pakistani writer, Umera Ahmed! Also, excuse the B slur!
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arthursfuckinghat · 1 year ago
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Arthur looking for flowers <3 (he just fell down a cliff and refused to get up off his hands and knees for a solid 5 minutes afterwards and I feel terrible about it)
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evermoredeluxe · 5 months ago
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i don’t mean to disrespect jason because obviously he can’t control other grown men’s misogynistic views, but i just Know that no one on the chiefs would ever make a similar comment about kylie and that’s in part because they respect travis and his leadership and know he would not tolerate that bs. jason has taken on a role of representing eagles and supporting them and views them as his brothers, so idk maybe also support your real brother and his family
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aliusfrater · 5 months ago
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similar cinematographic choices to portray the same imagery with insanely different circumstantial contexts
#like being tricked into a room and locked off from the outside world with a pitcher of water‚ a waste bucket‚ and an army cot#as you slowly died while experiencing acute mental distress to the point of having a psychogenic seizure at the same time#that people discussed your fate as if it were a decision they had the authority to make (and they DO. unfortunately for you)#vs being tied to chair during which you're in pretty consistent communication and under the care of the person who put you there#and you're narratively given the opportunity to hunt this person down and you even have scenes with hand to hand combat#in which you're able to properly defend yourself. for the other person the idea of your life being in danger is carefully threaded risk#to be taken rather than (as per the previous circumstance described) a decision you have the authority to make#likeee i remember reblogging this post that ssid 'supernatural doesn't really have a concept of jail' but like absolutely yes it does#sam (and even other characters like mary and rowena) are both put in 'jail' as the direct effect to a fault#wrt the winchester familial dynamic and their role. it's one of the main differences here. sam is put in jail‚ dean is not#sam does not have the authority to put him there. it doesn't help that sam is literally pleading as the victim within his scene#while dean is able to victimise sam even as the monstrous body within the 10.03 scene#and the thing is that their identities are being compartmentalised in similar ways here. dean is attempting to save his sammy#from the encroaching (invariable) monstrous sam that which he spends the next season attempting to forgive for the shortcoming#of dean perceiving sam's efforts at independence as abandonment while sam is attempting to save his dean from the encroaching mark of cain#(chosen to be put there yet is still victimised by) and sam spends the rest of the season forgiving him over and over while even#taking misattributed responsibility and blame that which has to be made up for#4.21#10.03#se referat#edit: also adding onto chii's tags wrt the differences in capacity for consent regarding demon!dean#it's so interesting to compare demon!dean to soulless!sam in that demon!dean didn't have the capacity to reject competent!dean's consent#while both soulless!sam and 5.22!sam did not consent to be resouled in respectively active and precedingly passive ways#like 6.12 sam is clearly happy and grateful to have been resurrected and he doesn't even have any specific qualms#about dean keeping information relating to his ressurection from him but 5.22 explicitly made his consent‚ or lack thereof‚ regarding#ressurection clear unlike dean in early-s10... and the thing is that the last time sam didn't pursue dean's ressurection#he faced negative consequences for that decision! and yet dean is seen as objectively correct for his actions in s6#by both the audience and narrative‚ and much of his responsibility regarding sam's psychosis isn't acknowledged as directly related#to his actions vs the pinning of blame to much of early-s10 onto sam esp relating to the guy he had summon a demon‚ who sold his own soul#despite sam's advice‚ whom demon!dean killed
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lovelyrotter · 10 months ago
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ill probably delete this in a minute but ive just been fuckin boggled by what ive seen across tumblr in the last few days in particular. its why i havent really been around. like holy fucking shit, its really like some of yall just dont want a chunk of the trans community to exist. like some of yall are thisclose to saying it verbatum. way too many already have. 'shut up sit down be quiet and smile for us' type shit, gee where have i heard that before. oh yeah my entire life cause i was forcefully gendered as someones daughter. shock horror i know. you might be surprised to remember and/or learn that very few trans folks know theyre trans before we're 5, or even 10, and that that gendered experience stays with all of us in both/either small or large ways. either bc we literally dont have a solid identity yet (bc we're very small children), dont have the words, we're repressing it out of fear from how others will treat us, we're actually enjoying or enjoyed being another gender in our childhood, or we just genuinely didnt fuckin know until shit lined up later in life. weird isnt it that transmascs dont pop out as 6'1 brick shithouse cis men when we're born so yall know for certain that we're confused lost girls/women oops i mean big dangerous scary men. its almost like we're transgender too. none of yall actually know what intersectionality is or means
#my t#transandrophobia#yeah ill tag it why tf not#i just dont understand why transmasculinity is scrutinized and dissected like this within the trans community#when its just not the case for other gendered trans folks amongst themselves more often than not these days#which is a good thing! a really really good thing! but why are we scapegoating transmascs#''we need more weird trans people!!'' yall cant even handle like. a pre-everything trans guy coming out for the first time#yall cant handle a pre-everything tguy wearing a tshirt without tearing him to shreds & calling him shit like afag/theyfab & ukelele boy#im tired of my identity being treated as a debate. i had enough of that in highschool as#very literally. **the only trans kid in my grade** surrounded by cis teachers & peers USING ME AND MY BODY AS A TALKING POINT#i was the only one who wasnt deeply closeted that is. and holy fuck do i still not blame anyone for being closeted in that school#why is it only okay to try to separate trans ppl from our gender when we're not fem/me#why is one celebrated and the other treated like radioactive waste **within our own community**#god i need to find an irl community fuckin badly online trans circles are hell on earth#ill be describing smth that happened to me as a clocky tguy and someone else will say TO MY FACE#that what happened to me wasnt bc i was a clocky guy but purely bc i was trans#like i. what. how. how does that make any kind of fucking sense#i wouldnt be clocky if i wasnt trying to look like my gender. like i. hello?#would u say that to any other trans person or am i just that special?
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