trans rights are more important than doctor who, supernatural, and sherlock combined.
holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit.
what the fuck
So last night while I was on the miiverse, a user by the name of “Lonk” had posted this little gem in the Zelda community:
Naturally, I decided to go to their profile:
…I just knew it would be magical.
I was so right.
Wasn’t even a little disappointed.
I mean look at this
Just take a moment…
I don’t understand how they have no followers.
"i’m a writer" is always a great excuse
"why are you researching Aztec culture" I’m a writer
"why are you searching poisonous flowers" I’m a writer
"why is there a dead body in your attic" i’m a writer
yeah god forbid you follow your natural curiosity without some self-serving mass-marketed artifice
yes that is the reason why there is a dead body in my attic. natural curiosity.
I literally do not care about your gender, sexuality or skin colour.
I literally only care about whether you’re a nice fucking human being or not.
so basically you’re racist, sexist and homophobic
how exactly could you have come remotely close to that conclusion
I can’t with this
Be sure to refer to anons on tumblr dot com before engaging in any sexual activity to make sure it passes the True Feminism™ test.
*unauthorised sexual activity alert*
*unauthorised sexual activity alert*
The alarm goes off as I sit hudled over my laptop, busily looking up glittery “misandry” gifs for my blog. It’s important work that I’m doing in the name of feminism right now, but I nevertheless drop it instantly, tossing my chair aside as I leap to attention. Hard as it is to imagine, there are some things more important than one-word slogans, and this is definitely one of them.
Tossing my chair aside with all of the rage of someone who knows that something is not quite how it should be according to me, I grab my gas mask off the wall, before rushing out the front door. My faithful Sex Police van waits for me on the driveway, emblazoned with the logo of a firmly cinched chastity belt. I speed off down the suburban street, wheels squealing as I race around the corner. My neighbours have asked me to stop doing that, or at least to stop doing that at three in the morning, but I just ignored them because I’m pretty sure that’s just misogynistic silencing.
Because speed limits are a social construct and it is therefore my prerogative to flout them regardless of context, I reach the house that triggered the alarm in record time. The door is locked, but that’s not an issue, thanks to my trusty picket sign. I burst through the front door and make my way to the bedroom, where I can hear faint sounds of giggling.
With a primal screech, I kick down the door, revealing the horrific sight beyond. A man and a woman are sitting on a bed, both in a state of partial undress, with the item that triggered the alarm - a pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs - looped around the woman’s hands.
"YOU’RE UNDER ARREST FOR CRIMES AGAINST FEMINISM!" I bellow, picket sign held high above my head. The gas mask muffles the words slightly, but they can still get the gist of it. I’m very loud.
The man claps his hands to his face in shock, while the woman just sort of squints in confusion.
"Are you sure you’ve got the right house?" she asks, tilting her head slightly.
"Perfectly sure," I growl back, pointing to the criminal evidence on her hands. "You were engaging in an act of INTERNALISED MISOGYNY.”
"But- but I’m a feminist myself," the woman protests, slipping her hands out of the handcuffs with relative ease. "I mean, I’m an engineer. I’ve spent my whole life blazing my own path in the world, I’ve made sure to never let anyone else destroy my dreams, and I’m moderately proud of what I’ve achieved in my life. I take responsibility for my own decisions, and I make sure to treat all people as equals-"
"None of that matters!" I interrupt, cutting her off. "The minute you let your horrible abusive boyfriend slip those handcuffs on your wrists, you were condemning yourself to a lifetime of sexual slavery. You’re a traitor to women everywhere.”
"But- but she asked me to do it," the boyfriend puts forward hesitantly. I glare at him.
"Are you suggesting," I hiss - "Are you suggesting that she was asking for it?”
"I - no, that’s not quite what I said," the boyfriend protests. I glare at him. "I just mean, um, she literally showed me the handcuffs and said ‘why don’t we try something new.’ It was her idea. And we were going to try them on me later, too."
"I just wanted to do something new in my sex life," the woman adds, rejoining the conversation. "I thought it might be fun, and my boyfriend agreed."
"FUN?" I roar, slamming my picket sign on the ground. "FUN?!?!?!" I rage again, kicking the edge of the bed. Owowowowow jesus christ i stubbed my toe why did i do that. "IS THAT WHAT YOU THINK FEMINISM IS ABOUT? FUN?"
"Look, where do you get off anyway?" adds the woman, more or less ignoring me. How dare she silence me. "I mean, aside from everything else, isn’t it a bit - well, a bit misogynistic to just run around telling women what they can and can’t do in their own private lives? I thought feminism was about liberation and equality. It’s not very liberating to say people can only have sex a certain way. What makes you the expert on what women should and shouldn’t be allowed to do?"
"It’s really quite simple," I grunt through gritted teeth. My toe still really hurts. "I know better than you, because I am a better feminist than you, because I don’t have anything to do with this handcuff tomfoolery and am therefore much smarter and better than you."
"Wow okay," the woman replies, scooting over towards her boyfriend and wrapping one arm around him. He looks a little bit shellshocked. Male tears, probably. "So it’s okay to call my boyfriend abusive just for doing something that I asked him to do, and it’s okay to call me a misogynist for wanting to try something new in bed, and I can’t call you out on any of that, and even if I do, you won’t listen because you think you’re inherently better than me. Do I have it right?"
"How about you get the fuck out of my house?"
"How dare you swear at me."
That second to last comment is gold. Freaking amazing gold.
This anatomy and these dance poses are freaking amazing.
I’m eternally jealous.
FUCK I AM IN LOVE WITH THE DIFFERENCE IN THEIR BODY TYPES
I feel like I just walked in on something very private