#THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT IT'S LIKE TO BE A TEENAGE GIRL

[dpwifevein]

Batman saw the teenager enter a small church. He looked in from the window, only for the world to change. The darkness of night in the dark city swallowed everything, leaving a swirling mess of light and darkness in the church that now seemed as large as a cathedral. cathedral Batman found himself inside. The boy's black hair turned white. His body veiled with a cloak, and his legs seeming to disappear. A great scythe appears in his hands. His head turns and his once blue eyes and are now glowing a ghostly green colour. Organ music starts to play, which made Batman desperately trying to comprehend what was happening; desperately trying to think of a way out.

Just then the ghostly eyes focused on the organ, "Sam, do you have to?"

"I'm just trying to set the mood." said the goth girl. She wore a black leotard with a dark green hue, her eyes nearly occluded from makeup, as thorned vines visibly moved about the organ. And following the movement in the corner of his eyes, the vines had spread across the entire cathedral.

The ghostly eyes turned to look back at him, "Look, sorry, this was just meant to open the door. I should have known you've already walked through one."

"Where - are we?" Kevin Conroy Batman's deep voice asked.

"I call it the Ghost Zone, that doesn't doesn't really do a good job of describing it." He looked over to Sam, and sighed, as she continued to play. He looked back to Batman, "Sorry, she's just a bit of a drama queen."

"Gotham's Dark Knight is speaking to the Ghost King." Sam added.

"So, it's real?" Batman asked.

"As real as any ghost is." Danny nonchalantly replied, "I can't exactly say I'm the best king, but the last one was the worst." He then shrugged. In the blink of Batman's unblinking eye he moved towards him as if the space between them did not exist. If Batman had not trained with Giovanni Zatara, and his daughter, there's no way he would have noticed the space seem the warp between the two locations. The boy would have simply appeared in front of him. He turned to glare at the young man. The scythe disappeared, and he held out his right hand.

"What do you want with Gotham?" Batman uttered.

"That's easy." the young Ghost King said, no older than Red Robin. "Your city has a lot of... I guess we can call them ghosts."

"Spirits?" Batman asked, "Demons?"

"They are all really the same." Danny simply replied, and stepped back, without his legs moving. Even without legs. He seemed to just float there. "Tolkien called mortality the Gift of Men. It allows change. Every 20 years, the world of Men is different."

"And for - the spirits?" Batman asked.

"Some are incapable of change, and for others, time does not even pass. In the - Ghost Zone, past and future are one and the same. Without Sam, and the others, the last grasps of reality would slip through my fingers, like falling sand or floating mist."

He slowly floated back towards Batman, holding out his hand.

"And if I take your hand, what happens to me?" Batman harshly asked.

"We shake - and then let go." Danny simply stated. "Your mind is a fortress that not even my wail could penetrate. As I said, I should have known you've done this before."

"That doesn't mean I want to repeat it." Batman harshly uttered, the organ music seeming to reach a crescendo.

"And that's why I'm here." Danny uttered.

"To take over Gotham?" Batman nearly spat.

"Take over?" Danny asked, "You seem to think I have some attachment to this mortal world."

"Then - tell me - why - are you here?!" Batman shouted.

"To help the ghosts of the past come to rest." Danny simply stated. "I'll leave those with the Gift of Men in your hands."

The energy of the organ started to slowly fall, "Do you have to say it like that?" Sam asked, and Danny turned to look at her, and in that instant they both look so utterly ordinary and banal.

"I think we can trust Tolkien when it comes to English." Danny replied, and Sam rolled her eyes. Danny turned back to Batman. "We managed to calm the ghosts of my hometown." he simply stated, "I needed to find some place," he said, and looking between the windows, as if he could see reality beyond the jet-black frames. He then looked back to Batman, "Gotham is an - interesting - place."

"That's one way to put it." Batman crumbled.

"What if - a number of your problems weren't actually crazy?" the nascent Ghost King asked.

"Arkham would beg to differ." Batman grumbled.

"What if the things they saw were... well, not real?" the nascent Ghost King asked, "But as real as I am?"

Batman's eyes instantly grew distant. Anyone doing any research into the arcane knew that those not properly grounded in reality could often see more than what others could. Children, the fevered brains, and insanity. "Is that what the scythe is for?" Batman harshly asked.

"It lets me separate spirits, if some of them is overshadowing, or getting a little too involved in someone."

"And, if you use it on a living person?" Batman asked.

"I can give them a temporary out of body experience." he replied.

"That's it?" Batman asked.

"I know this is had to believe." he said, and turned to the organ as the music came to an end. He then looked Batman back in his eyes, "We have our own rich backers, and so all we really need is an abandoned church."

"Lovely what you've done with the place." Batman sardonically stated.

"Thank you." Samantha replied, as she stood up from the organ, and walked over, the vines seeming to follow her as if they were pets. "Why don't you stop by some time for tea?"

"We could take you to Scáthach's Fortress of Shadow." the nascent Ghost King added. "The cliffs are hauntingly beautiful."

"I don't know if you know this, but I'm a busy man." Batman harshly uttered.

"And I know you are also charitable." the Ghost King replied, "You can stop by, and donate to our food bank."

"Food bank?" Batman dismissed, and a man walked out with a black shirt and pants, grey blazer, and white, clerical collar.

"We are a small church, but we have a group of Blackfriars to run the soup kitchen."

"Dominicans?" Batman asked, and looked around the wyrd cathedral. "Wouldn't they be a bit - uncomfortable working here?"

"They are mendicants." the priest replied. "They go where those who need them most are."

"So, they've given up comfort?" Batman asked.

"Those that come here are often plagued by things they cannot comprehend." the priest continued.

"And that's where the Ghost King comes in?" Batman asked.

The nascent Ghost King simply shrugged. "Crime Alley is where they need help the most."

With that, Batman's life flashed before his eyes.

* * *

Bruce Wayne walked through the small church's front door, and when he stepped inside he was in the cathedral, the windows were occluded by darkness, and he was once again Batman. He quickly looked around in desperation.

"Like I said," the nascent Ghost called to him as he appeared form the ether, "your mind is like a fortress. How many other people in Gotham have that kind of discipline?"

The look of betrayal appeared on Batman's dark face.

"The Blackfriars honestly do not care who Bruce Wayne is." the Ghost King replied, "Other than the fact you want to help them feed the poor."

Batman thought this over. "I have one condition." he stated, and the Ghost King smiled at him, "The Martha Wayne foundation has programmes to help people get off the street."

"You want to put a flyer on the bulletin board?" the Ghost King asked.

"You know who am I?" Batman asked, "But who are you?"

"I honestly don't know." the Ghost King replied, "But Jazz is helping me figure that part out. Let's head to Ireland for tea."

[wchswift]

─── SO HIGH SCHOOL

pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader

summary: As teenagers, you and Dean had a whirlwind romance before everything fell apart. Years later, you reunite—and it’s like high school all over again.

contents! mutual pining, teenage love, soft, flirting and touching, stupid in love dean, mdni 𖤐 18+

word count: 2.8k

𝒟ean masterlist !

Dean was the first and only real love you had.

Well, not exactly real. And maybe not exactly love.

He was the good part of your day. That person you knew would be there. The person who made school possible and tolerable.

Dean was always known for his charm, for his way with girls. For always having them. But the moment Dean joined your group of friends and you two became even remotely close, it was as if something, a connection, that you didn't know could exist, finally made itself present within you.

It wasn't something verbalized, something explicit. But as soon as you had your first kiss, there was no one else. No other girl in school had a chance with him. He wouldn't let you go, and much less took his eyes off you.

Everything felt so real. Even if it was just between the lines.

He was the best "relationship" you ever had. The best moments and the best treatment you had from a boy were with Dean Winchester.

And then just as it all began, suddenly he wasn't there anymore.

One night you two were together in the back seat of the car and the next morning he was gone from town, without any explanation.

And when you were seventeen, that was the last time you saw Dean.

You and Dean were sure you would never see each other again. You were teenagers, it was normal. People come and go from school all the time, it was common to meet people at school and then never see them again, never find out how they are.

This is what you and Dean thought things would be like. Just a memory that would fade in time. Never having to worry about looking each other in the eye again.

But when was anything ever simple in Dean Winchester's life?

A case never ended up being just a case.

The small town didn’t exactly scream "monster hotspot," but something was definitely off. Three people had vanished without a trace in the past two months, all last seen at the same place—a cozy little diner on Main Street that doubled as a bookstore. The place was old-school charming, the kind of spot with checkered floors, the scent of fresh coffee in the air, and a tiny bell over the door that jingled whenever a customer walked in. Nothing about it screamed "supernatural danger," but Dean had learned long ago that the worst things often hid in the most ordinary places.

“Alright, so we got three missing persons, no bodies, and a common location,” Sam said, flipping through his notes. “No signs of struggle, no EMF spikes, no sulfur. If it’s something supernatural, it’s keeping a low profile.”

Dean tapped his fingers against the Impala’s steering wheel, squinting at the diner across the street. “Or it’s just smart. Maybe a witch, maybe something we haven’t seen before.”

Sam sighed. “So, the usual—talk to employees, check out security footage, dig through lore?”

Dean smirked. “Aw, you're so smart, Sammy.”

With that, they climbed out of the car and crossed the street, the bell over the door announcing their arrival. The place was warm and inviting, filled with the quiet hum of conversation and the soft crackle of pages turning. Dean barely had time to take it all in before his gaze landed on someone behind the counter.

He recognized you instantly. There wouldn't be a day that he wouldn't.

You were busy jotting something down, focused on a customer, completely unaware of him—at first. Dean’s stomach tightened, his pulse kicking up. It had been years, but damn if you wasn’t still the same girl he remembered—just sharper, more grown-up, but still you. The girl who had once snuck out of your house to meet him, who had laughed against his lips under the Friday night stadium lights, who had looked at him like he was worth something—until he left without saying goodbye.

When you lifted your head, ready to serve the new customers, that’s when you saw him.

For a second, just a second, your eyes met, and he saw it: the flicker of recognition, the moment your heart probably dropped into your stomach the same way his had.

To this day, Dean always remembers the way you used to look at him. The sparkle in your eyes, the way they seemed to smile, emanating happiness and trust.

Just seeing you made him feel as if he were in high school again.

And now? Now you were standing behind the counter, your apron tied around your waist, a pen tucked behind your ear, looking at him like you weren’t sure whether to punch him or pretend he didn’t exist.

Dean opened his mouth, but for once in his life, words failed him.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” you finally muttered, eyes narrowing.

Sam cleared his throat. "Uh, Dean—?"

“Yeah, yeah, I got it, Sammy.” Dean snapped out of it, forcing a grin. “Long time, no see, sweetheart.”

"Didn’t think I’d ever see you again, Winchester.” Your voice was calm, even, but there was an edge to it, a quiet challenge. "Guess life’s full of surprises."

Dean exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah… guess it is."

Sam, ever the unfortunate third wheel, glanced between them and shifted uncomfortably. "Uh, we’re actually here about the disappearances. We’re—"

"FBI?" you cut in, lifting a brow. "Do you want me to believe that you two are FBI?"

Dean had to bite back a smirk. Of course you weren’t buying their act. You had always been sharp. Always saw right through him.

Sam hesitated. "We just have a few questions."

You sighed, tapping your fingers against the counter before jerking your chin toward an empty booth in the corner. "Fine. Take a seat. I’ll be over in a minute."

Dean watched as you turned on your heel, disappearing into the back. Only when you were out of sight did he let out a slow breath, dragging a hand down his face.

“Well,” Sam muttered, “that wasn’t awkward at all.”

Dean ignored him, eyes still locked on the door you had just walked through.

Yeah. This case just got a hell of a lot more complicated.

Only to get better, when you return, you decided to act as if he didn't exist. There was no sign of recognition on your face. No lingering shock, no flicker of emotion. Just cool, effortless professionalism, like you didn’t just have the wind knocked out of you moments ago.

A notebook is in your hand now, the pen twirling between your fingers as you slide into the seat across from them. Your eyes flick briefly to Sam—acknowledging him first, like Dean isn’t even there.

“So,” you say, tone even. “What exactly do you want to know? If this is about the disappearances, let me say I don’t know much. Just that they all came in here before they went missing. We gave their names to the cops already”

Dean leaned in, arms folding as he tilted his head slightly. “You always this helpful, sweetheart?”

The nickname made your eye twitch—barely.

You finally, finally glanced at him, and for a second, all he could see was the fire behind your gaze.

“I try my best, agent.” Your lips curled in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Anything else?”

Sam cleared his throat, glancing between the two of you, clearly picking up on the weird energy but too polite, more like too damn confused, to say anything. “Uh—right. But anything else you might’ve noticed? Strange behavior? Anyone bothering them?”

You exhaled through your nose. “Not that I remember.”

Feeling that with all this tension he wasn't going to get anywhere, Sam decided to stop there. “Alright, I think that’s all we need for now, then. If you remember anything else, let us know.”

With a nod, you began to rise from your seat, your body moving almost instinctively as you embraced the end of the conversation. “Sure thing."

As Dean watched you walk back to the counter, he couldn't believe you acted as if he wasn’t even there. However, if you thought that was the end of it, you were mistaken. Now that Dean had found you again, he wasn’t planning to just walk away. Not this time.

“Dude,” Sam muttered, voice low, snapping Dean out of his reverie. “What the hell was that?”

Dean exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “It’s complicated.”

Sam frowned. “Yeah, no kidding. You gonna fill me in?”

Dean didn’t answer right away, just watched as you disappeared through the swinging door behind the counter.

He used to love watching you walk away. Now it just felt like he was losing you all over again.

After a beat, he pushed up from the booth. “I’ll be back.”

Sam sighed. “Dean—”

But Dean was already moving.

The back door of the diner led to a narrow hallway—one he knew you’d taken to get a breather. It was quieter back here, the hum of conversation fading into a dull murmur.

And sure enough, there you were.

Your hands braced on the edge of a small counter, eyes closed, breathing deep. He knew that look. Knew you were trying to steady yourself, get your walls up before he could knock them down.

Too late.

“Still not gonna look at me?”

Your shoulders tensed at his voice, but you didn’t turn. “What do you want, Dean?”

He leaned against the doorframe, arms folding. “Oh, I dunno. Maybe a little acknowledgment? A hey, Dean, long time no see. Thought you were dead or in jail—”

“Wouldn’t have been surprised.”

Dean let out a sharp breath, a humorless smirk twitching at his lips. “Yeah, well. Didn’t end up that way.”

Silence.

You reached up, rubbing your temple, like talking to him was physically painful.

And hell, maybe it was.

After a beat, you finally turned to face him, arms crossing. Your eyes were sharp, guarded. But there was something else beneath it. Something raw.

“Why are you here, Dean?”

His chest ached at the way you said his name. Not like you used to—soft, familiar, like it meant something. Now it just sounded… tired.

“Job brought us here,” he said, keeping it simple.

You studied him, unconvinced. “And what? You thought, hey, let’s stop by and ruin her day while we’re at it?”

Dean huffed a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, because that’s what I wanted. To see you look at me like I’m a damn ghost.”

You flinched. It was quick—so quick he almost missed it. But he didn’t.

And suddenly, the fight drained out of you. Your gaze dropped for the first time since this whole thing started, fingers tightening against your sleeves.

Dean’s throat worked.

He could push. Could try to get you to really talk, break down that wall you were building brick by brick.

But the way you looked right now? Like you were holding yourself together with nothing but sheer will—

He couldn’t do it.

Not yet.

Instead, he exhaled, running a hand down his face. “Look. I don’t know how long we’ll be in town. But I think we’re gonna be crossing paths whether you like it or not.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t answer.

Dean nodded, stepping back. “Just… don’t pretend I was never here, alright?”

And with that, he walked away.

He didn’t see the way your jaw clenched, the way your fingers curled into fists like you were stopping yourself from reaching out—

Didn’t hear the breath you let out, shaky and uneven, as soon as he was gone.

You knew this wasn’t the end—couldn’t be. Deep down, you knew that your story with Dean Winchester was far from over. And you knew that the moment he decided to see you again, he would pull you close once more, weaving his way into your heart until you could never imagine leaving his side again.

Weeks passed.

Looking back, you weren’t sure when exactly everything shifted.

Maybe it was after Dean came back to the diner and made you listen while he told you the truth—even though at the time you were sure that the man you once loved was completely insane.

But maybe it was when you started helping with the case, and somewhat believing him—not because you wanted to be a hunter, but because you wanted to be with him.

Or maybe it was just inevitable. Like gravity pulling you back into his orbit, like you never really had a choice in the first place.

All you knew was that, suddenly, it felt like before—like sneaking out past curfew, like warm summer air and stolen kisses in the Impala, like every love song that made your chest ache.

Only now, you weren’t kids anymore.

And Dean Winchester had never been the kind of guy to love halfway.

Which was how you ended up here.

Sitting in a diner, trying to pretend like Dean’s hand wasn’t sliding up your thigh under the table.

Across from you, Sam exhaled sharply through his nose. His patience was wearing thin.

“Dude,” he gritted out, glaring at Dean. “Can you stop touching her for five seconds?”

Dean, the picture of innocence, took a sip of his coffee. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Sammy.”

Sam’s expression was pained.

You bit your lip to keep from laughing, but when Dean leaned in—his lips brushing your ear when he definitely didn’t need to be that close—you swatted at his chest.

“Dean.”

“What?” He smirked, not even pretending to be sorry. “Just admiring my girl.”

Sam muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like I hate this.

But it only got worse from there.

Dean was relentless.

His hands were always on you—an arm wrapped around your waist, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt, palm resting low on your back. He kissed your temple absentmindedly, whispered things that made you flush, smirked when he caught you looking at him like you still had a teenage crush on Dean Winchester.

Because you did.

You always had.

Later, at Bobby’s, the three of you sprawled in the living room—Dean practically wrapped around you on the couch, arms snug around your waist, his breath warm against your neck.

Sam was across the room, doing some research on his laptop, eyes glued to the screen as if sheer focus could block out the absolute nonsense happening beside him.

Dean, completely unbothered, nosed at your temple. “You cold?”

You weren’t.

At all.

But you hummed innocently, just to see what he’d do.

Dean, ever the problem, tugged you closer, his hands sliding beneath the hem of your sweater, tracing slow, lazy circles against your skin.

You shivered.

He felt it.

And he smirked.

“You’re shameless,” you whispered, biting your bottom lip to repress a smile.

Dean nipped at your jaw. “Yeah?” His lips brushed your ear, and God, you felt it everywhere.

“Hey.” His voice was quiet, meant just for you. “Wanna know somethin’?”

You swallowed. “What?”

Dean shifted, his mouth so close his breath fanned warm against your skin. “First time I saw you? When we were stupid teenagers?” His hands traced higher, fingers barely grazing the edge of your bra. “Damn near forgot how to breathe.”

Your stomach plummeted.

“Dean.”

“Mm?”

Your heart hammered, but you fought to keep your voice steady. “Sam is right there.”

Dean pulled back just enough to glance at his brother—who was clearly tuning you out, laser-focused on not acknowledging this entire situation.

“If he has a problem, he can get up and leave.”

You swatted at his chest, biting back a laugh, but when you turned to face him, his expression shifted—no teasing, no smugness. Just him, looking at you like he was seeing you all over again.

His fingers brushed your jaw, tilting your chin up.

And just like that, you felt seventeen again.

God, what was it about him that made you feel like this?

That made you ache?

Dean’s lips parted, his gaze flickering down to your mouth.

Your breath caught.

He grinned—slow, lazy, devastating. “You gonna let me kiss you, sweetheart?”

You were sure your heartbeat was so loud.

Sam made a strangled noise in the background.

Dean groaned, dropping his head back against the couch. “Jesus Christ, Sammy, just leave the damn room.”

“I'm living here too,” Sam deadpanned, not directing his gaze towards you.

Dean huffed, shaking his head before turning back to you—his eyes darker now, filled with something deep and warm and completely unshakable.

You swallowed, fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt.

This man knew what he wanted and, boy, he definitely got you.

But God, Dean Winchester was so much. And he had been from the start.

And you were so gone for him.

𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty!

lina's notes: I should have posted this a long time ago lol, but it didn't turn out exactly how I wanted and I was a little unsure but I hope you liked it <3

taglist: @lyarr24 @cowboysandcigarettes @blossomingorchids @bettystonewell @rositaslabyrinth @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @freeluigihesbae (if you want to be removed or added let me know <3)

[theangryman]

okay - so here’s where we have to shift from a science discussion about the definition of sex, because these questions are not science questions. they are questions of policy, historical and cultural analysis. having a binary classification system which refuses to acknowledge the real ways in which “men” and “women” are being used as overlays for thought and affordances for interactions that are entirely different from what we mean when we talk about sex

eg - those stats on domestic violence and crime - do you think transgender women make up disproportionate amounts of wife beaters or murderers? iirc, there’s evidence that it’s the opposite, that a disproportionate number experience those things - aligning them with the experiences of women, as that Dworkin explicitly argued to Raymond. there’s also the impact of uneven and disproportionate enforcement. CeCe went to prison for stabbing a guy rather than die, Marissa Alexander for shooting a guy rather than die. both black women, both experiencing intersections of sex race and class

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/CeCe_McDonald

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marissa_Alexander_case ”to protect female spaces, which is the point of feminism”

if the point of feminism is to protect female spaces, than doesn’t that exactly align with the conservative christian ideology? the chauvinists on Facebook who will happily gloat about how they’d shoot that “thing”? again, that’s why i’m scrolling past “feminists” reposting Fox News links like geriatric racists

i am a radical feminist. i believe that natal sex is at the root of all forms of oppression targeted towards women. i go even further and think that the first forms of violence were motivated by the desire to own and possess women, that marriage was the first model for the development of slavery and private property

i read history and it hurts seeing that pain stretch across the expanse of human time. i understand that there can be no change without eliminating the classification, that widows have been burned that feet have been bound that little girls in South still get married off

i don’t see transition as contradictory to that goal though. i don’t see how treating a medical condition enforces these kinds of hierarchical bounds. most trans people think a lot about how their gender interfaces with oppression. (one of the women Raymond tried to out and get harassed wrote a really good response to Transsexual Empire and was a fan of Valerie Solanas iirc) lots of trans men - including myself - will often be able to get cis men to listen when we can directly cite some of our experiences as women!

like yeah, when you’re looking at posts made teenage trans girls on tumblr they’re going to be silly girl pop shit. “women’s world” was more an insult to women than that stupid Dylan mulvaney song

as far as what a woman is, in pragmatic discussions of policy and advocacy, a woman is someone who experiences sexed based oppression based on the evaluation of their sex by the oppressor. like race, this classification has porous boundaries and is contextual. it is associated with a set of characteristics which are often bimodally distributed (height, chromosomal structure, the “gamete production” we obsess over like General Jack D. Ripper lol, the size of certain brain regions, hormonal production, SRY/X-activation etc etc)

that “set” is how i’d define “sex” btw

your point about definitions not being perfect is my point. they’re descriptors, and we do use them for purposes. drivers license classifications don’t have anything do with which bathroom you *can* walk into

i’m far more concerned with the fact that basically *no one* can get into a women’s shelter here than the possibility a trans woman could get into one. i’m concerned about the safety of women in sex work - both those who are cis and trans. in those regards, i’m often comfortable referring to my experiences with DV and SW as being treated as a “woman” - because the root of my disempowerment there was due to being a natal female

both cis and trans women experience sexual harassment, sexual violence, discrimination, “femme phobia” etc etc etc. idk if y’all think transition is some sort of a hack where trans women just gooning to some transmaxxing fantasy while getting to opt out of sexism. trans woman i went to college went had a professor in her program keep her number, the classic trans panic defense is sometimes a rapist or harasser who just wouldn’t have *murdered* then if they weren’t cis)

It’s genuinely baffling how gendies just make up random scenarios that have never fucking happened once. Like I could bring up statistics and personal experiences that prove trans women retain a male pattern of sexual violence (and violence in general) and they’ll stamp their feet and be like “BUT NOT ALL TRANS WOMEN” . When they can’t even name a single event of a radfem brutalizing trans identified males. Radfems do not wish violence upon trans individuals. We just do not believe in “gender”.

I also think their comment on intersex reveals some insight into the way these people view bodies. Because if you research, intersex women literally cannot have a penis. They can grow something similar to testes, but that’s it. An intersex woman could have an enlarged clitoris that APPEARS like a penis, but would have an entirely different function.

This is the same argument they have for intersex men, who sometimes can have “holes” but they don’t lead anywhere. They don’t have a uterus. This line of thinking “well, it LOOKS like this, therefore, it IS this” is so prevalent in their community. An intersex male has a micropenis and didn’t have normal male puberty? Well, he’s basically a woman!

And they don’t see how misogynistic this is. The equivalent would be noticing a woman who went through anorexia and therefore ‘skipped’ puberty and has a flat chest is now a man.

Lastly even if there was a magical intersex person that had both functioning male and female genitals (never been found, this literally cannot exist in the human body due to conflicting hormone amounts needed for both sets of genitals to function), a male could still not identify as a woman. Because a woman is not an identity. Just like how I can’t “identify” as intersex.

Women with a beard and deep voices and clitorises that appear like penises… are still women! Women who have gone bald are still women. Women who are extremely thin or obese are still women… etc etc

[rcklessheavn]

𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐫 ── ★ ˙🏎️ ̟ !!

f1 driver!matt x influencer!reader au

summary: after influencer!reader is invited to give interviews at the grand prix event, she meets matt and everything changes for both of them.

intro pt1 pt2

warning: none

wc: 2.2k

note: i know ive taken so long but i am new to the F1 world and really really wanted to educate myself properly, so i am now writing as a fan!!! i still have a lot to learn so bare with me :)

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨 ༉‧₊˚.

Three knocks on your door jolted you awake. For a moment, you couldn’t remember where you were—or why you were sleeping on what felt like a giant marshmallow. Seriously, this bed was the perfect level of comfort for any mortal human.

“Y/N! If you don’t hurry up, you’re going to be late for practice!” Hailey’s voice came through the door, sharp and urgent.

“No, Mom, I don’t have practice today. Remember?” you mumbled into your pillow, clearly still half-asleep. But then your alarm—set the night before—blared, dragging you back to reality.

You jumped up with a start, just as Hailey knocked twice more, her hand poised for a third. You scrambled to open the door. “Sorry, sorry! In my defense, I did set an alarm... and woke up.” You flashed her an innocent smile, but she just rolled her eyes. Clearly, this wasn’t her first rodeo with you—which was exactly why you loved her so much.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, unfazed. “Now, we’ve got practice and an official paddock tour, but first—breakfast. Get ready. Chop chop!” She clapped her hands for added drama.

You couldn’t help but laugh as you made your way to the bathroom for a shower.

The first time you stepped into this suite, it felt like you’d walked into a palace. Everything was so elegant, so delicate—it practically screamed luxury. Even the toilet paper felt like it cost a fortune, and that’s no easy feat. You couldn’t believe you were here, experiencing all of this. It was the opportunity of a lifetime, and you were going to make the most of it.

“Okay, I’m done!” you called as you emerged from the bathroom, fully ready to face the day. Makeup done, hair styled, outfit on. You’d kept it low-key—just a casual yet cute look, with a Ferrari hat to show off your passion. No need to go overboard, since you weren’t expecting to run into anyone just yet.

“Well, that was faster than I expected. Eager much?” Hailey teased, glancing up from her phone, probably checking if the Uber had arrived (it had).

You just shook your head, chuckling. She knew exactly how to push your buttons.

You grabbed your phone and double-checked your purse. Wallet? Check. Charger? Check. Portable charger? Check. Camera? Check. Extra batteries and SD cards? Check and check. Tylenol? Check. Various lipsticks, glosses, and liners? Check, check, and check. Powder and extra blush? Check and check. You mentally went through your checklist, sure you hadn’t missed anything... until you froze.

The passes. You mentally smacked your forehead. Almost forgot the very thing that would let you experience all of this.

“Okay, ready to go?” you asked Hailey, who gave you a nod, standing up from the couch.

Time to get this day started.

Arriving at the paddock felt surreal. As you stepped out, you were greeted by the sound of a huge crowd of F1 fans. Polite smiles all around, you made your way through the crowd—but then, you heard your name being shouted. You turned and saw a teenage girl waving at you. You glanced at Hailey, silently asking for permission to approach, and she nodded.

“Y/N! Y/N!” the girl called out, her face lighting up.

You smiled and waved. “Hi! You know me?” you asked, surprised.

“Yes! Yes! Are you kidding? I love your content! I saw your Instagram post yesterday! I swear I’m not stalking you, I just happened to already have plans to be here, and somehow, I low-key manifested meeting you!” She spoke so quickly, her excitement palpable. “Is it okay if I take a picture with you?”

You chuckled, taking her phone. “Of course, we can!” You smiled. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“I’m Emiliana,” she said, her bright smile warming your heart. “Thank you so, so much!”

“It was so nice to meet you, Emiliana,” you said, still smiling. “I’ve never had a fan interaction before. You’ve made this trip so much more special.” You waved as you walked away, and she waved back with a grin.

As you entered the paddock gates, Hailey turned to you with a proud smile. “Wasn’t that your first fan interaction?”

You took a deep breath and turned back to glance at Emiliana one last time. “Yes, it was,” you said, smiling up at Hailey. She pulled you into a side hug.

“I think Monaco is already changing your life,” she joked, and you laughed.

“Maybe I’ll end up on Vogue or something,” you joked back.

You both made your way further into the paddock, and you took a deep breath, pulling out your camera to film some b-roll. As you were filming, a woman approached you.

“Hello, I’m Claudia! You must be Y/N, right? And Hailey?” She asked, and you blinked in surprise. Then you saw her Ferrari badge, and everything clicked.

You extended your hand to greet her. “Yes, hi! It’s nice to meet you, Claudia!” you said, a little too cheerfully, but Claudia seemed pleased by your energy.

“I’m with Ferrari,” she said, holding up her badge, “and I’ll be with you both this morning. Practice starts in 45 minutes, so we’re going on a quick track tour. Our car is waiting, so we need to hurry. After that, we’ll head back to the Ferrari quarters and watch practice. Does that sound good?”

Her words were like music to your ears. You nodded eagerly, and Hailey spoke up.

“Sounds perfect. We really appreciate it!” she said, and Claudia smiled.

“Is anyone else coming with us, or…” you trailed off, your curiosity piqued.

“Well, not really. Each team can select one to three creators they want to sponsor or collaborate with, and due to the connection with Matthew Sturniolo and his brothers—who have huge platforms—they’re usually on board for this. They come every year, so they know the drill.” She led you toward the car.

“So, I was chosen as the third creator?” you asked, a bit surprised.

“Yes, but not at random. At Ferrari, we focus on quality over quantity. We’ve been closely following your content, and your passion for our team really stood out. We knew we could achieve something big with you,” she explained, her tone formal yet warm.

Those words hit you hard, and a warm sense of pride washed over you. You had no idea what you’d done to deserve this, but you were certainly not complaining.

You walked past the garage where all the cars were, sneaking a quick peek. None of the drivers seemed to be around, so your body relaxed a little, saving the anxiety for when you came back.

Outside the track, the car was waiting for you. You climbed in, and the driver, Francisco, introduced himself. Both you and Hailey returned the greeting. You pulled out your camera and started filming for your vlog. The ride was mostly quiet, with Hailey asking a few questions here and there. You knew the answers to most, but you paid close attention to the ones you didn’t know.

Then Claudia spoke up, her voice cutting through the silence. “So, Y/N, why Ferrari?”

You smiled, leaning back a little. “Truthfully, I grew up alongside Ferrari. My dad’s a huge Schumacher and Vettel fan, so when race season rolled around, he’d make sure to explain everything to me and my brother. He thought my brother would be the one to sit down with him and watch the races, but to be honest, I was the one who never missed one.” You chuckled, reminiscing about your childhood. “My favorite movie growing up was Cars, so that probably explains a lot. Yeah, I guess red’s been my color since I was born,” you said with a proud smile. Both Hailey and Claudia smiled at you, and you were pretty sure even Francisco grinned.

As you finished your story, on your way back, you noticed the paddock approaching. Your heart began racing again, knowing that any driver could be there right now.

“Who’s your favorite, then?” Claudia asked as you reached your destination, getting out the car.

“Hard question,” you said, glancing up at her. “I really love a lot of them, but Charles Leclerc and Matt Sturniolo have really changed things for the Tifosi. Especially Matt. He has a talent and passion I admire—honestly, I’m surprised he isn’t a world champion yet.” You said it casually, trying not to sound like a crazy, obsessive fan.

“Maybe this year,” Claudia said with a knowing smile.

“Maybe,” you replied, walking past the Ferrari garage.

You had peeked at it before, but now, standing in front of it—knowing you were about to walk inside—it felt utterly surreal. Everything you’d dreamed of, being in a Formula 1 paddock in Monaco, part of the guests, all of it had come true in this moment.

“Shall we go in?” Claudia asked, coming up behind you with Hailey. Apparently, they were already buddies now.

Too afraid to say anything wrong, you simply nodded. Claudia led the way, starting her tour from the ground floor. You took a closer look at both Charles and Matt’s cars. They were even redder in person than you’d imagined. Claudia introduced you to the mechanics and engineers—everyone was so welcoming. The middle floor had the pit wall, with a slight balcony overlooking the track. Finally, the guest area was on the top floor, and, unexpectedly, there were two familiar figures sitting out on the balcony.

“And here I thought we were meeting later tonight,” you said, a little too confidently, to your amusement.

“OMG! Y/N!” One of the figures jumped up, meeting you halfway at the door.

“HI NICK!” you chuckled, embracing him. “It’s nice to finally meet you in person.”

“I know! I can’t believe we live in the same city and still haven’t hung out!” Nick said, laughing. He turned to introduce you to the person beside him. “Oh! This is my brother Chris. Chris, this is Y/N. I think I’ve mentioned her to you.”

Chris stood up and stretched out his hand. “Oh yeah! You were watching her this morning. Nice to meet you,” he said with a polite smile.

“It’s nice to meet you too. I love your brand! Big fan, not gonna lie,” you admitted casually, and Chris just smiled, clearly pleased.

“Are you excited?” Nick asked, giving you a spot to sit beside them.

“Yes, totally! It’s my first time, so I’m super hyped right now,” you said. Just then, you heard Claudia’s voice behind you.

“Hey, guys!” she greeted Nick and Chris, who waved back. Then she turned to you. “Y/N, is it okay if we leave you here with the guys for a bit? Hailey and I need to talk about some business things, if you don’t mind?”

“Not at all. I’m not in trouble, am I?” you asked, half-joking.

Claudia chuckled, shaking her head. “No, not at all. Just call me if you need anything,” she said, then left, leaving you with your new friends.

Before practice started, you decided to take a few pictures, handing your camera to Nick.

“Can you take some pictures of me?” you asked, and Nick’s face lit up, clearly excited. Photography was definitely his thing after all.

Meanwhile, on the ground floor, the two Ferrari drivers were getting ready to head out. They were bantering about who was better—Spider-Man or Batman. This definitely wasn’t their first time having this debate. Matt, bored of the conversation, glanced up at the balcony, maybe to wave at his brothers, but instead, he noticed a new figure posing for a photo. Nick was clearly assigned to be the photographer.

“Yo!” Matt said, playfully hitting Charles on the arm, clearly distracted. “Who’s that?” he asked, catching his teammate’s attention.

Charles turned to look where Matt was pointing and shrugged. “I don’t know, probably just one of those influencers they invite every year,” he muttered.

Matt sighed, a hint of curiosity in his voice. “She’s wearing a Ferrari hat.” He paused. “Do you think she’s a fan?” He tried to mask the excitement in his voice, but the hopeful look in his eyes betrayed him.

“I don’t know, man. Maybe she’s wearing it for promo or just as a benefit for her,” Charles shrugged, sounding uninterested.

Matt let out a disappointed sigh but kept it to himself. He wasn’t one to show his emotions so easily.

Charles looked at him, lifting an eyebrow in playful teasing. “Are you interested, Matthew?” he asked, a sly grin spreading across his face.

Matt swatted Charles’s hand away, rolling his eyes. “No. Why? Are you?” he shot back, his tone light but challenging.

“No, bro, I’m taken,” Charles laughed, stepping back toward his car to get ready. “You should be too,” he shouted over his shoulder, still chuckling.

The sound of Charles’s shout made you turn around, and in that split second, your eyes met Matt’s. You felt a jolt of nervousness before quickly turning back to your conversation with Nick.

Matt held your gaze for a brief moment, a sudden rush of electricity surging through him. Racing cars were an electric sport, but this—this was something different, something he couldn’t quite explain. And he liked it.

“Matt, they need you now, you ready, man?” Nate, Matt’s performance coach, called from behind him, breaking the moment and making Matt drop his gaze.

“Very,” Matt responded firmly, shaking off the unexpected rush.

Chris’s voice pulled you out of the daze you’d slipped into after locking eyes with Matt for the first time. “Ready to experience your first F1 weekend?” he asked with a grin.

You sighed, smiling back at him. “More than ready,” you assured him, eyes drifting to the track ahead.

a story by rcklessheavn

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ series link

⋆˙⟡ tag list

⤷ authors note: ok this was wayyyy too long so i had to divide this, pt. 3 will be out sooner than this one was. i hope the length makes up for my absence!! thank you for your patience :)

@courta13 @matthewsroses @mattswifeyy @sturniolomatthewb @nessabarretswhore @nickmillersn1gf @mattslefttoenail @thecrawlys @tuttifruttixx @obsessedwiththesturniolos @period-queen1 @pair-of-pantaloons @b4by-hon3y @idkwhatthisis2009 @malsmind @matts-247 @baileysturnz @sturniololover1738 @emely9274 @stitchlover324

[misakiisstupid]

Damian Wayne and the Unstoppable Art Club Adoption™

Let’s be clear here: Damian Wayne is not a people person. Not even close. He’s a trained assassin, a gifted martial artist, and a son of the Bat. His social skills are basically non-existent, his patience with others is razor-thin, and he doesn’t do the whole “friendship” thing. Nope. Not his scene.

But you know what’s worse than trying to make friends? Being really good at something and having people latch onto you for that thing like an unbreakable vice grip. And that’s exactly what happens when Damian accidentally joins the most chaotic, unfiltered group of misfits—Art Club.

It all started on a random Tuesday. Damian, in his usual “I hate everything and everyone” mood, decided to doodle in the back of his history notebook because, well, he couldn’t concentrate. This wasn’t some generic, half-hearted sketch either. No, this was Damian Wayne-level talent. Intricate, beautiful, dark, and emotionally charged. The kind of thing that would make anyone who looked at it go, "Wow, that’s... that’s actually incredible."

Enter the Art Club.

A bunch of eccentric, weirdly enthusiastic high schoolers who live, breathe, and bleed art. They don’t care that Damian’s a billionaire’s kid. They don’t care that he’s the child of Gotham’s biggest crime-fighting family. They don’t care that he looks like a miniature Bat and always walks around like he’s perpetually irritated. Nope. All they care about is the fact that this kid can draw like his life depends on it.

One of them, an overly enthusiastic girl with brightly colored hair and way too much energy, peers over his shoulder as Damian’s scribbling away.

Art Club Girl: "Whoa. This is amazing! Like, amazing amazing. You’re one of us now."

Damian, barely looking up from his sketch, mutters under his breath: “I don’t know who you are, but I don’t want to—”

Art Club Girl (interrupting): “Nope. Too late. You’re ours now. Art Club rules. You draw, you’re in. Simple as that.”

Before Damian can even process what just happened, she's already dragging him across the room.

“What are you doing?! I don’t want—”

“Too bad, you’re coming with us!” she says, practically beaming. And that’s how Damian Wayne—the Damian Wayne—ends up getting kidnapped by a bunch of weirdly artsy teenagers who are completely immune to his “I hate everything and everyone” aura.

It doesn’t matter how many times Damian glares at them or threatens to punch someone in the face. Art Club is persistent. They drag him to their meetings. They invite him to all their random after-school creative activities (which always seem to involve a lot of glitter, paint, and weirdly chaotic energy). They give him the space to draw, but also force him to hang out with them.

One day, after the most intense art critique session (in which Damian had drawn a somber portrait of a wolf, looking tragically lonely), they all decide to do an impromptu after-school outing.

Art Club Leader (a guy with a mohawk and an apron full of paint): “Hey, Damian, time to go! We’re hitting the skate park to paint some cool murals—get your stuff!”

Damian tries to resist, tries to glare them all into submission, but it’s no use. The moment the word “skate park” is mentioned, Art Club pulls up in a beat-up van, full of spray paint cans and snacks, and they just drag him along like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Damian, fists clenched, glaring out the window as they head toward their destination, thinks to himself, I will never forgive any of you for this.

But it’s too late. They’re all too in his face, too bright, too cheerful, and too insistent. Art Club doesn’t let him sulk or sit on the sidelines. No, no—they demand his presence.

And when Damian tries to slip away for some “training” or “superhero business” (because surely being an assassin is way more important than this), Art Club doesn’t even flinch.

They just show up at the Wayne Manor, walk right past Alfred like it’s nothing, cheerfully wave goodbye to the dumbfounded Batfamily members who are watching, and then cart Damian away like a loyal, unwilling puppy.

Dick: “Uh, Damian? You’re—”

Art Club Girl: “Bye, Bruce’s kid! We’re just taking him to the art studio to make some murals!”

Jason (whispering to Tim): “Okay, I just—what the hell?”

Tim (staring in disbelief): “How is this a thing?!”

“Hey, where’s Damian?” Bruce asks as he strolls into the room.

“He’s with the Art Club. They took him.”

Bruce blinks, utterly confused. “...The what?”

Dick (sighing deeply): “It’s best you don’t ask.”

The Unavoidable Conclusion:

Damian Wayne might’ve thought he could escape the unrelenting force that is Art Club, but he was wrong. They are persistent. They are everywhere. They are immune to his glare, his threats, and his all-encompassing “I’m too cool for you” vibe. They have adopted him into their chaotic fold, and he is absolutely stuck.

Whether it’s painting murals, attending art exhibits, or even just having random existential debates over coffee (which usually ends with Damian scowling at the fact that they are asking deep questions while covered in paint), there’s no escape for him.

And if he tries to leave? They’ll just drag him back.

Because in the end, Damian Wayne may be an assassin, but he’s no match for the sheer power of an art club that knows how to love a brooding artist whether he likes it or not.

[kalinara]

I think that's a fair way to look at it. But I feel like a lot of the appeal of the Silver Age X-Men is lost without context.

I do feel like, when I read the Silver Age X-Men stuff as compared to the OTHER books of the time, Lee and Kirby were trying to do something a bit different. I'm not really sure there WAS a similar style of team book, specifically for teenaged characters at the time.

Per wikipedia, anyway, it'd be another year before we saw the seeds of Teen Titans in the Brave and the Bold. Doom Patrol definitely has enough similarities to make one side-eye, but it's not a "teen book" in the same way. Peter Parker was already running solo. Johnny Storm is enmeshed in his family.

I'll grant that a LOT of the modern appeal is to read it and go "what the fuck", considering exactly how many times these characters who are clearly intended to be teenagers, despite at least two graduations, and get referred to as kids/teens explicitly by the more adult hero teams multiple times end up lied to and manipulated by their trusted authority figure.

Or to watch Scott and Jean be idiots together with the full knowledge that this really doesn't work in any setting but the sixties, because if it were more socially acceptable for Jean to pursue Scott, she'd have clearly had him up against a wall by issue six. (They do get toned down in most of the re-visitations at least.)

Jean, actually, I don't think gets enough credit at ALL for how she's portrayed in the Silver Age (I still maintain that folks miss the point when they talk about her telekinetic needlepoint in that one issue. She did that in SIX SECONDS with HER MIND. It's about control not gender! And two issues later, she's assembling a machine gun.) Because while there's a lot (a LOT) of silliness, there's also the fact that she's very clearly competent in her powers, fairly outspoken, romantically expressive without shame, and generally gets treated fairly equally by her teammates without a lot of condescension or dismissiveness.

(Maybe Xavier, but he's that way to all of them.)

It's the definition of "Fair for its time" I suppose, and I don't blame more modern depictions for making adjustments, but if you compare Jean's portrayal to Sue Storm or Jan Van Dyne at the time, it really does seem like Lee and Kirby were trying to do something different. (But kind of hamstrung by the fact that they're much older men trying to write a teenaged girl to begin with.)

The X-Men graduate!

It's issue #7 and the X-Men have learnt all Chuck has to teach them. Now they can finally stop fucking around and do black ops 24/7. I just realised I really want a series of Xavier teaching the entire prep school curriculum by himself, but I suspect he telepathically uploaded a lot of that knowledge. He keeps stating that they've definitely done it, no tricks here.

Of the O5, Bobby and Jean both go to college - Hank must have too. He is Doctor McCoy though I have no recollection of when this happened. Dude kept himself pretty busy.

[catharsistine]

The scene in the Barbie trailer when Barbie is skating around with Ken and asks "Why is everyone staring at me?"

THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE AN ADOLESCENT GIRL.

Living in Barbieland (childhood girlhood) but then suddenly you're all grown up in the real world subject to scrutiny and sexualisation (the guy slapping Barbie's ass) and feeling like existing is a crime?

Being forced by adult men into a box (which leads to the not like other girls syndrome) and exploring the 'real world' (being forced to grow up too quickly) while fighting the realisation that maybe the world sucks and being a woman is so difficult while hoping with all your heart that it's not always going to be this way.

Losing touch with the very things that made you happy because they're considered immature and girly? (The group of teens that said they hadn't played with Barbies since they were five.)

Older women telling you that you have to learn the truth about the world and that you can never have your old life back (Kate Mckinnon's Barbie) despite it being the only thing you yearn for, but also older women being a bright spot and support (the old woman on the bench) in the endless slough of life.

And this is just the trailer!!! I'm so excited for this movie I can't breathe, Greta Gerwig the woman that you are 😭

[ninjagogifs]

Can you do the one of Pythor screaming "GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME!" at Skales?

okie dokie!

[oceanwithouthermoon]

no but actually why do people blame kokomi for the existence of the kokomins and the men who are creepy about her? when CANONICALLY, people are more than capable of not being attracted to her for various reasons like being in love with someone else or simply not seeing her that way regardless of sexuality or other factors, why then do people say "oh her power is SO strong that even grown married men and her own brother fall for her"? its not because her "power" is so strong. it has nothing to do with her. its because those men are dickheads, and its baffling that people want to shift the blame onto her.

[joannerowling]

Most of the work I've done in trades, even the feminine women didn't wear makeup because it's not practical while you're working.

Well, exactly. It's not practical at work, so when you wear it outside of work in a different context (hanging out with girl friends, dolling yourself up to impress and seduce your partner, etc.), it helps making you truly feel not at work and just like a woman having fun. You could apply this to everything cosmetic, doing your hair, doing your nails, etc. Things you can only do when you have some time just for yourself, some money just for yourself, and are not going to be lifting boxes, serve greasy food, or be at the hospital all day. It's hard to hear then from a woman who does a much less physically exhausting job (bonus if she's a student, doesn't have kids or her own place) tell you, "well you don't have to wear make-up or feel pretty, you could do something else in your free time, you could spend your money for yourself differently in a way that's gonna fulfill you more, like read or do art," etc. because it feels ignorant and judgemental. Red lipstick takes five seconds to apply.

Totally different perspective if you're talking to a teenager or young adult who is at school / at uni and HAS the time for more challenging and fulfilling pursuits, but would rather waste that time and her part-time job money doing the contouring trends she's seen on tik-tok that require 46 different products. Or if you're talking with a woman who DOES feel pressured to wear make-up at work (and be generally "dolled-up") or she could lose her job. Although, to be fair, i suppose a lot of these can be working-class too (service industry).

And what about women who are *religiously forbidden* to "prettify" themselves, less they bewitch every passing man with their beauty? Obviously they have a particular relationship with make-up (among other things). I recommend watching The Seed of the Sacred Fig (set in Iran, it came out this year and it's great) where this topic is brought up in subtle ways.

My point is basically that radblr/radfems usually come into this conversation like a bull in a china shop and with a limited perspective, and that's not how you really incite women to turn to feminism or feminists to help them.

Do you think Rowling will ever publicly oppose porn, makeup, separatism, men's methods of keeping women oppressed, etc?

-> Porn: i think the content of her adult books makes it quite clear that she's against it. I don't think she'll ever talk about it on her twitter in the sense that she probably doesn't want to give it free publicity - kids being the main target of the HP books, after all.

-> Make-up: no, JKR likes make-up. (So do i, for that matter, in moderation.) I think the focus of that particular topic from radfems is often taken to ridiculous lengths (as in, yes it's a problem, but it's not THE issue women face and the disproportionate amount of time put into talking about it is, imo, a clear sign that radblr as a whole has a middle class/bourgeois core).

-> "Men's methods of keeping women oppressed" : you'd have to be more specific for me to answer that. But, again, i think her books make her ideas on the topic much clearer than any rant on twitter would.

[smalltowndoll]

Just say you're obsessed with me already ♡♡♡ look at all this attention, I know I'm pretty but my goodness! @fademotion I'm sorry but I'm taken, you have to find someone else to harass and degrade 😘

[aejiee]

I feel like I call myself weird to protect myself. As if people calling me weird won't hurt as much if I think its already something I am.

[rintinningvt]

Started watching the Bayverse movies with my besties and... Are we just too gay for these movies??? Admittedly we only finished the first two and got through a quarter of the third, but the second one was such a drag to sit through at times and it probably doesn't help that we do NOT care about Sam that much. I hope that there is a character arc for him in the rest of the third movie. Because so far he has not been fun to watch in that one. He just comes off as a slight manchild to me, like... I can see why he would be frustrated with where he is in life but the way he acts with others and lashes out does not help him in the slightest. I do have to admit though that seeing him go to Cybertronian Heaven in the second movie was the funniest part for me and my besties lol.

I'll just hope that the other guy in the next movies will be at least a bit more interesting. Doesn't even have to be a good guy, just an interesting guy for me lol

[coldflasher]

started rewatching arrow and far be it from me to defend oliver queen but what the fuck is wrong with this man's family?? your missing son comes back from what you believe to be a five-year stint on a completely deserted island. alone. zero human contact and no concerns other than survival. and you want him to put on a suit and be in charge of a company despite having no education or training and being freshly returned from said deserted island

HELLO? do they realize what a miracle it is that this man is even coherent. he's riddled with ptsd! moira is like "oliver i am deeply disappointed that you didnt experience personal growth during your five-year survivalist nightmare. i thought you would come back and somehow not only be normal but also socially well adjusted." like madam the fact he is walking and talking and wearing clothes and acting fairly normal is astonishing in and of itself. he's been eating birds and sleeping in a tree. what does this man know about shareholders and ROI

[autoneurotic]

gideon the ninth, to me, is one of the books of all time

[yourqueenb]

Feeling another random burst of self confidence (probably due to lack of sleep honestly) so have a heavily made-up eye reveal I guess? 😂