what the fuck is with men and how they write women taking showers honestly. like all of that back-arching mouth-half-open luxoriously-running-fingers-through-hair shit. straight dudes thinkin girls are like damn-near climax from just being naked, whats w/ that
from now on the only female shower scenes ill accept involve either; a).
sitting in a ball on the shower floor or b). standing completely still while staring into the abyss absentmindedly and scratching your ass. anything else gets a 0 and a “see me after class”
Men who do this refuse to conceptualise female nudity as anything other than a sexualised performance designed to titillate them. They feel so entitled to our private lives that they create this horrible, voyeuristic fantasy whereby everything we do (even when completely alone) is about being sexy for them. This in turn informs fantasies whereby they seek to violate our private lives through surveilling us, whereby they see our desire for privacy as nothing but a conscious, coquettish refusal to titillate them.
In writing us this way, they deny us our humanity by denying that we ever exist and think and feel externally to them.
“Babies only cry if they are hungry, need changing, or need to be picked up”
Lies
Babies (and small children) also cry for reasons such as:
1. “I am tired and that makes me angry”
2. “I scared myself with a fart”
3. “You are the wrong parent”
4. “I ran into something with my face”
5. “I’m facing the opposite direction then the one I want to”
6. “I fell asleep in one place and woke up somewhere completely different”
7. “I am a very small person in a very big world”
8. “I got scared because YOU farted”
Babies have more then 3 states of being and sometimes you just have to hold them and bounce them gently while saying solemnly “yes it is very hard to be a baby” because frankly it is
you have to remember that when you’re that tiny… pretty much any bad thing that happens to you is LITERALLY the WORST thing that has ever happened in your life. they have no perspective. everything is awful. help them
Avengers: Huh, it’s been a while since Thor’s been back, hope he isn’t too confused about all of our new members and what’s been going on.
Thor: *flying into battle with an axe* Hey everyone nice to meet ya by the way I’ve brought back Banner also meet my friends Rabbit and Tree I’ll introduce you to my space team and my friend throckmorton and my personal drunk hero later at the family dinner xoxoxo oh yeah also made up with loki watched him die but he could also be that random green snake right there, lost an eye gained an eye lost my hammer gained an axe also the rest of Asgard and I need to crash with one of you because *jean ralphio voice* tECHNICALLY I’M HOMELESSSSSSS
every cat exists on a sliding scale of ‘unit’ to ‘goblin’ with exotic longhairs and oriental shorthairs both being on the extreme yet opposite ends of the spectrum
shoutout to @archangelpng for creating & submitting this explosive take
apparently ravens are associated with death and prophecy because they’re very intelligent birds and back in the day they learned p quick that large groups of men marching meant imminent corpses to feed on so they would follow armies and i think that’s v metal
To ravens, large groups of men marching were an omen of free food.
tbh the most unrealistic thing in harry potter is when mrs weasley in the first book asks “now what’s the platform number?”
like this woman has been going to that school for seven years and then dropped kids off on the same place for nearly ten like why on earth would she forget the platform number
I still have the headcanon that Molly BAMF Weasley saw a scrawny underfed child with an owl who had no idea where he was going and looked lost and confused and was like, “Ah, yep, new son.” but didn’t want to scare him by outright approaching and asking if he needed help so she was just like, “MUGGLES, MUGGLES EVERYWHERE! DOES ANYONE KNOW WHAT THE PLATFORM NUMBER TO WIZARD SCHOOL IS? WHAT’S THAT? NINE AND THREE QUARTERS? OH, YES, THAT’S RIGHT. THE PLATFORM NUMBER IS N I N E A N D T H R E E Q U A R T E R S!”
Of course seeing as how Harry isn’t the most observant bloke, she probably ushered her kids past him fifty times as different ones screamed the platform number until they finally got his attention.
With that being said, and I’m extremely sorry for taking over your post:
11:45:
They had just enough time to make it onto the platform, get their trunks loaded, and say their goodbyes. Molly ushered them all along, wishing that she could just Apparate them all onto the train and be done with it. There was too much to do, too much to say, too m—
All at once, she screeched to a halt. Percy crashed into her, causing the twins to snicker.
A tiny boy was being crossly turned away by a security guard. A boy whose ribs poked through his baggy shirt, whose glasses were broken, whose jaw was trembling as he tried to find his way. Well, surely she could be the person to guide him there? And did he…? Yes! He had an owl! He was one of them!
The poor child; he looked so lost.
Where were his parents?
Never mind, never mind. She would see to it that he would get on the train. But she had to be careful. She couldn’t startle him. He’d run off and that would be the end of it. No, no, they had to be crafty.
11:47 AM:
“Packed with Muggles of course,” Molly said loudly, ushering her very confused children past the boy. “What’s the platform number again?”
“Nine and three quarters,” Percy said. “Mother, how could you have forg—?”
It was George who nudged him as he understood what she was doing. She had done it before, after all, and she would do it again.
Unfortunately, it didn’t work.
The boy didn’t seem to notice them.
11:48 AM:
“Packed with Muggles of course,” said Molly again, marching her children past once more. “What’s the platform number?”
“Nine and three quarters,” Fred and George screamed in unison.
And still the boy remained lost.
11:49 AM:
“Mum,” Ron panted, tripping over himself as he ran to keep up with her. “Slow down!”
Molly ignored him as she practically flew past the poor boy. “Packed with Muggles of course! Now, what’s the platform number?”
“Nine and three quarters,” Ron bellowed.
11:50 AM:
Molly honestly didn’t care if her entire family missed the train and she had to set off across the UK herself like a mother leading a flock of ducklings: she was going to help this boy onto the bloody train.
She marched past him with a fiery determination and said, “Packed with Muggles of course!”
The boy looked up.
Yes! Okay, this was it, this was it, this was it. Play it cool. He was following them. Listening. Pretending not to.
They stopped.
“Now,” Molly said. “What’s the platform number?”
“Nine and three quarters,” piped Ginny.
Victory!
The next nine minutes were a whirlwind of chaos but they managed to get the boy through the barrier. At Molly’s insistence, Fred and George popped up and helped him get his trunk into the compartment. She handed Ron an extra sandwich and muttered, “Tell him that everywhere else was full.”
He dutifully nodded.
As the train took off, she waved to her children, including her newest one.
Bristling with pride, she began to head back to the Burrow. There was simply no time to waste. She had a jumper to knit.
If I ever don’t reblog this post – assume I’m dead
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