teenage tears

Let’s talk about oppression.

Hi. I’m a teen. A Pakistani Muslim teen raised by Pakistani Muslim feminist parents. I am a Pakistani girl privileged enough to be born to a family that can afford to send me to an American school, and a family that believes their only daughter is worth a thousand sons. A few years ago, I realised there was a name for the notions I was raised with: feminism. I found feminism on the internet, in cheery pink-hued articles that told me I was beautiful, that I could do anything a man could do, that my body wasn’t something to be objectified.

And while these twee posts were enough to quench my thirst, in time I began to hunger for something more. I found essays on the evils of manspreading, mansplaining, and cis straight white men. This was feminism, then? The idea that men were in fact, inferior to women? I found this belief in webcomics, listicles, joke sites, even TV shows. In comment sections I watched battles unfold: how dare a man suggest these mentalities are toxic? How dare a woman agree with him?

On twitter I’d find women sharing anecdotes about Joe from work, who’d sit sprawled across his chair in a show of dominance, and how in doing that Joe was an oppressor. How the old white man across the street was probably a racist misogynist homophobic Nazi because he was white. How they were oppressed because the man in the meeting talked over them.

Here’s the thing about that. You are not silenced because a man dared to interrupt you. You are not objectified because a man had the audacity to hold a door open for you. You are not oppressed. You are not oppressed.

Spend a day with me. Walk the streets with me. I’ll show you what oppression is. It is a father forcing his daughter to cover her head, instilling in her a hatred for her religion. It is the teenage girl crying tears of mascara as she is escorted to her marriage and given into the hands of her betrothed. It is the transgender woman fearing for her safety because she lives in a country of homophobes.

Suppression is the woman whose husband forbids her from having a life outside her married one. Objectification is the girl sold as a sex slave because her family couldn’t pay their debts. It is not a man beating a woman in a foot race or performers at a strip show. Accompany me to rural Kashmir, where it’s commonplace for girls to be married off at ten, eleven years old. To the village from where our cleaner hails, where the bodies of young women wash up on the shores of the canal.

Talk about how Dave from IT mansplained programming to you to the women who never received an education because their fathers believed it unnecessary for them. Discuss internalised misogyny with the girl who has to listen to people telling her that her brothers are worth more than her. Please try. Debate the gender binary with my parents, who took years of garbage from relatives and friends on why they chose to have a single daughter.

Nobody forced you to get married at fourteen. Nobody told you that you weren’t worth sending to school because bearing children was all you were good for. You never saw the corpses of murdered girls floating in the canal. You are lucky enough to never have to experience that. You are not oppressed. This is not something to be ashamed of. Please be thankful for it. Please know that there are women in the world who would die to be where you are now. You are not oppressed.

Because look at you. You are educated, you were allowed to thrive, you can do what you like to do. Nobody views you as a unit. When you were born, they were just glad they had a baby; they didn’t care about your gender. Growing up, you had access to all the same privileges as boys. Don’t forget that.

I am not oppressed. I am educated in a country where 62% of illiterate children are girls. My father never forced me to cover my head, or stopped me from having friends of the opposite sex. My mother never told young tomboyish me to be more ladylike. I attend a private school, and I have a college fund. I am privileged, and I am not ashamed, but I want to help women in my country. I aim to be a politician or a journalist and use my platform to speak about women’s issues. Someday, I will make a change. And you can too.


We’re playing Curse of Strahd right now and we have reached the Amber Temple. Our DM has decided to put a more interesting NPC in the temple than the book had, which is a slightly demented litch named Azalin Rex, which we just call Rex (old school players should know who this is).

Druid : How long have you been here?

Rex: *rolls up sleeve which reveals the tallies on his arm* around 200 years.

Paladin: Why don’t you just mark the dates down on stone? That seems a bit extreme.

Druid: Probably because you can’t carry that with you. You could have used paper though.

Rex: Paper would have dissolved in this time!

Druid: I guess you’re right… wait… Strahd’s emo journal was still around and he’s older than the curse on this place, so what the hell is that journal made out of?

Monk: Teenage tears.

DM: *spits out his drink*

And you will realise it just at 2 am when you’ll be sitting on your bedcovers, looking at your phone. You’ll hope that he will text you, but you know he won’t because, dude, it’s 2 am in the morning and every normal person in the world is sleeping. He won’t text you at 2 am and not even at 3 or at 4. You’ll wait for some time and then you’ll lay down on the floor. You’ll finally fall asleep and you’ll wake up at 7 am, still on the floor, with a terrible backache. You’ll get dressed quickly and then go to school, where you’ll see him talking to some cool girls. And then you’ll realise you mean nothing to him.
—  therebelnightmare

I was looking through the “When Worlds Collide Part 2″ storyboard gifs from this post (link) and I noticed that when Mikey was shown to have survived Dregg’s ship exploding, and it switched to his brothers reactions, Donnie had tears in his eyes. <3 

you’re deriving me crazy (Pidge/Lance)

Title: you’re deriving me crazy
Summary: Pidge takes multivariable calculus, deals with missing her boyfriend, and learns to drive. / Sequel to head in the game.
A/N: it’s not my full-blown OTP until I write a long distance relationship fic for them, apparently.


“Ready for your driver’s test tomorrow?”  The bag of jalapeño chips crinkles over the speakers as Lance sticks his hand in it, waiting for an answer.

Pidge sighs, resting her chin on her hands.  “Ready as I’ll ever be.”  A sneaking sense of doubt creeps up on her.  “What if I fail?”

“You won’t fail. And even if you do, it’s not like that test reflects anything about your character or smartness.”

“Yeah, just my hand-eye coordination and readiness for adulthood.”

“It’ll be okay, Pidge.” Lance smiles at her through the screen.  She has an urge to do something corny like press her fingers against where she can see his cheek, but that would just make her laptop smudgy, so her hands stay to herself.  “Worse comes to worse, you just take it again.”

“Speaking of tests,” Pidge says sternly, “you have a chemistry one on Monday.”

“Yes, Pidge, I’m well aware. I’m like, living and breathing functional groups right now. Talk dirty to me. Mmm, yeah, salicylic acid.”


“Hey, enjoy my jokes while I still have a sense of humor, because I’m pretty sure pre-med life is eventually going to turn me into a zombie fueled solely by masochism and caffeine.”

“Just as long as you don’t start losing hair. That’s where I’m drawing the line.”

(Read and review the rest over on Ao3!)

you know what’s one of the best things about sasusaku? that we could watch them and their relationship grow from the beginning. we went through different periods of time together with them and not even once it was boring. we had genin fluff, a young genuine affection, sweet and innocent but nevertheless real. we experienced angsty teenage years, full of tears, heartbreak and desperation but also full of hope. then we got two young people on the verge of adulthood, two gentle souls finally coming together, exploring, their affection fully blooming. and finally they became grown adults, truly connected by hearts, married and with a child, sharing a bond deeper than ever. and you can still see the same love in their eyes and in every touch. we got to see their relationship grow and change but no matter the age or distance between them, the love was always there and never faded. and what a ride it was.

I just have so many questions about this way of looking at it.

Does a woman playing the new doctor some how erase the many seasons with a male doctor? are you suddenly unable to watch them? is the memory of them about to be erased from your mind? because if not, no one has lost anything. Those episodes happened, and can be watched at any time.

Is a woman not able to be a role model for boys? They can’t look up to a woman? It’s essentially the same character (as much the same as any two doctors are) the only real difference is her gender. If you think being a woman means you’re not a role model anymore than Yikes.

What about girls? Apparently the only role models boys can have are other boys. So I assume the same stands for girls, don’t girls deserve roles models? Or is that only for boys?

Like, the sheer entitlement of it all is astonding. The show isn’t exactly the way you’d like it. Boo hoo. The world isn’t exactly the way we’d like it.

Mickey Milkovich Playlist

Originally posted by mikhail0milkovich

1. Click click boom- Saliva

2. Make me wanna die- the pretty reckless

3. Psychokiller- talking heads

4. Teenagers- my chemical romance

5. Tear you apart- She wants revenge

6. Beautiful with you- Halestorm

7. Get it up- mindless self indulgence

8. The boys are back- Dropkick murphys

9. Master of puppets- metallica

10. All my friends are dead- turbonegro

11. Miss murder- afi

12. New rose- the damned

13. Evenflow- pearl jam

14. Sweet dreams ( are made of this)- Marilyn manson

15. Everlong- Foo fighters