what if nobody answers this

DeanCas Coda to 13x07

“Something ain’t right.”

It’s something Dean’s been thinking throughout the drive home, past unloading the Impala and cracking open a beer. It had been something in Cas’s voice—his tone, or his speech pattern—but when Sam asks him to describe why, specifically, Dean thinks something’s up, he doesn’t have a real answer. Yeah, Cas is an angel. Yeah, he can take care of himself. No, a hunch isn’t enough of an excuse to blow up his phone demanding to see him. 

But Cas was dead a week ago, and Dean is allowed to be a little paranoid. (So Sam says.)

Thing is: it’s not paranoia if it’s fucking true.

Wrongness follows Dean into the shower and through brushing his teeth. It sits right on top of his heart, pressing down until he’s short of breath and his fingertips tingle and his skin crawls. No matter how hot he turns the water, and how hard he scrubs, something feels off.

Dean sits in bed for a good half hour, staring at his phone, before deciding to call. It rings and rings and rings, and he takes a deep breath and prepares himself for whatever’s gonna answer. He thinks of what to say to keep Cas safe. Of what to say if it’s Cas himself who’s compromised. 

But nobody answers the phone.

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anonymous asked:

...I feel like a bad person sometimes for liking Wayhaught and Wynonna Earp because I'm seeing more comments like "it's not rep. Any queer woc , it's just more white people" and idk it's so confusing . I love the show cause it's the very thing I wish I saw growing up, making your own family that isn't blood related, seeing a woman find out she's gay and navigating her feelings etc etc

Don’t feel like a bad person! This show has more diversity than most. People are never satisfied. Look, obviously the media has a problem with representation, but this show is the last one people should be harping on for that. Wynonna Earp has 2 well rounded lesbian characters, a gay indian character, a hispanic woman who is also a literal genius, a black male lead with the kindest heart in the world despite his past sufferings, and a female lead with psychological issues who smashes the patriarchy and is never scared to speak her mind. As far as diversity goes, it’s kicking serious ass. Not every show can represent every minority, but this show does a damn good job trying.

And I agree, I would’ve loved to have a show to watch like this when I was growing up. It’s amazing to see a show in which people get to be so genuine and raw in their shortcomings, get to form such strong and meaningful bonds, and get to be entirely open and ok with themselves without fear of judgement from their peers. I have literally cried over this show because I watch it and it makes me feel like I’m fine, ya know? Like I’m ok with just being myself. The show normalizes so many things that we have been/still are told are wrong or weird or socially unacceptable and that’s one of the best things about it. Seeing so many characters who are so unapologetically themselves is amazing. Seeing Wynonna be unapologetically fractured, Jeremy be unapologetically scared, Nicole be unapologetically gay, Waverly be unapologetically soft, Dolls be unapologetically kind, Rosita be unapologetically brilliant, Doc be unapologetically emotional….it’s really beautiful. It makes you feel like it’s ok for you to just be you. So love this show. Love the shit out of it. Because it’s a show about how the best thing you can be is yourself, and how, no matter how broken and fucked up you think you are, you are still something amazing.

In the beautiful, wonderful words of Jeremy Chetri:

Every year the Russian Team does a bar crawl. It’s a tradition now. They all have T-shirts that have Yakov’s face on the front (Above the word Фелстман bolded and underlined) and, on the back, a skater’s name in large bolded font below an alphabetized list of every skater Yakov’s ever had in much smaller text. They get new T-shirts every time someone new is added to the roster, so usually every year or two.

They change the T-shirts to include Yuuri, and also to change Viktor’s name to his married name. Yuuri has no idea that this is even a thing until he walks into the rink one morning to see Yuri skating around with a pile of bright purple T-shirts in his arms.

“Yo, Katsudon,” Yuri mutters when he gets to him, flipping through shirts distractedly. He’s almost a normal person this early in the morning, before the vitriol has settled into his bones for the day. “So your stupid husband didn’t tell us what size you are, but you wear his clothes all the time anyway and since you have the same last name it was just less complicated to order two of the same size. Here.” He drops them so quickly that Yuuri almost overbalances to catch them. He’s halfway across the rink by the time Yuuri straightens back up, making his way towards one of the Juniors who Yuuri thinks might be named Katya. 

“Ooh, the shirts came in,” Viktor says happily when he catches up. He takes one and holds it up to the light. The picture of Yakov on the front is…not exactly flattering. “Wow! They look even better than last year! Purple is a much better color than green.”

“What am I looking at?” Yuuri demands, staring dumbfounded at his own T-shirt.

“Yakov, of course,” Viktor says happily. He flips the shirt around. Yuuri startles at the giant, bold Кацуки-Никифоров on the back. Viktor scans the smaller text (Which is, weirdly enough, in the shape of a skating boot) and says, “Ah, here you are.” Yuuri leans over.

“Yeah, that’s…definitely my name,” Yuuri says, brows furrowing. Юрий Кацуки-Никифоров. It is, of course, right next to Виктор Кацуки-Никифоров. He’s familiar enough with the other skaters’ names to realize that the small text is Yakov’s roster. “Um, why though?” 

“I’m not sure!” Viktor says happily. “I came here after it started! I’ll go put these in our lockers. Start warming up please, Kitten!”

Viktor skates away. Yakov’s face seems to wink at him, over and over again, from where Viktor is clutching the shirts by his hip.

“After WHAT started?” Yuuri demands to the room at large. Nobody answers him.

Viktor eventually does explain what they are for, the afternoon before the bar crawl itself. He also shows Yuuri the dozen past bar crawl shirts he owns. The passage of time is indicated by the growing shirt sizes and Yakov’s hairline. Yakov had almost a full head of hair when Viktor first joined the roster.

“Does Yakov know about this?” Yuuri mutters, staring at the shirts in awe. 

“Oh, I’m sure he does,” Viktor says. “Lilia makes the shirt orders for us. It’s the only reason she’s not on the shirt too, honestly.”

Every single day, Yuuri is more and more amazed that Yakov Feltsman has not taken to the Siberian wilderness to live in seclusion and blessed silence. 

The Towel Story

Originally posted by awwsehun

Member: Exo Sehun

Type: Fluff/Smut

“The only way I will ever sit in his car is if I’m using it to run him over,” you snapped, pushing Kyungsoo’s hand off your shoulder and picking up your suitcase, wincing at the weight before starting down the stairs. Maybe you had over packed, but you didn’t want to risk running out of clothes, especially in a place so secluded.

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When I was 5, I sat on the edge of my chair with my legs spread. I felt an itch between them, so I reached down to scratch, but my grandma grabbed my wrist to stop me and hissed: “Girls don’t do that!” I asked her why, because I had seen my father doing it, I had seen all the boys in primary school doing it, too. And it itched and I wanted to scratch it. Her answer was: “It’s just how it is. Girls don’t do that. Also, don’t sit there with your legs spread like that. Girls don’t do that, either.”

When I was 6, I spent a day on the beach with my family. I was excited about the new bikini my mum got me, but confused as to why she asked me to keep the top on when I went for a swim. She hadn’t made me wear it the years before, but suddenly, she was very fussy about it. “Look, I’ve got one on, too.”, she said to me. And I thought I understood: Women had to cover their breasts, because they were bigger than mens’. But I wasn’t a woman. I was a child. Later, I overheard a talk she had with my dad. “I don’t want old men to stare at her.”, she whispered. I interrupted them and asked her why she thought old men would look at me. Her answer was: “It’s just how it is. It’s because you’re a girl. And men do that.”

When I was 9, I got in a fight with my best friend. I went home and complained about it to my grandma, who lived with us. She told me I should have seen it coming. “That’s how girls are.”, she said. “A friendship between girls is always also a competition. Girls are jealous, manipulative and backstabbing. You can’t trust them.” But I had never fought with my best friend before and I knew we’d forgive and forget the next day, anyway. So, I asked my grandma why, and her answer was: “It’s just how it is. Catfights will happen. It’s normal. That’s how girls are.”

When I was 13, I fell in love with a boy from the neighbourhood. I couldn’t hide my excitement. He was on my mind all the time and I caught myself wishing we were together, so I could hold his hand and kiss him, too. I wanted to meet him, get to know him better, and I told my dad about my plan of asking him out. “Don’t do that.”, my dad said. “It’s not appropriate for a girl to ask a boy out.” Though I partly agreed, since I had never seen a woman proposing to the man in a movie, or read about a girl kissing her crush first, I still didn’t understand what would be so bad about being an exception, so I asked my dad why I had to wait for a boy to show interest in me in order to be allowed to openly requite it. His answer was: “It’s just how it is, darling. The man makes the first move. It’s always been this way. Boys like to conquer, and girls love being chased.”

When I was 17, I was part of a large group of friends. There was a boy who fancied me. I didn’t like him back, but I wasn’t used to anyone crushing on me, so I enjoyed the attention. He’d always tell me I was special. One of a kind. Different. “You’re not like other girls.”, he said. “You’re not a bitch. You’re funny, laid back, intelligent. You don’t just care about your nails or your hair. You get my sense of humour. You’re not like most girls. You’re my best guy friend. But with tits.” I was flattered in the beginning, but soon, I started to wonder if his compliments were any at all. I began to feel disgusted with him. I didn’t want to be his best guy friend with tits. So I asked him what’s so good about a girl like me, a girl unlike what he called a typical one, and his answer was: “That’s easy to explain. A pretty model type of girl is good enough to jack off to, but in the end, a guy wants some drama free pussy. You’re an exception. The majority of girls is superficial and slutty. The kind of girl you fuck, but dump when you’re ready to settle down. Or they’re just plain boring and prude. This sounds harsh, but it’s just how it is.”

When I was 19, there was a boy I regularly had sex with. It was nice. Not the breathtaking kind of passionate, ecstatic fucking I had dreamed of; maybe we lacked chemistry, maybe it would have been nicer if we had been in love; but I was alright with it. I adapted, obeyed and swallowed. Of course I did. In the beginning, he really put an effort in giving me what I gave him. He really tried. But his attempts at putting his tongue to good work quickly faded into halfheartedly rubbing me dry and at some point, he said: “I’m giving up.” I asked him why. His answer was: “It’s so hard to get a girl off. You women need ages to cum. It’s so exhausting.” I laughed and told him I needed about two minutes when I did it on my own. “Then stick to that.”, he said. “I’ve got a cramp in my wrist. Women are so complicated. It’s just how it is. I’m sorry.”

I am 20 now, and I’ve come to realize that my female identity has been shaped by a biased, hypocritical excuse based on ridiculous gender roles: “It’s just how it is.” All my life, I have asked them why, and all they said was “It’s just how it is.” And it didn’t matter whether I’ve asked men or women. Internalized misogyny is just as harmful. There were as many women as men who said: “It’s just how it is.” But that is not the answer I wanted. Not the answer I needed. These few words don’t fucking answer the countless questions concerning my gender identity.

Why can’t I sit with my legs spread? What’s so shameful about what I keep between them? Why must I cover my breasts? Why am I being sexualized long before I’m even told when sex is? Why am I being taught to mistrust other girls? Why do I have to compete with other girls? Why am I only a good girl when I’m not like most girls? Why do I have to keep quiet about the way I feel? Why am I not allowed to show affection like men do? Can’t I conquer a boy’s heart, too? Why must love be about conquering, anyway? What if I don’t like being chased? What if it scares me? Why do boys scare me, anyway? Why do you make me feel inferior to them? And why do I have to like a boy in order to be liked? Why am I being shamed for being a “slut”, them shamed for being “prude”? Why am I expected to adapt, obey and swallow without praise when boys who return the favour are considered grateful, dedicated lovers, heroes, almost ,because to the majority of them, it’s not fucking understood that if I make them cum, they should make me cum, too? Why am I exhausting to be with? Why am I complicated?

Is it because I’m a bitch? Because I’m an oversensitive little baby? Is it because I’m a slut? A prude virgin? Is it because I’m on my period? Cause women are just crazy? Cause I am jealous, manipulative, backstabbing, competitive or any of the other countless negative traits that are immediately connected with the female identity? All summed up, is it because I’m a girl?

I’ve asked them. And they said yes.

And when I asked “But why?”, they said it again: “It’s just how it is.”

“It” is that context, is a never ending circle of resigning acceptance of the circumstance that girls are being raised to disrespect their own gender from their childhood on. I was, and am, expected to accept the fact that being female automatically makes me inferior, and that I should be thankful for being treated equally, because that’s not the standard. I was, and am, expected to appreciate and take it as a compliment when people tell me that I’m not like other women. Because I was, and am, expected to look down on women even though I am a woman myself. But I refuse. I refuse to adapt, obey and swallow. I refuse to accept that “it’s just how it is”. I refuse to take this as an answer, and I will not stop asking why. I won’t ever stop asking why. Not because I want people to give me a proper response, but because I want them to question themselves, too. I want them to start wondering. Want them to start doubting the concept of the role I’ve learned to stick to before I knew how to spell my “typically female” name. I want them to think about it, lose their sleep about it, until they ask, too: “Why?”

In order to eliminate misogynic stereotypes, we must unlearn to understand them. We must refuse to accept “It’s just how it is” as an answer, until we forget what “it” stands for. Keep asking why, until nobody knows an answer anymore. “It’s just how it is” is not an answer. Neither is “It’s cause you’re a girl”. Or “That’s how girls are”. Because girls can be everything and anything they want to be. That’s how it really is.

—  I REFUSE!, a rant on how my female identity has been shaped by excuses and lies

Halloween Prompts

“What are you doing?”

“Decorating for halloween”

“It’s not even September yet…”

“Halloween is a year round tradition”

—————


“So what are you going as for halloween?”

“Dude halloween was yesterday”

“F**k”

————–


“Hey, we should do a couples costume”

“We’re not a couple though”

“Well, could we become one? Because I have a great idea for a costume and I’m in love with you”

—————-


“We should kick off the halloween season with a bunch of scary movies”

“Definitely!”

*insert a lot of screaming and sleeping with all the lights on later*

—————-


“I went trick or treating but nobody answered their doors. What about you?”

“First of all, halloween is tomorrow…”

—————


“Let’s buy a crap ton of candy for halloween”

“We don’t ever hand out candy though?”

“Yeah but halloween is the time for developing cavities and diabetes”

  • Will: *kicks the door open looking totally panicked*
  • Jem: What did you do?
  • Will: Nobody died!
  • Jem: WHAT KIND OF ANSWER IS THAT?!
some of my favorite scenes of episode 2, part 1

In no particular order.

1. Negotiating the time frame. It was funny, and I love how seamlessly Shindou reacts and how Zashunina catches on and gauges his reactions as he offers longer and longer options. 

2. “How was that?” “95%” “That’s plenty.” “90 and 5 percent.”

I guess the joke is kind of untranslatable here? Shindou says “juubun” ie. “plenty” but 十分/“juubun” literally means “ten parts”, and for someone not entirely proficient in Japanese Shindou’s phrasing could be understood as him offering a different opinion. So Zashunina misunderstands it as Shindou getting the wrong idea, and corrects him, like “no, 95. You know, 9x10 plus 5.″ #explainingthejoke

3. The entire first contact scene. It was beautifully done!
Also, I wonder if Zashunina took on a human male form because it was Shindou touching Kado first. Maybe if it was one of the female flight attendants he would’ve been female, too.

4. Just… Hanamori. Clinging worriedly to Shindou. Shindou reassuringly touching his hand. Hnnng.

5. I really love how he says “Kado” here, with his pronunciation still not being entirely clear. His intonation when he introduced himself was a bit different, too, later on it’s more “Japanese”.

to be continued….

(Just so this post is not criminally long.)


anonymous asked:

I love thinking about tony and his relationship with his bots. Like I always imagine they know he is their creator (dad) and see him as their #1 person. And they do learn and habe at least a basic understanding of human relationships and feelings. And they see rhodey and pepper as I dunno aunt/uncle? Do you think they would consider Peter to be more in line with them or rhodey/pepper? How do they feel about vision? Bruce? The others? Did their opinions change after CW? Is the change obvious?

Somewhere, deep within Dum-E’s and U’s programming, a small file has been created by the program itself. It is regularly updated and regarded of highest importance to their general functionality, their ability to asses situations and subsequent behaviour. It has been re-written, as to be more easily understandable to people like me who can’t code to save their lives, by the ever so helpful JARVIS, and essentially amounts to this:

// Tony Stark
{ subject identification = first;
  added subject identification = creator + commander + father}
{ subject priority = first }
{ objective in relation to first = obey orders;
  added objective in relation to first = protect first’s life + improve quality of        first’s life + ensure first’s health + encourage positive emotional reactions by  first }

// Rhodey Rhodes 
{ subject identification = second;
  added subject identification = second in command + friend + uncle}
{ subject priority = second } 
{ objective in relation to second = obey orders if orders are not in conflict with    objective in relation to first; 
 added objective in relation to second = determine degree of threat towards first  + help second improve quality of first’s  life + help second ensure first’s health  + help second encourage positive  emotional reactions by first } 

// Pepper Potts 
{ subject identification = second_02;
  added subject identification =  business associate + friend + aunt}
{ subject priority = second } 
{ objective in relation to second_02 = obey orders if orders are not in conflict      with objective in relation to first and if orders are not in conflict with objective in  relation to second; 
 added objective in relation to second_02 = determine degree of threat towards  first + help second_02 improve quality of  first’s life + help second_02 ensure  first’s health + help second_02 encourage    positive emotional reactions by  first }

// Peter Parker
{ subject identification = second_03;
 added subject identification =  business associate + employee + intern + inconclusive}
{ subject priority = undetermined }
{ objective in relation to second_03 = obey orders if orders are not in conflict      with objective in relation to first and if orders are not in conflict with objective in  relation to second and if orders are not in conflict with objective in relation to  second_02;
 added objective in relation to second_03 = determine degree of threat towards  first }
{ observation = second_03 engages with self; 
  added observation = more information on activity “catch” needed + more      information on social custom “greeting” needed + more information on social custom “small talk” needed }

In short Dum-E and U are very confused by the way Peter interacts with them (he treats them like Tony treats them, which is a first). They haven’t yet made up their minds. I also suspect Pepper is about to be demoted to fourth_03 (behind Bruce and Vision, but before Natasha, Steve, Clint and Wanda) because causing Tony to show expressions of negative emotions is a sure way to get on their shit list. Which is better than Team Cap because they have been put straight onto the Black List.

Let’s just say it’s a good thing none of them have run into the bots yet…

When I was 5,
I sat on the edge of my chair with my legs spread.
I felt an itch between them, so I reached down to scratch,
but my grandma grabbed my wrist to stop me and hissed:
“Girls don’t do that!” I asked her why,
because I had seen my father doing it, I had seen all the boys in primary school doing it, too.
And it itched and I wanted to scratch it.
Her answer was: “It’s just how it is. Girls don’t do that. Also, don’t sit there with your legs spread like that. Girls don’t do that, either.”
When I was 6,
I spent a day on the beach with my family.
I was excited about the new bikini my mum got me,
but confused as to why she asked me to keep the top on when I went for a swim.
She hadn’t made me wear it the years before,
but suddenly, she was very fussy about it.
“Look, I’ve got one on, too.”, she said to me.
And I thought I understood: Women had to cover their breasts,
because they were bigger than mens’. But I wasn’t a woman.
I was a child.
Later, I overheard a talk she had with my dad.
“I don’t want old men to stare at her.”, she whispered.
I interrupted them and asked her why she thought old men would look at me.
Her answer was: “It’s just how it is. It’s because you’re a girl. And men do that.”
When I was 9,
I got in a fight with my best friend.
I went home and complained about it to my grandma, who lived with us.
She told me I should have seen it coming.
“That’s how girls are.”, she said.
“A friendship between girls is always also a competition. Girls are jealous, manipulative and backstabbing. You can’t trust them.”
But I had never fought with my best friend before
and I knew we’d forgive and forget the next day, anyway.
So, I asked my grandma why,
and her answer was: “It’s just how it is. Catfights will happen. It’s normal. That’s how girls are.”
When I was 13,
I fell in love with a boy from the neighbourhood.
I couldn’t hide my excitement.
He was on my mind all the time
and I caught myself wishing we were together,
so I could hold his hand and kiss him, too.
I wanted to meet him, get to know him better,
and I told my dad about my plan of asking him out.
“Don’t do that.”, my dad said. “It’s not appropriate for a girl to ask a boy out.”
Though I partly agreed,
since I had never seen a woman proposing to the man in a movie,
or read about a girl kissing her crush first,
I still didn’t understand what would be so bad about being an exception,
so I asked my dad why I had to wait for a boy to show interest in me
in order to be allowed to openly requite it.
His answer was: “It’s just how it is, darling. The man makes the first move. It’s always been this way. Boys like to conquer, and girls love being chased.”
When I was 17,
I was part of a large group of friends.
There was a boy who fancied me.
I didn’t like him back,
but I wasn’t used to anyone crushing on me,
so I enjoyed the attention.
He’d always tell me I was special.
One of a kind. Different.
“You’re not like other girls.”, he said.
“You’re not a bitch. You’re funny, laid back, intelligent.
You don’t just care about your nails or your hair. You get my sense of humour.
You’re not like most girls. You’re my best guy friend. But with tits.”
I was flattered in the beginning,
but soon, I started to wonder if his compliments were any at all.
I began to feel disgusted with him.
I didn’t want to be his best guy friend with tits.
So I asked him what’s so good about a girl like me,
a girl unlike what he called a typical one,
and his answer was: “That’s easy to explain.
A pretty model type of girl is good enough to jack off to,
but in the end, a guy wants some drama free pussy.
You’re an exception. The majority of girls is superficial and slutty.
The kind of girl you fuck, but dump when you’re ready to settle down.
Or they’re just plain boring and prude. This sounds harsh, but it’s just how it is.”
When I was 19,
there was a boy I regularly had sex with.
It was nice. Not the breathtaking kind of passionate, ecstatic fucking I had dreamed of;
maybe we lacked chemistry,
maybe it would have been nicer if we had been in love;
but I was alright with it. I adapted, obeyed and swallowed.
Of course I did.
In the beginning, he really put an effort in giving me what I gave him.
He really tried.
But his attempts at putting his tongue to good work quickly faded into halfheartedly rubbing me dry and at some point, he said: “I’m giving up.” I asked him why.
His answer was: “It’s so hard to get a girl off.
You women need ages to cum. It’s so exhausting.”
I laughed and told him I needed about two minutes when I did it on my own.
“Then stick to that.”, he said. “I’ve got a cramp in my wrist.
Women are so complicated. It’s just how it is. I’m sorry.”
I am 20 now,
and I’ve come to realize that my female identity
has been shaped by a biased,
hypocritical excuse based on ridiculous gender roles:
“It’s just how it is.”
All my life, I have asked them why,
and all they said was “It’s just how it is.”
And it didn’t matter whether I’ve asked men or women.
Internalized misogyny is just as harmful.
There were as many women as men who said: “It’s just how it is.”
But that is not the answer I wanted.
Not the answer I needed.
These few words don’t fucking answer the countless questions concerning my gender identity.
Why can’t I sit with my legs spread?
What’s so shameful about what I keep between them?
Why must I cover my breasts?
Why am I being sexualized long before I’m even told when sex is?
Why am I being taught to mistrust other girls?
Why do I have to compete with other girls?
Why am I only a good girl when I’m not like most girls?
Why do I have to keep quiet about the way I feel?
Why am I not allowed to show affection like men do?
Can’t I conquer a boy’s heart, too?
Why must love be about conquering, anyway?
What if I don’t like being chased?
What if it scares me?
Why do boys scare me, anyway?
Why do you make me feel inferior to them?
And why do I have to like a boy in order to be liked?
Why am I being shamed for being a “slut”, them shamed for being “prude”?
Why am I expected to adapt, obey and swallow without praise when boys who return the favour are considered grateful, dedicated lovers, heroes, almost ,because to the majority of them, it’s not fucking understood that if I make them cum, they should make me cum, too?
Why am I exhausting to be with?
Why am I complicated?
Is it because I’m a bitch?
Because I’m an oversensitive little baby?
Is it because I’m a slut?
A prude virgin?
Is it because I’m on my period?
Cause women are just crazy?
Cause I am jealous, manipulative, backstabbing, competitive
or any of the other countless negative traits
that are immediately connected with the female identity?
All summed up, is it because I’m a girl?
I’ve asked them.
And they said yes.
And when I asked “But why?”,
they said it again: “It’s just how it is.”
“It” is that context, is a never ending circle
of resigning acceptance of the circumstance
that girls are being raised to disrespect their own gender from their childhood on.
I was, and am, expected to accept the fact that being female automatically makes me inferior,
and that I should be thankful for being treated equally,
because that’s not the standard.
I was, and am, expected to appreciate
and take it as a compliment when people tell me that I’m not like other women.
Because I was, and am, expected to look down on women
even though I am a woman myself.
But I refuse. I refuse to adapt, obey and swallow.
I refuse to accept that “it’s just how it is”.
I refuse to take this as an answer,
and I will not stop asking why.
I won’t ever stop asking why.
Not because I want people to give me a proper response,
but because I want them to question themselves, too.
I want them to start wondering.
Want them to start doubting the concept of the role
I’ve learned to stick to before I knew how to spell my “typically female” name.
I want them to think about it,
lose their sleep about it, until they ask, too: “Why?”
In order to eliminate misogynic stereotypes, we must unlearn to understand them.
We must refuse to accept “It’s just how it is” as an answer,
until we forget what “it” stands for.
Keep asking why, until nobody knows an answer anymore.
“It’s just how it is” is not an answer.
Neither is “It’s cause you’re a girl”.
Or “That’s how girls are”.
Because girls can be everything and anything they want to be.
That’s how it really is.