Not To Be That Bitch But It Really Is Insidious That The Construction Of The Concept Of “granny Panties”

Story Time: in 2012, when I still lived in Florida, I used to work for a credit union, and I had the absolute worst manager and assistant manager. They were sloppy, lazy, and offloaded their work onto other people. No biggie; I’m grown and I can handle my job and not stress because I’m damned good at it. Problem: the manager and assistant manager, who happened to be best friends in real life, also happen to be very, very conservative older women. I’m talking like, hardcore conservative Christians, the kind who are not very good people and are very unlike Christ. I don’t make it a point to tell people I work with my business because when you work, you’re busy and you don’t want to burden other people, right? At least, I don’t. Subject of my love life comes up after a while of me staying in my lane, and I’m also not a liar, so I casually mention that I happen to be gay and I’m dating someone at the time. The change in my managers was almost immediate. From that point on they tried their utmost to make my life miserable, but I wasn’t going to break. Fast forward about a month after this mess and one of the tellers, Tanika, and I have become really good friends, and she pulls me aside one Monday morning to tell me that she overheard the manager and assistant manager talking about firing me, and she didn’t want to get too involved, but she didn’t think it was fair so she wnated to give me a headsup. Here’s the best part: these asshats are SO lazy that they literally say - or so Tanika tells me- that they’ll wait for the end of the week to do it, because otherwise they would have no one to cover my Wednesday shift, and they’d have to sit on the teller line, and no siree Bob, they’re too good for that! Too important! Too. Fucking. Lazy. Immediately I type up a two week notice at my station, print that shit out, and take it to that sloppy ass manager in her sloppy ass office. They have no receipts on me, but these people will find anything and use it to get rid of you if they can, and I’m not having a forcible termination on my record and dealing with how that will look to future employers. Keep in mind that I’m not supposed to know that they’re planning on firing me, and I’ve done my homework on company policy about two week notices (they had just changed it in January, and it was February). I give her the paper, sit in front of her, tell her some cock and bull story about needing more time for school. She looks upset, tells me to leave the letter, and go back to my station. I pull out a second copy of the letter and say: “Sure! But, first, I need your signature on this one, which is my copy of the two week notice.” Her face was a Goddamned mask at this point, but I could tell she was burning up inside. She’s trapped; she has to either sign it and pretend everything is fine, or she refuses and I go in on her for her “suspicious behavior” and call her higher ups. She signs my copy. I go back and finish my day. Day ends and the assistant manager comes to me and tells me they have spoken to the president of the credit union and they have decided to terminate me anyway. Tells me I need to turn in my drawer and vault keys immediately and leave the premises. I refuse; “I’m not leaving until we count my drawer down together, I have a printed and signed copy of my balance, and you have signed paperwork confirming that I have given you all keys back.” She has no choice. I walk out with all necessary paperwork, get home, and immediately email the credit union president telling him what happened and how I think it’s utterly unprofessional for an employer to behave this way. He calls me the next day to my personal phone, and tells me the manager and assistant manager both told him I had quit on the spot and walked out without so much as a goodbye. I tell him I have a signed two week notice from the manager, because this sloppy ho can’t even keep own story together for five minutes. He tells me to photocopy it and email it to him. I do. Tells me he is going to have a discussion with the manager and call me back ASAP. Calls me back, apologizes profusely, and tells me that I shouldn’t have been treated as such, so he offers to pay me for the two weeks I had give notice for, ON TOP of an extra two weeks of compensation, and I didn’t even have to show up to the branch anymore. He was paying me a full month for no work to make up for the situation. First paycheck comes in, and I put on my best outfit. Pick out the hottest shit in my closet that says: “I look incredible” but also “I have free time and you don’t” and “enjoy working here while I get paid while napping at the beach,” and I walk my happy little ass into that bank to pick up my paycheck like:

Happily greet the manager and assistant manager, who are both there like:

Say hello to my friend Tanika, who is at the teller line like:

Enjoying the fuck out of this show, right? Like, she can’t say it out loud, but she’s fucking living for this goddamned circus and it’s written all over her face! I talk to her and loudly tell her how amazing it feels to have four weeks off with pay, and how polite and nice the bank president is.  Then I walk my happy little ass out of the bank like:

But not before saying bye to the manager and assistant manager and reminding them that I’ll be back in two weeks to pick up my next check, “probably right before I head to Key Largo for the weekend.”  …and that’s the story of how I once absolutely wrecked two people who thought they could use their positions of power to come for me unfairly, and a story I’ll be telling my grandchildren so they know, as grandpa knew on one February morning of 2012, that you take bullshit from absolutely no one.

i know jaskier is decently well known in canon but like... HOW well known? because i keep imagining geralt being like "oh yeah and this is my traveling companion" and you look and it's just like the fantasy equivalent of beyonce

bucky barnes: sunscreen assassin

Bucky never thought he’d wind up using his latent skills like this.

“They invented sunscreen for a reason,” he reminded Steve acidly.

“I know,” Steve replied. He’d tried to sound nonchalant, but the fact is that even with the serum, he still burns faster and with more intensity than anyone Bucky’s ever met. After a long six hours at the beach, that day, Steve was in agony, lying on the floor in the living room because it was the coldest room in the house and the tiles were always a little bit chilly no matter what season it was.

He was trying to wait out the desperate hour before the serum got with the program and washed him out again. “UV rays are real,” Bucky said. “They’re out there.”

“I know.”

“People have died of sunburn.”

“I doubt that’s true, and even if it was, it wouldn’t kill me.”

“It’s the principle of the thing.” Bucky prodded Steve’s shoulder with his toe just to hear him hiss. “This is a preventable affliction. You would disrespect countless sunburn sufferers across the world by choosing this fate when some people would die to have the sunscreen resources—”

“I’m not wearing sunscreen,” Steve said flatly.

Steve now denies this constituted ‘issuing a challenge,’ but Bucky knows a mission objective when he hears one.

“Uh,” Sam says next time they’re at the beach, when Bucky flies out of nowhere to wrestle Steve to the ground with his sunscreen-covered hands.

“No,” Steve says sternly, fighting back. It’s not even about the sunscreen anymore, it’s about Steve being a stubborn fucking bastard. Bucky’s also not sure he can take another day of watching Steve stand in the bathroom, rolling the peeling skin off his person with an expression of vague distaste, as though molting an entire layer of skin is an unpleasant but normal human behavior after passing an afternoon at the goddamned beach.

“You,” Bucky seethes through his teeth, “will—slather—”

“Go slather yourself,” Steve hisses back, and if Bucky does get a few solid smears in, Steve throws him handily halfway down the beach, leaving Bucky skidding through the sand in a stopping crouch. He’ll have sand in his prosthetic for days now.

“Let it go, Buck,” Steve tells him, and all Bucky’s efforts wind up achieving is that Steve gets a much more mottled sunburn, like a cow, or like a dog rolled in pink mud. A lot more crankiness gets directed at Bucky when it starts to peel as a result, like it’s his fault Steve thinks he’s too good not to roast half to death.

“Ahh,” Steve hisses, rolling the skin off his shoulders. “This is so much worse. I don’t know where the burn begins or ends—”

“Then wear,” Bucky says mildly, turning the page on his book, “fucking, sunscreen.”

“No.”

“Guess your skin is gonna keep peeling off in weird streaks then.”

“You would do this to me again?”

“I will do this,” Bucky promises, “as many times as it takes for you to get the goddamn picture and put this stuff on—”

“It’s disgusting! It’s wet, and it smells like… chemical coconuts.”

“Less disgusting than shedding your fucking skin?”

“Leave it alone, Bucky!”

“No,” Bucky shoots back; and Bucky always keeps his promises.

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good night. sleep tight. don’t let the bed bugs bite. tonight. imma fight. till we see the sunlight. tik tok. on the clock. but the party don’t stop.

Damned if you scooby doo, damned if you scooby don’t…

i’ll stop making hamlet memes when i’m dead

*whips my head around so my very large and tacky dangly earrings slap you in the face, cutting you off mid-sentence* anyways,

I really hope that at some point people take fatphobia seriously enough to address it in themselves and in their social circles.

Fat people face unchecked discrimination in everything from basic healthcare, to hiring, to literal incarceration and very few thin people bother to think about this or take it seriously because they’d rather enjoy feeling superior than even recognise an injustice they don’t face.

And honestly even if there weren’t study after study demonstrating active discrimination against fat people in our society, just the interpersonal cruelties and exclusion alone would be worth addressing.

Start taking this fatphobia and body policing seriously. Fat people deserve inclusion and respect, as they are now, without proving to anyone that they’re trying to not be fat, or that their fucking cholesterol levels are low, or whatever the fuck else. 

Human beings facing a fucking size limit for being respected and cared for is a feminist issue.

Thanks R* for giving us the sexy cowboy we needed