favorite female characters: jess day

I break for birds. I rock a lot of polka dots. I have touched glitter in the last 24 hours. I spend my entire day talking to children, and I find it fundamentally strange that you’re not a dessert person. That’s just weird and it freaks me out. And I’m sorry I don’t talk like Murphy Brown, and I hate your pant suit and I wish it had ribbons on it to make it slightly cute. And that doesn’t mean I’m not smart, and tough, and strong.

(Source: allyhendrx)

"Oh, the kiss wasn’t scripted, I didn’t know I was going to do it. I just thought, ‘I just missed my girlfriend’s valedictorian speech. How am I going to make it up to her?’ Then I was thinking, ‘I’m graduating. I don’t really give a fuck about this place, and fuck all of the people. So I’m going to go in and have fun. And embarrass her!’ Andrew Garfield

(Source: stonefieldofdreams)

(Source: iilanawexler)

(Source: youvegotaluckyface)

You can say “Bitch” on national television but you can’t say “Shit” because in our society it’s more acceptable to degrade women than poop.

feministdisney:

mexicatiahui:

rutaskadis:

one of the worst things about becoming educated on social issues is when people are like ‘you used to have a sense of humor’

no i used to have internalized prejudices which i’ve worked really hard to overcome and i realize now that your jokes are shitty

boom.

right…

(Source: silktofuprincess)

‘You are beautiful like demolition. Just the thought of you draws my knuckles white. I don’t need a god. I have you and your beautiful mouth, your hands holding onto me, the nails leaving unfelt wounds, your hot breath on my neck. The taste of your saliva. The darkness is ours. The nights belong to us. Everything we do is secret. Nothing we do will ever be understood; we will be feared and kept well away from. ..It’s you and me in this room, on this floor. Beyond life, beyond morality. We are gleaming animals painted in moonlit sweat glow. Our eyes turn to jewels and everything we do is an example of spontaneous perfection. I have been waiting all my life to be with you. My heart slams against my ribs when I think of the slaughtered nights I spent all over the world waiting to feel your touch. The time I annihilated while I waited like a man doing a life sentence. Now you’re here and everything we touch explodes, bursts into bloom or burns to ash. History atomizes and negates itself with our every shared breath. I need you like life needs life. I want you bad like a natural disaster. You are all I see. You are the only one I want to know.
storming-s:

amadrei:

marimboo:

alacritousheart:

This is in my Economics textbook

This is fucked up

if you couldn’t SEE how fucked up this is, let me put this into even more perspective for you.a male with no high school education still makes more than a female with 9th-12th grade education (no diploma).a male who is a high school graduate still makes more than a female with an associate’s degree.a male with a bachelor’s degree only makes about ~$2000 less than a female with a fucking doctorate’s degree.tell me again why feminism isn’t important.

I am personally offended to the highest degree

storming-s:

amadrei:

marimboo:

alacritousheart:

This is in my Economics textbook

This is fucked up

if you couldn’t SEE how fucked up this is, let me put this into even more perspective for you.

a male with no high school education still makes more than a female with 9th-12th grade education (no diploma).

a male who is a high school graduate still makes more than a female with an associate’s degree.

a male with a bachelor’s degree only makes about ~$2000 less than a female with a fucking doctorate’s degree.

tell me again why feminism isn’t important.

I am personally offended to the highest degree

(Source: melodicflow)

1. I don’t like folding laundry or talking about my emotions. I’m likely to leave both scattered all over.
2. I’m not much for cooking but there will always be coffee.
3. I’ll wear anything of yours with sleeves. I love when they’re long enough to wrap around my hands.
4. Sometimes the world is too harsh, too big. It’s hard to leave the house on days like those.
5. When I was sick as a kid my mom would run a bath for me and wash my hair. It was always so soothing. Maybe you could do that every once in a while.
6. I find it difficult to finish most things. My room is home to countless journals of incomplete thoughts.
7. I won’t love you any less in December. I think my heart just wasn’t meant for the cold.
8. I never truly know why I’m crying so don’t bother to ask, simply be there.
9. There’s whiskey in the medicine cabinet.
10. If things get terribly bad, please don’t give up. Get me in the car and drive to the sea. The waves beneath my toes will wake me up and I’ll be yours again.

(Source: b-a-d-intentions)

I wonder if you know yet that you’ll leave me. That you
are a child playing with matches and I have a paper body.
You will meet a girl with a softer voice and stronger arms and she
will not have violent secrets or an affection for red wine or eyes
that never stay dry. You will fall into her bed and I’ll go back
to spending Friday nights alone.

jimintomystery:

Here’s the deal, fandom people.

Laws against same-sex marriage affect actual same-sex couples.  These laws do not affect your favorite same-sex couples involving fictional characters.

The only thing that determines if, for example, Dumbledore can marry Grindelwald is whether JK Rowling feels like jotting it down.  “Dumbledore waved his magic wand,” she could write, “and all the governments of the world suddenly ratified marriage equality, and Harry Potter very much enjoyed the cake at the reception afterwards.”  I realize Rowling would probably not write this, but the power is still hers to exercise, irrespective of real-world laws.

Or, y’know, you could write fanfiction.  I mean, I’m pretty sure Dean and Castiel aren’t even in love on that TV show, but you used fanfic to change that.  You can just as easily strike down DOMA and Prop 8 in your headcanon.  So those guys don’t need the Supreme Court to do shit, they’re already fine.  (Unless Dean is a mer-man in your fanfic and Castiel can’t figure out how to consummate the marriage, then I guess they’re not doing so hot.  But they can still get married.)

The point I’m making is that the rights of fictional characters are somewhat trivial.  So when you make a real-world civil rights issue about those characters, you’re kind of trivializing the issue. 

Take the sign in the first picture above, which essentially makes the following points:

  1. I am a fangirl, which is very important.
  2. My fandom is The New Normal.
  3. My OTPs are Bravid and Klaine.
  4. They are “my gays.”
  5. I would like my gays to be permitted to marry.
  6. Also perhaps other gay people in general, kthx.

That’s the message you send when you bring your fandom with you to a civil rights rally: “I care about my fandom so much that I will talk about my fandom while demonstrating for an issue that would be important to my favorite characters, if they existed.”

Don’t get me wrong.  It’s great that your fandoms have inspired you to campaign for social justice.  But when it comes to how you campaign, maybe you should be asking yourself what your favorite characters would do, instead of telling everyone who your favorite characters are.

maskednocturnalvigilantism:

Charisma as Natural as GravityBy Christopher Nolan

One night, as I’m standing on LaSalle Street in Chicago, trying to line up a shot for “The Dark Knight,” a production assistant skateboards into my line of sight. Silently, I curse the moment that Heath first skated onto our set in full character makeup. I’d fretted about the reaction of Batman fans to a skateboarding Joker, but the actual result was a proliferation of skateboards among the younger crew members. If you’d asked those kids why they had chosen to bring their boards to work, they would have answered honestly that they didn’t know. That’s real charisma—as invisible and natural as gravity. That’s what Heath had.
Heath was bursting with creativity. It was in his every gesture. He once told me that he liked to wait between jobs until he was creatively hungry. Until he needed it again. He brought that attitude to our set every day. There aren’t many actors who can make you feel ashamed of how often you complain about doing the best job in the world. Heath was one of them.
One time he and another actor were shooting a complex scene. We had two days to shoot it, and at the end of the first day, they’d really found something and Heath was worried that he might not have it if we stopped. He wanted to carry on and finish. It’s tough to ask the crew to work late when we all know there’s plenty of time to finish the next day. But everyone seemed to understand that Heath had something special and that we had to capture it before it disappeared. Months later, I learned that as Heath left the set that night, he quietly thanked each crew member for working late. Quietly. Not trying to make a point, just grateful for the chance to create that they’d given him.
Those nights on the streets of Chicago were filled with stunts. These can be boring times for an actor, but Heath was fascinated, eagerly accepting our invitation to ride in the camera car as we chased vehicles through movie traffic—not just for the thrill ride, but to be a part of it. Of everything. He’d brought his laptop along in the car, and we had a high-speed screening of two of his works-in-progress: short films he’d made that were exciting and haunting. Their exuberance made me feel jaded and leaden. I’ve never felt as old as I did watching Heath explore his talents. That night I made him an offer—knowing he wouldn’t take me up on it—that he should feel free to come by the set when he had a night off so he could see what we were up to.
When you get into the edit suite after shooting a movie, you feel a responsibility to an actor who has trusted you, and Heath gave us everything. As we started my cut, I would wonder about each take we chose, each trim we made. I would visualize the screening where we’d have to show him the finished film—sitting three or four rows behind him, watching the movements of his head for clues to what he was thinking about what we’d done with all that he’d given us. Now that screening will never be real. I see him every day in my edit suite. I study his face, his voice. And I miss him terribly.Back on LaSalle Street, I turn to my assistant director and I tell him to clear the skateboarding kid out of my line of sight when I realize—it’s Heath, woolly hat pulled low over his eyes, here on his night off to take me up on my offer. I can’t help but smile.

Rest In Peace, Heath.April 4, 1979-January 22, 2008

maskednocturnalvigilantism:

Charisma as Natural as Gravity
By Christopher Nolan

One night, as I’m standing on LaSalle Street in Chicago, trying to line up a shot for “The Dark Knight,” a production assistant skateboards into my line of sight. Silently, I curse the moment that Heath first skated onto our set in full character makeup. I’d fretted about the reaction of Batman fans to a skateboarding Joker, but the actual result was a proliferation of skateboards among the younger crew members. If you’d asked those kids why they had chosen to bring their boards to work, they would have answered honestly that they didn’t know. That’s real charisma—as invisible and natural as gravity. That’s what Heath had.

Heath was bursting with creativity. It was in his every gesture. He once told me that he liked to wait between jobs until he was creatively hungry. Until he needed it again. He brought that attitude to our set every day. There aren’t many actors who can make you feel ashamed of how often you complain about doing the best job in the world. Heath was one of them.

One time he and another actor were shooting a complex scene. We had two days to shoot it, and at the end of the first day, they’d really found something and Heath was worried that he might not have it if we stopped. He wanted to carry on and finish. It’s tough to ask the crew to work late when we all know there’s plenty of time to finish the next day. But everyone seemed to understand that Heath had something special and that we had to capture it before it disappeared. Months later, I learned that as Heath left the set that night, he quietly thanked each crew member for working late. Quietly. Not trying to make a point, just grateful for the chance to create that they’d given him.

Those nights on the streets of Chicago were filled with stunts. These can be boring times for an actor, but Heath was fascinated, eagerly accepting our invitation to ride in the camera car as we chased vehicles through movie traffic—not just for the thrill ride, but to be a part of it. Of everything. He’d brought his laptop along in the car, and we had a high-speed screening of two of his works-in-progress: short films he’d made that were exciting and haunting. Their exuberance made me feel jaded and leaden. I’ve never felt as old as I did watching Heath explore his talents. That night I made him an offer—knowing he wouldn’t take me up on it—that he should feel free to come by the set when he had a night off so he could see what we were up to.

When you get into the edit suite after shooting a movie, you feel a responsibility to an actor who has trusted you, and Heath gave us everything. As we started my cut, I would wonder about each take we chose, each trim we made. I would visualize the screening where we’d have to show him the finished film—sitting three or four rows behind him, watching the movements of his head for clues to what he was thinking about what we’d done with all that he’d given us. Now that screening will never be real. I see him every day in my edit suite. I study his face, his voice. And I miss him terribly.

Back on LaSalle Street, I turn to my assistant director and I tell him to clear the skateboarding kid out of my line of sight when I realize—it’s Heath, woolly hat pulled low over his eyes, here on his night off to take me up on my offer. I can’t help but smile.

Rest In Peace, Heath.
April 4, 1979-January 22, 2008