you are in college
you are female
you have a pretty good idea of what you want to do with your life
you are short (under 5’4”)
you text a lot
you are single, but like someone
you like a lot of different kinds of music
you are close with your mom
you don’t have a job
you have a horrible fear of bees
you have quite a few guilty pleasures
you don’t have many scars
you stay up late
you dye your hair
you enjoy iced coffee
you drink occasionally
you like to shop
your grades are fairly good
you are lazy
you prefer facebook to myspace
you are paranoid
you have a dog
you would consider going to law school
you would consider plastic surgery of some kind
you are somewhat superstitious
your first name is short (4 letters or less)
you have/had a piercing other than ears
you are not very athletic
you watch a lot of television
you also read a lot
you get nervous easily
you have blue eyes
you are disorganized
you feel that you are friendly
you donate time or money to charitable organizations
you don’t hear very well
you are pale
you have a tumblr
people ask for your advice
& you also ask for advice a lot
you like sushi
you’ve been out of the country
you have a food allergy
you sleep with a stuffed animal
summer is your favorite season
your birthday is in the spring
your parents are divorced
you have moved multiple times
people think you are funny
but you have a weird sense of humor
you carry a purse
you think a lot
you seem shy, but only when you first meet someone
you like parties
something on your body hurts right now
you have a sensitive nose
you often have strange dreams
you are a bit on the hyper side
The difference between learning a modern language and an ancient language is that in first year French you learn “Where is the bathroom?” and “How do I get to the train station?” and in first year Attic Greek or Latin you learn “I have judged you worthy of death” and “The tyrant had everyone in the city killed.”
You wanna tell me why you broke into the library last night?
The what? Oh, that’s what that place was. I just thought it was a poorly stocked pub.
white girls are having a crisis, y’all.I’m so embarrassed oh my god why
okay but like. girls being made fun of for liking things that are either marketed toward them or popular (or both) is REALLY prevalent?? and like?? sexist?? like blatantly sexist??? and if you actually read the article its like?? talking about destroying the idea that a girl is “less than” just bc she likes popular stuff? like man that’s important please stop
The bolded excerpt from the article captures it really well.
"Liking something popular doesn’t make you lame. Discounting someone for having some of those same interests does."
And this is something that happens pretty exclusively to women. The article even points it out. When men enjoy things that are popular among men, no one comments on in, certainly not in a negative way. No one laughs at men for liking CrossFit, or beer, or watching football. It’s okay for men to like things that lots of men like because mens’ interests are good and valuable from a societal perspective. Because men are good and valuable. But when women like things, those things become the subject of shitty, sexist jokes that further the belittlement of the interests of women and women in general.
This is just another way for men to shit on women and to further brainwash women and girls with internalized misogyny. This becomes another case of “I’m not like other girls.”
"Oh she likes pumpkin spice lattes and Sex in the City? That’s so gross and lame. I like Guinness and WWE. I’m just not like other girls."
As though being like others girls is so bad. But thanks to the idea that liking what other girls like makes you a “basic bitch” and thus lame and to be laughed at, another generation of girls is growing up thinking that women and the things they enjoy are detestable and to be laughed at while the interests of men are somehow superior and preferable. That girls doing things that make them happy is some sort of sad joke.
And that’s complete bullshit.
An Open Letter to the Executive Producers and Writers of Arrow:
“She was my sister. I couldn’t be angry because she was dead. I couldn’t grieve because I was so angry.” - Dinah Laurel Lance, 1x01
There is no better way to describe how countless viewers felt as they finished watching Arrow’s season three premiere, “The Calm.” That’s what happens when the writers of your favorite show quietly murder their canonically bisexual female hero.
We find it hard to believe that when you all sat down to decide the direction this season would go, that you imagined how the fans would take you murdering Sara Lance. If you had paused to consider it, we doubt we would be writing this letter.
"If more girls wanted to be scientists, there would be more female scientists"
*takes a deep breath* WE LIVE IN A SOCIETY THAT ACTIVELY DISCOURAGES FEMALE INTELLIGENCE BY PAINTING IT AS A NON FEMININE TRAIT AND SETS UP MALES TO BE IN POSITIONS OF ACADEMIC SUPERIORITY DESPITE THERE BEING NO CORRELATION BETWEEN GENDER AND ACADEMIC ABILITY thank you for your time
I stand very firm on that last point. [x]
#remember how angry I was before season 2 started at the idea that Felicity was going to be Oliver’s EA?#BECAUSE IT MAKES NO FUCKING SENSE?#IT DIDN’T THEN AND IT DOESN’T NOW#LIKE WHY THE FLYING FUCK WOULD YOU HIRE AN MIT GRAD WHO USED TO WORK FOR QUEEN CONSOLIDATED IN IT#AS YOUR FUCKING EA#YOU WOULDN’T OK#YOU WOULDN’T#AND IF YOU WERE ANY MEASURE OF A WRITER WHO THOUGHT WITH EVEN HALF A BRAIN INSTEAD OF HIS EGO AND HIS DICK#THEN YOU WOULD FIND SOME WAY TO HAVE THIS BRILLIANT WOMEN REMAIN FIRMLY IN THE IT OR RESEARCH AND DEVELOPMENT FIELDS#jesus fuck this makes me angry (via open-pandoras-box)
Oh my god, this is the opposite of what I was asking for with not-sad prompts, but fuck me, I got an idea for it.
17. last dance & 29. fading away
Felicity pushed out the employee access door of Verdant and staggered, shaking, into the dimly-lit alley, a furious stinging in her eyes and blooms of heat in her cheeks while the rest of her face felt horridly cold.
She stiffened, fingers twisting in her loose cream skirt, jaw clenching against her trembling chin.
A sigh. “Felicity, look at me.”
Stubborn and contrary, she turned her head in the opposite direction—and gasped to find herself staring right at a ruefully smirking Tommy Merlyn.
"That’s not fair," she blurted.
He shook his head, hands in the pockets of his charcoal black slacks. He stepped closer towards her, stopping only once he stood in her space, the slight chill rolling off of him raising goosebumps up her arms to disappear under her cap sleeves. “That’s the point.” He pulled a hand out of his pocket, raising it to just a whisper away from the curve of her cheek. His fingers twitched, as if itching to trace her skin, deep blue eyes fond and sad. ”It’s time, Felicity. It’s over, we did it.”
She squeezed her eyes shut as tight as her fists, sucking her bottom lip between her teeth. “You don’t know that, Tommy, it might not have even been—”
“Felicity,” he laughed, exasperated. Heartbroken. “My time’s just about up. I can feel it, okay?”
She opened her eyes, tears spiking and beading on her lashes as she looked up at him miserably. “I don’t want you to go.”
"I know," he whispered hoarsely, giving in and tracing the tip of his middle finger along the high arch of her cheek bone. They both sucked in sharp breaths at the unexpected sensation.
Felicity’s lips parted as she stared up at him in shock and dawning acceptance, her face filling his palm as she leaned into it. He was warm.
Tommy laughed again, a damp, helpless sound. “It really is ending, god. One last cruel little gift.”
"Tommy," she breathed, voice strangled by a sob she couldn’t set free. Her fingers unwound from her skirt, slipped up the edges of his jacket to clutch his lapels. "This isn’t fair. You can’t go, you can’t go, not when—not when we finally—not when I never got to be part of your life.”
His own eyes flooded and he blinked hard, lips pressing thin as he swallowed thickly. “Damn it.” He forced a weak smile for her. “I wish I’d known you then, Felicity. Wish I’d paid attention. I didn’t—didn’t know how bad I needed to know you.” His fingers slid back around her ear, burying in her hair.
She breathed in, shaky, eyes falling shut and lips tucking in to keep them from trembling. Brow crumpling, she let her head fall forward, just barely brushing his chest.
There should have been a warm, steady beat to ground her.
Just silence and a mild warmth.
Tommy wrapped his arms loosely around her shoulders, blowing out a loud, unsteady breath over her head. Suddenly, he squeezed her. “Felicity.” She lifted her head, now looking at him as if drinking him in, memorizing; unsure how much longer she’d have to commit this face to memory. “Dance with me.”
She blinked, a startled confusion blanking her face as she turned an ear to the muffled, thumping bass seeping through the club’s walls. “Uh. Tommy, not to ruin the moment, but I’m not sure the bump and grind is really how I want this to end.”
He threw his head back as he laughed, grinning, an echo of honest humor and friendly mischief. “Who gives a shit about the music?” He looked down on her in much the same manner she’d looked at him, as if he could tuck her away in what memory of a heart he had and carry him with him when he—when he—
His hands slid down her arms, slow and gentle, tugging her hands up to rest them on his shoulders. “There is so much I never knew I’d want to do with you, Felicity.” His hands fell low on her waist, pulling her in a little closer. His forehead dropped against hers, the tips of their noses pressing together. “So much we’ll never get to do.”
His breath, lying-hot, fanned over her mouth. “So much I want to do.”
She shivered, hands sliding to hook her wrists behind his neck.
She looked back up into his eyes, her cheeks flushing to realize she’d been staring at his mouth.
He smiled, small and fond and painfully real to her. “Be my last dance.”
Heart a hurtful fist in her chest, she just barely nodded. His face lit up like a sun.
Gently squeezing her waist, he sidestepped, guiding her into a slow, swaying circle. A quiet hum vibrated in his throat, some half-familiar tune, and it took her a long moment to realize the rhythm they were keeping was the beat of her heart.
Just for this last stolen moment, chests and hips and regrets aligned, they could share it.
They kept each other’s eyes for a long (little) while, until Tommy’s slipped slowly, slowly down.
"Fuck it," he breathed, harsh and a little angry. "I get one more thing I want.”
She inhaled sharply and he dipped his head, slanting his mouth, hot and firm and greedy the way the living can only aspire to, over hers.
It wasn’t a soft, sad, chaste kiss of goodbye. It was pressing lips, nibbling teeth, and the delicious shock of his tongue sliding against hers. It was hot and alive—a lie—and the bitter whisper of things that couldn’t be.
The kiss seemed to go on forever—but was over too soon, when he parted from her mouth to let her breathe.
"Tommy," she sighed, lashes fluttering to open.
Suddenly, her arms dropped, cold air filling their circle as she opened her eyes to an empty alley.
She was alone.
He was gone.
Please remember that sometimes silence on an issue or situation isn’t a lack of caring or concern: it’s a form of exhausted self-care as people pull back and try to put themselves back together. Just because I don’t say something about everything doesn’t mean I don’t think it…
update: i am gayer than originally planned
Who was the first cast member that you saw while in the darach makeup and what was his or her reaction?
i had a crush on this guy and i decided to pull a Pavlov on him by offering him whenever i saw him this brand of candy he seemed to really like and after a while whenever he saw me he got excited for a second then you could see his expression shift to wondering the why the hell was he so happy to see me and i swear it was the evilest thing but also the most hilarious i made a guy like me by conditioning him into associating me to a candy he liked