But women can never be careful enough, can we? If we take naked pictures of ourselves, we’re asking for it. If someone can manage to hack into our accounts, we’re asking for it. If we’re not wearing anti-rape nail polish, we’re asking for it. If we don’t take self-defence classes, we’re asking for it. If we get drunk, we’re asking for it. If our skirts are too short, we’re asking for it. If we pass out at a party, we’re asking for it. If we are not hyper-vigilant every single fucking second of every single fucking day, we are asking for it. Even when we are hyper-vigilant, we’re still asking for it. The fact that we exist is asking for it.
"at my school the cop from DARE passed around 3 joints to show everyone and he said "if i dont get all three of these back this schools getting locked down and everyones getting searched till i find it.." and like 30 minutes later when everyone got to see ‘em and they got passed back the cop had 4"
my favorite thing in stories is when the antagonist doesn’t die, but instead they realize they were being kind of a stupid dick (maybe because the protagonist saved them or something) and then they have to kind of awkwardly tag along with the heroes in order to make up for their mistakes and gradually become slightly less evil
One of my favourite things about Harry Potter is that Harry is such an unreliable narrator, not because he’s lying, but because he was so oblivious, just about anything could be going on under his nose and he wouldn’t even notice. It’s great because it supports basically every headcanon. Like, no, Harry would not have noticed if Sirius and Remus were dating, I know he’s The Chosen One but he’s about as perceptive as a pile of bricks.
Remember how everyone’s favorite part of Heath Ledger’s performance in Brokeback Mountain was his almost painful physical repression, his reluctance to express any emotion that wasn’t punching or SHUTTING DOWN? His voice was closed in on itself in a raspy burr — he fell to the ground rather than shed tears — his face was hooded and dark and full of twitching cheek muscles. Kristen Stewart is Heath Ledger, I assure you. She has the same handsome face, the same winsome, masculine smile, the same reluctance to make direct eye contact.
For years, everyone in the world has misunderstood Kristen Stewart’s compressed emotional range. They thought it meant she was a limited actress; it means nothing of the kind. She is John Wayne being forced to play the Maureen O’Hara character. Give her a rail to lean against during a sunset, a military jacket, a toothpick to chew on, and something to squint her eyes against lazily in the distance, and her guardedness will be transformed from unsuccessful femininity to The Great American Male.