Pacific Rim → Kaiju (怪獣, kaijū, Japanese) Giant Beast.The Kaiju are a race of amphibious creatures genetically engineered by the Precursors, a sentient race from the Anteverse. As biological weapons of warfare, Kaiju are extremely hostile and toxic creatures designed with the intention to wipe out all humankind.
Alec Lightwood + characteristics
“Someone should write a book where the main character slowly falls in love with the reader.”
Last line of the book : “Please, don’t close the book, I don’t want to die”
oh my god
I’d just like, keep the book open and tape it to a wall.
I’m almost afraid to want it.
John Green, we’re waiting.
“So I guess this is it, isn’t it? There are no more chapters, right? You said we were getting close and that was a while ago.”
I stared up into the sky, it was the same old sky there had always been, except for some rainclouds that hadn’t been there a few minutes ago. It wasn’t raining, but they were still floating up there, grey and dismal.
You begin to ask me something.
“Don’t ask me how I know, I just do. Things just feel really final right now, like the downward slope is starting to level out. Eventually… We’ll hit the back cover, right?”
I sat down on a bench- had that been there a few minutes ago? It was hard to tell.
“Did you say yes? I think I heard you. Your voice keeps getting harder to hear.”
Thunder rumbled, but… It wasn’t like the thunder I’m used to. It sounded like you, and it sounded sad. From one of the clouds, a single drop of rain fell on the grainy wood of the bench.
“… You’re crying, aren’t you? I’m sorry, I’m really sorry. I wish I could change this. I wish I could reach where you are.”
Thunder rolled again, and behind it was a voice. Your voice.
“Me? I’ll be fine, I think. I don’t know if this has ever happened before. I don’t really know what happens when you… close the book.”
You ask me if I’m afraid.
And oddly, I’m not.
“No, actually. Because… Whatever happens to me when you close the cover… You can always open the book up again, right?” and that’s when the answer hits me, the realization jolting me to stand again. “That’s it, isn’t it? You can open it back up. The words won’t change, but I’ll still be here. You can meet me all over again, and I can meet you, and everything we have will come back.”
It’s raining now, and the clouds have merged together, and in them, for the first time… I see you.
You are the most beautiful person I have ever seen in my entire life.
You’re crying, but it’s quiet, and maybe that was the sound of your tears hitting paper.
I realize that we don’t have a lot of time.
“Listen- before it’s all over- I want you to know that everything, all of this… Even being over, it was worth it. It was worth it to meet you, to get to know you. Even if when you close that cover and I disappear- it was all worth it. I love you.”
You love me too, I know it, I can feel it, just like for a moment I can feel what it would be like to hold your hand.
There is a very long pause, and I realize you’re prolonging what has to happen.
“You can do it.”
For the first time, you have to be the hero. You have to close the book so we can keep going. And I believe in you.
The sky gets darker, slowly, but then it gets light again, and your face is still up in those clouds. You open your mouth and for the first time I HEAR you, not just feel what you’re saying or understand you in my own head, your voice comes through the pages in your world and into the reality of mine, and it reverberates and I can hear every little nuance, down to the hitch from you crying.
“I’ll never forget you,” you say. “I’ll come back soon.”
SOMEONE DID AND NOW IM EMOTIONAL
“I love you.” She whispered softly closing the book. Her fantasy must end and he must die with it no matter how great their love. Tears fell from her eyes, landing upon the hard worn cover of her most beloved book. The book in which lied the love of her life. The book that loved her back. She ached to open it again but she could not continue like this. She must move on and live a life not in her precious book. Sobs racked her body as she walked to the self, hesitantly sliding her beloved book into the shelf. It was only for a time, she told herself. That she would come back again and read the story of her love again and that she may fall in love again. Whipping her eyes she turned toward the door, but froze in her tracks. A man stood there, concern lining his every feature. She knew that face. It was exactly as she had pictured it, from every line of his jaw to the exact color of his eyes. This can’t be possible.
“Why are you crying?” Oh, his voice. That was his voice. It was as soothing as she had imagined. Her knees grew week and her mind went numb. She struggled for words as he approached her slowly, he knelt before her and touched her cheek, worry etched in his gentle movement. “What’s wrong? Has something happened?”
She could only choke out, “You’re real?”
FUCK IT GOT BETTER
I don’t remember if I rebloged it the last time I read it, but since I cried even though I already knew what was going to happen, it deserves to be here again if I did.
I love this image so much.
I’ve seen some women who are offended by this and say it’s ridiculous that her cleavage is showing and things of that sort.
Personally, I think it’s great.
Why should we have an image of a women with her hair tied up and flexing her muscles like she’s a man? (not that that isn’t great too!) In a way it suggests that when our hair is down, our breasts are visible and we wear (GASP) lipstick, we’re somehow lesser than men? We can do it! We can be feminine and successful.
You see what I’m saying here, ladies?
You don’t have to lose your femininity. Being feminine is great. Being masculine is great. Strength is not limited to one way of being.
oh my fucking god, this again
Have you even looked at the actual Rosie the Riveter poster lately?
She’s ALREADY WEARING LIPSTICK. AND MASCARA. AND BLUSH. Her eyebrows have been PENCILED AND TWEEZED. And underneath her work bandana? HER HAIR HAS BEEN CURLED. Rosie the Riveter is a beautiful woman. This image in no way implies that wearing feminine apparel (like cosmetics) is a negative thing.
The reason that she has her hair up and her shirt buttoned and is flexing her arms has nothing to do with prudery, or with trying to be “masculine” (as if shows of physical strength are unique to one gender). It has to do with the information at the bottom of the poster: Rosie is involved in war production. That means doing hard physical labor in a 1940s factory, where large heavy machinery can easily snag a loose lock of hair, or a bit of jewelry, or an undone button. “Makeover” Rosie would not be able to do the real Rosie’s job without serious risk of injury to herself or the people around her. In that sense, the new poster is implying that no, women are NOT capable of doing the same work as men, because they are too weak/vain/self-absorbed/whatever. The old poster is saying that, while still being feminine, women are just as capable of doing the same work as men.
Also? The new and “improved” Rosie was specifically drawn to be ANTI-FEMINIST. “[William Murai] created this image for the Brazilian Alfa Magazine to accompany an article about the End of Feminism. 'The idea was to remake the famous feminism symbol “Rosie the Riveter” [into] a lady who is giving up on her duties and trying to look sexy again.’” (emphasis mine)
Giving up her duties and trying to look sexy? For whom, exactly? According to the artist (and the patriarchy), men. In other words, quit your job, look hot, find a man, gb2 the kitchen, and make me a sandwich, bitch. Also known as THE SAME TIRED-ASS SHIT WOMEN HEAR EVERY. FUCKING. DAY.
The new poster is not “progress.” It is not about women being “feminine and successful.” It’s about the exact opposite: women being reduced to their appearance and their sex appeal according to the standards imposed by the male gaze. She is pretty, but that’s all she is, because that’s all women are supposed to be. The real Rosie (you know, the feminist icon?) is beautiful, and feminine, and strong enough to do the work necessary to keep her country safe, just the same as any man. Her worth is not in her appeal as a decorative object, but in the product of her labor and her own awareness of her abilities.
Rosie the Riveter. Accept NO substitutes.