my cinderella wakes up with the taste of ashes in her mouth and thinks of her mother’s waning sickness. my cinderella has nightmares of watching her mother’s chest rising, a wheeze escaping her ribs. my cinderella does not cry about this, because she lives in the place fires begin.
her stepmother has perfect teeth and high eyebrows. “are you done sweeping?” she asks. “i need to see myself in my tiles.”
there are long days spent like this. sometimes cinderella gets caught on things. she spends four hours with a toothbrush swiveling in small circles, her whole body trembling. she thinks if everything is perfect, nothing bad will happen. if she checks the stove eight times, it will not poison her like her stepmother’s venom. if she lets the cat scratch her once a day, it will learn to love her. if she just gets these baseboards clean, maybe her father will come home to her.
the invitation comes when she is adjusting the pictures on the wall. it is announced with fanfare. her stepmother sends out the request for dresses instantly while cinderella watches, waiting.
“baby,” stepmother wakes her on the day of, “hope you know how long you’ll be working for today.” strokes her hair a little.
cinderella stares at her. doesn’t want to go to the ball, where people will be twirling around on floors someone else spent six hours polishing, where people will be careless in eating food someone else toiled over cooking. where people like her fade into the shadows.
when she opens her mouth, she says, “let me go, stepmother.” it is worth the look of shock and terror on that woman’s face to tell a lie. cinderella, after the slap, hides her face and smiles.
they leave trumpeting. her step sisters are cupcakes floating on shoes cinderella has sown together.
in the night, she rises from her bed and coaxes a little mouse onto her hands and snaps its little neck.
boiling the fur of it off is easy. she feeds the bits to the cat, who twines around her feet. she takes the bones under the poplar tree and lays them out just-so. she says the words her mother used to know.
deep from the shadows comes the Fairy. pink and pretty with eyes that are totally empty. cinderella knows better than to look at them directly. “you summon me?” asks the ancient one. “what needs be done?”
cinderella does not want a ball. cinderella wants a night off. she explains slowly what she wants. she gives the Fairy three things: a needle. a fingernail. a strand of hair. the deal is done, midnight comes.
she dresses in her mother’s dress, hidden under the floorboards. it is beautiful, white, shines like a river. on her feet are no shoes at all. she wants to feel the ground that carries her, that has been tilled by people like her.
at the gates, they stop her. no carriage, nothing but a smile on her. but she’s so polite. so willing. has big fluttering eyelashes. lures the guards beyond the light of the castle’s torches. knows how to work a kitchen knife.
inside, she is blinded by the brightness of lamps on granite. everyone here is laughing. gliding. cinderella glides too, effortless without any shoes.
her stepsisters hang off one another, have their arms draped off the prince. cinderella walks up. smiles. says the words her mother taught her.
they erupt into screams. “needles” they howl, dancing in shoes cinderella made, “needles in my feet.” they bleed all over the floors someone worked hard for. “That,” says cinderella, “is one for me.”
the prince is without words. stepmother in her skirts tumbles as she skitters forwards. she is bubbling with improper language to speak in front of royals. on her hand is a nail chipped from slapping her stepdaughter. cinderella looks her in the eyes when she says the word. without a pause, violent scratches appear over her stepmother. she is torn open.
“that,” says cinderella, “is for my mother.”
cinderella tips over candle sticks and sets things on fire. leaves them all with the taste of ashes in their lungs. turns. does not run.
the prince follows. on his steps, as the clock strikes midnight, he finds a footprint in blood. he swears he will find whomever it belongs to if he has to try the shoes of every girl in the kingdom.
but cinderella is no longer a girl. the last, a ring of cathair, has turned her into whiskers and a tail. she sits there, watching him in the light. she twines around his legs and purrs at him. he finds her white coat fascinating.
she lives off of castle food for the rest of her life. sometimes, when she is bored, she bats all of the pictures straight in the front hall.
nobody ever finds the girl. at the funeral of the stepmother, a white cat sits by the feet of the widowed man who was her father. he has nightmares of his first wife forever after.
My sadness is no longer quiet. I’ve become aware of it in my gradual realization that I hoard memories worse than any other person I know. I can’t seem to let go of things, whether they be people or not. Even as a kid, I couldn’t rip the tags off of stuffed animals or dolls because I didn’t want to forget where I got them.
I remember delicate details about moments that other people forget within days. I’m the one that holds on to them so tightly my knuckles turn white.
I remember the kisses she gave me on that Saturday night that she seemed to forget, I remember my cracked hands refusing to hold hers while I sobbed on her bed surrounded by her shaking words trying to figure out the right ones to say. I remember looking at her for longer than I should have, trying to figure out why I felt the way I did when we locked eyes.
I miss sitting on her bed in silence and staring at that black galaxy painting on her wall next to her array of books and pictures. I miss looking over to see her strumming her guitar without a care in the world, with her white button up ever so slightly loosened where I could see her dark skin peeking through. I wondered why you crossed your legs like that, while I stared at your fingers dancing on the strings suddenly wishing they were intertwined with mine. You sat there and you played, you played through the silence as my sobbing dwindled to nearly nothing and I found myself staring at what later I’d figure out to be the girl I’ve loved like no one else.
I sit on my bed in my cold room shaking. The temperature in the house is fine, but my legs are tense, and I find myself franticly switching positions to try and find comfort. I don’t. She was my comfort. She still is. Yet I am no longer hers, maybe I never was, I realized so suddenly that she never let go of the girl that brought her that home sort of feeling that she brought me.
I need to stop finding homes in people and try harder to forget things that don’t matter. But the more I convince myself she’s a lesson and not a ‘forever’, the more I try to wish that she is the farthest thing from temporary.
Firefighter!AU. Dean is the new firefighter than has recently moved
in, unbeknownst to you. You hear screaming and shouting outside of
your house and waste no time to help those in need. You find out your
neighbour’s son is still in the house and run in to save him. But
– For @thing-you-do-with-that-thing’s Favourite Things Challenge
with the prompt: Firefighter!AU. This is Part 3. And
it is for her SPN Hiatus Writing Challenge - Week 17 with the prompt:
‘tell me something I don’t know about you.’
okay, I know how hard it is to lose someone you love.’ A look of
sorrow passed over your face as you thought about worse times, a
smile mimicked his previous one. ‘I know what it’s like to lose a
child, I wouldn’t wish that upon anyone else.’
face had grown pale. He didn’t know what it felt like to lose a
child but he had lost his mother and Sam’s mother. He couldn’t
think about the pain and despair, it was a heartbreaking thought that
he didn’t want to conjure, he couldn’t think about losing another
loved one especially his little boy.
photographer jughead meets a shy betty and through instagram they become a power couple
A real cole sprouse Jughead huh? You got it! This may be a little different but hang tight!
He tagged the location for his most recent instagram picture and posted the beautiful field of poppies, keeping his theme strong still. As a photographer it was important to have an organized social media platform where models and jobs could see your work, instagram was almost a form of a portfolio for the real world. He clicked on the location and pulled up someone named “Ronnielodge” s instagram.
Staring intently at the picture he couldn’t believe how beautiful the blonde haired model was. The focal point of the photo was a gorgeous, long legged, golden haired blonde wearing a simple white sundress and looking away from the camera, a peek of her dimples showing as she stood in the poppy field he had just been at. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her and clicked on this “ronnies” instagram to see if he could find more pictures of her. Of course there were group photos and dramatic pictures of the dark haired girl he assumed was Veronica. Clicking on a particularly funny shot he couldn’t help but smile at the pretty blonde in a very short cheerleading skirt with the NYU emblem, her tongue sticking out and her hands in the air. So she went to NYU? So did he.
Picking his phone up he dialed his best friends number
“What’s up Jug?” Archie answered on the first ring
“Do you know a Veronica Lodge?” He asked quickly
“Hi nice to hear from you too, yeah the dorm is fine. Oh the poppy fields were nice? That’s great.” Archie rambled
Jughead rolled his eyes and grinned
“Hi arch, Veronica Lodge?”
“Oh yeah man, she’s a total babe. She’s in my civics class and I’m kind of in love with her….she’s off limits dude, I’ve been trying to get a date with her for ages!” He warned
Jughead rolled his eyes again
“I’m not interested in her. I’m interested in her friend..blonde she’s a…”
“Say no more, you’re talking about Betty Cooper, her and Veronica Lodge are inseparable. Hey! I actually heard them talking about heading to the poppy..” Jughead hung up the phone and pulled instagram up again, typing in Betty Cooper.
Her page was simple and well managed, pictures of books and coffees, selfies of her and her friends, a few family shots and a bunch of pictures of her and animals. His eyes glanced up to her bio and he instantly smiled
“Betty Cooper: I’m 22, half of the pair B&V, future veterinarian and hopeless romantic.”
After about half an hour of debating, he finally pressed the follow button, pleasantly surprised when she followed him back only minutes afterwards.
He became obsessed, searching campuses to find her, spending hours refreshing Instagram, following Veronica just to see pictures of her. It all came to fruition when he finally found her leaning casually against a coffee cart, balancing books and a coffee cup as she tucked her phone into her pocket. He walked towards her, the warm sunshine spurring his confidence on as he grabbed the books from her hand and she smiled up at him, her eyes instantly widening when she recognized the face.
“Oh Thank you so much! Its Jughead right?”
He nodded, still speechless at being this close to perfection,
“You followed me on Instagram right? You’re very talented, I could look at your pictures all day. The places you go to take those pictures? They’re amazing, I’m so jealous.”
Jughead smiled before rubbing a hand in his neck nervously, “I could take you. Ya know.. to some of those places.. they’re not that far and it would be amazing to photograph you.. I mean if you’re okay with that! You don’t have to be..” he rambled before Betty cut him off and smiled brightly
“I’m no model but … I think that would be pretty awesome” she giggled and grabbed his phone inputting something quickly
“That’s my number, text me anytime. If I’m not in class or cheerleading I’m usually always free.” Taking her books from him, she went on her tippy toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek
“Hope to hear from you soon Romeo.”
Pretty soon Jugheads Instagram was filled with photos of Betty in various settings, she was so beautiful and as her boyfriend he took great pride in showing her off on all social media. Betty took photos of him as well, after he taught her how to use his camera it was over, her own Instagram held pictures of the dark haired boy and couple shots. Around NYU they became known as “couple goals” and almost everyone knew they were meant to be. Some of the More popular shots were featured in Buzzfeed articles and they were happily dubbed “the Romeo and Juliet of NYU”
Being a writing major Jughead didn’t appreciate the poor choice of coupling but hopeless romantic Betty swooned nearly everyday she read a new article on the pair.
Many, many Years later when their son had decided he was finally old enough for an instagram, Jughead and Betty had welcomed it with open arms.
Their love story was forever documented by a series of Instagram photos and they could only Hope Cody would fall in love the way they had, because hey if it was good enough for Betty and Jughead it was good enough for him.
It was 5pm and the sun wouldn’t be setting for a few hours, as Scott, Isaac, Cora, Liam, Hayden, Mason, Corey, Ethan and Malia sat in Stiles’ living room, watching Stiles stare at the large glass murder board with pictures and names and red tape plastered all over it. He gnawed on the end of the white china pencil that he held in between his thumb and pointer finger. He had a mess of gruesome crime scene photos splayed out by his feet on the floor, and he barely glanced up as the front door opened and three girls walked through, until he saw Allison.
“Oh shit…” He mumbled, while turning to catch Scott’s reaction.
“Allison?!” Scott leapt to his feet and stumbled over Isaac and Cora’s long legs to reach the girls who had just come into the house. “What… what are you doing here?”
not even the buffest butchest trans girl (or trans guy who likes femininity) is ever gonna look like this..
you think it’d be simple enough for these artists to just start out drawing a cis woman or man as they would normally and edit it slightly from there At The Very Least.. maybe even just tack on a They’re Trans in the description. u can have body diversity and also respect all different body types of trans ppl without making them caricatures. but it’s so clear that from the very beginning these artists are already actively thinking of trans people as clearly, visibly, noticibly apart from cis ppl and they set out to make their transness all u can see. for me, it feels like being outed when people draw trans ppl like this. those positivity posts for trans ppl who “don’t pass well” or like traditionally masculine stuff for girls or like feminine things for guys and all that.. when they’re written/reblogged by ppl who do this it feels meaningless and like all u can see is our transness and our bodies as being Different. all u wanna see is the fact we don’t pass well u know what i mean??
the same can be said for people of color it’s like. yeah u should see color but there’s a difference between that and like. all ur able to see is their race and so u make them a caricature. there’s a big difference between this
and this (by the same artist no less)
i’m all for body hair positivity but it’s really alienating to see every single brown girl character with facial hair or sideburns or Thick arm and leg hair. i think what it comes down to is context and intention. if you draw woc with thick body hair like this, u better be drawing white girls with it too or we have a problem. there’s no consciousness of the bigger picture.. also i think it helps if u start out with the intention Clearly Defined in ur head of drawing a woman bc i think a lot of these artists out here Literally sit down with the intention of drawing a nonhuman beast or a man or something. anyways i do not have the Good Words™ to write this rn but like. this whole trend of drawing is a mess
If you really want to take the measure of a person, watch how they deal with a negative situation that is completely out of their control.
This white girl I went to boarding school with is on the way to Switzerland to get married and I ’m pretty sure every leg of their trip has been delayed. And an extra leg was added because airlines are terrible. I know this, because she or her fiance posts a picture from each airport. And y'all.
They are still smiling and cracking jokes. Dude was like “I feel like we’re being chased by Carmen San Diego.” Everybody is popping off on airplanes nowadays and the two of them – probably on the most important trip of their lives – are like “well this sucks….ayyyyye let’s have a drink!”
The point is, life is too short to be pissed off about things over which you have absolutely no control. In those kinds of situations, no one you can speak directly to in the moment has any actual control over what’s happening, so just get through it, and deal with your reimbursement or your restitution later.
I’m not saying you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, because who wants flies in their house? But I am saying nobody needs to have jars of vinegar all up and through stankin up the joint.
Authors note: I came up with this idea at work and have fallen in love with this.
WARNINGS: None. Just a bit fluffy.
Joker as a father hits me in the feels.
It had been 4 years since the Joker had left Gotham city. It had been crime free. Well relatively. J broke things off when he found out I was pregnant with twins,
what he didn’t know was that one of the girls, Ava, had been born with spina bifida. Not that it made any difference, I loved her all the same and she was one of happiest children I knew. Always smiling and never put down by her disability. She knew she couldn’t do all the things her sister, Mia, could but Mia was very good at including Ava in her games. He sent me $5000 every month so I could live comfortably with my babies, he also bought us a house to live in with security and guards, well henchmen. Although he didn’t want to be a father he still protected us and I still loved him. Our girls had a picture of him in their room and I was always telling them stories about him. He may be the most wanted criminal in Gotham city but he was still their father.
A/N: Another one for @lovefilledtragedy writing challenge! I thought this song fit so well with Tyler Posey so if you want to, listen to the song while you’re reading, the fic will sound so much better I think! Thank you to @susybird and @obrosey-af for proofreading it! Hope you guys like it! Let me know what you think :)
(not mine, creds to gif owner)
Hanging out behind the club on the weekend Acting stupid, getting drunk with my best friends I couldn’t wait for the summer and the Warped Tour I remember it’s the first time that I saw her there
“Ty let’s go or we’re gonna be late.”
“Yeah yeah, I’m comin!” I yell to Dylan. Today, I was going with a group of friends to Warped Tour to see a band; Blink-182. We’d been planning this for months and now that we actually were going, my nerves were all over the place. I spray a little cologne on me before walking out and going into Dylan’s room next to mine.
“Hey, you ready?”
“Dude, I’ve been ready for the past 15 minutes.” He walks past me, patting me on the back before taking his keys and walking out the door. I walk to the door, checking myself one more time before shutting and locking it.
Summary: When you fall from the sky in front of the Avengers, they take you in and things happen from there.
Word Count: 2733
Warnings: I suck at summaries. Mute reader, Clint signs, communication issues.
Author’s Note: This has art from the lovely @ceasdraws. See reblog.
Everything hurt, the world was too bright for your eyes. The foreign noises you could hear were the equivalent of knives being thrown into the target of your eardrums. Your body felt heavy and awkward, and yet you were shivering for the first time.
It seemed like it took forever but your eyes finally adjusted to the assault of the rays from the sun. It was then that you saw him, the angel with the shimmering wings. Unlike your wings, which were now part of your flesh and bloody body, that ruffled and curled around you in an attempt to keep you warm. These wings were unlike any you had seen, sleek and foreign.
The person attached to these metallic wings swooped in, having no doubt just witnessed your fall. You watched his eyes as he took in your wings, and cautiously approached you.