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.
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.
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.
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
I want to draw u and library girl but idk what u look like pls post selfie or somethin
here’s the most recent:
and here’s a body shot:
I don’t have a picture of her unfortunately, but she has really really long brown hair, is tall and skinny/lanky (a bit sporty), sometimes wears a black baseball cap, a lot of yoga clothes or sweaters + leggings; white. I think she has a beauty mark on her chin, and has a long-ish oval face.
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.
Ty @tarp-l for taking pictures of me wearing @annieelainey ’s super amazing “The Future Is Accessible” shirt!!
Image Description: two pictures of a girl with short brown hair next to a trellis of pink roses with a white building in the background. She is wearing a navy blue tee shirt with “The Future Is Accessible” on it in white letters, a pink floral skirt with a white and brown belt, and blue sneakers with a black AFO on her left leg. In the first picture she is leaning to the side while looking at her shirt and in the second picture she is laughing.