202 posts
Latest Posts by creativechaos1020 - Page 5
You’re on a solo camping trip in hopes to rediscover yourself. As you rest by the campfire two small foxes sit on the opposite side from you, a bull elk approaches, birds perch on your tent, a mountain lion stalks in, and a grizzly bear huffs behind you. They seem to be waiting for something…
cinderella marries the prince
and it’s… fine. The prince is great! They’re in love, he’s very sweet and passionate, writing her poems and songs, giving her anything she wants. The time she spends with her husband is great.
but cinderella is not royalty, her family was noble but she never spent time in those circles. She’s used to being busy, she’s used to cooking and cleaning and mending. There are hours, days, where she has nothing to do.
time passes. cinderella learns the fancy lady type of needlework. Learns to ride horses. Reads a lot.
as is normal for royalty at the time, they travel and are hosted by nobles or stay at castles owned by the king. But even that variety begins to become routine. The prince is distracted, there’s a lot of young women living and working on their route. Daughters of nobles. Younger and prettier with soft hands that have never done a day’s work.
cinderella needs something to spend her time on, and there’s a part of her thinking a couple-only trip might get her husband’s attention again, so she suggests making an old castle that’s fallen into disrepair their “project.” It was built in the time when castles were made to be defensible, so it’s quite sturdy, but it’s overgrown and secluded. The prince doesn’t know why his family stopped living there either. A hundred years ago it was their summer home.
so they go. And they work. And for a while it’s great! But when they leave for winter cinderella’s husband forgets her once again. cinderella resolves to make the best of her life and stop worrying about a man who has gotten what he wanted from her.
summer comes again and this time cinderella goes alone to the old castle (minus staff, of course, but cinderella manages to narrow it down to only repair workers and one maid). She can cook and clean and mend again, but this time it’s her own choice. She is happy.
this summer they make more progress on repairs. The workers say that most of it can be salvaged, except one tower that’s been completely overgrown with vines and briars. It will have to come down, eventually, but for now it can be safely ignored.
cinderella has more free time now. The old castle has a surprisingly untouched library, though time and moisture have damaged many of the books. Behind a collection of greek poetry cinderella finds an old diary. Very old, in fact, at least a hundred years. It’s rude to read a diary, of course, but whoever wrote this is long dead, and cinderella is bored, so…
from the description of activities the author looks to have been nobility. Maybe even a princess. She’s sensitive and sweet and smarter than she seems to realize. If circumstances had been different cinderella wishes they could have been friends…
after the summer ends cinderella returns to her husband. He’s spending a lot of time with a young musician and cinderella can’t even work up the energy to care. She does some research about the castle and the family she’s married into, finds out the name of the princess who wrote the diary.
aurora. Cursed and forgotten. She died young, they say, in a plague that also took out the castle staff and her own parents. Luckily they avoided a succession crisis, but not so lucky for the dead.
time passes. cinderella goes to the old castle again and again, even out of season. Soon enough all that remains to be done is the old tower, and the builders say they should tear it down and fill the gaps before it gets cold.
one night cinderella is restless. The princess from the diary had been fond of that tower, and cinderella is far more attached to a dead woman than she ought to be. She gets out of bed, reads by candlelight, and finally goes to walk the empty halls.
she finds herself going to the tower. Pushing past the vines that don’t seem so troublesome really. They almost part before her. The stairs are perfectly intact, the door at the top is already cracked open. As if she should have done this years ago, cinderella steps into aurora’s bedroom.
she’s as beautiful as the stories say. And sitting under her hands, crossed across her stomach as it rises and falls, is a book of greek poetry.
years later, people will tell the story of cinderella as a cautionary one. Don’t seek above your station. Don’t marry for prestige. After all, a girl who grew up as a servant once married the crown prince, and disappeared after only three years. She ran away, they say, she couldn’t handle the lifestyle.
two old women who run a bookshop together agree with the lesson. Marrying for the wrong reasons never ends well. It’s best to wait for someone you have things in common with, shared interests.
or, failing that, the more linguistic of the two says, wait a decade or ten for someone to fall in love with you from your diary.
her partner laughs and hits her with the socks she is mending.
Okay so there’s that post going around that’s like
“Die temu ad die”
And is like “oh that’s accidental Latin!” And I wanted to reblog that with this addition but I can’t find it.
Aaaaaaaanyway apparently Temu has such sights to show me
Racism is alive and well in America
This Juneteenth as we celebrate and reflect on the progress we've made and look to what we can do to improve equal rights for black folks I want to bring attention to an issue far too closet to my heart- environmental racism.
I had a friend who died, far too young. It's been many years so newer tumblr users won't know him. His name was james and he was a popular tumblr user when he was alive @kumagawa . I idolized him like an older brother, and still do. He lived in Flint, Michigan. He was around 27 when he died. He was a healthy man, other than the fact he lived with dirty water in Flint, Michigan.
I'll never fucking forgive the US government for killing my friend, my brother. Why did James die? Because Flint, Michigan is 56% Black. Because it would be expensive to fix the lead pipes that gave my friend lead poisoning and killed him.
As of April 24,2024 the city of Flint, Michigan still hasn't replaced all the lead pipes that are poisoning the people living there.
https://www.aclumich.org/en/press-releases/residents-still-waiting-city-flint-replace-all-lead-pipes-10-year-anniversary-water
If you can help, give money to Mari Copeny's go fund me.
Mari Copeny, better known as Little miss Flint, is now 16 years old and over the past few years has raised nearly a million dollars for her community.
She has a website to links for other ways to support the community
Please reblog this post if you can't give any money... It would mean the world to me if I could use my friend's memory to help promote environmental racism and the issues still facing his community today.
Death Note AU where hbomberguy makes a five hour long video about youtuber Light Yagami that's initially completely unrelated to the murders (Light would probably plagiarize or have really unhinged right-wing political takes if he was on youtube)
but halfway through he reveals that while researching he stumbled upon evidence that Light might be behind the Kira murders, and then spends like fourty minutes explaining the concept of a shinigami, an hour explaining how he thinks Light used one to commit murders, and then another hour explaining Light's ideology and why the concept of criminals being inherently evil is flawed
He finishes the video by addressing Light directly and telling him that he (Hbomberguy) had his name legally changed before uploading the video, to something that only he knows, making it impossible for Light to kill him
"What if my friends secretly hate me?" What if they pray for you before bed? What if they hear a song come on and it makes them immediately think of you? What if when times are hard for them, they close their eyes and think of the memories they've shared with you? What if they study your face closely to see how you're feeling? What if they listen to your stories? What if they smile when you text them first? What if
US states where a popular adult website will be blocked as of July 1, 2024
i already have a job and it's called keeping myself alive. why do i have to be employed on top of that
Anyways when I was sixteen I wrote a story about a spaceship's communications officer (think Uhura) who was given a brain implant when he was a baby that automatically translates every language in the universe, but which interferes with his ability to perceive and process subtle changes in tone. He hears an emotionless automated translator voice inside his head rather than hearing the real voices being physically carried by air vibrations. So he has the ability to interpret every word in every language, but he can never interpret tone of voice. And the ultimate message of the story is that understanding every possible text isn't enough -- if you don't understand subtext, you'll be isolated. The "communications officer" actually struggles to communicate more than anyone else on the ship.
You'll never guess what they diagnosed me with a year later.
i hate hate hate hate hate hate hate when a monster is loved and that love turns them human I HATE IT I HATE IT SO MUCH. tell that thing that goes bump in the night that you love the way its fangs glimmer in the moonlight and the way its horrible gnarled claws are so gentle with you or GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!!!!!!!!!!
You, a necromancer, were always fond of your skeleton minions. Even going as far as to make each one a personalized name tag. Then you were cut down by those blasted heroes, only to one day reopen your eyes and see an Elder Lich looming over you with a very faded name tag.
Just looked at a blog where the header description said 'sometimes I reblog posts I like so I don't forget them'.
And I feel like that, right there, explains so much about how the site has changed in the last few months.
People now think reblogging is an unusual behaviour, rather than a default.
Tumblr newbies, please, for the love of baby Jesus, reblog the posts you like. That is the whole reason the site exists - for you to collect all your shiny fandom objects in a single space. Which you can organize to your heart's content. Or not organize at all, if that's your jam.
Our blogs are intended to be collections of posts, not collections of likes.
Practicing something a bit more realistic.
One evening, in the sky, a message appeared: “In 24 hours, a billionaire will die.” Everyone everywhere on Earth could see it, in every language. Nobody could explain it. The next day, one of the richest men passed away. “In 24 hours, 2 billionaires…”
So not that long ago the group that I take part in writing workshops with did a workshop on Haiku and Haibun, and I went a little off the deep end and wrote a funky sci-fi short story Haibun thing. Anyway, here you go. *Note: I might end up editing and changing it later. ------------------------------
The docking bays stand tall over the promenade, a pier of iron and steel beneath which roam hundreds of arriving faces. Shuttlecrafts slowly empty themselves of scavengers and refugees, survivors who have seen their homes destroyed. Around me every face has been marred by desperation and every arrival is heralded with relief.
Sea of brown and gray Hungry mouths, aching bodies Safe for the first time
Legends stalk through the crowd, saviors from a bygone age. A steel-suited force once thought forgotten. Staves, swords, knives, guns, all equally deadly in their iron grip. It is hard not to notice the breaks and dents in their once exquisite armor.
Warriors of Old Leaving their worlds behind Battle among stars
Through the translucent sheen of the docking bay’s energy shield we watch as our once blue and green home is overtaken by a swath of shining red. The promenade’s steel booths, once dedicated to trade and commerce, are repurposed and used to distribute food among the starving crowd. A violent plague sweeps across the planet below, and we know we will never return.
Eating at long last A first night among many Watching our world burn
Days become weeks, weeks become months as our would be saviours repeatedly plunge to the planet below. Whispers of small victories spread through the station’s corridors, rumors of safe havens and thriving populations feeding desperate hopes. It would be easy to miss that our saviours’ numbers seem smaller with each return they make.
Battling the plague Plunging Heroes Fall Beneath The Hope of Masses
The station slumbers, its people adhering to their anachronous routines, small comfort for the displaced. My footfalls ring out among reticent corridors, the night quiet giving its own familiar ease. Reprieve is broken as metal clashes. Nearly hidden, two legends quarrel.
A knife is fumbled Shining steel shears armor Sword slides between ribs
Hasty, heavy footfalls rush from the secluded battlefield before fading into obscurity. Unseen, I approach the fallen champion, unprepared to give the aid I offer. Their wound does not bleed, streaks of red splayed beneath steel skin. Trembling hands open damaged armor, as I make my greatest mistake.
Plague engulfing me Tendrils through body and mind It’s taking control
My world becomes red. All consuming Rage. All Consuming Hunger. No Me, only Us. One body perishing, the other still weak. The enemy’s strength lies ready before us. Our forming corpse drags itself from the wreckage. Our weakling slides inside. We are weak no longer.
Wielder unwell Infestation levels high Simply will not do
WE CANNOT BE PURGED. Pain runs through our body, lightning through my bones. THERE IS NO YOU, THERE IS US. Screaming assaults my ears, my mouth dry from the exertion. YOUR TIME IS LIMITED. THERE IS STILL ANOTHER. Vision grows black, consiousness fades.
Recover, wearer. Infection levels dropping, You will be alright
An electronic voice speaks into my ear as my eyes slowly open. A steel second skin covers me, though I do not feel it’s weight. I begin to sit, to stand, slow careful movements made easier on my aching body by armored systems I do not understand. My eyes catch sight of the corpse beside me and it is made clear, plague has reached us.
Carrier running Searching for the next victim To give to the plague
Screaming pulls me from my stupor and I begin to run. As I near the sound, I find three survivors laying before me, red streaks running from superficial wounds. ‘They have been infected,’ the voice informs me moments before they begin to stand. They lunge, but I am armored and they are not.
Blood now on my hands Refugees become corpses I do what I must
Running. Fighting. Running. Fighting. I pour through the hallway, my steel steps echoing just behind my mark’s. Each moment his steps seem closer. Each moment my armored hands are stained with more of the blood of fellow survivors. I see him turn a corner and he is mine at last.
Nowhere left to run I must bring this to an end Lest he doom us all
His rust-red sword lashes out, skilled, but worn. Expert strikes slowed by fatigue are easily dodged. He pulls back and begins to circle, I cannot let him recover.
Fist stands against sword A sharp pain through my belly I cannot fail here
YOU COULD HAVE BEEN US. My arms wraps around him, pinning his in place. NOW YOU SHALL PERISH. My head impacts his again and again. WE SHALL BECOME ALL. He struggles, but despite my wound he cannot escape. YOUR EFFORTS ARE FUTILE. His body goes limp, but I continue until my own sight grows dark.
Neophyte Legend Dying alongside first foe Fate has other plans
Bright light in my eyes awakens me. Rage, Hunger within my mind. Deep breaths keep it calm as my body recovers. Months pass, armor and body are both repaired but my mind is not the same. I will learn to manage. Soon I take my first plunge.
Fighting planetside I can sense its location A boon from my curse
Armored warriors, we battle the plague below. An unexpected boon becomes our greatest strength. We gain ground, make progress, and our numbers remain strong. In moments of reprieve my mind turns to the station above.
Watchers from above Spots of blue on a red sphere Fueling their hopes
This is why it’s so important for parents to support their trans kids.
this is your gentle reminder to stop fighting against your adhd and instead structure your life around it
buy a pack of chapsticks and put one in the pocket of all of your coats and jackets because you always forget to bring one and chapped lips is sensory hell
leave important things where you can see them. if they go in a box or a drawer you will forget they exist
put any appointments or deadlines in your phone calendar As Soon As you get them. set a reminder for a week before, a day before, an hour before, as many as you need as often as you need them.
when that little voice in your head says "i dont need to write that down, ill remember it" that is the devil talking!!! write it down anyway!!
plan for down time. have a few hours at the end of every day to just do fun stuff like engage in your hyperfixations. even if you didnt get all of your work done that day, have the rest anyway. you probably spent the whole day beating yourself up for not doing what you Should be doing, so you still need the break.
if you never eat vegetables because its too much effort to chop and cook them, get the frozen or canned shit. it doesnt go off for ages and you just have to microwave it. theres no point buying fresh vegetables if they just keep going off and being left to rot in the bottom of your fridge
if you struggle to decide what to have for dinner every day, take the decision out of it. choose a set of meals and eat those on rotation until you get sick of them, then choose some new ones and do it again.
its not stupid if it works! our brains literally have a chemical deficiency. you are allowed to accommodate yourself. go forth and stop making your life more difficult than it has to be because "this shouldn't be this hard". it is hard, so make it easier.
Under this chart my theory about the holocaust existing in the minion's universe because they did not attempt to help hitler only falls under level 2 head cannon
it came to my realization that 99% of my fandom related headaches would be cured if everyone understood this
Alrighty, here's another scene from the novel I'm (very slowly) writing -------------------------
In the performance hall’s backstage restroom a young woman paced back and forth as she scrolled through instructions on her phone. She had a job to do, she was here to make sure that this was the performers’ final show. There were five targets, identical clones masquerading as “sisters” who formed a k-pop group called Blackhearts. A record company owned by the media conglomerate that she was currently working for held the rights to their music, and their last few albums had not sold well. They had become disposable.
A twinge of guilt ran through her as she saved the performers’ image to her phone. These weren’t corporate spies or power hungry schemers gunning for a sudden promotion, they were performers who’s hype was waning. They needed a PR team, not an assassin, but PR teams were expensive while a half-dozen bullets were not only cheap but could also bring in a quick profit. Sales of their final album would go up for a time, the group’s overhead would disappear, and the company could sign the next up and coming artist while they were still on the rise. It was disgusting, and she hated what she was about to do. She turned to the sink and stared into the dingy bathroom mirror.
“I can’t just not do it,” She said to nobody in particular, guilt and anger growing deep within her. She gazed at her neck in the mirror, picturing the device that lay just beneath her skin. “I have to do it. I don’t have a choice,” she murmured, tapping her foot anxiously. “It doesn’t matter how I feel about it.” She paused, took a deep breath, and shoved the growing guilt and anger as deep down as she could. She had a job to do, she could address these feelings later.
She turned her attention back to her phone and uploaded her target’s photo into the app that controlled her cybernetics. A familiar ache ran beneath her crawling skin as her appearance began to change. Her face grew longer, thinner, accentuated by high cheekbones. Short, wavy red hair darkened, straightened, and grew until it was a shining black that flowed down to the small of her back. Emerald green eyes turned sky blue and tan freckled skin became an unblemished pale. When the changes finished she looked to the mirror and gave a cold grin. Nobody would think twice about a performer walking into her own dressing room.
white people go like “is anyone going to redesign this nonhuman evil character as a poc?” and not wait for an answer
since mrs, ms, and mr are all descended from the latin word magister, i propose the gender neutral version should be mg, short for "mage"
I left Gaza for Italy due to an invitation to participate in the World Championship and represent Palestine. I was skating as a professional amateur. The World Championship organization contacted me to participate. I was supposed to get one of the winning positions, but I did not participate because of the war because my mind is scattered and I am always in a state of chaos and worried for the sake of my family and my family. Gaza, but my life is not life. I always think and do not sleep because of thinking about my family. I lost my father, but will the rest of my family live or be killed? I do not know my mind. I cannot control it, so my family must be taken out to get some comfort and safety. This is my picture when I am in Gaza. I hope you support me for the sake of my family. In order to return to life a little If you have trouble donating, there is a PayPal link in your bio
there have been 774664 studies on basic income and the results of every single one have been “wow! we gave people money and literally everything improved! crime rates are down! the actual sky is bluer! my (the researcher’s) wife decided not to leave me after all!” but these have all been short studies, just a couple years. i think what’s really missing from the field is a proper long form study, with a broader, bolder demographic, to really get us those numbers we need. a truly diverse study pool like, say, everyone. forever
In the Novel I'm writing, the villain I'm working with is named Elyssa Wescott and she's a Corporate Product Manager who has ordered the execution of multiple people under her without batting an eye and through the novel is going to attempt to murder the protagonists more than once. She also likes building model kits and loves grapes. She hates blueberries cause they're "Too squishy." She also likes to sit in the shower and just let the hot water run over her when she's overwhelmed. IDK how much of that is going to end up being in the novel but at least the model thing will be there as a model or two on a shelf in her office.
*Takes you by the shoulders* I ADORE character profiles and character trivia and likes and dislikes sections. I love knowing this ruthless, heartless, cruel man of a character has a childish dislike for mandarin oranges. I believe in the inherent beauty of making all characters, no matter the background or moral stance, being made fundamentally human by assigning them insignificant culinary preferences. I stand by the supremacy of humanizing villains by giving them relatable tastes and trivial interests and ordinary hobbies. I treasure the hidden reminders that everyone is inherently human even when everything else we know about a character might suggest the contrary.
Finally out of the hospital and reunited with my art tablet. Here's a digital painting of some tulips that I did this morning!