BlackSky

Just another ace obsessed with fanficts ✌🏻😎

[blacksky-8]

WIP Connected to my Army fic. Not edited

There are stories that will not be told. There are children that died for a greater cause, as an old headmaster would say, who's name might be only remember by the stone. There are shopkeepers, and ministry workers, and goblins, and and and...

Most will not be remember. Not for long. The suffering will be lost to history, the blood will be wash by the rain, the memory will fade.

They, however, still exists within our story.

Others would not be so lucky.

-----------

She is a mother. A perfectly normal mother, with a husband that didn't stick around, and a baby to take care of. Perhaps, before, she was something more than a mother. Perhaps she was a painter, a singer, a writer, a genius. We will not know, for she, in this story, doesn't matter beyond a mother.

A mother to a child that could do wonderful things. A mother that loved her child fiercely, but could not understand them. A mother that watched a witch walked into her home, and whisk her child away to a castle she will never see.

She is a mother, who couldn't understand when her child told her about curses, and spells, and gigantic birds (She is a daughter, who's mother was the only survivor in her family after the war. She is a daughter that learn the signs at the knees of her mother).

Her child is gone, back to school or hidden, she does not know. Her child left a note and fleed, hoping to keep her safe. She hopes and hopes and hopes. She would received those who would killed her with a cuppa if only someone could tell her where her child --

She waits for a owl. She waits by the fireplace. She does not own a owl herself. She cannot make the fire bright green.

She waits

And waits

And waits

She ages.

No one comes to the door.

And waits. And waits. And waits.

And she dies. There's not drama to tell. No story to tell. She is a mother grieving a child she could never find.

And she. She has a name. But the magic world did not care for those outside of it. And so won't we.

[blacksky-8]

Finally sitting down to write the last chapter of the fic I last updated like 4 years ago- finally remembered why I loved writing so much

[blacksky-8]

What do I have to do to make sex bots stop following me 😭

[nosebleedclub]

Tell me a soft memory

[inkskinned]

we would find out later i had burned off my entire cornea - about 65% of my eye. my doctor told me it is the organ with the highest concentration of nerve endings - i was in an amount of pain that can't be spoken.

and i was blind. for the first time in my life, i was totally blind. i kept thinking about reading, about writing. weirdly, just once, about driving. we had no idea if i would ever see again. just like that - my entire life was different.

it is a strange place to reference for a soft memory, to begin here.

my siblings were taking excellent care of me, but there was a moment in the hospital where, just through bad luck and timing - both of them had to step away for a moment. i was crying at that point; not emotionally. for 3 days after this i would still be crying, my tears, like a mermaid's, a frothy pink with blood.

my brother worried about leaving me. he had another, just-as-bad emergency.

"i got her," someone said. "don't worry."

a soft hand held mine, and then she started talking.

her name was jess. she has a wife named clyde. they live a few blocks up the street. clyde fell down, but the x-rays seem to be coming back better than expected. jess says she's got long dark hair and "more wrinkles than an elephant". jess describes every chair in the room and every person. she talks about her two kids and her cats and her favorite memories from college.

a doctor came. i had to switch to a different waiting room. i tried to stand up to follow the voice - i found jess's hand, following me. she didn't let go. she kept talking the whole way: lamp to your left, just a few more steps, okay to your right is the ugliest painting, good, now a little more walking straight, you got it baby

in the new silence of the next room she sat me down and called my brother for me, telling him where we'd gone to. and she stayed there for a bit, just chatting, her voice echoing in the eerie quiet. gently describing the room to me. and then someone was rude. from the sound of the voice, a kid, i think.

"why is she crying?"

"she just lost her vision," jess said. "she can't see."

"oh." said the kid. "that's scary."

the kid tells me he is here because he has peas stuck up his nose. that makes me laugh, his mom (?) groans. she tells me about the kid (he's 6, he likes paw patrol and eating cheese), about herself, about moving from cali.

jess says she's sorry, but she has to leave now, she's gotta go check on her wife.

"don't worry," says the mom. "i got her." and then i felt her hand press into mine.

for hours like that: i am taken care of by strangers. each person just talking with whatever comes to their head - not for any reward or celebrity or real reason, i guess. just because i am scared and alone and in the hospital and blinded and need to be distracted. not everyone even got told the story - they would just pick up in the silence with - oh by the way the television is playing HGTV - do you like that kind of a thing? yeah, me too, but could never quite get into those open-floor plans, i'll tell you -

by the time my brother is able to come back, the room is buzzing. we talk to each other like old friends, laughing, cracking jokes about if you don't like hospital food wait until you get on an airplane and can't believe i'm up past two in the morning what a party animal i'm becoming. i am holding the hands of someone named drew, who likes my crow tattoo and making crochet snails.

there are many dark moments full of pain in this world. this - in the low of absolute-dark, absolute-pain: people find a way to paint in it anyway. the color splash of their voices: this triumphant, radiating kindness of - let's be here together, let me help you, let's keep going.

i never saw their faces. i can't remember many of their names. but i think about them often, and the way we all took a deep breath - and did something gentle amongst the pain.

[mylordshesacactus]

Please make a post about the story of the RMS Carpathia, because it's something that's almost beyond belief and more people should know about it.

Carpathia received Titanic’s distress signal at 12:20am, April 15th, 1912. She was 58 miles away, a distance that absolutely could not be covered in less than four hours.

(Californian’s exact position at the time is…controversial. She was close enough to have helped. By all accounts she was close enough to see Titanic’s distress rockets. It’s uncertain to this day why her crew did not respond, or how many might not have been lost if she had been there. This is not the place for what-ifs. This is about what was done.)

Carpathia’s Captain Rostron had, yes, rolled out of bed instantly when woken by his radio operator, ordered his ship to Titanic’s aid and confirmed the signal before he was fully dressed. The man had never in his life responded to an emergency call. His goal tonight was to make sure nobody who heard that fact would ever believe it.

All of Carpathia’s lifeboats were swung out ready for deployment. Oil was set up to be poured off the side of the ship in case the sea turned choppy; oil would coat and calm the water near Carpathia if that happened, making it safer for lifeboats to draw up alongside her. He ordered lights to be rigged along the side of the ship so survivors could see it better, and had nets and ladders rigged along her sides ready to be dropped when they arrived, in order to let as many survivors as possible climb aboard at once.

I don’t know if his making provisions for there still being survivors in the water was optimism or not. I think he knew they were never going to get there in time for that. I think he did it anyway because, god, you have to hope.

Carpathia had three dining rooms, which were immediately converted into triage and first aid stations. Each had a doctor assigned to it. Hot soup, coffee, and tea were prepared in bulk in each dining room, and blankets and warm clothes were collected to be ready to hand out. By this time, many of the passengers were awake–prepping a ship for disaster relief isn’t quiet–and all of them stepped up to help, many donating their own clothes and blankets.

And then he did something I tend to refer to as diverting all power from life support.

Here’s the thing about steamships: They run on steam. Shocking, I know; but that steam powers everything on the ship, and right now, Carpathia needed power. So Rostron turned off hot water and central heating, which bled valuable steam power, to everywhere but the dining rooms–which, of course, were being used to make hot drinks and receive survivors. He woke up all the engineers, all the stokers and firemen, diverted all that steam back into the engines, and asked his ship to go as fast as she possibly could. And when she’d done that, he asked her to go faster.

I need you to understand that you simply can’t push a ship very far past its top speed. Pushing that much sheer tonnage through the water becomes harder with each extra knot past the speed it was designed for. Pushing a ship past its rated speed is not only reckless–it’s difficult to maneuver–but it puts an incredible amount of strain on the engines. Ships are not designed to exceed their top speed by even one knot. They can’t do it. It can’t be done.

Carpathia’s absolute do-or-die, the-engines-can’t-take-this-forever top speed was fourteen knots. Dodging icebergs, in the dark and the cold, surrounded by mist, she sustained a speed of almost seventeen and a half.

No one would have asked this of them. It wasn’t expected. They were almost sixty miles away, with icebergs in their path. They had a respondibility to respond; they did not have a responsibility to do the impossible and do it well. No one would have faulted them for taking more time to confirm the severity of the issue. No one would have blamed them for a slow and cautious approach. No one but themselves.

They damn near broke the laws of physics, galloping north headlong into the dark in the desperate hope that if they could shave an hour, half an hour, five minutes off their arrival time, maybe for one more person those five minutes would make the difference. I say: three people had died by the time they were lifted from the lifeboats. For all we know, in another hour it might have been more. I say they made all the difference in the world.

This ship and her crew received a message from a location they could not hope to reach in under four hours. Just barely over three hours later, they arrived at Titanic’s last known coordinates. Half an hour after that, at 4am, they would finally find the first of the lifeboats. it would take until 8:30 in the morning for the last survivor to be brought onboard. Passengers from Carpathia universally gave up their berths, staterooms, and clothing to the survivors, assisting the crew at every turn and sitting with the sobbing rescuees to offer whatever comfort they could.

In total, 705 people of Titanic’s original 2208 were brought onto Carpathia alive. No other ship would find survivors.

At 12:20am April 15th, 1912, there was a miracle on the North Atlantic. And it happened because a group of humans, some of them strangers, many of them only passengers on a small and unimpressive steam liner, looked at each other and decided: I cannot live with myself if I do anything less.

I think the least we can do is remember them for it.

[thejollywriter]

wow okay i’m crying now

[girlwithakiwi]

“And even as he watched the rescue unfolding that morning, he would have understood that for the living, everything which could have been done had been done: not a single survivor was lost or injured being brought aboard the Carpathia. For those who had gone down with the Titanic, save for reverencing their memory at the service later that day, there was nothing more that he or anyone could do. Rostron’s duty now was as he always saw it: to the living.”

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

I looked up a bit about this because the post is so movingly written that when I read it aloud to my husband and mother they both wept like babies, and something else really struck me about this story.

So Carpathia was not a top-end luxury liner. Her reputation was for being Jolly Comfortable - she was very broad in her proportions, and not super-duper fast, and the result was that she didn’t rock so much on the waves and you couldn’t particularly hear/feel the engines. She was solid and dependable, and lots of people liked using her, but she therefore occupied a lesser niche than Titanic or Olympian or whatever - and crucially, as a result of that, she only had one radio operator on board. This means she only had radio ops for a certain window in the day, unlike Titanic, which had 24 hour radio ops.

So on that night, when Titanic went down, Carpathia’s wireless operator - one Harold Cottam - clocked off his shift at midnight, and went to bed. While he was getting ready for bed, though, he left the transmitter on for the hell of it, and therefore picked up a transmission from Cape Race in Newfoundland, the closest transmitting tower sending messages to the ships. They told him that they had a backlog of private traffic for Titanic that wasn’t getting through. So, even though his shift was over, and it was now 11 minutes past bloody midnight, and he just wanted to go to bed, Harold Cottam decided that nonetheless, he’d be helpful, and let the Titanic know they had messages waiting.

And that’s how he received the Titanic’s distress signal. In spite of no longer being on shift to receive it, and therefore in order to send Carpathia galloping to Titanic’s rescue, and thus saving 705 people.

All because Harold Cottam decided one night to be kind. 

I dunno. That’s just really stuck with me.

[armouredescort]

Cottam also ended up staying awake for something like 48 hours straight trying to send survivors messages and a list of survivors home, but due to Carpathia’s limited radio frequency range and with no other ships to act as a relay, this was rather patchy. However, he tried his damn best to make sure the survivor’s messages got home, and was also bombarded with incoming messages of bribes to spill the details of the disaster to the press.

Rostrum had ordered that no messages to the press be sent out of respect to the survivors, for they would have their privacy destroyed as soon as they reached New York. Cottam respected this order, even under extreme duress of fatigue, stress, and the knowledge that in some cases the bribes were almost three times his annual salary.

He eventually went to bed but not before working with one of the rescued Titanic’s radio operators, Harold Bride, to transmit as many messages as possible. Bride was injured (his feet had been crushed in a lifeboat) and had just passed the body of the second of Titanic’s radio operators aboard (Jack Phillips), so neither of them were really in the best shape to keep working, but they did.

In the face of extreme adversity, both men refused to do anything but their duty (and exceeding their duty) not just because Rostrum had ordered it, but because it was the right thing to do. They could have profited considerably from the disaster and they refused for the dignity of the survivors.

[duckbunny]

This is hopepunk. This is what we can be, what we are, when instinct takes over. This is what we are when we choose to care about each other. We’re not profit machines or units of production or lone fierce wolves in a bitter wilderness. We are people, and we care about people.

This is human nature. Don’t give up on it.

[deadcatwithaflamethrower]

Hopepunk is best punk.

[saint-batrick]

this always leaves me sobbing. fuck.

[petermorwood]

I wrote a post a couple of years ago, wondering why there hadn’t been a documentary or docu-drama about the ‘Carpathia’ rescue run.

There are probably sound reasons why not, one of which is probably that getting yet another ‘Titanic’ project greenlit is far easier - name recognition, pre-sold property, multiple conspiracy theories to play with (all discredited, but when did that stop the “History” Channel?)

Here are a couple of stories about ‘Carpathia’:

As @mylordshesacactus has already said, her boilers and engines were rated for no more than 14 knots and, when she managed 17.5 for the only time in her life it’s said (I hate the phrase but I have to use it) that the Chief Engineer hung his hat over the main pressure gauge so no-one - including himself - could see how far its needle was into the red.

Captain Rostron, a religious man, was seen on several occasions standing privately on the exposed bridge wing with his own hat raised and his mouth moving in silent prayer, and when daylight revealed the extent of the ice-field his ship had passed without harm, he only said “There must have been another Hand on the wheel than mine…”

There’s another problem-of-sorts about a screenplay set aboard ‘Carpathia’ - an astonishing lack of that easy dramatic tool, conflict. Captain Rostron decided he was going to the ‘Titanic’s assistance, and that was that. AFAIK not a single passenger or crewman - not one - questioned the wisdom of his decision either then or afterwards, even when…

…‘Carpathia’ headed at more than full speed, in the dark, through dangerous waters where an iceberg had apparently just sunk an “unsinkable” ship.

It’s easier to write - and sell - a story about pride, arrogance, stupidity, rich against poor and lives lost through hubris, than it is to write one about people who rallied round and did the right thing at the right time, not for reward but because it was the right thing to do.

Here’s Rostron and his officers…

…the ‘Carpathia’ stewards and cabin crew….

…some of her passengers…

…and some of the people they helped.

[joasakura]

I will always reblog one of the few posts to GUARANTEE leaving me in an ugly sobbing heartfelt mess.

Godspeed Carpathia and your crew, your memories live on.

[former-portland-mando]

I feel that April 15th should become one of Tumblr’s rememberance dates…

[robotsandfrippary]

The conflict could be created by someone on the mainland protesting their decisions or interpersonal relationships in the passengers and crew.  But I think most people really enjoy the idea of unlikely, underdog heroes giving it their all to save someone who was perceived to be more powerful than they are.  You could even set it up where a couple of childhood friends, one of whom married wealth and the other who did not, are separated on the two ships.  Wealthy friend makes fun of not wealthy friend for being on the Carpathia and not the cooler Titanic.  there’s your conflict. Class conflict. 

Put in two people floating on a door and saying shit like, “We weren’t sure we could both fit on here but we did!” as a dig.  you know.  that kind of thing. 

[silkling]

So when I was little I was big into DC. JLA Hawkgirl was my first crush and I recently picked up a couple comics for nostalgia sake, and one of them inspired this particular thought thread. A sort of…”what-if” drabble.

(Not to worry, for my normal followers. This is still a TF blog. I’m currently working on the next installment of my “Of Moments in Life AU.” If nothing big happens in my own life it should be out soon.)

But anyway, I hope y’all enjoy!

———————————

The Rogues of Gotham didn’t hurt kids. Oh, they were villains, to be sure. None of them ever denied that. They took great pleasure in sowing fear and chaos, in beating down the Bat, in creating their own little Empires. But, as a whole, the Rogues didn’t hurt kids. (Joker did, but he didn’t count. The criminal underworld of Gotham knew he wasn’t really a Rogue, even if the media and the heroes lumped him in with them. No, Joker was a solo act, a free agent, and he didn’t fall under the same codes the Rogues had long ago agreed to follow to keep the peace amongst themselves.)

The Rogues didn’t hurt kids. They were villains, but they were not monsters. They never attacked targets with children inside, never used kids as hostages, never launched an deadly attack in spaces where kids would be. They even did their absolute best to make sure their attacks never left any children as orphans. Mr.Freeze had, once, killed an only mother and left her child without anyone to care for him. The next day, the child had been dropped in Metropolis with a trust fund built using the money of the corporate scum that Freeze had killed in the same attack that had killed his mother. Gothams foster and childcare system was horrible, after all, and he’d wanted the boy to grow up in a place that wouldn’t chew him up and spit him out.

Gotham’s Rogue Gallery lived by a collective creed, though their own MOs different based on the individual. And the number one rule of that creed was that children were not to be hurt, were not to be involved in their plans and their battles.

And then, Batman brought along Robin.

The first few weeks after the tiny boy appeared, the Rogues were in disarray. They had never hurt children before, but now Batman was bringing a child into the fight. A child they might have to hurt. But they knew they couldn’t. Poison Ivy was the first to come up with a plan. She’d created a jungle out of the city park, and Batman and Robin had come to stop her. She’d dealt with Batman, but then Robin had confronted her, and she’d faltered. She’d made her decision, and allowed the child to back her into a tree and capture her. She’d gone willingly, not wanting to endanger the boy who smiled like the sun.

When the Dynamic Duo had next fought Scarecrow, he’d used a new gas, one he’d specially concocted just for this purpose, to knock Robin into a peaceful, restful sleep, one he’d wake from in a few hours. He’d squirreled them way in a safe alcove, then fought the Bat. He’d escaped that night, and Robin had been unharmed.

From then on, the rest of the Rogues followed those examples, either knocking Robin out peacefully, or, when they that wasn’t possible, letting the boy take them down. They knew the sidekick’s “easy” victories confused the Bat, especially since he was never able to have the same ease in taking them down. But he never figured out their little secret.

And then their first Robin grew up, and flew the nest, and though they knew they’d miss the bright young boy, now a young man, they were glad they no longer had to hold back against the Bat.

So, of course, imagine their surprise when a new Robin made his way to the scene.

No one knew quite what to do, but just as before, the Rogues came to a collective agreement to do no harm to the boy. (And Poison Ivy knew who he was. She’d had a soft spot for all of Gotham’s street rats, always tried to keep an eye out for them and keep them safe since no one else would. And when she recognized the bright fire in the new Robin from the boy who’d once tried to steal her prize petunias, well…it wasn’t like anyone needed to know.)

But then, Joker had done the unthinkable. He’d killed Robin. Their Robin. The Robin who the Rogues had done their upmost to protect.

Batman never got a chance to take down the clown.

Joker was delivered to the steps of Arkham, bound in thorny vines, and laughing with hysterical terror. His extremities were blue from frostbite and the bones in one of his legs were shattered as if someone with super strength had crushed him. His shoulder was torn, like a crocodile had tried to take a bite out of him. Taped to his forehead was a joker playing card with lipstick. (And after that night, Harley Quinn was never seen at Joker’s side again).

Arkham didn’t know what to do, or what to make of it, but they knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. Batman was wrapped up in grief, and didn’t think to make a connection between Joker’s arrival at Arkham and how no Robin of his had ever been hurt fighting the Rogues.

Only one person noticed the pattern, and the Rogues were stunned when, a few months later, a new Robin appeared in the Iceberg Lounge and asked them for help. Told them Batman hadn’t made him Robin, he’d gone out himself, because Batman was killing himself and Gotham needed Batman.

And, when it came from the mouth of such a small child, who was so earnest and desperate…

Well, how could they say no?

——————————-

And that was it. Hope y’all liked it. It was short, but I wanted to get this idea down. Let me know what you think, feedback fuels me.

Until next time, folks!

[nitewrighter]

“The prince just fell in love with Cinderella because of her looks!”

Wrong. Okay, picture this–

So there’s the prince, okay? He’s like, smack dab in the center of the ballroom, and he is like, horrifically aware that this whole ball thing is a result of his dad falling into a panic about the royal lineage or whatever and he’s stuck listening to highborn girl after highborn girl, all lined up, introducing themselves like, “Oh yeah my family’s been a longtime supporter of the crown, and I think you’re cute, *cough* I’ve been told I have child-bearing hips *cough* Who said that? Anyway–” and Princey boy is just smiling through it, he has been the center of attention for entirely too long, he misses his emotional support horse, and is just internally like “Someone please kill me now.” And then… he sees her–This isn’t a love at first sight thing, this is a ‘what the hell is going on over there’ thing, because this girl has not gotten into the Debutante line for a solid 45 minutes. 

She’s just at the hors d’oeuvres table going HAM on the prosciutto-wrapped asparagus, and like, she’s polite about it, she’s happy to move aside for other people grabbing punch and canapes (and she’s really so sweet with the wait staff, it’s kind of cute because they’re like… definitely not used to being acknowledged) but it’s like, “Damn girl, did you not eat today?” and then the prince is kind of stuck with the uncomfortable thought of ‘how many girls starved themselves to fit into a corset for this.’ And then the Prince realizes he’s missed the past 4 Debutante introductions because he’s watching Mystery girl hork down crab rangoons. So he’s like, “Excuse me” and manages to break free from the never-ending parade of girls who will hop on his dick for status.

 And as he’s approaching Mystery Girl, it’s kind of hitting him that something’s not quite natural about her. Not fake, but not quite real. But at the same time this whole evening’s been just a whole circus of people acting fake as hell, so like, someone seeming a little off doesn’t seem bad, necessarily. And he sidles up to her like, “Hi,” and she’s like, “Oh–hey, have you tried the tapenade?” and she points to one of the plates, and at this point, he could hit her with the “You don’t know who I am, do you?” deal or the “Very funny, I see your play” deal, but at this point it occurs to him that, no, he hasn’t had anything to eat throughout this whole damn ball, partially because of being stuck in the debutante parade, partially because of nerves, and there’s something so disarming about the question that he grabs a crostini and she still seems so food-focused that it doesn’t seem possible that this is a play. So they both grab little plates and ditch the party.

She pretty much clears her plate in under two minutes and then has half of his plate, he’s cool with it, mostly he’s just absolutely fascinated listening to her.

See here’s the thing about Cinderella:

1. She doesn’t know he’s the prince. Like yeah, he’s been at the center of the room, but she’s kind of spent half the party eagerly looking around everywhere she’s allowed to go (”Have you seen rose garden? Have you seen the solarium??” further confirmation that she doesn’t know who she’s talking to) and the other half stuffing her face with food. 

2. She assumes she’s never going to see anyone here tonight again, and no one recognizes her, so she has no filter.

So she’s just talking about whatever with this guy. He seems cool. She talks about her friends, who are rats. She makes little outfits for them. Sometimes they bring her little gifts. She is already the coolest person the prince has ever met because of this. She pretty much offhandedly talks about whatever is fucked up about the kingdom that would take his advisors two hours of hemming and hawing and watering down to address. She just says it like it’s nothing, just funky little things she’s observed, and again, she’s not aware that he’s the prince, but it’s still pretty damn bold to bring up at a literal royal ball.

She… seems to have the majority of graces that lots of girls from Respectable Families™ have, but there’s something strange about it, something simultaneously broken and hardened, like the way you can see where ice has thawed and re-frozen. Also the way she talks about her family, and the way she avoids talking about her family– is raising several red flags, not in the “Oh this is another person trying to take advantage of me” sense, but in the “Oh fuck, something’s gone really wrong and you need help” sense and also lowkey a ‘damn is she even getting fed?’ sense. But he can’t say, ‘Hey, that’s not fucking normal for people to say that to you or treat you that way. We need to get you out of there,’ without sounding crazy himself, so for now, he’s just going to chill, make sure she’s comfortable, and keep enjoying the evening. She’s somehow befriended like 4 of the waitstaff so they’re willing to cover for them while they disappear for a little bit, and they get plenty of time to talk, but eventually it hits her that she hasn’t danced yet and she’s like “Come on! I bet we can make the prince jealous!” and he just bursts out laughing at that like “hell yeah, let’s make the prince jealous. He’s a real asshole.” Like clearly she’s having a good time, so who is he to make it weird? So they head back to the ballroom and they dance. And our girl, Mystery Girl, Cinderella, while they’re dancing, becomes acutely aware that everyone is staring. That doesn’t seem quite right. Like, yeah she’s hot, she knows she’s hot, but at least a good third of the party should still be focused on the prince, right? Where is that guy, anyway?

Oh.

Oh wait.

Oh shit.

And Princey Boy actually picks up on her realization and they whisper argue for like 3 minutes. “Why didn’t you tell me?! Now I feel like a goddamn idiot!” “I dunno it was nice being treated like a normal person” “Well me treating you like a normal person makes me a goddamn felon or something did you consider that?!” “Hey–Hey–it’s cool–you’re cool–I think you’re amazing, and if anyone says shit about you, I can shut it down.” “Well I don’t like that! That’s fucked up!” “I agree. It is fucked up, but I believe in you, and I think you should have a chance, and I’m here to back you up. I know power is fucked up right now. I know. But are you cool with working with me to change that?” And our girl Cindy pauses on that for a couple seconds, because.. she’s just spent hours with this guy and like.. she knows he’s a good guy, she knows he means well, so she’s like, “I don’t know how long I can actually work with you.” and the prince is like “Look, I know your home situation is complicated right now, but I really think we can–”

And then the bell starts ringing.

It’s midnight.

And then she takes off in a panic, and our prince just met the coolest person ever, and like, he’s pretty sure whatever situation they’re headed back to is fucked up, and all he’s got going to find her is a shoe. A shoe. 

[mugglebornprincess]

the only way this works for me is if he also has prosopagnosia, aka facial blindness. in any version of this story, it’s just ludicrous to think that he can’t even string together a physical description of her. but this was total gold. i want to see a cinderella who horks down crab rangoons and has no filter lol

[nitewrighter]

Ah yeah prosopagnosia, a reasonable explanation, however that lends to the other plot hole that there were countless others at the ball who could have recognized our girl Cinderella, including her Stepmother and Stepsisters. If the evil Stepfam recognized her, it would be all over. 

Thankfully the Fairy Godmother thought of something for that.

So picture Cindy, she’s in the garden under the hazel tree where her mother was buried, she’s just gotten the kickass dress, she’s doing the skirt twirlies, she’s checking herself out in the reflection of the garden fountain, and all of a sudden this horrible realization falls on her and she whirls over to look at her Fairy Godmother like, “WAIT. If my stepmother recognizes me, I’m dead. I’m so dead.” 

And Fairy Godmother is just like, “Oh pffft kiddo don’t sweat it. There’s a memory charm stitched into the dress.”

“Memory charm?”

“Oh yeah. Fae standard. There’s already illusion spells on the dress so no one’s gonna recognize you, and like… once the dress and the carriage and everything disappear at midnight, pretty much the only space you’ll occupy in people’s brains is like… they’ll basically remember you as a cloud of white noise. A talking cloud of white noise–they’ll remember what you say, but not the sound of your voice.”

“I don’t know what white noise is.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Wait–” Cindy perks up, “Everything’s going to disappear at midnight?”

“Yep. Everything,” The fairy godmother is smacking her wand against her palm, trying to figure out how much juice is still in it.

And then this ripple passes over Cinderella’s face. “Even the slippers?”

“The slippers?” The fairy godmother glances up.

“I just…” Cinderella fidgets with her dress a little, “I really like them. They’re so pretty and there’s… I’ve never seen anything like them in my life. I wouldn’t sell them or anything, and I know It would be much harder to hide the dress so I figured I couldn’t keep it… but… I just hoped I might have something so I’d know this night wasn’t a dream. Just something to take out from time to time and look at…” She seems to catch herself and straighten up a little. “But I understand. You’ve already done so much, I should be thankful for–”

And Fairy Godmother is massaging her temples like “Urrrghhhh oh god you’re making the face–Okay. OKAY. I’m bending like 15 rules for this but…” she snaps her fingers and the slippers on Cinderella’s feel just a little heavier, “There you go. The shoes are physical and permanent. But hey–HEY–keep track of them. This means the memory and illusion charms don’t work on them. These are going to be the only recognizable things about you from this night. You got it?”

And Cindy nods.

“I mean it! After this it’s going to be months before I can muster up enough magic to turn into a starling murmuration and peck your stepfamily’s eyes out. So I can’t protect you before then.”

“…w-what about pecking out eyes–?”

“Okay! Ball time! Go kiddo, go! Go! Go! Get in the carriage! Go!” 

[nitewrighter]

Hey all, OP here!

By popular request, I wrote a continuation!!

[blacksky-8]

I have an idea. We have all read a thousands fics with Jason as Red Hood, and another thousand with Tim as Red Hood, right? But you know who I have never seen as Red Hood? Dick.

Like. Okay, we have all seen him as Talon. But just. Imagine.

The first Robin (or boy-bat, or something, cause let's be honest, no one in that family can name things) was Jason Todd. We don't have to change his origins much; steals from the Bat, Bruce adoption problem is born, and there's the first boy wonder. And look, the Pit made it so much worse, but Jason was always more violent, and he always wanted to do more. To make it so criminals can't keep hurting people. And while no, he wouldn't go to the extreme of killing here, he and Bruce would definitely part ways in less than ideal terms.

So here's Bruce, force to go to the circus because Alfred will not let him keep sulking in his big empty mansion. And oh look, there's a perfectly adoptable and traumatized child right there! And thus, Robin is born, because Dick doesn't know about boy bats legacy, and he wants something from his mother to stick around, so, hello Robin.

And this might make it so Jason isn't such a jerk to dick, because, look, the child might have taken his place as batman's side kick, but 1. He is a child, and Jason is absolutely weak for any and all children and 2. At least Bruce had the decency to no give him Jason's name (Bruce would have absolutely give Dick Jason's name, it was just dumb luck Dick wanted something else, but he will take that to his grave).

So anyway, happy family, all is great. And then. Then a complete circus who Dick had been keeping tags on disappeared in x country. And Dick goes looking. And he doesn't come back. So, warehouse incident.

And alright, Dick might have been a sweetheart. He might have been the most charismatic of the Robins; the one who would smile more easily and could make anyone love him. But Dick? Oh, Dick has a temper. So. Imagine. Dick raising from the Pit, with voices whispering how Batman's way is never good enough. How people keep dying and Bruce doesn't do anything. Dick's parents died because Bruce wouldn't do what had to be done. And Jason was right. They had to do more. Dick had to do more (Jason would forever regret words said in anger towards Bruce in front of his baby brother, because no baby bat, this is not what I meant.)

And oh, Jason's death destroyed Bruce. But Dick's death? The death of the light of the family? The child that could make anyone smile and all that he asked in return was a hug? Oh, the family would implode. Tim wouldn't even bother going to Flamebird, because Flamebird is as self-destructive, reckless and angry as Batman is.

...And that's all I have. Back to reading fanfic I guess 😌

[blacksky-8]

I don't know anything about canon DC Fam. I consume only fanfiction. But damn. I love that idiot family so much. Why are DC fanfic writers so good? 😭

[softgrlfriend]

that’s enough emotions for a whole year. ciao

[insertchaoticenbyname]

The earlier in the year you reblog this the better it gets

[blacksky-8]

Why do people plagiarize??? I did not spend almost three months in a fic for you to come here, steal half of it, and claim its original because you change a couple of scenes. Man, I'm angry. Anyway, anyone knows how to deal with copy cats?

[cuteautumn]

TOMORROW IS HALLOWEEN!!!

[tomatoreddsworld-deactivated201]

WHAT THE FUCK IT’S CHRISTMAS EVE WHY DID SOMEONE REBLOG THIS

[derranger-deactivated20220102]

TOMORROW IS HALLOWEEN!!!

[partasah]

SERIOUSLY?! THIS IS CHRISTMAS EVE WHY WOULD YOU REBLOG THIS?!

[socialistexan]

TOMORROW IS HALLOWEEN!!!

[imperfectlyxo]

If you are scrolling through Tumblr trying to distract yourself from something you don’t want to think about, or you’re looking for a sign. It is going to be okay. Just breathe. You are alive and you matter. 

[faedreamer-deactivated20180128]

i reblog this everytime i see it because i always need it and figure others do toom

[boonki]

all my fellow writers, reblog with what you use to write, what font, and what font size in the tags, im just really curious 

[mytearsrricochet]

this morning NASA abandoned their mars rover Opportunity (aka Oppy) because it (she) got hit by a storm on Mars and it knocked her camera and wheels out and her last words to the team were “my battery is low and it is getting cold”. I know she’s a machine but I’m devastated. Oppy is the one who discovered water on Mars. RIP oppy ily space baby

[mevsthhighway]

they didn’t abandon her!! they tried eight months to reach her!!!! as their last farewell to her yesterday they played her “I’ll be seeing you” by Billie Holiday:

“I’ll find you in the morning sun

And when the night is new

I’ll be looking at the moon

But I’ll be seeing you”

They love her so much and they tried so hard!!!

[stickmanbrandon]

Oh man, It doesn’t end there.

This isn’t the first song NASA sent Opportunity. They had a playlist:

https://www.space.com/41434-mars-rover-opportunity-wakeup-music-playlist.html?fbclid=IwAR3uL6q4tOmLQTIEhiwYegGc99nv4N01HQKItpCLQiQYIptBOevNN6uIyT8

It’s on Spotify, it’s called “Opportunity, wake up!“

This is what’s great about NASA and it’s what’s great about people. These are world-class engineers. When they sent a rover to another planet they could have easily looked at it as just another scientific tool. But people don’t do that. We can and will get emotionally attached to the most inanimate of objects. We can and will anthropomorphize anything. And frankly Opportunity’s camera mast looks like a little face with eyes and everything, so why not?

So they started calling it her.

They nicknamed her Oppy.

They told her to take a selfie not long ago.

After 15 years of Oppy flipping the double bird to her original 90 day life expectancy, when a planet-spanning dust storm finally knocked her out and she stopped responding to the engineer’s wake-up messages, they started playing music for her.

And after 8 months and almost 1000 unanswered wake-up messages, when it was finally clear that Oppy was never going to wake up, the last thing these world-class NASA engineers did for their little rover on another planet

Was play her a love song

[abbeydoesthings]

oh my gosh… sometimes I recognize that Humanity kind of sucks… But I live for content and feelings like this. Thank you, NASA.

[vr-trakowski]

Opportunity 2004-2019

We sent a vision to the god Of war, but in the name of peace. Glass and metal, gears and rods A hope that long outlived its lease.

We saw a planet through its eye No foot has trod; and yet, we walked Along its tracks on dust and rock To wonder at an alien sky.

Science without heart is null And so we loved this far-flung bot Our hopes packed into its hull Our dreams the thing for which it sought.

Fifteen years. And now the spark Which lit the path has sputtered out. But what it learned and brought about Will build us wings to cross the dark.

We’re on our way. Someday we’ll see Once more - our Opportunity.

[listsoflifehacks]

Secret Recipes To Try At Home

[listsoflifehacks]

Here are the instructions since people keep asking!

Panera Mac N Cheese Wendy’s Frosty Olive Garden Alfredo Sauce Chick-Fil-A Nuggets Starbucks Frappucino P.F. Chang’s Chicken Lettuce Wraps Chick-Fil-A Frosted Lemonade Red Lobster Cheddar Biscuits Sonic Cherry Limeade

[people-are-garbage]

Holy fuck

[pageoftowers]

Yes I needed these in my life thank you

[wolfsrainrules]

H E Y

[sunriseinorbit]

This is an appreciation post for the fanfic authors who aren’t included on rec lists

For the fanfic authors who don’t get art of their fics

For the fanfic authors who can’t get to 1000/500/100 hits

For the fanfic authors who don’t get comments/reviews

For the fanfic authors who write for small fandoms

For the fanfic authors who write rarepairs or gen fics

For the fanfic authors who get hate for the ships/characters/fandoms they write

For the fanfic authors who write in English despite it not being their first language

For the fanfic authors who don’t write in English

For the fanfic authors who don’t think anyone reads or likes their work

For the fanfic authors who aren’t big name fans

For the fanfic authors who don’t get requests in their inboxes

For the fanfic authors who can’t write stories that are more than a thousand words

For the fanfic authors who only write one ship

For the fanfic authors who are just starting

For the fanfic authors who have been writing fic for years

For the fanfic authors who use fanfic to practice writing

For the fanfic authors who write self-insert fics

For the fanfic authors who write about their OCs

For the fanfic authors who write to vent or cope

For the fanfic authors who are just waiting for their big break

Keep creating, I love you ❤️