Instead of waiting in her tower, Rapunzel slices off her long, golden hair with a carving knife, and then uses it to climb down to freedom.
Just as she’s about to take the poison apple, Snow White sees the familiar wicked glow in the old lady’s eyes, and slashes the evil queen’s throat with a pair of sewing scissors.
Cinderella refuses everything but the glass slippers from her fairy godmother, crushes her stepmother’s windpipe under her heel, and the Prince falls madly in love with the mysterious girl who dons rags and blood-stained slippers.
Persephone goes adventuring with weapons hidden under her dress.
Persephone climbs into the gaping chasm.
Or, Persephone uses her hands to carve a hole down to hell.
In none of these versions is Persephone’s body violated unless she asks Hades to hold her down with his horse-whips.
Not once does she hold out on eating the pomegranate, instead biting into it eagerly and relishing the juice running down her chin, staining it red.
In some of the stories, Hades never appears and Persephone rules the underworld with a crown of her own making.
In all of them, it is widely known that the name Persephone means Bringer of Destruction.
Red Riding Hood marches from her grandmother’s house with a bloody wolf pelt.
Medusa rights the wrongs that have been done to her.
Eurydice breaks every muscle in her arms climbing out of the land of the dead.
Girls are allowed to think dark thoughts, and be dark things.
Instead of the dragon, it’s the princess with claws and fiery breath
who smashes her way from the confines of her castle
and swallows men whole.
'Reinventing Rescuing,' theappleppielifestyle. (via justawordshaker)
“All of the experiences in this comic are either directly from my own life or related to me by people I know and care for.
I don’t know, I’m all mad today. In the elevator in my building a woman decided she had an opinion about something I was wearing around my neck and grabbed it so she could tell me what she thought, and got mad when I told her to fuck off. I’m on the subway and a stranger wants to touch my hair. Every time I fuck someone or love someone, 0r change my body or decide whether or not to wear make-up or talk about the people I love, I prepare for the cascade of opinions or tirades or thinly-veiled self-congratulatory tolerance and it’s easier now to just not share, to hold those precious things private.
I’m tired of my body and my life being public property, of my identity and choices being used by others for leverage, at that entitled hurt or anger in their eyes when I don’t want to play along. I’m tired of seeing the people around me get manoeuvred or manhandled or held up like fucking pariahs when they just want to be left in peace. I’m bored of being someone else’s politics. I don’t want to talk – I’m just reading my book while I’m on my way home”
From the comic Robot Hugs