Ariana Griande And Sabrina Scarpenter

Sorry the worms got to my brain

Here’s a story about changelings: 

Mary was a beautiful baby, sweet and affectionate, but by the time she’s three she’s turned difficult and strange, with fey moods and a stubborn mouth that screams and bites but never says mama. But her mother’s well-used to hard work with little thanks, and when the village gossips wag their tongues she just shrugs, and pulls her difficult child away from their precious, perfect blossoms, before the bites draw blood. Mary’s mother doesn’t drown her in a bucket of saltwater, and she doesn’t take up the silver knife the wife of the village priest leaves out for her one Sunday brunch. 

She gives her daughter yarn, instead, and instead of a rowan stake through her inhuman heart she gives her a child’s first loom, oak and ash. She lets her vicious, uncooperative fairy daughter entertain herself with games of her own devising, in as much peace and comfort as either of them can manage.

Mary grows up strangely, as a strange child would, learning everything in all the wrong order, and biting a great deal more than she should. But she also learns to weave, and takes to it with a grand passion. Soon enough she knows more than her mother–which isn’t all that much–and is striking out into unknown territory, turning out odd new knots and weaves, patterns as complex as spiderwebs and spellrings. 

“Aren’t you clever,” her mother says, of her work, and leaves her to her wool and flax and whatnot. Mary’s not biting anymore, and she smiles more than she frowns, and that’s about as much, her mother figures, as anyone should hope for from their child. 

Mary still cries sometimes, when the other girls reject her for her strange graces, her odd slow way of talking, her restless reaching fluttering hands that have learned to spin but never to settle. The other girls call her freak, witchblood, hobgoblin.

“I don’t remember girls being quite so stupid when I was that age,” her mother says, brushing Mary’s hair smooth and steady like they’ve both learned to enjoy, smooth as a skein of silk. “Time was, you knew not to insult anyone you might need to flatter later. ‘Specially when you don’t know if they’re going to grow wings or horns or whatnot. Serve ‘em all right if you ever figure out curses.”

“I want to go back,” Mary says. “I want to go home, to where I came from, where there’s people like me. If I’m a fairy’s child I should be in fairyland, and no one would call me a freak.”

“Aye, well, I’d miss you though,” her mother says. “And I expect there’s stupid folk everywhere, even in fairyland. Cruel folk, too. You just have to make the best of things where you are, being my child instead.”

Mary learns to read well enough, in between the weaving, especially when her mother tracks down the traveling booktraders and comes home with slim, precious manuals on dyes and stains and mordants, on pigments and patterns, diagrams too arcane for her own eyes but which make her daughter’s eyes shine.

“We need an herb garden,” her daughter says, hands busy, flipping from page to page, pulling on her hair, twisting in her skirt, itching for a project. “Yarrow, and madder, and woad and weld…”

“Well, start digging,” her mother says. “Won’t do you a harm to get out of the house now’n then.”

Mary doesn’t like dirt but she’s learned determination well enough from her mother. She digs and digs, and plants what she’s given, and the first year doesn’t turn out so well but the second’s better, and by the third a cauldron’s always simmering something over the fire, and Mary’s taking in orders from girls five years older or more, turning out vivid bolts and spools and skeins of red and gold and blue, restless fingers dancing like they’ve summoned down the rainbow. Her mother figures she probably has.

“Just as well you never got the hang of curses,” she says, admiring her bright new skirts. “I like this sort of trick a lot better.”

Mary smiles, rocking back and forth on her heels, fingers already fluttering to find the next project.

She finally grows up tall and fair, if a bit stooped and squinty, and time and age seem to calm her unhappy mouth about as well as it does for human children. Word gets around she never lies or breaks a bargain, and if the first seems odd for a fairy’s child then the second one seems fit enough. The undyed stacks of taken orders grow taller, the dyed lots of filled orders grow brighter, the loom in the corner for Mary’s own creations grows stranger and more complex. Mary’s hands callus just like her mother’s, become as strong and tough and smooth as the oak and ash of her needles and frames, though they never fall still.

“Do you ever wonder what your real daughter would be like?” the priest’s wife asks, once.

Mary’s mother snorts. “She wouldn’t be worth a damn at weaving,” she says. “Lord knows I never was. No, I’ll keep what I’ve been given and thank the givers kindly. It was a fair enough trade for me. Good day, ma’am.”

Mary brings her mother sweet chamomile tea, that night, and a warm shawl in all the colors of a garden, and a hairbrush. In the morning, the priest’s son comes round, with payment for his mother’s pretty new dress and a shy smile just for Mary. He thinks her hair is nice, and her hands are even nicer, vibrant in their strength and skill and endless motion.  

They all live happily ever after.

*

Here’s another story: 

Keep reading

My thoughts

You can be smart and be high support needs.

You can be smart and struggle with basic care tasks.

You can be smart and be diagnosed with an intellectual disability, even if you struggle with reading writing and math.

You can be smart and sleep in an enclosed special needs bed for your safety.

You can be smart and need constant supervision.

You can be smart and need your toileting handled by someone else.

You can be smart and still have violent meltdowns.

You can be smart and still need government assistance.

You can be smart even if you were in sped your whole life.

You can be smart and still need a guardianship and/or Conservatorship.

You can be smart and nonverbal, even if you struggle with AAC.

You can be smart even if they told you your IQ is low, IQ is notoriously shit at measuring intelligence and why they use it in diagnostics is beyond me.

You can be smart and all these things and more.

You can be smart even if everyone else in the room will always think that you’re not cause of your disability.

These are all things I have seen or apply to me. Being emotionally smart is also a thing too. When I would have violent meltdowns in sped and would be yelled at or met with traumatic situations due to the teachers not knowing what to do, it was often my intellectually disabled classmates who knew how to talk me and caress me out of it and they were a hell of a lot smarter then the teachers in those moments. Don’t let people think you’re not smart for any reason and if you don’t believe you are take a good look at your strengths and come back.

The ParkCiv brainfog is taking over. Help.

“Good Luck, Babe!”

Since you take asks about families as well let me talk about how much I love love love! The Clockers

Limited life is my Favourite season, all the teams are great but there's something about the Clockers, about how seamlessly they adapt to a family dynamic (Etho not included in this rant)

Just Cleo constantly checking on Scar and Bdubs after Lim life to make sure their okay even though she knows they're fully grown adults and can look after themselves but Scar and Bdubs keep coming to them when they have nightmares or are having a bad day.

Also Cleo bragging to people outside of the server about how great their sons are, Bdubs is a Judge now and Scars got a Zoo! Not only that but Scars a winner! Their baby won a life series! Even if he did kill her their still so proud of him.

Scar and Bdubs always make sure there's space in their bases for the other to stay over if they want to. They host family dinners (sometimes including Etho but more often then not he's not invited) and always are excited to tell Cleo what they've been up to.

If something is planned on family dinner night they all cancel sure their on a server together but when do you really get to just sit and eat with your family?

Bdubs and Scar definitely acknowledge that Cleos is also a winner even if Bdubs wasn't a part of that game.

The non-lifer Hermits are confused on where this dynamic came from, like they go off for a few weeks to play their death games and come back a fully formed family, they get used to it quickly though.

*sniff… sniff*

Found family… my beloved… clockers…

-🍫

You should be able to say “don’t touch me” to anyone ever in any context and not have it be considered in the realm of surprising or insulting imho if we ever needed to normalize something it’s this

She sells seashells on a seashore

Trafficblr ships in a nutshell

saw a few people on twitter making their ideal team ups so i thought i'd make a couple of my own

one time i was in an olive garden bathroom and my packer fell out of my shorts and this ten year old boy just looked at me with absolute terror and without thinking i said "that's what happens when you don't eat your vegetables" later i saw him eating salad at a speed no human should be capable of