Latest Posts by tsippi - Page 3
reminders:
if you or someone you know might need it in the next few years, purchase plan b. the shelf life of plan b is 4 years, and we might not be able to access it as easily as we can now in the days ahead.
if you are larger/plus size: go online and purchase ella instead of plan b. plan b is less effective if you aren’t under 160 pounds.
if you can, purchase books that project 2025 is looking to ban.
mass deportations are starting. if you see ice vehicles or agents, yell ice raid and la migra as loud as you can.
if someone asks who you voted for, keep your mouth shut. they’re fishing for traitors.
if anyone, anyone at all asks about your neighbors or their legal status in the us, you know nothing. don’t be the reason that their family is separated.
if anyone asks about your religion or lack thereof, keep it vague. this administration will look for any excuse to persecute you.
your friends are trans or queer? for the next four years they’re not. don’t expose anyone’s status as a trans or queer person to anyone else, even if you think you can trust them.
did someone you know get an abortion? no, they didn’t. they were never pregnant.
in short, don’t be a snitch, and keep to yourself these next four years. we’ll make it through this even if it seems hopeless at times.
we can survive this. we’ve survived before, and we’ll survive again.
@tvvigjuice you mentioned wanting this list.
Love how tumblr has its own folk stories. Yeah the God of Arepo we’ve all heard the story and we all still cry about it. Yeah that one about the woman locked up for centuries finally getting free. That one about the witch who would marry anyone who could get her house key from her cat and it’s revealed she IS the cat after the narrator befriends the cat.
You are a supervillain who has just captured your rival’s child. Rather than being afraid, they’re begging you to let them stay.
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
An old and homely grandmother accidentally summons a demon. She mistakes him for her gothic-phase teenage grandson and takes care of him. The demon decides to stay at his new home.
You’re a daycare worker, watching over toddlers, when the imminent end of the world is announced. It becomes increasingly clear none of the kids’ parents are going to show up as the end inches nearer.
This is how the golden age of piracy ended.
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
tv shows with time travel organizations/bureaus/police/agencies/whatever should have a department with instead of a tech genius eating candy, it’s a harried seamstress or fashion designer who is like
“1450 italy? does it look like I have the time to dye you wool? nO. YOU’RE GOING TO THE 1980s”
and throws shoulder pads at the hapless time agent
I'm still deeply obsessed with grian just flying head first into end crystals in impossible minecraft's finale
Reading fantasy again, I've started thinking about how odd it is how in books like that, the non-human races invariably scoff at human frailty and vulnerability, even those that they'll call friends. Like that's mean?? Why would you be a dick to your friend who you know is not capable of as much as you are, and it's not their fault they were born like that. That's mean.
Like consider the opposite: Characters of non-human races treating their human companions like frail little old dogs. Worrying about small wounds being fatal - humans die of small injuries all the time - or being surprised that humans can actually eat salt, even if they can't stomach other spicy rocks. Being amazed that a human friend they haven't seen in 10 years still looks so young, they've hardly aged at all! And when the human tries to explain that they weren't going to just unexpectedly shrivel into a raisin in 10 years, the longer-lifespan friend dismisses this like no, he's seen it happen, you don't see a human for 10 or 20 years and they've shriveled in a blink.
Elves arguing with each other like "you can't take her out there, she will die!" and when the human gets there to ask what they're talking about, they explain to her that the journey will take them through a passage where it's going to be sunny out there. Humans burn in the sun. And she will have to clarify that no, actually, she'll be fine. They fight her about it, until she manages to convince them that it's not like vampires - humans only burn a little bit in the sun, not all the way through. She'll be fine if she just wears a hat.
Meanwhile dwarves are reluctant to allow humans in their mines and cities, not just out of being secretive, but because they know that you cannot bring humans underground, they will go insane if they go too long without seeing the sun. Nobody is entirely sure how long that is, but the general consensus is three days. One time a human tries to explain their dwarf companion that this is not true, there are humans that endure much longer darkness than that. As a matter of fact, in the furthest habited corners of the lands of the Northmen, the winter sun barely rises at all. Humans can survive three weeks of darkness, and not just once, but every single year.
"Then how do they sane?" Asks the dwarf, and just as he does, the conversation gets interrupted by the northland human, who had been eavesdropping, and turns to look at them with an unnerving glint in her colourless grey eyes, grinning while saying
"That's the neat part, we don't."
You ever been in a state where you physically have no energy, but you're bored and socially understimulated so you kind of wish you could just invite people to come over like this:
Do yall ever just
Absolutely they would.
I wonder who Aya's talking about 🤔
The ParkCiv brainfog is taking over. Help.
“Good Luck, Babe!”
A clickable link! ↓
Me and my father are in full agreement that anyone who pronounces Lidl “leedle” is just overcompensating for being American.
@tvvigjuice it’s my little guys! My little emoticons!
:3 feels happier than :) But not as genuine as :]
The secret third definition is “I would lay down my life for you in a heartbeat.” Some examples of each category that I will attempt to describe as obviously as possible without revealing personal information are
Category 1: I’ll just message you these
Category 2: Star Wars and Tanks, Star Wars and Tanks’ friend who always wears that green sweater, and Tall and Blond.
Category 3: You, @tvvigjuice, and the Fourth (who may or may not be coming depending on whether or not we can meet up in person soon).
But yeah, I would say this is pretty accurate. (Please ask me more about this in person, I could talk about it for hours.)
Life tips for fellow autistic people; "friend" has two definitions
1. A person who I am fond of and willing spend time with in most situations
2. A person whose name and face I recognize. Also know as an acquaintance
Further research is needed in order to differentiate between the two during conversation and how to ask for clarification without causing offense
SHE WAS MY MOTHER FIRST YOU MEANIE
Trying to settle something with a friend.
It’s a store. From what I’ve seen, it’s primarily in the EU.
Trying to settle something with a friend.
Meanie.
Trying to settle something with a friend.
@imahumandumpling PLEASE MOTHER, BE ON MY SIDE! DO IT FOR YOUR BELOVED CHILD!
Trying to settle something with a friend.
I’M NOT USING MY ALTS, THIS IS AN HONEST POLL
Trying to settle something with a friend.
I will gladly accept this grave, knowing I held my ground until the last minute.
Trying to settle something with a friend.
It’s Lihdl and I will die on this hill.
Trying to settle something with a friend.
Trying to settle something with a friend.
pix just premiered his minecraft legends gameplay video about when he, grian, false and oli were invited to play it against some of the devs
he revealed that they won their match, and 3/4 of them had no idea how they won because they’d just been running around figuring things out as they went because they hadn’t picked everything up from the tutorial… until they found out that it was because grian had been constantly sneakily sending creepers into the dev team’s base throughout the entire match and slowly destroyed them without anybody noticing
After all the destruction and war, after losing everything… my mother is now battling a severe and malignant thyroid disease. She urgently needs surgery, but there is no medicine or hospital to save her here. Your donation could be her lifeline. Please, help us and share our plea. Help us donate
