it’s not about actually being gifted, it’s about an initial higher scoring on standardized testing that means little to nothing or being good at learning in the way elementary and middle school wants you to, so you get marked as ‘advanced’. in reality, maybe you had faster development in certain areas, but the issue with being a gifted kid isn’t that “everyone told me I was so cool and special for reading and then I actually wasn’t :(” it’s “I wasn’t properly taught to handle things not coming easily to me, but the adults around me were counting on me not being a ‘difficult’ child in school.”
people who use it as some weird bragging method or interpret it that way are ignoring the way a lot of school systems force certain roles on students to simplify the learning process. If your kid doesn’t need to take notes to understand a science concept bc they get it naturally, well that’s good, but now you’re not teaching them how to take notes and they’re not learning that important soft skill. but because ‘gifted’ kids are easy and don’t show that they’re falling behind in learning in other categories that are harder to quantify, they eventually fall behind after that catches up to them. It’s about the failures of a one size fits all school system trying to compensate in the worst way possible.
And also the thing where ‘gifted’ kids are super likely to also be neuroatypical, which they don’t get screened for because they appear to be doing well in school. Or “You can’t be ADHD/autistic/etc, because you’re doing so well in school!”. Or being shamed for developing mental health issues/generally not being able to keep up with school work later, because you USED TO BE able to do it just fine.
Or the assumption that just because you can read well or you like math class, you’re somehow more EMOTIONALLY mature than your little kid brain is actually capable of being.
Or gifted kids whose parents and teachers put immense pressure on them to Do Great Things and Save The World and you’re like. “I’m 10 and I have no idea how to do that, but everyone is saying that’s my job?”.
This is the best “gifted kid” post out there. I never took notes until college because I didn’t have to, snd when it got challenging I had to literally teach myself note taking at age 18. It also fucks with your perception of asking for help - you’re advanced, you’re competent, you should be able to understand every topic easily. Asking for help/going to office hours/asking for a tutor feels like failing when you were praised in your early years for not needing to do that.
Louisa May Alcott, Little Women // @exit152 // Anne Sexton, The Truth the Dead Know // Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets // L.M. Montgomery, Anne Of The Island // Franz Kafka, Diaries 1910-1923 // @nobodysflower // John Steinbeck, The Winter of Our Discontent
Fanfic writers really said "in any universe, in any scenario, despite any obstacle, these people would love each other" and I think that's very cool of us
Fanfic writers also said "in another universe, under different circumstances, if they'd been given the chance, these people could have loved each other so well" and I think that is also very sexy of us
First Becca Meyers, who is a swimmer, had to drop out of the Olympics because she is deaf and blind but wasn’t allowed to bring her care assistant
Now it turns out that Simone Biles had to drop out of the Olympics because they made her go off of her medication and what’s worse is that we know this because her medical history was leaked
For the record, Biles isn’t accused of using the medication as an enhancement, Japan has banned the medication from the country because they used to use it to drug their soldiers
Not to be that guy but this shit wouldn’t have to keep happening if all of you would add disabled people’s civil rights to the agenda. Maybe right after you get around to banning all plastic straws. I don’t know. Fuck us, I guess
I’ve seen this post making the rounds and I have some thoughts about it. This headline is from an article published back in 2016, when the data leak that revealed Simone is on ADHD meds first happened, and it is a little misleading. The body of the post also assumes some facts we don’t know to be true at this point.
Yes, the drug Simone takes for ADHD treatment (Ritalin, specifically, I believe) is banned by the IOC, but Simone does have a therapeutic use waiver allowing her to continue taking it through training and competition. However, the drug is also banned entirely in Japan. Travelers entering the country cannot bring it in with them, and the Japanese government doesn’t give a damn that you have a waiver from someone else. There is a process where you can request an exemption from the Japanese government but it’s not a guarantee your request will be approved. It’s only a request. We also have no idea if Simone even requested this exemption, much less if it was approved. There’s a chance she did, and it was. But there’s also a chance she did, and it wasn’t. And there’s a chance that she didn’t even try for one. There’s a chance she started training without Ritalin months ago in preparation, knowing that she’d not be able to take it with her to Tokyo. There’s a chance she was forced to stop cold turkey the day before qualifications and it threw her off her game. There’s a chance she has been continuously taking it and is still taking it now, while we’re discussing it. The point is there’s a lot of different possibilities, and we just don’t know which of those is the reality for Simone.
Simone, by her own admission, dropped out because of “the twisties.” As a gymnast, and especially as an elite gymnast like Simone, you’ve spent so much of your life airborne that you develop a sense of where your body is relative to landmarks like the ground, ceiling, and vault block no matter where you are in the air. It’s almost like you’re able to step outside your body and watch yourself performing the skill, you know with that much precision and confidence what’s happening and where you are and where you need to go to land safely. When you get the twisties, that hard won ability vanishes. You’re in midair and you can’t tell up from down, you have no idea how many elements of the skill you’re in the middle of have already been competed and how many are left. You have no idea how to land safely. The twisties are always dangerous, but for a gymnast like Simone they can be downright deadly. She’s performing skills that are so dangerous the IOC refuses to score them with the difficulty ratings they deserve, because the IOC doesn’t want to encourage gymnasts who can’t safely perform the skills to try them out. If Simone can’t land these skills safely, her entire life is at risk. One wrongly timed landing and she could break her neck, or end up with a traumatic brain injury. That’s why Simone pulled out of the team and all around finals. Her ability to keep herself safe in the air the way she MUST as a gymnast of her level was compromised.
Now, mental health can and absolutely does contribute to something like the twisties. And I think it’s safe to say Simone’s mental health was compromised while she was in Tokyo. Between the pressure she puts on herself, the pressure the entire world puts on her, the “GOAT” reputation she never asked for but now has to defend, and the doubtless PTSD and trauma responses that come with heading into a competition where you were molested by your team doctor the last time you attended, Simone showed more fortitude than many of us can even imagine just by showing up. And ADHD can, and likely did, contribute to the storm raging in her head. Doubly so if she was off her meds. I can’t speak to Simone’s experience, but I can personally say when I’m off my ADHD meds I’m not just unfocused or “hyper.” I’m anxious, irritable, jittery, uncentered. I feel out of place in my body, my skin doesn’t feel like it fits me right. Sound similar to the twisties? Sure could be. But we just don’t know.
I’m not counting out the possibility that Simone’s ADHD and potential lack of medication in Japan contributed to what she’s experiencing (quite the opposite). I’m only saying we are limited to the information Simone has given us, and none of that information speaks to whether or not she’s been allowed to stay on her ADHD meds. It is absolutely, indisputably, untrue to say that Simone had to drop out because the International Olympic Committee made her stop taking her meds. It assumes facts we don’t currently have, ignores the facts we do currently have, and ignores what Simone herself is telling us about what happened. Be skeptical about the things you find on the internet, kids. And listen, first and foremost, to the truths people tell you about their own lived experiences.
The sorting hat was the only entity that knew Tom Riddle through and through.
As the years went by, the raven haired boy found himself in the company of Godic Gryffindor's garment. Spilling secrets and sharing tales of his rather murderous adventures.
As the years went on, he realised that the Sorting Hat was the only entity he could rely on. The Hat was his everything.
Graduation day came at Hogwarts and Tom did the only thing he knew he could.
Sneaking into the Headmaster's office, he picked up his friend and secret lover and dashed out the door and past the gates of the castle.
"About time we got out of there." remarked the Sorting Hat from its tattered brown mouth.
And that was the start of the greatest love story in history
(someone should make fan art of this ship)
What in Merlin's name...
I would hesitate to call this a literary masterpiece, but it is a...solid try, I suppose.
Though I admit it sounds more like the background for a buddy cop movie than a romance. My young self and the sentient hat, off on adventures.
"Mr. Potter, here at Rays of Sunshine we like to view all our students as equal."
"Of-- Of course, Ms. Pennyweather."
"I am aware that you are of high status in the wizarding world."
"Er..."
"But I was impressed when you chose not to take our offer of an accelerated admission for your son and remained on the waitlist instead."
"I was happy to even be considered, Ms. Pennyweather."
"It seems Scorpius has been using your name and rather...formidable reputation, in order to get his way with the other children."
"What?!"
"As you probably well understand, the children - even most adults, in fact - remain...afraid of you."
"I-- I don't encourage that, Ms. Pennyweather!"
"I'm certain you don't, Mr. Potter. Minerva McGonagall remains a close friend of mine. She speaks of you with utmost affection. Scorpius is a gifted child; wonderfully eloquent, cheerful, and already exhibiting signs of powerful magic."
"Did he harm the other kids?!"
"No, no. Nothing quite so serious. But apparently he has been using his status as your son to, well, have his way."
"Merlin. What did he do?"
"He threatens to tell you about his grievances, implying that you'll personally be tackling his offender."
"What the f-- I-- I-- That's terrible, Ms. Pennyweather, I am so sorry!"
"It's been amusing for us teachers but the children are understandably frightened."
"Yes, I-- I'll talk to him, Ms. Pennyweather. I promise I'll take care of this."
"Hopefully, you won't be very hard on him? Thank you, Mr. Potter."
*
"How's your sundae, Scorp?"
"Yummy."
"Yeah?"
"Mhmm."
"Say, Scorp?"
"Hmm?"
"Do you like going to kindergarten?"
"Yes. I like the swing a lot."
"The swing?"
"Yes. During break, I swing so high, I touch the clouds. Then I come back down. Then I fly again. And then-- ah. I dropped my cherry, Dada."
"Here, take mine. So, Scorp. Do you play with your friends during break?"
"Yes. Rose is my best friend."
"Yes. Aunt Hermione and I are really happy you two are best friends. Does she like the swing?"
"No. She scare. She pushes me so hard that I can touch the clouds."
"So she doesn't sit on the swing?"
"No."
"Who else sits on the swing?
"Me."
"Who else?"
"I like it most. So me."
"Don't-- don't the other kids sit on it?"
"My swing."
"Scorpius, that's not very nice."
"But-- but I love it!"
"I'm sure the other kids like it too. Do you let them have a turn?"
"NO!"
"You must let the other kids have a turn, Scorp."
"But... But... I'm Scorpius Potter."
"...Yes. Yes, you are. Is that what you tell them when they ask for a turn?"
"No. They know my name, Dada."
"What do you say to them?"
"I tell... I tell that my father will hear about this!"
Written for @drarrymicrofic prompt: Cruise / Cruise Ship
My brain: Cruise —> Tom Cruise —> Mission Impossible —> Spies/Assassins —> Word of Honor —> Draco Using A Chinese Fan With A White Peacock Motive —> this fic.
WC: ~900. Rated T. Don't worry about the title; no one dies! I purposefully ignored the existence of glamour charms and disguise masks (like in Mission Impossible) because I’m lazy. Thank you to @erebeus-roxy for the beta!
~
Harry found Draco Malfoy lying on a lounge chair by the swimming pool at the topmost deck of the cruise ship. The blond wore a pair of large sunglasses, which Harry didn’t see the point of because the sun wasn’t too bright and he was completely shaded by a large umbrella next to him. His light blue polo shirt was open at the collar and his khaki shorts rode up his pale thighs when he crossed his legs, one calf over the other.
His disguise was a spoiled rich kid who’d never spent a day under the sun, and Harry admitted that the role was tailor-made for Draco.
The only unordinary thing was the white folding fan, made of enchanted paper and bamboo, Draco had open in his right hand. At its full size, the fan was longer than the span of Harry’s elbow to his fingertips. The patterns on the slats and paper depicted a white peacock, tail proud and beautiful, just like the man using it.
Harry had promised himself that this would be his last mission with Draco. Because after years of flirting and dancing around each other, Harry was going to confess following the completion of this mission. And then, regardless of Draco's response, they would have to be separated and assigned new partners because of some Auror policy Harry had never cared for until he started developing feelings for his partner.
Until then, though, they had work to do.
Fair hair swayed gently as Draco quietly fanned himself. His movements slowed when he sensed Harry, disguised as a waiter, approach him with a glass of champagne balanced on a tray. With a small bow, Harry handed the glass to Draco, who accepted it (along with a tiny piece of folded paper, a secret message from the Head Auror) without looking at him.
“You should stop staring at me.” Draco warned, and Harry could practically hear the unspoken “Potter” in his drawl.
“Can’t help it.” Harry made sure his hand was obscured by the tray before skimming the edge of Draco’s sharp jaw with a finger. “You’re beautiful.”
Draco turned his head so fast, Harry had to yank his hand back to avoid getting smacked by the folding fan that Draco had brought up to cover the lower half of his face. His eyes were still shielded by those sunglasses, so Harry only saw his own reflection. Draco could be blushing or smiling or glaring daggers at him, Harry didn’t know.
After returning the tray to the bar, Harry ducked into the kitchen, casting a Disillusionment Charm on himself as he walked towards the back door, removing his waiter apron and uniform along the way. By the time he exited out back and into a corridor, he was Harry Potter, but a specific kind of Harry Potter. This version was dressed like a gentleman, a sophisticated tuxedo and a black bowtie, complete with his signature round-rimmed spectacles, short stubble across his chin and jaw, hair slicked back to display his lightning bolt scar.
He hated this get-up, but he was the bait, so he had to act like one.
~~~
The plan worked out rather well, if the sack around Harry’s head and the Full Body-Bind Curse he was under were any indication.
He was pushed into a metal chair, ropes winding around his body, while excited exclamations buzzed around him. They were beyond themselves after successfully kidnapping Harry Potter. Oh the ransom the Ministry would pay! The notoriety! The attention!
The sack was pulled off his head. His spectacles were gone, probably having fallen off during the kidnapping process. His wand was missing too, but Harry didn’t need it. He muttered a quick Vision Correction Charm, which never lasted very long, but was good enough for the current situation. He was in a vast room that lacked any windows. It was obvious that they were still on the cruise ship. Probably in the lower decks.
Harry counted seven, maybe eight men. Too easy.
The largest of the men, probably the leader, advanced towards Harry with glee gleaming in his beady eyes.
When he reached a meter from Harry, something white and fast darted across his neck, sending his eyes rolling to the back of his head while his body convulsed and dropped to the floor.
Harry’s eyes followed Draco’s fan as it spun around the room and nicked the necks of the perpetrators while simultaneously introducing a quick-acting poison that caused them to lose consciousness instantly.
The fan whipped around like a boomerang and back into Draco’s hand. Draco cleaned his weapon with his wand, deactivating the poison and blunting its paper edges, and then proceeded to languidly fan himself as he sauntered towards Harry.
Draco lifted the spells chaining Harry to his chair but before Harry could stand up, Draco pushed him back. He planted his butt on Harry’s thigh, forcing Harry to quickly wrap an arm around Draco’s waist and stabilize him as the latter swung his legs up. Draco wound his free arm around Harry’s shoulders and adjusted himself until his thighs were lying perpendicular on top of Harry’s. When Draco moved the fan, Harry felt the air tickle his own face.
“The other Aurors will arrive in approximately two minutes,” Draco muttered, leaning forwards expectantly. “Now, what did you say about me being beautiful?”
“I fancy you,” Harry said after catching his breath. “Will you go out with me?”
Draco smirked. “I thought you’d never ask.”
The white peacock fan, open and large, shielded their heads from the rest of the room as they kissed.
It was only supposed to be a trip,
one last cruise ship, before I married.
Meeting you on board, a summertime fling,
just a bit of fun, making our hearts sing.
It's at the altar I realize,
The ship carried our bodies back ashore,
but it left behind my soul.
The Drarry discord drawble challenge prompt for June was “night of summer stars” and the restriction was dotwork, which was just an excuse to try pointillism.
This is sooooo gorgeous!!! Your colours are amazing, and I love how filled with emotion this piece is. I feel like I’m staring at a beautiful stained glass panel. Amazing ❤️😍❤️
having a 3yo brother means i get exposed to kids’ shows way more often than i thought i would at this point in my life, but man, binge watching thomas the tank engine as an adult is a wild fucking experience
all these trains (and there’s like 20 counting locomotives alone, don’t even get me started on the anthropomorphic train cabins) are MAD competitive the whole time and will constantly fuck up their own whole day by tring to prove they’re the biggest baddest train. and like, i understand that you gotta get you plot from somewhere and i imagine plotlines like this happen in cars etc. as well, but the other day i was watching and i noticed that all these goddamn locomotives have DRIVERS in them. that apparently have no control over their train’s actions at all whatsoever. so these trains wake up, pick up their drivers, go to work, get taunted by another train who’s like “ha ha i see u there with your 4 cabins but did you know i can pull SIX cabins and still fucking book it at 80mph” and the 4 cabin train will be like “fuck it i gotta prove myself now, hook me up with 4 more cabins” and will inevitably derail themselves or some shit while the engine driver just shuts up and kicks back the whole time
i explained this to my brother and was like, is that fucked up or what, but he just pointed at the green train and went “that’s percy” so i guess that’s his take on the situation
OKAY I’M GETTING IN ON THIS BECAUSE I’M MAD AND FULL OF COLA
I worked on that show. For three hideous months of my life, I did this.
And there was this whole unwritten rule structure about the drivers and what they did and when they did it and how/when they needed to act
And there was this weird fucking balance between what the trains did and what the humans did - the drivers would only act when the train can’t do a thing by itself. Hooking up to another car? Driver does it. Need to shift from one track to another? Driver gets out and does it. Loading up one of the cars? Drivers.
See something funny here? BECAUSE I DID. What driver would hear their sentient train say “fuck it i gotta prove myself now, hook me up with 4 more cabins” and NOT respond with “Percy just shut up and drive we have people to transport or the Health and Safety committee is going to breathe fire up both our asses”???
Naw, they hear their giant fucking trains with giant fucking faces whining about how they are getting old and outdated and how they need to prove themselves by doubling their reasonable capacity and they go “welp, okay” and they get out and they hook up those cabins.
Otherwise, the trains had total autonomy to do whatever petty competitive shit the plot of the day demanded that they do. Go way too fast and end up breaking because they wanted to race a new and not outdated engine that’s actually built for speed? They do that. Go 100% the wrong direction because they wanted to show their friends a thing they got loaded up with and end up ruining it? No probbo, Bobbo. Disobey directions given by Sir Topham Hatt HIMSELF because they’re too proud? You do the thing buddy. Strain way too fucking hard to carry 8 fucking cabins when they were only built for 4? YOU GO FOR IT YOU MORON TRAIN.
SO WITH ALL THAT HERE’S MY THEORY that I had to develop because it was either that or never stop drinking ever again
Those drivers? They never speak to each other, never acknowledge the existence of any humans. They get in the train, go with the train, fix the train, load or unload the train. That is all they do.
They’re not human.
They are symbiotic extensions of the trains. They are a combination of the birds that eat parasites off hippos and fucking Boston Dynamics style robots where literally all they do is whatever shit their designated Train Of The Day deems worthy of their time.
With no task to fulfil, they are thoughtless beings. WATCH THEM. They look around at nothing. They blink. Sometimes they lean on the edge of the window. 99.5% of the time, they do nothing, they see nothing, they interact with nothing. They are shaped in such a way as to avoid unsettling the real humans of the world, but are below humans in almost every way - Sir Topham Hatt never speaks to them directly in the way he speaks to the engines.
If the train derails and it’s possible that a human driver would be severely injured? It’s fine, because they’re not actually human. They crumple into a heap of non-euclidian geometry and then rebuild themselves like an inflatable snowman. Their recovery is fuelled by the years of poor decisions they’ve helped enable - all this time they’ve been feeding off the intellect of these trains.
Why do the trains never learn from their mistakes? Why, after more than 30 years, are they still getting stuck, taking on more weight than they should know they can handle, still derailing themselves?
Because these symbiotic train extensions need their slice of the pie. They must feed. And what’s more cost effective than sandwiches? Thought. 30 years of quiet leeching, giving the trains enough processing power to do their jobs, but not so much that the trains don’t need them anymore.
The trains are in a constant state of developmental hiatus because of the drivers themselves.
NOW YOU MAY BE THINKING, this seems weird and unusual. Why would Sir Topham Hatt allow for this? Wouldn’t it be more cost effective for the trains to be able to learn from their mistakes and become better workers?
And to that I ask you… from this entire operation, hauling coal, hauling people, hauling animals, being “really useful”… what do the trains get out of this? They are kept alive and maintained, but neither are they allowed their own independent thought, or their own free time or interests. Everything they do is done under orders of Sir Topham Hatt.
And without the brainpower to devote to critical thought, they are unable to see how their petty struggles to be better than each other only reinforces the system where they are coerced into being “really useful”, above all else.
did not expect to wake up today to thomas the tank engine discourse and unsettlingly well-thought-out conspiracy theories..but at the same time, in this day and age, i really cant say im surprised
It's Harry's turn, and just the kings are left. How lonely it is, he thinks, being a king on a chess board. Sheltered, handicapped, always left behind. Responsible for the entire war. Doomed to watch comrades fall one by one to keep him alive; doomed to surviving in a world created by the mostly dead. Pitted against the only other piece who resembles him.
Is a king truly a king? Or just another pawn by another name?
But no, Harry realizes. The king isn't all alone. He looks up, catching Malfoy's intent gaze. Holding it. There's another here, if he can reach across past enemy lines.
Respectable neighbourhood, perfect gardens, cookie-cutter houses--everything from Privet Harry’d abhorred, yet the trail ends here. Draco grits his teeth, steps up to the front door, and... trips. Down the stairs he goes, red, black, gold and- green.
Harry's green eyes. Inches from his face. Hands pull him upright, set him on his feet, and messy black hair, the scar, the crooked front tooth, rakish grin.
"Why hello there, handsome," Harry says, and Draco falls all over again.
"Harry," he breathes, eyes wide. Three years, he's done it, he's- "found you."
"Sorry?" Harry's brow furrows, and for the first time, Draco notices the look Harry gives him. Polite, cool, confused. Like a stranger. Draco’s heart drops. “Do I know you?”
