#inconsequential but it's bugging me

[nimium-amatrix-ingenii-sui]

Either folks are using the concept of a "hard" consonant very differently from how I learned it or they're reading the appendix on pronunciation wrongly

[lovealwayssay]

I just did some math and, if Cas is as old as the earth, his 12 years with Dean is equivalent to like 0.08 seconds in a human lifespan. That’s less than 1/10th of a second, shorter than the blink of an eye. He knew Dean for such a short amount of time compared to his entire existence and it was enough to fundamentally change everything about Cas and how he sees the world. That’s absolutely insane to me.

[xmcu-fietro]

why is it that when I write fanfic I get wayyyy caught up in details that don't matter (I seriously just googled "types of deer in Poland" so I could figure out the average deer height there and compare it to how tall Nina is next to one in Apocalypse so I could guestimate her height. This, surely, is not crucial to a fanfiction about Peter Maximoff and all his familial angst) and then I get so stuck on big details, like how to actually end a fic??

[fruitcage]

[optiwashere]

I was trying to get a quick screenshot of how adorable she looks while saying this line, and I think I found the handful of frames where she instead looks like the PC just said the dumbest shit imaginable.

This is now a PSA about the visual equivalent of manipulative soundbites or something

[this-is-my-main-i-follow-from]

You don't need all the symptoms to struggle. You don't need the worst symptoms to struggle. You don't need the worst of the symptoms you have to struggle. You don't need to have constant symptoms to struggle.

Your struggles are real.

(At the same time, you should let them speak when it is relevant to them.)

[velkyr]

man I was watching some random video essay earlier minding my business and it had some offhand remark in it that's sort of stuck with me all day. it was a fairly innocuous point but for some reason my brain decided to Take That Personally and it's knocked my writing confidence for no real reason lol. and now I'm not just second guessing every sentence I'm triple guessing yippee <3

[froggierboy]

from the OED.

it was incredibly obvious no one here was claiming neil gaiman runs a public library. private libraries have been called private libraries for....well, idk how long, but longer than anyone on this webbed site has been alive

do you own enough books to be considered a library (500+)

Yes.

[hypersaw]

A day out and not so emotionally charged, I want to say that I think everyone should work to unpack their internalized fatphobia, but also their aversion to bugs. Yes, I recognize it's an extremely deep seated reaction for many of us, but your life will SIGNIFICANTLY improve once you can look at a bug or a representation of a bug without triggering a fight or flight response. I know it's hard, especially when the source of that aversion is related to personal trauma. I literally have this issue wrt cockroaches to the point where even the emoji can greatly upset me on a bad day, but it used to be a lot worse and applied to more bugs. Now I'm not exactly singing their praises every day, but I'm much less likely to have my day ruined by a surprise visitor. I can look at more things online without having my guard up. I can appreciate newer content for one of my Favorite Games.

You don't have to love bugs, but getting to a point where they are as inconsequential as like, a pigeon, is such a massive improvement in life.

[bleedingoptimism]

Eddie was ugly when he was a kid. Ugly with a capital U. And not like, his peers said he was, so he thought he was ugly, but he really wasn’t, no. He was UGLY. Big bottomless eyes, a big round nose, big mouth, full lips, small face, and with his head shaved even his ears looked too big. Plus he was thin and long-limbed... He looked like a bug! He was U-G-L-Y

But it’s okay. It’s just a universal truth and not a problem anymore because he grew up. And he grew into the too-big features that made him look bad. Now they are part of his charm. He grew up and he looks good now, and he knows it. His big dark eyes, his round nose, and his plump lips are attractive features now. 

The thing is, it didn’t bother him then, and it doesn’t bother him now. It’s an inconsequential matter, laughable really. So why is he wrestling Steve Harrington in his living room to stop him from looking at the photo he found while cleaning up Wayne’s trailer? Who knows, maybe, and just maybe he doesn’t want to hear Steve call him ugly. Maybe he’s vain like that. Maybe he doesn’t want the most beautiful boy he’s ever met to think he’s ugly. Maybe he doesn’t need confirmation that Steve will never notice him like that because he’s so out of his league they are not even playing the same sport. Not that Eddie knows anything about sports. Whatever.

Steve had come over to help him move out. He is moving in with Jeff to a tiny place that’s closer to college and Eddie had wanted to surprise Wayne by giving him back his room and leaving it spotless and fit for a grown man. And Steve had kindly offered to help when he’d told him about it.

They were just finishing up boxing some books when a photo fell out of an old copy of Moby Dick. Why was it there in the first place?! Eddie’s eyes had gone wide when he saw it was a ridiculous photo of him, standing straight and with a huge smile on his face hanging on to a pass-me-down backpack on his first day of school. He’d dived to the floor to try and grab it but when Steve saw he didn’t want him to see what it was…

Steve wanted to know what it was now, obviously.

He took the photo and ran back to the living room, screaming and laughing with Eddie close behind as he screamed bloody murder and jumped on top of him, clinging to his back. Steve stopped just long enough not to let him fall but then started running again trying to shake him off. Eddie let himself fall off Steve and grabbed him by the waist, pulling him close to him to try to grab the photo that Steve, giggling uncontrollably, was keeping at arm's length.

Eventually, when their lungs couldn’t get enough air, they stopped struggling and sighed in unison, which prompted another laughing fit. And then, Steve looked at the photo, with Eddie still holding onto him from behind, looking over his shoulder.

When he saw the picture again Eddie flinched waiting for Steve’s laugh. And laugh he did but not meanly, instead he said,

“Oh my god, Eddie you were so cute!” 

“Shut up. No, I wasn’t” he answered with a scoff. Then, and just then, he noticed the position they were in. How close he was standing to Steve. He swallowed loudly and looked at Steve, to see if he noticed too, to see if he’d pull away.

But Steve was smiling at the photo, biting his lip and letting little giggles escape from time to time, “You were!” he insists. 

Eddie laughs, “Dude, stop I was not. You don’t have to mean about it” starting to get a little annoyed but Steve shakes his head looking way too sincere.

“You are not serious,” Eddie frowns searching his eyes which are still looking at the picture, “Look at my tiny face and the ears!” He says exasperated.

Steve chuckles again, “I know, they are huge! And the eyes! Oh my god- You looked like a bug Eddie-!” he laughs, and yep. There it is. Eddie thinks bitterly- “You were so pretty!” Steve exclaims actually cooing at him.

And wait- 

“You are ridiculous” Eddie laughs and Steve finally turns to look at him and notices how close they are. He blushes furiously and Eddie is so close to his face that he can feel the heat on his cheeks now. Eddie removes his hands from Steve’s waist so he doesn’t feel trapped by him, but moves his face a fraction closer and smirks flirtingly at him, “Were?” he asks.

Steve blinks at him and Eddie can feel his eyes moving across his face as if it were a caress. He looks at his eyes, his nose, his jaw, his lips, he swallows and his eyelids fall a little before he looks back up at Eddie’s eyes and smiles shyly before he says, “Are. You are pretty.” and Eddie closes the distance between them. 

💋

a drink? ☕🥐💕

[floweycidal]

clover would be nice to bugs, i think.

they don’t crazily save every insect they see, nor do they keep a census of lives rescued. this isn’t that kind of story. not at all.

but when they come across a beetle on its back, legs cycling through air like broken clock hands, there is no internal debate about morality, no performance of kindness for an invisible audience. they simply reach down, right what's wrong, and move on without waiting for thanks.

all those tiny lives that others casually swat at or sweep away. the spider rebuilding its web for the third time today, patiently reweaving what was thoughtlessly destroyed. the ant dragging a crumb twice its size across an endless expanse of floor. the moth fluttering desperately as it searches for a way back to the light.

more often than not, clover stops.

again, nothing ceremonial about it. no fanfare or fuss. just a tender hand extending a leaf to bridge a gap, or a solicitous finger nudging a fallen to safer ground.

they'd probably be cracking terrible puns in their head, something about giving beetles a "turn" for the better or how “moth-ers” know best. it stays there. tucked away with all the other small jokes that no one else will hear.

clover understands. they know what it feels like to live in spaces where you’re not wanted, to move carefully, noiselessly, hoping that the larger, more powerful beings in your world might just pass you by. they know exactly how heavy a careless footstep can be. you can see it in the way they move through the underground. this perfect quietude, like they're walking between raindrops.

it’s the kind of placidity born of understanding that survival sometimes translates to being so quiet that even the air forgets to stir around you.

being small doesn’t make you less deserving. powerlessness doesn't make you wrong. occasionally, the truest form of justice is simply making space for others to exist.

and clover would know.

their life on the surface was hardly rich with comforts or attachments. it was a life of static-laden tv shows, dishes washed with nary a nod, and spaces that felt more borrowed than lived in. they know what it is to go unnoticed, to be treated like something inconsequential, a minor nuisance at best.

more presence than person, clover has lived off scraps and donned garments stitched together with hope and necessity. they'd understand, better than anyone, what it means to exist underfoot.

it feels so natural, so right, to imagine clover giving a bug a second chance. where others see something disposable, clover sees something familiar. just trying to live. get by.

not a saint by any stretch, they’ll “borrow” what they need without asking. still, they’ll mutter a soft “excuse me” to a ladybug flitting too close, and still they'd find the time to guide a caterpillar out of harm’s way with a scrap of paper.

they'd choose to handle the fragile and easily breakable with care and fairness, for mercy matters most when it’s offered to those who cannot demand it.

the world has a way of teaching its smallest inhabitants to expect cruelty—to see a hand coming down like judgment, a step as an unthinking end. to know that to exist while small is to always be one breath away from being deemed an annoyance, a pest.

the bugs are blissfully unaware of their reprieve. they don’t realize that someone paused, saw, and judged their lives worthy of continuing. clover never needs them to know. it's not why they do it.

clover permits these lives to continue without condition because being bigger doesn’t confer more importance. having strength doesn’t mean it must be used to crush the small. that wouldn't be fair now, would it?

and i like to believe this compassion for little critters isn’t so separate from their pursuit of justice; it’s part of the same whole.

justice isn't always the thundering declaration people expect.

justice here wears a shabby hat. walks without sound. respects a balloon's privacy and even waves it goodbye.

justice can very much come in the form of realizing that the most revolutionary thing you can do in a world that worships its own thorns is to be solemnly, persistently kind and just.

even to the things that everyone else would much rather squash than spare.

especially then.

[hopepunk-humanity]

While waiting for my bus, I saw a little caterpillar, a few inches away from where I sat on the concrete divider that separated the train tracks from the bus stop. If I had sat elsewhere I may not have seen it, I might have sat on it, but i didn't.

Upon seeing it (and sending a video to my bug loving partner), I noticed it was headed in the direction of a tree in full Spring bloom. I thought it would make a great home for the little guy, lots of food, shade and branches to make a chrysalis. Now I'm still overcoming being highly entomophobic and I definitely still have my moments with flying bugs. But I know that the me of 2 years ago would have never searched for a wood chip to pick up a caterpillar with and safely relocate it to a tree. I would have moved away, choosing to stand instead of being on the same concrete wall it was on, I would have itched the whole time I was waiting for the bus.

And I still itched that afternoon (there were ants in the wood chips) and I panicked when the caterpillar got close to my fingers. But I was filled with a sense of pride and joy at seeing this little life quickly exploring their new environment, moving much faster among the leaves and branches than on the hot concrete.

I think that's human nature, even if it's scary, we like helping smaller, more vulnerable life forms. It makes us feel big and important in a world that tries its best to make us small and inconsequential. I think I'm okay with being a person if it means that 😊

[roseofhybrids]

OK,

so 2 days when I made this I took a screenshot of the list in question, and today it looked like it changed again so I took a second screenshot.

left is from a few days ago and right is from today

I took them into Krita, overlayed the right image on top, lower the opacity, then lined up the Tumblr logo/the F in following/the create button

our results:

So in conclusion, I'm not that crazy yet

but why, why does it do this?

Does the options list on the left change font size every few weeks

or I am just losin' it?

[3liza]

the other thing about the anti-intellectual defenses of "I can misspell or eggcorn whatever I want it's my dialect" is like yeah that's technically true in some cases (although appeals to anti-classism in these posts is questionable coming from posters from the majority socioeconomic bracket and dominant ethnic/national background on this website, ie, me) you can also do math wrong and not be great at differentiating green-blue color swatches etc no one is saying you're a bad person or have to stop doing something. the grammar and spelling goblins on this site are just pointing out that there is an agreed-upon, formal and correct usage that is extensively documented. you don't have to use it. but there is one, and you should be aware of it. "well I don't care and will spell however I want" that's valid but it's also not what we're talking about.

me personally I love finding out I'm wrong about something. I did not used to, it used to scare the shit out of me, maybe as a holdover from formal school environments and childhood where being wrong equated to punishment. as an adult I have started to really love finding bugs in my code that I can actually fix. a completely inconsequential example is that i was writing the ampersand variant that looks like a cross between a 3 and a $ incorrectly and backwards for like 30 years. what a relief it was to find out something I didn't know I was doing wrong had been identified so I could fix it

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Goggley-Blade

Debut: Wario Land 4

Now this is a Critter! A real absolute Critter. I don't usually think of aquatic animals as being "critters", it usually feels more like a term for something that scurries across a forest floor, but this is such a critter! A fishy face and fishy fins, but with rather birdlike legs and feet! And it wears goggles. Maybe it doesn't like getting water in its eyes, despite how fishy it is. Or maybe it LOVES getting water in its eyes, and the goggles are full of water! That way, if it goes on land, its eyes can stay moist. It has never heard of "blinking".

Wario says that Goggley-Blade "looks weak and inconsequential". That's so rude! I know Wario is all about Rude, but this specific instance feels extra mean to me. No creatures are inconsequential! Maybe that's why Goggley-Blade looks so incredibly furious when it attacks. This is dangerous to Wario, because Wario Land 4 is one of the games where his hubris allows him to take damage. Should have thought about that before insulting a critter!

I'm just realizing, Goggley-Blade's legs look like a bird's, but those joints are bending forward, so they're knees, not bird ankles! I guess that confirms this creature as a fish with bird elements rather than a bird with fish elements, if you were hoping to classify it. I believe it. Have you seen armored sea robins? There are fish that basically turned into bugs!

Goggley-Blade's Italian name translates to "Sharp Eyes". Its eyes aren't the sharp part, silly! I don't want to imagine sharp eyes! What if you cut an onion with sharp eyes? That would be horrible! Oh no, I'm doing it! I'm imagining sharp eyes! How unfortunate.

[happy-beeeps]

Dincember Day 1 & 2: Snow and Fire

Summary: Grogu has never seen snow before, so Din tries his best to help the little guy get over his fear.

Warnings: none! Fluff!

Pairing: din x reader

WC: 1.3k

You’re bundled up in the warmest clothes you have in your trunk, a heavy fleece lined pair of leggings and a thick sweater of Din’s he picked up years ago on Alderaan and a heavy jacket, trying to find something warm to wrap Grogu in. Currently, you’ve got his little brown sack pulled tightly over his tiny frame, and you've attempted to insulate him by stuffing clean socks inside the coat, hoping to conserve any extra body heat. “Just bare with me bug,” you murmur, wrapping a woolen scarf around his ears. Finally, you take a step back to admire your handiwork.

Grogu is standing completely still, arms out to the side like one of the figures you’d seen standing in farmland. He doesn’t move towards you, bundled up so tight you aren’t sure it’s even possible. Still, he’s unbearably cute.

You move to scoop up the bundle of Grogu in front of you, and he coos at your touch, moving to squish his hands up in the direction of your face. “Your dad said he had a surprise for us, you wanna go check it out?”

Grogu attempts to move his head in a motion you can only interpret as “of course! There’s nothing I’d rather do!” so you move forward towards the ramp of the crest, lowering it slowly open before stepping outside.

You’re met with, as expected, a gust of cold wind and a flurry of snow, kissing your cheeks and making your stomach flip excitedly. You haven’t been on a system with snow in ages, and you suddenly feel like a schoolgirl again, racing forward to jump into the soft powder. The light outside looks equally soft, the setting suns casting a soft, pastel glow over the landscape. You can’t remember the name of the system you’re on, someplace inconsequential with a small town and even smaller fishing industry, but the scenery is beautiful. Large, blue glaciers jut out from the landing, looking as if they’ve been pushed out of the ground by some giant. Snow coats the ground with a thick blanket, and as you step into it you guess it’s at least five inches deep, enough to threaten to reach Grogu’s midriff if you set him down.

The thought brings you back to reality, and you look down to see your small bundle wrapping himself into you, timidly looking at the landscape around and the snow on the ground. “Do you want to play?”

At your words, he moves even closer inwards, pressing against you further. Suddenly, it dawns on you. Is he scared? Has Grogu even seen snow before? Before you can attempt to find an answer, there’s a glint in the distance that catches your eye. Din walks towards you, sparkling like an icicle against the setting sun, and your heart flutters the tiniest bit as you watch his pace quicken slightly when he spots the two of you.

“Aliit,” he murmurs as he gets closer, wrapping an arm around you as he brings his forehead to yours, and placing a hand on Grogu. “You bundled this one up good.” He says, inspecting Grogu, who is softly cooing into his father’s touch.

“I think I immobilized him,” you chuckle, and from the subtle shift in his body language you can tell he’s rolling his eyes at you beneath the helmet. “Din, has he ever seen snow before?”

He thinks this over for a moment as he picks the baby up from your arms, settling him against his chest. Again, Grogu clings to him, eyes wide at the snow beneath his father’s feet. “Don’t know, don’t think it snows much in Coruscant. Hard to say where he’s been before I found him, but it’s not like it snows on Arvala-7.”

This much you know for sure. The three of you walk a bit further to a small clearing a few minutes from the crest. Not far enough to be dangerous, but just far enough that you can forget you’re here on business. Din has, as expected, surprised you, setting up a small but roaring bonfire and a blanket on a patch of snow he’s excavated. There’s a pot of something brewing over the fire, and three sticks of meat roasting on the side.

“S’not much, but I know it’s been awhile since you’d seen snow.”

It has been awhile. Honestly, it’s been longer than you can remember. You’d had to leave your home system, a smaller system good for nothing but ski hills and lumber, when you were young, and it seemed every place you bounced to was hotter (and dustier) than the next.

“Here, I’ll set him down.” He places Grogu on the blanket, towards the edge, and the baby tentatively looks between you two. He moves his arm first in the direction of his dad, then you, and finally, the snow. “Kriff, he’s really packed in there.”

As if in response, Grogu makes a half-hearted attempt to move towards the offending white powder, and nearly falls flat on his face, barely being caught by you in time. “He’s tiny! He could freeze!”

Din’s low chuckle comes through his modulator in a way that makes your head spin. “Your mom is trying to suffocate you.”

“Am not,” you scoff, moving to kneel in the snow and placing him down softly. “Go on bug, it’s soft, see?”

Grogu moves, tentatively, and touches the snow. Feeling it’s chill he quickly pulls back a hand and then, slowly, reaches back to pat it. Once he’s successfully deemed it not a threat, he makes a flop to the ground and sits square in it, the flurries coming close to his face as he gleefully coos and pats his arms all around him.

Din kneels beside him, grabbing a handful of the soft snow and rolling it between his palms, shaping it carefully. He’s so gentle with it, so slow with his movements as he carefully shapes the ball to sit in front of his son.

“Did you ever make a snowman?” You ask, watching as he shows Grogu how to push the ball along the snow.

He shakes his head subtly, “No. We never got snow on Concordia. It’s not like there’s really time for a bounty hunter to make one when I’ve been anywhere else.”

“Let me show you,” you sit down beside them, ignoring the way the cold sends a chill down your spine as the snow seeps through your layers. You don’t even feel it from how warm your heart is at the sight. “Let's make a smaller one,” you say, partially to Din and partially to Grogu, as you roll a second, slightly smaller ball and place it atop Din’s.

Grogu coos, and flaps his arms, and you help him as best you can to roll a third, even tinier ball to set a top the two. “Look bug, we made a little guy!”

He beams, his tooth glinting in the nearly gone sun, and flaps his arms excitedly. You and Din move to go sit closer to the fire while he continues to squish around towards the end of the blanket.

He gets up and removes the kettle from the fire, removes two small cups from his pack and pours the contents in each. “Stopped in a small shop while I was looking for the quarry, the shopkeeper said this was a local specialty.”

It smells heavenly, spiced and chocolate and sweet. It’s thick, coating your tongue with the delightful taste and clinging to the roof of your mouth. “Oh yeah, I could get used to this.”

You can tell he’s smiling beneath his helmet as he wraps an arm around you, pulling him flush to his side. Snow is softly beginning to fall, and Grogu is still playing, the moment so perfect in its silence. So perfect in fact, you barely catch the whisper that nearly escapes Din’s modulator.

“Yeah, me too.”