#use the right words please

[starch1ldz]

When I see people use the wrong their/they're/there, where/were/we're, you're/your, loose/lose I lose a couple brain cells(lightheartedly). Like native English speakers you've been in school your whole life what business do you have using the wrong word rn

[softwaring]

reblog for larger polling please 🖤

[mossy-aro]

ultimately i think my insistence on aro positivity honestly is as much a political stance as a personal one.

when i say aro positivity is crucial and that i dislike doomer-ist posts that express sentiments like 'I hate being aro so much I wish I was dead instead’ it's not because I don’t think there can and should be a space for negativity and acknowledging self-hate, or the many ways being aromantic can really suck sometimes. i find that to be very important!

that being said. there is smth here about how self-hate posts are sometimes just arophobia that we inflict on ourselves. and when we put that out into the ether it (intentionally or not) can become arophobia that we inflict on other members of the community. i think there absolutely needs to be a place for negativity and the expression of anger and frustration and self loathing even - these are all good things to talk about because these are things that we experience. that being said, it can also be genuinely upsetting and triggering to people to have what is essentially arophobia shown to them and then have that be validated by other aspec people. your personal thoughts can affect your wider community on a level you may not anticipate. and i understand it i truly do! it took me so long to be able to recover from accepting being aroace - it threw my entire world off kilter and made me question everything about my place in the world.

but my insistence on aro joy and positivity is because ultimately i do believe that building is at the core essence of it all. that ultimately discussions and the purpose of community should be about construction, not destruction. and this is both a personal and a political stance. talking about how much you hate yourself and cultivating online discussions/spaces where negativity about aspec identity is the main and only theme is destructive - if that’s where we let the conversation end. these thoughts can and should be used as a vehicle to look for a path forward!

joy and positivity create a space where the focus can become on forging a path forward, on construction, on community building instead of tearing ourselves and others down with negative thoughts. it’s not productive or healthy when it stops at a place of negativity - it becomes actively destructive to the essence of community.

and i do think that this is especially poignant considering the fact that being any kind of queer, but especially aromantic (and/or asexual) means forging a path for yourself and making your own happiness where there is no obvious way forward. our communities exist mostly online (right now, anyway), there is little recognition of our existence in the real world, the effects of amatonormativity are both pervasive and actively dehumanising, and there are legal, economic and social structures in place actively making our lives more difficult. yes that all sucks! it’s good to acknowledge that. we need to in order to change it. but more importantly, that’s not the end. we are still here and our happiness, our future is for us to determine. even if we can’t change the laws or society, loving yourself and understanding aromanticism as a political identity (as well as personal), as a radical worldview, and as a protest against amatonormativity is essential for both community and personal well being. the personal is political.

tldr. i guess my point is that as a community, we should focus on building, improving, and nurturing ourselves and each other (construction) as opposed to destruction. we should recognise aromanticism and asexuality as political identities as well as personal ones and rely on community and self-love in the absence of anything else as a form of protest and political power. destruction (the recognition of everything that is wrong) is essential as a starting point - but where do we go from there? we rebuild.

[valcksys]

if I see people mix up fusion and integration one more time…

INTEGRATION IS WHEN YOU LOWER AMNESIC AND COMMUNICATION BARRIERS BETWEEN ALTERS THIS IS A GOOD THING AND YOU SHOULD BE WORKING TOWARDS THIS NO MATTER YOUR RECOVERY GOAL

FUSION IS WHEN 2+ PARTS BECOME ONE PART

THESE WORDS ARE NOT INTERCHANGEABLE THEY MEAN COMPLETELY DIFFERENT THINGS

[lazylittledragon]

Not trying to be rude or anything but you shouldn't use the word 'manic' or 'manic period' etc. unless you actually have manic/depressive episodes because it downplays how severe those disorders can actually be. They're just words but unlearning harmful terminology like that can help destigmatise mental illness and I would hope youi would want to do that.

yeah it's almost like i used those words specifically because i DO understand how severe they are

[miasmaghoul]

Hey guys. Please stay safe and try to stay sane - we made it through this once before, and we can do it again. If nothing else, survive out of spite. Anger can do amazing things if you point it in the right direction. Don't stop looking forward, and remember that this too shall pass. We're stronger than them, and we have to prove it.

I love you all. 💜

[yuri-for-businesswomen]

excel is a wonderful tool but most people dont know how to best use it and it drives me nuts having to work with other peoples spreadsheets. if you set them up right they do the work for you but so many people use it like word and not like the data organisation tool it is.

where are your dropdown menus? where are your formulas? where is your conditional formatting? etc! and thats not touching on macros because your sheet isnt even filterable! screaming

[inthehouseoffinwe]

Just cause I think this would be cute for the Finwëans (because large extended family yanno.) Bear with me, this needs a little context.

In my culture we don’t call older siblings by their names. More than respect, we do it as a form of endearment. For example, the oldest sister is ‘Apama’

Apa - Sister (affectionate)

Ma - short form of mother (also affectionate)

Another example is ‘Apajaan’, jaan as a generic term of endearment. Usually used for people you’re close to. This also applies to older cousins, especially first cousins who get the next closest endearments. Or if you only have brothers or only have sisters, they’d take the ones available.

Eg. I don’t have any sisters but I have an older female first cousin. I’d call her Apama.

Or maybe I don’t have any older brothers, so I call my male first cousin ‘Bhaijaan’ (Bhai = brother)

SO I think it would be super cute if our resident Aman born elves with their hundred names, also had these terms for their older siblings. It would probably only be used if there’s a significant age gap, so Mae and Mags would call each other by their names, Celegorm, Caranthir, and Curufin all use each other’s names.

All of Fingon’s younger siblings call him by an endearment. Argon also uses one for Turgon and Aredhel.

All of Finrod’s siblings call him by an endearment. Aegnor and Angrod call each other by names. Galadriel doesn’t because she wants to be Different TM but it comes out in moments of high emotion. Orodreth (because I like adding him even if it was one mistake in the official stuff) calls everyone but Galadriel by one.

Ambarussa use a big sister endearment for Aredhel, since she’s so often hanging Celegorm and they see her the most. And an older cousin term for Galadriel.

The Nolofinwëans and Arafinwëans use endearments for their respective older cousins, and those of similar ages, but only those still somewhat close to the Fëanorions use any for them once they leave for Formenos.

The exception is Maedhros and potentially Maglor (depending when he was born) as the first grandchildren with a larger age gap to the rest of the family. Everyone has to call them by some term, even if it’s just out of respect. Fingolfin and Finarfin ensured this out of love for the eldest kids.

Onto Finwë’s kids.

Fëanor is oldest so it doesn’t really matter. He doesn’t particularly care if the others call him by his name or anything else.

All of Findis’ younger siblings call her by an endearment.

Fingolfin and Lalwen are pretty close in age so they call each other by names mostly (we have some more generic equal terms too.) Fingolfin probably used something for Fëanor until pride took over both brothers.

Finarfin is the baby of the family and generally a ball of sunshine until they throw the crown at him. He calls everyone by something, including Fëanor because let’s face it. He’s probably old enough to be Finarfin’s dad by the time he’s born 😂

Now the interesting thing would be seeing how these relationships dissolve over time, and when they lose these terms of respect or endearment. When the younger members start calling their siblings or cousins by their names instead. Because I don’t think it would change just because of a new language.

Most of them start calling Maedhros by his name only after the first kinslaying and Helcaraxë. Some of them return to calling him by an honorific when they see what Morgoth did to him and he gives up the crown to keep peace.

They all stop calling the rest of the Fëanorions anything but their names though. The exceptions are Fingon (who only used one for Maglor other than Mae, and that was more out of general affection than because he was older) and Finrod.

Finrod has one for Celegorm as well (he is in fact a bit younger) which he uses until the Nargothrond situation because listen. I sincerely doubt Finrod would’ve just let Celegorm and Curufin in freely if he didn’t have a good relationship with them.

Turgon starts calling Fingon by name sometimes after losing Elenwë. He doesn’t know why, he shouldn’t be angry at his brother… but he doesn’t have anywhere else to take out his fury. Fingon’s heartbroken, but he understands.

No one calls Turgon anything but his name after his disappears. Ironically enough Turgon starts calling Maedhros and Fingon by theirs again once he moves away.

Depending on their mood, the twins do or don’t call Aredhel by hers. They don’t blame her exactly, but it hurts that she’s gone. Then again, it’s not like they don’t deserve it after the boats. The younger Arafinwëans are a little less forgiving.

All the younger Fëanorions and Nolofinwëans call Angrod by name after the ban on Quenya. Some of them do the same to Finrod.

Galadriel completely stops using any and all terms after deciding to stay in Doriath. Catching herself even in those high emotion situations where it would sometimes come out. No one’s really surprised but it does hurt her brothers and Nolofinwëan cousins. She regrets this in the Second and especially Third Ages, and exclusively uses endearments when talking about them to keep some connection to her lost family.

Meanwhile on a faraway shore, Finarfin alternates between cursing his brothers and sisters’ names, and crying alone under still unfamiliar moonlight, calling for them in every term of endearment he can think of. They never answer.

…I’m sorry, this got kinda angsty towards the end 😂

Feel free to ask if you have any questions!

[stardustedknuckles]

Okay but I need to know what the people who have only watched c3 think about Beau and Caleb because I've been rotating them in my head for three years too long to be objective anymore but like. Getting to see them through the eyes of a new party just reminded me that even though so much of our delight in C2 was focused around the constant indignity of the Nein, they are objectively a flickering metronome between "how the fuck are these people alive" and "this is the most hyper competent group of mercenaries I've ever seen" and I just. Do they know. Do they know that Beau is so fucking cool. Are there people who learned these two npcs have a whole campaign and want to learn more about them. I look at these two and see a montage of tiefling dicks and red eyes and promising to kill the other if something goes wrong. I see Caleb smearing mud and bat shit on Beau's face and Beau just resigned even as she makes the most aggrieved and annoyed sounds, Beau hauling Caleb's dissociated ass over her own skinny shoulder and walking him to safety. I look at them and see 500 hours and more of the empire siblings. The weeks and months they spent going from hating the parts of themselves they saw in each other to loving in the other what they still struggled with in themselves. I see chosen siblings, best friends. What do other people see?

[ratbastarddotfuck]

maybe this is just a me problem but if you're calling Trump "the orange cheeto man" in 2024 I really can not take your politics seriously. this is a violent, powerful fascist looking to become a dictator, not some fuckin YA TV villain of the week. you literally just look silly.

[meownotgood]

the monologue viktor says at the end of episode 6 has never left my brain actually. out of everything in all of the epsiodes that scene was my favorite. his voice is so brain scratchy and beautiful it gives me heart palpitations. the way he says, "two sides of the same coin, inextricably bound." just sedate me or something already god

[uncanny-tranny]

Every now and then I remember I am significantly older than the legalization of gay marriage in my country and I take psychic damage every time. I am not that old, like my life has just begun.

Just... Remember our rights didn't just descend from the heavens hundred of years ago. It is still a fresh memory, a blip compared to the timeline of the world.

[dazais-guardian-angel]

Well, at least Fukuzawa got his wish granted, I guess.... he's finally inside Fukuchi <3

[deeranon]

Dangers and Dragons | BNHA/MHA X animalistic!reader

Summary: not all quirks are blessings. Especially when they make you want to attack your friends and tear your enemies to literal shreds. Yet, where did it all start?

Chapter 1 | The domino effect

Dragons: mythical creatures of legend.

In literature, dragons are often depicted as mindless beasts bent on destruction and killing, or merely as glorified mounts for humans. It's rare to find works of fiction that portray dragons as intelligent creatures.

This, however, was the real world—a world divided between those with quirks and the quirkless. To you, dragons were everything, because you were a dragon. Or rather, in the eyes of non-dragon people, you were someone who could transform into a dragon. You didn't fault them for this distinction. In an era where quirks could manifest in countless ways, it was challenging to discern where "person" ended and "quirk" began.

Not to you though.

You were different. You knew it. They didn’t.

They were lucky. You didn’t know if you were.

After all, to turn into something imaginary you first had to take pieces of things that already existed and then mold them into what was once pure imagination until it was something all its own.

Whenever you transformed, the world changed. Your thoughts, your perceptions—all of it was different. Especially words. They always meant more than one thing because they just could.

Your mother wasn’t just your mother, she was all of these smells mixed together that made her unique. She was motherloveunderstandinghomesafety.

And your father wasn’t just your father, he was lovingfatherhomeprotection. He smelled like dreams.

And you were you. You were one with the air and the forest was yoursyoursyours and your friends were funnylovingstronggood and you should protectkeepsafesave.

When you were young, you saw nothing wrong with the way you thought or how sometimes the voles in the field looked appetizing and it would just be so easy to dig them out and bite into their throats until they went limp.

That is, until you almost lost yourself to the beast at the age of seven and nearly tore a robber’s arm off because he smelled of dangerironbadhurtothers and he was not allowed to trespass on what was yoursyoursyours.

The man dressed in black let out a blood-curdling scream, his fiery red eyes widening with such intense fear that his pupils contracted to mere pinpoints. His right arm, now slick with a vibrant crimson coating, was clutched tightly against his chest. Meanwhile, his other hand frantically scrabbled across the wooden floorboards, desperately seeking the broken knife that lay just out of reach. The rich, dark liquid pooled around him, seeping into the porous wood grain with an almost eager intensity.

You stood there, your draconic features set in a perplexed pout. Your muzzle, now stained a deep, dark burgundy, glistened in the dim light. The concept of his terror eluded you completely. After all, in your mind, he was unequivocally the antagonist - the villain of this scenario.

Your young mind conjured images from the television shows you'd watched. Villains were supposed to be larger than life characters, cackling maniacally as they boasted about their latest nefarious schemes. They were meant to be relentless in their pursuit of evil, determined to the very end. They certainly weren't supposed to cower and whimper like the pathetic human before you. In your limited understanding, villains simply did not experience fear.

Curiosity piqued, you took a deliberate step forward. Your razor-sharp claws sank into the viscous pool of blood with a squelch. The sound seemed to trigger something primal in the man, for he let out an even louder scream, his entire body now wracked with violent tremors.

Suddenly, the tense silence was shattered by the crisp sound of breaking porcelain. In a last-ditch effort of self-preservation, the burglar had seized your father's prized vase and hurled it in your direction. The delicate object smashed against the floor, scattering shards across the room as the man desperately pushed himself further against the living room wall. A trail of crimson followed his movements, painting a macabre path across the floor.

Undeterred, you continued your approach. In your childlike innocence, you chastised him for potentially staining the rug your mother had so recently cleaned. You even expressed concern about your father's reaction to the broken vase upon their return from their dinner date, which you expected at any moment.

"G-G-GET A-W-WAY! S-STAY BACK!" The red-eyed man's voice rose to a feverish pitch, the volume causing you to wince in discomfort. The disconnect between your perception and reality widened further. In your mind, you were simply engaging in conversation. The fact that your words emerged as menacing growls and snarls completely escaped your young, dragon-shaped consciousness.

To him, you weren’t speaking Japanese. All the man could hear was your angry growls and snarls as you encroached on him like a leopard stalking it’s prey. His eyes darted around frantically, searching for an escape.

The washing room had a door connected to the outside…if he could get past you then he would make it out of here with his life!

You took another step forward, blood squelching underneath you as you prowled towards him.

All of the man’s thoughts of escape died immediately. The you were no bigger than a Doberman, yet had teeth and claws sharper than knives. Also, you had wings. Wings. He couldn’t outrun a monster with wings!

The man waved the broken knife around your face, making you lean back. Mama always said that knives were dangerous and not to be played with.

But you were a dragon. Knives could not hurt you. Let’s end this before mothersafetylove and fatherprotectionhome get back.

Yes. That was a good idea! Beat the villain up just like the heroes on TV! That will teach him not to mess with your family!

Just like the heroes on TV. Don’t let him get away.

You wouldn’t let him get away! This robber was going down!

Once and for all.

You crouched low to the blood soaked floor, tail swaying behind you as you prepared to jump. You’d leap onto the man’s head and knock him unconscious in one fell swoop!

More than unconscious.

You’d be a hero!

You would always be a dragon.

You would always protect what is only yoursyoursyours.

No matter what it takes.

The man looked at you, teary eyes wide with a fear ingrained in all living beings: the knowledge that death was near. The brownish-black hair peeking out of his mask was sticky with dried blood. “I-I-I SAID STAY BACK!” he shrieked, dropping the shattered knife as he quaked.

You ignored the terrified man’s wail, ready to lunge at him when there was a click.

The front door opened, revealing your parents.

You stopped in place. The man let out a relieved sob.

Mama let out a choked gasp, her outfit stained as she rushed to pick you up and hold you away from the bloodied and sobbing burglar. Her eyes were so wide they resembled saucers, she never let her gaze leave you. She turned your head this way and that, trembling at the sight of blood that wasn’t yours while looking for injuries. You had none.

Papa already had a phone to his ear, voice hoarse as he called for heroes. It wouldn’t be long before sirens started to wail outside of your house as heroes took over the scene.

As you looked between your parents, you noticed something. They didn’t let you out of their sight. Never looking at the villain who broke in. Not even once.

You looked up at them, scales dried with a man’s blood while pressed against Mama’s favorite outfit, and saw the distrust in their eyes. The fear. Both directed at you.

For the first time since you got your quirk, you realized that maybe being a dragon wasn’t as cool as you thought.

You lowered your bloody head in shame, cowering against your mother for even a sliver of reassurance. You didn’t know what you did wrong, but you knew you probably did something bad.

You were a hero….right?

Letting the dragon do whatever made people scared, you had realized at a mere seven years of age. Humanity had looked at you funny when you once talked about how fun it might be to chase down foxes in the fields or attack pigeons sleeping on rooftops because all it wanted to do was funplaydowhatevereatplayplayplay.

You realized the looks now. You would never be able to forget them. So, you vowed to never transform again. Not if you could help it.

It hurt not being able shift. The other children at school always thought you were awesome and cool and a thousand other things when you were large and scaly and you. You were a child and nothing really mattered more than who wanted to play with you, what you were having for lunch, and apparently the most important factor— what your quirk was.

Who you were allowed to play with depended on how cool the other first graders thought your quirk was, because the quirkless were boring and weak. At least, that’s when everyone else said. You didn’t think quirks mattered very much. It didn’t matter what they looked like or what their quirk was, to you, if a classmate was a jerk—they were simply that. A big jerky jerk. It was totally not related to their smell connecting to their personality whatsoever. No—you are imagining things.

Your popularity had dwindled slightly when you refused to carry the other kids in your class around on your back during recess, but you didn’t care. You tried not to care, at least.

It was for the greater good, your little seven year old mind had repeated when you sat with a smaller group of friends at lunch than you had before.

You still cried about it in the security of your parents car when they picked you up.

After the robber incident and the other children at school becoming too much for you, your parents decided to homeschool you. You didn’t mind this change, and they always joked that it saved the planet from a little more car emission.

It was during one fall morning that everything that could possibly go wrong went wrong for you.

Mama was in the kitchen with you, cutting both your sandwiches into hearts while you peeled the oranges. You hummed a catchy tune you once heard on the antique radio your mother often uses, blissfully unaware of the havoc about to befall you.

Mama called out your name, “Why don’t you start molding the onigiri? Then papa can take them to work!” She cooed, the frills behind her ears shifting to a soft lavender as they gently trembled.

You looked up at her with an excited nod. "Kay!" you sang happily. Then you turned, hopped off your stool, and dragged it over to the sink to wash the orange peels from under your fingernails. Just like you were taught.

As you finished washing your hands, you noticed a strange tingling sensation in your fingers. At first, you dismissed it as nothing more than the cold water's effect, but the feeling intensified. Suddenly, your vision blurred, and you felt a horrible itchy feeling starting to spread across your head in waves until it morphed into a constant pain. You cried out for your mother, tears gathering in your eyes as you kneeled to the ground in pain. The itching only intensified, and the world became a blur of color.

Faintly, like your mind had been ripped from your body and was only left with a dull sensation, you could feel your mother wrapping her arms around you and pulling you into her lap.

You tried to tell her it hurt, but all that escaped your throat was a mangled sob as the pain increased tenfold. Stars exploded across your vision in a kaleidoscope of colors. Your tiny hands tugged at your head desperately, as if it would make the pain stop even for a moment. It did not. Something large and soft grabbed your hands in their own, guiding them to wrap around what you guessed were your mother’s shoulders. You held her as tightly as you could, tears streaming down your face and wailing until you lost your voice.

You both sat on the kitchen floor for what felt like ages, motionless until the pain subsided, leaving only a dull headache as a reminder. The food remained untouched, the onigiri unmolded.

Your mother brushed her hand through your hair, whispering a lullaby that lulled you into a drowsy state. As she traced her fingers along your scalp, her confusion grew. When you were hovering between sleep and wakefulness, she felt it again—her hand pausing at the sides of your head.

Small bumps had appeared on each side, barely covered by a layer of skin.

You had begun growing horns.

You were hospitalized when your tail began to grow, nearly a year after your horns started showing. The initial pain was excruciating—so severe that you were ready to knock yourself unconscious when the over-the-counter pain medication your mother had been giving you for your horn growth pains, which had started nearly a year earlier, proved ineffective.

Mama sat in the chair beside your bed, holding your small hand in hers as she waited for the doctor to return and Papa to arrive from work.

You shifted uncomfortably beneath the crisp white sheets. Just minutes ago, the kind doctors had guided you through an X-ray machine, showing you and Mama the images with reassuring smiles.

The results revealed a new bone near your lumbar vertebrae—your lower spine. A literal tail bone, they said. You were growing a tail, little by little.

Your feelings about this were mixed. On one hand—a tail! On the other, it was a tail. And it already hurt! Your horns had barely grown two inches from your head, and you'd felt like you were being split in half the day the bone broke through skin. How long would it take for your tail to grow? You were certain it would be far more painful than growing horns.

You shuddered at the thought, your hand instinctively reaching for your lower back where the new tail was said to be starting. The doctors had warned you, with words sugar-coated for a child of nine years, about the potential discomfort, but their clinical words couldn't fully capture the reality of what you were about to experience. As you lay there in the hospital bed, a mix of anticipation and dread settled in your stomach.

You gave your mother’s hand a gentle squeeze. She squeezed right back.

You would surely be able to figure something out. The doctors could help, right? Doctors saved people. So they were heroes.

Surely there was a way to save you from the pain?

Your mother comforted you through the painful process of growing horns and a tail, a process that took years of medication and hospital visits. She understood you better than anyone; her quirk allowed her to transform into dinosaurs. You'd only ever seen her shift into herbivores, and you both silently acknowledged the reason why. This unspoken understanding formed a deep bond between you—a connection that meant everything.

Your father did his best to understand. His quirk, centered around imagination rather than transformation, made it harder for him to relate. Nevertheless, he always tried to put himself in your and your mother's shoes. These attempts often resulted in comical disasters—misty, house-sized dinosaurs and dragons flying and scampering around the property like oversized mice. Despite the chaos, you could tell that he cared deeply. And that was usually enough.

By the age of thirteen, the horns had grown farther from your head and a full tail connected to your spine, reminding you of how your quirk made you different from others. You cried often as they grew, because growing bones and muscles was painful and you hated your quirk for it. You were sure you experienced pain far worse than any child your age should ever have to go through.

As you grew older, suppressing your primal instincts—the urge to hunt, play, eat, and sleep endlessly—also became easier. Your human mind developed and matured, while the beast within remained stagnant, neither growing nor learning. This internal divide between your evolving consciousness and the unchanging animal nature that was still you in a way became more pronounced with each passing year.

Now you were sixteen years old, attending one of the most prestigious hero schools in Japan : U.A.

Because maybe, just maybe, if you saved people even as a scaly or feathery beast with claws and teeth sharp enough to pierce and kill, they’d look at you and smile in awe and feel safe. A balance to those who saw how dangerous you are and feared you for it.

In the future, as you learned your friends aspirations, It seemed like a selfish reason to become a hero compared to Ochako’s or Izuku’s dreams—but it was your motivation and you couldn’t give it up easily. You wouldn’t, or more specifically, you didn’t know how.

Everything was progressing remarkably well, exceeding your expectations of your high school life. Your classmates' reactions to your quirk were nothing short of healing. As they cautiously ran their hands over your scales, each one as large as their heads, their faces lit up with genuine wonder and excitement. It was as if they were encountering a mythical creature brought to life, struggling to reconcile the reality of your transformed state with their own eyes.

Their expressions of amazement and fascination weren't just fleeting moments of curiosity; they seemed to radiate a deep, heartfelt appreciation for your unique ability. You could see it in their wide eyes, hear it in their excited whispers, and feel it in the gentle, reverent way they touched your scales. It was a validation you had long craved but never quite expected to receive so wholeheartedly.

The warmth of their acceptance enveloped you like a comforting blanket, wrapping around your very being and soothing anxieties you didn't even realize you harbored. In that moment, basking in their genuine smiles and unguarded enthusiasm, you felt a surge of emotion so powerful it nearly overwhelmed you. You knew, with unwavering certainty, that you would go to any lengths, face any challenge, to preserve those smiles and maintain that acceptance. The thought of anything encompassed a vast realm of possibilities, and you were prepared to explore every one of them if it meant keeping your classmates looking at you with that same wonder and joy.

All seemed well until you closed your eyes, nestled under the warm blanket. In that moment of vulnerability, you unwittingly lowered your guard—precisely when you needed it most.

That’s when it chose to strike.

[flufflecat]

Today I got to have an entire 3 message long dm convo with Alex Hirsch. I am never getting over this high.

[mantisgodsdomain]

More notes for Roach conlanging. Roach has grammatical gender, in which only Male, Female, and Object are grammatical genders, whereas Worker uses feminine grammar, Queen and King use a slight variant on feminine grammar, and Drone, and Queen-Alate use masculine grammar. This is because King is derived from Queen, due to their similar positions in a colony, and Queen-Alate is derived from Drone, as both are forms of alate.

Queen is an alteration of feminine grammar that functionally just adds a handful of extra syllables to it, and King is an offsprout of Queen that uses the same grammar with different pronouns. Queen-Alate, despite the name, is derived from Drone, as they are both for referring to different types of alate ant.

Most Roach dialects are intelligible to speakers of Snakemouth Den Cordyceps Roach, but Snakemouth Den Cordyceps Roach is not entirely intelligable to speakers of Roach dialects due to a mix of the excessively specialized vocabulary caused by the specific needs of its speakers, the fact that its speakers do not necessarily have Roach mouthparts and thus may not pronounce syllables in a similar way, and due to the fact that Inanimate Object is a full grammatical gender that does not exist in any other dialect of roach and replaces a decent chunk of terminology for things that previously had Other Words For Them.