Y'all I am just saying Deku has KIND OF been calling Bakugou mommy this whole time

either i have the reading comprehension of a rat or there really are foreshadowing to luffy dying bc i have never caught that

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if i had 1% more audacity i'd get a hyphenated first name and make everyone call me sebastian-bartholomew or something with no shortened versions allowed

Daily reminder since y’all keep forgetting miles is Afro Latino. As in both black and Puerto Rican. At the same time. Shocker.

Tomorrow is a special day so I'm going to try not to be my usual self. Here is a fun halal eggnog recipe a Muslim lady posted in a local home-cooking Facebook group. Hope everybody has a good celebration with full bellies and hearts all around.

S.H. Abdul Hamid's Halal Eggnog Ingredients: 1 egg 1 cup of fresh milk/ water mixed with 4 tablespoons of powdered milk/ 1/2 cup of whipped cream with 1/2 cup of water 1 tablespoon of sugar (to taste also fine) 1 drop of vanilla essence 1/2 teaspoon of cinnamon powder 1/2 teaspoon of nutmeg 1/2 tablespoon of custard powder (optional) Steps: 1. Mix everything together and pour it into a pot to heat on a medium-low flame 2. Stir so that it is evenly dense until the liquid has thickened a little 3. Serve hot or cold 4. Can be decorated with a cream swirl with some cinnamon/nutmeg sprinkled on, and a cinnamon stick 5. Enjoy

im so tired of literally everything being a reboot or a remake or revival or sequel or whatever nowadays. i dont always hate that sort of thing i can name some adaptations and reboots and stuff that i like but so many of these things arent even GOOD adaptations and the companies making them either wont make anything else or wont bother to promote any of their original shows or movies and to top it all off so many original and unique things get cancelled while the endless pool of disney live action remakes and shitty adaptations continues to grow. i cannot do this anymore velma was the final straw it looks so bad

LAY ME DOWN. (tentative) chapter 16 excerpt. 1’252 words. unedited. featuring: pallas’s private reflection on an old train of thought. pretty lengthy discussion of feelings surrounding a deadname. vaguely implied dysphoria. oops all queer kid emotions.

[Transcript under the cut]

quick my english assignment isn’t looking. post pallas genderthoughts.

TAGLIST (ask to be +/-).  @vellichor-virgo​ @nicola-writes​ @doctormoss​ @gerbermatter​ @cactusprincewrites @houndmouthed @muddshadow @aeipathys @just-wublrful @midnights-melodiverse @corkywantstowrite @paradisiacalshroud @andromedatalksaboutstuff @kingsinking

At five years old Pallas had come to The Library with a name sewn into the tag of their jacket, they were thirteen when they went to the Director to have it struck from the book and a new one written in. 

Back then the conversation had terrified them in its finality, they’d written out a script and spent hours practising it in the mirror to iron the waver from their voice. It can be done, it had often been done before, it is a fact of life that even true names could be outgrown and replaced, they were still new to their lesson’s with the Director but she had no reason to deny the request; from what they knew she never had before. That wasn’t what had scared them. It was that once it was done it would truly be done, over, ended. It was putting down in ink and paper that aimless blob of a feeling that seemed to expand in their chest like boiling water whenever they looked in a mirror to long, giving the nameless a name, catching it between their fingers and sanding down the endless bubbling expanse of it into something hard and round to tuck under their tongue like a baby tooth. 

What’s in a name? They had never been overfond of Shakespeare even though Nina ate and breathed it, but they still remember latching onto that line at nine, already hungry in a way they had only just begun to place. A rose by any other name would still smell as sweet. 

In their first years at The Library they had never spared much thought towards the name they had arrived with, they understood vaguely that it was important, that it couldn’t be given out to strangers or else bad things would happen, that it’s existence in the pages of of the ledger was, in some unknowable way, tied to their existence in The Library. But that was the sum of it, they payed mind to the name when it was spoken the same way they payed mind when told to make their bed or brush their teeth in the morning; and in the meantime played an everevolving game with Nina on who could come up with the best alias to give out to the teachers and students that surrounded them. One of them would come across a new name in a story, or a tonguetwisting word in a dictionary, or a new animal neither of them had heard of before, and make a race to claim it as their “name” and be called by it first. They went through tens and twenties of different names in a week, trying to one up each other with the newest and grandest and prettiest ones they could find, keeping the originals folded in their pockets like rare trinkets, taken out only occasionally to be marvelled over and then quickly squirrelled away so as not to be overused. What exactly they had been called, words like he and she and you, didn't seem to matter so far as they knew to respond when they were said. 

It only began to matter once Pallas realized belatedly that it did matter, once they began attending serious classes and learned that words carried meaning beyond what was conjured in the moment by a child’s mind. Words carried weight, they carried history, words set boundaries and above all they defined. There was a word for everything and everything had a word and those words had lexicon and roots that spanned back centuries and were impossible to untangle. It was at once expansive and suffocating, both freeing and constricting, and they remember hardly being able to breathe under the impossible scope of it all. Narrow and yet endlessly wide. Sure, you could be anything you wanted, but you still had to be something at the end of the day. 

Afterwards they began to dissect and analyze literature the same way they began to dissect and anaylze their own reflection. They knew the science of a human body, skeleton and musculature and nervous system, but this was another thing entirely. Suddenly things they hadn’t cared about before, hadn’t noticed before they forced themselves into being known, began to topple out before them like dominos. The sudden feeling of wearing clothes far too small for you and only realizing once you go to breathe and find the collar tight around your throat. There had been something they’d missed, a crucial number skipped over in the equation, something wasn’t adding up. 

The worst of it was that Nina, who until then had almost been able to read their mind in their matching idiosyncrasies, didn’t seem to be able to see this in its fullness the way they did. She would listen and chew the inside of her cheek and ask questions and assure them that whatever they ended up doing was fine by her as long as they were happy. But it wasn’t the same, and she was smart enough to know that. That, above all else, could not stand.

So, naturally, it became an obsession. They tried to concentrate on other things, but the discordant feeling stayed, that itch under their skin they couldn’t shake, an edge almost like hunger sawing slowly away at the back of their mind. They took to rolling their first name over and over in their mind, thinking on it more than they ever had before. They lay on the floor and stared up at their hands, flexing them, closed their eyes tight and tried to name every part of their body from the ground up before considering the whole. Before being he or she had carried the same nonweight as everything else, so long as they knew which word it was correct to turn their head towards when someone was talking about them, and the original name had been the same. After they stared at themself in the mirror and and repeated it until it didn’t sound like a word at all anymore, trying to link the sound coming from their mouth to the face looking back at them, but in those moments both seemed to belong to a stranger.

They read viciously, constantly, they read with the desperation of a drowning man clinging to the last plank of his sunken ship. They found more words, more definitions, and caught themself staring at the blank spaces between the lines. They looked at the marble busts lining the fourth floor hallways and pressed a finger to cool stone lips, traced the sweeping curves of carefully carved brows and icy smooth cheeks. They wrote out the name on sheets and sheets of paper, wondering if pen and ink would reveal something they hadn’t yet been able to see and they had crouched in the bath with water up to their mouth, hair spread in inky plumes around them, and thought about how most ancient Greek statues had once been brightly painted but time and meddling had worn that away until nothing was left but bone white. Scoured and scraped clean. They thought of how anyone could possibly define that, and held their hand up to the light to see the tiny blue veins run through it like mycelium strings. 

And Pallas, thirteen and starving, thirteen and holding the whole what and who and why of themself in the palm of their hand, had curled the pale arches of their fingers into a fist, and pictured an endless, spinning, black hole.

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my controversial marvel opinion is that mutants and mutates are related, taxonomically.

mostly to rationalize how even in universe some people get in radiation/chemical/whatever accidents and die while others get superpowers.

so the way i see it is that there’s a certain subset of people who possess certain genes that make their DNA more malleable, and able to accept and reorder itself around mutations, which includes both mutants and mutates, with the main difference between the two being that mutates are able to accept changes, but need some sort of outside trigger to set off/activate mutations, while mutants have the x-gene that acts as a sort of internal trigger, allowing for powers to activate without external influences

you don’t owe anyone an explanation of your sexuality. I have to explain mine in excruciating detail to everyone I meet or I will die though.

i dont know how to create compound words in fictional languages and im going to make that everyone else’s problem

so i was watching this medical video that happened to mention sandwich-- the place in kent, england not the food named after that one earl-- and having adhd, obviously i got distracted and ended up on wikipedia trying to find the etymology of ‘sandwich’. and apparently, the sand- bit refers to the soil type, and the -wich to " a dwelling or fortified place where trade takes place”. (those four letters are doing a lot)

and then, naturally, i got curious to see if there was an equivalent word in quenya. there is not. so im back on my bullshit and trying to make one. this is, at the least, going better than my attempts to slap together a translation of ‘mercy’. dont ask me how thats going

probably the easiest way to do this would be a direct transliteration of the “sand” and “market place” parts, so obviously i didn’t do that. bc there isnt an in-universe place called “sandwich” for it or any nobility to be named after anyway, and also it still would not be intuitive bc most people who read silm or lord of the rings fic dont actually know quenya? so you might as well make a new word entirely, or else just break the fourth wall a tad and just say “sandwich”

(most people, unlike me, are not pedants about the names of foodstuffs in non-existent places. this is fine. i am just very neurodivergent and determined to share my findings)

so i tried to make a word that would make sense in universe. and theres a few different combos that i think could work, but i think ‘apsafelya’ (lit. cooked food + cave) is probably the best bet? bc i could see them storing food in caves for security and food preservation reasons and having that word arise from that situation to eventually, specifically mean “food held inside bread for ease of eating”

commenters on youtube videos about gadgets designed for accessibility: we actively do not value your life

physically disabled people: ...

lawmakers: we actively do not value your life

trans people: ...

society at large: we actively do not value your life

immunocompromised people: ...

my brain: ... die?

me: no baby, you gotta live, don't do their work for them

ANGRY

People fucking piss me off.

Nobody is rational in my life.

Make a mistake? Learn. Fix it. Do better.

Somebody treats you wrong? Fuck that person. Get them out of your life asap. You treated them wrong too? Be better then. Don’t say “well we both did wrong so who’s to blame?” Both of you. You’re both to blame. Fix it. Move on. I know he stood up for you, don’t fucking go back. I don’t care if it’s for the right reasons, he’s acting bad.

How do you manage to be grounded so fucking much? I understand parents can be strict. But I know that they are acting rationally too. So what the fuck do you need to change to be better?

You made a commitment? Fucking live up to it or give me a good reason you can’t. I have all the understanding in the world for a good reason, but when you keep committing and fucking up, the grace runs short.

Don’t step up to be a leader if you can’t handle the weight of it.

I understand communication is hard, I’m autistic, people struggle to understand me the first two times. I have some patience for that. It’s just a fact of life so I figure it out. But when I manage to say “I understand now” or “oops, okay” you don’t have to keep fucking explaining it to me. I get the misunderstanding/mistake I made. Move the fuck on.

You say something direct, express “I don’t mean that harshly” we say, “that’s cool” or “I got it” stop wasting precious time to continue explaining what you said that was harsh(direct) and why it could be harsh(direct) and what you meant-oops that was harsh(direct) too. Just stop. We said we understand. Fucking believe us.

Everybody takes shit personally or assumes others will take what they say personally. It’s a clusterfuck. Because then everybody does a whole lot of extra explaining when a little bit is all that is needed.

My favourite thing about tumblr, that in my opinion makes it far superior to other social media sites, is that new posts live side by side with old posts. These days, there’s a prioritization of new content. It not only shortens the lifespan of people’s work, memes and such, but it also devalues the work that goes into making certain things.

Sure, a lot of posts are just random thoughts spewed into the ether, but some posts are carefully crafted videos, photos, artwork, prose, that take the creator a considerable amount of time and effort to craft. So, as a content creator, it’s nice to see that you can put work into a piece of content on here and it can have a life of its own. Unlike other platforms where posts live and die in a matter of day, sometimes, hours

so not many people know i go by august. i just don't have many people i trust enough to tell. and so i told the guy i like about it. and he said he might forget but he'll try to remember. and even that meant a lot to me. but the thing is he goes out of his way to call me august. he'll add my name onto the end of sentences that didn't necessarily need it. and every time he does that i want to cry