”Pokémon say their names” is a common misconception. Their name is just what they say. “Pikachu” is an onomatopoeia the same way meow and woof are

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@phenomenal-eggplant
”Pokémon say their names” is a common misconception. Their name is just what they say. “Pikachu” is an onomatopoeia the same way meow and woof are
grace you gotta lock in
Endlessly diabolical how you can't say words like rape and suicide uncensored without either being criticised by idiots or punished by conglomerates.
It's not r*pe, it's rape. It's not su*cide, it's suicide. Not unalive, dead. The backbone needs to be reintroduced en masse because softening the blow of these concepts with advertising language does absolutely nothing but allow people unaffected by them to feel not even a sting of what they can do, prompting inaction.
And it's been proven that on certain websites, you don't even face a repercussion for using the words as they are. People just started censoring themselves because they feared the potential lack of views and likes and followers which is so nasty itself.
I attended an anti-suicide seminar in college. One of the big takeaways from it was that stigmatizing suicide increases the rate of suicide, because people who are feeling suicidal feel like they can't ask for help. Every time I see babytalk garbage like 'unalive', I think of that.
Use the real words. Words have power, and they matter.
tw horror
👻
MILD hurt/comfort? nuh uh. torture him. sepsis. swept downstream in a frozen river. 6 month convalescence. commit to it.
booboos on his body AND his soul AND his dignity
humble that man. he should have to be nursed back to health my his romantic interested and accidentally throw up and pass out on them when they try to clean his wounds
he has the sniffles? aww. now have him be thrown from his horse and dragged for half a mile.
I used to be monotheistic. Until the great worm that I worship got cut in half
would you love us if we were twin gods
Your partner came back from the dead after being missing for decades. Every one of their friends who they went with ended up dying a horrible death.
Now, somehow, their entire mental health is based on the continued life and happiness of this fairground goldfish that they picked up.
Neither of you know the first thing about how to care for even a healthy fish. This fish has been poorly cared for, has multiple diseases and the person who handed it over explicitly didn't expect it to live nearly as long as it already has.
You're frantically googling how to set up a fish tank, where to buy fish food, can you even take a fish to the vet? Your partner wants you to know that they're happy they made it home and survived their horrific ordeal, but also that if anything happens to the fish then they're going to kill everyone on this planet and then themself.
You're honestly wondering if you're even helping the fish, or just prolonging its suffering, but your partner will only accept medical help for their many injuries or engage in basic self-care once they're confident that the fish is being looked after.
So you get a tank. You set up a filter and all that stuff. You learn way more than you ever wanted to know about water temperature and ph and nitrate levels. The fish is safe. You start to develop some affection for the little guy. Your partner begins to recover. The fish begins to recover.
Which is when you learn that in its 'healthy' state, the fish regularly refuses to sleep when tired, keeps begging for food that is obviously unhealthy for it (and struggling to eat the food that you do provide because “it tastes gross”), and continually tries to persuade your partner to take it out of its nice safe tank so it can go explore the wonderful world of Outside, where the slightest mishap will kill it instantly.
Your name is Adrian, and you kind of wants to strangle this fucking fish, statement.
All day the stars watch from long ago my mother said I am going now when you are alone you will be all right whether or not you know you will know
our idiotic ancestors used to believe stuff that's not true but luckily we've now figured out all the true things to believe in
Dolly Parton in The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas (1982)
(X)
I wish this feeling upon everyone who wants to wear a dress, its really the best
this makes me so happy as a fat hairy guy who likes skirts and dresses i never get to see guys like me in dresses it’s always skinny twinks this makes me so happy 🥺🥺
i think this captures the defining pathology of the collective social media psyche right now. we are in the thrall of people who are wantonly cruel but who also demand to be coddled at all times in every way
I am a violin maker learning to tattoo so here is a banana with the decoration from the Hellier Strad violin
I am unemployed
hello male writer. before you is a typewriter. you have one day to write a novella with a woman as the protagonist without describing her breasts. the timer begins now
Her ass was like a peach, and brother I’m in her pit.
well. that one’s on me
taz balance episode 66 comic
Tiktok post by @ djdott64 (he/him).
“My Least Favorite Trope (and this post will include spoilers for The Lego Movie, Guardians of the Galaxy, The Matrix, Western Civilization, and—cod help me—Bulletproof Monk*.) is the thing where there’s an awesome, smart, wonderful, powerful female character who by all rights ought to be the Chosen One and the hero of the movie, who is tasked with taking care of some generally ineffectual male character who is, for reasons of wish fulfillment, actually the person the film focuses on. She mentors him, she teaches him, and she inevitably becomes his girlfriend… and he gets the job she wanted: he gets to be the Chosen One even though she’s obviously far more qualified. And all he has to do to get it and deserve it is Man Up and Take Responsibility. And that’s it. Every god-damned time. The mere fact of naming the films above and naming the trope gives away the entire plot and character arc of every single movie.”
— Elizabeth Bear - My Least Favorite Trope (via feministquotes)