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the first result isn’t always the one you’re looking for but when you press enter it’ll give you a ton of words related to your query that’ll probably have what you’re wanting, or something better

here’s some examples:

In middle school biology, we did an experiment. We were given yams, which we would sprout in cups of water. We then had to make hypotheses about how the yams would grow, based on descriptions of yam plants in our books, and make notes of our observations as they grew.

Here’s what was supposed to happen: we were supposed to see that the actual growth of the plant did not resemble our hypotheses. We were then supposed to figure out that these were, in fact, sweet potatoes.

What actually happened was that every single student in every single class lied in their notes so that their observations perfectly matched their hypotheses. See, everyone assumed the mismatch meant they had done something wrong in the process of growing the plant or that they had misunderstood the dichotomous key or the plant identification terminology. And, thanks to the wonders of a public school education, everyone assumed the wrong results would get us a failing grade. We were trying to pass. We didn’t want to get bitched out by the teacher. Curiosity, learning, science - that had nothing to do with why we were sitting in that classroom. So we all lied.

The teacher was furious. She tried to fail every student, but the administration stepped in and told her she wasn’t allowed to because a 100% fail rate is recognized as a failure of the teacher, not the class. It wasn’t even her fault, really, though her being a notorious hard-ass didn’t help. It was a failure of the entire educational system.

It’s great to have theories, fics, headcanons, even those incorrect texts whatever. But it all snowballs from there and suddenly that character who just makes jokes to ease the room is a fucken idiot. That broody boy in the corner is now a uwu soft boi who needs all the hugs. Someone who is struggling in canon with the burden of power is now fine with it. Etc. Etc. Etc.

Fanon ships are another thing, people get so wrapped up in thinking wow this is what it should be not that canon ship instead. That when they’re ship isn’t canon because it doesn’t make sense or the Fandom flipped the view of a character they get pissed sometimes and start bullying the shippers of the canon endgames

‘Sarek was a bad father’ - partly true but here’s the exact flavor of parental mistakes: it wasn’t indifference, it wasn’t abuse, and it wasn’t a lack of love. Sarek was always trying his best, he loved Spock more than anything and even when he hurt him by not understanding his human side he only wanted what he thought was best for him. Later Trek and Michal don’t count as TOS characterization (and it’s a whole other thing to unpack) and we don’t have anything in the Final Frontier that states it was his parenting specifically that turned Sybok into a hippie cult leader - so there are no actual indications that Sarek’s parenting style wouldn’t have been perfectly suited to a fully Vulcan child. Spock and Sarek’s difficulties are not a dad washing his hands of the disappointing kid, or a guy completely unsuited for parenthood stumbling along: it’s a regular (for his culture) proud dad having trouble connecting with his mixed race son. 

He’s got a foot fetish. He’s one of the most beautiful men alive, but TERRIBLE with women. He loves tennis but for some reason only plays racquetball. He’s got a teddy bear named Kukalaka. He’s a genetically augmented super genius and an absolute moron. He tried to skip rocks over a sentient puddle. His best friends on the station are 1.) a Cardassian super spy and assassin who wants to fuck him 2.) an emotionally repressed Irishman and 3.) a worm. When presented with aforementioned Cardassian spy the first thing he does is form a book club. He’s obsessed with LARPing. He has a spy kink. He’s physically incapable of shutting the fuck up. Every time he tries to go to an academic conference he gets kidnapped. His job at DS9 is his first fucking job out of college. 

The enchantment could not stop Pleiostinau from continuing his dark arts, though. It merely contained his reach. The trees around Pleiostinau’s prison all rotted and died. Anyone who came upon his dark clearing soon fell ill or came to a violent end. Soon, rumors of the evil in the forest prevented anyone from venturing too far in.

Centuries passed and rumors turned into stories. Stories turned into old wives’ tales and eventually the human world forgot about Pleiostinau. The human towns and settlements grew and the forest shrank.

“What do you reckon happened here?” asked one of the loggers who came across Pleiostinau’s clearing.

“Tree rot, most likely,” replied his co-worker. “That tree in the middle is probably a good ‘un if it survived.”

Pleiostinau was itching for carnage. It had been decades since a living creature dared approach his prison. But Pleiostinau was smart and knew that if he killed the loggers, they would be his last victims.

Pleiostinau bided his time. He allowed cuttings to be taken to laboratories and greenhouses. The humans studied his branches, trying to figure out how this tree survived amongst the rot that surrounded it. Pleiostinau used the cuttings to explore the New World. When the scientists left, Pleiostinau extended his leafy tendrils to use their computers.

The tree cuttings were studied and ripped apart faster than Pleiostinau could grow them. It seemed that a part of his curse meant that Pleiostinau could only thrive in the soil of his original prison.

The research stopped. Pleiostinau’s tree was cut down. He hoped to become part of a house where he could drive the occupants mad. Pleiostinau’s prison ended up primarily as firewood. He felt his power shrinking each time the wood was burned. He tried to spread beyond fireplaces but modern man had invented extinguishers.

The lumber from Pleiostinau’s prison was recalled and labeled as unfit for firewood. Pleiostinau sat in the clearance section of a hardware store considering his options. He was no longer in the forest but he was now in pieces.

One day, a young man purchased all the remaining lumber from Pleiostinau’s tree. He spoke to the wood, telling it how the young man was going to be a father. Pleiostinau felt his excitement grow. As a crib, he could corrupt the child and maybe even possess it. In order to do that, Pleiostinau would have to resist the urge to create chaos between the young man and his wife.

Each night, the young man would come into his shed to work on his gift. He treated and sanded the wood, imbuing it with the love he had for his wife and future child. Pleiostinau was pulled into complacency, telling himself that he was just biding his time.

The work began to take shape. It was to be a rocking horse, not a crib. Pleiostinau felt disappointed until he saw the cradle being carved. The young man planned to attach a cradle to soothe their baby until it grew strong enough to sit on its own.

The young man finished smoothing and varnishing the rocking horse. He brought it into the child’s room and surprised his pregnant wife. She was filled with joy. Her touch shocked Pleiostinau. He had never met someone with such a pure heart.

The child was born and Pleiostinau began his work. He began speaking to the child, infusing its mind with memories of the forest. Somehow, the child brought light to every dark lesson.

Pleiostinau welcomed the challenge. He had not met an apprentice worthy of his time until now. Pleiostinau cast spells of protection over the house and its inhabitants. After all, he did not want his efforts to go to waste.

The child grew stronger. It began to walk and speak earlier than most. Pleiostinau was proud of the hand he played in raising the child.

The rocking horse was the child’s favorite toy. After each outing, the child would race to their room to tell the horse about their adventures outside. On sunny days, the child dragged the rocking horse into the yard and they went on adventures together.

The Parents took great care of the rocking horse. The Father oiled the wood and fixed loose screws while telling the child stories. The Mother cleaned the horse and found herself talking to it when no one else was around. She painted the name “Pleiostinau” on the base of the rocking horse. A strange name, but her child insisted that was what the horse was called.

Pleiostinau continued to teach the child magic. The child was a fast learner. As their lessons progressed, Pleiostinau found himself leaning away from the dark arts. He told himself that it was because the child needed to learn the basics first, but even Pleiostinau had doubts. The child was nearing school age and Pleiostinau had not once tried to possess it.

The child grew too large for the rocking horse. Pleiostinau knew he had missed his chance. But instead of regret, Pleiostinau felt relieved. He would continue to watch over the child until his wood rotted away. It seemed like a fitting end.

With that thought, the rocking chair shattered and Pleiostinau was released from his prison. He rose up, unsure of what to do now. The child entered the room as Pleiostinau pondered.

“You’re free.”

“It appears so.”

“Mum made stroganoff.” The child extended their hand. “Come, brother.”