i think its fun when people use the trope of vampires thinking that werewolves smell like shit but its especially funny to me when they say a werewolf smells like 'wet dog' . like specifically WET dog? not dry dog? something about werewolves makes them smell damper than any normal dog even if theyre dry as a bone? fascinating implications. wet werewolf vs creepy vampire. much to consider.
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The answer to "How did these Ancient People do this????" is basically always
1. A lot of dudes. Just a ton of fucking people from beginning to end of the process.
2. Ancient people weren't stupid, they just figured shit out the same way we do: fuck around until you find out.
3. We're gonna plan this out and it's gonna take ten fucking years, and you will cope.
4. Sticks and string are surprisingly versatile and can be used for a variety of purposes, like moving stuff and making sure things are even and go in the spot you wanted to put them in!
5. I want to make this easier and more efficient to move. If I put this on the round thing and push, it will move. If I put this in water, it will move. If I get some animals and rope and have a whole bunch of them drag it, it will move. All of these things are a better option than one guy trying to pick the whole fucking thing up.
"I'm not calling the people who believe in this conspiracy theory racist" I am. They're racist. Maybe not out of malice, but the fact that they believe in this is in itself racist. These conspiracies are always about brown people. Machu Pichu, the Pyramids, Göbekli Tepe, Easter Island, it is ALWAYS POC. It's never the Parthenon, it's never the Colliseum, despite the fact that these were built around the same time as some of the other sites these conspiracy chucklefucks like to throw around, it's never something fucking European. It's always "primitive people" with "stone tools" and "no understanding of modern engineering" so "clearly someone must have taught them this or given them the technology because CLEARLY they were just too Primitive and Savage to figure it out themselves." Fuck off with that shit.
white people please just purchase native artwork and jewelry from native people i keep seeing idiot white people be like “waaah i wish i could support native creators but its cultural appropriation” girl why would beaders sell you their earrings then. just dont get a medicine wheel or a thunderbird then like damn it is that easy
If Native folks are making it to sell to white people with the approval of their tribe, it’s not “appropriation”–its support and appreciation! So yes, buy that native-made dream catcher, but not the mass produced fakes made by white people. Like, you can go to a pow wow and buy native crafts there, too.
i think people really under sell the physical side effects of mental health disorders sometimes. like sure the depression and anxiety may be 'just in your head' but when what's in your head happens to disrupts your sleep schedule and prevent you from going outside regularly and eating consistent meals and exercising and generally taking care of your body. well it sure takes its toll huh.
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the whole "insulting someone based on their appearance is bad because it could indirectly hurt people you like who share that feature" is a good start for unlearning body shaming but i do think we need to go further and remind people that even if there was some physical trait that was magically 10000% exclusive to conservatives and creeps and nobody else ever had it, we still shouldnt be insulting them based on that. because the problem with them is not their appearance its their ideology and actions. by insulting their appearance you arent just indirectly insulting others who look like that, youre literally not making the correct point. stay on topic ya know.
i really thought the point of "being lgbt+ doesn't absolve you of racism as a white person" was that white people arent absolved of racism by being marginalized but it really seems like people think other marginalizations make it okay. no being disabled doesn't do it. no being poor doesnt do it. we need to fight against racism actively no matter what.
i like when a piece of media says that an all-powerful character "sees humans as insects" because that really could mean a lot of things. maybe they view us as insignifigant and will squish us under their boot. maybe theyre actually studying and cataloguing us for their thesis paper. maybe theyre campaigning for human protection because we're an important part of their ecosystem. maybe they see a human and go "ew ew ewwwwww someone get the cup and get that FREAK out of my house." .
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OP, this is genuinely a masterpiece, three poems in one, moving and well crafted. Please tell me you have submitted it to at least some poetry contests, and if not, please do so.
it bothers me when someone brings up misogyny in shounen anime and people shrug it off with "its designed for teenage boys, what can you expect." like well. idk i think its actually pretty important that shows for teenage boys are normal about women. i mean i think all media should be normal about women but teenagers are impressionable i think we could put a little bit of feminism in the teenage boy shows. it might do some good. you never know.
Eddie babysits Theo one time—one time—and suddenly it's basketball this, basketball that; can we get a hoopy-thing for outside and when is Eddie coming back and why doesn’t he live here; things would be so much better if Eddie was here all the time.
Buck struggled to disagree with many of those points.
Did Buck try to distract Theo with dinosaurs and Hotwheels and whatever else he’s collected around Buck’s house after only a few months? Sure. He’s not too proud of it. Did Theo outsmart him every time by literally not letting go of his child-size nerf basketball for a week? Also yes. Buck’s not proud of that either.
The one unexpected benefit of this new obsession comes in the form of Buck lounging on his stoop, legs crossed in front of him receiving a tan from the overhead sun as he runs colorful commentary about the game at hand.
A plastic basketball hoop for toddlers is propped up at the end of the driveway. Eddie’s truck is parked in a way to block access to the street—though Theo has proven to be a master escape artist when he wants to.
Eddie chases after Theo who is definitely travelling with the ball. He manages to snag it from Theo, exaggerating his triumph and flicks it over his shoulder. The ball misses by a good mile. Theo giggles and runs after it.
“Ooh, and a bad shot by Diaz,” Buck calls out, holding his glass of lemonade like a microphone. “One must ask if this is truly the end of his career.”
When Theo’s back is turned, Eddie flips him the bird and Buck cackles. It’s such a shame Chris had school today. They could have tag-teamed ribbing Eddie together.
Wiping the sweat from his brow, Eddie walks towards Buck—stalks him, more like. He places his hands on his hips. “Why don’t you join us?”
“Nah, I’m perfectly happy here.”
Eddie cocks his head, tousled hair flopping against his forehead. “What’re you scared of losing to a four year old?”
Buck wrinkles his nose; that’s not going to work on him this time. That magnetic cocky attitude. He doesn’t notice himself placing down his drink, pre-preparing to stand. “I’d crush the both of you, don’t deny it.”
Eddie’s grin fails to mask his skepticism. His sarcastic tone doesn’t help either. “Oh, I’m sure.”
“You asked for it.” Buck hauls himself off the stoop. When Theo sees him joining the ‘fun,’ he races toward him, excitedly yammering about basketball probably. Buck is too focused on Eddie’s smug face to register. He ruffles Theo’s sweaty hair—bathtime is going to be a bitch tonight, he just knows. “We’re going to bring Eddie down a peg, okay?”
Theo clearly doesn’t understand what that means but he matches Buck’s serious enthusiasm anyways. “Yeah! We’ll crush Eddie!”
Buck turns his smile at Eddie. “That’s the spirit.”
It becomes a one-on-one game by the end. Theo quickly loses interest in the competition, electing to draw chalk caricatures of them or renaissance portraits, depending on how you look at it. The hoop is small enough that Buck can use his whole body to block all of it. Eddie can’t find an opening. The ball hits the pavement as he lunges only for Buck to foil his attempt. He can read Eddie like a well-loved book, spine creased and pages dog-earred.
Eddie darts backwards before they collide. “Don’t bust my ankle this time, Buckley,” he huffs.
“One time,” Buck mutters, but he knows he wouldn’t do something like that now. Not when Eddie’s attention is already locked on him, no distractions—besides the occasional check-in on the resident four year old.
The next time Eddie makes a break for it, Buck grabs him by the waist, wraps his arms around his body, not hugging really, just holding, in a wild, impulsive move to stop Eddie from catching an opening. Eddie’s momentum causes them to spin together before settling, basketball between them. Frozen, Eddie stares, motionless except for blinking and breathing. The beat of his heart pounds hard enough that it reaches to where Buck lays his hands flat on Eddie’s back. His chest brushes Buck’s own whenever he breathes out.
“That’s a dirty, illegal move,” Eddie eventually comments, voice rough from exertion. His body slides against Buck’s as he tosses the ball over Buck’s head. It swishes into the net, bouncing and rolling across the drive before resting on the lawn. “I win.” He smirks again, and then absently over his shoulder, he calls out, “Theo, we won!” His gaze stays forever trained on Buck.
Theo cheers but remains invested in turning the driveway into a Jackson Pollock painting.
“Theo was on my team,” Buck argues.
“He was secretly on my team. We made a pact before you joined.”
“Traitors. In my own house.” Buck sighs. “Chris would never do such a thing to me.”
With his hands now free, Eddie rests them on Buck’s arms. His fingers curl around his biceps, tapping inane beats against his bare skin. Eddie’s hands are warm and sweaty from the stupidly intense game of Buck’s least favorite sport. He doesn’t mind one bit.
Eddie laughs. “How can I make it up to you?”
Stay. Never leave. “Buy the good beer next time.”
“I do buy the good beer.”
“Then you have shi—stupid taste in beer, Eddie.” Buck shakes his head. “I shouldn’t be surprised, with your stupid taste in sports after all. Which you corrupted Theo with; hate you for that a little, by the way.”
“You and Chris have your thing; me and Theo have ours.”
They do, don’t they? Like a true family unit. His stomach twists at the sudden thought. “I’m glad he has that with you,” Buck admits. After the immense hardship Theo has been through recently, Buck is happy to know Theo has more than just him, that he has Eddie and Chris, and the entire 118 if need be.
Eddie’s expression softens. “You’re doing great with him, you know. He’s adjusted well.”
Buck ducks his head, unsure. “I guess.”
Eddie grabs his face, refusing to let him hide, and he waits until Buck makes eye contact with him. “Hey,” Eddie coaxes, gentle and quiet, “You’re a wonderful foster parent. Don’t doubt yourself.”
Buck allows a soft smile to tug at his mouth. He doesn’t even register that he is still holding onto Eddie, not really. Eddie, for his part, hasn’t moved either. His grip seems to tighten the longer they stay linked together. He quirks his mouth; his lips part.
“Are you two going to kiss?” Theo asks with all the naive innocence in the world, appearing before them as if summoned by magic.
Ripping himself away from Eddie, Buck almost stumbles backwards into the basketball hoop. His face burns, a white hot sear. What the hell. He needs to put a bell on that kid stat.
I miss when ads were a single click and then they’re gone. Now every ad has a minimum of three phases where you watch a video, exit the still frame of fake gameplay, and then exit the app download. That doesn’t even touch on the ones that forcibly take you to another app after opening a tab in safari without you ever touching the screen.
I hate advertising. I hate that you can’t do anything without companies jumping down your throat with mostly bullshit ads. I hate that billboards exist. I hate that every company unanimously decided to make their ads longer and longer. I hate that ad blockers try to charge you money and there are in app purchases to remove ads. I hate that my attention has become commodified. I hate that there’s nothing I can do about it.
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Yk sometimes I just randomly remember a year ago when some people in the 9-1-1 fandom crashed out about Eddie pointing at Buck a little harshly in an argument and how they called him abusive. It’s just so funny cause they’re my rare wholesome ship I have. Most of my ships are enemies to lovers/enemies and lovers who are trying to kill each other 99.9% of the time.
sudden thought. chris in el paso. angry at his dad. a little angry at buck, too, because he kind of took dad's side by trying to talk chris down. because he hasn't texted chris since he left, in that quiet, patient way that means buck is waiting for chris to decide what he wants to do, but chris doesn't know what he wants to do, and he's sort of mad that buck expects him to figure it out and mad that dad probably hasn't figured it out yet but still has a buck, how is that fair?
and he sulks for a few days and he sneaks away to his mom's favorite lake and on his way back he goes into a convenience store to grab a drink and a shelf of postcards catches his eye. and he remembers, suddenly, the stories buck would tell about a boy on the road and a stack of postcards to someone who was left behind, who he was mad at but still loved very very much.
and buck knows exactly what it means when he opens the mailbox one day and finds the cheesiest EL PASO postcard imaginable inside, scrawled with christopher's handwriting.
'hey buck,' it starts. 'i bet you thought I was still too mad to write this.'
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