STAY SAFE!! [ID: the Gilbert Baker pride flag with the words âHappy pride to all those who are unable to celebrate openly and safely. You are loved and seen!â in all-caps black text over it. /end ID]
(guy who literally has easy access to painkillers voice) ough,,, everything aches,,, ouch, if only,,, there was something i could do to stop this,,,,,, guess ill just put up with it,,,,
(GIRL who literally has easy access to painkillers voice) ough,,, everything aches,,, ouch, if only,,, there was something i could do to stop this,,,,,, guess ill just put up with it,,,,
the tragedy of tumblr is you will inevitably meet people who you should be having a sleepover with. you should be rolling around on their floor and rummaging through their fridge and watching shitty movies with. you should be shopping with should be going out to a cafe with should be wandering through the aquarium with. people who you should be experiencing quotidian joys with... and you cannot! because they live one million miles away
underrated tumblr feature is being able to catch up to yourself on your dash. so there is an END POINT. and you can say âah, I have reached where I left off, there is no more to see! Iâll take my leave now and come back later when there are new posts.â instead of being stuck forever in a bottomless algorithm pit digging deeper and deeper till you have to summon monumental strength to climb out
đˇď¸: finishing shoresy now that I have temporary access to hulu! hereâs some stream-of-consciousness about hitch and the pretty new barmaid at their usual spot, because heâs been occupying my mind the last few days, and he needs a stable relationship in his life to keep him away from the bender this whole team is currently on (take notes from your captain, dude). ~800 words.
he was âyou in the sweaterâ first, referred to with an upward nod while she was somehow pouring two drinks and taking two different peopleâs orders all at once, then ânewfieâ once sheâd heard exactly how thick his dialect was, and finally âhitchâ after sheâd gotten to know him and the bâys.
but tonight, heâs none of those.
âhiya, teddy,â she says softly, already reaching for the bottles she needs to make his signature mar-toonie.
she knows his name. not the abbreviation of his last name that the bigger half of sudbury knows by now, but his actual legal name, and she makes it sound like heaven.
he hasnât had a sip all night, didnât pregame with the bâys or do anything to celebrate their win tonight besides sit with goody and have their post-game âsticks, and heâs already at a loss for words.
but he has other things to focus on right now, namely the way sheâs swaying a little bit as she stands, how sheâs moving slower than normal and not doing her usual bar tricks.
âyâalright, love?â
âmigraine.â
heâs had a concussion or seven before, and knows that being in this kind of place, with the constant bustle and sound of stools scraping back, pool and darts being shot, glasses clinking and drunk idiots yelling over the music thatâs already loud enough, a headache is murder.
and she looks like sheâs gonna keel over any second now.
âthink my nephew and his gross friends got me sick.â
heâs met the aforementioned kids a few times in passing, on days where the U10 practices ended just before the blueberry bulldogsâ started theirs. gross is definitely an apt description. but they idolize him and the bâys. and her.
for all intents and purposes sheâs a stand-in parent, but young and cool enough to occupy a space between mom and sister. of course she let them sleep over on her night off. probably let them stay up late to watch the west-coast nhl games and made pancakes when they woke up at noon the next day, all without complaint.
and now here she is at work, sick as a dog but still made up and dressed in the barmaidâs uniform of a tight-fitting, low-cut shirt and jeans that may have been painted on, because the bar needs her, and because she needs this job to pay for her nephewâs sticks and to keep the lights on at home, and because sheâs not a fucking quitter.
he respects that. but he decides then and there that âgo till you canât go no moreâ does not apply to her.
he still hasnât responded to her remark, but sheâs finished mixing his drink by now, slid the glass across the bartop and is turning around to put the bottles back in their proper place. never one to cut corners, even in a state such as this.
fuck, sheâs shivering.
so he does what any self-respecting, love-sick newfie man worth his salt would, and reaches over his head to pull off his sweater, leaving him in just a plain t-shirt beneath.
sheâs facing forward again, blinking at him as she tries to figure out what the fuck he did that for, in the middle of february in ontario, unprompted and not obviously part of some idiotics encouraged by his friends, who are nowhere nearby and look to be engaged in a passionate conversation about something dumb.
he extends it toward her. âhere.â
more of those sleepy blinks. lard, how does someone with a cold this bad look so cute? is this what sheâd look like after waking up in his bed on a lazy sunday morning?
âyouâre freezinâ,â he prods, and it clicks.
she looks at it for a moment, contemplating.
itâs a really nice sweater. one of those cable-knit ones that fishermen wear, allegedly. he doesnât remember seeing any of those prince edward island guys with one on. they were more hoodie types. practical to the core and too damn nice. it was a little unsettling, actually.
she finally caves, accepting it and slipping her arms through the too-long sleeves, and he watches her realize that the garment is still body-warm â heâd literally taken it off his back to pass it to her across the bartop.
he may be part of natâs affectionately-named gang of sluts, but this innocent gesture is going to take a spot in the top five most intimate things heâs ever done with another human.
âthank you,â she says, in a hoarse whisper that he canât hear over the ruckus of the bar, but he can see the way her lips part around the words, see it in her eyes that heâd just tossed her a lifeline to get her through the next few hours without falling over, and that sheâll be eternally grateful.
âdonât mention it.â
he settles down at the big table with the rest of the team, taking a sip of his first and only drink of the night â he needs to be well and truly sober to drive her home after last call.
Oh, a human being is seeking a social response? Human being, the social animal wired to make and track social connection? A human desires the vital blood that permitted their species to survive for millennia? The human being who was born completely helpless and primed in every way by nature to seek attention and help from their community?
Wow thatâs crazy. How embarrassing. Humiliating even. Should we isolate them from community? Should we call Wire Mother?
As a childhood know-it-all who has grown into the Weird Facts Person. Please know that sharing wonder is my love language. Iâm not trying to âlook smartâ Iâm trying to share the joy and excitement and nothing makes me happier. Tell me your weird niche knowledge back I promise thatâs all I want
Koalas' brains are the size of a walnut and are full of holes; their heads are so large because they have massive amounts of cerebral spinal fluid (CSF) to protect their brain when it bounces around in there when they fall out of trees.
Itâs illegal to shoot Bigfoot in Canada not because Bigfoot exists, but to eliminate legal precident that would absolve hunters from criminal charges in the even of attempted murder!
So you canât defend yourself by saying âbecause I thought he was Bigfootâ because you shouldnât be shooting Bigfoot, either! đ
I know that Heated Rivalry is not ever going to be taken really seriously just because of the source material, but I think, in a time where fascism and homophobia are on the rise everywhere, to have a show with this meteoric of a rise that is unapologetically about queer love and queer sex and queer issues and queer joy shouldnât be left unsaid. Itâs important to have art like this in the times we live in, and the embrace of the show by the general public makes me feel, even slightly, that we may not be as fucked as I often feel like we are.
I like to fuck around and waste time for at least ~6-10 hours per day, and let me tell you, that really puts some pressure on your schedule. you have no idea how busy I am
nathan knows it all. @nathanknowsitall - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
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