Per their therapists, they both needed to get a hobby. Jack's therapist had said that he needed one to replace the TEMs shifts, and Robby's therapist had said he just needed hobbies, plain and simple.
"I have hobbies," Robby whined, flopping back on Jack's couch with all the dramatics the situation deserved. "I hike and I watch sports with you. Those are hobbies! One's even an outside hobby. Why do I need more?"
"It's bullshit," Jack agreed, handing him a beer. "One's social, one's active. I made the same argument to my therapist and he just said that I needed a hobby with less gunfire and mortal peril."
"Can I just quit therapy?" Robby asked, settling further into Jack's side. "I gave it a fair go, but it's obviously not working out."
And okay, Jack wasn't about to let that happen. It was time to bring out the big guns. "We could do it together. That way we both get a good grade in therapy."
"Et tu, Brute?" Robby put a hand to his heart, shocked by this great betrayal. "I thought you at least would be on my side."
"I am on your side. And my side. If we both have to be miserable, we might as well be miserable together." Jack's logic was sound. And if he got to spend even more time with Robby... well, it was justified. It was therapist-mandated, in fact.
And that was how, one week later, they ended up at a rock climbing gym.
Jack was not a stupid man. He had prepared: he read the website, read every line of the waiver, and got a doctors note. (If the note was signed by one M. Robinavitch M.D., that was between him and his doctor.) So he was quite annoyed when the teenager at the front desk took one look at his prosthesis and said "Sorry, man. I can't let you climb; it's a liability."
"I have a doctor's note," he pointed out, handing it over. When that didn't work- "I signed the waiver."
"I get that, but that waiver wouldn't hold up in court."
Jack's eye twitched.
Robby had to shuffle them out of there real quick before steam started coming out of his ears. He had a whole rant scripted and everything. So rock climbing was a bust.
Jack's next big idea was a baking class. He knew how to cook and he liked to eat baked goods; surely, this was going to be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
It was not. Half-way through their first class, Jack forgot about the whipping cream he had going in the mixer and by the time he remembered it, it had transformed into extremely sweet butter. Robby, with his perfect whipped cream, had taken one look at the contents of Jack's mixing bowl and started to laugh.
Jack wasn't about to take that lying down, so he reached into his bowl, scooped out the butter, and smashed some into Robby's face with all the passion of a groom who found out that his new wife had cheated with a groomsman minutes before the cake cutting.
Robby let out a noise that could only be described as a squawk and immediately moved to retaliate: he stole some of Jack's butter and rallied his own attack. By the time the teacher got to them, all hell had broken loose. At some point, Robby had decided to sacrifice his own whipped cream to the cause, and the talent disparity within their creations was very apparent in the sheer amount of beautifully fluffy whipped topping in Jack's hair.
Outside of the baking studio, Jack received the teacher's ire with a battle-honed stoicism, while Robby was trembling with the force of his suppressed laughter. Jack agreed that yes, it would be for the best if they never returned, absolutely, he would pay extra for the cleaner, and yes, they understood why their actions were unacceptable. Next to him, Robby was turning a delightful shade of puce from how much effort he was putting into his appropriately contrite expression.
The second she walked away, they both burst into great, gasping laughter, bent over at the waist.
"Hey," Robby said, when they had both (mostly) gotten it under control. "You have a little..." With that, he pounced, really rubbing the whipped cream into Jack's curls.
Jack responded in kind, scooping the butter from Robby's shirt and smearing it over as much of his face as he could manage while they both tried to knock the other's hands away. This scuffle in the streets lasted until the curious glances of the onlookers turned into increasingly concerned stares. Without a word, they decided to beat a swift retreat.
Okay, baking was a no-go. They decided to try pottery next.
Pottery didn't turn out because Robby had set the speed on the wheel too high, sending his vase flying. When Jack doubled over in laughter, he accidentally smashed his vase in turn.
Next, Jack signed them up for craft club at the library. He pictured a knitting group, run by sweet old ladies. Instead, they were doing tie-die.
"I feel like I'm at summer camp," Jack grumbled, dunking his shirt.
"Maybe it's all the 8-year-olds around," Robby quipped.
That got Jack's attention. With an increasing sense of horror, he looked around the room and realized that it was all 8-year-olds. They were the oldest people in the group, by a margin of 40 years.
"The website said all ages!" He defended.
"All ages of kid, probably."
Deciding it would be more weird if they left, they kept their heads down and dyed their ties. Of course Jack's shirt looked like someone had taken a bad acid trip in a downpour, while Robby's looked incredible. It was beautifully done: the colors a perfect compliment, the pattern flawless. It practically looked professional.
And because Robby was an asshole who loved to rub his triumphs in Jack's face, he wore it constantly.
Next up, they decided to try card night at a game shop. Except when they walked in, it became immediately apparent that they were thinking of the wrong kind of cards.
Jack thought it might be a fun poker night, maybe they'd learn to play gin rummy or canasta or something. Instead, the room was filled with what seemed to be a deeply tense game of Magic: the Gathering.
"You know," Jack said, trying to save it. "I played Dungeons and Dragons in college. It was pretty fun."
"If you're honestly about to suggest that I play a roleplaying game, I will kill you." Robby huffed.
"No roleplay?" Jack let out a heartbroken sigh. "I guess you'll never get to see me as a flight attendant, then."
Robby smacked the back of his head.
Robby picked the next hobby because obviously, Jack could not be trusted. He found a crochet class for beginners held at a local yarn shop. It was everything Jack had thought craft club would be, with a reassuring lack of children.
Jack thought crochet wouldn't be too bad- after all, everyone said how easy it was. It was not easy. Not at all.
He looked on in open hostility when Robby turned out perfect granny square after perfect granny square, while Jack's creation looked less like a granny square and more like someone had tried to make a doily in a pitch-black room, using only their thumbs, after having the concept described to them.
Robby had a masterpiece. Jack had a tangle of yarn with aspirations.
Of course, the instructor just had to rub it in.
"These are amazing!" She exclaimed, looking over Robby's work. "You've never crocheted before?"
"Never!" He grinned, the absolute suck-up. "It's not that hard."
Jack knew a pointed jab when he heard one. He stuck his tongue out at Robby behind her back.
"You must have magic fingers," she said before moving on, causing Jack to laugh so hard he stabbed himself with his crochet hook.
"Oooh, Dr. Robinavitch, can I get a demonstration of your magic fingers?" He purred, batting his eyelashes.
"I'm going to shove my magic fingers up your ass," Robby threatened.
Jack would love that, actually. "Don't threaten me with a good time," he quipped.
Robby flipped him off.
Jack was never going to let him live that down. Found an airway when everyone wanted to intubate? "Look at those magic fingers go." Dropped something? "Magic fingers not working too well, huh?" During a tense procedure, he just muttered, "Magic," while wiggling his fingers back and forth.
None of their coworkers asked. It was just another one of the many esoteric jokes the two of them shared.
Their next outing was to a Paint and Sip class at a cafe. There was going to be alcohol and Robby had promised him it was going to be easy- that they were aimed towards beginners and all you had to do was follow the instructor.
Jack was great at following orders- after all, he had been in the military for seven years. However. It seemed he was not good at painting.
"How are you this bad at everything?" Robby snickered, taking in Jack's canvas. "You're one of the best doctors I know."
"One of?" Jack asked, already offended.
"After myself, of course."
Jack glared at him and before Robby could react, he leant over and painted big red slashes all over Robby's canvas.
Suffice to say, they got kicked out of Paint and Sip too.
On the way home, Jack threw his painting in the first trash can he came across, but Robby hung his up in a place of pride on his living room wall. He was such a fucking asshole.
Deciding that Jack needed a win, Robby let him pick the next activity.
"We should try fencing," Jack declared at hand-off.
"I am not spending my precious spare time rebuilding your fence." Robby was already exhausted from the all the hobby-finding, he wasn't going to give Jack free labor on top of it.
"No, like with swords," he explained, miming stabbing Robby in the stomach. "Legally approved violence. Haven't you ever wanted to stab me?"
"Only every day for the past 30 years," Robby grumbled. He was not a sporty man. However, he did feel a little bad for all the misadventures recently, so he agreed- albeit, with much complaining.
It turned out, they don't just give you foils- not swords- when you walk through the door. You have to earn your foil by learning footwork first. Robby should have realized that telling Jack, the most competitive person he had ever met, that you needed to prove your worth would spell disaster.
Jack became obsessed; he was going to get his foil come hell or high water, and he was going to drag Robby along with him. They spent weeks doing the same drills over and over, doing lunges until Robby's thighs ached, but it was almost worth it for the way Jack's face lit up when the instructor handed them their practice blades.
Almost, because now, instead of watching a nice football game in their downtime, Jack made him stand in the backyard in 90 degree heat wearing their heavy fucking fencing jackets, practicing. Robby regretted ever meeting him, ever going to therapy, ever being born.
Eventually, they got their electric foils and electric vests and were set loose in the class to actually fight. If Robby thought that maybe he would get a break now that Jack had other kids to play with, he was dead wrong. Jack wanted to win.
Twice a week, they attended lessons for an hour, followed by another hour of matches, where Robby sweated buckets in his stupid jacket and stupid mask and got stupid bruises all over his thighs from blows that glanced off of his chest.
Jack however, was thriving. It was unfair, actually, how good Jack looked in his get-up; he even insisted on buying fencing knickers, to Robby's great consternation. The first time he saw Jack in his stupid breeches with the suspenders, he had to do a deep breathing exercise lest he pop a boner in the middle of class.
While Robby looked like a steamed lobster post-bout, Jack looked like he had just climbed out of a magazine. Soaked in sweat, curls a little smushed from the mask, he was still the most beautiful thing Robby had ever seen. Torture. It was sheer, utter torture.
The torture was somehow worth it for the way Jack crowed with delight the first time he won a bout and then immediately came over to ruffle Robby's hair.
"Do you want to get a beer after this?" Jack asked as they left the fencing studio. Thankfully, he had taken the suspenders off of his shoulders, though they still looked unfairly good, hanging around his thighs.
"We smell disgusting," Robby pointed out. Fencing was not like going to the gym, you really sweated an obscene amount in those jackets. "We'd likely get kicked out of any bar right now."
"We wouldn't get kicked out of Danny's," Jack wheedled, bumping his bag against Robby's.
Robby shuddered. "You are not dragging me to that health hazard disguised as a bar. Pretty sure I got typhus last time you took me there."
"Okay," Jack dragged the word out. "Then we could go to my house."
That sounded much more appealing. "I'll need to shower when we get there," Robby said. He really was disgusting.
"Wanna share?" Jack asked casually, not even breaking his stride.
"I- uh- well, yes?" Robby stuttered. Not his most eloquent moment, but it wasn't every day your best friend of 30 years asked you to shower with him.
He waited for Jack to take it back, to say that he had just been kidding and of course, he would never actually want to shower with Robby, but he didn't. Instead, Jack slung his arm around Robby's waist and kissed his shoulder.
Okay, maybe- just maybe- their therapists had the right idea about this whole hobby business.
Male loneliness this, male loneliness that. Have they tried lobotomies? Tranquilizers? Being fingered by medical professionals? Tearing the yellow wallpaper off the walls of the attic room where your husband keeps you locked up?
Republicans destroying our national parks as they let the White House be molested is what happens when rape culture and white supremacy are your core principles.
So Sweden used to give random citizens control over the official @Sweden Twitter account for like a day/week/month or whatever. As you can see why, it didn’t last long
what do you mean it didn't last long they did this for like seven years between 2011 and 2018 they didn't stop doing it because someone tweeted about cock sdfgsdfgsdfgsdf they kept doing it for four more years after this
unfortunately i dont think its queerbaiting if the creator is just so terminally heterosexual that they never remotely considered the same gender relationship their show is centered around could be read as romantic. it is deeply painful however.
By definition you can't accidentally queerbait. Queerbaiting is specifically using a same sex pair from the show to market the show to queer audiences with no intention of ever following through on a romantic relationship.
There is officially licensed Destiel merch signed off on by Kripke. Teen Wolf had a commercial with the actors for Derek and Stiles draped over each other talking about being "on a ship." Both shows actively used scenes between them as marketing while actively mocking fans for wanting them together. Sherlock has multiple characters refer to Johnlock as a couple, including characters we're supposed to believe are never wrong about human behavior and pushed those scenes in marketing. Then they acted insulted when fans saw them as a couple.
That's queerbaiting.
Done on accident it would just be queer subtext. Done because they had no other choice due to censorship is queer coding.
The specific meaning of the word is really starting to get lost and it's a pretty important one to keep accurate. It describes a very specific phenomenon that was done repeatedly and maliciously for decades and is meant to examine that specifically.
Doing it on accident sucks, but it isn't a tactic of capitalism intentionally intended to suppress queer representation while making money from queer fans.
saw this on Insta and the idea that people who are anti-AI are just using it anyway like... willing to give it up? I ACTIVELY AVOID THAT SHIT BUD! WHAT ARE YOU EVEN TALKING ABOUT?
ALSO
It's not as if this shit has been around SOOO LONG. We all existed JUST FINE before this shit became THE THING someone decided to shove in our face like...
I just saw 'The Invite' and I can't think of anything I didn't love in this movie. A conversational masterpiece with just 4 exceptionally talented actors who deliver amazing performances, and fucking mind-blowing framing, lighting and colours in a single location throughout the full length of the film?? What's not to love!
i can't find a single post to reblog so i'm just gonna say it: i think that the invite (2026) is the best movie of the year so far and it's so great to experience it in a room full of adults so if you can see it on the big screen please do
i'm never leaving this fucking site i stg i love you all.
OK
final one
for all the marbles,
this one doesn't have an illustration bc i think it was just a kids novel but i haven't been able to find ANYTHING about it on my occasional internet queries:
kids is staying with his (grandmother?) in the woods and she warns him not to look a fox in the eyes bc they're tricksy and will swap places with you. obviously that's the first thing the little boy does and gets body snatched by a fox who uhhhh proceeds to pig out with his new little boy human hands and the boy has to trick the fox into looking him in the eyes again to switch back...
thats all i got, it's an older book i wanna say from the 60's?? 70's?? kinda the same jist of "Little Rascal"
Male loneliness this, male loneliness that. Have they tried lobotomies? Tranquilizers? Being fingered by medical professionals? Tearing the yellow wallpaper off the walls of the attic room where your husband keeps you locked up?
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