oftentimes two guys who want to fuck each other not fucking each other is hotter than if they fucked each other

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oftentimes two guys who want to fuck each other not fucking each other is hotter than if they fucked each other
I love a good HFY / Humans Are Space Orks post, and I think one element of Humans we’re sleeping on is an instinctual understanding of ballistics.
I mean, I get why it’s not as popular here on Tumblr dot com, given it’s kinda a jock/military adjacent thing, but like. Our ability to just. Pick up a small, firm object, judge its internal inertia and mass by holding it for a bit, and then flinging it with the kind of accuracy and speed Humans are capable of is.
Like there’s another post about how Humans in an alien zoo would probably be breaking out constantly, since we consider escape rooms to be a fun courtship ritual, but
imagine the aliens who are designing the enclosures just so happen to pick up, say, a devoted amateur baseball pitcher. Not even a legend by any means, just somebody who’s practiced with intention. And one day they’re watching her pass some time and blow off some steam by doing some pitching practice and they realize to their mounting horror that this gal can turn literally anything she can wrap her digits around into a ballistic weapon.
fun fact humans can throw as hard and fast as an adult chimp, as preteens. chimps can mop the floor with any given soldier in agility and destructive force, but their shoulders just aren't right for throwing things, so they can't use their strength effectively for propulsion. humans have funky shaped shoulder blades that let us retain the flexibility of a socket joint while also, at need, locking the arm into the core stability of a bipedal torso. good pitchers throw with their entire bodies, one fluid whip from thigh to hip to shoulder and out through the arm, maximum leverage, and all other primates just can't lock together right for that perfect twisting lash, and rely on the gravitational assistance of 'being up a tree' to hurl a projectile. humans get to briefly turn into their own trees.
I just laughed for one year watching this. The casual walk-off is just deadly.
The really unfortunate thing about mental health progress is that sometimes you realize you've made it in the form of "wow, I haven't felt this bad in a fucking while"
On the one hand it's a bit of a pick me up in a dark place to know that this will pass because it has passed before on the other hand sometimes it isn't entirely a pleasant thought to go "wow, I used to feel like this all the time. That was pretty fucking bad. It's pretty bad right now too also."
Someday your current baseline will be the sort of thing you consider A Really Bad Day. It does get better.
if you don't do anything else today,
Please have a moment of silence for the people who were killed instead of freed when news of emancipation finally reached the furthest corners of the american south.
have another moment for the ledgers, catalogs, and records that were burned and the homes that were destroyed to hide the presence of very much alive and still enslaved people on dozens of plantations and homesteads across the south for decades after emancipation.
and have a third moment for those who were hunted and killed while fleeing the south to find safety across the border, overseas, in the north and to the west.
black people. light a candle, write a note to those who have passed telling them what you have achieved in spite of the racist and intolerant conditions of this world, feel the warmth of the flame under your hand, say a prayer of rememberance if you are religious, place the note under the candle, and then blow it out.
if you have children, sit them down and tell them anything you know about the life of oldest black person you've ever met. it doesn't have to be your own family. tell them what you know about what life was like for us in the days, years, decades after emancipation. if you don't know much, look it up and learn about it together.
This is Juneteenth.
white people CAN interact with this post. share it, spread it.
im going to come out and say it: isolating is a self-destructive behavior. it might not be as obvious and immediately self-destructive as say, impulsive spending, drug use or risky behaviors, but it gradually decays relationships and can deepen your mental health issues. often, our impulse is to retreat from others and responsibilities for “self care” or to “work on ourselves” and obviously sometimes we need mental health breaks, but there’s a line you cross from “taking a break” to full on neglecting your relationships with others and your social needs that can be incredibly damaging to yourself and others over time
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extremely funny to me that Kermit the Frog is the only main overlap character between Sesame Street and The Muppets. imagine your day job is hanging out in a community of lovely people that genuinely just want to help kids learn and care about everyone so so much and then your night job is the reason that you have to stay up to date on your rabies AND tetanus vaccine
at noon the giant you're hanging out with is Big Bird! a wonderful fellow who likes reading stories and singing and telling fun facts! at midnight there's a giant named Sweetums who makes you feel like you're being hunted for sport
Ernie, trying to maybe come out to Kermit: well you know Kermit, me and Bert-
Bert: Bert and I
Ernie: Bert and I, we've been best friends forever, but we're also something else too!
Kermit, who every goddamn night has to tell Beaker and Bunsen to keep it professional, deal with Statler and Waldorf's bullshit, AND update his organizational chart on Dr. Teeth and the Electric Polycule: that's really great to hear fellas, happy for you two! :)
Grover, alarmed at having spilled some finger paint on Kermit's flipper: I am so sorry, Kermit. Please forgive me.
Kermit, who deals with a multitude of bodily fluids on his person and all over the theatre every evening, who is unintentionally trampled by large monsters as they exit the stage, and quite intentionally has his little froggy bones launched into a wall most nights by Miss Piggy: It's ok, Grover. I'm a frog. I love baths.
On Sesame Street: Oh, no, Telly is watching too much television!
The Muppet Show Theater, that night: Gonzo attempts to explain his latest fetish at length.
I'm in a little local cafe and the women behind the counter started griping to each other, "Oh Christ, Stephen's back again," "It's him, is it? I thought he'd stopped coming," "It's definitely him, look, it's bloody Stephen on a Thursday morning," "Do you want me to get rid of him or are you going to do it?" and so I was peering outside, trying to spot this nightmare customer, this pestilence of a person, this pox upon the cafe trade, and then one of the women from behind the counter ran outside, clapping two trays together loudly and yelling "GET OUT OF IT, STEPHEN!" and it turns out that Stephen is an absolutely gigantic fuck-off seagull who hangs around outside, menacing people for crumbs
One of my biggest literary pet peeves is when historical or history-inspired fiction pretends that "courting" is a synonym for "dating". Usually it's just a one-to-one word swap--in a modern context, these characters would be dating, but this is olden times, so they call it courting instead. Sometimes they'll pretend there's a shade of difference, and that courting is a more serious exploration of marriage or something. But I read a lot of fiction that was actually written during these historical eras, and the word "courting" is never used like that.
Two people do not decide that they are "courting". One person decides to "court" someone else. It's an action, not a stage in the relationship. A man decides to court a woman because he wants to encourage her to have romantic interest in him. He's trying to win her favor. It's not an exclusive relationship--a woman could be courted by multiple men at once. She'll spend time getting to know the guy who's interested in her, but they won't officially define their relationship as one where they only show romantic interest in each other. If they reach a point where they want it to be exclusive, that's when you propose.
There's no middle ground--either you're getting to know each other, or you're committed to marrying each other. This idea of a period where you kind of commit to each other until you decide you definitely want to get married is a modern one, and it occurs in eras where they use the word "dating" to describe it. The closest equivalent I can think of are times and places where they'd talk about a couple "stepping out together", but they're still not calling it "courting". Words have meaning, and the word "courting" has never meant that, so stop using it that way!
the other mild historical disjoint i run into is when people talk about dating in the fifties like it automatically meant exclusivity. the whole reason we have the expression "going steady" is because the default was to or "go around with" or "go out with" multiple people. not in the sense of being in a stable polyamorous vee, but in the sense that archie is actively "seeing" both betty and veronica during the entire time the two girls are competing for his attention and they're both seeing other guys to make him jealous, and nobody involved considers this "cheating."
bizarrely, America has in many ways gotten more conservative about dating since World War II.
I ran into a truly wild cultural misunderstanding with my father some years ago, when I had to explain to him what “hookup culture” actually was, and that the thing he assumed it was was actually what we call “cruising culture”. His response was “how is that different from dating?” and when I explained how it was different, he said, and please note that this a direct quote: “That’s ridiculous! You can’t expect a woman to stop fooling around with other guys for anything less than a marriage proposal. I mean, she’s not a prostitute, you can’t buy her.” Now obviously there’s like… a lot to unpack there, but I think it’s pretty darn illustrative of a substantive cultural shift around the assumption of monogamy!
Also, following this, I asked my mom what her thoughts were on the matter, and she said that while she “wouldn’t put it in those terms” she broadly agreed, and thought that anyone expecting any sort of exclusivity when a marriage proposal wasn’t at least on the very immanent horizon was “nuts, honestly.” I hesitantly asked if she was including relationships with premarital sexual activity in that, and her response was “Of course. I mean, gosh, you know your Aunt Terri used to have a guy for every day of the week before she finally settled down.”
And this was when I learned, to my shock, that the oft-repeated story of how “Aunt Terri used to have a guy for every day of the week” didn’t just mean “Aunt Terri had a full dance card” but rather meant that Aunt Terri had a period of her life where she literally dated exactly seven guys at once, all of whom she was sleeping with (or, my mom was quick to disclaim, “well, fooling around with, I don’t know how far she actually went with any of them, but they were definitely all fooling around behind closed doors”), on a literal weekly rotation. Like, they had a schedule. A schedule that all seven of the guys knew.
America has gotten a lot more conservative about dating, actually.
Every now and then I think about one of the ER visits I had for a migraine attack that was so severe my hip dislocated from the force of my convulsive vomiting, and I had to hold my head up with my hands because shortly after that my collarbone popped out and subluxated my neck, so I couldn’t lift my head up without help. All while in excruciating, radiating pain and continuing to throw up uncontrollably.
I had two nurses in that room with me that night, one who thought I was lying about my hip dislocation and thought I was being difficult on purpose until she actively saw my neck subluxate, and then she turned white as a ghost and ran to fill my script.
And the other who helped me up onto the bed out of the wheelchair, all but carrying my full weight as he murmured over and over again, “it’s okay, you’re okay, we’re going to help you, you don’t need to be sorry” as I kept apologizing for being difficult.
I’m sure I was one of many, many people he saw that night. He looked exhausted. But he still chose kindness. I think about him a lot. I hope he knows it made a difference.
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