#kindnesses

[fastcardotmp3]

hello today i am thinking abt runaways and the line abt bobby. Captain nash could never know what it meant for buck to swear on that heart. its been living in my head for months. just sooo beautiful

being emotionally bombarded by this on a beautiful sunday morning moodboard

they were going to take his heart out of his body and give it away but a woman who Invented Love for him saved him!!!!!!!!! and then he swears on that very same heart-- the one she made sure was all his to swear by-- in order to save!! them!!! both!!!! :(((

also jumping up and down that you brought it up bc i've actually been thinking about this fic a lot since the s9 new mexico arc began like.... there is something about clone!buck potentially being mistaken for someone else and snatched off the street to fill that role after he already escaped a life trapped in a hospital room for someone else's gain that is making the brain worms wriggle...... god..... by the end of runaways buck is still not fully At Peace with where he comes from and everything that's been done to him and this new trauma being a way to crack him open and force him to look at all of it head-on for likely the first time is so delicious to me i need to beat him up some more 😔

imagine it either way, too, i mean 1) buck is mistaken for someone he doesn't even resemble all that closely but it still stings in that particular way and it still makes him wonder at the person he was created from in ways he has not allowed himself to or 2) buck is taken because perhaps there actually are other copies of him out there and he really does share derek's face and the subsequent horror of realizing that there are others like him and it doesn't matter how much of a life he builds for himself, he will always be a copy of them in return

anyways you weren't asking for any of this but that's the risk you take when you mention sci fi au to me waugh... kissing you mwah 💜

[jitterfidget]

Hey jitterfidget,👋 how’s your day been dude? What’ve you been up to?

OMG HELLO 👋👋👋👋👋👋

me and my sister beat The Beatles: Rock Band in less than 24 hours today !!!! then we watched The Fifth Element. we also had tiny pizza and tiny sandwich for dinner. what a good day today. I’m so jolly omg.

what about you?????? 🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵

[elodieunderglass]

Hey there, I read your first chapter of Moby Dick in modern idiom and I’ve been thinking about it pushing it at people for days. IN THEORY, have you considered writing the whole thing? They said, knowing full well the awful project they were proposing.

In reference to the Moby Dick post: https://www.tumblr.com/elodieunderglass/761181987124969473

CHAPTER 1. Loomings. Call me Ishmael. Some years ago - it's none of your business how many - being mostly broke, and bored with the land pa

You’re so kind to ask, and I couldn’t be more flattered by the question. I’ve answered the question recently here: https://www.tumblr.com/elodieunderglass/761216179802161152/do-you-have-more-moby-dick-modern-translation

Boils down to:

After a banger of a first chapter that really sets Ishmael up as an energetic and unusual literary character, Moby Dick goes on to have some tricky pieces, involving things like unsavoury racial stereotypes from Ishmael POV, which don’t feel right to playfully translate into insufferable modern idiom, even for educational purposes; and I’d hate to put my name to it on the piss-on-the-poor website, because a) unsavoury and b) not an expert and wouldn’t want to be fighting on so many fronts of “well actually”.

I’m a moderately quick-witted biologist who is broken enough to want to be perceived as “funny,” so likes regularly being told they’re funny on Tumblr; I’m eminently not an experienced 1800s historical fiction academic who passionately wants to communicate nuanced racial and political analysis to a thoughtful public. And again, it would probably involve so many people going “well actually” at me, pointing out how I’m not an experienced 1800s historical fiction academic qualified to properly interpret a problematic work etc. And, knowing myself, I’d probably start biting people in the notes.

And there are two immediate chapters about an interminable church sermon that I think are stupid and would skip. I don’t feel I’d like to tackle this for fun. It’s homework-coded and I’m not being paid or graded or trained in any way so my brain goes “humph” and picks daisies instead.

So I’ve considered it and I’m grateful to be asked! and I will definitely tell you if I ever do it! But for now it’s low down on the list, after finishing some commissions, a big fanfic that currently makes me very sad, and apparently writing my own story about weasels.

And of course I don’t own the work, so if anyone else wants to tackle it I’d be delighted to signal-boost and so on.

[an-experienced-gentleman]

Your kindnesses fall down like rain.

Six Sexy Words

[parastitch]

Do you know the etiology of the word kind? It is no different than saying this kind or that. It literally means "the same" . Back when the word came about, to be kind was to treat somebody as family. When a stranger was traveling having a bed of dry straw to lay on, and a warm meal was a blessing of unequivocal value.

When we are kind to people we are literally telling them they are like us, and we are like them. When we are kind we treat people like family.

That is the meaning of the word

[whilereadingandwalking]

“We cannot tell the precise moment when friendship is formed. As in filling a vessel drop by drop, there is at last a drop which makes it run over; so in a series of kindnesses there is at last one which makes the heart run over.” —Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

[lunchboxpoems]

SMALL KINDNESSES

I’ve been thinking about the way, when you walk down a crowded aisle, people pull in their legs to let you by. Or how strangers still say “bless you” when someone sneezes, a leftover from the Bubonic plague. “Don’t die,” we are saying. And sometimes, when you spill lemons from your grocery bag, someone else will help you pick them up. Mostly, we don’t want to harm each other. We want to be handed our cup of coffee hot, and to say thank you to the person handing it. To smile at them and for them to smile back. For the waitress to call us honey when she sets down the bowl of clam chowder, and for the driver in the red pick-up truck to let us pass. We have so little of each other, now. So far from tribe and fire. Only these brief moments of exchange. What if they are the true dwelling of the holy, these fleeting temples we make together when we say, “Here, have my seat,” “Go ahead—you first,” “I like your hat.” DANUSHA LAMERIS