Spicy Six Textposts 1/???
For @strangersteddierthings 💜
~
“Dude, are you and Harrington dating?”
Eddie jolts and looks up at Jeff, his best friend looking at him up and down, causing him to look at himself. There’s nothing different he’s wearing, it’s his usual ripped jeans and a Metallica shirt his jacket was thrown on a random chair earlier.
He looks back up at Jeff, “why exactly are you asking?”
Jeff shrugs, “You guys just seem really close lately”
That doesn’t say much, at least not enough for him to figure out what dots Jeff decided to connect.
Even if he does want to be dating Steve.
a waste of paint
“Just do your middle finger, Stevie, it’ll be, like, punk rock.”
“Right, because he is a beacon to anarchists all over the state of Indiana.” Max rolls her eyes, but Eddie is already tossing a tiny bottle to Steve. He tosses it back without looking at it.
“You’re being a real spoilsport.” Eddie tsks at him and walks on his knees to sit at Steve’s feet. After a brief tug of war, he’s got Steve’s left hand secured and is using his teeth to unscrew the top of the bottle.
“Waste of paint, man. I’m just gonna scrub it off.”
Eddie frowns at him smally, a tug down at the corners like he’s Thinking, like maybe he’s gonna shuffle back over to the girls, and Steve changes his mind with a sigh and shoves his hand closer to Eddie.
El and Max are still over near the coffee table. Max is painting something rich and blue onto El’s fingertips and they’re chatting casually. Steve thinks it’s important they have this, something a little normal. El’s hair has grown out some since spring break, enough that she’s clipped a piece of bright plastic into it to keep it from falling across her face. She gets these headaches sometimes, and Max has glasses to help with her vision and a walking cast still on her left leg, but they’re here and they’re okay and they’re painting their nails.
By the time he looks back down at Eddie, he’s finished a layer of golden yellow paint and his lips are pursed to blow gently across it. He looks up at him through his lashes and catches Steve looking back and smiles, and every part of Steve’s body is like electric-shock levels of tense.
And look, that’s normal , at least lately, at least for Steve. Normal to have to pull your eyes away from your pal, then look back as he starts painting again, the tip of his tongue poking at the corner of his lips just so in concentration.
Young Frankenstein (1974) dir. Mel Brooks
a little more information regarding the maui wildfires:
- medical workers on the ground are describing finding hundreds of bodies. the current death toll in the media is, unfortunately, only a fraction of the reality
- hospital workers are describing injuries and trauma as if survivors had come out of a warzone
- thousands are still missing
- an apartment complex for the elderly was lost. not everyone could get out. people were saying goodbye to loved ones over the phone
- people who did get out of lahaina were leaving with ashes covering their faces and nothing but the clothes on their backs. people are losing everything.
hotels are still operating. hotels are still operating. they are not the ones offering shelters or housing or food. even bowling alleys are offering shelter, but hotels have the audacity to build on burial sites but not open their doors to local families who have lost everything.
donate to maui united way, the maui food bank, mutual aid, and maui humane society
Whole 10 seasons show with these two as main characters, please!
Whole 10 seasons show with these two as main characters, please!
if you 'grounded' an adult that would be considered 'false imprisonment' and also a crime
You keep up that tone and it will be no tv for a week
In 1990, the high school dropout rate for Dolly Parton's hometown of Sevierville Tennessee was at 34% (Research shows that most kids make up their minds in fifth/sixth grade not to graduate). That year, all fifth and sixth graders from Sevierville were invited by Parton to attend an assembly at Dollywood. They were asked to pick a buddy, and if both students completed high school, Dolly Parton would personally hand them each a $500 check on their graduation day. As a result, the dropout rate for those classes fell to 6%, and has generally retained that average to this day.
Shortly after the success of The Buddy Program, Parton learned in dealing with teachers from the school district that problems in education often begin during first grade when kids are at different developmental levels. That year The Dollywood Foundation paid the salaries for additional teachers assistants in every first grade class for the next 2 years, under the agreement that if the program worked, the school system would effectively adopt and fund the program after the trial period.
During the same period, Parton founded the Imagination Library in 1995: The idea being that children from her rural hometown and low-income families often start school at a disadvantage and as a result, will be unfairly compared to their peers for the rest of their lives, effectively encouraging them not to pursue higher education. The objective of the Imagination library was that every child in Sevier County would receive one book, every month, mailed and addressed to the child, from the day they were born until the day they started kindergarten, 100% free of charge. What began as a hometown initiative now serves children in all 50 states, Australia, Canada, and the United Kingdom, mailing thousands of free books to children around the world monthly.
On March 1, 2018 Parton donated her 100 millionth book at the Library of Congress: a copy of "Coat of Many Colors" dedicated to her father, who never learned to read or write.
Everything I learnt about Dolly Parton was against my will and it was an absolute delight every single time
i want to thank the 1920s-1930s third wheel who saw their two friends lying in bed together in their underwear and stocking garters reading a book with their legs wrapped around each other and said "i am going to take a photograph of this"
i hope wherever they are now that everyone involved in the taking of this photograph knows how much joy it is bringing me 80-100 years later
Never before published images of men in love between 1850 and 1950 by Dee Swan, Hugh Nini andNeal Treadwell (Washington Post)
Reblogging this again because please, please click the link and look at the other photos but more importantly read the words written by the owners of the collection because it’s so touching and heart-warming
they're behind a paywall so:
The Princess Diaries 2: Royal Engagement (2004) dir. Garry Marshall
Is it all right to hit a Nazi unprovoked?
also, not to detract from the point
but nazi rhetoric is in itself violence
it is not unprovoked, it is defensive
because nazi rhetoric is inherently violent.
punch a nazi. they’re telling people to do worse to you.
anarchistmemecollective
also deplatforming works
Just because one of your chicken eggs hatched a fire breathing dragon people think you’re evil. But you’re still just a regular farmer trying to make a living while dealing with an overprotective dragon, heroes that want to kill you and fanatics who want to worship you as the new Demon Lord.
The thing you need to know about all of this, the thing that got me into all this trouble in the first place, is that chickens will sit on anything when they get broody enough. Anything. Duck eggs, goose eggs, turkey eggs, lizard eggs, egg shaped rocks, anything. Chickens aren’t smart. If it looks vaguely like an egg, they’ll plant their feathery arses on it and wait.
I noticed that there was a bigger egg under one of the broody chickens, when I checked. Of course I noticed, it was twice the size of the others. But I have geese. I figured it was a goose egg she’d found and stolen. It was about the right size, and I didn’t take it out to check the colour because that particular chicken gets very protective of her eggs. I’ve already got a scar on one hand from trying to get eggs away from her. I didn’t want a matched set.
That was a decision I regretted the moment I went out to feed the chickens and found a little blue-and-silver dragonet’s head poking out from under a very confused-looking chicken. The poor thing kept shifting around and looking under herself in a bewildered way, like she didn’t know what to do next. This particular chicken is a good mother, and she’s raised clutches of ducks and geese without any trouble – she’s even resigned to some of her children swimming – but this was too much. She didn’t object when I carefully reached in and fished out the little dragon.
It was so tiny, then. It fitted in my hand, with its little head peeking out one side and its tail looping around my wrist. Cute, too, with its big eyes and little snout turned up towards me.
That was when I made my second mistake. I decided to feed it before releasing it. Dragons are innately wild creatures, everyone knows that. They can’t be tamed. People have tried. The eggs are abandoned as soon as they are laid, and the dragonets hatch able to hunt, so they don’t even bond with their mothers. So just feeding it a little shouldn’t have been a big deal. It should have gobbled the meat and fled as soon as I loosened my grip on it and it saw the open sky.
It didn’t. As soon as I’d fed it, it fluttered up to a sunny window ledge and went to sleep. I went about my work, figuring that it’d leave in its own time.
By noon, it was sitting on my boot, squeaking pathetically. I wondered if maybe it was confused by the farmyard – they usually hatch in mountains, if the stories are right – so I took it back to the farmhouse with me and fed it again when I ate, then took some time away from the fences I should have been mending to walk it up to the hills. I found it some nice rocks, with plenty of lizards and beetles and suitable prey for something that size. It pounced on a beetle almost as soon as I put it down, and when I left it was crunching happily.
I hadn’t walked a quarter of the way back before something hit the back of my boot. The little dragon was holding on with all four claws, and when I looked down it squeaked pathetically. If possible, its eyes got even rounder.
Listen, you don’t make it as a farmer if you just let orphaned baby animals die. We hand-raise calves and lambs and ponies, set chickens to sit on abandoned eggs, or put them under the kitchen stove or by a fireplace. You don’t make a success of farming if you don’t value every animal. A good shepherd will spend all night looking for one lost sheep. So despite what was said later, it wasn’t just sentiment that made me sigh and pick up the little thing and carry it back to the farm. I am a good farmer. I don’t let orphaned babies die just because they’re a little work.
"White supremacy is still America's greatest sin and its deepest delusion." - Danté Stewart
Source: instagram.com
The aliens are gonna be so confused when humans first board their ships and start doing this, and by GOD I hope at least one of them is going to have a camera when it happens.
Fantasy RPG Races as Dogs
Human:
Elf:
Dwarf:
Halfling:
Half Orc:
This is the best description of the fantasy races I’ve ever seen. Let me add some more!
Half-Elf:
Tiefling:
Gnome:
Dragonborn: