in the nicest way possible, overwatch players would be so much happier if they didnt value their qp fun time like it was serious. people goofing in ur qp game isnt hurting you guys at all. please breathe fresh air once a week.
It makes me sad that he’s been ringing the alarm of climate disaster for decades and everyone is just like ‘aw what a sweet old national treasure’ and ignoring him
people’s memories are so bad they can’t even remember the time before the trans culture war. literally no one cared. republicans didnt care. it wasn’t a concern until they had to make something up to make you angry and stupid. we have hard proof that it’s a hoax but no one cares
@percystarzzz some men i know cannot shit in public but the crossover between that metric and homophic/deeply closeted men will be a small niche i imagine
my son: father, is it true that you were a soldier?
me: yes, son. i was a knight, once. in the king's army
son: did you have to hurt people?
me: ...yes, i did
son: i want to be a knight! i'll kill all the evil orks!
me: *thinking of my son gorgutz* not all of them are evil, son
oog watching mama wash koom at river.
koom HATING it. screaming. thrashing. you would think mama drowning him not washing him.
koom: "COLD. MAMA. COOOOLD."
mama: "koom if you HOLD STILL it be over faster."
koom: not holding still. opposite of still. inventing new direction to thrash in.
mama grab koom. firm. one hand on belly one hand scrubbing. koom wiggling like fish on land.
then mama start humming.
old song. one mama sing since oog was the one thrashing in river. oog remember it in bone not in brain.
koom slow down. still whimpering. but slower.
hum get lower. softer. mama hand softer too. washing become something else now. not cleaning. some kind of old language between mother and child that don't use word.
koom stop fighting. go limp. let mama hold him in shallow water. looking up at sky.
mama look down at koom. and oog see it on mama face. the look. the one she don't know she make. like she seeing every version of koom at once. the baby. the boy. the man he going to be. and she trying to hold all of them in this one moment in cold river with her old song.
oog sitting on bank. chest heavy.
because oog remember being held in river like that. small enough to stop fighting. small enough to let the hum win.
oog too big now. nobody going to hold oog in river. nobody going to hum oog into stillness.
but that okay. that the deal. you get held until you big enough to hold. then you hold. and the hum live inside you. and one day you use it on someone too small to know what they receiving.
cycle. old and unbreakable. river to river to river.
love, oog
mama cutting oog hair with sharp stone.
oog: "mama, shorter on side."
mama: "mama KNOW. sit still."
oog sit still. mama hand on oog head. tilting. turning. precise.
oog close eyes.
strange thing happen. oog is big now. almost man. hunt. carry. provide. but mama hand on head and suddenly oog is four again. small. safe. the whole world is just mama hand and the sound of stone against hair.
mama: "done. look."
oog look in river reflection. fine. good.
but that not the part oog will remember.
oog will remember the hand. how it hold oog head like it still the most important thing mama ever made. how mama tilt oog chin like she adjusting something precious. not hair. the whole boy.
you can be big enough to carry a cave on your back and still be small enough to need your mama hand on your head.
those two things live in same body. and that okay.
love, oog