Book rant? Anthropology, apes, and racism discussion.
I started reading a book titled "Bonobo Handshake" by Vanessa Woods. I picked it up because a) I want to learn more about bonobos since my knowledge of them is minimal. b) the author had interacted with bonobos in person so it's an interesting perspective to read. c) the book had positive reviews.
I was not expecting the author to start off telling us about the 'discovery' of bonobos in this way.
W-what do you mean, in Belgium? The author makes it clear that bonobos live in Congo and she gives us a few examples of local bonobo lore. Meaning, people in Congo know the bonobos very well. Way to go to give a colonizer the credit??? wtf. In this perspective, she is letting us know THAT was the moment when Bonobos entered western science, which is true. But I was really hoping the author would give it a more holistic view than this, but it seems she really believes in this??? And let me tell you, from what I am picking up between the lines, she ONLY accepts western science. Here is an example:
This is the page that confuses me immensely. I don't know if she is trying to come off as sarcastic or not. She sets out for us that Takayoshi Kano is the star of Bonobo research, but in the next paragraph says there is no one studying Bonobos. "there was never a Jane Goodall or Dian Fossey for bonobos." UHM NO? YOU JUST SAID THERE WAS???
[highlighting and writing over a picture of the page (32) since it's a library book and I can't write on it.]
She says Japanese researchers are responsible for all we know on Bonobos, but then starts talking about de Waal's zoo discoveries in detail, and they seem pretty minor compared to Kano's work with wild bonobos. She did point out that scientists don't take de waal's observations seriously because it's from a zoo, but she doesn't remedy that by telling us if it can be supported by Kano's work or not when compared. Kano is ignored. He does have one book available in English, so it's not like we can't ever learn about what he observed. you said western mainstream media don't want to listen to a man who only spoke Japanese??? UHM. You are too??? Why did you jump to de waal? If it's a book about bonobos, then please give Kano a little spotlight and tell about his research. (I actually want to read Kano's book now but I can't find a borrowable copy of it. It's a complicated long loop to get one. But it's possible T-T!!!!)
I very much dislike her tone in 'oh it's the Japanese that tell us about bonobo'. It is as if no one is actually researching them at all. They are 'foreign' so it doesn't count. Meanwhile, if it's a white person's discovery, it is humanity's. But if it's someone else theeennnn well we are not sure if it's actually real :/ Not until a white person observes this can we really put this into humanity's archive of knowledge. Otherwise, whatever they learnt is not very important or worth talking about.
I'm not gonna drop the book, because it does get me thinking about stuff and that's what I read books for. I guess it reminds me of University days, of how irritated I get when we are assigned a problematic reading to pick apart and present to class. I hope I'm not picking this apart too much 😭 I'm not sure if I'm enraged and reading too much into it. I might be totally wrong.
idk... I think I need to join an anthropology book club to have people to talk with about this. Only way for now is to share on the internet and maybe a discussion starts. Want to see what others think of this (especially if they read the book).
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20 Questions for Fic Writers
tagged by @dangerpronebuddie @diazsdimples thank you <33
How many works do you have on ao3?
right now it's 90! (57 of these are 911 lol)
What's your total ao3 word count?
535,450
What fandoms do you write for?
currently just 911, but I have some destiel and sambucky fics and who knows, I might get back to them at some point haha
Top 5 fics by kudos:
For a holiday (and forevermore)
I can't love you any more (than I do now)
I'd marry you with paper rings
the next best thing
There’s no way that it’s not going there (with the way that we’re looking at each other)
(they're all buddie and I just noticed that the top 4 are all over 1k kudos?? when did that happen lmao)
Do you respond to comments?
I do! sometimes it takes me a while bc i get lowkey overwhelmed lol but I always do!
What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?
there's not a lot bc I prefer happy or hopeful endings, but I guess by post 6x10 fics? Fine and don't know what I'd do if your tomorrow never came idk lol
What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?
most of my fics have happy endings, but I guess I'd say For a holiday (and forevermore)
Do you get hate on fics?
not really? got like one or two not very nice comments but generally no haha
Do you write smut?
yes I do 😁 not often and it always takes me forever but I do have two smut fics in the works (one buddie, one bucktommy lol)
Craziest crossover?
don't have any
Have you ever had a fic stolen?
no, as far as I know
Have you ever had a fic translated?
nope
Have you co-written a fic before?
no
All time favorite ship?
buddie
(ngl, bucktommy is a veeeeery close second rn🙈)
What's a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?
there's two that have been fighting me for so long they're lowkey abandoned now and tbh I don't know if I still want to finish them? one is a 5+1 nicknames, and the other just a silly idea about eddie flirting with buck since they met but buck being veeeery oblivious lol
What are your writing strengths?
I think (usually) I'm pretty good at staying true to the characters and not making them too ooc (and I know when it's ooc, okay, I have one wip rn where I just don't give a fuck, I'm writing it anyway lol), and I can get into their heads pretty well. Also I think I'm good at the cute fluffy stuff lol idk
What are your writing weaknesses?
there's probably a lot lol - rn the one that comes to mind is descriptions probably, which is why writing fanfic where we have established characters and settings is so much easier than og stuff haha
Thoughts on dialogue in another language?
I don't mind it but I don't do it a lot aside from a pet name here and there bc I just don't wanna get anything wrong lol
First fandom you wrote in?
for tv shows supernatural, but before that I did write rpf which i just wanna forget about lol
Favorite fic you've written?
rn it's three:
we don't know where this is going now (don't be afraid of heights, let me open your heart wide) - my tommy pov fic <3
I'm comin' back, don't let me go - buck driving/breakdown fic
baby, you drive me wild - car smut - might not be my best but it's my fave smut lol
tags: @elvensorceress @eddiebabygirldiaz @watchyourbuck @loserdiaz @evanbegins
@wildlife4life @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @weewootruck @loveyouanyway
@spagheddiediaz @rainbow-nerdss @epicbuddieficrecs @pirrusstuff @spotsandsocks
@rogerzsteven @hippolotamus @sunshinediaz @honestlydarkprincess @exhuastedpigeon
@jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @buddieswhvre @theotherbuckley @daffi-990
@hoodie-buck @tizniz @bidisasterevankinard
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I can’t stop thinking about Steven and Marc in oversized jumpers and how cozy they look (even tho they’re in a crisis at the time 😅) so requesting a nsfw fic about one/all of the moon boys finding the reader wearing their clothes and it does something to them
hi anon omg this request is so old and i am so sorry that I'm just getting to this!! this is so fun and YES the way marc spector would go fuckin FERAL over his S/O smelling like him,, like he's so possessive i love him sm!! i hope the smut makes up for my lateness. love u!!!
A Soft Ray of Sunlight
Tags: Marc Spector x Reader, fem!reader, unprotected piv (pls wrap it up irl, fuck them kids), kitchen sex lol, really light spit kink, possessive!Marc (w/c: 1.7K)
You’re in the kitchen when he sees you from the hallway, cooking dinner and humming to yourself as you swirl a sauce around in a pan.
Marc is used to you wearing Steven’s jumpers; you always claim that Steven always manages to find the softest ones, even though you have several others just like them.
But this one, the jumper adorning your pretty body, the bottom of it just brushing the tops of your thighs, it’s his. Marc’s. It’s one he’s had for years, the cuffs of the sleeves starting to fray and a coffee stain on the side that he can’t manage to get out. You’re always beautiful, and that sweater looks better on you than it’s ever looked on him.
And it’s all you’re wearing.
The sweater is big on you, but definitely not big enough to only be worn with panties, which is exactly what you’re doing. If you were to bend over, god, Marc would see everything.
His legs move of their own accord, the pull of you like gravity, endlessly drawing him in. His hands slide gently over your waist when he reaches you, and you jump slightly, pulled out of your reverie.
“Shit, Marc, you scared me,” you giggle, leaning your head back against his chest. His strong arms curl around your middle, melding you to him as he buries his face into the crook of your neck.
“Sorry, baby,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t sound sorry at all.
“No you’re not,” you whisper, turning in his arms to press your chest against his and kiss him softly. “You are a terrible liar, Marc Spector.”
He moans softly into your mouth, clutching at your hips. Has this sweater always been this soft? It doesn’t feel nearly as good on him as it does on your skin, smelling like a mixture of you and him, intoxicating him. He never wants to wash it again, wants to keep it smelling like you forever.
You smile into his mouth. “Something got you worked up, babe?”
Marc groans again, head swimming with your taste, your smell, the feel of you under his fingers. “You just,” he rasps, pressing kisses to your mouth between words, “God, you’re so pretty, baby. When- when did you take this sweater?”
You make a noise of understanding. “This morning, fresh out of the dryer. Just looked too comfy to fold.” You lean away from his mouth, chuckling when he whines softly. “Why? Do you want it back?” You know he doesn’t, but you still like to see him squirm.
You’re one of the few people in this world to break down Marc Spector’s stoic nature, and you’ve never been known to use your powers over him for strictly good things. Getting him desperate is just too fun.
“Please no,” he mutters, moving from your mouth to pepper kisses down your jaw and neck. “You look way better in it than I do.”
“Not possible,” you whisper, winding your hands into his hair to tug him back to your mouth. You can feel the outline of his cock through his sweatpants, pressing into your hip. You untangle a hand from his hair to palm the bulge, relishing in the wet gasp that rips out of Marc’s throat. “Happy to see me, Spector?”
“When you look like this, how could I not be?”
You lick feverishly into Marc’s mouth as he walks you backward, crowding you into the kitchen counter. His thick fingers dig into your hips, likely going to leave light bruises. “You know,” you whisper, pulling away from his mouth to drag a finger down his chest, teasing. “I’m still wet from last night.”
Marc chokes on a breath. “Yeah?”
“Mhm. Not to mention that I’m soaked whenever I see you.” You watch Marc’s mouth drop open a little bit, his pupils blown wide with arousal. “But you boys fucked me so good last night. I’m still dripping,” you lean in further, your lips brushing against his ear, “gaping for you.”
Marc groans loud, the sound ripped violently from his chest. He leans down, grabbing the backs of your thighs in his big hands to lift you until you’re sitting on the counter, your legs rising to wrap around his waist. “God, baby,” he mutters. “You wanna kill me?”
“Not kill you, just drive you crazy.”
“Mission fucking accomplished, sweetheart.” He licks into your mouth all over again, pressing himself into you. The position is perfect; from this height, his cock presses so perfectly against your pussy, the both of you only separated by your pesky clothing.
You whine into him, your hands moving down to push at his sweatpants till they’re around his thighs, freeing his aching cock. You wrap your hand around him to give him a long stroke, and he breaks from your lips to gasp, his eyes clenched shut.
“You gonna fuck me, Marc?” you murmur, pumping him slowly. “Make me drip even more?”
“Can I, baby?” he whines, and you answer him by licking into his mouth all over again, letting go of his cock to reach down and pull your panties down your hips. Marc grabs them as you work them down the fat of your thighs, tugging them roughly over your knees and letting them fall carelessly to the floor.
Then you both are colliding, an endless pull between you, never close enough. You grab at Marc’s cock again, sticky and throbbing, guiding the tip of him to your entrance. You weren’t lying; your boys had all come out to fuck within an inch of your life just the night before, leaving you still gaping and still leaking their cum. Used.
Marc has an iron-clad grip on your thighs, holding you steady as he presses in, reaching so deep it’s like you can feel him in your fucking stomach, knocking the breath out of your lungs. “Marc, Marc,” you whine, tucking your face into the crook of his neck and digging your nails into his broad back.
“Shit, baby.” He pulls out just a bit before rutting back in, and you choke on a moan. “You’re so fucking tight. How are you still,” he ruts into you again, and again, “so fucking tight?”
You can barely acknowledge his words, your brows furrowed as you concentrate on the stretch of him in your cunt, mumbling “s’big, Marc. So fucking big in me, gonna break me apart baby.”
An almost pained sound erupts from Marc’s throat, and suddenly he’s fucking into you like a man possessed, one hand traveling to the small of your back, snaking under the sweater to get to your heated skin, while the other travels up into your hair. He grabs a handful of it in a fist and yanks your head back from his neck, forcing you to look into his face, and fuck, Marc looks like an animal. His cheeks are flushed, his hair mussed, and his pupils are blown wide, intoxicated by the feel of you.
You can’t imagine how you must look, little grunts escaping your throat with every one of Marc’s thrusts into your needy pussy, your eyes shiny with tears. It’s so good, the stretch of his heavy cock, bullying into you just right. And then Marc shifts his hips just barely.
You shout wetly, jerking so hard you would have fallen off the table if not for Marc’s strong body pressed against yours, his hand pressed firm against your back. And he has the audacity to chuckle, like the bastard he is.
“Oh baby,” he coos, fucking into you hard at the very same angle, and your thighs are trembling, overwhelmed tears rolling down your cheeks. “That's the spot, pretty girl? Feeling good?”
You barely have the words to describe how amazing he feels, his fat cock pushing hard against your g-spot, unrelenting. “It’s so, it’s so good, Marc. Oh god, oh my fucking god.”
“Shit, taking it so good. So goddamn beautiful like this.” Your body bounces with every one of his thrusts, the hand he has in your hair keeping you from bumping your head into the cupboard behind you. He tugs your face towards him.
“Open.”
Your mouth drops open, almost unconsciously, and Marc spits into your sticky mouth. He groans like he’s dying when you swallow, unthinking and so fucking dumb on his cock that it’s got him lightheaded.
“Good girl,” he groans, and you whine in the back of your throat at the praise. Every thrust into your sensitive pussy feels like lightning rocketing up your spine, and your legs raise higher around Marc’s hips, your heels digging into his ass, urging him in again and again.
“Gonna cum, gonna fucking cum, Marc,” you whisper, your throat tight and achy. “Please, please, please,” you don’t really know what you’re begging for, not really, but Marc answers your pleas anyway.
“Right behind you baby, c’mon, c’mon,” Marc grunts, rutting into you feverishly. “Gotta feel this pretty pussy make a mess around my cock.”
You press yourself into his neck again as you cum, wetting his shoulder with tears as you gasp wetly, your body shuddering uncontrollably. Marc is murmuring little praises into your hair as he finally presses his hips as far as he can go, cock pulsing and filling you with his cum. “So good, baby, y’did so good for me. Looking so pretty for me, sweetheart, how did I manage to land you?”
You answer him with a chaste kiss, tilting your head up from his neck to meet his lips. You cling to each other, unwilling to let go while you will your heartbeats to beat slower, in time with one another.
Marc thinks that he could bask in this moment forever, with you in his arms, warm and soft against him. He hasn’t had a lot of softness in his life. Maybe you’re the softest thing in the world.
Then you giggle softly under his chin, and it sounds like sunlight. He tilts his head down to meet your eyes, mirroring your blinding smile.
“Damn, if I knew that wearing your sweaters would make you fuck me like that, I’d never take them off,” you whisper, unwilling to interrupt the unshakeable sense of peace that fills the kitchen.
“Baby, if you did that, we’d never make it out of the apartment.”
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Hi! I hope you’re doing good in life! So it’s spooky season so I have an ask related to that. I don’t know if you play horror video games, watch horror movies/shows, or read horror books, but if you do, I have to ask: What is the most disturbing book, or video game or show/movie that you’ve played/watched/read? In my opinion, there is two types of horror: the ones that scare you, and the ones that traumatize you. If you can think of any book, movie, or game that really kind of fucked you up, I’m curious to know if you feel like answering. I hope you have a good day and a good life.
Hey, I’m doing good and I hope you are too!
the answer ended up being really long lol
Woof, this is honestly a pretty hard question, since I can't really name any horror (or otherwise) media that actually left me kind of fucked up for a bit, at least not to the degree where it affected me for a while. I probably haven't been really fucked up by anything since I was a kid, so I'll try and recall what a few things fucked me up back then...
Off the top of my head I know that two different spongebob episodes got me bad, the first being one with that tunnel of love thing (tho tbh i havent seen it in a while so it might still spook me today) and the one where i'm pretty sure for whatever reason squidward gets locked in some small locker and has some kind of fucked up dream, whatever that was. I remember there was an eagle in that one. the eagle terrified me. (i looked them up, and the first episode is titled 'tunnel of glove' and the second is 'squidward in clarinetland'. with how badly that second one got to me, i'm surprised i ended up learning to play the clarinet at all)
other than that, i think the courage the cowardly dog episode 'the house of discontent' got me pretty bad, too, but i think everyone who saw any amount of that series as a kid has at least one episode that got them fucked up.
there's probably a handful of scooby-doo stuff that got to me when i was a kid, but i could not name any specifics (asides from charlie the robot's original episode, christ) because i think i managed to see just about every bit of available scooby media around that time.
nowadays stuff still does kinda fuck me up, but it's usually only for brief bits of time. the most recent example I can think of is cowboy bebop's 20's episode, pierrot le fou, which is honestly some great horror, especially how it uses the show's typical format and flips it on it's head, but i wouldn't necessarily say it got to me because of it being scary, more because of the way the ending disturbed me for a bit. it was the only episode that had me stop afterwards and really look into it for anything other than clarifying a character's gender, lol.
the endings of both neon genesis evangelion and end of evangelion had me shaken, the latter more so than the former, but not really due to horror aspects, though. i did have to take a walk after finishing end of evangelion. i don't really watch horror movies, i just... read the wikipedia plot descriptions of them.
honestly, i think some of the more popular youtube analogue horror series have gotten to me worse (likely due to the fact that they can get a bit more fucked up than, say, a tv show or movie), specifically the walten files (which i did watch) and the mandela catalogue (which i just watched wendigoon's vids on), and those two and mostly because facial distortion is generally just an incredibly effective form of horror imo. a lot of the time (esp with the childhood examples) the way i was 'fucked up' was that id be in be visualizing the stuff that scared me, and both the mandela catalogue and the walten files had me doing that for a bit.
now that i remember it, i was really scared of fnaf when it first came out. i first learned of it second-hand from seeing some other kids looking into it, and the bits and pieces i put together about it really scared me.
honestly, it's usually straight-up disturbing sequences or imagery that gets to me the most, and i know my limits well enough to generally identify and avoid that stuff, which is probably why i don't have too many recent examples. i've got one or two examples of non-horror movies that fucked me up as a kid, but that's mostly because they were wildly inappropriate for someone of my age (at the time) to be witnessing, so that's a different sort of topic.
i mean, i think i generally have a decent tolerance for fucked up stuff in media, anyways, i mean, i enjoy berserk and haven't really been too upset or disturbed by what happens in it (look theres some nasty shit in there im not saying its not that bad) so there's definitionally some kind of line that media needs to cross to really get to me nowadays, or it just needs to be a specific kind of fucked up. books generally don't do that for me so i don't have any book examples. no games, either, though shadow mario and the haunted house segments in super mario 3d world scared me so much that i had to make my mom do the levels for me, and i'm pretty sure scooby doo: first frights scared me a bit when i first played it on ds.
other than that, though, I just think that, in pokemon x, the story that an npc tells you during your first trip to route 14 and then the strange office building encounter with the animation-less hex maniac creeped me out pretty bad.
yeah, it's kind of hard for me to think of anything (recent) that actually really fucked me up or anything. most stuff just scared me, never really fucked me up or figuratively traumatized me in recent years.
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i haven’t written in forever, it feels
because i can’t write like i want to.
my favorite poets - i could list names or blogs - weave such intricate creations.
their poetry feels like something special, but they use the same words available to me.
their poetry just… feels. i can’t describe how. and that proves my point.
it's one of my greater faults: i can only seem to write about what i experience. (though that’s never stopped my fiction.)
so how could i go on to write about sitting on the edge of the world, feeling time flow ever onward, watching everything move on and away from you, but sitting still nonetheless, because that spot and that stillness is all you know, and make it all sound like something more than my sleepless rambling?
but there is something i've been writing about, something that hasn’t happened, something i don’t want to happen. i blame good music and my overactive imagination.
but my stomach lurches whenever i write about it, and so i subconsciously hate her for what she hasn’t done, subconsciously hold her to a line she never crossed.
but every time i write about something that hasn’t happened yet, or something i'm scared of happening, it comes to fruition one way or another, so now i fear that my poetry is a vessel of Apollo’s amusement, to my own terror.
and i’ve let slip a “secret” of mine to her,
confessed that i can’t, that i won’t, do it,
but that makes it all more terrifying to imagine happening.
but it would be just my luck to have that happen to me.
so i don’t dare to pick up my pen most days. i'm too scared to ruin something that hasn’t even started yet. lest recounting and writing about a false event becomes more true than the countless dreams i've had about the two of us smiling and holding each other and writing poems together.
but all i can seem to write about lately is that false event, how my poetry isn’t enough, and sad things from the back of my mind that no one wants to read about.
people might enjoy my writing about it – might even praise me for it – if i had a pretty face and a cute voice.
but i have neither. and i have no idea how music actually works. and my voice is only good for shout-singing my favorite punk or rock songs (well, and even then…), not softly singing the sweet melodies of just about anything else, for that matter.
but i write them anyway, in incomplete verses. there's a whole folder in my notes app dedicated to them, just in case i ever get the chance to share them in that medium.
but i don’t share them now. no one follows a poet to hear them tell about the dark parts of their mind; they follow and read their writing to see what whimsical words they use to describe love or how they detail and cast a spotlight on the little, beautiful, bright parts of life.
and yet, here i am, writing over a page worth’s of words that still don’t feel like anything, just spitting out words no one followed me to hear, but once a poet, always a poet, and i know only how to express these feelings in words and shout them over the cliff to whoever might pass below and turn their head to listen, but mostly to the deaf ears who turn to their partners and whisper “ah, there she goes again, rambling and ranting and crying and shouting” because to scream to an empty audience feels different than to write sensations for a following that expects to feel something from my work.
- and behold, i write about i write about things no one wants to hear anyway
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