While walking home one stormy night, you are struck by lightning. Instead of dying, however, you hear an electronic voice in your head say, “Power level at 100%. All cybernetic systems online.”
I keep seeing people putting Animorphs #16: The Underground, aka “the oatmeal book” on their “favorite trash books” or such, and I frankly don’t see why it even qualifies in the “trash” category. I mean I know out of universe Instant maple and ginger oatmeal was chosen as the drug that is to Yeerks what meth is to humans because of the “lol oatmeal really” bit of humor.
But in universe? While the Animorphs at first don’t take it seriously (because it’s oatmeal), it’s soon made clear it’s played serious enough. Because while Applegate lets these kids laugh at what would normally be a humorous situation, she also shows that there’s really nothing funny about it. If Yeerks consume the stuff, they are freed of their dependency of Kandrona rays, but become hopelessly addicted to oatmeal that it eventually leads them to insanity. We the reader first think it’s still outrageous, but I mean, our species can eat chocolate fine, but do we think it’s funny if it’s fed to a dog?
This book poses perhaps the first real moral dilemma for the Animorphs when it comes to this war and how they should fight it. These Yeerks have discovered completely by accident that oatmeal is an addiction to them, and they happened upon it because the Animorphs destroyed the Kandrona generator of the Yeerk pool: the Yeerks who weren’t high rank were left out of the ship with the only generator to starve, and here they thought they found a new means of survival, but instead it destroys them. With their insanity also comes a price to their hosts: they cannot leave their hosts’ heads, and while humans might sometimes break through the Yeerks’ insanity, they can never be rid of them. This was enough to drive the human controller Edelman to attempted suicide.
So the Animorphs have an option: they have a substance that is easily obtainable and almost a joke to them. But they essentially have a chemical weapon at their use; it obviously has freaked out the Yeerks enough that they bought every ounce of the stuff they could find so it couldn’t be used against them. For the first time, the Animorphs really feel they have something big on the Yeerks. They can dump it in the Yeerk pool and inflict harsh mental damage on a sentient race. But they then have to ask themselves: is this right?
Amazingly it’s Cassie who suggests that they just dump a case in the Yeerk pool (this is obviously before she met Aftran and the Yeerk Peace Movement; compare this to her later decision to not try and blow up the Yeerk pool, yay character development). And they do it. They drop the proverbial bomb on the pool, essentially dooming hundreds or thousands of Yeerks to a lifetime of insanity (or more realistically, as the book implies, Visser Three will just kill them since they are useless now). And that kind of victory proved hollow. After all, they didn’t get Visser Three or any high-level Yeerks; those Yeerks in the pool were just grunts.
Ultimately the Animorphs decide never to use the weapon again. They choose to erase the possibility of biological warfare from their arson. Applegate made me take oatmeal as a weapon seriously.
I’m really really glad I didn’t have to be the one to make this post.
Sometimes I think back on the time I spent working as a barista, and it seems SO STRANGE to me that “coffee shop AU” has become synonymous with narratives that are low on conflict, high on wholesome romance. During the year I spent working at a coffee shop:
A coworker of mine took a bunch of psychedelics, walked through some strangers’ plate-glass door, and threatened them with a bowie knife, leading to his arrest and imprisonment (and, needless to say, a late opening for the coffee shop that morning).
Another coworker, an ex-military type with a young wife and a new baby, decided to smoke up for the first time ever with two other mutual coworkers, in the back of one of their trucks; and ended up having a three-way with them which ended his marriage.
I had a nervous breakdown, stopped being able to eat food or hold conversations, and ended up sleeping on my coworker’s couch for three weeks before she finally called my parents to come collect me.
Multiple store managers were fired for embezzlement. (Reminder: this was within the space of a single year.)
Yet another coworker, who was seventeen at the time, started dog-sitting for a couple of regulars in their (I’m guessing) early 50s, and ended up in an ongoing creepy and incidentally illegal ~relationship~ with them both.
Various employees discovered, in the course of cleaning the bathrooms: couples fucking in the bathrooms; junkies passed out in the bathrooms; drunks puking in the bathrooms; both adults and children weeping in the bathrooms; a woman bleeding all over the bathroom from a gash in her throat (??); a dude standing in the middle of the bathroom floor and pissing in the opposite direction from the toilet, so that when the employee opened the unlocked door she got piss all over her (????).
The owner of the bridal shop across the street was exposed as both abusive toward her employees and also cooking the books, which led to my coffee shop taking on a couple of untrained and weirdly conservative bridal shop workers for a few months while the bridal shop was shuttered and sold to new owners. Later the larcenous former bridal shop owner came down with some horrible disease which caused her to lose both her hands.
There was a regular universally referred to as “Sketchy Steve,” who came in at 7am for a three-shot latte with room for Seagrams 7, and dealt drugs to all us baristas. I actually, at one point (I cannot believe I was this stupid), went inside Sketchy Steve’s house, and allowed him to spend like half an hour showing me his collection of découpaged outlet plates and also soliciting me for sex while I uncomfortably yet studiously declined.
Right before I started, the store manager had walked off the job in the middle of a shift, and ¾ of the employees had walked out after him. None of them ever returned.
Like, working on the front lines of food service was the most operatically sordid professional experience I have ever had, and one of the most surreal; and it is hilarious to me that THAT, of all jobs, is the one that has come to stand for soft-focus domestic romance in fandom circles.
So, since I actually work around boats all day and also have a thing for blathering about the voidfaring life, here’s a few things I wanted to share that maybe other people might find helpful for adding some realism and believability to their own fictions involving the same things.
Naming Conventions: Ships are often referred to incorrectly in fiction. A ship’s name does not have “the” in front of it, unless that is actually part of the name of the vessel. Example sentence:
Correct: Vengeful Spirit was an exceptional vessel, the only Scylla variant-build ever constructed of the ancient and intimidating Gloriana pattern.
Incorrect: The Vengeful Spirit awaited them, a hulking monstrosity cruising slowly just above atmos as she waited in low orbit.
Now, this is not a hard and fast rule. There is a time that you can call a ship “the -name-,” and that is if the ship has been destroyed/sunk/decommissioned, is a piece of history thought to be destroyed, etc. Examples of this: The Black Pearl, the Edmund Fitzgerald. Just be aware that, generally, if your ship in question is still in service and has not become a legend yet, she probably doesn’t have “the” in front of her name. However, you /can/ name a vessel The Fickle Female, or something like that,in which case “the” is part of the name and is fine. Also, pirate ships and privately-run vessels may have “the” in front of their names, though this can make them sound a bit hokey and corny. Another semi-exception is when using the vessel’s full name/title, example “the U.S.S. Enterprise” or “the H.M.S. Titanic” (although Titanic could also call under the “historical indicator from “the.” Passengers who are not familiar with shipfaring may also think of the vessel as “the Glorious Name,” but your crew, and most likely your omniscient narrator, would not.
Long story short? If your vessel left for her maiden voyage ten or a hundred years ago and hasn’t yet left service… no need for “the”– especially if it’s a crewman doing the talking.
Terminology: Ships have their own words for everything. Here’s a quick rundown:
Berth/Berthing: places where crew or possibly passengers sleep. Quarters: Same as above, but generally insinuating more luxurious accommodations. Bow: The front/nose of the ship, as a noun Stern: The rear/ass end of the ship, as a noun. Prow: The very front of the bow, the “nose” of a ship. Transom: The flat “ass” of a ship. Engines: Whatever makes your ship go. Boats may have motors, but ships have engines. Bulkhead: An interior wall of a ship. Gunwale: Pronounced “gunnel.” The outside “wall” of the ship as created by the hull. Hatch: A door or doorway. You can close a hatch or walk through a hatch. Hatchway: Doorway. You cannot “close” a hatchway, but only walk through it. Porthole: a window Ahead: To engage the engines in a way that the ship moves forward, as in “full steam ahead.” Astern: To engage the engines in such a way that the ship moves backward/in reverse. Deck: Any “floor” in or on the ship. Stuff you walk on. Topside/abovedecks: the “outside area” of a boat. Where you can stand and feel the air on your face. Belowdecks: “inside” the ship’s hull. “below” is a shortening of this. Bilge: A pump that removes water (or whatever) from inside the vessel. Scuttle: to trash something or throw it out. Scuttlebutt: Rumors and gossip, trashtalking. Galley: The kitchen. Head: bathrooms Bridge: The part of the ship where it is controlled. Helm: Phrase for describing the person actually controlling the ship’s movements. The person “at the helm” is the person making the decisions, not the person with the wheel in their hands. If your captain tells his first mate, “Six degrees to starboard, steady on”, the captain is at the helm. If the first mate is making that decision himself because the captain can’t, he’s “at the helm.” Moorings: attachment to a dock. “moored” meaning attached in this way. Flotsam: Stuff floating in the water, or in space. Masts: Big posts that sails fly from. Boom: Big post going across the mast that sails attach to. Make fast: tie shit down Eye: a round thing to tie to or pass a rope through. Cleat: a thing for tying shit to. Lines: Ropes. Hold: Any large space inside of a ship to put shit, or “stow” it.
There’s lots more, and lots if you want to get into sailing vessels involving the names for the different sails and masts and such, but this is enough to get you started.
Directions and time:
Ships have their own way of designating the “directions” on the ship. Aft and stern are not synonyms: aft is a direction, the stern is the actual physical part of the ship. Same with forward and bow.
Forward: The “front” direction, anything from the middle of the ship to the very tip of the prow.
Aft: The ass end direction. Anything from the middle to the very farthest back part of the ship.
Port: If you are standing on the ship and looking forward, this is going to be on your left. It’s easy to remember because “left” and “port” both have four letters.
Starboard: Pronounced “starberd.” The “right” side of the ship, if you are standing on the ship, looking forward. Two R’s in starboard– “right.”
This is helpful in writing because you can use these words to describe how your characters move about their surroundings, IE, “She looked up, lost, heading what she assumed was aftward.”
Ships generally have their own clock and specific time. Even today in real life, submarines will have their own times and clocks, often with each crewmember on his own clock.
Summary: Idk people, talk about the cool shit in your spaceships more! Hope this helped.
Jersey please tell me the story of the time you punched a Nazi.
did u actually punch a nazi in a food lion tell the story please
i call it the time that @flaminganakin became my lawyer and spent an amount of time panicking. here it is, the highly dramaticized because it is not actually that impressive story:
so it was one of those days, you know the ones. where you’re just having a bad existence, and you’re not about to stand up for any bullshit, no siree, not on this here day. the kind of day where you just really want to choke people for chewing too loud, seriously, lady. or strangle people for eating pork rinds. they’re too loud, and the smell makes me nauseous, and i’m not about this life, but i procrastinated on the grocery shopping so there i am, suffering my way through food lion. fucking pork rinds, hate that shit, just eat pringles
anyway, i grab my hamburger helper, and i’m in the aisle waiting for the moment i can not be here. i knocked over a stand, earlier, and it sucked, and i just wanted to leave.
the dude in front of me pulls out this galaxy - the kind you can land airplanes on, and i’m caught up for a minute thinking about what an ostentatious phone that is. it’s huge. no one needs a phone that huge, i can see what you’re typing from three stories away - wait. what is that. so i lean around him to peer closer, and you know what i see? the fucking stormfront website. i’d know that stupid gray face and the ‘boyle’s law’ shit anywhere, that’s the fucking stormfront website, i’m losing my mind here. stormfronters are supposed to be, like, the moon. they have no business being out during the day, and yet, here they are, using up perfectly good air boy please go apologize to some plants for wasting their hard work
so this guy, he’s reading. intently. he puts his shit on the conveyor, mostly ignoring the cashier, a lovely black lady. you can see where this is going. but, as it is, she’s not going fast enough for him, and then this bitchass starts yelling slurs at her. really awful shit, like ‘go back to the circus if you can’t work a computer monkeyass ‘n****r’! i lose it the second he yells ‘n****r’ at her and i turn him around with his shoulder and clock him in the face. it was totally worth the sore hand, i can verify that the look on his face was the best thing i had ever seen in my life. the cashier nods to the door, i got a free box of hamburger helper, personal pride, and i haven’t been to jail yet
he may have not been a full nazi, only a racist, but it was worth it anyway
“yuri on ice isn’t progressive because it doesn’t represent the homophobia that plagues same sex couples-” oh I’m sorry I forgot that I loved to be reminded that the world fucking hates me, thanks for reminding me that all lgbt media needs to show bigotry to be good you ass!!
THIS THIS THIS THIS! I’ve seen people critisise the show specifically because of this point which is completely the opposite of what the show has been trying to be.
This show was meant to be - as pointed out by either kubo or sayo I don’t remember - a safe haven for everyone. The show purposely avoided homophobia because again it is meant to be an enjoyable trip, not a reality check.
An aspect of the show that I very much love is that the relationship between Viktor and Yuuri is normalized. No one bats an eyelash at their affection. “we shouldn’t do this we’re both men!!” or “aren’t you both guys?? You shouldn’t be doing this!!” isn’t a thing in this show. They are both men yet neither of them nor anyone else gives a single fuck about that fact. They’re just in love, period.
It makes people of the LGBTQ community feel safe and happy, to see such positive representation where homophobia is not an issue. It is an issue indeed, but maybe for just 20 minutes we’d like to forget that fact.
TLDR; no one from the lgbt community wants to hear ur bs about this show not showing homophobia.
And the National Parks Services said, “lol, no” and went rogue and we were all like, “I was not expecting the park rangers to lead the resistance, none of the dystopian novels I read prepared me for this but cool.”
i’m loving all this violent response to nazis stuff that’s going around but i also want to say like be careful out there because not all nazis are fucking clowns like richard spencer. most of em carry weapons and will not hesitate to cut your ass up and leave you dying in a dumpster. if you don’t know how to fight, don’t take one on without backup. and even if you do know how to fight, watch yourself. i don’t want to see any of you getting killed
WE NEED 3 SENATORS TO CHANGE THEIR VOTES TO PREVENT DeVos FROM BEING CONFIRMED!!!
The vote to confirm Betsy DeVos as Sec of Education was delayed. The hearing of the Senate Committee on Health, Education, Labor and Pensions will now be held at 10 a.m. Jan. 31, according to an advisory from the committee.
And now to act (esp my ME, GA, NC and SC friends)! Betsy DeVos is up for confirmation as U.S. Education Secretary, and many, many educators have expressed strongly that she is not qualified to ensure quality education in this country.
Please consider calling one of the following Republican Senators (key in the confirmation vote) to express your opinion on the appointment. At least 3 of these need to be convinced in order to block DeVos’ nomination. Don’t email. Don’t tweet. Don’t complain on Facebook. Call them!
Then, PLEASE SHARE WIDELY:
If you live in one of the states represented below, PLEASE call YOUR Senator, If you don’t, pick one and call him/her:
Susan Collins (ME) 207.622.8414..&..202.224.2523
Lamar Alexander (TN) 615.736.5129..&..202.224.4944
Lisa Murkowski (AK) 907.586.7277..&..202.224.6665
Johnny Isakson (GA) 770.661.0999..&..202.224.3643
Orrin Hatch (UT) 801.524.4380..&..202.224.5251
Richard Burr (NC) 336.631.5125..&..202.224.3154..&.. 910.251.1058..&..828.350.2437
Michael Enzi (WY) 202.224.3424
Dr. Bill Cassidy (LA) 202.224.5824
Pat Roberts (KS) 202.224.4774
Tim Scott (SC) 202.224.6121
Rand Paul (KY) 202.224.4343
Battlestations, my Yankee Activist peeps
gonna call lamar alexander tomorrow
Booooooost
CALL YOUR DANG REPRESENTATIVES
Susan Collins (ME) 207.622.8414..&..202.224.2523 Lamar Alexander (TN) 615.736.5129..&..202.224.4944 Lisa Murkowski (AK) 907.586.7277..&..202.224.6665 Johnny Isakson (GA) 770.661.0999..&..202.224.3643 Orrin Hatch (UT) 801.524.4380..&..202.224.5251 Richard Burr (NC) 336.631.5125..&..202.224.3154..&.. 910.251.1058..&..828.350.2437 Michael Enzi (WY) 202.224.3424 Dr. Bill Cassidy (LA) 202.224.5824 Pat Roberts (KS) 202.224.4774 Tim Scott (SC) 202.224.6121 Rand Paul (KY) 202.224.4343
CALL THEM AND MAKE YOUR VOICES HEARD
Devos LITERALLY SUPPORTS CHILD LABOUR
This woman is not a politician she’s a fucking disney villain
Call your representatives and tell them to vote AGAINST this repulsive creature
We are all born with a tattoo on our wrist, it reads the first sentence spoken to you by your soulmate. Your sentence: “Hey!”
Edward Castle has truly and utterly given up on his soulmate. When you’ve got at least 25 people a day shouting “Hey!” at you, even putting the effort to look for your soulmate is completely pointless.
The cursive “Hey!” lies on his skin like a curse, or so he’s always thought. His best mate’s sentence was the name of his now wife of 3 years, and his sister’s was “You’re hired!” (that made for a very awkward conversation, which left his sister without a job, but that’s a whole other story.)
Edward’s daily commute is hell for him, as the multitude of people yelling “Hey!” at him (most likely to get him to move) put him on edge, because what if he really did end up meeting his soulmate on the train to his 9am Psych lecture? Lecture….
“Oh shit. Lecture. That thing I’m currently sitting in.” he thought to himself, just as his professor excused the class. At this stage, it was pretty normal for him to lose focus during the Mandarin lecture, but if anything that was really his fault for adding a 5pm elective on his one full day of lectures.
Exhausted and done with the day, Edward rummaged in his bag for his MetroCard (which his Foreign Affairs professor would be returning to him at 2pm on Friday, it seemed) when his Creative Writing task flew onto the concrete of the street, just barely missing a puddle of unidentifiable liquid.
“What does your soulmate tattoo mean to you?”
The question stood out like a sore thumb, and frankly, he had been putting the task off since he received it (the very first lecture). But now it was due tomorrow.
“Shit. Off to Wanda’s 24/7 then.” Edward proclaimed to nobody in particular, feet already guiding him down the path he’d walked a million times over, the stresses of either mountains of assignments or exams clouding his thoughts until he stepped into the familiar place, which always seemed to smell of burnt coffee and familiar faces working behind the counter.
As he stepped in, the scent of the burnt coffee welcomely filled his lungs, but Wanda (the spritely ninety-something year old woman who’d been running the diner since her late thirties) had put all of her new staff on the same shift for a change, most likely by accident (she hated people not being able to see a familiar face when they walked in). Wordlessly, Edward took a booth in the surprisingly calm diner, pulling out his laptop and notes before any of the waiters had even processed his arrival.
“Hey!” a chirpy voice jabbered.
“Strong.” Edward replied curtly. After a few short seconds,
“…The strongest coffee you can get me, please. I’m gonna be a while.” he blurted out, not really caring about how he was addressing this seemingly nice waiter at this stage.
“Well, that certainly makes more sense.” the waiter responded. After another fleeting second of this waiter not moving, Edward looked up.
He did not expect to be met with a singular word tattooed on a much more masculine wrist than he was expecting, not that he minded in the slightest.
People talk about politics as if it’s this isolated, abstract concept that only matters at election time. Somebody’s politics is their world view. It’s whether they think certain human beings deserve rights. It’s how they think the world should be. And if somebody thinks that the world should be colder, meaner, less accepting and downright hostile to people that are different to them, then sure as fuck is the friendship over.
It occurs to me that as much as “humans are the scary ones” fits sometimes, if you look at it another way, humans might seem like the absurdly friendly or curious ones.
I mean, who looked at an elephant, gigantic creature thoroughly capable of killing someone if it has to, and thought “I’m gonna ride on that thing!”?
And put a human near any canine predator and there’s a strong chance of said human yelling “PUPPY!” and initiating playful interaction with it.
And what about the people who look at whales, bigger than basically everything else, and decide “I’m gonna swim with our splashy danger friends!”
Heck, for all we know, humans might run into the scariest, toughest aliens out there and say “Heck with it. I’m gonna hug ‘em.”
“Why?!”
“I dunno. I gotta hug ‘em.”
And it’s like the first friendly interaction the species has had in forever so suddenly humanity has a bunch of big scary friends.
“Commander, we must update the code of conduct to include the humans.”
“Why? Are they more aggressive than we anticipated?”
“It seems to be the opposite Commander. Just this morning a crewman nearly lost their hand when attempting to stroke an unidentified feline on an unknown world. Their reaction to the attack was to call the creature a “mean kitty” and vow to win it over. Upon inquiry it seems they bond so readily with creatures outside their species that they have the capacity to feel sympathy for an alien creature they have never seen before simply because it appears distressed. I hate to say this commander but we must install a rule to prevent them from endangering their own lives when interacting with the galaxy’s fauna.”
“I see what you mean. So be it, from now on no crewman is allowed to touch unknown animals without permission from a superior officer. And send a message to supplies about acquiring one of these “puppies” so that their desire to touch furred predators can be safely sated.
Ehehehe I love this! Every time someone adds a short story to my post it gets like 90% cuter and more epic
Lets be honest, the humans would ignore the hell outta that rule whenever alone.
“So I hear that you’ve just recruited a human for your ship.”
“Yes, it’s the first time that I’ve worked with these species,
but they come highly recommended. Say, you’ve worked with a few, what tips can
you give me? I’d hate to have some kind of cultural misunderstanding if it’s
avoidable.”
“The
first rule of working with humans is never leave them unsupervised.”
“Wait, what?”
“I’m serious. Don’t do it. Things. Happen.”
“But wait, I thought that I heard you highly recommended that
every crew should have at least one on board?”
“Absolutely, and I stand by that. Humans are excellent
innovators, and are psychologically very resilient. If you have a crisis, then
a human that has bonded wth your crew properly can be invaluable. Treat your
human well and you should get the best out of them as a crew member. Their
ability to get on with almost any species is legendary.”
“But Toks, didn’t you just say…”
“The
trouble is that they will potentially try to bond with anything. If you leave them
unsupervised, you have no idea what kind of trouble they can get themselves into. It was
sheer luck that the Fanzorians thought that it was funny that the human picked
up the Crown Prince to coo at him.”
“Crown Prince Horram, Scourge of Pixia?”
“The
very same. Surprisingly good sense of humour. But don’t even get me started on
that one time with the Dunlip. Al-Human wanted to know if they could keep it.
As a pet.”
“A Dunlip? You
mean the 3 metre tall apex predators from Jowun?”
“Yup. Don’t
leave your humans unsupervised.”
“I’ll uh, take that under advisement.”
“Seriously. Get a supply of safe animals for the humans to bond with or they will make their own. I mean, they will try to befriend anything they come across anyway, but without any permanent pets they can get… creative. Don’t even get me started on the time one of them taped a knife to one of our auto-cleaners and named it Stabby.
Three weeks in and when we finally caught the wretched thing, half the humans on crew tried to revolt about us “killing” Stabby by removing the knife.
“How… how did you resolve that sir?”
“Glaxcol made a toy knife out of insulation rubber and strapped that on instead. Quite a creative solution, I suppose.”
“And that sated the humans?
“Worse.”
“Worse?”
“They thought it was so funny they made a second one, strapped false eyes on springs to both and held mock battles. Then decided Stabby and Knifey were in love and now none of them will allow the others to stage fights between them any more.”
Stabby is an omniversal constant.
Oh my gods, we’re the Steve Irwins of the universe.
this is my fave thing.
it can’t even be safe to assume humans would only attach themselves to only fuzzy, furry things. reptilian and even insectoid creatures are just as likely to be randomly selected as “this is a thing i love” by a human.
“Excuse me, captain? Human-Rob requests that we … bring aboard … a Kilarn.”
“A Kilarn? The giant poisonous and highly aggressive insectoid predator? Am I hearing you correctly?”
“…. Yes ser.”
“For the love of- WHY?”
“I asked the same thing, to which they replied “he’s trying his best” in a distressed tone of voice.“
I got pregnant three years ago. I was 22, it was a brand-new relationship, but I was adamant that I was having a baby. I’ve always taken motherhood very seriously. I was abused — the product of people who shouldn’t have had kids — then adopted. I felt so strongly that this was the most important job of my life.
I wasn’t at risk of genetic defects, so during the anatomy scan it didn’t even occur to me that they were looking for abnormalities. Me, my boyfriend, and my parents all went to the appointment, and when they said I was having a girl, my mom jumped up and down hollering as if she were at a football game. My boyfriend cried.
I was home alone when I got a call from the genetic specialist who told me that the tests were positive for trisomy 13. I thought that was Down syndrome and thought, Okay, I can do that. But then she started apologizing: “I’m so sorry, these babies usually miscarry. It’s a miracle she’s made it this far.” I said I didn’t understand, and she explained that my baby could pass any day, be still-born, or die soon after. I Googled “trisomy 13” and saw horrific pictures of babies without noses or mouths. I sat there and sobbed while I held my belly apologizing to her over and over and over again. I called my mom and said, “My baby’s going to die. My baby’s going to die.”
The doctor cleared her schedule and saw me later that day. She said: “You need to make a decision. You’re already 23 weeks and the state of Ohio has restrictions that impact your options.” She explained I could terminate or carry the pregnancy to its extent. At the time, 24 weeks was the cutoff for abortion in Ohio or else you had to travel to another state. [In December 2016, Republican governor John Kasich signed a law that reduced this cutoff to 20 weeks.] We only had days to decide, and even then there were waiting lists and the expense was horrendous. I had never felt so alone.
The counselor said my baby wasn’t in pain and there was no risk to either of our lives if we continued the pregnancy. I thought, Let’s try to make some memories while we can. I really enjoyed being pregnant. I loved having this purpose, and I thought as long as she’s not suffering, I think that her being here with us right now is the best we can do. And so … we tried.
At 29 weeks, my ankles and legs got extremely swollen. I was disassociating and became lightheaded, so I left work. I started cramping and ended up in the hospital. There were so many tests, which ultimately concluded that this was an emergency situation. [Jessica was at risk of having a seizure, and potentially dying, if labor wasn’t induced.] I wasn’t thinking, I’m terminating this pregnancy in order to save my life, but that’s what my paperwork said.
The doctor was very clear. He said, “You need to decide whether you want to induce now or come back in a week and get your blood pressure checked again — and I will induce you then.” I lived 45 minutes away from any hospital, on a farm without neighbors. It was a bitterly cold January. He was afraid I’d have a seizure and not get to them in time. That worried me, too.
But I knew that if I was induced, there was no chance my daughter would survive. Even if I carried her to term, her survival rate was very low, less than 5 percent. Another decision I had to make was telling the doctors that I did not want them to resuscitate the baby.
I was in labor for 32 hours.
I declined to have her monitored during labor because I didn’t want to sit there listening to her pass away. So they’d periodically come in and quietly listen for a heartbeat. The last time, at 1 a.m., they couldn’t hear it. I made them bring my family back into the room, and about a half an hour later it was time. She was born after three pushes, and at just two and a half pounds. Her heart was still beating, but she didn’t cry or breathe or make any sort of sound. There was mention of oxygen, but I said, “Please, just let her go.” They put her on my chest, and my boyfriend came and cut the cord.
She stayed alive for two and a half hours. They called it when her heart stopped.
When I made the decision to “voluntarily” induce, I felt like I was picking myself over my child. I wouldn’t wish that on the most evil person on Earth. A funeral director arrived with a huge white cloth. He said, “I have to cover her face so people don’t know when I’m walking down the hall [with such a small body].” I handed her over, and that was the last time that I saw her. I didn’t want a casket on display at the funeral; that tiny box would have been way too much. I collected her ashes a week later.
Many people don’t understand why this experience reinforced my pro-choice beliefs. Now more than ever, I firmly believe: No conditions. No restrictions. I can’t imagine being in that situation and being denied the dignity of making a choice. That little bit of control was so empowering. Nobody just wakes up after being pregnant for over 20 weeks and says, “I don’t want to do this anymore.”
When Trump said those things about late-term abortion during the debate, I was so angry. What must the rest of the world think of us? I have friends in the U.K. and Canada saying, “What the hell? You can have 30 guns but you can’t have a dignified, comfortable abortion?”
And while we’re getting abortions and making painful decisions about our bodies, Trump is fucking tweeting.
When you struggle with your mental health on a daily basis, it can be hard to take action on the things that matter most to you. The mental barriers anxiety creates often appear insurmountable. But sometimes, when you really need to, you can break those barriers down. This week, with encouragement from some great people on the internet, I pushed against my anxiety and made some calls to members of our government. Here’s a comic about how you can do that, too. (Resources and transcript below.)
Motivational resources: There are a lot! Here are a few I really like:
Sharon Wong posted a great series of tweets that helped me manage my phone anxiety and make some calls.
Kelsey is tweeting pretty much daily with advice and reminders about calling representatives. I found this tweet an especially great reminder that calls aren’t nearly as big a deal as anxiety makes them out to be.
Informational resources: There are a lot of these, as well! These three are good places to start:
my knowledge of authoritarian regimes and state oppressive tactics tells me that this new administration is trying to suppress resistance and cause fear through issuing a surge of oppressive policies and other actions in its first week. attempting to overwhelm us. to fatigue us, to make us lose hope in the possibility of resisting. his friendship with putin is one of many things that makes this make sense 4 me - these are the kinds of overt oppressive tactics the russian state uses on its citizens. remember resistance is always possible, and the use of methods to suppress resistance always indicates fear of resistance.
This is the advice of every expert on nations that gave way to the rise of authoritarian regimes. They all say the same thing. RESIST. The citizens must resist, and continue to resist. It is possible and it is the only way.
the use of methods to suppress resistance always indicates fear of resistance.
“If you have a problem with punching Nazis, I’m here to collect your copies of Hunger Games, Harry Potter, Hamilton, X-Men, and Firefly. Someone else will be by later for Star Wars, LOTR, Captain America/Marvel, etc. I don’t make the rules; you’re the one who thinks it’s wrong to resist oppression by violent means.”—Amanda Michelle (via currentuser)
7: I do not believe in love at first sight. But god damn. (Look at you.)
Two things. First,
it’s a very dangerous thing to say ‘whoever I want,’ because I go straight for
the niche fandoms that I love the most.
Thus: Animorphs. Second! It has come to my attention that I
accidentally swapped two prompts—this line is actually prompt 17, and prompt 7
got used for the Sith!Padme AU. Because
I’m a fucking disaster area and my brain likes to pull switches like that on
me. (Math classes suck for this exact
reason.) But like the Sith!Padme AU is
done? And I was halfway through this by the time I realized, so I am VERY sorry but I’m doing this.
Tobias could give you the exact moment he
fell in love with Rachel, as a bruised thirteen-year-old kid in a body he
barely remembered. Love at first sight
was a fairy tale, but he could give every detail of the moment—it was like
light being struck from a match, casting everything in a fresh glow.
Admittedly, he remembered everything about
that night in the construction site, about Elfangor’s serious eyes and Visser
Three’s terrible morph and the desperate giddy feeling in his chest of yes, yes, I knew it, there’s more to this
world. Which made a lot more sense,
in retrospect, but of course at the time he just knew that something had
clicked into place. While everyone else
was standing around being awestruck and wondering, Tobias had been too busy
feeling a wash of relief that, oh God, he wasn’t crazy, there really was something else and it was exactly as
spectacular as he had always believed it would be.
But even in that chaos, Rachel had been like
a beacon.
He’d had a crush on her from the moment he
arrived in town, of course, but then he could guarantee that about every boy at
their school agreed with him, save the ones who were related to her. He could list five girls off the top of his
head who were probably head over heels for Rachel, having a crush on her wasn’t
anything special. She was clever and
funny and fierce, her beautiful face was almost an afterthought.
And Tobias had needed something bright and
strong to hold onto, and just being around Rachel, in the line of her sharp
eyes, was a good start.
So it never did shock him, that he was in
love with her.
It wasn’t her grip on his hand as they
watched Elfangor die, although he was sure everyone would be shocked to hear
it. That was just…Rachel, scared half to
death and still with strength and ferocity to spare. She clutched his hand because it made her
feel better, to steady someone else, and God Tobias had needed it. He’d almost bolted right then, run back to
the Andalite’s side, because he barely had a life to live anyway and he’d felt
something from Elfangor’s thoughts he’d never felt before. Some messy tangle of regret and pride and
grief, all centered around a bright hard thing that made affection look like small fry.
The loss of it hurt like broken glass in Tobias’ throat, sharp and
bloody. And it was Rachel’s grip on his
hand as he cried that kept Tobias hidden behind the wreckage, kept him sane
enough to live through the night.
But it was later, that it really hit him.
They were running and, at the time, Tobias
had desperately wished for wings. It was
almost funny, now, but probably only to him—he’d never told the others how
often he wished he could fly away, before he got a new appreciation for the
dangers of wishes.
Here was something else the others never
knew: he had three cracked ribs that night.
There was no way, even with adrenaline pumping ice through his blood,
that he would be able to outrun the Hork-Bajir on their tail. Tobias’ forgotten human body was tall, but
skinny and out of shape, not strong like Cassie or fast like Jake, he was slow
and hurt and shocky. And he had a moment
of strange clarity, as if he could see the future as clearly as the Ellimist
ever showed it to them. He would die,
and it would be awful, but the others would live and that would be…good. They had people who would miss them, and he
didn’t. They would live to fight the
Andalite’s war, maybe save the world, and Tobias would get to rest.
And then Rachel, tall, athletic Rachel who
could probably have outpaced every last one of them, even Jake, slowed, and
dropped back. She was shouting, arms
outstretched with a wild, ecstatic look of challenge on her face. Tobias could only catch about one word in
three, but they were…vivid.
That was the moment. Tobias, tearing across the rough ground of
the construction site with impossibility on his heels. Rachel, screaming curses in death’s face in
order to protect the people she cared about.
It was more like being struck by lightning than anything so polite as falling
in love, but.
I haven’t quite thought this out enough to have my thoughts totally clear, but I usually clarify my thoughts by writing them down, so I’m gonna try it anyway. For context I am writing as an ethnically Jewish white person.
I have seen some Discourse where person A says something like “We can’t dehumanize the people we’re fighting,” and then Person B goes “Yeah, this was why we shouldn’t have punched that Nazi!” and then Person C goes “Uh, we have to punch Nazis,” and then Person D says “Nazis aren’t people!” and then the whole Discourse Cycle starts up again.
The problem, I think, is that we are taking “don’t dehumanize” as code for “be nice to?” And that’s not what it is. “Don’t dehumanize” means understanding there is not a profound difference between yourself and a person who believes something repugnant. Otherwise, it becomes too tempting to think that a repugnant belief is some kind of monstrous mental defect that we get to just magically Not Have, because we – after all – are people, and Nazis are Not People.
If we believe that we are immune to repugnant beliefs, we become incredibly vulnerable to them. Sorry if I’m being redundant here, but I really want to spell this out: If we think that Nazis aren’t people, we open a door that is going to kill our ability to be useful, effective, intersectional activists. We will absolutely become complacent. Beliefs will creep up slowly in our brains, because that’s what brains do, they gather information and make just whatever crap soup out of it, and we – if we sense the development of these ideas at all – will go “Well, this must NOT be a repugnant belief, because only Not-People have repugnant beliefs, and I am a Person!”
And again, that’s not synonymous with saying that “If you want to punch Nazis in the face YOU’RE JUST AS BAD AS THEM!!!!” That’s crazy and garbage. It’s also not synonymous with “We have to tolerate Nazi beliefs!” I am trying to make a pretty straightforward statement that Nazis are people. They are people, and we have to look that fact dead on, and then we have to punch those people in the face, hard and often.
“They are people, and we have to look that fact dead on, and then we have to punch those people in the face, hard and often.”
just in case anyone was thinking about bombing trump tower or lighting it on fire or something, how about instead you throw paint balloons at the ground floor windows every day
just every single day forever
because cleaning off the paint then becomes a 24/7 job that is super obvious to everyone in the vicinity
and the trumples will freak the fuck out and act like it’s the same as bombing the fucking thing, which is hilarious and embarrassing for everyone else
it will be demanded that the police make it staaaaaaaahp like it’s this huge goddamn deal and the police will be like oh my god stop wasting my time this is excruciating
plus it’s really easy to just have different people do it at different times of day and if you do get caught oh well it’s a misdemeanor vandalism charge, pay a fine and go home
tell me you can’t find 365 people who would cop to a vandalism fine for the privilege of driving merkin von bankrupt absolutely batshit with impotent fury
just an idea
…this is really good, dude. i LIKE it.
“Don’t think of it as criminal, think of it as putting the window washer’s kids through college.”
additional suggestion: the paint should be pink, and glittery. nothing horrifies bigoted men more than their macho status objects being CONTAMINATED by NASTY AWFUL NO GOOD SCARY GROSS FEMME COOTIES. taking danglord turnip’s big metal monument and smearing the girliest possible paintjob across its bottom would be particularly distressing to the guys we wanna distress, while not at all bothering anyone else.
Im just. imagining. As the weeks go on and theres more demand to catch the vandals, stakeouts are happening and the pressure is on. Cop McGee is sitting in the car watching the building with a cold cup of coffee and a warbling radio filled with a WHOLE lot of interesting feedback- car chases they’d rather be doing. The clock is ticking, the vandals haven’t hit yet. Were they going to miss a day? Just the luck of Cop McGee.
Then it happens. A loud splat. There it is… a pink splotch. But smaller than normal, and nobody was running. IN fact there wasn’t anyone near the building just at that moment…. what?
SPLAT SPLAT
Then it begins raining. Paint balls- but from where. Cop McGee whirls around in their seat looking for a perp. Nothing. SPLAT SPLAT. Where is it coming from? what’s happening??
Paint Ball Snipers. It’s Paint Ball Snipers.
Next day someone comes in with a drone hooked up to about eight cans of spray paint rigged to open fire once in range. It’s a swirling, flying disk of feminine justice.
Then there’s the donation of Stuart Semple’s Pinkest Pink pigment that’s released in clouds all over the block on a day fresh after the rain when the walls are all still wet.
Honestly? We should all start saying "hey don't tell anyone the person who punched Rick Spencer was me, alright? y'all some good people" because every single person claiming they were is going to be funny
I like it. has a very “I am Spartacus” feel to it.
One of my friends asked me the other day if I would suck one thousand dicks for a billion dollars, and I love questions like that because not only are they so demonstrative of the no-homo society we live in, but they also show a fundamental lack of understanding that some people have for the value of money. Like, do you realize just how much money one billion dollars is? Do you realize I could live my life in the lap of luxury buying literally everything I could ever want and still have a fortune to leave to my children?? For sucking some dicks?? We are talking 1 million dollars per dick sucked!! That’s just economical like come on man.
1 billion dollars and all you’d have to do is suck a dick every day for the next 2.7 years. That’s it. Plenty of people already do that. You could quit your job and literally suck dick for a living. You could suck two dicks a day and only have to suck dick for 1.4 years. You could suck 5 dicks a day for about 6 months. 5 DICKS A DAY FOR 6 MONTHS FOR A BILLION DOLLARS, OF COURSE I’LL FUCKIN DO THAT. THAT’S THE DREAM, THAT’S FUCKIN HEAVEN.
and here i was thinking about sucking dick for free
I haven’t seen this on my dash in a while and I think now is as good a time as any to tell you guys that this post got big enough to get to facebook, where it was seen by my cousin, who brought it up at a family event which ended in me defending sucking 1000 dicks to my very religious family
