You could get yourself cloned and use the clone if you ever needed any organ transplants, limbs, etc. You’d technically be allowing yourself to be ‘recycled’ and would probably live for much longer than the average life span. Since highschool, I’ve been obsessed with cloning and the whole idea of it - I remember the sheep that got cloned (Dolly) and ever since, I’ve been intrigued. But then creationists would come along. “CLONES DON’T HAVE SOULS”.
I think the ethical issue is that cloning creates a sentient being. Yes, creationists are typically a pain in the ass, but the more important argument against using a clone of yourself to enhance your lifespan regards the ethics of creating a sentient being and then killing/maiming that being for your own well-being.
There’s a novel to this effect. It’s called The House of the Scorpion, I read it when I was like eight, and it really fucked me up. But it was memorable (obviously) and well-executed.
If anyone…is interested in that.
I want to open a queer bookstore every book has queer protagonists
there’s fantasy and sci fi and literary sections just like a regular bookstore but all the characters are queer
except there, in the corner, is the Straight Literature section. Which is like. Fifteen copies of the notebook.
DID SOMEONE ASK FOR A LIST OF LGBTQ BOOKSTORES IN THE US? NO? WELL YOU’RE GETTING ONE ANYWAY.
(Source: nebulousboundaries, via cthulhu-with-a-fez)
With some characters I’m like: Hell, yeah, I’ll multiship the hell out of you with anyone who’s good enough for you and love all these ships like babies and be overwhelmed by so many feels!
but with some characters I’m totally like: You have ONE soulmate and ONE ONLY and ONLY THEY ARE GOOD FOR YOU and no one else is ever going to deserve you and make you happy and any other ship is a big big NOTP, because JUST NO.
(via bronzedragon)
Anonymous asked: what kind of relationship do you think finn and leia would have
look
Let’s say you are a General. You were a great number of things before, but you are a General now and it suits you better than all the rest put together, it fits you like a second skin and fills the hollows where people/planet/father/mother/husband/son/brother/republic should be. And let’s add that you are a good General; decisive, even-handed, capable of managing the day-to-day operational work as much as engineering strokes of tactical genius. Some of your advisers wish you would cry more public, show a softer, more maternal side, but you are fresh out of softness. It’s scar tissue now.
More importantly, your soldiers love you. (Well, not you, very few of them know you, you have lost most of the people who knew you—but they love the princess or the senator or the general, and that’s close enough.) They love you even though you use them, use them like starfighter parts, like numbers on a datapad, and smash them against the bulwark of the Darkness. They love you for it. This is called loyalty. You wish you did not elicit so very much of it.
But still, you are a General, and you recognize your like when he walks onto a Resistance base.
He is young, and his world is narrow, still—a jedi, a flyboy, a ship, a whole mess of intangible loss and an inviolable sense of what is Right. But Generals have come from less. (You would know.) The first week he is out of the medbay, you stick him in Intelligence, just to see what he can do without a blaster in his hand. Generals generally only carry one at their hip. (You do not carry a blaster at all.)
It only takes him fourteen months to work his way up to a seat at the leadership briefing. The only other person to climb the chain of command that quickly was Luke Skywalker, and that was largely honorary; between the Death Star and the lightsaber, Luke had been the recipient of a lot of honor.
You make a mental note to have your moofmilker brother check Finn for Force sensitivity if—when—he returns.
“Lieutenant Finn,” you greet the other general on his first day in the command center. He salutes like a wet dream, all grace and pinpoint precision. You wonder if he had to readjust his automatic responses with the biotech spine; you can’t tell. “Tell me, what on earth took you so long?”
“Sorry, ma’am,” he says, falling back into ‘at ease’ with that same terrible grace. His smile is like a blaster-shot. “Had to prove myself first.”
reblogging solely for that deeply unnerving caption
FRESHLY PEELED SHEEPS
(Source: maryefimovaone, via windbladess)
Earlier today, I served as the “young woman’s voice” in a panel of local experts at a Girl Scouts speaking event. One question for the panel was something to the effect of, “Should parents read their daughter’s texts or monitor her online activity for bad language and inappropriate content?”
I was surprised when the first panelist answered the question as if it were about cyberbullying. The adult audience nodded sagely as she spoke about the importance of protecting children online.
I reached for the microphone next. I said, “As far as reading your child’s texts or logging into their social media profiles, I would say 99.9% of the time, do not do that.”
Looks of total shock answered me. I actually saw heads jerk back in surprise. Even some of my fellow panelists blinked.
Everyone stared as I explained that going behind a child’s back in such a way severs the bond of trust with the parent. When I said, “This is the most effective way to ensure that your child never tells you anything,” it was like I’d delivered a revelation.
It’s easy to talk about the disconnect between the old and the young, but I don’t think I’d ever been so slapped in the face by the reality of it. It was clear that for most of the parents I spoke to, the idea of such actions as a violation had never occurred to them at all.
It alarms me how quickly adults forget that children are people.
Apparently people are rediscovering this post somehow and I think that’s pretty cool! Having experienced similar violations of trust in my youth, this is an important issue to me, so I want to add my personal story:
Around age 13, I tried to express to my mother that I thought I might have clinical depression, and she snapped at me “not to joke about things like that.” I stopped telling my mother when I felt depressed.
Around age 15, I caught my mother reading my diary. She confessed that any time she saw me write in my diary, she would sneak into my room and read it, because I only wrote when I was upset. I stopped keeping a diary.
Around age 18, I had an emotional breakdown while on vacation because I didn’t want to go to college. I ended up seeing a therapist for - surprise surprise - depression.
Around age 21, I spoke on this panel with my mother in the audience, and afterwards I mentioned the diary incident to her with respect to this particular Q&A. Her eyes welled up, and she said, “You know I read those because I was worried you were depressed and going to hurt yourself, right?”
TL;DR: When you invade your child’s privacy, you communicate three things:
- You do not respect their rights as an individual.
- You do not trust them to navigate problems or seek help on their own.
- You probably haven’t been listening to them.
Information about almost every issue that you think you have to snoop for can probably be obtained by communicating with and listening to your child.
Part of me is really excited to see that the original post got 200 notes because holy crap 200 notes, and part of me is really saddened that something so negative has resonated with so many people.
(via clockwork-mockingbird)
lathori asked: ExR for the ship And the AU is from a post you previously reblogged: "Everybody in the world has a superpower that compliments their soulmates superpower. When together, both their powers increase in strength exponentially. You have the most useless power ever, when one day……" Go forth and write me more ExR
Everyone look at how awesome my platonic soul mate is, she sends me fun prompts when I’m bored. My concept of ‘complementary’ powers might be a little weird but whatever! We’re going with it. To the shock of no one, this got out of hand.
I’m having a contest with myself about which fic will make someone cry first.
I wasn’t even surprised to find out that the old ladies in Fury Road did their own wildly dangerous stunts because honestly most of the old men I know are like “I just want to wear high-waisted trousers and take a nap" but most of the old ladies I know are like “I’M NINETY THREE YEARS OLD HERE COMES THE HURRICANE”
(via primarybufferpanel)
It’s been a long goddamn week but I spent my whole day writing fanfic and I can see a fireworks show FROM MY BED IN MY DORM ROOM. They’re close enough that I can see the whole thing and just far enough away that I’m not going deaf. Like, I’m comfy, I’m warm, I have my computer and my writing and my Tumblr, and I have fireworks, this is an okay day.