I am a fool.

Day 5 of a 10 day work week.

I’ll be spending my afternoon getting sterilized. Sorry, no more ginger babies.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus and they wear brown so me and my bags of frozen peas will be at work tomorrow.

Alive.[Tadashi Hamada.]


Your feet were slamming against the sterile ground below as you jolted your way through the hospital. You debated taking the elevator, but last minute thought that with the rush of energy you got from a phone call that Honey Lemon gave you, it’d be faster to run up the stairs. You could hear your heart beating in your chest as you walked quickly down the hallway, surrounded by equipment and several nurses. Tadashi, your mind was racing with thoughts of him. You thought that he was announced dead on scene, but when Honey Lemon called you earlier, her voice was frantic, excited and bit hard to understand but you got the gist of it.

Tadashi was alive.

He was here, breathing.

Honey had explained that he was burned up, mainly on the left side of his body, and they weren’t sure how his eyes were doing. From what you gathered, shards of glass entered his eyes and despite how many times they tried to flush them out, they were unsuccessful. ‘He may not be able to see, (Name)…’ Honey’s voice echoed in your mind as you opened the door to his room. The moment your eyes spotted his face, you felt like your soul had left your body. You didn’t care that he was burned, or that he may be blinded; All you cared about is that your Tadashi was still here.

The room was a bit harsh on your eyes, for the white that surrounded you was unbelievable. You stepped forward slowly, and his head picked up in response to hearing that. You opened your mouth to speak, but couldn’t find any words. Sitting down on a chair next to his bed, your fingers found themselves entangled in his good hand. You hadn’t noticed that tears were falling from your eyes until they prickled at his skin, and he was the first one to speak softly. “I’m sorry…It was family only until they knew I was stable enough to… to live… ”

You hushed him gently, pressing a small kiss to his knuckles. “I’m just so happy you’re alive…” Tears were still pouring out of your eyes, onto his skin as a small silence filled the air around the two of you. You focused on his breathing, which was regular, your eyes tracing the many burns that his body had suffered. They were bandaged, so it was hard to tell just how bad they really were.

“I can’t see,” He explained slowly, the silence now fleeting as his fingers pulling away from yours only to touch the bandages around his eyes, “Even with these off, I can’t see…” You could hear the depression leaking in his voice as he turned his head in your direction. “I’ll never see my beautiful girlfriend again,” His voice picked up slightly, “Are you okay with that…?”

You nodded, only to speak slowly, “I’m most definitely okay with that, Tadashi…” Your fingers grasped at his again, and as you brought his hand back down to the bed, yo noticed him smile small.

He chuckled, a cute little grin playing at his lips. You felt your heart flutter as he said to you, “Good. I didn’t fall in love with you for your looks, you know.” He paused, thinking about how bad that must have sounded. He fixed himself quickly, “I fell in love with the way you love me, the way you say my name, and they way you’re always here for me…”

anonymous asked:

What's bad about supporting Israel?

That means you support the ethnic cleansing of the Palestinian people. That means you support the illegal settlements built on Palestinian villages/cities. That means you support a racist and apartheid state. That means you support israel’s mistreatment of arabs and sterilizing those African immigrants. That means you support Israel’s stealing of Palestinian land since 1948. That means you support Israel in detaining 500-700 Palestinian children a year. The list goes on.

The Palestinian people have every right to resist the Israeli occupation. It’s like modern day what America has done to the Native Americans. Don’t let history repeat itself.

demi-steph asked:

Donnie Donnie Donnie Donnie! I'm sick with the flu, and I feel yucky :( my back hurts from coughing so much, and I'm just miserable! What do I do? Also, can I have a sterile hug? (don't want you getting sick, cuteness!)

You know what? I’m already sick today and so you can get a hug because we are both infected. I have been drinking a lot and trying to get sleep. Keep warm and keep the liquids coming.

I downloaded three more books onto my laptop to read while in bed. 


Learning How to Whistle (flufferfic)

This is complete flufferfic inspired by the fact that David Duchovny said he didn’t know how to whistle during the IWTB junkets.

Here you go ill-show-you-later.


She’s staring into some scientific apparatus—hunched over, all proof-driven, singled-minded Scully in her three inch heels and her pristine white lab coat. She is so transfixed and absorbed in her task, she fails to notice that I have snuck into her sterile environment.

"Anything new from the field?" She doesn’t even look away from the mysterious contraption. I guess my stealthy skills are lacking. "No. Anything new from the microscope?" I make my way behind her and lean far closer than necessary. My breath stirs the fine hairs on the back of her neck as I try to see what has her so fascinated. She smells pretty.

"Other than the fact I have ruled out every mundane possibility? No." Her voice has that tone of annoyance she gets when subtly admitting the challenge I’ve presented may be a slip beyond normal.

"Well, that’s something." I lightly stroke the small of her back with my index finger. "You tired?"

"Mmm.." She straightens her spine and tilts her head back rolling it over her shoulders. The crown of her copper top barely grazes my chest and then she is moving away toward another strange looking machine.

I lean back against the counter and almost upset a tray holding several vials of our victim’s blood. “They combed through the truck again, but nothing new was revealed. It’s curious that there is no trace evidence to be found. It’s like the guy just sat down in his vehicle and willed himself dead.”

"Curious." She parrots back to me. That’s my Scully, all clipped words and precision. Until she’s found some clarity, she won’t have much to say.

"It’s after eleven. I can’t believe you’re not hungry." Actually, I can. She eats practically nothing, and when she’s done, I usually get the other two-thirds of her entree. Well, except when we order pizza, or on the rare occasion I talk her into barbaque.

She turns toward the direction of my voice as her hands fall to her hips. She worries her bottom lip between her teeth and shrugs her shoulders. She is looking distractedly to her left.

"All work and no play makes Scully a grumpy partner." I remember Chaney, Texas and complaints about cream cheese.

She scowls at me from across the four feet separating us and then crinkles her brow as she takes her first good look at me since I arrived.

"What the hell happened to you?" I wonder if she remembers Chaney.

"I was looking for evidence." My voice is defensive mostly because I don’t want to explain to her how I slipped on wet grass and dived into a puddle of slushy, muddy water. I don’t want to see her raised eyebrow as I tell her of my impromptu freestyle competition.

Apparently that is enough for her, or she’s too tired to request further elaboration, because she removes the lab coat and begins making her way to the swinging metal doors that lead back into civilization. “Let me tell the night staff we’re leaving.” She calls over her shoulder as she pushes herself into the corridor.

I move promptly to follow her, but I am weary and too slow, and the metal door swings too quickly, and now my nose is bleeding.

I couldn’t suppress the yelp and in seconds, Scully is gently trying to pry my hands from their cupped position around my nostrils.

"Dammit, Mulder. Let me see." Though her words are harsh, her delivery is gentle.

I try to swat her hands away, but she has always been quick as she wraps her fingers around my wrists and pins my arms to my sides. Her hand brushes my cheek as she positions my head so she can get a better look. My nose is already big enough, I don’t think I can stand any swelling.

“Does this hurt?” She wiggles the tip of my nose with her index finger.

"Ouch!" I jump back and hear something crash behind me. I’m relieved to see it’s only an empty beaker falling from the counter.

Scully’s back in front of me, and if my nose wasn’t aching, I might be excited by her proximity.

"Oh Mulder." She is exasperated and amused, and I want to wipe the smirk I know she is hiding from her face. She hands me a cloth, and I carefully dab at the drops of blood above my upper lip.

"It’s not broken. The swelling won’t last long. We’ll get ice on it as soon as we get to the motel." Scully the doctor tells me optomistically, and I want to scream at the injustice of having to deal with an even bigger nose. Instead, I nod my head and illicit an involuntary wince.

"I’m sorry." She sounds contrite, and I’ve already forgiven her.

I look down at my mud-crusted tie and smile. “It’s been one of those days.” I tell her as we both make our way toward Doug, the sole member of the night crew that required I flash him my badge before he would let me in to see Scully. I glare at the metal door as we make our exit. I think it owes me an apology.

"Hey Mr. Glassman. We are heading out. There is a broken beaker in the lab. Please call maintenance and leave a message for them to clean it up first thing in the morning." Scully is always efficient with directions.

"Sure thing, Dr. Scully." His eyes track between my swollen nose and my muddy shoes. He doesn’t hide his smirk.

"Thanks." Scully says before gently grabbing my forearm and giving it a tug. "I’m driving Mulder." She informs me and if I wasn’t so tired, I’d probably tell her the seat doesn’t move that far forward. As it is, I don’t want a black eye to accompany my red nose.

Though the day got hot enough to melt the thin layer of snow that had accumulated, hot enough to make the grass slick with wetness, but not hot enough to dry up slushy puddles, right now it is freezing. It’s almost midnight and the air is bitingly cold. Through the illumination of headlights, I can see sparkles of hardened precipitation falling from the starless sky.

Scully shivers and turns up the heat as we make our way back to the run-down Howard Johnson that boasts of being the only accommodations for miles.

"How bad does it look?" I ask pulling down the sun visor to find it doesn’t have a mirror. I have never understood why some car company’s think its ok for a driver to primp, but not the passenger.

For a split second her eyes leave the road to glance at my monstrous appendage. “It’s too dark to tell.” I think she is trying to avoid my question.

I try and flip on the interior light only to discover that it’s broken. I cross my arms over my chest and try desperately not to pout.

Suddenly, I’m feeling mischievous. “Will you kiss it and make it better?” I try for sincere, but it sounds more incorrigible.

"Of course." Scully must be feeling impish as well.

I keep my face neutral and turn to her expectantly. We’re at a stoplight and now is as good a time as any to cash in on her lighthearted mood.

She leans over the center console and fleetingly touches the tip of my nose with her lips. As soon as I feel the soft pressure, it is gone. I open my eyes and Scully is nonchalantly negotiating the car through the intersection. She probably thinks I don’t notice, but I am not immune to the subtle smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Scully has been much more playful since New Year’s Eve. In fact, I’ve managed to weasel three kisses from her in the last week alone. One on my cheek Sunday after the Patriots lost to Peyton Manning, one barely landing on the corner of my lips Tuesday when she apologized after ranting over a lost file she later located in her brief case, and one tonight. Scully kisses are always the epitome of my day, and the brief press to my nose tonight is no different.

"Stop smiling like that Mulder." Her voice gives away the fact that she, too, is smiling.

My grin is still present as we make our way into Scully’s motel room. She slides off her jacket to reveal toned upper arms encased in a light blue sweater. The garment is snug in all the right places and even though she is the one wearing it, it’s keeping me warm.

I fall into the off-balanced motel chair after detangling myself from my coat and jacket simultaneously. Scully breezes past me carrying the cheap plastic ice bucket, and I close my eyes as the door shuts.

Today has been exceptionally uncooperative. My alarm was set for P.M., so I was over thirty minutes late to our meeting with Skinner. Our flight was delayed for an hour. Usually an hour delay isn’t that bad, but this time we were stuck on the runway and neither Scully nor I had an aisle seat. While she read the file, I tried not to squirm too much. Inevitably, I elbowed her in the chest and was on the receiving end of the Scully death glare. Indianapolis International was nightmarish to navigate out of, and we ended up lost. But not before we fought over which direction to head. After taking a swim in a slushy, I didn’t think the day could get any worse. I probably asked for my bloody nose when I cursed God for making me forget to pack an extra tie.

I wonder if I can score another kiss if I tell Scully why I was so late this morning.

I don’t even lift my head from the back of the chair when she comes in bearing salve for my battle wound. I keep my eyes closed and listen to the rustle of thighs rubbing together as she approaches me. My ears pick up on her cautious manner.

"I’m not asleep Scully." I mumble.

"I would think not after the extra hour you got this morning." Scully is always good at putting me in my place. It’s irritating.

I feel her before me and a tender hand finds the back of my neck forcing my head forward slightly. She softly presses cold ice against the bridge of my nose, and I grumble at the feel of it. I blindly reach out and find the swell of her waist. My thumbs make circles on her pointed hip bones.

"Bad day?" I can feel her breath on my cheek and squeeze her lightly.

"I’ve had better." It’s true. I do occasionally have a day that doesn’t involve drama or an unnatural disaster.

Last week Scully taught me how to use a downy ball as she perched on a dryer in my apartment’s basement. She rewarded me with a kiss to my temple when I got it right. Currently, I can smell her fabric softener and its soothing my over-engorged nostrils.

"You smell pretty." I must be out of my mind, but the scent of lavender seeps into me and I can’t resist sucking in a deep breath of her.

"I smell like an autopsy bay." She corrects as she continues to alleviate the swelling.

"No. You smell like home." I give her a gentle pull forward, and she surprises me with compliance. She’s in my lap, and her hand continues to hold the ice against my face.

"I need a kiss Mulder." She sounds petulant. My eyes snap open to find hers filled with mirth. This is the first time she has ever been the requester of this particular encounter.

"Bad day?" I mimic her earlier inquiry as I lean toward her parted lips.

"Nothing I can’t survive." She breaths into my mouth.

At the last minute I redirect my aim and brush my lips to the underside of her chin.

She pulls away from me and guides my hand to replace hers holding the cold compress. She makes her way to her little black bag, pulls out two ibuprofen and nods to her forgotten bottle of water sitting beside me on the lopsided table where she left it when we checked in this afternoon. She hands me the pain reliever and heads toward the bathroom after a quick stop at her luggage.

I dutifully grimace down the offending powder tasting pills. This chair is not comfortable without her in my lap, so I sigh and move to her bed. I left the ice on the table, but my nose is fairly numb so I don’t really care. Scully probably will once it starts dripping all over the floor.

I lay back and locate the flimsy excuse for a pillow.

"Is there a reason you always end up on my bed when you’ve decided to get dirty?" She probably has her hands on her hips and her eyebrow raised.

"Is there someone else’s bed you’d rather I be in when I’m feeling dirty?" I crack an eye open and see she has changed into dark gray flannel pants and a tight red Henley.

"The least you can do is take off your shoes." I turn on my side and prop my head on my hand.

"I think I would ask you to leave your shoes on if you ever decided to commandeer my mattress." She’s beautiful tonight. She’s beautiful every night.

She doesn’t dignify my insinuation with a response. Instead she moves to my feet and unties my dirt-spackled footwear. When she’s removed them, she motions for me to make room for her. Once I have, she lays on her side and mirrors my position.

"It looks better. But you’re going to have some bruising." Her eyes are studying my injury. She reaches out and brushes her fingers through my hair.

I love when Scully touches me. She’s been doing it a lot more recently, and it never fails to send tingles along my spine.

"I’m sorry your day was so awful." I grab her hand as it retreats from my brow.

"It’s ok. My night has made up for it." I bring her palm to my lips and place a warm kiss into it.

She releases a low hum and rolls to her back as she gazes at the ceiling. Her eyes are sleepy and half-closed.

"How does one smell pretty, Mulder?" Her voice is calm and trance-like in the low orange light of the room.

"Simple. One uses a downy ball." I explain as my hand finds its way to her stomach. I brush my thumb parallel to her spinal column. My fingers itch with sensation where they are in contact with her body.

"Pretty is a word you use to describe a sunset, or a new dress. It’s improper word choice to use it to describe a scent. There is no way to reference what that means within the natural vocabulary of the English language."

"You talk pretty, too." I tell her, and I see a small smile grace her lips.

"You are exhausting."

"No more so than you." After all, she is the one trying to teach a grammar lesson while I’m just trying to memorize the smooth slope of her stomach.

"What’s your theory here Mulder?" She switches topics flawlessly.

I shrug my shoulders at her half-lidded gaze. “I don’t have one yet.” That’s not exactly true. I’m just wary of breaking the spell of ease that has wrapped around us tonight.

"Fine. But I know you’re lying." She is not accusatory, rather accepting of my avoidance.

My fingers have found their way under her top, and my hand is pressed flat beneath her ribcage.

"What time is it?"

I shift my eyes from where they were locked on her plump bottom lip and glance at the outdated clock on the bedside table.

"A little after one. Time for all grumpy Scully’s to go to bed." For that, I receive an elbow to the peck.

"I feel more like Sleepy, than Grumpy." She murmurs.

She is actually more like Snow White, except unable to carry a tune.

"If you ever chocked on an apple, I’d kiss you awake." I’m no prince, but I would try being whatever she needed me to be.

"When have you ever heard me whistle while I work?" She deadpans, and I am delighted that she is so teasing. I chuckle as I lower my head.

"Can I confess something to you Scully?" I whisper softly as my lips graze the outer shell of her ear.

"No." Her voice is breathy, and I congratulate myself.

My look of sorrow should reveal how grave the declaration I am about to make is. “I don’t know how to whistle.”

She turns her head and our lips are almost touching. “It’s easy Mulder. You just pucker up and blow.” I’m not sure what’s more arousing, the way her lips barely brush mine, or the way she said blow.

"Now I know what I was doing wrong, I thought the directions said pucker up and suck." I whisper into her lips. She just rolls her eyes at my ridiculous banter.

"No. Those are the instructions for kissing." She informs me matter-of-factly.

"Like this?" I ask and firmly plant my mouth over hers.

While Scully and I have been sharing little pecks over the last few weeks, this is only the second time we have kissed fully on the lips. The first time was New Year’s Eve, and it did not involve tongue. However, tonight I am going to take her directions.

I take her bottom lip into my mouth and run my tongue along its silky pout. She opens her lips and sighs into my pucker.

She tilts her head slightly and bumps my nose. I involuntarily pull away from her and a few tears sting my eyes.

"Oh Mulder." They are the right words, but the wrong context.

I shake off the pain, because this is Scully that is letting me lean over her supine form.

"Normally, I would be delighted to exchange Eskimo kisses with you Scully, but I think we should stick with good old fashioned mouth to mouth tonight." I lean forward and once again cover her soft lips. The pleasure of her warm tongue entering my mouth is far more intense than the pain in my swollen nose.

She purrs into my parted lips and I feel her tongue trace the roof of my mouth. I suck on it and she growls and wraps her arms around my neck pulling me closer. I’m draped over her and when she tugs me into her warmth, my chest scrapes against hers and I can feel her pointed nipples through her tight top.

Scully tastes like coffee, no sugar. It doesn’t matter because she is still sweet. Her tongue is warm wetness as it fights mine for control.

My nose is too swollen to suck in required air, and I am forced to break the kiss.

"I thought you wanted to learn how to whistle." She pants but doesn’t open her eyes.

"Not tonight." I skim my lips along her jaw line, careful not to bump my nose on her silky cheek.

"I should have known you had an ulterior motive when you ran into that door." I continue to lightly kiss her temple, her eyelid, her perfect nose.

"I did not run into that door. It attacked me." I tell her indignantly.

She lets out an almost giggle, and I swallow it. Her laugh tastes rich and heady. She tenderly bites down on my tongue, and I hiss.

As I pull away, I lean back far enough to find her eyes. I have an idea.

"Come with me to Disney World?" I want to take a vacation with her. I want to explore this new facet of our relationship outside the confines of lab coats and trace evidence.

She looks at me like she did last week when I suggested that George W. is a shape shifting alien. “It’s hurricane season.”

"No it’s not. It’s only February."

She considers this, but she’s not ready to concede. “But, I don’t want to deliver a baby on It’s A Small World.” She whines, but I can tell she is starting to give in.

We both pretend she’s not.

"We’ll only go to Epcot. You can be the navigator on Mission Space." I reason. She’s always trying to tell me how to drive.

"I’ll think about it." But I already know she’ll come.

I have to start formulating my plan. I will use the crowds as an excuse to hold her hand.

I give her another lingering kiss, because even if my nose wasn’t on fire with pain, tonight is only about kisses. The time for more will come later.

I get up and slip on my shoes. I can feel her eyes tracking me across the room.

I stop at the door and throw over my shoulder, “I will even stand in line with you while you wait for Dopey’s autograph.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see a flimsy pillow fly by my head. I ease the door open and make my way back to my room.

Today was one of the best days of my life. ____________________________________________

illsleepwhenimdeadngo asked:

Substrate question. I'd been keeping my snakes on paper towels, but to help bump humidity for my STPs I switched them to a 50-50 Aspen/Cypress mix. Today, cleaning one of them, I found some very small white bugs at the very bottom of the cage. This was only in areas where the bottom layers of substrate had started going gray. I've always heard mites are black, and the snake seems fine. I'm guessing it just means I'm due to switch out all the bedding, but should I be looking for anything else?

Well, regardless of what they are, you don’t want any creepy crawlies colonizing your enclosures. Also “going grey” sounds a bit concerning, that might be the result of mold which is really really bad to had in the enclosure as well.

I’d recommend doing a deep clean of the enclosure, sterilize with a 1:10 dilution of bleach or F10SC and let soak in some hydrogen peroxide 10-15 minutes to take care of any mold. I don’t know if you have a mite infestation or not but I would encourage you to spray the enclosure, and any others you may have, down with Provent-A-Mite or Natural Chemistry’s Reptile Spray just to be on the safe side. 

As for substrate, I prefer to keep my Blood on coconut husk chip. It holds moisture a lot better than aspen or cypress and also has the added benefit of not being splintery.

American Indie/ American Asshole

"Yo, hippie, got some pot?" he shouts. The whole cafeteria shakes from the roars of laughter and guffaw of the students – mine, included. There’s only one girl who isn’t laughing and I know immediately that everyone is laughing at her, not with her. I can’t blame them, though. I mean, look at her. She wears a flower crown and a papery summer dress in the middle of December. And she has a huge owl dangling by her neck. And, wait for it, she’s barefoot; her brown sandals contaminate the sterile whiteness of the table. She looks like she doesn’t know that everyone’s laughing at her. She’s busy fiddling with colored papers, trying to make, what it seems to me, paper flowers. That’s so weird, like, totally. But when another student yells something incredibly obscene (yet funny), she snaps. She gets her sandals and bag and leaves the room. Everyone follows her with snickers and stares. And I do, too. But then the guffaws become suddenly senseless and the faces around transformed into something edgier and meaner. Nevertheless, I continue roaring.

The students shuffle out of the cafeteria as the bell rings. I don’t like moving with somebody’s skin rubbing against mine so I let them crowd for the narrow exit. I start walking when I see red, orange, yellow flowers on the table – the ones that the indie girl was making a while ago. She probably left it out of embarrassment. I walk away but the scent of the paper flowers stop me. Or is it the shame and guilt that I feel deep inside? Without thinking, I stride to the table, grab the flowers and hastily put it inside my bag.

All throughout the afternoon, the weight of the paper flowers makes my shoulders sore. Is it really the flowers that are weighing me down or is it the hollow feeling in my gut? I bid my friends goodbye as I search the sea of rocky faces for, at least, a shiny facet of the diamond - rare, beautiful; the girl with flowers growing all over her.

I defy the rules of recklessness and hang with the beauty of solitude. People often ask me if they matter to the world and I’ll always answer them with “Yes, you do.” I’ll offer the brightest grin I could mask, satisfied that I made someone feel better but the thing is, I don’t know until when would their worth strike. I don’t know how long would it take before this once happy world would face its melancholic face to me and say “You have done well, Indie Girl, but you, too, shall meet the blazing heat of the sun. Be gone.”

Finally, I see her. She’s staring at the setting sun, probably chanting some hippie mantra – or not. She’s wearing her shoes now, yay for that. As the wind dances around her, the flowers on her dress seem to ballet along. And when she turns around, I swear to God, my breathing stops. Her eyes are wet from tears, but her lips are fashioned into a curve. She looks away when she sees me staring. I want to close the flowery space between us, but I cannot move – am afraid to move. When she takes a step away, I run to her.  

Ahh. I love going home with these white sheets. I took my clothes off, played my playlist entitled Chilly and let the breeze kiss my skin. Positive aura filled the rusty air but they could not flow into my mind. The heaviness drained as I drown into my thoughts; I was clinging with happy things so much it felt like cheating. The sun was radiating, my shirts swirl with colors but I don’t.

I wear shoes that make me feel comfortable with myself. Or sunflower floral crowns, or owl necklaces or even dangling peace logos on my wrist. It doesn’t matter I say but I don’t believe my smile when I say it. I’m an indie girl lost in a trance I call a happy world. I talk about the fleeting feeling love gives and of how hatred follows a beast on its own pace. I tell my niece it’s fine to fail and give her different colors of cotton candy - depending the shade on her need of sunshine. I sing and dance, sway and glide. I do things most people find rad. And so I say, if weirdness is the twin sister of confidence, is fear the evil stepsister? Perhaps, starchild. Perhaps.

Regular text: John

Italicized text: K

Newser: N. Carolina Will Pay $10M to Forced Sterilization Victims



Over a period of 45 years, North Carolina forcibly sterilized 7,600 people it deemed mentally or socially unfit. Now, 39 years since the state’s eugenics program ended in 1974, it will finally make reparations, with lawmakers earmarking $10 million to compensate victims, reports the Wall Street Journal. “No amount that we can afford to pay is enough,” says a state lawmaker. “But this is sufficient for the living victims to know that the state of North Carolina sincerely regrets the injustice that we’ve done to them.”

Click for article…

When I was four years old, a doctor advised my parents that I should undergo a “routine” hysterectomy. It was recommended, the doctor said, to prevent the future inconvenience of menstruation. My parents, thankfully, were horrified and high-tailed it out of there, taking me and my four year old uterus with them.


While human rights can be violated by individuals or by institutions, they can only be defended by institutions. The European Court of Human Rights does not deal with single individuals who have committed crimes. Rather, it focuses on why the government in question could not take action against what happened. But where are the doctors, politicians and all the people who personally contributed to or carried out such surgeries, and when they are going to take responsibility for their actions? In order to take action against this human rights violation, blaming the Communist regime is not enough. The practice continues today and forcibly sterilized Romani women are still a long way from receiving true justice.

Australia is planning to sterilize children without parental consent if a proposed law is adopted. Critics fear that Aborigines would be targeted. You can read about the state’s Draft Mental Health Bi…


Children (of any age) able to consent to sterilisation and 12 year olds to consent to psychosurgery and electroshock without any parental consent in W.A. (this is link to quotes below)

PARENTS RIGHT TO VISIT & COMMUNICATE WITH THEIR CHILD CAN BE REMOVED: At any time a psychiatrist can decide it is not in the child’s best interest to see his or her parents. The psychiatrist can make an order which prohibits the right of a parent to visit or communicate with their child, and refuse the child access to the telephone or visits from friends. [Pages: 145, 146 of the Draft Mental Health Bill 2011]

KIDS PLACED IN PSYCHIATRIC WARDS WITH ADULTS:The draft bill does not rule out children being held in wards with adults if the mental health service considers it is appropriate for them to be there. Children should never be treated in a psychiatric ward with adults. To consider exposing children to such an environment shows pitiful respect for them and leaves them open to physical and sexual abuse in an environment where there is insufficient supervision. [Page 161 of the Draft Mental Health Bill 2011]

RESTRAINT AND SECLUSION OF CHILDREN: Children can be restrained in a psychiatric institution. Only the use of mechanical restraint (manacles, belts, straps etc.) and the use of bodily force by others are covered in the draft bill. Chemical restraint, the use of psychiatric drugs to subdue and control the person, is not covered in the draft bill, so there are no legal safeguards to prevent its application

INVOLUNTARY COMMITMENT OF CHILDREN: At any time or place, a medical practitioner or authorised mental health practitioner (the draft bill does not even define who this will be) who “suspects” a child of mental illness can make a legal order for them to be sent for psychiatric assessment. Even a child at a medical appointment or in a general hospital suspected of mental illness could be detained for up to 3 days while awaiting transport for assessment. Once the child is transported to the assessing psychiatrist (usually at a psychiatric hospital) the psychiatrist can involuntarily detain the child for up to 14 days. Parents will not be able to discharge their child and take them home; the psychiatrist has the power to prevent parents from seeing their child if they decide it is in the child’s best interest. A psychiatrist can then make a “continuation order” to continue the involuntary commitment for up to 3 months once the 14 days has expired. He or she can continue to do this in up to 3 month blocks each time. During detainment the child could be drugged, restrained, secluded, given electroshock (if 12 or over) and could be put into a ward with adults. Parental consent is not required to continue the detainment or for any treatment.



this needs as much attention as possible

there was a petition but it has CLOSED, I can’t yet source the current status of the bill but here are relevant people to contact:

I am ashamed and disgusted at myself and the people of Perth, W.A and Australia for tallowing this to GET THIS FUCKING FAR


I am a lesbian woman of Color whose children eat regularly because I work in a university. If their full bellies make me fail to recognize my commonality with a woman of Color whose children do not eat because she cannot find work, or who has no children because her insides are rotted from home abortions and sterilization; if I fail to recognize the lesbian who chooses not to have children, the woman who remains closeted because her homophobic community is her only life support, the woman who chooses silence instead of another death, the woman who is terrified lest my anger trigger the explosion of hers; if I fail to recognize them as other faces of myself, then I am contributing not only to each of their oppressions but also to my own, and the anger which stands between us, then must be used for clarity and mutual empowerment, not for evasion by guilt or for further separation.
—  Audre Lorde, “The Uses of Anger,” Sister Outsider, p. 123

People Are Tweeting Like Jaden Smith And The Results Are Perfect

(source: )

It’s amazing when the entirety of the internet agrees on something; and Twitter has finally agreed to embrace the Jaden Smith philosophies of life. I will admit, this post would be about 15 times longer, but I HAD to crop out that dumb face that was on top of every. single. tweet.

Kept the face for that last tweet though, just because I can actually see him tweeting this one day..