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I see the broadcast trying NOT to let the camera show the awesome cape Manizha Talash of the Refugee Olympic Team unveiled in the middle of a battle. I see it. That's not politics or propaganda; that's human rights. Piss off.
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"I love seeing Black children happy. It bothers me so much when people are buzzkills about the joys of children, but it especially pisses me off when people are annoying about the happiness- and loudness- of Black children. It’s already hard as fuck enough out here, it’s not going to get any easier, and now the kids are supposed to be miserable too? Let the kids be happy!
At any point this world might decide that they should be murdered for the audacity to be alive and Black; I want them to cheer and clap and dance and sing and blast music as LOUD as they can because they are here too and they have every right to be! Take YOUR miserable ass on somewhere instead, and consider why happy Black children bother you so much. Maybe consider that YOU might be the threat! You want to fight somebody, pick on somebody your own size!"
A very pertinent quote from my lesson on Black Childhood
Sanctum Malorum tells the story of a fallen angel, Chavatzelet, holding a sanctuary open for the protection and, if they so choose, rehabilitation of sinners. Rehabilitation. In the underworld of all places! Sounds like a difficult task, but is it really too late for these loathsome souls?
Anyway, pansexuality is both biphobic and transphobic, thus pan people don't belong in the LGBT community.
Asexuals aren't inherently LGBT and don't belong, either (unless they also happen to experience same-sex attraction or gender dysphoria). Some aces are also pretty homophobic.
As for nonbinaries...well, I'm nb-neutral, but I do find it odd how no one identified as nonbinary before it was cool.
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Grace and Rocky, giving a tour of the Hail Mary to fascinated Eridian scientists and diplomats.
Pointing at things and explaining what they are and how the ship works, lots of awed and appreciative noises are made.
Until one of the visiting Eridians points out a specific item. “And that?”
It’s a strange, circular thing, a xenonite disk mounted upright on some sort of pivot so it can spin freely, but around the edges it has… spokes? Pegs? Sticking out of it, that hit against a stiff flap that would slow down the spinning.
It is also separated into sections decorated with crude etchings of a human and an Eridian.
“Ah,” Grace says.
“That,” Rocky says.
“That’s. Um.” Grace seems somewhat embarrassed. “That’s the sacrifice wheel.”
The Eridian visitors clearly do not know what to make of that. “We think we misunderstood Savior Grace’s word,” they say, apparently hoping this is a vocabulary mix-up. “Explain (question, polite)?”
“Didn’t misunderstand,” says Rocky, sounding very sheepish. “That is sacrifice wheel.”
“So. While we were on our way to Erid, we might have gotten… anxious about each other’s well-being,” Grace says, which everyone is already very aware is a wild understatement. “And, well, you heard what happened at Tau Ceti, and after. There were a lot of unexpected dangers for the whole trip that required a lot of, at least, attempted self-sacrifice to solve. We ended up almost dying for each other several times. And we had an argument about what we’d do if another crisis like that came up. And we couldn't agree.”
“Grace argued that Grace already was unlikely to survive long-term on Erid, so he should be the one to do any potential deadly but necessary maneuvers to make sure I was able to bring taumoeba back,” Rocky says.
“Which made sense.”
“Did not make sense! Grace already sacrificed so much for me and for Erid, wouldn’t be fair to make you do it again—“ Rocky cuts himself off with a huff. They have obviously had this conversation before. “So sacrifice wheel was compromise.”
“Yeah,” Grace says. He spins it to demonstrate; it whirls around in a blur and a rattle of the flap hitting the pegs, then eventually slows down, and stops—pointing at the segment depicting a very bad but very clear image of an Eridian. “Rocky made the wheel, I spin the wheel, and whoever it lands on, that’s who gets to sacrifice themself to save the other and the other person does not get to argue. This way, we wouldn’t waste time debating who does the self-sacrifice and who survives, it’s just a plain fifty-fifty chance. Or, eighteen-eighteen chance in base six. But the point is it could be either of us and we would have to accept the outcome.”
Rocky started fidgeting while Grace was explaining. When Grace finishes, proud of the equitable solution they came up with to allow them to die for each other fairly, Rocky says, “Now that we are back and we don’t need sacrifice wheel anymore… I have confession to make. About the wheel.”
“What about the wheel?”
Rocky doesn’t answer. Grace frowns, first confused, then suspicious, and spins the wheel again.
It lands on Rocky again.
He spins the wheel again, and again, and again, and it lands on Rocky every single time.
“Rocky!”
“I weighted the wheel,” Rocky admits.
“Rocky the whole point was that it was equal, that was why we even made it—“
“Never was necessary so doesn’t matter anymore!”
“But you WOULD have!”
“And you never noticed because you were hungry and cranky and distracted and so would have done bad job on heroic self-sacrifice anyway!”
“I would not! I would have done fine!”
(The Eridian scientists and diplomats are still here watching this btw. Slowly dawning on them that 1) these two are extremely not normal about each other 2) if Erid ever does another space mission they NEED to send a therapist aboard because this is what happens when they don’t)
one of the funniest conversations I ever had with my ex was when they were still getting used to Celsius and asked me "what's 20 degrees?" and instead of converting it, I said "it's the highest your dad will ever let you set the thermostat and when you say you're cold he tells you to put on another sweater, we're not made of money" and they went "oh, 68"
the fact that this reference was that fucking precise was something they went on to tell people about for years.
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The object comparisons are things of an equivalent weight, not things you can cut with the swords. Just saying so to preemptively stop cursed comments.
I NEED A FIC WHERE A KNIGHT/SWORD-FIGHTER OF SOME SORT WHO WIELDS A SWORD FINALLY LEAVES THE BATTLEFIELD AND LEARNS THAT THEIR BABY WEIGHS AS MUCH AS THEIR SWORD. I NEED THEM TO BE TORMENTED THAT THE WEIGHT IT TAKES TO HOLD THEIR BABY IN THE AIR IS THE SAME FAMILIAR STRENGTH IT TAKES TO LIFT UP THEIR SWORD BEFORE THEY CHOP SOMEONE’S HEAD OFF.
GOD IMAGINE IF THE KNIGHT/SWORD FIGHTER WAS THE ONE WHO GAVE BIRTH TO THE BABY.
IMAGINE IF THE KNIGHT/SWORD FIGHTER HELD THEIR INFANT AFTER BIRTH BATHED IN BLOOD AND FELT LIKE THEY WERE BACK IN THE BATTLEFIELD. NOT SAFE WITH THEIR BELOVED AND THEIR NEWBORN CHILD.
IMAGINE IF THAT KNIGHT/SWORD FIGHTER LOVED THEIR CHILD WITH ALL THEIR HEART AND SOUL BUT COULD NEVER STOMACH TO ACTUALLY CARRY THEIR CHILD BECAUSE IT FEELS TOO FAMILIAR TO THEIR UNTOUCHED SWORD.
IMAGINE IF THEY MADE THAT SWORD. IMAGINE IF THE SWORD GAINED SENTIENCE. IMAGINE IF THE KNIGHT/SWORD FIGHTER SOMETIMES IMAGINED THEIR SWORD AND THEIR CHILD AS SIBLINGS. ONE LOATHED THE OTHER BELOVED.
IMAGINE IF THEY SEE THEMSELF MORE IN THEIR SWORD THAN THEY DO THEIR FLESH AND BLOOD CHILD. BECAUSE THEIR CHILD IS TOO GOOD TOO INNOCENT TOO HUMAN.
"how do you live in this world, aren't you tired of finding microaggressions" why yes, yes I am actually, thank you for acknowledging that it's a terrible fucking time always noticing how "normal" antiblackness is lmao.
I just wanted to point out how ironically genuine this part is, as much as this racist jackass didn't mean to be so. Way to get to the core of the problem. Like yeah! It does suck! You're right! Sure wish there was a way I didn't have to live like this!
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