a quiet space

but you deserve to give informed consent to that process.

the lies around pregnancy - that it's inherently safe, that it doesn't do you permanent damage, that it's only extremely rare for people to die of pregnancy complications, etc like

all of these are lies constructed so that more people will get pregnant w/o knowing all that

there needs to be more talk about the impact of miscarriages and how common they are, how different abortion processes are and how accessible they are

but also like. talking about how pregnancy fucks your body up should not be taboo

this is a process that permanently changes most people's bodies, and that's even if the pregnancy doesn't do them like. severe illness or injury

and i just think everybody should have a right to KNOW that

When I was pregnant I was in a million forums for pregnant people because (cough adhd hyperfixation) and I had something called SPD (Symphysis pubis dysfunction) (not Sensory Processing Disorder though I also have that) which is where your pubic bones separate early (more or less) because they get all loosey goosey as your body gets ready to crank that baby out.

Except my pubic bone got confused and got misaligned at like 3 months pregnant. I could barely walk. I couldn't roll over in bed. Doing something that required me to shift my weight from one foot to another like opening a door knob was like an excruciatingly painful knife being stabbed into my pubic bone, I can't express how intense and blinding it was.

So I am in one million baby forums like "am I dying what is happening why is there a knife in my pubic bone" and all these people are like "I have that too! my doctor says it's normal and not to worry because it doesn't hurt the baby. I just deal with it by laying in bed for months in excruciating pain and think about how lucky I am to be having a little miracle growing in my body."

So lol nope. I went to my midwife and they are like, "Oh squeeze a can between your knees look up a physical therapy youtube on SPD" and I did that can-squeeze thing and it CURED THE PROBLEM in ONE DAY. I had been SUFFERING, y'all, it felt miraculous.

And I was so full of rage (flames, flames on the side of my face) that people are being told "Oh, it's NORMAL just deal with it" "It doesn't hurt the baby." Like, look, yes it's NORMAL but it's 100% treatable!!! SPD (again, not Sensory processing disorder) affects 1 in 5 pregnant people.

I was lucky to have amazing midwives (need a gender neutral term for that profession, but they see pregnant men and women)(side note highly recommend midwives if you are gender nonconfirming/a man/etc) and I have DOZENS of examples of shit like this.

Some people in moderate car crashes are very lucky, and walk away with zero injury. Some are very unlucky, and die. But most people fall into the third category, where they'll be injured at the time, then heal, and then for the rest of their life they have some minor and liveable complication from the injury. Like a knee that lets you know when the rain is coming, or a back that doesn't like seats without lumbar support, or a shoulder that never quite gets its full range of motion back.

she's been suffering with this since she gave birth to me. I'm 38 years old. she had that surgery last week.

Food relief:

BrightSide Produce is a nonprofit fighting food insecurity by expanding access to fresh produce in the Twin Cities.

Calvary Food Bank, which is located less than one mile from where Renee Good was killed, provides food via appointment or walk-in.

Community Aid Network (CANMN) performs weekly food drives throughout the Twin Cities.

Community Driven delivers fresh groceries straight to homes. Its flagship Foodshare Program rescues surplus food from local groceries and restaurants then delivers it to local food shelves and soup kitchens.

Fey y Justicia specifically focuses on providing food to immigrants in Minnesota.

The Food Group is a nonprofit providing food to people in over 30 counties in Minnesota.

North Country Food Alliance partners with local farmers — primarily those who are BIPOC — to distribute surplus food and reduce waste.

Pow Wow Grounds provides food to Native American communities in the state.

TC Food Justice partners with grocers, co-ops, bakeries, farmers, orchards, and farmers markets in the Twin Cities to take extra or unsalable food and deliver it directly to hunger relief locations.

Second Harvest Heartland is Minnesota’s largest regional food bank, and a partner of Feeding America.

We The Gente is dedicated to providing Latino individuals and families with education, career guidance, essential resources, and supportive services. It is currently distributing food in Minneapolis, and will be providing rent and bill assistance, transportation, and long term support in the near future.

For pets:

North Minneapolis Pet Resource Center is currently offering human food, pet food, and vet care support.

Support Animals Left Behind is working to rehome animals left behind after ICE abductions. Donations should be sent via Venmo with the message "animal care."

Underdog Rescue is providing free pet food to families with pets who are afraid to leave their homes.

Rent relief:

Cempazuchitl Collective provides rent assistance to Native American communities.

Central Area Neighborhood Development Organization (CANDO) is providing Minneapolis communities with food, rent and transportation.

Cielo Sin Limites/Sky Without Limits is helping cover housing costs for those too afraid to leave their homes, and those whose families have been stolen by ICE, impacting their ability to work.

Colectiva Bilingüe provides support for families with children enrolled in Minneapolis Public Schools who are experiencing housing instability or financial hardship.

Collective Care Fund is specifically raising funds to cover rent expenses for refugee and immigrant families whose housing stability has been threatened as a result of ICE activities.

Powderhorn Park Neighborhood Association has launched a renter support fund for residents.

Rent Relief for MPS Families sends funds directly to rent, utilities, and basic needs for families in Minneapolis schools.

Rent Support for Bancroft Families helps cover housing and utility costs for families in Bancroft, South Minneapolis.

Washburn Cares is fundraising to provide rent relief and school supplies for Minneapolis Public School families.

Legal support:

ACLU of Minnesota provides legal support to those whose constitutional rights have been violated.

The Advocates for Human Rights provides free legal help to people seeking asylum, unaccompanied children, people in immigration detention, and people who have been victims of human trafficking in Minnesota, North Dakota, and South Dakota.

Immigrant Law Center of MN is a nonprofit organization that provides free immigration legal representation to low-income immigrants and refugees in Minnesota and North Dakota.

International Institute of Minnesota provides assistance to immigrants, including refugee resettlement, English education, workforce and leadership development, college preparation, and citizenship assistance.

Mid-Minnesota Legal Aid is a nonprofit law firm providing free legal help to people with limited resources, disabilities, and seniors 60 and older.

SAKUSA AS THESEUS, retelling of theseus and the minotaur, original myth is changed to fit my narrative, mentions of death (the minotaur eats people!!), mentions of child marriage (ancient greece was sick), flirty and charming sakusa, hero!sakusa, 2.5k words.

the flowers were blooming early this year, speckles of color in the fields of green behind your small home. a sign of good fortune, the prophets of apollo had proclaimed, hard work will certainly be highly rewarded; the year of the bull. you grit your teeth and pulled harder, the weeds pestering your small garden uprooted entirely, their evil roots still gripping the flecks of soil that had nurtured them.

with deep reverence, you send a prayer to demeter, thanking her for an early spring.

sweat beaded at your hairline, curtesy of helios and his mighty chariot brining light to the sky overhead. it was just before noon now, with the sun directly overhead. collecting the clump of weeds you had uprooted, along with a few parcels of lavender, your feet carry you away from the forrestline and back to shelter.

inside your home lived your younger sister and father, your mother residing in the realm of hades after king minos had sent his navy to decimate athens. unlike most men in greece, your father was an honorable man, and his heart thumped only for his two daughters. though you were a girl, you were his eldest, and therefore his most prized possession in all of his lifetime. you were worth more than gold, in his eyes, more than any ore or meat or plant or man could offer. his pride and joy, a title you wore with honor.

lost in your thoughts, a series of screams tore you from your revere, the cries of your father to let her go, please! take me instead!

you hadn't thought twice before your feet carried you up the hill, powerful legs pumped full of adrenaline that pushed you to the forefront of your small home.

six cretan soldiers stood in the doorway, you could spot their royal purple linens from miles out. in their hands was your sister, tears spurting from her eyes like palace faucets, her arm contorted unnaturally under the pressure of the soldier's hands.

"let her go." you demanded, eyes aflame, "she is my sister, not a sacrifice. i suggest you find another family to tear apart."

you had thought your distance from the main city would protect your family, but the evil of minos extends everywhere, you suppose. once a year, fourteen athenian children are sent as sacrifices to feed the minotaur living under the cretan palace floors, trapped in a maze designed by the world's greatest engineer. there was no point to it, really, other than a cruel display of power, a boast to the world that one man could bring the great city of athens to its knees.

it was cruel, you know. to try and gift tragedy to another family, as if it were bread at a dinner table. but you would welcome the selfishness, just this once, if it meant preserving your sister's life.

"king minos was clear in his decree," the biggest one smiles down at you, his soul more rotten than his brown teeth, "seven girls and seven boys. your sister makes the last sacrifice. though, i wouldn't mind having her as my bride."

the soldiers laugh at his comment, their greedy eyes hungrily taking in your sisters figure. she visibly trembled under their touch, fear falling from her in waves.

you and her were different in that regard, the brutality of the world forging stubbornness and bravery in the chasms of your heart, instead of the petrefying fear that plagues your sister. you were not afraid of the world; you would burn it with your bare hands. if it meant preserving her smile, you'd destroy the earth ten times over; you'd set olympus aflame.

she's so young, too young, and terribly afraid of the world, not fully understanding what it means to be a woman or the shackles that come with marriage and children. she's already lost so much.

you clench your hands, stepping forward, muscles tense not from fear but from anger. poised, one might call it, in the way a mountain lion stalks its prey, ready to strike at even the smallest of openings.

"you will not touch her," you spit, harsh enough that the soldiers were unnerved, just for moment, "you will take me instead."

women were not protectors, you had been told, they are homemakers. gentle, subservient creatures to serve as vessels in aiding the next generation in conquering the world. you were no such thing. you were headstrong and unshakable, stubborn in a way that made men hate you, and you would protect what was left of your family with everything in you.

"it makes no difference to me," another soldier grinned again, wider and more terrible than the last, "you'll be dead before the end of the week."

in a quick exchange, your sisters life had been swapped for yours, the mark of death transferred to your head. you father wailed and hiccuped, you sister torn between shouting thanks and mourning her living sister; her only sister.

with the courage of a roman gladiator, you offer a warm smile to your father, and a gentle nod to your sister. it's okay, the crinkle of your eyes told them, take care of each other. don't forget to say your prayers. there's bread and cheese out on the table. don't forget to put it up after dinner.

with a rough yank, the band of soldiers marched you from your childhood home and down the way to the athenian port. there was no fear in your heart, you'd realized, only pride. your sister was safe and taken care of. the cretan solders never took from the same houses.

chin held high, you would sail from your home in athens to a foreign grave, and you wore your crown of death with pride. a bruise of honor.

SAKUSA AS THESEUS, retelling of theseus and the minotaur, original myth is changed to fit my narrative, mentions of death (the minotaur eats people!!), mentions of child marriage (ancient greece was sick), flirty and charming sakusa, hero!sakusa, 2.5k words.

the flowers were blooming early this year, speckles of color in the fields of green behind your small home. a sign of good fortune, the prophets of apollo had proclaimed, hard work will certainly be highly rewarded; the year of the bull. you grit your teeth and pulled harder, the weeds pestering your small garden uprooted entirely, their evil roots still gripping the flecks of soil that had nurtured them.

with deep reverence, you send a prayer to demeter, thanking her for an early spring.

sweat beaded at your hairline, curtesy of helios and his mighty chariot brining light to the sky overhead. it was just before noon now, with the sun directly overhead. collecting the clump of weeds you had uprooted, along with a few parcels of lavender, your feet carry you away from the forrestline and back to shelter.

inside your home lived your younger sister and father, your mother residing in the realm of hades after king minos had sent his navy to decimate athens. unlike most men in greece, your father was an honorable man, and his heart thumped only for his two daughters. though you were a girl, you were his eldest, and therefore his most prized possession in all of his lifetime. you were worth more than gold, in his eyes, more than any ore or meat or plant or man could offer. his pride and joy, a title you wore with honor.

lost in your thoughts, a series of screams tore you from your revere, the cries of your father to let her go, please! take me instead!

you hadn't thought twice before your feet carried you up the hill, powerful legs pumped full of adrenaline that pushed you to the forefront of your small home.

six cretan soldiers stood in the doorway, you could spot their royal purple linens from miles out. in their hands was your sister, tears spurting from her eyes like palace faucets, her arm contorted unnaturally under the pressure of the soldier's hands.

"let her go." you demanded, eyes aflame, "she is my sister, not a sacrifice. i suggest you find another family to tear apart."

you had thought your distance from the main city would protect your family, but the evil of minos extends everywhere, you suppose. once a year, fourteen athenian children are sent as sacrifices to feed the minotaur living under the cretan palace floors, trapped in a maze designed by the world's greatest engineer. there was no point to it, really, other than a cruel display of power, a boast to the world that one man could bring the great city of athens to its knees.

it was cruel, you know. to try and gift tragedy to another family, as if it were bread at a dinner table. but you would welcome the selfishness, just this once, if it meant preserving your sister's life.

"king minos was clear in his decree," the biggest one smiles down at you, his soul more rotten than his brown teeth, "seven girls and seven boys. your sister makes the last sacrifice. though, i wouldn't mind having her as my bride."

the soldiers laugh at his comment, their greedy eyes hungrily taking in your sisters figure. she visibly trembled under their touch, fear falling from her in waves.

you and her were different in that regard, the brutality of the world forging stubbornness and bravery in the chasms of your heart, instead of the petrefying fear that plagues your sister. you were not afraid of the world; you would burn it with your bare hands. if it meant preserving her smile, you'd destroy the earth ten times over; you'd set olympus aflame.

she's so young, too young, and terribly afraid of the world, not fully understanding what it means to be a woman or the shackles that come with marriage and children. she's already lost so much.

you clench your hands, stepping forward, muscles tense not from fear but from anger. poised, one might call it, in the way a mountain lion stalks its prey, ready to strike at even the smallest of openings.

"you will not touch her," you spit, harsh enough that the soldiers were unnerved, just for moment, "you will take me instead."

women were not protectors, you had been told, they are homemakers. gentle, subservient creatures to serve as vessels in aiding the next generation in conquering the world. you were no such thing. you were headstrong and unshakable, stubborn in a way that made men hate you, and you would protect what was left of your family with everything in you.

"it makes no difference to me," another soldier grinned again, wider and more terrible than the last, "you'll be dead before the end of the week."

in a quick exchange, your sisters life had been swapped for yours, the mark of death transferred to your head. you father wailed and hiccuped, you sister torn between shouting thanks and mourning her living sister; her only sister.

with the courage of a roman gladiator, you offer a warm smile to your father, and a gentle nod to your sister. it's okay, the crinkle of your eyes told them, take care of each other. don't forget to say your prayers. there's bread and cheese out on the table. don't forget to put it up after dinner.

with a rough yank, the band of soldiers marched you from your childhood home and down the way to the athenian port. there was no fear in your heart, you'd realized, only pride. your sister was safe and taken care of. the cretan solders never took from the same houses.

chin held high, you would sail from your home in athens to a foreign grave, and you wore your crown of death with pride. a bruise of honor.

That woman never gendered me right once, but she shut up about Jesus long enough to feed people next to us bc she cared more about action than ideology. She also had a whole network of other church people who helped contribute $ to ingredients. We provided more and better meals together than in our "correct" silos

♡ SYNOPSIS: tonight's date night! if only you two could make it out the front door…

♡ WARNINGS/TAGS: domestic!husband!kiyoomi, very suggestive but nothing explicit – y/n and oomi can’t keep their grubby little hands off each other, mentions of sex, vibes of falling deeper in love with your spouse everyday, reader wears a dress and heels, swearing i think, honestly just brainrot of kiyoomi in a suit so it's not super edited, 1.2k words!

“Are you ready?” KIYOOMI calls from your living room.

When you first got married, the two of you set hard rules. Boundaries and preferences and non-negotiables to make you both better life-partners. 

And so, Kiyoomi cooks because you hate cooking. In return, you do the dishes. You’d rather lose a finger than perform the menial chore of folding laundry every week, but Kiyoomi loves the routine of it all. Grocery shopping is a two-person task, and Kiyoomi pushes the cart while you tick through the list.

“Almost!” You call back, quickly spritzing a delicate perfume on your pulse points and grabbing your heels from the closet. “Twenty seconds!”

And, on a more romantic note, you two promised date nights every week. A relatively flexible but ultimately non-negotiable requirement to a happy marriage. 

“You don’t have to rush,” Kiyoomi’s voice becomes louder as you exit your shared bedroom, stumbling a bit as you attempt to pull on your heels while walking, “Our reservations aren’t for another forty-five minutes–”

“No, no!” You give up on the heels after a few moments of struggle, grabbing them by the straps and rounding the corner to the living room, “I’m ready, just let me get my coat and we can–”

Your eyes cut to your husband just as he looks up from his watch, sitting patiently on the couch as you get ready. 

Kiyoomi’s always been handsome, but seeing him dressed up like this always leaves you a bit starstruck. He’s the kind of beauty that artists incase in marble. You seem to have the same effect on him, and Kiyoomi lets out a low whistle of appreciation when he sees you.

“Damn.” He stands to greet you, reaching for your hands and threading his fingers in the spaces between yours. The tips of his ears are dusted the lightest shade of pink, “How’d I get so lucky?”

Blood quantum is a nightmare concept. It is essentially how much 'native blood' you 'legally' have according to the government.

It is not traditional, it is not cultural, it is not something Indigenous nations ever used to measure belonging.

It was created by colonizers as a tool of erasure. It literally exists so the government could mathematically subtract us out of existence over time.

Think of it like this;

instead of letting Indigenous communities define ourselves, the U.S. government came in and said, “Your Indigeneity is only valid if we can quantify it like livestock breeding papers.” It was meant to break apart families, stop us from passing on identity and land rights, and eventually reach a point where they could say, “See, there are no real Indigenous people left! So we don't need to think about them!"

It weaponizes nebulous and often finicky genetics against culture, community, lived experience, etc.

It ignores the fact that Indigenous identity is about kinship, belonging, survival, language, tradition, and responsibility to our people.

Blood quantum turns those things into a number. A number designed to shrink until there is nothing left.

Many nations are still stuck dealing with blood quantum rules because of federal pressure and resource control, not because we chose it or approve of it.

And it harms us every single generation. It pits relatives against each other, creates disenrollment fights, and tells half of Indigenous kids they are somehow less real than their siblings because of paperwork.

It also lets the government give a 'good reason' for why we shouldn't have mixed race marriages or 'interbreed' with other races, because then the blood quantum 'goes down' and we may legally not be considered indigenous under the government anymore, which means they can deny us things like certain assistance programs, medical care, etc.

It's literally government mandated eugenics.

Sure, it's the “simple”, “surface-level” things that people tend to think of, like

In your culture, how many meals a day are you generally expected to eat, and when are you expected to eat them?

In your culture, which clothes are considered “formal”, and when would you wear such clothes?

But it's also so much more:

If you were dating someone, at what point in the relationship would you be expected to introduce them to your parents? That's culture!

How much respect is given to artists? Are people like poets or musicians revered as an integral part of society, or is the predominant attitude “get a real job”? That's culture!

How much value is given to education? What's considered more socially embarrassing - academic failure, or academic achievement? What's the intellectual landscape? Do people tend to respect experts, or denigrate them as “elitists”? That's culture!

Which things are generally considered to be “high culture” or “low culture”? Which kinds of media and art are considered “for the masses” versus “for the elites”? That's culture!

How are politicians treated? Do people tend to respect them as their “betters”, their “leaders”? Or are they assumed to be lying, conniving, corrupt, the worst of society? What kind of thing would end a politician's career? That's culture!

What's considered more egregious behaviour - bothering other people, or asking someone to stop bothering other people? That's culture!

If you were attending a job interview, how would you want to come across? How would you be expected to dress and behave? Would it be better to come across as very bold and confident, or humble and subservient? That's culture!

If you found yourself in a tricky situation - say, broken down at the side of the road - would you confidently expect strangers to come and help you? Or would it seem really weird for some random person to come and involve themselves in your situation? That's culture!

How are you expected to communicate? Is it seen as rude to be very blunt and straightforward, or is it considered rude to beat around the bush and make allusions and try to soften what you're saying rather than quickly getting to the point? That's culture!

I could go on (boy could I go on). This is so not meant to be all-inclusive; this is just a tiny sample of the things that make up “culture”.

To put it bluntly, a lot of the time the word “culture” seems to be used to mean, essentially, “the things that make people of colour different from white people”. Oh, this guy eats this different kind of food; that's culture. This lady wears these clothes to a wedding; that's culture. But we white people, we don't have “culture”; we just do what's normal. But it's all culture! Everything! All of it! And culture isn't just the result of where in the world you come from - class, occupation, rural/urban location, minority status, political affiliation, all these things and more can result in cultural differences even within a small area. Multiple cultures often co-exist, blend, overlap, and borrow from one another within the same place, which is especially noticeable in places with legacies of migration. People bring different cultures from around the world, and these interact with the dominant culture in all sorts of interesting ways. But a culture being dominant doesn't mean that it ceases to be a culture.

It takes in British and French and German and Irish and Polish and Italian and Jewish immigrants (etc.), throws their culture into a blender and shapes the default culture (with the bits that are considered to come from the whitest of those in-groups forming the biggest chunks) AND it demands conformity to the new blender-culture at the expense of whatever culture the immigrants had.

White immigrant groups are not seen as 'American' simply because they display enough culture markers that are distinctly white-American. No, in order to qualify as American, they have to no longer display a set of culture markers that are distinctly other. If their habits or language etc. are too Irish, too Polish, to Italian.. then they are 'other' no matter how many markers of the dominant culture they express.

Of course, in order to not speak with an Irish, Polish or Italian accent, you must speak with the dominant accent. In order to appear to no longer be culturally other in any way, you must express the dominant culture in all things. So you are doing a lot of culture.