#Death of General Grant

[deadpresidents]

I stopped procrastinating and am finally reading Grant's autobiography. A few chapters in, I'm surprised by how readable and relatable they are. Having been raised on Mark Twain, how much influence did he have over the final version? Or are we reading most of Grant's original words?

The Personal Memoirs of Ulysses S. Grant (BOOK | KINDLE) really is a great book. It's not always easy to read things written in the 19th Century because the rhythm of the writing is usually so much more formal than we are used to now. But Grant's Memoirs flow really well, and I think anybody interested in the era should have Grant's book at the top of their reading list. I'd especially recommend checking out the annotated edition released in 2017 by Belknap Press/Harvard University Press (that's the version I linked at the beginning of the paragraph). But the beauty of Grant's book is that you don't need annotations because the prose is so clear and easy to read.

As for the authorship, there have been rumors about the part that Mark Twain played in the writing of the book ever since the book was finished literally a few days before Grant died in 1885. And the flames were also fanned by Grant's former military aide Adam Badeau who helped Grant in the early stages of the writing process and was bitter about not getting paid more money, so he also claimed to be Grant's ghostwriter. But while Twain did help with some editing, his major role was in getting the book published in the best way to ensure that Grant's family would benefit financially from its publication. Grant wrote the book because he was broke and dying, and he wanted to make sure his family was going to be okay. Twain didn't think the contract that Grant was about to sign with a publisher to write the book was fair and felt that Grant could make significantly more money selling the book via a subscription service (the original deal was supposed to net Grant 10% of the royalties; Twain's deal guaranteed Grant 70% of the royalties). So the most significant part that Twain played was in regard to the finances, which again was the reason why Grant was writing the book in the first place.

Twain definitely helped Grant with proofreading and literary advice throughout the writing process, but Grant had started writing the book before Twain was involved and had already been writing articles about his Civil War experiences for magazines and serials for a few years. There is a unique voice to Grant's writing style and I think it is clearly recognizable, especially in comparison to how other public figures wrote at the time. So, it's definitely Grant's book. Plus, the Library of Congress still has the original manuscript of Grant's Memoirs (alongside all of his other papers and correspondence) and every page of the book was handwritten by Grant.

•One of my favorite photos in Presidential history is this one of a gravely ill Ulysses S. Grant, who by this point could no longer speak because of the throat cancer that was killing him (he had to write notes to communicate with his family and his doctors), feverishly writing to finish his book at his cottage on Mount McGregor in the Adirondacks of New York:

The photo was taken on June 27, 1885. Grant finished writing his Memoirs on July 19, 1885. Four days later, on July 23, 1885, he died at the age of 63.

[faaun]

last night i got home kind of tipsy and very much in tears and my mother told me the force you exert to keep someone in your life is proportional to the force with which they will leave your life. if you have to fight tooth and claw to keep them, their leaving will be just as hard, just as harsh, and just as definite.

[aalghul]

when it comes to being willing to make concessions on methods & morality specifically in exchange for gaining batman’s trust & access to the inner bat circle vs rejecting an existing trust & access (because it did exist prior to jason’s death & would have existed had he chosen to walk back in with no radically opposing beliefs after lost days #1)….jason should never choose the first

[mahoutoons]

i'm very excited for wnk but i'm worried about kyoko and mami because they haven't been given much importance in the trailers and it seems like they won't be given much spotlight in favour of the new magical girls (because obviously they're new characters so they need more spotlight so we can get to know them). like with the other girls we can guess what their roles will be from their appearences in the trailer and some have even made theories about the roles of the new magical girls but we don't know what role kyoko and mami will play. i really hope this isn't the case and they'll end up being important but they've been having minimal appearences in the trailers so i'm worried.

[queeniecook]

"Growing Pains" - Part 3

My birthday arrived.

“I feel like Salem is judging us again for making love.” Pak told me quietly.

I looked over and Salem was starting Pak down. I had to laugh. Salem had done that off and on during my whole relationship with Pak.

“He’s just letting you know who the man of the house is.” I said, joking.

Pak chuckled a little bit “There’s a diving suit in the bathroom for you, ku’uipo. Put it on. There’s a boat outside that’s waiting to take you to a diving site.” Pak told me.

So that was some of what he had been up to.

I spent an hour diving. Pak did it all the time for work, I could see why he liked it. Granted he had an advantage I didn’t. He is a mermaid. He could do it without the gear, I couldn’t. I enjoyed it though.

The boat brought me back home and Pak texted me, telling me to change into my swimsuit and meet him in the water.

I swam to him and wanted to ask who was watching the kids, but he didn’t give me a chance to. I knew he wouldn’t leave them unattended, so I put that out of my mind.

He took me frog hunting by the waterfall. I had hunted frogs before, but never in the water. It was a different experience. It was more fun.

After frog hunting, we splashed around in the water like little kids.

Naturally with the two of us, things turned romantic. We weren’t strangers to the waterfall.

“This has been a great birthday, thank you.” I told him before heading back towards the house.

“It’s not over yet.” Pak told me in a playful tone.

So there was more.

When we got back to the house, Pak started grilling fruit. One of my favorites. I went inside to change into my workout gear, I was going to do a little yoga before dinner.

Sabrina stopped me though. She kept meowing at me, which she rarely did. She kept pacing and meowing until I paid attention to her. That seemed to calm her down for a few minutes before something started happening.

Ares and Xena were born. They looked a lot like their Dad, I got all giddy and kept squealing about how cute they were. I got kittens on my birthday, not a bad gift from the cats.

Vera congratulated Salem on becoming a Dad by giving him attention and cuddles.

We all ate dinner together out on the patio. It was perfect to me.

I still had to age. I blew out the candles on a Sugar Free Carob Coconut Cake. The same exact kind of cake that I made for Pak during his first birthday with me. The fact wasn’t lost on me. He did it in purpose. A reminder of all the time we had been in each other’s lives.

My birthday wasn’t so bad after all until…

We lost Salem that night. We had gained Ares and Xena. It was a sad night. Vera wasn’t there, she had gone to Dominic’s house for a sleepover after I blew out my candles. I wasn’t sure how to tell her.

<- previous

[juney-blues]

man tumblr is doing theyfab discourse like *right* after i got into a huge stupid argument with one of my friends over that word

[xx-psych0-rabbit-xx]

btw i love the jamba cult religious references r a fucking mess.they use god angel n devil/demon terminology, they have a reference to a buddhist concept in only japanese, zan has multiple character references to a shinto god, they canonically have a form of christmas, they have sacrifices, one of the manga actively uses christian cross imagery for them (including literal crucification), they worship dark matter which has had standard angel imagery before, the cultists use demon terminology for themselves like a classic evil cult, theres ambiguous references to paradise multiple times for them.theyre a doomsday murder suicide cult.what the fuck is going on here

[ereh-emanresu-tresni]

.

[deadpresidents]

"The entire country has witnessed with deep emotion his prolonged and patient struggle with painful disease, and has watched by his couch of suffering with tearful sympathy...The great heart of the nation that followed him when living with love and pride bows now in sorrow above him dead, tenderly mindful of his virtues, his great patriotic services, and of the loss occasioned by his death."

-- President Grover Cleveland, Proclamation Announcing the Death of former President Ulysses S. Grant, July 23, 1885

[theheadlessgroom]

@beatingheart-bride

"Is she now?" Callahan asked with a little smile, leaning against the table as Lon nodded eagerly, saying, "Uh-huh! It's gonna be a big chocolate bat, with candy eyes and vanilla chocolate chips for fangs! It's gonna be really cool! She made us a pumpkin one last year!"

"Pumpkin, huh? Your pa or your grandpa ever tell you the tale of Stingy Jack?" "Uh-huh! We even carved turnips last year! It was kinda weird, though. I like pumpkins better."

"Have you ever...tasted pumpkin before?" August ventured to ask, at which the boy made a bit of a face, saying, "Like...pumpkin pie?"

"That's one way, but...pumpkin has a lot of applications when it comes to cooking. Pumpkin bread, roasted pumpkin seeds, even pumpkin soup. Your great-grandmother Josephine has quite a few recipes for it."

"Ick!" Lon frowned, sticking his tongue out in response to this-he didn't even much like pumpkin pie, so the idea of pumpkin anything else wasn't all that appealing: As far as he was concerned, pumpkins were only good for carving and throwing guts around with his sister, not so much eating.

"I...I like pumpkin pie."

Both August and Callahan were surprised to hear Erika speak up-in some ways, she looked just as surprised at her own bravery, what with her big eyes and glowing cheeks. Still, it made both men smile, with August venturing to ask, "Is it your favorite flavor of pie?"

"No...I like peach cobbler best."

"Well, Josie has a recipe for that too," he chuckled. "And I think she'd be thrilled to make it for you."

[narwhalandchill]

friendship ended with every single TCG card, constipated beasts or whoever are now my best friends 🥰🥰🥰

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

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[remorsefulkittens]

Paramedic May...Or Maybe Not

Rating: General

Status: Complete (2,883 words)

@911bingo Square: Paramedic May Grant

Summary: May rides along with Chimney and Hen, but paramedic life may not be for her.

Read on Ao3

May Grant was by no means a quitter; she was strong-willed, determined, and rarely backed down from a challenge. That morning she was going to be the star ride along of the 118…now it was 11:47, not even noon, and her optimism was waning.

“Grab my bag will you?” Chim called, jogging toward their fourth call of the morning, a cyclist who rode down a flight of cement steps. “And be quick, Grant! This isn’t the call center, you need to use your legs.”

May didn’t miss the wink Chim directed at Hen, or the amusement that tugged at Hen's lips. It was all in good fun she supposed, but she had been lugging bags, running and fetching all morning, and that was the best part…the rest of the time she was getting puked on, or wanting to puke herself. Before today she'd had no way of knowing just how gruesome a third degree burn could be, or how far away you had to be when a kid projectile vomited, and if that weren’t enough, she was pretty sure she could see bone sticking out of this next guy’s ankle.

Joining her partners for the day, she hid to wince, taking in the compound fracture Hen was stabilizing.

“Ok May,” Hen said, glancing up to make sure she had her attention. “You can see the bleeding is under control, so we want to cover the open wound with a sterile dressing, then we can splint it…very carefully, and…are you watching?”

May nodded, turning her grimace into an unnatural sort of smile. Bike guy looked like he was barely holding it together, but May had learned her lesson about offering pained, panicked people her hand. Her fingers were still aching courtesy of their burn victim.

“Shock is our enemy of course, but we will keep an eye on that in the rig,” Hen went on, while May tried not to focus on just how white bone is in the sun, when you let it outside of the skin. “Let’s move him Chim,” she ordered, gesturing at the stretcher.

“What about my bike?” The patient spoke up worriedly. “Can we take it with us?”

Chim grinned, helping to heft the injured man without jostling his leg.

“Sure,” he said, “May here will grab it.”

Their next few calls were less bloody, but they hardly fell into the emergency category. Hen lectured a man who bit his tongue eating pizza, a woman who lost her ticket and was ‘trapped' in a parking garage, and a man whose wife wouldn’t let him leave the house until he admitted he was having an affair.

May had to admit she was exhausted by the time they responded to an expansive home in the hills, where three frantic teens, reeking of marijuana, were stressing over their stoned friend who had climbed a tree before falling fast asleep.

“Man! How are we gonna get him down?” The blondest of the teen boys asked, latching onto Chimney’s arm, eyes glassy and unfocused.

May shook her head, shading her eyes so she could see the dark haired kid, perched precariously on a jutting limb, a good 25 feet off the ground. She resisted the urge to laugh nervously, taking her cue from Hen who was also gazing up into the tree, poker faced.

“Well,” Chimney said, patting the blonde boys shoulder reassuringly, “our friends in the fire engine are right behind us. They’ll climb up and get him down…until then, let’s not startle him.”

Everyone stared up, holding their breath. May leaned over and whispered to Chimney.

“Aren’t you worried?” Side-eyeing the stoner kids, wondering if they were too high to realize their friend could fall and die. She was mirroring Chim and Hen's casual stance, but inside she was horrified that all they could do was stand by and wait.

Chimney turned his head to look her in the eye. “Hell yes, but let's not tell them that,” he nodded to the teens. “The ladder truck was only minutes behind us. Hen radioed them so the siren is off, but they’re coming.”

The ladder truck did arrive, quietly, and they worked swiftly, with no shouting of orders this time. The truck was positioned, Eddie raised the ladder, and Buck climbed up to secure a harness on the kid, all miraculously, without waking him. Bobby stepped up beside May to give her shoulder a squeeze, and she smiled at him even though she wanted to weep with relief.

Once Buck had the confused teen on the ladder, everyone on the ground whooped and cheered. May acknowledged that being out in the field wasn’t so different from the call center; there was a time to keep quiet, a time to focus, and a time for loud celebration. Just, at the call center there were a lot less bodily fluids, May reflected, as the formerly treed kid looked up to where he'd been, turned, and vomited all over Buck.

Delivering babies was both the best and worst of paramedic life, Hen told May on their way to yet another call. Labouring mothers were unpredictable, and you had to develop a feel for which were about to deliver, and which just needed reassurance and a ride to the hospital. The miracle, Hen said, was when you heard the baby cry, and it never got old, but getting there could set your teeth on edge.

Despite Hen's gentle warning, May couldn’t help her excitement. The birth of a baby was a celebration, and being a part of it had to be rewarding. May had coached a few pregnant women as a dispatcher, staying on the line until the medics arrived. Those calls gave her the best feeling because after all the pain and worry, there was joy. In person, May reasoned, it could only be better.

It was a poor neighborhood they pulled up to, and a tiny ramshackle house. They exited the ambulance in a hurry when a frantic man, not much older than May, ran out to usher them inside. May grabbed a bag without being told, feeling energized, but suddenly guarded, hearing the guttural noises from their patient as they stepped through the door.

The woman, so young, probably a teenager still, was lying was on the living floor in a makeshift bed of cushions and blankets. In the corner was a children’s inflatable pool, that Hen scrutinized before kneeling beside the labouring mom.

“We heard that giving birth in water was better for the baby…” the young father defended, misinterpreting Hen's interest for disapproval, the real concern being the amount of blood in the water.

“When did she get out of the pool?” Hen asked him, feeling for a pulse.

“Um, just before I called you. She was hurting really bad…I mean worse than before. She's been at this all day, since early this morning. We-uh-well we couldn’t afford a hospital birth.”

May reached out to lay and hand on his arm, trying to offer some comfort. He turned wary eyes on her.

“What are your names?” May asked, wanting to connect.

“I’m Andrew,” he told her in a shaky voice, “and that’s Lila,” he motioned, “we're married. She's my wife.”

May nodded, gripping his hand. Together they watched Chimney place an oxygen mask over Lila's face, while Hen lifted the blankets to find out how imminent the baby’s birth was. The grim smile she turned on May and Andrew wasn’t reassuring.

“I can see your baby's head,” she said, “but your wife is bleeding a lot. We need to deliver before we transport. Then, hopefully, we can control the bleeding. Be ready to move.” Hen gave May a meaningful look that spoke volumes.

Then Chimney was radioing for another ambulance, Hen was urging the exhausted mom to push and push hard, and Andrew raced to her side while May stayed rooted to the spot. The mood in the room was far from joyful anticipation, and all she could do was stare wide-eyed, while Hen guided the baby straight from its mother’s womb, into the world. There was no cry as Hen handed the newborn off to Chim, and started grabbing up all the padding she could to stem the flow of blood that followed.

May felt frozen, but when Hen summoned her she went, pulling on gloves, holding pressure, doing exactly what she was told, trying not to think. Another ambulance arrived and whisked the baby away, Lila was transferred carefully to the stretcher, and the whole ambulance ride was Hen trying desperately to revive their patient, while Chim drove as fast as he could, lights and sirens blaring.

“I’m sorry May,” Hen said softly, perching beside her on the back of the rig, still parked in the emergency bay. “You shouldn’t have had to see that, and I certainly shouldn’t have asked you to help.”

May shook her head. She wasn’t upset about that. She was only upset that the world could be so harsh, and that immeasurable suffering went unnoticed everyday. She sure didn’t notice. Not really. Not even from her dispatch job.

“What if they'd been in a hospital?” May asked, throat tight.

Hen sighed, and wrapped an arm around May's shoulders. “Things might have been different. They might have still gone wrong. Pre natal care would have helped. The placenta attached low. The doctors could have done a C-section.”

May held back tears because she wasn’t a child. She came on this ride along to learn the job, and this was the job.

“They both could have lived?” She asked, meeting Hen's eyes, daring her to tell the whole truth.

“There's a good chance.” Hen told her, frowning. “There are free clinics and county hospitals. They should have found help.”

May shook her head angrily. “Andrew said their families wouldn’t even help. How were they supposed to know they could count on strangers?!”

Hen hugged her close for a minute. “May, in this job there are going to be times, lots of times, when you just can’t make sense of the things you see. All you can do is dwell on the good calls, and let the bad ones go.”

“I don’t want this job!” May cried adamantly, burrowing closer to Hen.

“That’s fair,” Hen said, stroking her hair. “That’s totally fair.”

The last call they attended, after May assured Hen and Chimney she could continue, was something of a tonic.

It came from an older lady who lived in a pretty little house surrounded by beautiful, well-tended gardens. She had fallen and called 9-1-1, reluctantly, from the cell phone her daughter bought and made her carry. May braced herself to see this woman, who clearly took such pride in her home, taken to hospital, then straight from there to some nursing home, where she would be stuck while all her plants died.

Hen knelt down next to the embarrassed woman to check vitals, while Chim positioned himself on the other side. May got the impression they'd done this before.

“Can you tell me your name?” Hen asked, satisfied that pulse and respirations were in normal range.

The woman smiled apologetically up at all of them. “It’s Eloise, but you know that,” she gave a deep sigh. “I know the country, the date, the city, and the President too. I’m really ok. It's just my arthritis…makes it impossible to get up once I’m so far down, if you know what I mean.”

May could see it. Eloise had toppled into one of her garden beds, a fairly soft landing, but the raised edge made getting up a challenge.

Hen and Chimney had no problem getting the tiny woman up and back inside the house, once they were satisfied she had no serious injuries. She refused transport to the hospital, kindly, but had a few requests.

“You folks can make yourselves comfortable,” she told them, “lots to eat in the fridge. I know you’re busy but I’m hoping you can open my pill bottles for me…my hands don’t want to do it anymore.”

Chimney picked up the bottles on the table one by one, checking the labels, and opening the lids.

“El, how long has it been since you took your pills?” He asked gently, motioning for May to get a glass of water.

“Just a few days,” she answered quickly, eyes downcast. “I’d hate for anyone to think I cant manage on my own. I do just fine! It's the finicky things is all. Like these bottles.”

May handed over the glass of water, and Hen joined them with a sandwich she had thrown together.

“Eat something because those pills can make you dizzy if you don’t,” Hen advised, “and El, the pharmacy will put your pills in a blister pack. Something easy to open. I’ll call right now,” Hen told her, pulling out her phone.

Eloise looked surprised and grateful. She didn’t say anything though, turning eyes on May who was taking in the tidy house with it's whimsical décor.

“Your home is really beautiful,” May said sincerely, “you must like to decorate.”

Eloise’s house was not the blast from the past many senior's homes were. It was a showcase of her life, from the photo's on the wall and travel memento's, to the stylish but comfortable furniture, covered in plush throws, and colorful cushions.

“I Iike to buy things,” Eloise chuckled, “you have to be nice to yourself. Took me awhile to learn that, but it’s good advice. Helps if your bastard of a husband dies and leaves you all his money too!”

May, and Hen who had finished her phone call, both laughed along with her at that, while Chimney shook his head.

“Wow, El, what are you teaching this girl?”

That only made her grin wickedly. “Oh, if she keeps coming back I can teach her all the good stuff!” Eloise pinned May with a interested gaze. “Seriously, come on back. Visit with me. I can teach you piano, gardening, or better yet to how to make a man-"

“Whoa there!” Hen cut her off, thoroughly amused. “I’m not sure May is ready for all your trade secrets yet, El.”

Eloise was determined though, wagging a finger at them all. “Sooner she learns the better! I’ll tell you, May is it? You can’t be afraid to fail. That fear kept me in a worthless marriage for far too long! If you don’t succeed at one thing, that’s no proof you won’t be good at the next. Remember that! It's why I’m a gardener, piano player, seamstress, and not particularly good at any of them!”

El cackled with good humor, but May’s mind went instantly to school, particularly her reluctance to go, and she wondered if she was so easy to read. Slowly, she nodded.

“So? Pick a day. Come back and see me.” The woman insisted, face all lit up so that May couldn’t help smiling back at her.

“I’m free this weekend,” she offered, genuinely curious about what this lady might have to offer.

“That’ll do fine,” Eloise winked at her, “and don’t bring these two. They're alright, but I see them so often it's getting dull.”

By the time they had dragged themselves back to the 118 station house, cleaned and restocked the rig, May felt wrung out. It had been a long day with some terrible low's, and though May wasn’t sorry she'd rode along, she knew she was not a paramedic in the making.

“How was it?” Bobby asked, as May, Hen and Chim, joined the crew at the table for dinner. “Learn something new?”

“Oh, plenty!” May returned truthfully, glancing at all the faces around the table. She admired them, more than ever, and she respected their courage and resilience. Someday she hoped that she would have the same fortitude, but for today, she was being kind to herself and admitting that she did not yet. “It was really something,” was all she said though.

“We had some tough calls, but May powered through,” Chimney told everyone. “She should be proud.”

“That’s for sure,” Hen chimed in, snatching the dinner rolls from her partner. “Best ride along we've ever had.”

Bobby beamed, clapping his hands together. “Excellent news! Maybe we can add her to the 118 family? After some training of course.”

May held up her hands to ward off the very idea. “Oh, no thanks Bobby,” she said, shaking her head wildly, “I mean I got the message with Eloise, that not all calls are bad, and there is a lot of good to be done…I assume you guys keep that lady in her home? Showing up whenever she calls? I’m even looking forward to visiting with her, but even if helping people is for me, the paramedic life is not! I’ll find another way. I’m going to open that course catalogue from USC and figure it out. I promise.”

There was silence and May had a moment to worry her speech had offended the whole team…but then they all burst into laughter. Eventually, May joined in.

“Good to hear,” Bobby said, dipping his head toward her.

“Sky's the limit, May,” Hen chimed in.

“Seconded!” Chimney added.

“Good luck May!” They all cheered, making her blush gratefully.

[queeniecook]

January 18 - Part 3

Dakota had given Jillian some space - they both needed time to calm down. Jillian threw on some warm clothes and headed outside for a walk. The snow began to fall rapidly but she kept walking.

She found a pond, the water providing a peaceful presence, even half covered in ice. She knows she should have told Dakota sooner, he has a right to be upset but the way he handled it - she didn't like it. Jillian has never been good with confrontation. Most of the time she doesn't fight back but she couldn't stop herself tonight. Normally she would have tried to talk to Dakota calmly, even while he was mad. She knows she need to go back and apologize for not telling him but first, she knows she needs to calm herself down, otherwise they might end up yelling at each other again.

She takes deep calming breaths, the cold biting at her lungs a bit but it helps to soothe her. She turns to head back and begins walking.

She cries as she's hit with a sudden pain in her abdomen. This hurts far more than any twinge or cramp she's felt before, it almost brings her to her knees. She manages to stay up right and looks around in panic. She suddenly realizes she doesn't know where she is. She starts to cry and tries not to have a full blown panic attack. She feels her pocket for her phone. Curse words slip from her lips as she realizes she left her phone at home in her haste to get out of the house.

Jillian beings to make herself walk forward, she has to get help.

She sees an unfamiliar house come into view, there's lights on but doesn't look like anyone currently lives in it. She keeps moving slowly towards the house. Maybe she can find help there? Maybe she can get inside out of the weather?

Jillian manages to make it to the house and after some jiggling with the front door knob, she gets the door open.

Another pain hits her after she closes the door and she ends up on her knees this time, cradling her belly. "Slade...not yet." She whimpers to her unborn son. She feels more tears getting ready to fall, she doesn't think anyone is here. She doesn't know what she's going to do. Jillian prays, it's the only thing she can think of as she tries to lean back onto her bottom and maybe pull herself onto the bed. 

Then arms hook underneath her and lift her up. She gasps and is stunned by who is there - she feels relief that she is no longer alone.

"What are you doing out here?" James asks her. He actually feels concerned. It's a feeling not totally foreign to him but he still doesn't like it. When his informate had called him and told him that Jillian had left the house, James had used a spell to transport himself to Brindleton Bay from Windenburg. It's not like he could just call Dakota and tell him to go find his girlfriend, he doubt Dakota would take a call from him. Thus he took it upon himself to find the pregnant woman. 

"I was stupid." Jillian whispers, grasping her stomach. Her brows knit in discomfort and James puts it all together. He helps her over to the bed.

Jillian feels a little relief getting to lie down but suddenly feels like she's burning from within. She starts frantically removing her hoodie and tosses stocking hat aside. She can feel James' eyes on her. "Do you have a phone?" She asks quietly, the pain seemed to calm down a little but she still knows she needs to get to a hospital.

James pulls out his cell phone and sees he has no signal due to the weather. "Bloody hell."

Jillian looks at him wide eyed and feels panic set back in. She's about to ask him just to poof her out of there when the pain hits her again. She realizes she's most likely in labor at this point. She grabs James' hand without his permission, needing something to ground herself with.

James is out of his element and Jillian is stronger than he thought. His hand hurts but he says nothing about it because he's pretty sure his pain pales in comparison to hers at the moment. If he hadn't used so much magic today traveling between Forgotten Hollow, Windenburg and Brindleton Bay, he wouldn't be overcharged at the moment. He could just use Transportalate to get her back to her house or to the hospital.

"It's too soon." Jillian whines in pain. She's worried about her son. She was supposed to have a doctor's appointment tomorrow. She was supposed to not go into labor yet but it seems her son and her body have other plans. 

"Most babies' delivered at eight months are fully developed." James comments, that's what he's heard anyway. He's trying to comfort her. It feels weird to him but he's the only one here so it's up to him. 

Jillian still feels hot and can feel herself sweating even though she knows it's not warm in the room. She feels James touch her cheek and she blinks at him.

"Can you..." her voice is getting a bit hoarse and she's thirsty. She feels tired. "Transport me....to the hosp..ital?"

James frowns, almost ready to tell her he can't. Another spell could fry him to a crisp or worse. He watches her eyelids grow heavy and looks down at her swollen stomach. There's a chance if he doesn't take her, that the baby could die or everything would be fine. This isn't his problem. They're both nothing to him.

He bundles her back up and walks to the front door, heading outside. "I can't believe I'm doing this." He says through gritted teeth. He's annoyed with the situation but uses a spell to transport them to the nearest hospital, hoping he's not the one who dies in the process. 

<-previous/next ->

☘☘☘☘☘☘☘☘☘☘☘☘

Lot is "Abandoned Home" by SavannahAS is up on the gallery.

[nightmarecountry]

𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑺 𝑶𝑹 𝑻𝑯𝑨𝑻 ; 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐒 𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 .

- slow burn or love at first sight - fake dating or secret dating - enemies to lovers or best friends to lovers - oh no there’s only one bed or long - distance correspondence - hurt / comfort or amnesia - fantasy au or modern au - mutual pining or domestic bliss - smut or fluff - canon - compliant or fix - it - reincarnation or character death - kid fic or road trip fic - arranged marriage or accidental marriage - college romance or middle - aged romance - time travel or isolated together - neighbors or roommates - sci - fi au or magic au - angst or crack - apocalyptic or mundane

tagging: @pohlepen @ragnarot @dilffactory @infamouscabal

[royalberryriku]

A little ramble about Socialist Alternative, leftist radicalisation and privilege. Mostly a vent of sorts so it's going to be messy.

//TW: mentions of suicidal thoughts, effects of capitalism on mental health and physical health, mentions of systematic abuse and oppression, etc.

"What radicalised you?"

If you're familiar with Australian leftist politics or just been to an Australian university, you've probably heard this line from Socialist Alternative at some point, particularly if you're a young leftist. At first, I personally didn't know how to answer this, but now? Now I do:

That's the wrong question, it's not about what radicalised me, it's about when I realised I wasn't allowed to exist. I think my main distrust of socialist alternative can be drawn here, as much as I respect their activism (as much as I don't like certain other parts of it and the organisation itself because of how it functions and is set up, among other things) and how they've helped the movements around me grow, I don't like their ethics because it always centres on feeling in the right when, honestly, that isn't what this fight was ever about. It's not simply about what pushes people to some realisation that capitalism isn't working, for many of us, it's about realising when we noticed that we were broken clogs that would always be discarded; realising that we wouldn't even live past 30 in a system that sees us as faulty parts and that'll end with us either starving to death or choosing to kill ourselves to have some semblance of control in a system that is so damning that it actively tries to kill us. And no I'm not even exaggerating, especially when it comes to disability and generally most marginalised groups. It's actively hostile to people like us.

This is taking out one strong example for myself here, but I just feel like every interaction has had an undertone of not really understanding the gravity of what's at stake on an individual level. I think, like Marx, they really don't have anything to lose but their chains, but for the rest of us? We have our lives, something I think others just can't quite comprehend here when I say being anti capitalist isn't a political choice, it's a matter of life or death because here just isn't any other option in order to survive. Don't get me wrong, I agree with Marx on many things, but I do think there's a difference between able bodies, white, middle class activism because capitalism is uncomfortable compared to when you're a minority that's doing this to be allowed to exist, and specifically I think there's a powerful element of privilege that's ignored, especially in the case of socialist alternative. Again, I respect their activism, but this dynamic of power and push being from a white, abled and middle to upper class lens (yes there are people who are minorities within the org, but they don't hold power and much say imo) has led to, in my view, a distorted sense of reality and, more pressingly, policy and vision that is about saving the working class rather than making a world where labour isn't a price you have to pay in order to be allowed to exist. It's not just the exploitation of the working class, though that's a huge part of it, it's also how hostile this system is to people who can't be used; who can't work or who are seen as dirty or wrong for trying to.

So when asked "so, what radicalised you?" I can only really think to reply with "when I realised that wanting to die wasn't my fault, but the people around me that convinced me that my lack of ability to produce is somehow my fault and that I somehow don't deserve basic survival". Because that's the reality and I think, at least with the SAlt members I've spoken to, that isn't something that's really understood; the gravity of this situation on a personal level and that it's not as simple as doing something to make yourself feel good or to have a moment of pride, sometimes (or oftentimes) it's literally survival.

Most of all, I think what cements this for me is the reply I get to when I've asked (genuinely and in good faith) about allegations about their internal environment being "toxic" and "cult like" and, as I explained to them, this is from many different people from different friend groups who all don't know each other but have had he same experiences:

"They're just jealous of us and our activism."

But jealous of what? In a fight for survival, none of us have the opportunity to feel jealous over how it's done because this isn't about feeling a bit better, it's about being allowed to exist. I think this really is what made me realise that this isn't about the right to live for them, but the ability to feel good for fighting on the behalf of people like me and my friends. And, to me, that's something to have healthy caution over when pity is how people have tried to control minorities in the past, and in my own personal experience.