Imagine if we took the cop budget and turned it into a free ride service budget

Bringing this post back because I wanna talk about it more.

Read an article in the local paper submitted anonymously by a woman who got a DUI two years ago.

My first instinct was to hate her. Because I hate drinking and driving. Viscerally. Anyone who knows me knows how intense I can be about impaired driving of all kinds (drunk, high, tired). It’s not worth it. It gets people killed. I lost a good friend to a drunk driver. Don’t ever. I’ve gotten in fights with people! I have stolen keys!

“Don’t ever” was, in fact, the point of her writing it. But not because of the danger posed to others. Because of how much a single DUI had ruined her life for two straight years. This also didn’t garner much sympathy from me, because obviously the REAL reason not to drink and drive is because you could kill someone. What do I care if someone irresponsible is inconvenienced?

Anyway, this woman was pulled over after leaving a bar where she had two beers to drive a few blocks to her friend’s place. This didn’t really make me more sympathetic because I’m a hardass when it comes to drinking and driving, but she wasn’t pulled over for any kind of impaired driving. She was driving perfectly. It was clearly the kind of stop that happens late at night when the cops are just fishing. The cop made up something about her stickers being placed wrong or a faulty light, before making her take the normal physical impairment tests (as someone with dyspraxia these scare the shit out of me, but that’s neither here nor there) which she passed just fine. In fact, her driving was perfect, her reactions were perfect. But then came the breathalyzer. And her blood alcohol was just too high.

She got arrested.

And the rest of article was her detailing her attempts since to try to get her license back.

The for profit companies she had to take classes from, the for profit companies who make you pay to install the breathalyzer in your car, how if you are able to plead poverty to get aid for that installation you also have to commit to going once a month to a for profit company that will calibrate your discounted breathalyzer and how if you don’t go your car will get remotely bricked and how the pandemic interrupted the hours of these places without notice meaning her car needed to be towed when she missed an appointment after the place was closed when she expected it to be open, how this added to her sentence, how she lost her insurance.

As I read this, I thought, sure, about how much I hate drunk driving. About my knee-jerk, visceral lack of sympathy. And I asked myself:

Does any of this actually make me feel safer?

And it doesn’t. It doesn’t make me feel any safer at all. This woman was writing this article to say “Don’t drink and drive. Not even once. It’s not worth it.” But what I got from it was, these punitive measures aren’t preventing people from drinking and driving. They’re just… giving cops and for-profits fun new ways to mistreat and exploit normal people. People we, people I personally, can feel disinclined to protect because of judgments we have about them.

Meanwhile, people are still going to drink and drive.

And I thought about what would work. What would make me feel safer. And you know what would make me feel safer? If people who hadn’t planned ahead could still get a ride home. I’d much rather someone call the police (or a service that’s one of the many we institute to replace them) and go “I drove here but I don’t think I’m safe to drive home” and have the reply be “someone will be right there”. Then a pair of public servants show up, one to drive you home and one to drive your car home, and you get home safe.

I would love for traffic safety to be, like, the actual goal of how we manage traffic laws.

But more than that, punitive attempts to control people, blatant disproven behaviorism, doesn’t work. If your political philosophy is about finding the “bad” or “undeserving” and ensuring they struggle, I can’t identify with it. It’s hard to come up with a type of “common crime” that I have more disdain for than drinking and driving, but disapproving of the way this woman has been treated is not the same as justifying her actions. I don’t care! I don’t care if she learns her lesson! I don’t care if I like her! Everything you’re doing to her for a single breathalyzer failure is not keeping the roads safer!

The moment she failed the breathalyzer, you should’ve just given her a ride. That’s all I need.

If your political philosophy is about finding the “bad” or “undeserving” and ensuring they struggle, I can’t identify with it.

The Staged New Year’s Special (8mins)! :) Wahoo! :)

I love all of these people. Except Lucy. I’ve never met her.

the new year may not be a completely fresh start, but it is a signpost on the journey of your life. take a moment to rest and reflect on where you’ve been. take some time to think about where you’d like to go next. forgive yourself for the things you haven’t been able to do. delight in planning for things you hope to do in the future. for one magical moment you have a bright new year with no mistakes in it yet. enjoy it. you’ve earned it. ❤

I HAVE WAITED ALL YEAR TO POST THIS

light on the darkest night

To my dearest @katie-dub​​ who (like many of us) has had a hell of a year, but who has handled it all with grace and kindness and only the occasional outburst of righteous anger. Here’s a little solstice celebration just for you, a warm mid-wintery hug of a fic with absolutely no plot to speak of, set in the universe of A Uniquely Portable Magic.  

AO3

-

The night is dark, the darkest of the year. The night of the day that barely breaks, that arrives in grey dawn and departs in greyer twilight, the night of pitch black skies with pinprick stars and the cold glow of a winter’s moon. 

Humans, though, Killian reflects, on the whole don’t care for darkness. They don’t abide it well, and from the dawn of time have found their ways to brighten even that darkest night. Every land he’s travelled to, every tradition he’s encountered, every history of every ancient culture is the same. Faced with the long dark of the winter solstice humans come together and they light up the night. 

This particular Midwinter’s Eve finds Killian on a quest in the streets of the city, strolling briskly through air that’s cutting cold, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets and chin tucked into the scarf wrapped snugly around his neck. The streets are busy as they tend to be this time of year, darkness notwithstanding. They are bustling with last-minute shoppers, lively with carollers, fragrant with the aromas of roasting chestnuts and mulled wine. The crowds heave, the people within them seethe and clamour, but Killian moves easily through the chaos. His way is cleared for him as he goes along; the crowds part to let him pass then close again behind him as though he’d never been. In a sense, he never was. He is invisible to these people, unless he takes pains to make himself seen. 

This he does to the chestnut-seller, appearing before her with a smile carefully cultivated to take the edge off her alarm. She gives a start despite his efforts, and presses the palm of her hand against her heart. 

“Goodness me!” she exclaims. “I didn’t see you there.” 

“Sorry,” says Killian, his expression warmly apologetic. “I imagine it’s hard to keep track of everyone coming and going in such a crowd.” 

“That must be it,” she agrees with a laugh. “Well, now you’re here what can I get for you?” 

“I’d like one large bag, please.” 

“Coming right up.” She takes up a metal scoop and digs into the pan of red-brown nuts beside her. “Got any shopping left to do?” she inquires as she tips them into a paper bag striped with red and green. 

“A bit,” he replies. “Odds and ends, you know how it is.” 

“I do,” she says, and tops off the bag with a final few nuts. With practiced dexterity she twists the corners tightly and hands it to him, a well-sealed parcel. “There always seems to be something you forget until the very last minute.” 

“Aye, that’s it precisely.” He exchanges money for the bag, then accepts his change. 

“Well, I hope you find everything you’re looking for,” says the seller, smiling widely. “Merry Christmas.” 

He leans in ever so slightly with his head angled just so, catches her gaze with his and holds it until her jaw slackens and her eyes go soft. “Nadelik Lowen,” he replies in a gentle voice, resonant in a way it surely shouldn’t be amidst such a noisy crowd. “Ha bledhen Nowyth Da.” 

She nods and he releases her as he melts into the crowd, turns and heads away before he can see her blink back into awareness or the small shake she gives her head, the odd little smile that curves her lips as she greets another customer. The customer is harried and stressed and snaps at her but the seller’s bright cheer doesn’t waver. She chats determinedly and coaxes a laugh, and sends him on his way with a large bag of chestnuts (though he paid for a small) and a feeling of goodwill such as he hasn’t known since childhood. And when he finds his husband, with whom he’d quarrelled bitterly moments before, he links their arms together with a whispered apology and a soft smile. 

The seller watches them with warmth in her chest, the comfortable glow of a good deed well done. She’s forgotten Killian completely, but his blessing lingers. 

Killian tucks the chestnuts into the pocket of his coat and continues on his way, slipping silently through the crush until he comes to a corner no one around him is turning. He turns it, and finds himself engulfed within a very different crowd. 

There’s a festive bustle here as well, jolly sounds and lights and smells, louder and sharper than the ones he’s left. There’s mulled wine rich with spice simmering gently in a copper cauldron and meat roasting on a spit, sizzling and crackling as it turns. There’s a table piled high with fruit, winter berries and citrus, and another with cakes and cookies and round and crusty loaves of bread. 

These crowds don’t shift as Killian moves through them; these people don’t require his encouragement to see. Instead they hail him with the greetings of the season, jovial claps on his shoulder and mugs of wine pressed into his hands, invitations to eat and drink despite his protests that he’s already late. 

“It’s Midwinter’s Eve!” bellows Robin, and in another circumstance Killian would more than gladly sit and share a drink with his friend. They will share one, but that will have to wait for later. 

“Yes it is,” he agrees, “and we won’t have any chestnut cakes for the feast unless I get home.” 

“Very well, then,” Robin concedes. “But I’ll expect to see you back here for the turning of the season.” 

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it.” 

He proceeds along the merry street, weaving through the throng with a confident stride unhindered by the uneven cobblestones beneath his boots, until he arrives at a dark green door, adorned with a wreath of holly and elder. He opens it and slips inside and when he closes it again behind him the clamour from the street is gone, leaving only soothing silence that settles over him like nighttime snow. 

He removes his boots and coat and scarf, takes the chestnuts from his pocket and heads into the parlour, where a fire is warm and crackling in the hearth, and a warmer woman is curled on the sofa before it, her feet clad in thick wool socks and a steaming cup of tea cradled in her hands. 

“Hey,” she greets him, tilting her cheek up to meet his kiss. “Tea’s still warm.” 

There’s a pot of it waiting for him on his sea chest and he inhales deeply as he pours himself a cup of the deep golden brew. Its aroma is sweet and softly spicy and the tiny, melting butter cookies piled on a plate beside the teapot pair it perfectly. He takes his tea and settles back into the sofa with a sigh.

“Did you get the chestnuts?” Emma asks, snuggling against his side as he wraps his arm around her. 

“Aye.” He nods to the bag he’s left on the sea chest. “Still warm.” 

Emma smiles and snuggles closer, and they sip in silence for a moment, watching the flames. 

Later they will grind the chestnuts into flour and bake it into palm-sized cakes with sugar, eggs, and yet more spice, adorn those cakes with berries and bring them out to the street to share in celebration of this darkest night. They will drink and laugh amongst their friends, eat roasted meat and fruit and cakes, they will dance together in the light of the log and stumble home once the season’s turned, warm and replete with food and drink and magic. They will collapse into their bed and curl up there together, and sleep away the dark hours of the morning until at last the grey dawn deigns to break. 

Later. Now they are content to sit with her head on his shoulder and his cheek resting on her hair, teacups warm in their hands and the fire crackling at their feet. 

-

tagging some fans of witch!Emma and this verse: @ohmightydevviepuu​, @thisonesatellite​, @kmomof4​, @snowbellewells​, @mariakov81​, @stahlop​, @optomisticgirl​, @spartanguard​

"the queen died in November but they're propping up her corpse in an elaborate weekend at bernies style charade to avoid having the longest reign in the history of the british monarchy locked in at 69 years" is my new favorite conspiracy theory. choosing to believe this for the rest of my life regardless of any evidence to the contrary

@profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @ohmightydevviepuu

i think there should be more stories about gay people coming back from the dead

ok points for originality on this one

unbury your gays so they can terrorize the rich

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year: The Sweater Curse

The Sweater Curse

“Fuck Neal Cassidy,” announced Emma for approximately the thousandth time that night. “Fuck him, and fuck romance, and fuck love.”

Bleary-eyed she reached for her glass, noting with surprise that she had already finished her drink. She looked around for the bottle that had apparently vanished. “Where’d the rum go?”

“Don’t you think it’s time to switch to water?” Mary Margaret asked.

Emma turned to her, eyes flashing fire. Possibly. She was quite drunk and it was hard to focus on her friend. She knew that her endlessly hopeful friend was merely trying to look out for her, but it really wasn’t the time.

“Mary Margaret. I just spent the day in jail because the man I love -” her heart wrenched at the word “- loved tried to set me up for his crime. If it weren’t for your step-sister’s superior legal skills, I would likely still be there.” I should send Regina some thank you flowers or something, came the fleeting thought that Emma hoped she’d remember in the morning. “I will never have had enough rum.”

Keep reading

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year: It Had to Be You

It Had to Be You

Emma was sitting alone in her apartment on New Year’s Eve, telling herself that she was having fun. Who needed mandatory merriment at overpriced bars or overcrowded house parties? At home she could celebrate the season with her feet up, a pop tart in one hand and a cinnamon liqueur-laced hot chocolate in another.

And if a certain best friend of hers was notable by his absence, well that was for the best really. He’d only find all that pressure to kiss someone at midnight confusing.

“Happy New Year!” everyone had cried out when the clock struck midnight. And they immediately were surrounded by a sea of couples making out like tomorrow hadn’t just come.

She caught Killian’s eye, expecting to see her own bemusement reflected back at her. But his gaze was soft and intense and full of inexplicable longing. Her eyes widened and she bit her lip, as she stared back at him. He looked like he wanted to kiss her desperately, like she meant the world to him, like he maybe even l-

But she couldn’t think like that, they couldn’t have that. She hadn’t even realised that she had moved closer to him until she came to her senses. She jerked back and it broke whatever spell Killian was under.

“Happy New Year,” they said together, throwing their arms around each other, laughing at their own awkwardness. He sighed into her embrace and she clutched him tighter. They could be together like this forever, she didn’t need more than friendship as long as she had him in her life.

Keep reading

Lumie Glass on Etsy

This guy knows what he’s talking about. He’s one of the lead writers for Leverage and if you ever watch the series on DVD, do yourself a favor and listen to him talk about how the scripts got written. Some of the advice he has is stuff I use all the time: 1. Don’t introduce an important plot person or thing after the first half of the story. 2. Always tie up loose ends. 3. Introduce important things in the middle of unimportant things. 4. If you have to infodump, find an emotion to tie it to and it will seem less like infodump and more like a motive rant. Seriously this guy knows how to write.

There’s a reason for this: recipes cannot be copyright protected unless accompanied by “substantial literary expression”.

I’m sure a lot of recipe authors hate writing that crap too, but unless the polite fiction is maintained their work gets sucked up & monetized relentlessly by bots, without crediting or compensating the creator.

MY primary gripe is how boring the ‘anecdotes’ are. Why not write about werewolves instead? Where the only protection against the hideous slavering beasts are these scrumptious lemon blueberry tarts?

Or how this recipe was handed down by Cthulhu itself 20,000 years ago! But with certain ingredients mistranslated to avoid uttering forbidden words! And NOW, for the first time in recorded history–  

Or how this recipe for chicken enchiladas absolutely defies replicator programming so we’ve time-travelled back to 2021 to obtain unborgified chicken DNA to resequence the replicators buuuuut since we’re here now, might as well have a copy of this awesome recipe…

Makes about as much damn sense as some of the crap I read on recipe sites.

I am having ideas.

@thisonesatellite

CS AU: Lord of the Rings Crossover

Happiest birthday to the Rory to my Amy, my dear friend the-lady-swan​. I am so very happy to know you and count you as a friend. Luh you, boo!

always reblog.

when did tumblr collectively decide not to use punctuation like when did this happen why is this a thing

it just looks so smooth I mean look at this sentence flow like a jungle river

ACTUALLY

This is really exciting, linguistically speaking.

Because it’s not true that Tumblr never uses punctuation. But it is true that lack of punctuation has become, itself, a form of punctuation. On Tumblr the lack of punctuation in multisentence-long posts creates the function of rhetorical speech, or speech that is not intended to have an answer, usually in the form of a question. Consider the following two potential posts. Each individual line should be taken as a post:

ugh is there any particular reason people at work have to take these massive handfuls of sauce packets they know they’re not going to use like god put that back we have to pay for that stuff

Ugh. Is there any particular reason people at work have to take these massive handfuls of sauce packets they know they’re not going to use? Like god, put that back. We have to pay for that stuff.

In your head, those two potential posts sound totally different. In the first one I’m ranting about work, and this requires no answer. The second may actually engage you to give an answer about hoarding sauce packets. And if you answer the first post, you will likely do so in the same style. 

Here’s what makes this exciting: the English language has no actual punctuation for rhetorical speech–that is, there are no special marks that specifically indicate “this speech is in the abstract, and requires no answer.” Not only that, it never has. The first written record of English (actually proto-English, predating even Old English) dates to the 400s CE, so we’re talking about 1600 years of having absolutely no marker whatsoever for rhetorical speech.

A group of teens and young adults on a blogging website literally reshaped a deficit a millennium and a half old in our language to fit their language needs. More! This group has agreed on a more or less universal standard for these new rules, which fits the definition of “language.” Which is to say Tumblr English is its own actual, real, separate dialect of the English language, and because it is spoken by people worldwide who have introduced concepts from their own languages into it, it may qualify as a written form of pidgin. 

Tumblr English should literally be treated as its own language, because it does not follow the rules of any form of formal written English, and yet it does have its own consistent internal rules. If you don’t think that’s cool as fuck then I don’t even know what to tell you.

i love this post

This is super cool! Also idk if this has any relevance whatsoever but if you wanna have an argument inside one tag you cannot have commas in it so that’s a real existing constraint that has forced tumblrites to construct commaless sentences and perhaps this has helped in adopting the custom into posts as well ok I have no idea if this is what’s happened just I think it’s a reasonable assumption there might be a connection

^this.

The tags are absolutely a factor. You want someone to take a breath in the middle of a sentence, you start a new tag. You want to have, as seen here, this removable piece between commas (does it have a name?) - you have 5 tags in this sentence alone. And sometimes you just

pause in the middle of a sentence…

and let your voice

trail away

look at all you precious brilliant nerds nerding about language you make me so fucking happy omg

language is this constantly evolving thing tbh, it doesn’t remain the same unless it’s dead and the people who used it gone so seeing the evolution of the language used on tumblr is literally so fucking amazing i want to cry with joy at it

because we also add in words from other languages, or make entirely new words up as additional terms to denote something (see ‘tol’ and ‘smol’ in relation to ‘tall’ and ‘small’) and this is constant. we are doing this daily without any sort of breathing space because there’s millions of us on this hellsite and we are constantly talking and so the language changes day-by-day until we have general, universal rules for what to do in a post, what to add in our tags, how to add it, why we add it, what we mean by it

we’ve created a language in the same way our ancestors all did: by building on the ones that came before and changing them to suit our needs and our system

and that’s fucking awesome okay

awesome

I love this so much and language is so great and I’ve noticed the lack of punctuation thing recently, even on twitter, and used it for like a specific kind of rhetorical effect. idk it’s so fun I fucking love linguistics and the evolution of language

I also loved that the following one-word responses all sound drastically different out loud and showcase different reactions:

What?

What.

what

Oh hey! This is the post that caused me to write a thesis. Yall know this post is cited in like five different academic papers that I found while researching for it? @prismatic-bell is a username I see screenshots of in academia these days. P sure they’re in the tumblr book too. Wild. 

I’m sorry, I WHAT?!

I need these papers please

also the thesis

help

where’s the papers

where’s the thesis

please

@alexseanchai and @someone3lse have y'seen this book yet?

A porcupine’s Halloween present (+ original sound effects)

I had no idea giant porcupines made fucking precious sounds

THAT’S THE SOUND IT MAKES!?!?!?

UN-BE-FUCKING-LIEVABLE 

We got asked if this is cute and okay. I can very happily say yes, this is stupid cute and those are happy porcupine noises. 

One of my favorite things about doing zoo work was all the noises you never realize the animals make when they’re excited or interested in a new thing. Coatimundis squeak and snuffle, and giant porcupines make that sound. 

Omgggg the sounds.

Teddy is back on my dash and all is right with the world

WE ALMOST TO OCTOBRE POST OF PUNKINBEARS

HI TEDDY I MISSED YOU