silveringofrose

[silveringofrose]

Read a ficlet by @doktorgirlfriend, and decided it needed to be a comic. All dialogue is by doktorgirlfriend, except for the Bugs Bunny cartoons.

Original fic here: http://doktorgirlfriend.tumblr.com/post/161994562006/the-riddler-hijacks-the-local-tv-airwaves-and

[silveringofrose]

The Riddler hijacks the local TV airwaves and appears onscreen holding a comically long roll of paper. After dramatically clearing his throat, he proceeds to read from it.

“The following is a list of people who can suck it. Number One: The Joker. I don’t think I need to explain that one. Number Two: Cluemaster. Fuck you, you stole my bit, and I will be like a plague unto your house. Number Three: King Tut. You also stole my bit, but did it while killing people and got me arrested for murder. Also, I’m, like, 93% sure you’re a white guy and your costume is racist.

“Number Four: The Scarecrow. I know you ate my leftover Chinese, Jon, even though I wrote my name on it. I was saving that for lunch. I had to eat a goddamn peanut butter and jelly sandwich like a five-year-old. It was all you had in the hideout. For fuck’s sake, go shopping, not all of us can live like a bridge troll.

“Number Five: The Penguin. You- No, no, wait, wait… That one should be crossed out. He replaced that and apologized. Never mind, Oswald, you’re fine. Drinks at 7:00 tomorrow, right?

“Anyway, where was…? Ah, yes. Number Six: The Mad Hatter. You carded me and left me like that for six hours because I, and I quote, ‘would not stop talking about Mythbusters.’ Well, excuse me for trying to make intellectually stimulating conversation on a level you could understand. I suppose every time you prattle on about mome raths and borogoves it’s goddamn Shakespeare? Well… Well, it’s Carroll, but… Oh, you know what I mean!

“Number Seven: Catwoman. You left me hanging by one hand from a ledge five stories up and holding a twenty-pound bag of jewels and very pointy  objets d'art while you ‘distracted’ the Dark Knight. I know you were making out with him, Selina. You were gone for fifteen minutes. My shoulder almost dislocated. Very unprofessional.

“Number Eight: Kite Man.”

Here the Riddler pauses, lifting his narrowed gaze to glare at the camera, voice dropping to an ominous tone.

“You know what you did…”

His demeanor shifts quickly, and he’s back to reading from his list almost cheerfully.

“Number Nine! Th-”

He’s interrupted by a crashing noise in the background and looks over his shoulder just an instant before a deep voice angrily growls, “Riddler!”

“Oh, for the love of-” He turns to glare at the camera, speaking quickly. “Number Nine: Batman! Interrupting me while I’m on television making very important- Hm-mmph!”

He’s reduced to muffled curses as a black gloved hand covers his mouth and pulls him out of frame. The camera tilts, a cracking noise is heard, and the broadcast turns to static.

#fanfic #tumblr lore #dc comics #the riddler

[silveringofrose]

on the topic of humans being the intergalactic “hold my beer” species: imagine an alien stepping onto a human starship and seeing a space roomba™ with a knife duct taped onto it, just wandering around the ship

it doesn’t have any special intelligence. it’s just a normal space roomba. there are other space roombas on the ship and they don’t have knives. it’s just this one. knife space roomba has full clearance to every room in the ship. occasionally crew members will be talking and then suddenly swear and clutch their ankle. knife space roomba putters off, leaving them to their mild stab wounds.

“what is the point?” asks the alien as another crew member casually steps over the knife-wielding robot. “is it to test your speed and agility?”

“no it doesn’t really go that fast,” replies the captain.

“does it teach you to stay ever-vigilant?”

“I mean I guess so but that’s more of a side effect.”

“does it weed out the weak? does it protect you from invaders? do repeated stabbings let your species heal more quickly in the future?”

“it doesn’t stab very hard, it gets us more than it gets our enemies, and no, but that sounds cool — someone write that down.”

“but then what is its purpose?”

“I don’t know,” the captain says, leaning down to give the space roomba an affectionate pat. “it just seemed cool”

#stabby the space roomba #always reblog #humans are weird #humans are space australians #Stabby the roomba #Admiral stabby

[silveringofrose]

Driftwood Doors and Hourglass Hearts

Love is a many wondered thing they say and my brain pauses a minute because isn't it usually some low kilojoule thing? Then it's off on a tangent wondering at the wonder that upon reflection was more smoke and mirrors than anything else.

But maybe the haze is just what happens when the reflection seems more counterfeit than carbon copy and your answer to “Who are you?” feels fuzzy around the edges. Then again, no one wants to know about another gifted kid whose bus into a bright future crashed and burnt out in a blaze of untapped potential right?

So we just hide the scars of our inadequacies behind masks of perfection. And never mind that it’s a scream awake nightmare played on a loop because my brain is set to Do NOT Disturb so it fades.

It fades into the glaring of a five alarm fire trying desperately to remind me how much time has passed since last I did anything but fight for a breath that isn't drowning in the blood rush to the feet of a heart racing at a thousand thoughts a minute all wondering...wondering…

Wondering how surviving became a synonym for living when the two are a type of mutually exclusive that guarantees annihilation of one or both? But back to that splendid wondering or wondered splendouring or whatever they're claiming love is these days.

Only I'm still stuck on trying to figure out when we decided this low fat sugar free variety is "Everything You Never Knew You Needed!!" And I'm frantically closing all the popups announcing that time is almost up and I'll miss my chance if I don't step through one of these doors soon.

But I already fell for the clickbait one time and all it got me was a cheap knockoff where the size of the more in my I love you’s wasn't big enough to cover all the cracks where the little things fell like sand through an hourglass.

And I tried flipping it over. Turning the page and starting from scratch. But time doesn't work like that. It drifts away into the hindsight of the past and a book only ever has so many pages before it's done. You'll never unknow it and even if you forget a little, it will always end the same.

And it's become a sort of game. I can see myself falling through that door into a forever and so I dare them to open it. But the truth is that these days I'm permanently harnessed to the triple bolted steel encased fortress of my heart. I can stand safely on the very edge of the cliff.

Look down and wonder if falling really was like flying or I only told myself that. And people might ask one day who this is about. And I'll say I don't know. A lot of people I suppose. Or maybe just me. And I'll smile and they won't know.

Won’t see how it's hiding all the places where the more in my I love you’s couldn’t survive all the ways I was never enough to love myself.

~ @silveringofrose 2024

#my writing #silver writes #silver writes poetry #prose #writerscreed #silveringofrose #poetry #spilledink #writers cafe #poetblr #writeblr #poets on tumblr #BattleBornPoetry #Drift #flow of consciousness poetry

[silveringofrose]

There used to be such simple directions, back in the days before they invented parallel universes – Up and Down, Right and Left, Backward and Forward, Past and Future … But normal directions don’t work in the multiverse, which has far too many dimensions for anyone to find their way. So new ones have to be invented so that the way can be found. Like: East of the Sun, West of the Moon. Or: Behind the North Wind. Or: At the Back of Beyond. Or: There and Back Again. Or: Beyond the Fields We Know. And sometimes there’s a short cut. A door or a gate. Some standing stones, a tree cleft by lightning, a filing cabinet. Maybe just a spot on some moorland somewhere … A place where there is very nearly here.

-- Terry Pratchett - Lords And Ladies

[silveringofrose]

you found out today that a phrase you have used before was coined by an abusive man. this felt like getting your teeth taken out. it made you sick and sad and tired, but not surprised.

bad people tell you to be careful when you talk badly of bad men, that it could "ruin" a life. you had your life ruined by a bad man, not that it ever matters to them. your real life having real consequences is not valued as highly as the potential of his future.

this has always been a frustrating little mathematics problem for you. you've missed school and had to call out sick at work and had panic attacks that lasted for weeks. it stole sleep and food and friends from you. you cried in public, fucked your relationships up. and the whole time: your present has never mattered so much as the great what if! of his future. like - one life (your life) is already ruined, should we really ruin two?

so you live with the consequences and he doesn't, and that's just like, something you need therapy for. you once discussed this with one of your friends over coffee. she chewed the wooden stirrer, looked off into the distance. "once i became a victim, everything that happens to me afterward is automatically less interesting in the eyes of the general public. it is always about him. he changed my identity. to survivor. to statistic. meanwhile this whole time - i am a person."

you learned in college that three out of five of your favorite artists and authors were actually abusive assholes. these days, you are no longer surprised. oh, is that what was happening behind closed doors? of course it was, he was a "genius," and she was just a girl. you are talking about him in art history, so obviously his career was absolutely ruined, for eternity. that's what happens, right? they strike your name from the record and refuse to remember you? nobody really knows her name, but hey. that's what you get for being close to celebrity.

you got into an argument about it, which was a bad argument, because it made you cry. he said what, you want us to just ignore all the things this man did because he made a few women uncomfortable? and you'd balled your fists up and choked on it. later, in bed, you agonized over the response you'd been trying to articulate but never found the right moment to deploy: you are ignoring what any person could do if they weren't being fucking abused. maybe her talents far exceeded his and she was just never allowed to fucking use them. maybe we only see genius in white men because they purposefully fucking squash and silence any other people with talent.

but you'd cried about it instead of saying that, because you are the cost. you are the talent and potential that he took. you used to be brave and smart and clever and unafraid. like a lich, he stole years of your life.

quiet on set made you sad and sick and tired, but not surprised. unfortunately, one of the things he said was true: an entire network of people allowed it to continue. this is not news to you, because you have seen entire networks of people make the same fucking excuses when the same thing or-worse happened to you. and your particular story isn't even in hollywood. it was just a guy. it was still difficult getting people to stand up for you.

you and your friend wait in line for your coffee. like a standup joke, one man turns to the other and says "can't wait for every bitch to come crawling out of the woodwork complaining about harassment. it's another metoo." and you think - oh, that's the network. your boss tucks her hair back and whispers that while your skirt is cute, you're giving the boys the wrong idea. that's the network. when you'd told your "friend" about what happened, she'd said oh you must have misunderstood, that would never happen. and that's the network.

you woke up this morning panting, because years later you still have panic attacks. oh, it's not a network, actually, it's a web. and you, little moth: are you still surprised you're caught in it?

#inkskinned #prose

[silveringofrose]

What The Newspapers Mean To Say (a poem)

What The Newspapers Mean To Say

What the newspapers mean to say is that they miss us too miss smearing their dark words on our fingers in the morning miss lying wrapped in a rubber band on our front lawn in the dark waiting for us to wake up orphans on the grass full of photos foundlings on the sidewalks with stories to share cousins far removed who arrive with many good things at cost and winds in all their sales but what they miss most is being needed now more than ever in a world where truth is seldom couched on the web of a page anymore when in fact it was its most honest and proud when crouched on a sheet of thin paper still cold from being outdoors too long.

#thissometimepoet #poetry

[silveringofrose]

i'd like to get to know you i'd like to take you out we'd go to the hail mary and afterwards make out. instead, im typing you a message that i know i'll never send, rewriting old excuses delete the kisses at the end. when i see you, the whole world reduces to just that room and then i remember and i'm shy that gossip's eye will look too soon and then im trapped, overthinking and yeah, probably self-doubt you tell me to get over it and to take you out but i can't, i'm too scared and here's the night bus, i have to go and the doors are closing, and you were waving and i like you, and i'll never let it show and you won't wait, and maybe i won't mind i work better on my own and now i'm home, a little bit drunk and i ask myself what if it's not meant for me? love. what if it's not meant for me? love. a few days pass since i last saw you and you've taken over my mind im retelling jokes you made that made me laugh pretending that they're mine i wanna tell the whole world about you i think that that's a sign im losing self-control and it's you, it really is, 1000 times i look at your picture and i smile how awful's that? im like a teenage girl i might as well write all over my notebook that you rock my world but you do, you really do. you've turned me upside down and that's okay, i'll let it happen 'cause i like having you around im electric, a romantic cliché yeah, they really are all true when we catch eyes at that stupid party i know exactly what to do i'll take your hand, and we will leave french exits from me and you and now im home, a little bit drunk some things don't change, and i know now me and you were meant to be in love

[silveringofrose]

Ilia fucking Malinin’s world record breaking free skate

[silveringofrose]

Can't afford art school?

After seeing post like this 👇

And this gem 👇

As well as countless of others from the AI generator community. Just talking about how "inaccessible art" is, I decided why not show how wrong these guys are while also helping anyone who actually wants to learn.

Here is the first one ART TEACHERS! There are plenty online and in places like youtube.

📺Here is my list:

Proko (Free)

Marc Brunet (Free but he does have other classes for a cheap price. Use to work for Blizzard)

Aaron Rutten (free)

BoroCG (free)

Jesse J. Jones (free, talks about animating)

Jesus Conde (free)

Mohammed Agbadi (free, he gives some advice in some videos and talks about art)

Ross Draws (free, he does have other classes for a good price)

SamDoesArts (free, gives good advice and critiques)

Drawfee Show (free, they do give some good advice and great inspiration)

The Art of Aaron Blaise ( useful tips for digital art and animation. Was an animator for Disney)

Bobby Chiu ( useful tips and interviews with artist who are in the industry or making a living as artist)

Second part BOOKS, I have collected some books that have helped me and might help others.

📚Here is my list:

The "how to draw manga" series produced by Graphic-sha. These are for manga artist but they give great advice and information.

"Creating characters with personality" by Tom Bancroft. A great book that can help not just people who draw cartoons but also realistic ones. As it helps you with facial ques and how to make a character interesting.

"Albinus on anatomy" by Robert Beverly Hale and Terence Coyle. Great book to help someone learn basic anatomy.

"Artistic Anatomy" by Dr. Paul Richer and Robert Beverly Hale. A good book if you want to go further in-depth with anatomy.

"Directing the story" by Francis Glebas. A good book if you want to Story board or make comics.

"Animal Anatomy for Artists" by Eliot Goldfinger. A good book for if you want to draw animals or creatures.

"Constructive Anatomy: with almost 500 illustrations" by George B. Bridgman. A great book to help you block out shadows in your figures and see them in a more 3 diamantine way.

"Dynamic Anatomy: Revised and expand" by Burne Hogarth. A book that shows how to block out shapes and easily understand what you are looking out. When it comes to human subjects.

"An Atlas of animal anatomy for artist" by W. Ellenberger and H. Dittrich and H. Baum. This is another good one for people who want to draw animals or creatures.

Etherington Brothers, they make books and have a free blog with art tips.

As for Supplies, I recommend starting out cheap, buying Pencils and art paper at dollar tree or 5 below. For digital art, I recommend not starting with a screen art drawing tablet as they are more expensive.

For the Best art Tablet I recommend either Xp-pen, Bamboo or Huion. Some can range from about 40$ to the thousands.

💻As for art programs here is a list of Free to pay.

Clip Studio paint ( you can choose to pay once or sub and get updates)

Procreate ( pay once for $9.99)

Blender (for 3D modules/sculpting, ect Free)

PaintTool SAI (pay but has a 31 day free trail)

Krita (Free)

mypaint (free)

FireAlpaca (free)

Libresprite (free, for pixel art)

Those are the ones I can recall.

So do with this information as you will but as you can tell there are ways to learn how to become an artist, without breaking the bank. The only thing that might be stopping YOU from using any of these things, is YOU.

I have made time to learn to draw and many artist have too. Either in-between working two jobs or taking care of your family and a job or regular school and chores. YOU just have to take the time or use some time management, it really doesn't take long to practice for like an hour or less. YOU also don't have to do it every day, just once or three times a week is fine.

Hope this was helpful and have a great day.

[silveringofrose]

I'm just going to leave this here, because this woman said what I've been trying to articulate for ages much more effectively and succinctly than I've been able to

[silveringofrose]

Poetry Community

Hello!

I would like to invite everyone to participate in a reciting poetry event. I and many others have had the privilege of reading your work and would love to hear you recite it!

How does it work?

You will create an audio or video post reciting your own poetry.

Please use the tag #writersrecite as your first tag to make sure it can be seen by all! I have created a side blog to also reblog these entries as a place to easily access others work. You can find me @writers-recite

Any rules?

I do ask that if your poem is 18+ that you add that to the description below the audio/video. When I reblog it, it will have a mature hashtag as well.

No reading work that is not your own and claiming to be yours. Big no no!

Feel free to reblog this post, my side blog post, or tag others to get them involved.

Have fun and let loose. Genuinely excited to hear your words come to life!

[silveringofrose]

Tweet by John Rogers: “I’m an infamously even-tempered man, but if you take Terry Pratchett’s name in vain for some small-minded bigoted fuckwittery I will push you down a set of fucking stairs and laugh at the bounce.”

#this is important #terry pratchett is the best thing that ever happened to me

[silveringofrose]

The Sound of a Page Turning

Today was a poem and I didn’t even see it,

a flutter of wingnuts separating breaths upon

bridges of possibility, every hour a stanzaic

shot of fermented memories collaborating to

give birth to their progeny of potential, graft,

greed, corruption, all twisting and gyrating

in a blackmaelstrom of adversarial revelation

that threatens us with shame, that most eager

of sentries, dressed to the eights with routine

and vanilla and spreadsheets that cover the

corpse of your dreams without soliloquy or

retribution for raping you of every moment

that you audaciously dared to flex your soul

as if there was no such thing as consequence.

-GeorgeFilip

#poem #poetrythreesixfive

[silveringofrose]

Too Good to be True

A Hannibal-inspired poem I wrote a while back. Thank you to @cringeworms for the encouragement!

. . .

Witness a woman, soft-eyed and intelligent:

Skin gently blushing and hair like spilled ink.

On the surface, she is careful of thought and gentle of tongue

Though her shrewd capacity for backlash lies dormant.

She rests her lips across one wounded, to soothe

An unstable acquaintance with everything to lose

While she may gain nothing.

Later, when all is lost, who left may she lean on? 

Into the welcoming arms of debauchery, she falls. 

Unknowing

Trusting

Accidentally enabling. 

She tips back her head, throat a swan’s arch clasped in capable hands

He wards off her guilt, plays her like music, tends her wounds… 

That intoxicating, clever, spectacular man. 

They’ve been friends for years. Alas, he’s too good to be true. 

Consider a confidante, classy and cunning:  

Lips pursed, hair coiffed and golden, expression shadowed by a veil

She indulges existential musings and observes tomfoolery

Though she’ll claw her way in and out of Hell should it be necessary.

Seeking to excavate layers of plaid and paisley trimmings

It’s unclear what she’s gotten herself into

But she thinks she’s in control. 

Later, with hardly a choice, who shall she follow? 

Shadows recede to reveal her hollow eyes, and she dons a veil of a different kind. 

Observing

Participating

Cautiously misbehaving. 

She tips her head back, as he tenderly washes her hair and she learns his dance.

Is he her captor? Her patient? Lover? Killer? 

That suave, mysterious, dangerous man.

They are the finest couple in Florence. Alas, they’re too good to be true. 

Regard a roguish traveller, sportive and charming:

Scarves draped loose, books in his pockets, and stubble neatly trimmed

He sips champagne in Paris, smirks through mouthfuls of escargot

Then saunters into lectures, wanders torture museums on a whim.

Clearly eager for fun when he finds fresh company

He asks, “Is it that kind of party?” 

The fun to be had is not for him. 

Later, bleeding and dizzy, who must he flee?

The blinders were beginning to peel back, a game of wits and position twists.

Murmuring

Accusing

Surprisingly accommodating. 

His head snaps back, wickedly misshapen by a sculptor with a sculpture.

Flesh is peeled back and changed, revealing a design to the beholder

That enamoured, passionate, lonely man. 

He seems so open to new beginnings. Alas, it is too good to be true. 

In all the world, there has been no one to finish the story, fill the page. 

Until now. Admire an adversary. An accomplice. A paramour:

Wide eyes ocean blue and shining, chocolate hair slicked or curled in disarray

Smile wide and joyful, sleepy and resigned, dark and conspiratorial

Lips pouted in thought, curled in disdain, parted in gasps of pleasure and pain.

He leans on a desk to speak of books and ancient legends

Buries himself in a pile of dogs to keep safe at night

Never leans away from a longing touch. 

He feels vividly, cries gorgeously

Kills viciously, unleashed strength applied physically effortlessly

Verbal sparring, emotional rawness, and spilling instability… 

In all ways, he is glorious… yet ever out of reach.  

Sometimes, he seems too good to be true.

#prose poem #air-of-the-waterfall

[silveringofrose]

The Compass Quartet

Poetic Prose for the @writeblrcafe secret valentines. Hope everyone enjoys! Please let me know what y'all think.

The Compass Quartet

Four Prose-Poems

R. E. L. Mescher

East -          A sunrise; golden light playing over golden skin laying uncovered before the morning. Soft sounds of sleep slipping away usher in the morning adding a counterpoint to the twittering birdsong from outside the window. Such a sublime moment that somehow will not be remembered in sharp relief but in the deep impression of perfection that cannot be captured but must be experienced. Sunbeams illuminate a body, tracing and highlighting strength hidden under curves, and lumps, and scars that are so hated in their perceived imperfection but are truly wonderful in their history; for it is a strength that cannot be captured in a photo, nor gained by hours in a gym, but is defined by the bubbling giggle of a child just before they are lifted, soaring through the air, by the rustle of grocery sacks settling onto a table as they are set down by overburdened arms, and by the deep groan that accompanies the darkness of an necessarily early morning or a pleasantly late one. It is the strength that rises each dawn to see the day done, regardless of what it brings and is revealed by a feline stretch and a sleepy smile before the sun.

North -          A cold wind blows by, cutting crimson splashes into a face so often absent of any such colored expression. A scarf of thick warm cloth is pulled up to keep out the worst of the biting chill and hiding everything but the bright glitter of intelligent eyes that somehow watch everything, not with the frantic spasms of a prey animal nor the lazy passivity of a predator but with the calm detached interest of an outside observer cataloguing data for future analysis and use. Those eyes which, like a calm garden pool, reflect the quiet orderly activity of a mind that resembles nothing so much as a well run library and the librarian who knows exactly how to help each person find what they need; a mind willing to share the vast wealth of gathered information with those around them rather than horde it for personal use or preservation. Now, to ask those eyes a question that will bring a shimmer to life as it ripples forth with to create more questions.

South -          A warm summer sun diffuses through the leafy green branches, mottling the shadows that shimmer over the crisscrossed lines of the picnic cloth laid across the ground. The warm, humid air settles under the shady trees, only faintly stirred by the softest breeze, leaving a heavy blanket of languid drowsiness settling over everything including the rich, half-lidded eyes that seem to only passingly notice what is happening around them, filtering everything through the curtain of long lashes that turn sharp image into dreamlike blurriness. Those eyes focus for a moment on you and suddenly the warm laughter of their soul can be seen welling up from within. Through those windows of sepia, a world of joy and gentleness opens up away from the greyness of life, formed from a constant willingness to see the world as a better place than it seems and a desire to highlight the beauty that is and the potential for what could be. Those windows, for which jubilee and geniality are constant expressions, are framed by well worn creases in the corners which stand as testament to their constant use and would crinkle in embarrassment if they were ever pointed out. So the quiet stillness remains as summer sunlight seems to be welling up from within those eyes just as much as they reflect it.

West -          The blazing sunset of riotous reds and incandescent yellows casts sharp silhouettes against the coming darkness of night. An evening breeze pushes soft cotton against angles and curves, painting the barest hints and shadows at what may be underneath in deepest black, inviting exploration and adventure in that inky image standing against the fire-bright sky. A turn, a look, a motion only visible by the shift of shape within the darkness and two points of impossibly feverish light, seeming to shine with the colors behind them. Everything in that moment seems to be unimaginably complex yet inexplicably simple: a question, a demand, a blessing and a sin, a damn shattering before the force of the river that has run through humankind since the dawning of the first day and the setting of the first night. The desire to desire without definition, to seek home, to explore new vistas, to take and to share in equal abandonment of common sense or rationality. The passion, a promise, to look beyond the body, the mind, the soul and to find out Everything.

[silveringofrose]

What is the evolutionary benefit or purpose of having periods? Why can’t women just get pregnant without the menstrual cycle?

Suzanne Sadedin, Ph.D. in evolutionary biology from Monash University

I’m so glad you asked. Seriously. The answer to this question is one of the most illuminating and disturbing stories in human evolutionary biology, and almost nobody knows about it. And so, O my friends, gather close, and hear the extraordinary tale of:

HOW THE WOMAN GOT HER PERIOD

Contrary to popular belief, most mammals do not menstruate. In fact, it’s a feature exclusive to the higher primates and certain bats*. What’s more, modern women menstruate vastly more than any other animal. And it’s bloody stupid (sorry). A shameful waste of nutrients, disabling, and a dead giveaway to any nearby predators. To understand why we do it, you must first understand that you have been lied to, throughout your life, about the most intimate relationship you will ever experience: the mother-fetus bond.

Isn’t pregnancy beautiful? Look at any book about it. There’s the future mother, one hand resting gently on her belly. Her eyes misty with love and wonder. You sense she will do anything to nurture and protect this baby. And when you flip open the book, you read about more about this glorious symbiosis, the absolute altruism of female physiology designing a perfect environment for the growth of her child.

If you’ve actually been pregnant, you might know that the real story has some wrinkles. Those moments of sheer unadulterated altruism exist, but they’re interspersed with weeks or months of overwhelming nausea, exhaustion, crippling backache, incontinence, blood pressure issues and anxiety that you’ll be among the 15% of women who experience life-threatening complications.

From the perspective of most mammals, this is just crazy. Most mammals sail through pregnancy quite cheerfully, dodging predators and catching prey, even if they’re delivering litters of 12. So what makes us so special? The answer lies in our bizarre placenta. In most mammals, the placenta, which is part of the fetus, just interfaces with the surface of the mother’s blood vessels, allowing nutrients to cross to the little darling. Marsupials don’t even let their fetuses get to the blood: they merely secrete a sort of milk through the uterine wall. Only a few mammalian groups, including primates and mice, have evolved what is known as a “hemochorial” placenta, and ours is possibly the nastiest of all.

Inside the uterus we have a thick layer of endometrial tissue, which contains only tiny blood vessels. The endometrium seals off our main blood supply from the newly implanted embryo. The growing placenta literally burrows through this layer, rips into arterial walls and re-wires them to channel blood straight to the hungry embryo. It delves deep into the surrounding tissues, razes them and pumps the arteries full of hormones so they expand into the space created. It paralyzes these arteries so the mother cannot even constrict them.

What this means is that the growing fetus now has direct, unrestricted access to its mother’s blood supply. It can manufacture hormones and use them to manipulate her. It can, for instance, increase her blood sugar, dilate her arteries, and inflate her blood pressure to provide itself with more nutrients. And it does. Some fetal cells find their way through the placenta and into the mother’s bloodstream. They will grow in her blood and organs, and even in her brain, for the rest of her life, making her a genetic chimera**.

This might seem rather disrespectful. In fact, it’s sibling rivalry at its evolutionary best. You see, mother and fetus have quite distinct evolutionary interests. The mother ‘wants’ to dedicate approximately equal resources to all her surviving children, including possible future children, and none to those who will die. The fetus ‘wants’ to survive, and take as much as it can get. (The quotes are to indicate that this isn’t about what they consciously want, but about what evolution tends to optimize.)

There’s also a third player here – the father, whose interests align still less with the mother’s because her other offspring may not be his. Through a process called genomic imprinting, certain fetal genes inherited from the father can activate in the placenta. These genes ruthlessly promote the welfare of the offspring at the mother’s expense.

How did we come to acquire this ravenous hemochorial placenta which gives our fetuses and their fathers such unusual power? Whilst we can see some trend toward increasingly invasive placentae within primates, the full answer is lost in the mists of time. Uteri do not fossilize well.

The consequences, however, are clear. Normal mammalian pregnancy is a well-ordered affair because the mother is a despot. Her offspring live or die at her will; she controls their nutrient supply, and she can expel or reabsorb them any time. Human pregnancy, on the other hand, is run by committee – and not just any committee, but one whose members often have very different, competing interests and share only partial information. It’s a tug-of-war that not infrequently deteriorates to a tussle and, occasionally, to outright warfare. Many potentially lethal disorders, such as ectopic pregnancy, gestational diabetes, and pre-eclampsia can be traced to mis-steps in this intimate game.

What does all this have to do with menstruation? We’re getting there.

From a female perspective, pregnancy is always a huge investment. Even more so if her species has a hemochorial placenta. Once that placenta is in place, she not only loses full control of her own hormones, she also risks hemorrhage when it comes out. So it makes sense that females want to screen embryos very, very carefully. Going through pregnancy with a weak, inviable or even sub-par fetus isn’t worth it.

That’s where the endometrium comes in. You’ve probably read about how the endometrium is this snuggly, welcoming environment just waiting to enfold the delicate young embryo in its nurturing embrace. In fact, it’s quite the reverse. Researchers, bless their curious little hearts, have tried to implant embryos all over the bodies of mice. The single most difficult place for them to grow was – the endometrium.

Far from offering a nurturing embrace, the endometrium is a lethal testing-ground which only the toughest embryos survive. The longer the female can delay that placenta reaching her bloodstream, the longer she has to decide if she wants to dispose of this embryo without significant cost. The embryo, in contrast, wants to implant its placenta as quickly as possible, both to obtain access to its mother’s rich blood, and to increase her stake in its survival. For this reason, the endometrium got thicker and tougher – and the fetal placenta got correspondingly more aggressive.

But this development posed a further problem: what to do when the embryo died or was stuck half-alive in the uterus? The blood supply to the endometrial surface must be restricted, or the embryo would simply attach the placenta there. But restricting the blood supply makes the tissue weakly responsive to hormonal signals from the mother – and potentially more responsive to signals from nearby embryos, who naturally would like to persuade the endometrium to be more friendly. In addition, this makes it vulnerable to infection, especially when it already contains dead and dying tissues.

The solution, for higher primates, was to slough off the whole superficial endometrium – dying embryos and all – after every ovulation that didn’t result in a healthy pregnancy. It’s not exactly brilliant, but it works, and most importantly, it’s easily achieved by making some alterations to a chemical pathway normally used by the fetus during pregnancy. In other words, it’s just the kind of effect natural selection is renowned for: odd, hackish solutions that work to solve proximate problems. It’s not quite as bad as it seems, because in nature, women would experience periods quite rarely – probably no more than a few tens of times in their lives between lactational amenorrhea and pregnancies***.

We don’t really know how our hyper-aggressive placenta is linked to the other traits that combine to make humanity unique. But these traits did emerge together somehow, and that means in some sense the ancients were perhaps right. When we metaphorically ‘ate the fruit of knowledge’ – when we began our journey toward science and technology that would separate us from innocent animals and also lead to our peculiar sense of sexual morality – perhaps that was the same time the unique suffering of menstruation, pregnancy and childbirth was inflicted on women. All thanks to the evolution of the hemochorial placenta.

https://www.quora.com/what-is-the-evolutionary-benefit-or-purpose-of-having-periods

#this is important #I think about this post so often #menstruation #evolution