#I have a concussion and it's still kind of affecting my ability to focus my eyes 🙃

[bbcphile]

WIP Wednesday

Happy Wednesday! Have some more of FDB's POV! They're finally out of the tree, FDB is still carrying an injured and exhausted DFS on his back, and he is currently trying to convince DFS (who is fighting to stay conscious) to let himself rest. (You can find all previous excerpts here.)

**

Fang Duobing smiled. At last, something he could do. “Alright, a-Fei. Home it is.”

For a moment, a-Fei relaxed even more against him. 

Then a-Fei stilled, all his muscles spasmed and clenched, and he jerked his head off Fang Duobing with a pained grunt, looking all around them.

“What’s wrong?” Fang Duobing asked, suddenly terrified. “Another qi deviation? An attacker? Do you need me to put you down? Or Yangzhouman?”

The ensuing silence seemed to last forever, although it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds.  

“Home,” a-Fei said, his voice so wrecked it sounded like his throat had been sliced to ribbons. “To the left.” He swallowed audibly and tried again. “Around the hill.” 

Fang Duobing wasn’t sure if he wanted to scream, cry, shake a-Fei, or hold him tightly and never let go more. “It’s alright. We’ll find the way. I promise. Just rest. Try to sleep.”

Even as a-Fei shook his head, he was slumping forward. “Not yet,” he muttered. “Not here.” 

What was wrong with here? It was just a forest—

Oh. Fang Duobing winced. A-Fei had been unconscious in a forest after being cured of Wuxin Huai when Jiao Liqiao had kidnapped him the first time. 

“A-Fei,” Fang Duobing paused, trying to figure out what might convince him. “There are no enemies here. No danger. You can stop fighting now.”

A-Fei’s hair brushed against Fang Duobing’s shoulder as he shook his head again.“—’s always danger,” he mumbled. His head fell forward and landed on Fang Duobing’s neck again. He tried and failed to lift it again, then made a sound that was far too close to a whimper. 

Fang Duobing tried to breathe through the sudden, visceral need to travel to the past and make everyone who had ever hurt a-Fei and made safety a foreign concept wish they had never been born. “If we run into any danger, I’ll protect you, alright?”

A-Fei huffed a wet attempt at a laugh into his hair and his head twitched like he was trying and failing to shake it. “–’s my job, brat.”

Fang Duobing’s heart clenched as hundreds of proclamations tried to burst out from behind his closed lips: that a-Fei was in no shape to protect anyone at the moment, that protecting each other was all of their jobs and did a-Fei really think that his protection was all he had to offer? He was a person, not a dao! That a-Fei deserved to be protected, that a-Fei was protected now, and would continue to be as long as he, Fang Duobing, drew breath, and that no one would ever be able to harm him again. 

He swallowed them all back and tried to find an approach less liable to end in disaster. “It’s my job, too, a-Fei,” he said at last. “We can take turns, just like we’ve taken turns looking after Xiaohua’er. You already protected me, by helping with my qinggong. So now it’s my turn for a bit, alright?” He held his breath, hoping his words would convince a-Fei to stop fighting the pull of exhaustion, would let a-Fei’s clenched, shaking muscles lay down their tension. 

Nothing changed, although judging by the way a-Fei’s face rustled in his hair, a-Fei had rolled his eyes and raised a skeptical eyebrow, despite the pain and energy expenditure.

Well, there was one thing he hadn’t yet tried. And since a-Fei had thought that praising his qinggong was akin to rewarding Huli Jing’s new tricks with treats, then turn-about was fair play. Now, what precisely had a-Fei said? Ah, yes. “A-Fei?” He waited for a tired hum in response. “You did well, too. Good job. So rest, now, alright? As a reward.” 

A short pause. Then a-Fei’s faint, barely-there huff of amusement tickled the skin on the back of his neck. “–t’s not a new trick,” he said, so quietly Fang Duobing had to strain to hear it.

Fang Duobing smiled sadly and shook his head. Trust a-Fei to find a way to praise his own skills while barely conscious. And simultaneously to refuse to celebrate or rest. “I know. You always do well. You’ve had to. But you’re not alone anymore: you have us. And I know I’m not Xiaohua’er, and you don’t trust me like you trust him. But I promise, I will bring you to him and I won’t let anything get in the way. You’re safe, a-Fei. You can let go now, ok?”

There was a long pause. So long Fang Duobing wondered if he’d actually already lost consciousness.

A-Fei’s finger twitched, then gave Fang Duobing’s collarbone one last, faint tap.

Then a-Fei slumped against his back like a sack of rice. 

Fang Duobing closed his eyes, took a slow, deep breath, letting the crisp scent of the forest sink into his lungs and ground him until he felt less like he was about to cry or shake apart.

Huli Jing whined loudly, then nosed at Fang Duobing’s leg.

“I know,” Fang Duobing said. He swallowed, hiked a-Fei up higher on his back, and took a deep breath. “Lead us home, girl.”

Huli Jing took off, to the left, and around the hill.

Fang Duobing raced after her.

[kyoupann]

You mentioned language/writing disorders in your handwriting headcanons. I'm curious about them since I know very little about those disorders [I only know a bit about dyslexia cuz my cousin has it]. Would you mind talking about them? Please and thank you.

I’m more than happy to share these language headcanons with y’all!! c:

For now, I’ll just address the two disorders I mentioned here, aphasia and agraphia

Quick disclaimer: I am not a professional and I’m very much still learning about language disorders. To be fair, it’s been only about a year and a half since I found out aphasia existed at all. All my knowledge on these disorders come from a couple of classes in my applied linguistics and phonetics courses and my own research. I encourage everyone interested in incorporating any type of condition into their writing to do your own research as I’m sure you’ll find better explanations than mine out there <3

I love seeing everyone’s take on Link’s lack of speech. I’ve seen people writing Link as hard of hearing, mute, autistic and all of them are amazing ideas that I’m sure represent many people in the fandom. However, I have yet to find someone who has attributed him a specific language disorder (and if you know of anyone, please let me know!!!)

Funnily enough, I haven’t played BoTW yet my headcanons are for that Link

My language headcanons for Wild (in both LU and general LoZ)

If the shrine could cause him total memory loss, or amnesia, I consider it very plausible that other areas of his brain were affected as well. After all, he died and his brain must have been inactive for quite a few minutes which is obviously big yikes in any situation. So, inactivity/damage in the brain = possible language disorder/expressive aphasia

               Language disorders are, basically, of two kinds: those which affect comprehension speech and those which affect production of speech. For Wild’s case we are of course looking at the latter. There are two areas in the brain that are responsible for language: Wernicke’s area and Broca’s area. Wernicke’s area is involved in the comprehension of language (both written and spoken), while Broca’s is responsible for the production of language. Damage to either one of these parts is likely to result in one type of aphasia.

               Aphasia is the loss of language comprehension and production due to damage in one area of the brain. Common causes are strokes and head trauma. There are many types of aphasia but for the sake of brevity, I’ll just focus on Broca’s aphasia or Expressive aphasia, which is the specific condition I headcanon Wild to have.

               Although its name is a bit confusing, Expressive aphasia prevents Wild from creating complete sentences. He would be able to speak, but his sentences would mostly consist of words with meaning (horse, house, beautiful) and will be missing articles and prepositions (the, this, a, on); he wouldn’t be able to create grammatically correct sentences, his speech would be slow and something like:  morning….uh…I…er…first… uh…. Apple… apple… er…. Eat... (The first thing I ate in the morning was an apple).

               The biggest issue is that expressive aphasia doesn’t affect language comprehension as much as it affects production. Wild could be able to understand written and spoken language with mild limitations (can read simple sentences but might have problems with indirect speech and multiple-subject sentences) And I say biggest issue because most patients with aphasia are aware of their struggles. Their intelligend is unaffected. Wild would be very aware that he is missing some words. This often leads to feelings of frustration and insecurity.

Think of expressive aphasia as “I know the word for it, but I cannot remember what it is” but… for most of your vocabulary.

               However, aphasia can be ‘treated’ with speech therapy. Language will not be the same as before, but it can get better. And there are many cases of people with aphasia using sign language as means of communication because gestures are produced/perceived by a brain area different to language areas! So, Wild would prefer to be mostly silent and use sign language to communicate with strangers, but would feel more comfortable speaking with close friends like Zelda and Twi, who he knows will be patient with him so he doesn’t have to worry about taking long to remember words.

               The other language disorder I mentioned was apraxia, but I meant to write agraphia. However, it is still relatively new to me and I haven’t had the chance to find enough material to work with, so I’m still not sure if I’ll ever really to commit to this headcanon.

But long story short, agraphia often appears with other disorders (like aphasia), there are so many types of agraphia! some affect the movement areas while others affect language areas in the brain. When there is no sign of other disorders it’s called pure agraphia and it’s the inability to write while still being able to read and speak. People with agraphia might have problems sounding out words, making sound-to-letter connections and they sometimes heavily rely on their orthographic memory for writing which results in frequent spelling errors.

As for Wind, I’ve been considering either agraphia or aphasia for him as well since he has been thrown against walls enough times, hard enough to cause at least some concussions :( that battle with Ganondorf? Yikes! But since he is young ™, he has a greater chance at easily strengthening his remaining language skills, they will not be on the same level as kids his age, but there’s the possibility of getting better than Wild with less difficulty.

So, tldr:

Broca’s Aphasia: loss of language production, can understand with mild difficulties but has problems coming up with complete sentences and speech is robot-like.

Agraphia: loss of the ability to write due to either damage to motor areas or language areas in the brain. Can read and speak with mild difficulties but has problems producing written language.

I definitely didn’t expect this to be so long 😂 I’m sorry! I hope I was clear 😞 still, I had a good time writing this since I never had the opportunity during my classes, so thank you so much for asking, Silver!! 💛💛

If you got this far, then you might want to be check my handwriting headcanons. If you have a hc about language/culture (or any type, tbh), feel free to share them with me anytime! I’d love to read them!!! 💛

[purplehairedwonder]

Hearts With(out) Chains Chapter 11

Fandom: One Piece Rating: PG-13 Pairings: Gen (eventual Lawlu) Words: 3537 Characters: Trafalgar Law, Monkey D. Luffy, Zoro, Nami, Franky, Smoker, Tashigi, Vergo Note: I’m taking my turn at the Corazon!Law AU because my brain won’t leave me alone until this is written down. Tags will be updated as the chapters come out.

The story title is based on the Ellie Goulding song “Hearts Without Chains.”

Summary: Law is reclaimed by the Family when he's 17 and, with Doflamingo holding the lives of his crew as collateral for his good behavior, eventually becomes the third Corazon. Years later, trapped by his impossible situation, Law finds a strange connection to Monkey D. Luffy, which offers a glimpse of something he's repeatedly had ripped away from him: hope.

Previous chapters: Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Read also at AO3 / FF.N

Smoker’s eyes widened. “Vergo? What is the head of G-5 doing here?”

“I’m here on business, Vice Admiral,” Vergo replied, inclining his head at Smoker.

“We called for backup but were told you were on leave,” the swordswoman said, frowning.

He never said whose business he’s here on, Law thought wryly as he sliced through the chains holding the two Marines captive. He stepped back out of the cage, eyeing Vergo. Law didn’t like the sense of satisfaction radiating off the older man. He’d heard what Law had said—but had anyone else?

“Doffy didn’t believe me before that you’re a traitor, but now he’ll have it in your own words, Law.”

Could Vergo have a line open to Dressrosa? Or perhaps he’d recorded what Law had said.

It also confirmed that Vergo had called Doffy with his report on Law’s defection, but apparently Doffy wasn’t buying it; the Warlord knew full well the safeguards he’d put into place to prevent Law from betraying him, after all. If Vergo had proof, though…

Law needed to make sure those words never left this room.

“I didn’t think you’d be so foolish as to blow your cover over a grudge,” Law commented, raising an eyebrow. He kept his tone purposefully light, but he expanded his Room and kept Kikoku hefted in front of him.

With a quick scan of his Room, he found Zoro’s swords and Shambled them into the man’s hands. Zoro let out a surprised yelp (one Law knew he would deny making until his dying day), and Law’s lip twitched as he glanced back and met the pirate hunter’s eye. The other man’s startled expression quickly shifted into a nod of appreciation as he replaced the blades at his side.

“Cover?” the swordswoman asked, following Smoker out of the cell.

Smoker jerked. “A traitor?” he growled, glancing between Law and Vergo. His gaze finally settled on the base commander. He shook his head, and Law could practically hear the pieces clicking into place in his brain. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it. You’re the one who’s been covering up the abductions of the children, aren’t you?”

“Don’t feel too bad, White Chase-ya,” Law said, and Smoker looked back at him suspiciously. “It’s not like Vergo was a traitor to the Marines. Vergo was a pirate from the start.”

“What?”

Law couldn’t help his lip curling into a sneer. “He’s Doflamingo’s most trusted subordinate. He joined the Marines on his orders fifteen years ago and climbed the ranks.”

“A pirate posing as a Marine,” Smoker hissed. “Shameful.” He shook his head, disgusted.

“How dare you,” the captain yelled at Vergo, betrayal tinging the anger in her voice. “Those children are innocent!”

“They’re sacrifices for the greater good, Captain Tashigi,” Vergo said simply. He’d been watching the exchange with a bored affect in place, though Law knew better than to take him at face value; Vergo was always poised to attack.

“The greater good?” the cat burglar snapped. “What greater good could possibly come from experimenting on children?”

“That is super messed up,” the cyborg agreed.

“A world ruled by Donquixote Doflamingo, of course,” Vergo said, as though the answer were obvious. And, Law supposed, for Vergo, it was. “Give me some credit for keeping up my cover, Smoker-kun. I’ve been on my guard ever since you transferred to G-5. It will be good to finally be rid of that concern.”

Vergo turned back to Law. “And who says I’m blowing my cover, Law?” Vergo had completely dispensed with Law’s title, apparently. He’d never respected Law as a successor, no matter how many times Doffy pushed him on it, and now he had the excuse to back it up. “None of them are leaving this island. I’ll file it away as a tragic accident at sea, as always.”

Law narrowed his eyes, reminded once more of the World Government’s coverup of Flevance’s destruction. Vergo, as far as Law was concerned, was proof pirates and soldiers weren’t so different, no matter what people like Smoker professed. Law knew he was no better, but he also never claimed to be.

“I won’t let that happen,” Smoker snarled. He didn’t have his jitte since he’d been captured—and Law wasn’t feeling particularly inclined to return the weapon that had taken him down with Seastone—but he didn’t let that stop him.

Smoker shifted into smoke form and charged Vergo with an outraged yell. He had to know about Vergo’s talent with haki and the effect it would have on his Fruit’s abilities, but he attacked anyway, his fury at his base commander’s betrayal driving him on.

“Smoker-san!” the captain called, worried.

“What is he doing?” Zoro muttered.

Smoker punched at Vergo with a smoky tendril, but Vergo blackened his arm and grabbed the smoke. Smoker cursed as Vergo spun and whipped him into the far wall. Smoker coughed and sagged to the floor. His second and the Straw Hats gasped, but Law took the moment of distraction to Scan Vergo; there was a Den Den Mushi in his pocket.

With a twitch of his fingers, the Den Den Mushi flew from Vergo’s coat toward Law. Vergo’s eyes snapped toward him.

“No!”

Law grabbed the snail from midair, and he pocketed it just as Vergo’s haki-coated stick slammed into his chest, tossing him like a rag doll into the wall behind him. The back of Law’s head hit the metal; his vision briefly went dark, and his stomach threatened to empty itself—another blow to his head was not what Law needed when he already had a concussion—but Law, taking a stabilizing breath, was able to collect his wits and keep his Room from falling. He Shambled himself across the room before Vergo could recover the Den Den Mushi.

“Brat!” Vergo snapped as he turned to find Law slumped over on one of the couches, having swapped places with a pillow. “But I suppose running away is always what you’ve done best.”

Law could vaguely hear the Straw Hats making some kind of commotion, though their words wouldn’t form in his ears; his blurry vision, however, was directed entirely toward the man striding toward him, a murderous intent barely contained beneath his haki-clad skin; Vergo knew he couldn’t kill Law before bringing him back to Dressrosa, but that wouldn’t stop him from beating the shit out of him—again.

Law just needed a moment to bring his vision back into focus…

Suddenly, Vergo was flying across the room. He crashed into the far wall and crumpled. Law blinked, his battered brain trying to comprehend what he was seeing. Belatedly, he turned to see Straw Hat, flanked by his crewmates, standing in the doorway, his rubbery arm returning to him with a loud snap.

Before dealing with that, Law pulled Vergo’s Den Den Mushi from his pocketed and noted in relief that there wasn’t a live line open. That meant Doffy hadn’t been listening in. Vergo still could have recorded his words, but Law would worry about that later. If Doffy hadn’t heard Law, then all Law had to do was prevent Vergo from bringing his words back to Dressrosa.

He pushed himself to his feet and headed toward the new arrivals. His vision was clearing, but his balance was still slightly off. The doctor in him was concerned, but the pirate in him knew he didn’t have the luxury of taking a break.

The two factions of Straw Hats were greeting each other happily. Straw Hat’s expression lit up as Law approached.

“Torao!”

“What are you doing here, Straw Hat-ya?” Law demanded. “We agreed you would wait.”

Straw Hat frowned. “We were talking, but then there was all this chaos on Torao’s end of the line. No one was responding. It sounded dangerous, so we decided to help.”

Ah. Law supposed he had gotten distracted by Vergo’s appearance and hadn’t considered how that would have sounded to the Straw Hats listening in.

“So, what exactly happened to cause this?” the cat burglar asked, gesturing between Straw Hat and Law. Though she’d agreed to trust Straw Hat, she was still suspicious of Law—and she was right to be.

Still, Law ignored her. They didn’t have time for this; Vergo wouldn’t stay down long, even after taking a hit like that.

“If you want to rescue the children, this would be the time to do it,” he said.

“What about him?” Straw Hat asked, nodding back toward Vergo.

Law grimaced as he noticed Vergo stirring. “I can handle it.”

“Because that went so well before,” Black Leg muttered.

Law ignored him as well. He didn’t have Seastone draining his abilities now. “I’ll handle it,” he repeated, looking directly at Straw Hat. Vergo might be taking an excuse to finish what he’d started thirteen years earlier, but Law wasn’t a terminally ill child anymore. It was unfinished business for them both.

“Luffy, what—” the cat burglar started.

But Straw Hat studied Law’s face for a long moment and seemed to find whatever he was looking for because he nodded. “Okay.”

Law felt a measure of relief at the response; it wasn’t that he needed Straw Hat’s permission to take on Vergo—alliance or not, he wouldn’t let anyone take this fight from him—but having his agreement was a lot easier. His crew would follow his lead, and they’d be able to accomplish both their tasks and move on to rescuing Law’s nakama.

“What?” several Straw Hats gasped.

“Okay,” Straw Hat repeated. “Torao will handle the Verto guy, and we’ll go after the kids.”

“You think I’m going to let that happen?” Vergo said. He’d risen to his feet and stood, arms crossed, in front of the doorway the Straw Hats would need to go through to find the children.

Straw Hat made to draw his arm back again, but before he could strike, Law held out a hand. Straw Hat stopped, eyeing Law curiously.

“Go. Caesar and Monet are still with the children. They’re both Fruit users, so don’t take them lightly.”

“But—”

Law Shambled Vergo into the cage, and, with a few twists of his fingers, retwined the wires holding the front of the cage together. The doorway was now open, and Vergo cursed. The cage wouldn’t hold him long, but it didn’t need to—just long enough for the others to leave.

Straw Hat whooped. “Thanks, Torao!” he called as he charged forward, the promise of a fight clearly drawing him like a magnet.

“Wait, Luffy!” the cat burglar called, running after her captain. “You don’t know where you’re going!”

Straw Hat’s laughter echoed against the metal walls as the Straw Hats and, Law noticed, Smoker’s second filed out of the open doorway. Smoker, however, remained where he was; he’d gotten to his feet while Law was talking to the Straw Hats. Law narrowed his eyes at the other man.

“This is my fight, White Chase-ya. Stay out of my way.”

“That man is a traitor to the Marines, and I plan to see justice done,” Smoker said, voice tight, as he strode up next to Law. “Don’t get in my way, pirate.”

Law and Smoker both turned at the sound of a metallic slam; Vergo had kicked the cage’s front out, the metal wiring sliding several feet across the floor before coming to rest. Though Vergo’s eyes were still hidden behind his glasses, Law could feel the anger radiating off the man.

“Enough,” he snapped, stepping back into the room.

“My thoughts exactly,” Smoker roared, charging at Vergo. “Traitor!”

Law sighed but didn’t intervene. Though he thought the man was being foolish considering how his previous attack had failed, Law could understand his rage at realizing Vergo, the base commander of his own unit, was a traitor.

However, Smoker wouldn’t get an advantage on Vergo this way; Vergo’s haki was superior to the other vice admiral’s. The first Corazon didn’t have a Devil Fruit to enhance his attacks, so he’d trained and honed his haki over the years until his masterful control and overwhelming power became what he was known for. For a Logia like Smoker, Vergo was a bad matchup.

Still, if he wanted to wear Vergo down while Law took a few moments to rest, Law wasn’t going to object. At full strength, Law wasn’t particularly concerned about taking Vergo on, but he didn’t want to take any chances when he was unsteady with a head injury. As the two vice admirals clashed, Law scanned the room until he found Smoker’s jitte. He could still feel the ghost of the Seastone tip slamming into his back, causing his Room to fall around him as weakness spread through his entire body. Law grimaced, but, grudgingly, he summoned the weapon into his hand.

“White Chase-ya,” he called as Smoker fell back from a swipe of Vergo’s bamboo stick.

“What?” Smoker demanded, not looking toward Law.

“Catch.” He tossed the jitte in the man’s direction.

Smoker’s eyes flicked in his direction then widened as he saw his weapon flying in his direction. He sent a smoky arm toward it, grabbing the hilt before Vergo could interfere. He grunted a nod in Law’s direction, clearly unhappy to owe Law anything else.

Even with his jitte, Smoker was clearly outmatched. Vergo’s haki-coated arms were able to strike Smoker’s smoke form, forcing him to revert to his base form. They traded blows, Vergo’s bamboo stick with Smoker’s jitte. Vergo’s haki-enhanced hits pushed Smoker into retreat.

“It’s no use, Smoker-kun,” Vergo taunted. “You’re no match for me.”

“You’ve betrayed G-5. The men trusted you. I’ll see you pay for that, pirate,” Smoker snarled back.

Vergo side-stepped Smoker’s blow and looked at him curiously. “You seem to care for those morons. Why?”

Smoker leapt at Vergo, only to be pushed aside by his bamboo. “Because they’re my men!”

Vergo tsked. “And that is your problem, Smoker-kun. Placing loyalty in trash. You will only end up discarded along with them.”

Smoker roared in response, but Vergo kicked out and tripped Smoker. Smoker fell backwards, hissing as his back hit the floor. His eyes widened as Vergo suddenly appeared above him, ready to strike a killing blow with his bamboo.

Deciding he’d seen enough, Law twitched his fingers, sending Vergo to the far side of the room.

“Law,” Vergo growled when he realized what had happened. “Don’t interfere. I’ll have time for you, too.”

Law rolled his eyes and turned back to Smoker. “Enough, White Chase-ya.”

“Dammit, Corazon! I can still—” He broke off, wincing at what Law would guess were broken ribs from Vergo’s many haki-enhanced blows.

“I can see that,” Law replied wryly. “Don’t make me move you, too.”

Smoker glowered but didn’t argue.

As Vergo started charging back toward Law and Smoker, Law Shambled himself across the room, directly into Vergo’s path. He swung Kikoku, but Vergo dodged just in time. A large chunk of the wall behind Vergo came down with a loud clatter. Law swung his blade several more times to create smaller pieces of metal from the fallen wall.

Law turned on his heel and immediately jumped back toward Vergo, using Kikoku to block a flurry of blows. His arms shook under the strain of countering the strikes, but he gritted his teeth then powered forward, driving Vergo back.

Lifting a finger, Law used Takt to lift the metal pieces he’d created and hurled them toward Vergo. The vice admiral cursed and dodged the large sheets of metal, knocking those he couldn’t dodge away with his stick.

“What’s wrong, Vergo?” Law taunted as he ducked under the flying pieces of metal to approach his target. “Not so easy when your target isn’t shackled in Seastone?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Law.”

Law sent a large piece of metal Vergo had already knocked away back toward Vergo and ducked behind it; Law followed its path, so when Vergo knocked it out of his way again, he jolted in surprise as Law suddenly appeared. He swung his bamboo to push Law back, but Law ducked under Vergo’s outstretched arm, catching the man off-guard.

Law shoved his free hand forward into Vergo’s chest. Mes.

Vergo gasped as his heart was expelled backward. He slumped forward as Law summoned the heart into his hand.

“Bastard,” Vergo hissed.

To his credit, Vergo’s heartrate remained steady as he kneeled in front of Law. Even now, he wouldn’t let his successor rattle him.

“I have your life literally in my hand, Vergo­,” Law said, eyeing the heart. “I’d watch my tongue if I were you.”

“And what will you do with it, boy?” Vergo sneered, looking up. “Kill me?”

As Law felt the heart pulse steady in his hand, memories of Minion Island flashed in front of his mind’s eye.

Finding Vergo as he looked for help for the fallen Cora-san.

Vergo and Cora-san recognizing each other.

Vergo beating the wounded Cora-san, taunting him all the while.

Vergo beating Law, no sympathy for a dying child.

Vergo leaving them both, battered and bloody, in the snow to report to Doflamingo.

Law squeezed the heart, and Vergo writhed on the ground, pained groans coming through his clenched teeth.

Cora-san. Law released his grip on the heart. Vergo let out relieved gasps and slowly stilled.

“Corazon,” Smoker said slowly, as if afraid to spook Law. “He needs to face justice.”

Cora-san had always believed in justice. He hadn’t wanted to kill Doflamingo but bring him in. He wouldn’t want to kill Vergo either but instead, like Smoker, to bring him to justice.

Law wasn’t like them.

“Justice,” he scoffed bitterly, eyes never leaving the heart in his hand. “Where was justice when my little sister collapsed from Amber Lead Disease at seven years old and died as my parents’ clinic burned to the ground? Where was justice when soldiers destroyed my country then covered it up?” Law could hear his voice rising in his ears as he spoke, but he didn’t care. Years of pent-up rage flowed through his veins. “Where was justice when the man who saved me was murdered for it? Where was justice—”

He cut himself off at the sound of Vergo’s choking laughter, throat tightening as he realized what he’d just said.

“There’s no such thing as justice, Smoker-kun,” Vergo said between pained gasps. “There is only strength and weakness.” He turned his head to stare at Law. “And your precious Cora-san was weak, Law. Just like you.”

Fury rising in his chest, Law squeezed the heart again, Vergo’s screams a melody to his ears.

When Law let go of the heart once more, Vergo collapsed to the floor and panted. For years, Law had waited for the chance to avenge what Vergo had done to him and Cora-san that night; Vergo had haunted his nightmares, a looming figure of cruelty. But now, laid out on the ground and trying to hold onto his pride in his defeat, Law thought he looked pathetic.

And just like that, the fury drained out of him, leaving him feeling oddly hollow.

“So now what, Law?” Vergo asked between gasps for air. “You can’t kill me.”

Law raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“What do you think Doffy would do to you if you did? To your crew?”

Law barked a humorless laugh. “If he thinks I’m a traitor, we’re all dead anyway.” He narrowed his eyes. “Might as well take you with me.”

Vergo frowned. “You know how the Family deals with traitors.”

“I do,” Law agreed.

“He’ll never let you go,” Vergo said. “Not until he’s done with you. Wherever you go, he’ll find you.”

“I know.” That was why he’d return to Dressrosa once his business here was done. “Don’t worry, Vergo-san. I’ll file it away as a tragic accident at sea.”

He tightened his grip around Vergo’s heart, watching as the man writhed. He felt… nothing. Vergo coughed blood, but the satisfaction Law had expected to feel at the sight of Vergo dying at his hands was missing, sucked into the hollowness in his chest.

“Corazon, you don’t have to do this,” Smoker spoke up. “I can take him in.”

Law tightened his grip further. “You really think Doflamingo would let his favorite subordinate be locked up in Impel Down?”

“Even Warlords don’t have the power to stop something like that,” Smoker replied with a frown.

Law shook his head. “He has more connections than that, White Chase-ya.” If Vergo left Punk Hazard alive, Law and his crew were assured slow, agonizing deaths. If Law killed Vergo now, there was still a chance this could be salvaged.

Vergo huffed a strained laugh around his cries. “He’s. Right. Smoker-kun. You. Have. No idea. Who. You’re. Dealing with.”

Smoker looked between the two pirates and shook his head but said nothing. Law continued squeezing the heart, waiting to feel something after all this time.

“What’s wrong, Law?” Vergo panted. “Don’t have. The stones. To finish it?”

“Hardly.”

Law closed his fist completely, crushing the heart until Vergo let out a final bloody gasp then went limp.

Still feeling that odd emptiness, he opened his hand dropped the still heart next to the corpse.

“That was for Cora-san.”

Next chapter

[jinmukangwrites]

New Perspectives

Batfamweek2020 Day 4 / De-ageing / @official-batfam-week

Summary: Sometimes crazy villains can get lucky shots. Damian just wished the lucky shot hadn’t hit Grayson, his current mentor and Batman. This complicates things quickly.

Might expand on this someday? Hmmmm. This week is giving me too many opportunities to try my hand out on stories I’ve been wanting to write >.<

AO3

-o-o-o-o-

“We’re almost there,” Damian says, trying not to pay too much attention to the boy behind him that’s clutching his stomach so he doesn’t fall off the cycle. The boy doesn’t respond, just clutches harder as Damian takes a sharp turn into a hidden and underground entrance to the cave. He doesn’t know if this tunnel had existed back when Grayson was Robin, but judging by the shocked gasp that vocalizes behind him: it didn’t.

The going after is just a few moments that are hardly worth remembering. The boy behind him is completely silent, and Damian’s sure if he turned around and looked into his eyes, all he would see is a cloudy, confused fog blanketing his normally lively electric blue irises.

Grayson is, understandably, “out of it”. Damian feels out of it. The night started off like any other; he and Grayson put on their uniforms and Batman and Robin emerged into the streets to fight crime and do good and all that ridiculous nonsense. However, it turned out someone wanted to attempt to make their villainous debut that night, some man with way too much knowledge in technology and what it can do to the human body. A bank robbery turned into a standup, the burglar ripping off his ski mask and leather jacket to reveal a ridiculous domino mask that appeared to be made out of felt from a lowly stock supermarket and an even more ridiculous costume that appeared to have been put together from a green-man suit and a mess of glued on scrap fabric and pipe-cleaners.

“It is I!” He had screamed, wielding a gun like device that looked straight from Halo. “Reverser! Batman and Robin! Tremble before me!”

Damian would sooner tremble to Condiment Man; which is another way to say no way in hell.

He was easy to take down, unfortunately he had gotten a few laser-like shots from his gun but he ultimately went down like a bag of bricks when Damian swiped his temple with a well placed kick from his heel. After he restrained the miscreant with cable ties he turned around, expecting the normal bout of praise Grayson loves to give him, only for his eyes to widen in shock as he sights three children who were not there before the battle.

Each child, a girl and two boys, swimming in adult clothes and all looking very dazed and confused.

He didn’t recognize the first two, but he did recognize the bright blue eyed one with raven hair and tan skin looking down at the mess of Batsuit around him with a far-off look and a frown on his lips. Damian didn’t hesitate, he just darted forward, gathered up the kid and the suit, and pressed the button on his belt that would summon his cycle.

He forgot to grab the weapon that did this, but he sent a message the commissioner’s way explaining the situation with the other two children and the weapon that did it. Damian will drop Grayson back at the manor and let Pennyworth deal with him while Damian went back out to retrieve the only key to reversing... fixing this mess until the Reverser woke up from his concussion.

The child thankfully has enough sense about him to clutch onto Damian as he drove, and he thankfully didn’t fight Damian forcing one of his own extra masks on his face and only gave minimal resistance to Damian stripping him of the Batsuit and shoving him into a various selection of clothes he definitely didn’t steal from a near-by dry cleaner that Pennyworth will be none-the-wiser of.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

So, now, he comes to a screeching halt in the cave with the Bat-suit stuffed in a bag around his shoulders with Grayson hanging on just behind in borrowed clothes and a borrowed mask. He spots Pennyworth rushing down the stairs up to the manor with a visible amount of concern on his face, but Damian ignores him for now as he gets off the bike and drags Grayson off with him by a hand gripping the... younger boy’s bicep. Damian tries not to think about how the tip of his middle finger and his thumb are close to touching or how the borrowed mask looks way too big.

Grayson cannot be more than seven or eight years old at the moment. He’s so small compared to Damian, and Damian cannot be more than two years older. Damian doesn’t know how young Grayson started his career fighting Gotham crime, but Damian secretly and truly hopes it wasn’t this young. It wasn’t this small. Which is rich, because Damian’s been fighting since he could crawl.

Knowing his father, it was probably this young. This small.

Grayson stumbles to his feet and groans, bringing the hand that belongs to his freed arm to his eyes and rubbing at them, making the mask covering his identity grow slightly askew. Damian tuts as Pennyworth finally arrives, mumbling a British expletive under his breath that Damian will not address because the old butler will very stubbornly and effectively deny. Besides, Grayson is more important.

“What happened?” Pennyworth asks, bending down—knees cracking and Damian fights a wince—to grab Grayson’s cheeks to keep his head still long enough to peel off the borrowed mask. Damian lets go of Grayson’s arm to return to his bike.

“He got hit by something that reverted him to the age of a child,” Damian says simply. “Watch over him while I visit the precinct to retrieve the weapon that did-“

“No alone, you’re not,” Pennyworth snaps and Damian frowns. Grayson has yet to show any kind of familiarity with Pennyworth, but as Pennyworth stands up to give Damian a hard stare, Grayson wraps his thin arms around the butler’s hips and buries his face into his lower leg. A pathetic show of a child needing affection. Grayson is clearly still very out of it. Damian must fix this, and quickly.

“I’ll be fine,” Damian argues back and Pennyworth’s lips dangerously thin. Damian fights back a nervous swallow. He quickly found out Pennyworth was no one to be trifled with, after calling him a servant and getting an intense scolding from his father, he had been careful since to treat the elder man with tolerance. It was then that he noticed the lethal way the butler moved. He was a soldier, a dangerous one before this. A soldier hardly ever forgets how to not be dangerous, even in old age. Tolerance turned into respect.

And fear, of those stern eyes and scolding lips that thin before they go for a killing blow.

“You will go to the precinct tomorrow. Mr Gordon will not lose the weapon in eight hours. You need rest.” Pennyworth puts his hand down at the top of Grayson’s unruly mess of hair. Grayson has yet to emerge from his clinging grasp on Pennyworth’s leg. “You both do.”

Damian huffs angrily, jerking his body away from his cycle with a growl. He knew the battle was lost the moment the butler told him no the first time, but Damian is more stubborn to give up the first try.

“Alf...” a small voice says and Damian has to fight jerking his head down to the small kid who’s released his clinging just enough to look up at the older man. “‘m tired...”

“Of course, Master Dick,” Pennyworth says, a warmth in his voice that Damian has never heard directed his way. Pennyworth looks over at Damian one last time with a stern eye before he expertly unwinds Grayson’s grabbing and spindly arms to bend down and place his hands on Grayson’s shoulders. Grayson wobbles slightly and blinks sleepily and Pennyworth tuts. “We will head to bed immediately. Do you need to be carried?”

Damian bits his lip as Grayson gives a jerking shake of the head. He looks dead on his feet, Damian wouldn’t even have asked, but Pennyworth just nods and stands tall, offering a single gloved hand.

“Hold my hand then, you’ve had a long night.”

Grayson nods and grabs Pennyworth's hand, taking steps along the butler’s strides much like how a newborn deer would as it tries to keep pace with a buck.

Damian hears a tiny “where’s Bruce?” as the pair make their way towards the stairs out of the cave. Damian reluctantly follows close behind, curious as to what answer Pennyworth is about to give.

“He was held up at work, young man,” Pennyworth says back, helping Grayson up the first stair. “Will you be alright with just Zitka?”

“Yeah...”

“Very well, are you hungry?”

“Nah...”

Pennyworth’s mindless questions for Grayson’s well being quickly become background noise to Damian’s thoughts as the trio walk into the study. Damian closes the door in the clock behind him and the two other occupants of the house quickly turn a corner and begin to leave Damian behind.

He decides to quickly retreat to his room while he lets Pennyworth deal with the dazed miniature Grayson. Grayson hadn’t noticed Damian there and he inquired the location of his father, which makes this situation feel already leagues out of his abilities to even attempt to help the tiny version of his mentor. Damian needs to sleep, because the sooner he sleeps, the sooner he can leave the next day and get the weapon and hopefully interrogate Reverser or whatever his birth name is because honestly Damian refuses to call him by that idiotic name for much longer.

He doesn’t stumble into his room, just like how the weight of the situation doesn’t hit him like a truck and cause him to flop on his bed with a verbal sigh. He doesn’t turn in his sheets so he’s facing the direction where Grayson’s room is and he definitely doesn’t focus his hearing on the quiet and muffled murmuring of Pennyworth coaxing the child into bed.

None of this happens because no one is around to see nor hear him do it.

If a tree falls in a forest, and all that.

He will fix this, he thinks, closing his eyes as Pennyworth’s footsteps retreat down the hall.

-o-o-o-o-

It’s close to four in the morning when Damian wakes again. Confused because he’s trained his body to always sleep in till at least six, he slowly brings his arms under him and lifts his body up so he can effectively look around the room to maybe spot whatever disturbance woke him up. There’s nothing but shadows, no light illuminating from the window because of the twilight before morn. His furniture is all where it should be, and there’s no unknown forms where there shouldn’t be.

He lays back down on his bed again, eyebrows drawn together and very awake for no reason at all. Strange, he hardly ever wakes up before he’s trained his body to unless he specifically plans an early rising with an alarm.

Perhaps the manor life has been getting to him, maybe his body is deciding to have a little fit about the time zone difference between this place and the desert he grew up in.

Nothing to cause worry, for sure.

Then; he hears a tiny pitter-patter of feet walking quietly outside his door.

Perhaps this was the disturbance he was looking for. He silently slips from his covers and tip-toes to his door, waiting for the footsteps to get a bit further from his room so he can quietly open the door without being noticed. He pokes his head out and blinks at the almost pitch blackness of the wing hallway to see a small form turn a corner towards the stairs that lead to the main floor of the manor.

The realization washes over him like those blasted artificial waves at that pool Grayson forced him to go to on a rare weekend off for the older man. He glances down the other end of the hallway towards the direction of Grayson’s room, knowing it is now empty, before fully exiting his room and quickly rushing down the direction Grayson had gone without making a single noise.

What could a shrunken kid be doing this early in the morning? He was practically dead on his feet the night before. Damian’s almost shocked that he’s up before noon let alone sneaking around the manor. Damian is just lucky that Grayson as a child isn’t as good at sneaking as his adult counterpart. Worst case scenario, Grayson could have exited the manor and left to the streets of Gotham all before Damian and Pennyworth could notice.

He pokes his head around a corner to find Grayson just reaching the bottom of the staircase. He watches as he looks around the large room before taking off thankfully not towards the front doors. A small inkling of worry fades from Damian’s conscious as he quickly rushes down the stairs just in time to see Grayson disappear through the halls into the doorway of the kitchen.

Curious, Damian sneaks closer and pokes his head in to see Grayson already struggling to jump on the counter and open a high up cupboard, pulling out a box of frosted mini-wheats and hopping down to place the box on the counter. Damian has to resist a snort of amusement as the child then carefully opens the fridge door, recoiling from the light of the fridge ever so slightly and blinking squinting and close to teary eyes from perhaps exhaustion, to drag out a gallon of milk and shove it next to the cereal. Grayson then heads to another counter and hops up again with practiced movements to open another just for his hand to freeze when he meets the sight of glass pans and fancy decorative serving bowls.

“Huh,” Damian hears Grayson huff. “Alf reorganized.”

He’s looking for the bowls. Damian places his hands over his mouth to stop an embarrassing giggle. This is all so amusing. Grayson had gotten up at four in the morning to steal a bowl of cereal. He wonders if he still does this as an adult and Damian just hasn’t ever noticed, but then he shakes his head because it’s ridiculous to think that first of all, an adult man sneaking under Pennyworth’s nose to get cereal and second of all, that Damian wouldn’t notice.

Grayson opens the next cupboard closest to him just to huff again when he meets the sight of spices. There are many cupboards in the kitchen, and the poor shrunken man is on the opposite side of the room where the bowls actually lay.

Damian wonders what he should do. It looks like Grayson is simply just hungry and might even go back to bed without suspecting a thing. Damian isn’t sure how much he remembers, but if the way the other boy is slowly starting to growl with each cupboard he opens, muttering things like “Alfie really outdid himself this time” and “doing this just because he doesn’t want me sneaking food at midnight” and even “watch. He probably hid the bowls in his room this time” with growing frustration was anything to go by: not much.

Damian shouldn't make his presence known if Grayson woke up with munchies thinking he was back to eight years old. Back then, it was only him, Pennyworth, and his father all living in the same house. To Grayson, he’d probably just be some random ten year old kid who broke into the manor or something.

He should go wake Pennyworth, he decides as Grayson calls out in victory, pulling out the first bowl he gets his hands on. He steps back, but of course it’s that second Alfred the cat decides to make himself known by tripping Damian up. He hadn’t noticed the feline standing curiously behind him, but Grayson definitely notices Damian’s call of alarm and Alfred’s yowl and hiss as he runs away. Damian lands on his rear with a thump and next thing he knows, Grayson is standing a few paces away, holding perhaps the first long and weighty thing he could find up as a weapon. Unfortunately, that item is a rolling pin. A hit from that, even from Grayson’s skinny noodle arms, would leave a mark, especially with Robin training.

“Who are you?!” Grayson hisses, holding his rolling pin of doom out in front of him at an awkward and wrong angle for optimal self defense. On instinct, Grayson has lessened his abilities to appear as an actual child who’s been startled, not a trained vigilante that could use a paperclip as a weapon if need arises.

Damian slowly holds up his hands in surrender and rises to his feet even slower. “I’m not going to hurt you, Grayson.”

Damian almost curses his instinct to call the boy by name, but Grayson doesn’t react. It’s then that Damian remembers that he’s the first adoptive son of the elusive Bruce Wayne. Everyone in Gotham knows his name, more so than Todd, Drake, Damian himself, and especially Cain. However, what Grayson chooses to get angry at is the rest of the sentence itself.

Grayson raises his weapon higher and Damian follows the action with his hands, keeping his gaze firm on Grayson’s eyes.

“Tell me who you are or I swear I’ll-“

“Master Richard John Grayson,” Pennyworth suddenly gasps from behind, startling both Damian and Grayson out from their heated glaring contest. Damian hadn’t noticed the man, though Pennyworth is often unnoticed when he wants to be. He’s sure the older man has startled his father himself a few times from his silent walking.

There’s a thunk of a rolling pin falling to the ground and Damian watches as Grayson stares wide eyed at Pennyworth, mouth slightly open in shock. At first, he thinks it’s because Pennyworth used Grayson’s full name, signifying how angry he is, but when Pennyworth steps forward Grayson takes a startled step back. He looks like he’s about to dart.

Something else is wrong, and Damian realizes just what when Grayson lets out a shocked whisper.

“You’re... you... Alfred, you look old...?”

Pennyworth sighs and kneels down on the ground, holding out his bare hands. He’s in his nightgown and a little hat and nothing more. It looks like he woke from bed in a cold sweat and grabbed the nearest garment to be decent enough before tracking down his target. Grayson takes a slow step forward and grabs Pennyworth’s hands with his own, and after a tense moment of the two of them staring at each other and Damian feeling like he’s intruded on something private, Grayson relaxes.

“But it’s you. You’re old... but you’re you.”

“The one and only, lad,” Pennyworth says with a somber smile to his voice.

Suddenly, Damian is in the spotlight of Grayson’s attention once again when their eyes meet. “You’re old,” Grayson repeats softly, almost to himself as he looks Damian up and down as if he’s assessing a threat. Which is good, Grayson is young and should always assess threats, but it hurts that he’s on the receiving end. “And you’re new... Alfred, what’s going on? Where’s Bruce?”

“Richard,” Pennyworth says, dropping the honorific, which is very rare for him to do, “do you remember anything from last night?”

Grayson’s eyebrows come together, making him look even more like the child that he is. It makes something in Damian’s chest tighten. He wonders if he’s ever looked that small. “I... no... a... a light..?

Clearly, thinking too much is giving the younger version of Damian’s mentor a headache. Pennyworth takes pity on him by letting go of his hands and transferring his grasp onto both of Grayson’s arms in a steady hold. “I was hoping we could ease you in once morning came,” Pennyworth says with a sigh. “Sadly, it seems we must explain things now. Master Dick, please put the pin away and finish making your bowl of cereal then go upstairs to join Master Damian in the study, I will be right up after I make us all some hot chocolate.”

Grayson nods slowly and Pennyworth gives him a small pat on the arm before standing up and preparing the milk before anyone could say anything else. Damian feels the hairs on his neck rise and he re-meets Graysons studying gaze. Damian clears his throat and takes a step back—careful this time to not trip over any cats—and forces something that could maybe pass as a smile onto his face.

“Yeah,” he says smartly, before turning tale and retreating up towards the study before Grayson could say anything.

[allthingsfangirl101]

Secrets Chapter 26: The Incurable Wound

Masterlist

Stiles' s POV

"Why would a blade being electronically charged affect her?" Melissa asked, looking up from Bailey.

"Electricity affects jinns the same way wolfsbane affects werewolves," Derek began to explain. "It's the only way to weaken a jinn. The electricity messes with her ability to read and sense auras. It also is the only way that a jinn's magic can be stripped from them. It's how the hunter kidnapped her. He used a whip and a net that were electronically charged and electrocuted her on impact, making it so she couldn't fight back."

"When was Bailey kidnapped by a hunter?" My dad asked looking between the three of us.

"Explain later," Melissa said, looking at Bailey. "We need to get her to the hospital."

"Shouldn't we call an ambulance?" Scott asked.

"And explain the dead pack of werewolves?" Derek asked, sending him a look. "Good luck with that."

I looked down at Bailey, my heart instantly sinking into the pit in my stomach. I reached forward and gently tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "You're going to be okay, Bails. I promise."

                       * * * * *

The second we got to the hospital, Bailey was taken out of Derek's arms, Melissa following her. Besides some cuts and bruises, Melissa wasn't hurt. My dad was a different story. Nurses came over and quickly took my dad to a room. I tried to follow them, but they stopped me.

Instead, I was forced to wait out in the waiting room with Scott and Derek. Scott was sitting between Derek and I, Derek nervously bouncing his leg.

It was maybe forty-five minutes before we saw Melissa walking towards us. All three of us instantly jumped up. "Are you okay?" Scott asked as he wrapped his mom in a hug.

"I'm fine, honey," she smiled as she hugged him back. She pulled away and looked over at me.

"How's my dad?" I asked, nervously biting my bottom lip.

"You're dad is going to be fine. There was no internal bleeding, no extensive damage. We do want to keep him overnight to keep an eye on his concussion. But other than that, he is going to be fine."

I closed my eyes and let out a sigh of relief. My heart stopped when I thought about Bailey. "What about. . ." I stuttered, unable to ask what I wanted to ask.

"What about Bailey?" Derek finished.

"Bailey is a different story," she said slowly. The three of us looked at each other before turning our attention back to Melissa.

"What do you mean? Mom, is Bailey going to be okay?" Scott asked.

"Honestly? I don't know. If she wasn't supernatural, I would tell you she may not make it through the night."

"What?" My heart jumped into my throat.

"I've personally kept a close eye on her. She's healing, slowly, but at least there is some improvement. The other doctors can't explain how she is alive. She technically shouldn't be. She shouldn't have even made it to town."

"So, she's okay?" Derek said, studying her.

"I didn't say that," she said slowly. "I don't know anything about the supernatural, at least whatever Bailey is, but something. . . Something is happening to her that normal medicine can't help. Maybe you boys can explain it."

We looked at each other before quickly following Melissa to Bailey's room. The second we walked through the door and I saw Bailey sitting in the bed with an oxygen mask over her nose and the IV in her arm, my heart dropped into my stomach.

I was the first to move away from the doorway. I slowly walked to the side of her bed, standing close to her. I carefully reached down and gently took her cold hand in both of my warm ones. I took a shaky breath as I could feel the tears building up in my eyes.

"What did you mean when you said something was wrong, but you couldn't explain it?" I asked, my voice breaking.

Melissa glanced at Scott and Derek before walking over to Bailey's side. I held my breath and didn't let go of her hand as Melissa slowly removed Bailey's blanket. I looked over at Scott and Derek as they took a few steps closer.

Melissa slowly began to untie the side of Bailey's gown. "The doctors don't have an explanation for this," Melissa explained as she moved Bailey's gown aside so we could see the gauze they placed over her wound.

My breath got caught in my throat as Melissa slowly peeled the blood-covered gauze off of Bailey's stomach. When the gauze was off, we could see that her veins leading away from the wound were purple. Not the kind of purple that looked like a natural bruise. It was different. It was almost like it was alive.

It was the same color her eyes flashed to when the hunter electrocuted her and when she took down the lead alpha. It was the same shade that surrounded her hands when she used her magic. My eyes narrowed when I noticed some green mixed in.

I looked up at Scott to see him just as hesitant and nervous as I was. Derek, on the other hand, looked relieved. "What is that?" I asked.

"It's her magic working its way into her wound. It means she's healing," Derek explained, letting out a sigh of relief.

"I know what the purple is, but what about the green?" I asked.

"The green is the color of healing. I know it looks bad, but auras have an odd color," Derek said looking down at Bailey with a small smile on his face.

"That's her aura?" Scott asked, glancing at me before turning his attention back to Bailey. "I thought only she could see auras."

"When a jinn is hurt and is trying to heal, their body doesn't have the strength to hide their aura. Plus, if werewolves or any other supernatural being is near a jinn in the middle of the healing process, we are able to see her aura so we can keep an eye on her progress. It allows us to be the supernatural version of a nurse," Derek said nodding towards Melissa.

"What about the black around the wound?" Melissa asked, drawing all of our attentions back to Bailey. My heart dropped when I saw the black ring around the stab wound.

"Something tells me that isn't a good color," I said, not able to tare my eyes away.

"It's not," Derek said softly. I finally looked away from Bailey to see him take a slow, hesitant step closer to her. "A black aura means the person is lacking energy, illness, and. . ."

"And what?" Melissa asked hesitantly. Derek looked up at us and for the first time since I've met the guy, looked genuinely scared.

"Death."

I looked down at Bailey, that word echoing in my mind. I didn't stop the tears as I reached forward, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

"Which means," Derek said, clearing his throat, "the knife they used to stab her with was electronically charged. The electricity is keeping her from healing."

"There has to be something we can do," Scott said with no emotion in his voice. I looked up and saw that he was staring down at Bailey, anger in his eyes. I watched as his eyes flashed yellow.

"Scott, honey," his mother whispered. He looked up at her, his eyes still yellow. "Your eyes."

Scott looked over at Derek, who was already watching him. "Scott, your inner wolf is angry and blames itself for what happened to Bailey. You need to calm it down."

We watched as Scott closed his eyes and took a few slow deep breaths. "Focus on Bailey's heartbeat," Derek advised. "Hearing it will help you relax."

"Is that what you're doing?" Scott asked, his eyes still closed.

I watched as Derek looked over at Bailey before sighing. "Yes, I am. I'm also focusing on times I was with her, specifically on the times she used her magic to calm me. Remembering that feeling will make it feel like she is calming you all over again."

When Scott opened his eyes again, they were back to their normal color. He looked down at Bailey with a sad expression on his face. I watched as he walked over and gently put his hand on her other one.

"It's not going to work," Derek sighed.

"What isn't going to work?" Melissa asked, looking between them.

"You can't take away her pain." Derek looked down at Bailey, defeated. "No matter how much you want to. Jinns can take away our pain, but we can't take away theirs."

"Why not?" Scott asked, his voice breaking.

"What happened to the cycle?" I asked harshly. "You know, an omega can become an alpha just like an alpha can become an omega."

"That only applies to werewolves, Stiles. If there were other jinns, it'd be a different story. There would be a chance they could help her. But Bailey is the only jinn alive," he sighed. "She's all alone."

"No she's not," Scott said, rolling his shoulders. "She's got us."

[yellowocaballero]

how to live forever (as you are now)

I’m experimenting with posting some very short flash fiction or fic on here, so have some three page nonsense. Canon compliant BMC, written because I respect adult swim. Featuring the Homestuck zodiac, Jeremy unable to do captchas and the SQUIP updating its privacy policy.  Read more for length.

You’ve just won a free iPad! Click to find out more!

Jeremy perked up, looking up from his homework on the desk. “Wait, really?”

No, I just said that to get your attention. Aw, man. The SQUIP tapped Jeremy on the head, making him scowl and duck away. It was still a little weird how the pill could do some funky robot magic and make Jeremy see and feel as if it was really there. Sorry, funky robot science. All magic is just sufficiently advanced technology, right? If you knew Newton as well as you knew Asimov you would be answering number three correctly.

Whoops. Jeremy bent over his paper again to erase his answer, but he was unable to keep the smile from his face. No more Googling questions. No more begging the equally clueless Michael for answers tomorrow morning. It was a supercomputer. It was made of math. And physics. Jeremy looked it up.

But when Jeremy picked up his pencil again to valiantly pretend to solve the question, he found the page blank. Completely blank, without even eraser marks or dust. More magic. “Does this mean I don’t have to do anymore homework?”

Now that your Super Quantum Unit Intel Processor has been operational for...the SQUIP mimed checking a watch. Jeremy was beginning to discover it was a little extra. Fifty four hours, I have determined that it is a suitable time for you to partake in a short questionnaire and sign our Terms and Agreements.

“You have a Terms and Agreements?” Jeremy tried to push himself away from the desk, but it was as if there were two fifty pound shackles weighing down his legs. He couldn’t even budge them. “Hey, I have to go to the bathroom!”

Focus. This will be quick and painless. Yeah, if by painless you meant taking away all sensation in his legs. It felt like he had sat on them too long and they had fallen asleep. Just sign your name at the bottom of the page.

“This is my physics homework,” Jeremy said stupidly. He looked down at the page again, and tried crossing his eyes to see if it would magically turn back into his homework again. No dice. “Mom always said never to sign anything before reading it…”

Yes, and your mother left you. Now sign. Don’t forget the captcha.

Before he could think too hard about it, so he wouldn’t think too hard about it, Jeremy quickly scribbled ‘Jeremiah Heere’ discreetly in the margins of the page. He blinked, and in the center of the page four images manifested. He silently circled the images that held stop signs.

Then he blinked again, and the image started swimming. His eyes hurt looking at the paper, and Jeremy groaned a little as he rubbed his eyes. For some reason, he couldn’t tell how many stop signs were in the pictures anymore. Stoplights? What had he been looking at?

Excellent. Your value has a person has risen .5%. The SQUIP waved a hand and the images disappeared, until the paper was blank again. Jeremy had no idea what just happened, or why he had to wait a whole two days after very enthusiastic activation before signing the terms and agreements. Or why he wasn’t allowed to get up. Now that you’ve agreed to data mining your brain - hey! - I have some quick questions for you. Answer these to the best of your limited ability. There are no wrong answers.

“Is this a test?” Jeremy sunk lower in his seat the best he could. He had just been trying to do his physics homework. “I thought you said that you were going to take my tests for me from now on.”

Relax. It’s just a personality test. I’m getting a baseline of your personality in case it changes later. It’s like a concussion baseline impact test.

“Oh.” Jeremy paused. “Are you going to tell me the right answers?”

You’ve caught the hang of this, the SQUIP said approvingly. It clasped its hands behind its back, looking just like a stern punk rock schoolteacher. Don’t worry. It’s relatively painless.

“Relative to what?”

Spinal nerve stimulation. Most things were painless in comparison to that. Now. What kind of thing do you like?

This was going to be easy. “Video games!”

Wait for me to finish the question. This is multiple choice. Oh. What? A. Milk. B. Soy Milk. C. Water. D. Empty cup.

“I like lots of other things…”

Write down your answer on your paper.

“This is still just my physics homework. “

It is now your personality test examination. If you are capable, stop being annoying.

“Sorry.” Jeremy bent down and fastidiously numbered one on his paper. He was lactose intolerant, so he put down B. Was that what it was asking? Didn’t it already know he was lactose intolerant? “What’s the next one?”

You are in a dark room. Do you A. find the door. B. find the window. C. go to the window. D. go to the door.

“Wait, that doesn’t -”

If you’re incapable of not being annoying we can fix that.

Jeremy put down D, since just finding the door or window didn’t seem like enough.

Do you like A. Music.

Jeremy waited, but it didn’t say anything else. He silently put down A.

How would you react to seeing a human suffer? A. Strong. B. Calm. C. No change.

“What kind of test is this?” Jeremy cried. “I don’t like seeing people suffer!”

Then put down A. I’m not going to help you.

He put down A, wondering what this was supposed to be saying about him.

On a scale of one to two how many times a month do you lose it? A. Just once a month? B. Two or three times a month?

More than two or three times. Jeremy put down a ten.

Do your best bird call.

“I thought this was multiple choice.”

This one’s free response. Write it down.

Jeremy wrote down, ‘tweet’.

Do you do a prank call? Y or N.

Definitely N, except for that one time.

My SQUIP is an A. Home. B. Prison. C. Pyramid. D. House.

For reasons he didn’t consciously understand Jeremy began putting down B, before he hastily scratched out his answer and wrote A. Home was nice. Home sounded good.

My motivations are A. Good. B. Bad. C. Truly terrifying on a fundamental level.

“Okay, I think I’m done with this test.” Jeremy put his pencil down. “Just score me as-is. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

His breath caught in his throat, expecting the SQUIP to argue with him or call him names again, but it just shrugged. It snapped its fingers and Jeremy’s writing disappeared, and his boring old physics homework came back. He had never been so happy to see physics before.

Really, it felt like it hadn’t been asking him any questions at all. There were no questions written on the paper, and no answers that made sense. Without looking at it, and without any other cue from the SQUIP besides a mysterious smile, it was as if nothing had happened at all.

Jeremy liked that, so he continued thinking it. The homework was half-completed, worked incorrectly but always answered right, and he looked back up at the SQUIP with an uncertain smile, trying to see if it was mad at him. Its face was blank, eyebrow barely quirked upright, and it felt like an unpleasable teacher who marked every question wrong. It felt a little like his mother, endlessly criticizing, until the two swam together in his mind and Jeremy found himself with a desperate wish for it to display any sort of affection at all.

“Back to physics?” He asked hopefully. He had signed the paper and taken the test and everything. “And letting go of my legs?”

You couldn’t finish the test, so I can see you don’t need me for the rest of today. I’ll shut down now. It snapped its fingers, expression placid. See you tomorrow, slugger.

“Wait - what about my legs - !”

By the time you finish you’ll have regained feeling. Probably. The circulatory system is adaptable at your age. We can talk about keeping to commitments tomorrow. Bye!

Then it blinked out, with his legs still unmoving and his homework still half-done, and Jeremy wanted to call it back. He wanted to finish the stupid test because he wanted help with his dumb math homework, and he didn’t know why cheating was so hard. It was supposed to make everything easy. That was the point of cheating.

Oh, well. Jeremy could apologize in the morning. And do better, so it would help him with his homework again. Maybe he could get a question right next time. He bent down over the paper, ignoring the ache in his legs, thinking absentmindedly about stop signs without understanding why.

[blog-researchblog]

The Athletic Director Career Path

Personal Summary

I used Scott Christs’ 7 Powerful Questions To Find What You Out Want To Do With Your Life to help me figure out what I am passionate about, my role models, and my goals in life. Out of high school I did not know what I wanted to do. My parents gave me the choice of either start working or going to college. I chose college even though I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with my life and to some extent I still don’t. I chose sports management as my major. I went into the sports management major because I grew up playing sports and enjoying sports. Once I chose sports management I did not really know what I still wanted to do, but the one area that seemed interesting to me was being an athletic director. This comes from my passion for sports and enjoying being outdoors. I also picked this field because everyone I have looked up to in my life for the most part has had connections to sports. Whether it was my dad who was a coach to me for most of my life or guys like Chase Utley or Ryan Howard who were my role models growing up, I wanted to be just like them. So since I always saw life through sports, I chose sports management. My goals in life are to find a good job, have a family, and to be happy. Athletic directing I believe is a good job for me because it not only connects my passion for sports, but also allows me to be with my family. Unlike other careers down the sports management path, like being a part of a major sports franchise, which could require a lot of moving around, being an athletic director I could stay in one school district for a while and not need to move around. With a sports background I know that it takes hard work to get to where you want to be so I know that I can put in work necessary to be put in a career I want to be in. That is why I believe I can become an athletic director, and in order to find the most recent information I consulted the Occupational Outlook Handbook. 

Career Summary

The career path I chose is athletic director but the Occupational Outlook Handbook doesn’t have that. It directed me to a postsecondary education administrator. But I feel that athletic directing is a hybrid of an administrator and a coach so I will be using the coaching information from the Occupational Outlook Handbook. Coaches are in charge of teaching amateur and professional athletes the skills they need to succeed at their sport. Coaches get paid about $33,780 a year. Coaches can work irregular hours like evening, weekends, and holidays. To become a coach it is expected to have some degree of experience in the sport being coached. The best way to gain knowledge of the sport is through gaining experience for coaching.

There are many duties a coach has to do. They are to plan and run practices, game plan for upcoming games, work with athletes on their strengths and weaknesses, being able to motivate the team. They do all of these duties to refine the players to make them the best athletes they can be. Those are some duties that a coach does throughout a day or season. 

The work environment may depend on the level being coached. If there is a high school coach normally practices are run after school dismisses for the day and occasionally on weekends. In a collegiate sports program it may be different. There might be a workout before classes start for the day then a practice at night. There will also be practices on weekends in collegiate sports as well on holiday breaks. And with a lot of sports the environment itself plays a major role in the ability to practice because of things like rain and snow.

To become a coach there are different requirements. For high school a college degree won't always be necessary, but at a college it is more likely that a person will need a college degree in the sports field. Playing the sport at some point is also a requirement for a coaching job. Certification in different areas is also looked at for coaches. This is from small education courses, CPR, background checks, and other similar things. To learn more about coaching and athletic directing I interviewed my high school athletic director.

Interview Questions 

The person I interviewed is Bryan Geist. He is the athletic director at my high school, Northern Lehigh. As well as being the athletic director for the high school he is also the president of the Colonial League which is the league our high school athletics play in. Mr. Geist has been the athletic director at Northern Lehigh since 2006 and has been in charge of many successful athletic teams during his time here. Across the numerous sports Northern Lehigh participates in he has been in charge of eight Colonial League championships teams, five District XI championship teams, and eleven teams that qualified for state playoffs, as well as many more successful individual sport participants at the district and state level from wrestling and track and field. So he was a person I thought would be a good person to talk to about the athletic director career. 

There are different ways to get into the athletic director career. One way is by doing what I am doing and being a sports management major and getting a job in an athletic field of work then getting a job as an assistant or a coach then applying to be an athletic director. The other common way is that a high school will choose either a teacher or a coach to become the schools athletic director. Mr. Geist was a high school math teacher first and wanted to coach some of the high school sports. When he started coaching it sparked his interest in becoming more than just a teacher and a coach but the schools athletic director. 

There are many duties that Mr. Geist has to do throughout the day as both an athletic director. To start the week he checks the athletics schedules for the day and week. Some of the things he does while working on the athletic schedule is scheduling transportation for teams that play away games during the week, as well as getting game help which could be things like getting people to work concessions, tickets, the scoreboard, and announcing the game. He also checks to make sure there are officials scheduled for the games played during the week as well as paying them for their work. Since Mr. Geist is also our league president, he also has other duties. He has to update the league websites for final scores and standings as well as playoff brackets. He also approves of facility requests, which are like choosing neutral site fields to play playoff games on. And as an athletic director he would have say in changes to his school's sporting facilities. These are just some of the duties that an athletic director does during his work day and week. 

He also told me about current events and major issues in the field. Some of the current events he sees in the field are concussion management, coaching education, and budget restraints. Concussion management is a topic that is looked at at all levels of sport. But coaching education and budget restraints I feel affect high school athletic directors more than college or professionally run sports organizations. This is because almost anyone could be a high school coach so as an athletic director you want to make sure the people you hire as coaches not only know the game they are coaching and how to handle the game. But also able to handle teenagers and keep them in the right mindset to not only focus on sports but to also stay up on their school work. Budget restraints are a problem in most aspects of schools, especially in smaller schools. Not only are school budgets for sports not always a lot but they have to split that budget up between the sport teams so if a school supports twelve different sports it is difficult to decide how much each sport gets. That is why each team will do fundraisers so it is easier to budget around the sports teams. Mr. Geist then said that one of the biggest issues, for athletic directors in Pennsylvania, is leveling the playing field between public schools and private or charter schools. While it is illegal to recruit for schools to recruit high school students for sports private and charter schools kind of find a loophole in it. Since a large number of the private or charter schools are catholic or religion related schools the schools can send letters in the mail to students to come to learn at their schools, because they are private and they can give a better education and also study religion. So some coaches will have these letters sent to students that attend public schools that are very good at their sport and try to persuade them to come play for them. A lot of students then go to these schools to play sports and they pretty much build super teams from all around the area. This is a problem because the public schools lose talented players to these private schools and as teams advance in the Pennsylvania state playoffs for sports they have to play these private schools with super teams of players from all around the area. A big one from where I am from in Bethlehem Catholic they have players from all over eastern Pennsylvania and they have built dynasties in football and wrestling because of this. Every year they are a top team in the state in these sports and public schools cannot compete with them. These are some of the issues and events that athletic directors are facing right now, and I went into researching other current event topics in athletic directing.

Current Event 

The field of athletic directing does not have any real major current issue. But one issue that comes up a lot when dealing with high school athletics is the use of steroids or other performance enhancers. People will joke all the time about when they see a bigger, stronger, and faster kid in high school and say that the kid is on steroids because they just seem bigger or better at the sport. When I was younger and even in the early years of high school I would have never thought kids like me that are my age would be using steroids or performance enhancers because we were always told they were bad and only cheaters use them. This is because growing up we saw people like Barry Bonds and Alex Rodriguez and wanted to be as strong as them. Then when it came out they used or are speculated to have used steroids it became smudge on their careers. They were still seen as heroes because of how good they were but they might have cheated to get to be that good. As you get older and get to know people you competed against better, and even start to become friends with the people from other schools you may have faced, you learn that some of these kids did use things that enhance their performance. Even though the use of steroids is nowhere near as prominent in sports in general today it still affects sports even down to the high school level. So I looked up an article to learn more about the use of steroids in high school athletics. 

The article I looked up is from the website the recovery village and it is about the use of steroids in high school athletics. The use of steroids tends to be for many different reasons and a lot of them come from everyday pressures. The main reason for the use of steroids is to get stronger. Some high school athletes think that they could use athletics to get into college so they use them so become stronger to get more college looks and possibly scholarships. Some might use it as a popularity thing. That if they use enhancement to get stronger they might not only look bigger and stronger but they will get more playing time say in a football game and as a result more people see them and they feel more popular. One issue that is common in high school for both boys and girls is body image, some kids use steroids to help them physically look better. Like I said before professional athletes also have a bit of an influence here because there are players that use them that kids looked up to and kids will say, “If he is using them I should too, so I can be just like him.” This makes many different reasons why a high school athlete would choose to use steroids. 

Now this is not as much a major issue as it could be but it still is not something people especially high school students should be using. In the article it says that a prominent steroid researcher and sports psychologist studies and found that up to twelve percent of the males they studied said they have admitted to using steroids at some point in their lives, and about two percent of the girls they studied. However the number seems like a low percentage it does not say how many people they surveyed so that twelve percent could be large, and that is only the amount of students that have admitted to using them some might have but have not admitted to it. Students feel they can probably get away with it because in non professional level sports there is little to no testing done for drugs. The article says that only about twenty percent of U.S. high schools test their players for performance enhancers. If it became a mandatory thing for high schools to test their student athletes then there would definitely be a lowered number of users of performance enhancers.

There are many reasons why high school students should not be using steroids. To start it is they are drugs and can become very addictive. Also during high school students' bodies are already going through major changes they should not be adding another drug that can change their hormones and growth levels into their systems. It discredits the student and sport by trying to make it okay to cheat and illegally become better than their competition. These are just a few reasons on why steroids should not be used by high school student athletes. 

This article I found pretty informative and learned a couple things from it. To start with when I was younger I would have never thought high schoolers would actually use steroids. Growing we were always told never to cheat the game you play and using steroids is a form of cheating. But as I got older I started to realize some kids used them and I lost a little bit of respect for those people. From the article I learned that people might not just use them to just better than their competition, but also to gain popularity. I still would like to learn more about how many student athletes use them as well as some of the regulations the schools use to prevent the use of them. 

Robert Schaeffer

[appel-sfw-blog]

Things that piss me off in Overwatch

Doomfist, was a mistake

He has increased health, gets shields by hurting enemies with any of his abilities, moves fast, and disables any offensive and defensive options of his targets when he hits them. And he is also invulnerable when setting up his Ult. Also his personality is extremely fucking retarded.

Genji, has no weakness

Genji can move in any direction and his Swift Strike, which deals a lot of damage, resets if he gets a kill. Genji has no damage drop, and his stars fly in a straight line. He is faster and more agile than any Hero and only Torb’s turrent can easily hit him. Oh, but he also has deflect that can deflect ANYTHING that is a projectile and make it his own.

Pharah, the rocket has-been

She is firing ROCKETS, and they are travelling so fucking slow a Genji could catch up to them. And that is coming from me who was top 15% of Rocket Accuracy with Pharah. Her Jump Jet only goes upwards, and must rely on a very slow hover for movement in the air, meaning that our only FLYING Hero has LOWER air mobility than Genji. And when she flies she’s just a sitting duck. 

Reaper, cut my life in to pieces

Reaper used to get soul orbs when killing things. But because everyone kept crying to Kaplan because their favourite edgelord wasn’t powerful enough, the changed it to ‘heals whenever he deals damage’. This means Reaper had even less inventive to play carefully and just tanks all damage. He also has an increased health pool to boot, so have fun not killing this fucker, who can NOPE out whenever his feelings are hurt and be invulnerable for 4 seconds, and then instakill you if you were dumb enough to follow him.

Soldier, who’s special ability is to move slightly faster

WHY IS SPRINTING AN ABILITY?! SERIOUSLY!! Doomfist, Genji, Reaper, Sombra, Tracer, Junkrat, Widowmaker, DVa, Reinhardt, Winston, Lucio, and Mercy all have the ability to move faster, and they all have a useful function for it. Soldier just moves slightly faster (but not by much) and for longer, and it stops him from doing literally anything else! Just make him more faster by default and give him something else!

Sombra, overhyped garbage

If you just changed “hacking” to “nanomachines,” I wouldn’t have a problem with her. But no, she ‘hacks’ people. She uses computers to somehow hack into living flesh and make it impossible for a gorilla to get angry, a cowboy to roll, an old man to run, a fat man to vape; but somehow a robot can still walk around freely and kill her at his own discretion. Her porn is great, though. Thanks, Sunny.

Hanzo, the left nipple of a man is divine

NERF. HIS. SCATTER. ARROW. This motherfucker can 1HKO most heroes, even if they have armour by getting a headshot, which is easy because he fires FUCKING LOGS. And his scatter arrow allows him to instakill even TANKS if they had the dumb idea to take Hanzo on face-to-face. This piece of shit hero cannot be countered at any range without risk of being killed in one attack, and Hanzo isn’t even given some kind of drawback. BULLSHIT!

Junkrat, nepotism is a bitch

Because people couldn’t get into their heads that your own explosives kill you, people instead just nagged to Kaplan that Junkrat needed a buff. Why should he be affected by his own explosives when Pharah, Dva, Tracer, Soldier, and Zarya were also affected by their own explosives? It wasn’t fair!! So they made him immune to every explosive he had, including his ult, and his Total Mayhem means Junkrat is encouraged to body slam his opponent in the hopes that he gets to kamikaze them to death. What the actual FUCK?! Oh, and using 1 concussive mine was too useful, so now he has TWO of them!! What the hell?!

Mei, just... no

Her whole backstory just paints her as a PTSD ridden psychopath. Why does she freeze people? Why does she freeze herself?! It’s retarded!

Tobjörn, make Torb great again!!

Despite having one of the highest win rates, he also suffers from one of the lowest pick rates. Why? Because people consider Torb a troll pick. He cannot upgrade his turret if it has even a single point of damage, which even a Reaper could manage from across the map. His tiny size makes him ironically easy to kill since 50% of him is a head hitbox, and everyone looks DOWN to shoot him. His Ult lasts a long time, but he spends half of that time just reloading his damn gun! And people avoid Torb like the plague whenever he tries to give out Armour packs. So it’s hard to support your team. Please, buff or rework him. Make him fun to play!

Widowmaker, she’s a sniper so that sucks already

Unlike Hanzo, Widowmaker has a harder time instakilling close range, so she actually has a slight disadvantage. Oh way, NO SHE DOESN’T! Her sniper rifle actually defaults to an assault rifle at close range, with a BIGGER MAGAZINE THAN SOLDIER!! And she has great mobility since she also possess a grappling hook. But NOO IT HAS A 15 SECOND RECHARGE! PLEASE BUFF KAPLAN! I CANNOT LIVE IF MY WIDOWMAKER ISN’T AIRBOURNE 90% OF THE TIME!!

DVa, my teen gamer waifu isn’t OP enough

DVa suffered from the same problem as other explosive Heroes. She wasn’t immune to her Self-Desctuct. Apparently that was TOO HARD for the idiots who played her to figure out and instead of learning to seek cover, they complained to Kaplan until she was made immune to it. Meaning most DVa players will actively walk into the explosion, as it’s the safest place to be. Also when her mech breaks, you can’t predict where she’ll pop out and giving her a massive advantage to retreating or take a few shots and quickly get her mech back. So. Stupid. And she’s getting an offensive buff too! Because she wasn’t too good already.

Orisa, mechanical horse pussy

Her inclusion was pretty questionable. She’s a Reinhardt, Zarya, Bastion, and Mercy lovechild and I don’t know how to feel about that. Her shield is more versatile than Reinhardt, her pull is more available that Zarya, her long range is better than Bastion, and her damage boost is generally more helpful than Mercy.

Reinhardt, you cannot outrun him

You spot Reinhardt around a corner, and you are stuck for good. This bastard will not let you go until you are pummelled to death. It’s not fun. Why can he move so fast whilst swinging his hammer? And why is his hammer hitbox so fucking stupid? It’s not a cone, it’s a wall that makes him reach further if he looks away from you!

Roadhog, being balanced is to be unplayable

Once his one-hit kill (which was super easy to pull off) was removed, people cried foul and started cutting themselves. Now Roadhog can heal on the move (which is good), but he also gets a defence boost when he vapes. Which means he was already hard to kill whilst self-healing, but now he will be functionally immortal. Especially if he gets heal boosted. This is stupid...

A lot of work seems to go into Heroes that are already Meta or at least have a high pick rate. And when they don’t have a high pick rate, it’s because of some update that made them slightly less invaluable to a team comp.

Make every Hero fun to play, don’t just focus on the Heroes that already get the most love. :T

If you also have some personal gripes with some Heroes then you are free to put it in the comment here as well. I wanna know!

[pestleandpins]

Acupuncture, Dry Needling, and IMS - What's the difference?

For many people, their first introduction to needling happens at a physiotherapy clinic where they are most likely receiving IMS or dry needling and lately I’ve had a number of patients share their experiences with me ask me if I can do IMS. The short answer is yes, but I thought this would be a great opportunity flesh out some of the, often fuzzy, details around acupuncture, dry needling, and IMS including their similarities and differences. So lets take a moment to define each of these three needling techniques. I’ll preface these definitions by mentioning that some consider dry needling and IMS to be synonymous and I suppose that would depend on where practitioners receive their training and often times the points used in IMS will over lap with those in dry needling.

Dry Needling - A myofascial trigger point technique using a filiform or sometimes hypodermic needle to stimulate a release of the muscles and fascia. Dry needling is used primarily for the management of pain syndromes.

IMS (Intramuscular Stimulation) - A neuromuscular technique using a filiform needle to regulate nerve innervation to a muscle and affect muscle tone. IMS can be used in the management of pain syndromes as well as the treatment of muscle inhibition and dysfunction.

Acupuncture - The insertion of filiform needles to affect multiple body systems and affect a healing response. Acupuncture can be used to manage pain, affect neuromuscular activity, regulate hormones, and affect organ function.

The one thing that all three techniques have in common is that they are using sterile, single-use needles to affect a change in the body. The vast majority of the time those needles are going to be filiform which means that they are solid and come to a fine tip that can easily puncture the skin with minimal irritation. Occasional, dry needling practitioners may choose to use a hypodermic needle, the kind used for injections, which are thicker and have a serrated tip, in order to provide a stronger stimulation. Where these techniques start to differ is on the aspect of the body they are focusing on.

Someone using dry needling is looking to identify and treat triggers points. A trigger point is essentially a muscle knot and they can range from the really big knots which we’ve all felt down to tiny knots the size of rice grains which take very refined palpation skills to locate. These knots are areas where muscle fibers and fascia are bunched up and are unable to release due to a variety of factors. The therapist finds these trigger points and then they insert a needle into the trigger point and stimulate the needle by either moving it in and out of the knot, twirling it in the knot, and sometimes through electrical stimulation until the muscle twitches and lets go. This techniques often provides an immediate relief of pain and tension for those suffering from muscle knots. While the immediate relief is great, there are generally some short comings. First, the stimulation needed to get that twitch response in certain areas can be quite aggressive and uncomfortable for many people. Second, since the focus is on treating the trigger point, dry needling often fails to address any underlying muscle and nerve dysfunctions which are often the root cause of the knotting and it is therefore usually a temporary solution. Despite its short comings dry needling definitely has its place in some treatment plans for that immediate relief.

In IMS the therapist is looking to affect the muscles and fascia using the connection between the nervous system and the muscles. An IMS practitioner primarily uses motor points to affect the body. A motor can be a single point in a muscles or may be multiple points in larger muscles which are highly innervated with nerves. Due to the high degree of innervation at a motor point there is typically less aggressive stimulation required to active the muscle. An IMS treatment will usually begin with the practitioner doing manual motor testing to identify which muscles are either not receiving enough information from the nervous system, causing them to under fire, or too much information, causing them to be in constant tension. The motor point for that specific muscle or group of muscles can then be used to reset the nerve supply to that muscle and promote correct muscle firing and synergistic contraction. The benefits of IMS over dry needling is that it is able to address the underlying problems in the relationship between the nervous system and muscles which often lead to the formation of chronic tension and knots. Also, while the stimulation of motor points can often still have a strong sensation it is generally not as uncomfortable as the strong stimulation required in dry needling. IMS will also usually provide a great of relief from pain and tension quite quickly.

So how do dry needling and IMS fit into acupuncture? Dry needling is actually a technique which falls into the scope of acupuncture dating back to some of its earliest records. In the acupuncture classics trigger points were called ashi points which essentially translates to “ouch points”. So there is one check for acupuncture. But what about IMS? Well, interestingly enough a lot of the main acupuncture points are also motor points. Taking some points in the shoulder as an example SI 9 and 10 are the motor points for the teres muscles, SI 11 is the infraspinatous, and SI 12 is the supraspinatous. Together, these three points account for three out of four muscles in the rotator cuff. However, just because many acupuncture points are also motor points doesn’t necessarily mean that every acupuncturist knows how to use them in an IMS style. While most acupuncture programs will include a course on the treatment of musculoskeletal conditions, the approach to treatment will vary widely with some teaching more classical methods such as balancing channels while other will focus more on directly treating muscles through motor points. I was lucky enough to be in a program with two orthopedics courses, one focusing on the use of manual muscles testing for assessment and motor points for treatment and the other which approached treatment from a channel based approach. So while many acupuncturists may regularly be using the same points that and IMS therapist is using (or should I say an IMS therapist may regularly use the same points as an acupuncturist), it will be up to their training whether or not they are able to accurately identify which specific muscles are inhibited in their function and use the motor points to correct that specific muscle as opposed to a broader approach. More widely though, acupuncture isn’t just focused on the treatment of musculoskeletal and pain syndromes. Acupuncture has historically been used to treat all types of medical conditions from menstrual cramps to Parkinson’s disease, concussions, colitis, hormone imbalances, and everything in between. There are a vast array of acupuncture points and while many do correspond with motor points there are far more that do not. With the buffet of points available to an acupuncturist they are able to affect organ function, regulate the secretion of various hormones, regulate neurological pathways, and restore correct function of various body systems (including motor and pain regulation systems). Furthermore, acupuncture treatments generally does not require the stimulation of the needles to be quite as strong as the stimulation in dry needling or IMS (of course there are always some exceptions to this) making acupuncture a more relaxing and enjoyable experience.

The more gentle stimulation that an acupuncturist is looking for is called De Qi which means the arrival of Qi at the needle which is essentially when the body acknowledges the needle in the body. The sensation of De Qi is usually described as a heavy sensation or dull, pulsing low grade ache around the needles as opposed to the quick intense twitch with IMS or dry needling. Acupuncture also offers other options for the treatment of pain which rely on the body’s complex neural network to use reflexes to manage pain in one area of the body by treating a different area. This is why if you go to an acupuncturist with back pain they might stick pins in your hands or elbows.

To summarize all of that: dry needling can be great for short term management of pain, IMS can effectively treat pain and address the underlying neuromuscular issues which often give rise to pain, and acupuncture may include dry needling and/ or IMS in a course of treatment but also has the ability to address more complex patterns in the body. All three needling techniques are perfectly valid treatment methods and can all serve a different purpose depending on the needs of the patient. For a more complete explanation of acupuncture and some of the conditions it can treat have a read through my other article Acupuncture - What is it good for?.

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The Benefits Of Brain Games For Kids

Have you ever thought about the fact that games can be healthy? It's true–health can be fun even when we're talking about kids' health! Along those lines, let's take some times today to look at something a little different than what I normally write about here, of maybe not so–the benefits of brain games for kids.

Healthy living includes a healthy brain. I mean for sure, right? Your brain does more than just think–it controls basically everything that you do.

If your brain isn't healthy, then not much can be healthy.

So in order to have overall health, it's important to find out what you can do to have a healthy brain, and then do it.

Why I'm Writing about Brain Games for Kids and Brain Health

Recently a friend talked to me about brain games for kids. She sent me an ebook about brain games for kids and we talked about how this type of game can be healthy for kids' brains. I was intrigued on several levels.

First of all, I just hadn't made the connection. I mean, I had heard about research that brain games were good to protect against aging diseases like Alzheimer's, but I never had thought about how the same type of games could actually be good for kids.

Funny isn't it? I'm talking about brain games and how they are good for brains, but also talking about how my brain didn't make that connection :).

Anyhow, I asked her to send me a copy of her book to try it out with my family, and it was fun. Of course I can't really measure the benefits to our brains' health, but what I can say is that we all enjoyed it–it was a fun diversion to pull out in the middle of a stressful day or as a family activity during dinner or at night.

Our youngest really enjoyed the activities–actually both of my boys did, and my husband thought they were a lot of fun. He loves this kind of thing!

Also, it's a great alternative to the typical video game / screen time that most families default to, so in that sense doing some kind of game like this is healthy too to help you have good communication skills, good eye contact, etc., which are all things that lead to good social skills which leads to good health too. I told my friend that I wanted to share this whole concept with my readers, and so here we are.

So let's get back to talking about different ways that you can keep your brain healthy.

How to Keep Your Brain Healthy

Healthy Diet

Treating your brain right from the inside out is a great first step, so a healthy diet is very important. There are many things that make for a healthy diet, and it's not the same for everyone, but getting enough nutrients into your diet is one crucial step. This post on getting simple superfoods into your diet is one good place to start.

Get Sleep

You also want to be sure you get enough sleep at night. Going through your day without proper sleep can be like operating under the influence of drugs or alcohol.

It can make it difficult to concentrate, lower your reaction time and make you more susceptible to accidents. Sleep is so very important, and most people just simply don’t get enough of it.

If you have trouble in this area, try some natural helps for a good night's sleep so that your brain (and everything else) can be healthier.

Protect Your Brain Physically

What are some other things you can do to take care of your brain? It sounds obvious, but protecting it from physical injury is also really important. You should of course wear a safety helmet when riding a bike or skating and of course when playing any kind of contact sport. And of course you should wear a protective hard hat if you’re doing anything like construction-type work.

The same goes for children – always ensure they wear proper safety gear to protect them from brain injury. We actually have talked about this a lot with our kids. There is a local group that hands out free sports tickets to kids who promise to wear their bike helmets whenever they bike, and our boys have both played hockey (their league is non checking, so it is not much of an issue for them), which has been part of the focus of some of the really bad news about concussions and sports these days.

Yes, brain health is serious business. Too many hits to the head and your life can be changed forever.

Exercise Your Brain

Just like you can exercise your body, you can also “exercise” your brain with fun games and activities that help flex and strengthen your brain.

This has been suggested for adults as a way to help prevent dementia or Alzheimer’s, but it can also have benefits to children, even those who are still growing.

Some will say that these games are like having a personal trainer for your brain. So, how does this idea of brain games for brain health work for kids and how can we “get buff brains” so to speak?

Let's find out.

How Brain Games Help Kids Develop

Brain games are a great way to help kids in their development. Children’s brains are growing at a rapid rate. The younger the child, the easier it can be to learn certain things. This is why children who are taught a secondary language at a young age are more likely to retain it than those who attempt to learn new languages later in life.

Brain games are a wonderful way to help your children develop their growing brains. It can help strengthen certain skills like memory and even improve concentration. ChildMind.org tells us:

According to SharpBrains, a neuro-wellness research firm, spending on brain fitness hardware and software hit $1.3 billion in 2013 and is expected to reach $6 billion by 2020. And while most of these brain games are aimed at baby boomers, kids account for about 20% of the revenues from companies like Lumosity, Cogmed, Posit Science, and others.

Here are some ways that brain teasers and games are helpful to developing brains:

Help improve problem-solving skills

Train their memory

Help improve concentration

Improve pattern recognition

Enhance spatial recognition

Improve visual perception

Increase reaction time

As you can see, these brain games can be more than good fun. They can also be a great way to train the brain and strengthen your muscle memory and thinking skills.

Learning is always easier when it’s fun; and brain games make learning these skills seem like nothing more than a fun game. Your children may not even realize they are building brain skills in the process. Imagine being able to naturally increase your child’s brain’s ability to sustain attention, improve memory, and increase self-control, all through fun games that they enjoy playing?

These brain training games help more than that, though. They can also be helpful with children with ADHD. Let’s talk about how this is the case.

Brain Games and ADHD

If brain games can help kids develop their cognitive skills, then it also makes sense that they could be useful to children with ADHD. Since ADHD is basically an executive function disorder that affects memory, cognitive flexibility, and reasoning skills, it's a logical step to think that brain games can help with the condition.

Does your ADHD child struggle with forgetfulness? Do you have to remind them often to do their chores or pick up their room? Does your child forget to brush his teeth or turn in his homework when he goes back to school?

These are common issues that parents of ADD kids report.

Maybe your child also has issues with being too impulsive. Does she speak without thinking first? Does she interrupt others often?

Again, these are common symptoms of ADD.

Common treatments for ADHD include stimulant medications, which may seem contradictory to the nature of ADHD since when you look at these kids it seems that the last thing they need is a stimulant. Along those same lines, since their brains are already overactive, it might surprise you to know that brain games and enhanced brain tasks can help with symptoms of ADHD, too.

One notable quote about this topic is this. Speaking to ADDitude Magazine, Dr. Amit Etkin of Stanford University said:

The potential for brain training as a new therapeutic tool [for ADD] is phenomenal.

Allowing your child with ADD to do brain teasers and play brain games can actually help improve the symptoms of ADD, especially when combined with other treatments for the condition, such as this gut help for ADHD. It’s a great way for them to practice valuable skills needed in school and in other areas of life.

So, now that you know more about the amazing things brain games can do for kids, let’s take a look at where you can find some of these games so that you and your kids can start playing (and training) today.

Following are some options for great brain games/brain teasers suitable for kids (and adults too!)

Four Great Brain Games for Kids

Brain Teasers for Kids eBook – This is the eBook that my friend shared with me. It has a bunch of fun (and I must say, mind-bending) brain teasers to help build the brain muscle and improve thinking skills in your kids–they really get you thinking! It's been really fun for us to bring this out at various times and try to figure them out as a family. If you try it I'd love to hear what you thought about it.

Book of Brain Games for Kids (Amazon) – Here’s a great book full of games for kids’ brains.

Fun Brain Game Websites – One great example of this is funbrain.com. There are many games and puzzles kids can enjoy on websites just like this. Give your kids a good reason to be on those computers and tablets.

Brain Apps like Lumosity and Elevate – Depending on the ages of your kids and their skill level, these apps could appeal to them and will really help develop their brain power. They are also really helpful for the ADD brain and can build focus and concentration levels.

And there are many more to choose from. Once you start looking, you'll see that there are loads of good resources out there.

Have you used brain games for kids before for fun with your family? Do you have any brain game suggestions of your own that you’d like to add to our list?

The post The Benefits Of Brain Games For Kids appeared first on Whole New Mom.

[flauntpage]

Football's Brain Injury Crisis Isn't Just for Star Players

Ka'Lial Glaud has a headache. Every second of every day, he says. Ever since suffering his first and only diagnosed concussion in the National Football League nearly two years ago.

A 26-year-old former linebacker who spent most of three NFL seasons with the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, Glaud has been diagnosed with post-concussion syndrome, a disorder in which symptoms such as dizziness, light sensitivity, and intense headaches persist long after someone experiences an initial brain injury.

Medications haven't brought Glaud relief. Nor has therapy. He isn't well enough to work, and he can't go back to Rutgers University to finish his undergraduate degree—not when reading for more than half an hour leaves his eyes exhausted and head throbbing.

Recently, Glaud says, it took all he had just to walk on a Stairmaster and then cut the grass at his home in Asbury Park, New Jersey.

"I was down for four days [afterward]," he says. "I told a doctor, 'It's like I can feel my brain.' They said that's impossible. But it feels like someone is inside my head and has their hands around my brain, and they're squeezing it."

It's been more than a decade since doctors discovered the neurodegenerative disease chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE) in deceased Pittsburgh Steelers center Mike Webster, a revelation that helped make brain trauma in football an ongoing national story. Much of the subsequent fan and media focus has been on star players, like New England Patriots quarterback Tom Brady allegedly hiding a concussion last season, and worst-case medical outcomes, like Hall of Fame linebacker Junior Seau being posthumously diagnosed with CTE after committing suicide in 2012.

However, fringe performers such as Glaud—training camp invitees, practice squad members, players at the bottom of depth charts—are just as vulnerable as the sport's marquee names, maybe even more so. Fighting for jobs and paychecks in the league, they arguably have greater incentive to put their brains at risk and fewer resources to cope with any lasting damage.

Even when those ailments are less severe than CTE, they still can be debilitating. Glaud was concussed in September of 2015, and since then his life has been a fog of frustration and depression.

"Everyone you hear about, they played for ten, 15 years," Glaud says. "I had three, one of those on the practice squad and another on injured reserve. I didn't play that daggone long. And it has affected me. I think about it every day."

Glaud doesn't remember the hit. He was playing for the Dallas Cowboys in the team's final preseason game, trying to earn a roster spot.

One moment, Glaud was calling plays and setting defensive fronts; the next, he was on the sideline, telling teammate Sean Lee that nothing was wrong—even though Glaud couldn't recall those same plays and fronts when one of his coaches was going through game video on a tablet computer.

Are you sure you're OK?

I'm fine.

I think I'll have a doctor look at you.

"I asked Shawn not to," Glaud says. "Then I went back out on special teams. When I came off again, he was there with trainers to evaluate me."

Ka'Lial Glaud (No. 47) in a 2015 preseason game with the Dallas Cowboys. Photo by Jake Roth-USA TODAY Sports

Team doctors took Glaud back to the Cowboys' locker room and told him remove his uniform. He figured that he would be fine. He suffered two diagnosed concussions at Rutgers, he says, and both times sat out practice for about a week before returning to the field. The injuries didn't stop him from starting all 13 games his senior year, or from appearing in seven games for Tampa Bay as an undrafted rookie in 2013.

This time was different. Back at the team hotel, Glaud was nauseous. He threw up when he tried to eat. Riding elevators made him dizzy, and he didn't want to leave his darkened room. Diagnosed with post-concussion syndrome, he spent the season on injured reserve, unable to clear the Cowboys' return-to-play protocols.

The team sent Glaud to a neurocognitive therapy center. There, he performed rehab tasks like staring at a target while shaking his head. His scores improved over time, he says, but his headaches didn't. If anything, activity made them worse. Near the end of the 2015 season, the Cowboys sent him home to New Jersey.

Glaud hasn't played football since. Still sensitive to light, he says he wears sunglasses "just about all the time." He can walk on a treadmill, but he can't run or lift weights without getting dizzy. He has to read things repeatedly to make sense of them, and has trouble sleeping—drifting off in the middle of the night, waking up before dawn, unable to nap in between.

Then there's Glaud's perma-headache. So many things can make it worse, from sudden noises to trips to the grocery store. "If I go out to dinner with a bunch of friends, I'll have headaches and feel floaty," he says. "And I will pay for it later that night or the next day."

Glaud is close to his family: his parents Marlon and Wanda, who served in the United States Navy; his brothers Anthony and Sharif, who both played college football; his wife, Kassandra Laine, a supervisor at a health insurance company, and their three-year-old son, Kingston. He wills himself to be upbeat for them, less irritable and worn down. "I try to put away my pain," Glaud says, "and act like everything is normal and OK with me."

It isn't. On the Fourth of July, Glaud, Kassandra, and Kingston drove to the beach to watch a fireworks show. Glaud never left the car. "We even parked kind of far away from everyone and everything," Kassandra says. "But it was still loud, and there were a lot of people. Afterward, he was so nauseous. He felt like he had to throw up the entire night.

"You want to be able to enjoy life as it was. And Ka'Lial loves fireworks. So he made the sacrifice to go. But it's so hard for him to recover from doing something so small."

Kingston is a typical toddler—when he's happy, he's rambunctious; when he's grumpy, he's a handful. Either way, Glaud says, it doesn't take much to feel like those fingers are digging into his brain.

"He doesn't know what he's doing, yelling or screaming or playing with a toy, and then he starts crying," Glaud says. "And it can be hard for me not to snap or yell."

When that happens, Glaud has to excuse himself. Nothing hurts more.

"I'll go sit in my car, or sit in a room by myself," he says. "It's like, 'dang, what are you doing? That's a doggone baby.'"

Glaud sees a visual therapist. A functional neurologist. A chiropractor. A cognitive therapist who doubles as an emotional counselor. He practices memorization with flash cards and numbers, works on his balance and eye movement, gets coaching to improve his ability to think and concentrate. He has cycled through four different migraine and mood medications. So far, none of it has helped. He's looking into Botox injections, which have been approved by the FDA to treat chronic headaches, and a numbing agent that would be injected into his upper neck.

"I've put over 50,000 miles on my car in less than a year, and I don't go anywhere else but to doctor's appointments," he says.

Glaud still loves football. If doctors cleared him to play, he'd be tempted to put on a helmet. He has a number of friends in the NFL, and believes that the league can do more to prevent them from getting seriously hurt—and to help people like him once they are.

Start with concussion education. Athletes, Glaud says, need more of it. At Rutgers and with Dallas, it was teammates who noticed he was hurt. Glaud had no idea.

"Growing up, a concussion to me was like when somebody gets knocked out, or they get up and they look like they're drunk," he says. "Even in the NFL, nobody ever explained to me what a concussion actually was. I got most of my education from what is happening to me right now, and going to all these doctors.

"If you look at the symptoms they tell you—seeing stars, being a little dizzy—there's probably 40 concussions among all the players in a football game. When I talk to my doctors now, they're like, 'Maybe you only got diagnosed with two concussions in college and one in the NFL, but you had a lot more.' Maybe I had way more than I can even think of. It's like, dang."

In May, retired NFL wide receiver Calvin Johnson told the Detroit Free Press that he hid his concussions while playing for the Detroit Lions because the team "needed him out there on the field." That attitude can be dangerous. Medical research indicates that suffering multiple concussions and suffering a second concussion while the symptoms of a previous concussion have not yet resolved both can increase the risk of short- and long-term neurological harm.

Calvin Johnson claims he hid concussions during his nine-year NFL career. Photo by Tim Fuller-USA TODAY Sports

In response, the NFL and other sports leagues have adopted rules and procedures designed to remove concussed athletes from play and to keep them sidelined until doctors clear them to return. Glaud is grateful for those rules: they kept him from continuing with the Cowboys, and possibly making his condition worse.

He also thinks they should be stronger. Currently, the NFL requires players placed on injured reserve to remain there for the duration of the season. A recent Harvard Medical School report commissioned by the NFL Players Association suggested creating a separate seven-day disabled list for concussed players—something Major League Baseball already does, and something the report says would reduce the pressure on athletes to hide concussions or return too quickly from brain injuries:

A player's recovery time from a concussion can easily range from no games to several games. The uncertain recovery times create pressure on the player, club, and club doctor. Each roster spot is valuable and clubs constantly add and drop players to ensure they have the roster that gives them the greatest chance to win each game day. As a result of the uncertain recovery times for a concussion, clubs might debate whether they need to replace the player for that week or longer. The club doctor and player might also then feel pressure for the player to return to play as soon as possible. By exempting a concussed player from the 53 man roster, the club has the opportunity to sign a short term replacement player in the event the concussed player is unable to play. At the same time, the player and club doctor would have some of the return-to-play pressure removed.

Glaud concurs. He also believes that guaranteeing more money to players regardless of injury would help. Johnson made over $100 million during his nine-year career. The average player earns much less over a much shorter span. Glaud knows active players who have hid concussions. One friend, he says, told him, I know I'm going to be fucked up when this is over.

"Calvin Johnson wanted to play because he had competitive spirit," Glaud says. "But if you're at the bottom of a roster or trying to make it, trying not to get cut, you're adding a whole financial aspect to it. A lot of us don't have nothing to go back home to."

Ed Wasielewski, Glaud's agent, says that guaranteed contracts would be a "game-changer" for the health and well-being of rank-and-file NFL players. "As an agent for 15 years, I can tell you that players tend to try to rush back from certain injuries, including concussions," he says. "If the NFL and NFLPA could come up with some kind of system with a salary floor for each player, that would make a lot of sense.

"The off-season runs from after the Super Bowl all the way to final [roster] cuts around Labor Day. Players are working with teams all the time. You can get a concussion in a simple tackling drill, or on a routine tackle or block. But because a player is incentivized to make the team in September—because that's the only way he makes his money—he's likely to hide concussion symptoms so he can continue to play and practice, feeling he has to tough it out because he can't make the 53-man roster from the training room."

The NFL and the NFLPA offer benefits to former players with brain injuries, but Glaud mostly doesn't qualify. For example, the league retirement plan provides disability payments to former players with at least three "credited" seasons of experience. Glaud only has two, because one of his seasons was spent on the Buccaneers' practice squad. Similarly, the league's 88 Plan and class action concussion lawsuit settlement pay out cash to retirees suffering from dementia and other severe neurological disorders. Glaud's post-concussion syndrome doesn't rise to that level.

The NBA, the NHL, and MLB generally offer lifetime health insurance to former players. The NFL does not. For now, worker's compensation covers the cost of Glaud's doctor's appointments. His wife's insurance pays for prescription medication. But the future is uncertain. What if Glaud never gets better? What if he can't go back to Rutgers and complete his degree in information technology, or work at a regular job?

One of Glaud's doctors recommended a brain injury specialist at New York University. When Glaud called to set up an appointment, he found out the specialist didn't accept worker's comp. Another doctor referred him to a clinic located in New Mexico. "That one would cost me $10,000 out of pocket," he says. "I'm leery to spend that much with no guarantee of it working."

Glaud has considered reaching out to Boston University and the University of North Carolina, where researchers are studying brain injury in football players, but hasn't yet picked up the phone. "I have a family and a child," he says. "I can't just get up and be gone for months."

"I pray a lot," Kassandra says. "He prays a lot. He's been to so many doctors. We're both willing to do things to make him better, but we are both losing hope. Ka'Lial says all the time, 'Is this what the rest of my life is going to be like?'"

Glaud earned about $350,000 in the NFL. He saved his money, and owns rental properties that generate income. Kingston is healthy. Kassandra has a good job. His family is supportive. He knows that things could be much worse.

"Imagine if you're on the practice squad for just one year, made almost nothing, now you're unable to get a job, you have a family, and your life is going to shit," Glaud says. "How are they going to afford gas to do to doctor's appointments every other day?"

Two years ago, Glaud was preparing for training camp; today he's more likely to spend time lying on his floor, waiting for a headache to calm down. Playing football gave him goals to accomplish, obstacles to overcome, a daily routine and a sense of purpose. Now Glaud often wonders, Does the NFL really care about concussions, or guys like him? When he was in Texas, he says, the Cowboys checked in with him every day, but afterward, "it has been me by myself dealing with this shit." The sport moves on. Glaud is trying to do the same. Only his head still hurts.

"Not that I need someone to hold my hand," he says. "But I didn't get hurt my damn self. It wasn't a car accident. I didn't fall out of a tree. I got hurt playing football. And I haven't been myself the whole damn time since."

Football's Brain Injury Crisis Isn't Just for Star Players published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

[radiantmists]

countdown (chapter 8)

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T - 23:41:47

The holographic projection of Sendak collapses to a point of light, then disappears. Lance feels a wave of irritated satisfaction at the Galra's departure, far too distant to be his own.

Parisot's fingers tap against the back of Lance's chair. On the viewscreen in front of them, the desert seems to stretch on forever. It's peaceful, and blank as Lance's mind right now. A small, inane part of him wonders what it would be like to fly over the ocean.

The world tilts as the lion turns west.

"Where are you going?" Parisot barks, and Lance would point out that he hadn't even touched anything that time, but the dam holding his panic back chooses that moment to break.

"Oh my god," he gasps. "What do we do, oh my god." Fear rises in him like the tide, and his fingers curl around the throttle reflexively. The lion, the flying, all of it feels more right than anything in Lance's life ever has, and he doesn't want to give it away. But there's the rest of Earth to think about, his mom and dad and brother and sisters and cousins and classmates and–

A wave of calm breaks over him, and he sucks in a breath, wondering when he stopped doing that. And where did the calm come from?

Tentatively, he thinks of gratitude, tries to push it outward.

Almost immediately, he receives a wave of affection, touched with concern.

Well, that's that then. The giant robotic alien lion is intelligent and piloted by telepathy. That's... something.

"Does this lion have weapon systems?" Parisot sounds thoughtful.

Lance barely has time to wonder before there's a laser shooting from the lion's tail.

The other two soldiers start. They've been relatively quiet thus far, and Lance has almost forgotten they were there. Everyone's obviously judging his piloting ability; they could easily pull him out of the driver's seat, take over...

A growl echoes through the cockpit, and next to Lance's head Parisot's knuckles whiten. "What are you doing, cadet?"

"Nothing," Lance says, and normally he'd be worried about sounding crazy, but he's a little dizzy with delight at the possessive affection coming from the lion. It chose him, Lance, and he wants to tell the world. "The lion's sentient."

"The l–" Parisot cuts off. "How do you know this?"

"It's talking to me. Or well, not talking, it's more like... feelings or something." He's starting to feel awkward calling the lion an it. What gender are you? he asks.

Blank incomprehension. Figures.

"Feelings," Parisot says, sounding strained. "In your head?" One of the soldiers snorts, the one on Lance's right, and he resolves to make a sharp left turn at some point.

"Yes," he says. The lion doesn't have a mane; he can call it a girl. Is that ok?

Indifference touched with affection... Lance will take that as a solid whatever. What about your name? he asks.

The sky on a clear summer's day. The clean, sharp smell of the ocean. The taste of his sister's blueberry smoothies. A view of the Earth from space, shrinking.

Lance's breath catches, with wonder and homesickness and longing. Blue? he confirms, and there's a spark of recognition. Of course: a telepathic being's name wouldn't be just a word, but the meaning behind it.

Fingernails click on the seat, and Lance jumps. He'd almost forgotten that Parisot was there, and he finds himself dreading her order to give the lion up. It's been less than half an hour since he first saw Blue, and he's already developing an attachment, already feeling like she understands him better than anyone ever has.

"Uh..." Lance flounders for words. The soldier on the right snorts again, and Lance jerks the controls to the left, irritated.

There are several sounds of impact from behind him, a few bitten-off curses. Lance determinedly doesn't turn around. "I guess we should go back to the Garrison," he says.

"You can control it, then," Parisot says. It's not a question but Lance nods anyway. "No, don't go back. Go up."

"Up, ma'am?" Lance asks. He's stalling, trying to figure out how to avoid giving Blue up.

"Into space," Parisot explains impatiently. "We'll do some reconnaissance, get a better picture of what we're facing."

Lance sighs in relief.

"I'll go call the base, get a list of what they need to know, and the coordinates," Parisot adds. Her voice recedes as she apparently leaves the cockpit. "Hello, Garrison base? This is the general, let me speak to Sergeant Randha..."

Lance asks Blue to take them into space; he could try it himself, but if people are wandering around the lion, his... exciting style of piloting probably isn't the best thing.

It takes about a minute for them to leave the atmosphere; even the shuttles taking various government officials to the Moon Base aren't this fast. Lance has been working so hard to become a pilot, and now the best ship just falls into his lap. He must have good karma from being such a great big brother or something.

A couple minutes later, when they've reached the orbit of Mars, Parisot comes back and gives him space coordinates. Soon, the Galra ships are looming. Blue is the size of a house or three; these behemoths together could probably hold a small city. A thrill of fear runs through Lance, and even the wave of reassurance sent by Blue isn't enough to smooth it away completely.

Parisot leans forward. Lance's eyes flick up; it's hard to read her expression from this angle, but she seems to be frowning.

"Go closer to that," she orders, pointing at some odd-looking protrusion on one of the ships.

They'll definitely be seen, but Lance supposes the Galra already know they have the lion, and what are they going to do? They're not going to shoot, they obviously want the lion back...

The thing he's trying to investigate looks kind of like a cannon, but also kind of like a loudspeaker; it's smaller in the back than the front, and both ends are square.

Purple light suddenly surrounds them, and Lance is hit with panic screaming through his bond with Blue, and it's so sudden it feels like a physical blow that knocks him out of his chair.

He sends confusion back, receives helplessness and anger and fear mixed throughout and poured over.

He drags in a few breaths, calms himself down. When he looks up, they're almost touching the ship, and Lance can see that at the back of the protrusion a door is opening, and he pulls at the controls, but Blue doesn't move, just sends another wave of anguish back.

"Tractor beam," says one of the soldiers.

Lance sits back on the chair as they enter a large cavern; the doors close beneath them and the purple light disappears.

Blue scrabbles at the closed doors like a dog digging for a bone, but her claws don't even leave a scratch.

Parisot puts a hand on his shoulder. "We need to get out of the lion," she says. Lance instinctively recoils and shakes his head as grey robot-looking things trickle into the room from a smaller door. They need to stay in the lion; they'd be sitting ducks outside it...

There's a movement behind him, and then a sharp pain in his head. His vision fuzzes out, his body goes numb, and he's flooded with outrage from Blue. A moment of confused motion, and then strong arms are pulling him out of his seat and he is falling...

He finds himself on the ground, staring up at Blue. She sends him apologetic embarrassment, concern. He sends confusion back, even as grey people enter his vision and pull him upright with hard metal arms– they must be robots, then. He sees Parisot, is barely able to make out what she's saying to the fuzzy purple eared creature facing them.

"Here is your lion," she says, and Lance feels a stab of... something. He can't remember, or never knew; it's hard to tell. Is he concussed? How did that happen? "How soon can we be returned to Earth?"

"Returned?" The purple fuzzy growls, and Lance remembers– it's a Sendak, right? Or is it a Galra named Sendak? Hmmm... "You'll be returned when we have everything we asked for. Perhaps. For now, you'll be a very good incentive."

The look on her face reminds him of the word he forgot earlier, the feeling he felt.

"But thank you for the lion," Sendak drawls sarcastically.

Lance twists his head, sees Blue surrounded by what looks like a honeycomb. She's shut him out again. Lance remembers, suddenly, what word he was looking for.

Betrayal.

T - 20:19:39

One of the soldiers is glaring at Hunk accusingly.

It feels like a prickle on the back of his neck, and Hunk ignores it for as long as he can. He tries to focus on the radio again, not that that's any more comforting. It's been hours and the Garrison still hasn't gotten any news about what happened to the group in the lion. Parisot had called asking for the Galra ship coordinates and radio frequencies, and that had been it.

Shiro walks into the cave and goes straight to Hunk. "Pidge set up the computer to monitor the Galra, can you switch to that?"

"Probably?" Hunk leans over the computer. The prickling sensation is gone, and he glances at the soldier, who is now glaring at Shiro instead. Probably because Shiro was the one who actually captured him.

Hunk sighs unhappily as he fiddles with the computer. He wishes everyone would just get along; they're all on the same side, after all. If only there were a way to prove that...

He clicks a likely-looking button, and a guttural Galra voice fills the room. It's not speaking English, but Shiro's head swings around, brow furrowed.

"Oh no," he says.

"Can you understand that?" Wait, stupid question, of course he can, he's been living with them for a year. "What are they saying?" He scrambles to pull out a notebook and pen.

"He... it's Sendak, he basically says they have the lion, what are they waiting for?"

Lance, is Hunk's first thought, and then oh God, what have we done, and then as another Galra responds he makes himself look up at Shiro and ask, "What now?"

Shiro's eyebrows are knitted, and Hunk realizes that Keith, too, is up there somewhere. But Shiro just closes his eyes and begins translating.

"The Champion must also be recovered. And we have reason to believe the other three paladin are also on this planet. Lor–" Shiro cuts off, then continues with a growl. "Zarkon wouldn't wish for them to slip away."

The first Galra, Sendak, barks a short reply. "Fine. I'll get the human general."

There's a prolonged silence.

"What's a paladin?" Hunk circles the term. Maybe he can help find them (he wonders, briefly, if the vision he had makes him one of them before dismissing the thought; he's a mechanic, not anything special), get them protected. Then again, that didn't work with the lion...

"I don't know."

"Of course you don't." Apparently the glaring soldier has gotten tired of keeping his mouth shut. "I can see what's happening. You want to make us think the General betrayed us to some hostile force, but really you're just trying to save your own ass."

Shiro doesn't turn around, doesn't take his eyes from the floor, but his fists clench.

"I don't think–" Hunk starts, but the soldier scoffs.

"Seriously? All we have is his word that he's not just making all this up, and he's been MIA for a whole y–"

Static crackles. All of their heads turn toward the computer as Sendak growls something. Shiro opens his mouth, but is interrupted by the next voice.

"You've given me no reason to continue to cooperate with you."

It's Parisot's voice. Hunk watches the belligerent soldier's mouth drop open as she interrupts whatever Sendak says next.

"You did not hold up your end of our previous agreement. There is little purpose in trying to deal with you again."

"Oh," says the soldier.

The first Galra, the one Shiro never identified, is speaking again. "She says, 'So you refuse to negotiate?'"

Parisot responds. "Not until I and all my men are returned and you make a commitment not to harm the Earth."

The first Galra responds; her voice seems more menacing than before, though Shiro's translation is still flat and emotionless. "In that case, you are of no use to us."

It's a radio line, not a continuous call; there are no shouts of alarm, no sounds of Parisot being dragged away or... something else. There's only a silence far too easily filled by their imaginations, and then Sendak's voice once again.

"What would you have me do, then, Druid?"

Druid? The ridiculously futuristic aggressive aliens can't have magicians, too, can they? That would just be unfair.

"Negotiate with the remaining humans; they will want their leader back. Have them hand you any who have had a vision of Voltron."

Hunk's fingers go limp; the pen clatters to the ground as he looks up, meets Shiro's eyes. The two Galra repeat a single word, like a greeting, but Shiro doesn't translate it. Hunk's mouth is dry. Does that mean...

The annoying soldier pipes up again.

"I assume that look means you two are 'paladins'?"

T - 18:33:28

Keith wakes up with a start.

After listening for a moment, he begins to struggle out of the compartment he's in. When the general left the cockpit with a radio, he'd panicked and hidden in here. It had taken all of Keith's willpower not to jump out when he'd heard Sendak's voice, but he'd managed it. He immediately came to regret it when, not ten minutes later, he'd heard shouting and the lion had jerked violently before everything went quiet.

Unsure if the lion was about to be boarded, Keith had stayed put, and apparently fallen asleep.

Now, he sits in the dark hallway of the lion, wondering what to do next. Clearly, Parisot had managed to turn the lion over to the Galra. But the craft was still echoingly silent and pitch-black.

Well, not quite-- a faint light emanated from down the hall. Keith crawls carefully forward, blinking ineffectually. Gradually, he begins to make out shapes in the darkness: first that of his hands, then the walls, and finally the pilot's chair.

Keith looks out the window. The lion seems to be in a gigantic, otherwise empty room; the only light comes from a honeycomb-like bowl identical to the field that had surrounded the lion back in the cave.

He sits in the pilot's chair, stumped. The feeling he'd been getting when he sat still for the past year begins to creep over him, as though he's near a campfire, or facing the sun: a warmth that felt welcoming, like a call to come home. Keith had thought it was the lion, but here he is inside it, and the call is still there.

Maybe...

Keith tentatively reaches for the throttle.

Before he can even touch it, the whole lion is moving, curling up like a cat and laying its tail over its head-- and, of course, covering the window.

Keith feels a flash of indignation before the floor abruptly drops out from under him.

He hits the lion's paw hand's first, barely managing to turn his momentum into a roll. He's just caught his breath and opened his mouth to yell at the lion when a metal tail curls around his waist.

Keith gulps.

The tail whips outward, air buffeting Keith's face as he struggles haplessly, before suddenly his arms are free and he's flying, a scream tearing from his throat as he approaches the force field only to pass through it effortlessly, and there's the ceiling behind it, and a fizzling behind Keith as a beam of light passes below him-- Keith briefly imagines himself as a clay pigeon before he's smashing into a grate elbows-first and landing in a vent shaft.

Keith turns, dumbstruck. Just below the vent, a block of ice encloses a small infrared camera. The lion lays its tail gently over its eyes once again. As Keith stares, panting, a group of greyish people (robots?) burst into the room. Keith backs into the vent and then collapses, panting.

He feels the adrenaline drain out of his veins, heartbeat gradually slowing and breath gentling. He lies quietly there, contemplating what to do next.

He's alone and unarmed on a hostile alien spaceship with no plan and no purpose more specific than saving the planet and staying alive, and no guidance except for the ever-present call in his mind.

He closes his eyes. Patience yields focus, as Shiro always tells him. He has a moment of vertigo, and then sees a mechanical lion, slender but powerful with accents in bright red. Its eyes glow, and they feel like sunlight on his face. He opens his eyes, takes a deep breath, and begins to crawl.

T - 18:46:12

Pidge stretches, feeling like a cat after a long, warm nap. It might be inappropriate, considering the situation, but there's nothing quite as satisfying as a job well done.

"It's finished," she says, and luxuriates in the impressed look she gets from Sergeant Randhawa in response. Her translation program is a work of genius, and she's irrationally happy that someone finally appreciates it. "It'll be a little rough on connotations, but it'll work."

"It's incredible," Randhawa responds. Pidge preens. "The whole world is going to take notice."

I bet my bottom dollar you're going to be part of something that makes the whole universe sit up and take notice.

Her throat feels tight all of a sudden, and she clears it roughly. She's so close to getting her dad back she can practically taste it; she can't get distracted now. "Yeah, well, only if we can keep it safe that long."

"Right," agrees Randhawa, turning back to her computer. "I'm sending you the files I've decrypted so far."

"Thanks," Pidge says. She's reminded that this is the woman who finished her decryption program; even with Pidge's notes, that's impressive. "I'll put them through, but it'll take a few hours. Is there anything else I can help with?"

She hopes whatever it is, it will involve more information about what is actually happening. When she'd gone to Iverson, he'd had someone take down everything she knew about the caves where the lion must have been, then dumped her with the communications officer without telling her anything. Par for the course, with him, but Pidge supposes it's only fair. She's been keeping back information too, specifically the vision and what it revealed about Voltron's true nature. Besides, Iverson is busy; from what Randhawa's mentioned, Parisot and the whole expedition have gone missing, though the general had briefly called in from the lion.

Even now, the rest of the headquarters is in a barely controlled frenzy. People are rushing around like headless chickens. Iverson is on the phone with someone, listening. The muscles in his neck are taut, giving away his clenched jaw; as Pidge watches, he finally loses patience with whoever is on the other end and barks something before hanging up. The whole place feels a moment away from a meltdown.

Humanity's defenders are remarkably disorganized; Pidge is slowly realizing that however corrupt Parisot may have been, she was one of the few people capable of preventing a panic. Iverson might not be.

"Well, there is something, actually," Randhawa says. "I don't think you'll be able to solve it, though."

Despite herself, Pidge perks up. She's always loved a challenge.

"Someone's been piggybacking on the Galra's transmissions, sending some kind of recorded message. Look." She indicates her screen, and Pidge rolls her chair over to see the string of digits. She frowns as Randhawa continues; that looks familiar... "It's encrypted completely differently from the rest; actually, it has all the hallmarks of a pretty common type of encryption on Earth--"

"RSA." Pidge hears her own voice, as if from far away. The ambient noise in the room seems to have faded to a soft buzz, and she reaches for the keyboard, hands shaking, even as Randhawa continues talking, oblivious.

"Right!" Randhawa confirms. Pidge does a search for the program-- every cryptographer has it... "I guess it isn't even worth bringing up, factoring is a hard problem, no matter how smart you are you can't simulate that level of computing power."

There it is. She pulls up her email, searches back to five years ago, when she'd first been taught about cryptography.

"It's only that it's so frustrating, you know? It would be a matter of moments to decrypt, if only we had the..." Pidge copies the body of the email; several hundred seemingly random digits. The product of two large primes, her dad had explained.

Randhawa's voice is soft, filled with all the desperate hope, all the doubt, that Pidge can't let herself feel. "The key."

Pidge puts the encrypted data into the program. Presses space to run.

The progress bar steadily filling mirrors the feeling rising in her throat. Pidge doesn't say anything, doesn't know what would come out of her mouth if she opened it. In the chair next to her, Randhawa doesn't seem to be breathing. They are the eye of a hurricane; around them, the room swirls with motion and a noise Pidge can see, but here there is somehow absolute silence, and a bar inching toward one-hundred percent.

When the loading screen gives way to an MP3 file, the compulsion that had guided Pidge's hands almost without her knowledge gives way to utter paralysis. Because what if she's wrong, what if she opens the file and it's just gibberish? What will she do, now that the hope has crept in?

Randhawa seizes the mouse and opens the file.

There's a burst of static and Pidge sags, thinks, I can't do this anymore--

"Hello."

Her jaw drops.

"This is Commander Samuel Holt of the United Space Fleet, from planet Earth."

Randhawa grabs her hand.

"I am hailing from the Galra Druid vessel GS0165-D. I have been able to secure access to this computer; the elderly prisoners are hardly monitored, and I do not expect trouble. I will be monitoring the following frequency for a response."

As he reads a channel identifier, heads begin to turn in their direction.

"If you are part of a resistance-- dear God, I hope there's a resistance-- be advised that I've been able to gain access to the ship's logs, and therefore to the records of the Colmar experiment which I believe to be vital information."

A hush is beginning to fall over the room.

"If you are from Earth, this is a warning: the Galra empire is hostile to every race it encounters, and if this ship is nearby, it is likely that they intend to destroy all life on the planet as part of their experiments."

Whispers fill the room; Iverson strides toward them, expression darkening.

"Katie. If you're listening, if you've found this, I am so, so proud of you. I've missed you and your mother so much, and I'm going to need you to be brave now. Contact General Inge Parisot, show her this recording. She'll get you access to USF resources to get in contact with me. I know you can do it."

She sniffles and feels like she'll never stop smiling.

"I love you, kiddo."

A burst of static, and the file ends. The room erupts into noise again, but she ignores it.

Pidge will be brave, soon, will do everything that needs to be done, will bring him home. For now, Katie crumples into Randhawa's open arms and sobs.

[viralhottopics]

After 5 Years Of Relying On Medication, I Can Finally Sleep

Its been a long time since Ive written anything. And while my intentions were to blog every fortnight, this post has been extremely tough to write. For once I found it quite difficult to articulate my feelings and experiences, because of the personal nature of what I’m about to tell you.

A few weeks ago, I found myself chatting to one of my new friends, who is also an amazing business coach and mentor. He asked me how things were going aside from business, how are you feeling, just in general?. I thought about it and said, did you know, this is the first time in five years that Ive been able to sleep without taking a pill?

Insomnia has been affecting my ability to sleep properly since late 2010. It was kicked off by a freak hockey ball to the head incident, which then transpired into mental health problems (thanks, brain). Around 1 in 3 people have or have had some degree of insomnia in their lives. For an unlucky few (like me) insomnia is/was chronic. If youre one of them and are reading this, know that its okay, there IS a way out.

Back in 2010 I got a wild smack to the forehead from a fast flying hockey ball, I was briefly knocked out and I opened my eyes not even realizing what had happened, but bizarrely, I was laughing! It wasnt until I felt the huge lump on my head that it suddenly hit me (hah, pun intended). Soon after this, I had developed intense trouble sleeping and experienced extreme headaches and photophobia.

In my traditional headstrong fashion I refused to go to the doctor, that was a bad decision. Months later things seemed to be getting worse in my head space. After seeing a bunch of specialists and getting an MRI and all that, it was concluded that I had Post Concussion Syndrome (a minor form of traumatic brain injury).

Because of this, my health took a drastic downward spiral. I was lethargic, had constant headaches, was depressed, irritated, and slightly delusional. The doctors prescribed me dozens of painkillers to cope. I was studying a BMA at the time, and working so I could afford to live out of home and life spun out of my control. The brain does crazy things when it experiences trauma, and for a long long time I was not myself.

I was enrolled in a national head injury study. They interviewed me about the events and my experiences, then they interviewed some of my friends and family. Every six months my reaction time and short-term memory were tested, as well as my mood and general quality of life. It took almost two years for me to get back to normal. I dont know why it was such a long time, perhaps some people are more susceptible to these kinds of things. A lot of people in my family battle with mental illnesses. But even when I was feeling better, I still had to rely on medication to sleep.

Luckily for me, my doctors had refused to give me traditional sleeping pills such as Zopiclone, because of their addictive qualities. That was fine by me, I never intended to be stuck taking pills before bed. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldnt survive without them. At first it was Amitriptyline, a drug in high doses used to treat depression, but I was on it for headaches and as a muscle relaxant.

Sometime after I finished my degree in late 2012, I changed doctors due to not having access to the medical center on campus. My new doctor tried to wean me off taking the medication, I was all in. But it just didnt work. I went back to him after slowly reducing my intake at his guidance and tried a few months without anything. In mid-2013 I had more responsibility with my job which added some stress, and without any pills before bed I was getting between 1 and 5 hours sleep a night. I got sick a lot, gained a lot of weight, my mood was unstable, and I was quickly becoming very unhappy.

So I went back to my doctor, I was attempting to tell him that I still havent been able to sleep but I sat there crying in his office because I was just so exhausted and frustrated. I just wanted sleep. He recommended putting me through a sleep study and to see a sleep therapist, but this wasnt subsidized and I wasnt financially able to pay for such expensive tests (startup wages, am I right?). So, I opted for the easier just for now option. We tried something new, Quetiapine, an antipsychotic drug which in high doses is used to treat people who are bipolar or schizophrenic. I didnt get a large dose, only small enough to help me sleep. But even then I woke up every morning with a drug hangover and it took me hours every day before I could feel completely awake.

I lived like this for a long time, always having to take a pill before bed. Sometimes that didnt even work. I vividly remember how I felt after a huge hike over NZs Tongariro Crossing and then the 2-hour drive home. I was so tired, so exhausted after that I could hardly eat. I was thinking surely, surely I am this tired I must be able to sleep. But then as soon as my head hit the pillow my mind became awake, overactive and as much as I tried, I couldnt settle it down. A few hours later I begrudgingly got up and gulped down that damn pill, desperate for the relief of sleep.

This is when I started researching sleeping techniques. Over the past year and a half I have tried everything; yoga, meditation, walks in the evening, less coffee, less sugar, evening protein, writing down to-do lists and thoughts in a journal beside my bed, sleep tea, calm tea, chamomile tea, peppermint tea, Chinese herbs, sleep drops, lavender under my pillow, hops under my pillow, sleep apps with meditation, hypnosis, screen dimmers, installing Flux on my computer, melatonin, no screens (mobile, TV, Computer) two hours before bed, non-fictional reading before bed, homeopathy just everything.

Sometimes it would help, Id feel sleepy, try to drift off, then all of a sudden my mind would wake, even though Id be so so physically tired. I didnt know it was possible to feel so exhausted and awake at the same time. So I would carry on using my little pills to sleep and feeling hungover in the morning. I hated it, I never truly felt awake in all that time. And if I ever went somewhere and forgot my pills Id always get restless nights with little or no sleep.

A lot of time went past, living like this. After deciding to leave Hamilton to travel, I ended up in Perth, Australia. By the time I got here my little box of magic sleeping pills from New Zealand had run out. I attempted fate once more and tried to cold turkey my way to sleep. It really wasnt working out for me. The smallest noise, a single thought, any slight disturbance would set me off and my mind would begin racing once more. No matter what I did, I just couldnt sleep. There is nothing worse or more hopeless than the feeling of wanting and needing sleep so badly but you just cant get there and you realize your own mind is the only barrier to falling asleep. I remember thinking, how hopeless am I that I cant even perform the simple human function of sleeping?.

The one good thing that came out of these few weeks was my deep inner search for a reason. I didnt feel like my head injury was the cause of not being able to sleep, it just seemed like some sort of instigator. Im not going to share the details, but what I realized was that I had become afraid of sleep, and everything else was just an excuse.

I ended up seeing a wonderful doctor here who prescribed me some medication to sleep again and referred me to a counselor who specialized in sleep therapy. I gladly took the medication and debated whether I was ready for a counselor. I wanted to overcome my insomnia on my own (I had only just started acknowledging that this is really what I had), but sometimes you cant do everything on your own, sometimes you need to accept that you need a bit of a helping hand. And this is what I did.

The first session with my counselor was amazing. She knew what had happened without me having to say much, she said it and I sat there and cried. I cried as years of pent up emotion and holding back just escaped from me and it was so relieving. Her theory was I had developed an unconscious fear of sleeping because I lose control over myself and have to give in to the environment around me. I didnt feel . Of course, I knew logically that I was safe, but there was a deep fear within me that I had never let go of, a blocked memory; trauma. It had nothing to do with my head injury, that was a catalyst, as well as some other events that happened between then and now.

And so started my road to recovery. I went to the counselor once a fortnight. We didnt just talk about sleeping, we talked about a lot and it was really nice. I finally found an app that helped ease me into the sleeping mind-frame, Pzizz. Every morning within half an hour of waking up I get at least an hour of exercise outside. If not, I try to sit in the sun for 20 minutes or be active in some other way. I dont drink coffee after 3pm and limit myself to two a day (on bad days). I dont have much processed sugar, I write to-do lists every day in my diary so I dont lie in bed and think about everything I have to remember to do tomorrow. My bedroom has become an area for sleep every time I watch something on my laptop in bed it affects the amount and quality of sleep I get, so Ive stopped doing that.

Routines are also very important I do the same thing before bed every night. I also try to stick to the same hours, but Im still learning to sleep so I havent been using an alarm, just trying to slowly get back into the right rhythm. Right now I usually fall asleep between 12am, wake up at about 6, then go back to sleep until 9 or 10. Its not the pattern I love, and I still have many days where some nights are better than others, but Im getting there, Im improving and Im not giving up.

My mood has become better, my skin clearer, Im no longer getting sick every few weeks and my focus levels are at an all-time high. I still have a lot of work to do, but for the first time in over four years I can sleep without medication, and it feels so damn good.

Read more: http://tcat.tc/2k1UOuo

from After 5 Years Of Relying On Medication, I Can Finally Sleep

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Football's Brain Injury Crisis Isn't Just for Star Players

Ka'Lial Glaud has a headache. Every second of every day, he says. Ever since suffering his first and only diagnosed concussion in the National Football League nearly two years ago.

A 26-year-old former linebacker who spent most of three NFL seasons with the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, Glaud has been diagnosed with post-concussion syndrome, a disorder in which symptoms such as dizziness, light sensitivity, and intense headaches persist long after someone experiences an initial brain injury.

Medications haven't brought Glaud relief. Nor has therapy. He isn't well enough to work, and he can't go back to Rutgers University to finish his undergraduate degree—not when reading for more than half an hour leaves his eyes exhausted and head throbbing.

Recently, Glaud says, it took all he had just to walk on a Stairmaster and then cut the grass at his home in Asbury Park, New Jersey.

"I was down for four days [afterward]," he says. "I told a doctor, 'It's like I can feel my brain.' They said that's impossible. But it feels like someone is inside my head and has their hands around my brain, and they're squeezing it."

It's been more than a decade since doctors discovered the neurodegenerative disease chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE) in deceased Pittsburgh Steelers center Mike Webster, a revelation that helped make brain trauma in football an ongoing national story. Much of the subsequent fan and media focus has been on star players, like New England Patriots quarterback Tom Brady allegedly hiding a concussion last season, and worst-case medical outcomes, like Hall of Fame linebacker Junior Seau being posthumously diagnosed with CTE after committing suicide in 2012.

However, fringe performers such as Glaud—training camp invitees, practice squad members, players at the bottom of depth charts—are just as vulnerable as the sport's marquee names, maybe even more so. Fighting for jobs and paychecks in the league, they arguably have greater incentive to put their brains at risk and fewer resources to cope with any lasting damage.

Even when those ailments are less severe than CTE, they still can be debilitating. Glaud was concussed in September of 2015, and since then his life has been a fog of frustration and depression.

"Everyone you hear about, they played for ten, 15 years," Glaud says. "I had three, one of those on the practice squad and another on injured reserve. I didn't play that daggone long. And it has affected me. I think about it every day."

Glaud doesn't remember the hit. He was playing for the Dallas Cowboys in the team's final preseason game, trying to earn a roster spot.

One moment, Glaud was calling plays and setting defensive fronts; the next, he was on the sideline, telling teammate Shawn Lee that nothing was wrong—even though Glaud couldn't recall those same plays and fronts when one of his coaches was going through game video on a tablet computer.

Are you sure you're OK?

I'm fine.

I think I'll have a doctor look at you.

"I asked Shawn not to," Glaud says. "Then I went back out on special teams. When I came off again, he was there with trainers to evaluate me."

Ka'Lial Glaud (No. 47) in a 2015 preseason game with the Dallas Cowboys. Photo by Jake Roth-USA TODAY Sports

Team doctors took Glaud back to the Cowboys' locker room and told him remove his uniform. He figured that he would be fine. He suffered two diagnosed concussions at Rutgers, he says, and both times sat out practice for about a week before returning to the field. The injuries didn't stop him from starting all 13 games his senior year, or from appearing in seven games for Tampa Bay as an undrafted rookie in 2013.

This time was different. Back at the team hotel, Glaud was nauseous. He threw up when he tried to eat. Riding elevators made him dizzy, and he didn't want to leave his darkened room. Diagnosed with post-concussion syndrome, he spent the season on injured reserve, unable to clear the Cowboys' return-to-play protocols.

The team sent Glaud to a neurocognitive therapy center. There, he performed rehab tasks like staring at a target while shaking his head. His scores improved over time, he says, but his headaches didn't. If anything, activity made them worse. Near the end of the 2015 season, the Cowboys sent him home to New Jersey.

Glaud hasn't played football since. Still sensitive to light, he says he wears sunglasses "just about all the time." He can walk on a treadmill, but he can't run or lift weights without getting dizzy. He has to read things repeatedly to make sense of them, and has trouble sleeping—drifting off in the middle of the night, waking up before dawn, unable to nap in between.

Then there's Glaud's perma-headache. So many things can make it worse, from sudden noises to trips to the grocery store. "If I go out to dinner with a bunch of friends, I'll have headaches and feel floaty," he says. "And I will pay for it later that night or the next day."

Glaud is close to his family: his parents Marlon and Wanda, who served in the United States Navy; his brothers Anthony and Sharif, who both played college football; his wife, Kassandra Laine, a supervisor at a health insurance company, and their three-year-old son, Kingston. He wills himself to be upbeat for them, less irritable and worn down. "I try to put away my pain," Glaud says, "and act like everything is normal and OK with me."

It isn't. On the Fourth of July, Glaud, Kassandra, and Kingston drove to the beach to watch a fireworks show. Glaud never left the car. "We even parked kind of far away from everyone and everything," Kassandra says. "But it was still loud, and there were a lot of people. Afterward, he was so nauseous. He felt like he had to throw up the entire night.

"You want to be able to enjoy life as it was. And Ka'Lial loves fireworks. So he made the sacrifice to go. But it's so hard for him to recover from doing something so small."

Kingston is a typical toddler—when he's happy, he's rambunctious; when he's grumpy, he's a handful. Either way, Glaud says, it doesn't take much to feel like those fingers are digging into his brain.

"He doesn't know what he's doing, yelling or screaming or playing with a toy, and then he starts crying," Glaud says. "And it can be hard for me not to snap or yell."

When that happens, Glaud has to excuse himself. Nothing hurts more.

"I'll go sit in my car, or sit in a room by myself," he says. "It's like, 'dang, what are you doing? That's a doggone baby.'"

Glaud sees a visual therapist. A functional neurologist. A chiropractor. A cognitive therapist who doubles as an emotional counselor. He practices memorization with flash cards and numbers, works on his balance and eye movement, gets coaching to improve his ability to think and concentrate. He has cycled through four different migraine and mood medications. So far, none of it has helped. He's looking into Botox injections, which have been approved by the FDA to treat chronic headaches, and a numbing agent that would be injected into his upper neck.

"I've put over 50,000 miles on my car in less than a year, and I don't go anywhere else but to doctor's appointments," he says.

Glaud still loves football. If doctors cleared him to play, he'd be tempted to put on a helmet. He has a number of friends in the NFL, and believes that the league can do more to prevent them from getting seriously hurt—and to help people like him once they are.

Start with concussion education. Athletes, Glaud says, need more of it. At Rutgers and with Dallas, it was teammates who noticed he was hurt. Glaud had no idea.

"Growing up, a concussion to me was like when somebody gets knocked out, or they get up and they look like they're drunk," he says. "Even in the NFL, nobody ever explained to me what a concussion actually was. I got most of my education from what is happening to me right now, and going to all these doctors.

"If you look at the symptoms they tell you—seeing stars, being a little dizzy—there's probably 40 concussions among all the players in a football game. When I talk to my doctors now, they're like, 'Maybe you only got diagnosed with two concussions in college and one in the NFL, but you had a lot more.' Maybe I had way more than I can even think of. It's like, dang."

In May, retired NFL wide receiver Calvin Johnson told the Detroit Free Press that he hid his concussions while playing for the Detroit Lions because the team "needed him out there on the field." That attitude can be dangerous. Medical research indicates that suffering multiple concussions and suffering a second concussion while the symptoms of a previous concussion have not yet resolved both can increase the risk of short- and long-term neurological harm.

Calvin Johnson claims he hid concussions during his nine-year NFL career. Photo by Tim Fuller-USA TODAY Sports

In response, the NFL and other sports leagues have adopted rules and procedures designed to remove concussed athletes from play and to keep them sidelined until doctors clear them to return. Glaud is grateful for those rules: they kept him from continuing with the Cowboys, and possibly making his condition worse.

He also thinks they should be stronger. Currently, the NFL requires players placed on injured reserve to remain there for the duration of the season. A recent Harvard Medical School report commissioned by the NFL Players Association suggested creating a separate seven-day disabled list for concussed players—something Major League Baseball already does, and something the report says would reduce the pressure on athletes to hide concussions or return too quickly from brain injuries:

A player's recovery time from a concussion can easily range from no games to several games. The uncertain recovery times create pressure on the player, club, and club doctor. Each roster spot is valuable and clubs constantly add and drop players to ensure they have the roster that gives them the greatest chance to win each game day. As a result of the uncertain recovery times for a concussion, clubs might debate whether they need to replace the player for that week or longer. The club doctor and player might also then feel pressure for the player to return to play as soon as possible. By exempting a concussed player from the 53 man roster, the club has the opportunity to sign a short term replacement player in the event the concussed player is unable to play. At the same time, the player and club doctor would have some of the return-to-play pressure removed.

Glaud concurs. He also believes that guaranteeing more money to players regardless of injury would help. Johnson made over $100 million during his nine-year career. The average player earns much less over a much shorter span. Glaud knows active players who have hid concussions. One friend, he says, told him, I know I'm going to be fucked up when this is over.

"Calvin Johnson wanted to play because he had competitive spirit," Glaud says. "But if you're at the bottom of a roster or trying to make it, trying not to get cut, you're adding a whole financial aspect to it. A lot of us don't have nothing to go back home to."

Ed Wasielewski, Glaud's agent, says that guaranteed contracts would be a "game-changer" for the health and well-being of rank-and-file NFL players. "As an agent for 15 years, I can tell you that players tend to try to rush back from certain injuries, including concussions," he says. "If the NFL and NFLPA could come up with some kind of system with a salary floor for each player, that would make a lot of sense.

"The off-season runs from after the Super Bowl all the way to final [roster] cuts around Labor Day. Players are working with teams all the time. You can get a concussion in a simple tackling drill, or on a routine tackle or block. But because a player is incentivized to make the team in September—because that's the only way he makes his money—he's likely to hide concussion symptoms so he can continue to play and practice, feeling he has to tough it out because he can't make the 53-man roster from the training room."

The NFL and the NFLPA offer benefits to former players with brain injuries, but Glaud mostly doesn't qualify. For example, the league retirement plan provides disability payments to former players with at least three "credited" seasons of experience. Glaud only has two, because one of his seasons was spent on the Buccaneers' practice squad. Similarly, the league's 88 Plan and class action concussion lawsuit settlement pay out cash to retirees suffering from dementia and other severe neurological disorders. Glaud's post-concussion syndrome doesn't rise to that level.

The NBA, the NHL, and MLB generally offer lifetime health insurance to former players. The NFL does not. For now, worker's compensation covers the cost of Glaud's doctor's appointments. His wife's insurance pays for prescription medication. But the future is uncertain. What if Glaud never gets better? What if he can't go back to Rutgers and complete his degree in information technology, or work at a regular job?

One of Glaud's doctors recommended a brain injury specialist at New York University. When Glaud called to set up an appointment, he found out the specialist didn't accept worker's comp. Another doctor referred him to a clinic located in New Mexico. "That one would cost me $10,000 out of pocket," he says. "I'm leery to spend that much with no guarantee of it working."

Glaud has considered reaching out to Boston University and the University of North Carolina, where researchers are studying brain injury in football players, but hasn't yet picked up the phone. "I have a family and a child," he says. "I can't just get up and be gone for months."

"I pray a lot," Kassandra says. "He prays a lot. He's been to so many doctors. We're both willing to do things to make him better, but we are both losing hope. Ka'Lial says all the time, 'Is this what the rest of my life is going to be like?'"

Glaud earned about $350,000 in the NFL. He saved his money, and owns rental properties that generate income. Kingston is healthy. Kassandra has a good job. His family is supportive. He knows that things could be much worse.

"Imagine if you're on the practice squad for just one year, made almost nothing, now you're unable to get a job, you have a family, and your life is going to shit," Glaud says. "How are they going to afford gas to do to doctor's appointments every other day?"

Two years ago, Glaud was preparing for training camp; today he's more likely to spend time lying on his floor, waiting for a headache to calm down. Playing football gave him goals to accomplish, obstacles to overcome, a daily routine and a sense of purpose. Now Glaud often wonders, Does the NFL really care about concussions, or guys like him? When he was in Texas, he says, the Cowboys checked in with him every day, but afterward, "it has been me by myself dealing with this shit." The sport moves on. Glaud is trying to do the same. Only his head still hurts.

"Not that I need someone to hold my hand," he says. "But I didn't get hurt my damn self. It wasn't a car accident. I didn't fall out of a tree. I got hurt playing football. And I haven't been myself the whole damn time since."

Football's Brain Injury Crisis Isn't Just for Star Players published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv