#THAT SAID. he could still be visually impaired to an extent

[haunted-xander]

I see a lot of people saying Wriothesley might be blind and while I think it'd be cool if he was, I'd like to remind you all that the literal first thing we see him do is read

[miammey]

Since you seem insightful, do you think canon Jouno would/could ever have a guide dog for when he's not working? I mean, he is blind. He deserves blind rep tbh. Asagiri please give him blind rep because if you don't, I will.

I’m not the best when it comes to figuring out representations, mainly because I am not blind or visually impaired myself, but I feel like it would be nice to see him using either a guide dog or cane when off duty, in a sense using them to rest a bit.

I don’t think he can exactly turn off his other senses, and he probably spent a while training himself to be able to navigate with those (people aren’t exactly born knowing how to do that to the extent Jouno does), but I do think he’d enjoy just having time to rest and not focus too much on his surroundings, instead using whatever navigation device he has to guide him.

As much as I love the idea of him with a dog I don’t think he’d have the time to take care of it, and if he’s needed in the middle of the day for a mission or something it would be much easier and quicker for him to fold up his cane and put it in a bag than take the dog some place safe. (Yes they’re collapsable, idk if all of them are but a blind kid in my high school had a collapsable cane, it was neat)

There are also other ways to show blind representation that don’t include navigation aids. Actually, one that was mentioned by a mutual of mine, who is visually impaired, is that it looked like Jouno had dragged his hand across Tecchou’s back in the anime’s café scene, as if he was grounding himself and his surroundings casually, which I thought was really cool, she said it was something she did and it was nice to see.

Personally, I like those casual bits of representation, Jouno’s used to his lack of sight at this point, and so are the other Hunting Dogs, so they all know his limits, but it would still be nice to see more of those limits, if that makes sense. Maybe later we’ll see more of his disability and his struggles with it.

He doesn’t seem to think negatively of it, he wasn’t hesitant to ask Dazai for the horse’s number or anything like that, and he overall seems very used to his disability. I mean, it’s been over six years since he lost his sight, we’re not sure of when he lost his sight but it was long enough before he joined the Hunting Dogs that he was able to learn a new way to navigate well enough to be of use to the Hunting Dogs.

Overall, I agree that I would LOVE to see more disability rep with Jouno, but I also don’t think we should limit that rep to just navigation aids. Just smaller things like using a screen reader to do paperwork on a computer or to read texts, or using one of those plastic guide things to write his signature, or even just reading the braille on a sign before entering a room, things that can take one or two panels can go a long way

[spookysweet-heart]

Nancy Wheeler with a Visually Impaired Partner

As a Visually Impaired person I thought this would be cute to write. This doesn’t represent every Blind or Visually Impaired person. I‘m just writing my own experience with my disability for these head-cannons.

Nancy first sees you when you walk into the school's newspaper room accidentally.

"O-oh!  So sorry! Uh, I've been trying to find the counselor's office."

One of the students shouts out where it is but Nancy notices your white cane and instantly says she'll take you there herself.

"Thank you so much. My eyes are giving me a hard time this morning so theyre pretty sensitive and I had to resort to using my cane again."

"It's no problem, Im Nancy by the way. Nancy Wheeler."

"Nice to meet you, Nancy! Im (Y/n) (L/n)."

"Nice to meet you too. You said your eyes are sensitive? Can you still see?"

"Yeah to an extent. I just have low vision so I have to use a magnifying glass to read things or use my cane to help guide me when my eyes become sensitive to light."

Nancy nods and smiles stopping at one of the doors in the hallway. "Here's the counselor's office. If you need anything else I'd be happy to help."

You smile in her direction and nod "Actually, would it be okay if I sat with you during lunch? Being new is a little scary and you seem nice."

"Of course!  What class do you have before lunch?"

"Math with Ms. London."

"Looks like we have that class together. You can sit next to me if you'd like."

"That'd be great!"

After that day you and Nancy became close friends at first. She helped you in Math while you helped her in English. You told her despite your disability you have a passion for writing.

The day Nancy figures out that she likes you as more than a friend is when you two were hanging out at her place and you asked her to read you a new book you had got from the library the day before.

She was happy to read to you since she knew you were either tired or didn't want to use your magnifying glass.

You had laid your head on her lap and were excited to get into another great story but you couldn't help but fall asleep with how soft and cozy it felt to hear Nancy read to you.

Nancy realized you were asleep when she heard your soft snores. Smiling to herself, she put a bookmark where she left off and put the book aside on her nightstand.

Gently playing with your hair Nancy felt her cheeks get warm noticing that familiar feeling.

She asked you out the next week. You were all she could think about while trying to sort out her feelings.

Nancy is super sweet. She's always looking out for you.

She stands up for you when someone stares too long or says something about your cane or you in general if you take too long to do something because you're not able to see what's in front of you. 

She loves taking you out to drive-ins for movie dates.

She will cook dinner for you whenever she can and always gets excited when you cook for her. She especially loves when you bake for her. She says your cookies are the best and great when she needs a pick me up.

She doesn't mind if she needs to drive you around it gives her excuses to spend more time with you

Study dates are a must when exams are around. She's very understanding when you need to take breaks or stop for the day when your eyes get sore from studying so much.

Loves going shopping with you.

You two pick out some outfits for each other. Or just love trying on clothes with each other.

Nancy finds it relaxing and fun to do your make-up when she has the time.

Once chewed out Mike for being disrespectful when he commented about your cane and said you were the school's freak the first time you went over to her place for dinner.

Nancy's love language is quality time, gift giving, and touch.

Always loves spending time with you whenever she can. Again she doesn't mind driving you around or having your arm around hers when you need that little bit of guidance while walking around the mall.

Nancy buys you gifts, whether it's your birthday, Christmas, or just because she saw something you needed or reminded her of you.

You know Nancy is very vocal but in the moments when it's just you and her, she's mostly quiet and shows how she feels with physical touch. Squeezing your hand, light kisses, hugging, or holding you against her.

Overall Nancy loves the relationship you both built together.

She loves reading the stories you come up with in your free time. She thinks you're creative and is proud of you when you submit your stories to local contests.

You won't admit it but whenever you get a new book from the library you always ask Nancy to read it to you. Not because your eyes hurt or theyre tired but because you love hearing her voice.

[makerkenzie]

Well now I’ve done it.

It’s finally happened. I knew this day would come.

Putting this biz under a cut because it’s a lot. Content note: I am a terrible person and this shit is hilarious to me.

Someone wrote this reblog of my “Tell me what you want” post. Not going to link because I’m not interested in sending this person any more traffic. 

Screenshots! 

CAPTIONS for the benefit of my visually impaired readers:

Did OP just say that Tywin wasn’t guilty of the murder of Elia Martell and her children? What?!

Tywin’s actions of allowing the rape and murder of Elia and her kids were a war crime. It was a war crime back then as it is now. Ned Stark condemned Robert and Jon Arryn so much for not punishing Tywin for his actions that Ned fell out with Robert over that for over a year. In fact, 17 years later after the act, Ned still distrusted and mislikes the Lannisters despite the time that lapsed between them and that he still went to war with Lannisters at his side.

It’s funny how OP crucified the Martells for seeking vengeance and justice for the unnecessary murder of Elia, but doubt they would do the same for Robb Stark for seeking vengeance and justice on the Lannister for decapitating Ned Stark. And Ned publically admitted to his charges who would, in the world of aSoIaF, still be justly executed. I doubt OP judged the Karstarks of wanting vengeance against House Stark for killing Rickard Karstark despite his crimes. It’s funny OP brings up Jonos Bracken, a House famous for constantly warring against house Blackwood for some slight done way in the past. Doubt OP judges them for the right of wanting vengeance on each other for generations long. Oh no, it’s only the Martells who have to admit that it was meh what Tywin did and just move on with their lives.

Bringing up Viserys like Doran wanting a Targaryen restoration isn’t exactly what would hurt the Lannisters (and by extent the Baratheons) the most. Doran doesn’t hold Viserys by the actions of Aerys the same way he doesn’t hold Myrcella for the actions of her mother and grandfather. They were children and not active of the crime. So OP’s point of that is moot.

The Martells deserved justice. And Robert Baratheon failed to give them that. Tywin lived on and was rewarded. The Mountain and his men lived on and were rewarded. Ned Stark himself was so disgusted even with that rewarding of men who were war criminals, that he lived secluded in the North without speaking to his once best friend and now king for about 15 years. No justice was owed to the Martells for so long that Oberyn broke plans and went on ahead to seek it himself.

OP you’re not the first to act this way and you’re definitely not the last so, just admit you’re racist and hate the Martells nor care for them and go. Don’t need to fill the Martells nor Elia’s tag with nonsense when you most likely not hold the same standards to the other houses. House Manderly killed the Freys as guest at their seats in the name of justice for the murdered Robb Stark, where are your “so-called” metas there for how they shouldn’t want justice for those deaths. It wasn’t just the Freys who had a hand in that murder but, guess what, Tywin Lannister who still continued to do war crimes bc he got bested by a 15 year old.

On top of all your nonsense, you’re regarding everyone’s sense of justice through the lens of someone in the 21st century. In the (medieval-ish) feudal world of aSoIaF, things aren’t as simple as you make them out to be, other than the fact that you’re unfair to the Martells, wrong entirely about the Lannisters and plain out stupid for disregarding what the text is clearly saying.

Source:

makerkenzie

#seen your bullshit before and didn’t want to say shit but goddamn you’re not only annoying but you’re WRONG too

#mr. Martin pls release your books already so these fools can shut the hell up

#I’m tired of people misinterpreting your work mr. Martin pls

#imagine someone out there actually DEFENDING Tywin fucking Lannister??????? are you... are you alright?

#pfft. goodbye son

Yep, there it is.

I only criticize the Martells because I am a racist! Now I can die happy. 

Not that I’m gonna stop this biz any time soon, mind. 

What really makes this response *chef’s kiss* beautiful is the part where they openly admit that they assume I would never write comparable criticisms of people like Robb Stark, Rickard Karstark and Jonos Bracken. 

When you ASSUME, you make an ASS of U and ME.

(Although I feel just fine.)

The decision goes like this: they haven’t read any of my posts outside the Martell criticisms, they’ve hardly read most of my Martell criticisms outside this one post, and they’ve only skimmed this one post enough to see me making this defense of Tywin Lannister:

I’ve said it before: Tywin Lannister was a monster. It is known. That doesn’t mean 1) that everything he ever said and did was wrong, 2) that every single accusation against him was accurate, or 3) that every vendetta against him is righteous.

(clearly I’ve lost my mind)

...so they just decide that I could not possibly have similar criticisms of other ASOIAF characters, which means I’m singling out the Martells, which means I hate brown people. And we know I must not have written about those other characters because we’ve already established that I’m a filthy racist who just resents the Martells.

I’ve been writing ASOIAF metas on this blog for years. The overwhelming majority of my analysis doesn’t appear in the Martell or Elia tags. In fact I have written critical metas on Robb Stark, Rickard Karstark, and the Brackens & Blackwoods. (It’s true I may not have said much about Wyman Manderly.) Not to mention I’ve written copious meta on the many horrors of Tywin Lannister. I’m no stranger to Ned Stark’s argument with Robert about the “dragonspawn.” 

I don’t like having to repeat myself.

If I dropped a list of links to my posts slamming the Westerosi McWhitersons for their jackass throne-gaming and blood-feuding, then would they stop telling me to shut up and go away? 

Nah, they’d just shift the goalposts again. They always find a way.

That last bit about my “21st century worldview” is such a perfect sphere of ridiculousness I won’t sully it with my greasy fingerprints. Just let it sit there and shine.

Oh, and those tags. Oh, dear. I may be a disgusting racist piece of shit for examining this story; I’m not the one writing it. GRRM is not on your side. If you expect the last two books to vindicate the Martells, it’s gonna hurt. It’s gonna hurt like a bath in dragonfire. 

Stay mad, comrade. Your hate makes me stronger.

[vegetacide]

Whump●tober - Muffled scream

Veg-notables:  This took longer to write than I thought it would.. but here it is. 

@gumnut-logic you are a saint for listening to me whinge and carry on.. Thank you for lending me an inbox to pollute with gibberish. ::hugs::

Obligatory whumptober stuff: @whumptober2019 @la-vie-en-whump

Blanket warning:  Angst all to hell..

Characters: Virgil and Kayo V/K

Whumptober - TaG’verse

Previous posts can be found HERE.

18. Muffled scream

Enjoy…

oOo

Virgil awoke by himself. For the first time that he could recall in how many days, he was alone with the silence and he found some relief in that.  

Relief that he didn't have to school his expressions against the pain that roved like a raging fire through his nervous system.  

Relief that he could express his frustration without an audience.  

Relief that he didn't have to hide the gnawing fear that was consuming him from the inside out. 

He couldn't see but for fuzzy outlines, and blurred figures.   

The Doctors had explained to those around him that there could be long term complications but only time would tell to what extent.   He'd heard it all while they had talked over him to his family as if he wasn't there so he feigned sleep.  

Memory loss, neurological damage of an as of yet undetermined amount, vision…. Oh god, his sight… 

When he'd regained consciousness everything had been confused and disoriented haze.  Pain one moment, drugged out numbness the mess. He hadn’t had the capacity to assess himself, the conscious effort required had been lost in a sea of opioid induced soup of non awareness. 

When he’d dragged himself back out again Kayo had been asleep in his arms, he'd dismissed the blurred vagueness too tied up in the fight to live to be bothered to pay it much mind.  

As time moved forward as it always did,  he'd figured that the mist that seemed to cloak everything would recede as he grew stronger, gained more ground in recovery but there hadn't been any change and the Doctors had started talking long term.

Words like permanent impairment, and visual deficits had been said over his supine form as he'd all but crawled back in on himself and screamed.  In his mind where no one could hear, no one would know how much it pained him, frightened him, bound him to an existence of needing help instead of offering it.  Trapped, useless...a burden and a hindrance to himself and those around him. 

What else could possibly go wrong?  If he didn't have his sight, what else had and would he lose? The answer to that was staggering in its entirety.  

Hours had passed and his mental list had grown. Simple things at first,  avoiding the more prevalent one that he didn’t want to acknowledge..didn’t have the heart to accept.  Art and its array of colours and brush structs, its materials and mediums of chromes and stone, fabrics and woods.  The sunrise with its variations and gradients, nuances that he could be blind to.  The ocean around their island home, crested with white caps where it abutted the circling rocks and coral outcroppings. The green flecked of chartreuse that caught in the fading light of the sun in a pair of loving, warm eyes.  

He was going to lose it all…  

Fighting his fear, expression pinched in pain and worry, he argued with himself to just open his eyes, that maybe today things would be different.  Prayed that his sight had improved, that what he dreaded wasn’t actually reality. 

Only one way to find out.  

Fist tight, body trembling he held back his frustration as the dim light pierced through his skull and singed his brain but still it was like viewing the world through a distortion, a frosted glass enclosure between him everything else.  

Angry now almost beyond reasoning, he cursed and punched with what little strength he had at the mattress. The satisfaction weak as his heavy hands pounded into a bio-gel insulated matting.  No lick of pain to focus his rage, to cut through the panic. 

Annoyance, bitterness and discouragement enveloped his world and he seethed against it.  Shattering a glass, tearing at his sheet, tumbling a monitor.  

Strength hot and angry surged and then flicked off like a switch as it snuffed to nothing.  Leaving him broker and spent,. Beyond repair… 

Tears of disappointed ebbed and flowed over his chiseled, stub shadowed jaw. Joining a litany of others.  Fingers rough,  dragged and pulled at his hair in frustration and he wanted to scream.  Oh, how he wanted to scream.  

Curse whatever god would listen. Shout and holler his anger,  his despondency and rancor but he held back.   Clenched teeth tight,  muscles straining with wanton release.  His family was just down the hallway, outside the door, in his head.  Holding him up, calling his name.  

A hot, venomous curse pierced the silence, though it was said on a whisper. It burned the air bitter and resentful with its emotional inflection.  

Falling still,  tears smothered behind the heels of his palms that he pressed into useless eyes he shuddered amongst the torn disarray of his room.  An alarm was sounding and he knew that he wouldn’t be alone for much longer, a nurse or his family would burst through the door at any moment.  He need to contain himself once more.  Find his control in the chaos of the swirling mayhem of his mind.

A quick intake of air as sweet jasmine lit up the inside of his nose, warmed and encircled him. He tensed,  dared not breathe for fear that he had been discovered completely unhinged.  

Soft,  warm, comforting arms encircled him,  embraced his battered being.  Her voice washed like a gentle rain over his scorched landscape.  Solace like a balm to the damage wrought by an illness that he’d nearly succumb to.

“It’s okay, We’ll figure this out.  You’re not alone…”   

And he wasn’t. 

8-8-8

She'd wondered how long it would take him to fall apart as she sat in the dark and watched him sleep.   

Hours, days, weeks?  He could be a stubborn man when he put his mind to it. Immovable and unshakable. This? This was different.  

Something that he couldn't fix or put back together with a work shop full of tools. Finesse and cajole broken bits of machinery to function in some capacity or another.  

This was something that could only right itself if and when his body wanted to.  

She knew by the by the shift in his breathing, the slight hitch as a groggy mind resurfaced that he was awake but she didn’t announce herself waiting instead for him to seek her out.  

It surprised her when he didn’t and it shocked her to realize he had no idea she was there. So instead she bore down on her control, steeled herself,  remeasured the cadence of her breathing to a light pull in and out.  Quieted to invisibility and waited.   

Kayo could tell he was struggling and that there was a real need to release the tension that was building. Knew without a shadow of doubt that if her presence was known the restraint would return,  and the outlet would be lost. Virgil would hide his weakness away to preserve the image of stability and stoutness of mind. 

It wasn’t sustainable so she played witness as his wrestled mentally with his demons. There was no way she would let him suffer alone, even if he was unaware of her,  she would stay close and offer silent support. 

Rage like nothing she had seen before spewed out of him in a sudden explosion of emotion.  

The rolling utility table went one way, flying into medical equipment. A monitor crashed to the floor is a tangle of wires, one long droning shriek sounding out as it's power cord was ripped viciously from the wall.  

A jug of iced water went the opposite way, it contents spraying out and over everything in it path. Ice cubes skittering across the floor, pinging off the legs of chairs and bouncing off the rubberized baseboard that ran the circumference of the room.

It was over almost as soon as it had begun.  Energy spent in one epic burst of outrage and disappointment as he racked trembling hands through brown, sodden locks.  Rubbing angrily at his eyes,  a sound of mourning, low and keening ripped from his throat and stopped with a suddenness that had her on her feet in seconds.  

Her long, lean legs ate up the short distance between them.  Her arms coming up and around before she even knew what she was doing.  The only thoughts in her head were to comfort, to protect...

After a moment of stunned silence and eerie stillness he latched onto her like a drowning man. Arms tight and unforgiving, face pressed into her neck. Breathe panting, shoulders shaking. 

Kayo's gaze sept around the room, at the destruction brought on in a moment of distress and her heart ached. Such anguish in so brief a release.   

The rooms darkness abruptly split as the door swung open.  The entry filled with worried faces that Kayo forestalled easily with an upraised hand.  

A duty nurse, an on-call doctor, family and friends, concerns both professionally and personally marred their expressions but they heeded her command and didn’t cross the threshold.     

Her eyes made contact with Scott's and in those few short seconds a message passed between them as she arched an imploring brow. 

He turned to the others, his voice low but clear and ushered them away. The light faded as the door swung closed once more. 

They sat in the silence, time ticking slowly away. Resentment dissipating to be replaced with an inert quietness that was pervasive and a complete juxtaposition to just moments prior.   

The skin prickled with the charge that hung in the air even in the sudden quietude and Kayo forced her lungs to settle, even out hoping the action would pass over to Virgil.  

Little by little it did. 

Pulling back, she caught his chin and brought his face up to hers, brushed her lips across his brow.  “Okay?”  She whispered, attempting to catch his eyes as they tried to focus on her. The fact they couldn’t flickered across his face in an echo of his moment of anguish and she reached up to touch his cheek.

He leant into her as if her touch was keeping him alive and bobbed his head once .  “Ya,  I’m...sorry about....” His hand waved about to indicate the room at large

Her fingers skimmed over the line of his jaw, curved up the cup the back of his head.  “I get it, you don’t have to apologize to me for feeling the way you do. We all have our limits.” 

His chin dipped in embarrassment and she ducked down so she could see his face,  a flush darkening his cheeks. “Hey,”  She called gently,  “Hey,  none of that now. There is nothing to be ashamed off. Frankly I am surprised you lasted as long as you did, especially with Nurse Buxom around.” 

She grinned as she caught the edge of a smile grace his lips and a huff of what she thought was a chuckle.  “What?”  She asked, puzzled at the sudden change.  

“Scott calls her Nurse Ratchet.” That roguish smile of his light up his face,  not quite reaching his eyes but it was a vast improvement. “But I think I like Buxom better. Puts all sorts of pictures in my head.”

Kayo grumbled and Virgil chuckled softly.

“Watch it Buster or I’ll put you back in a coma.”  But she was smiling too as he leaned his forehead against her own.   

There was still a lot of unknowns and they had a fight ahead of them but they had each other and a hallway full of people there to help and with that sort of support, anything was possible. 

oOo

Next post can be found HERE

The Master List of prompts can be found HERE

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Mod Note Re: Disability

Greetings fellow Fandalites!  Bug and I wanted to address something we’ve noticed in a couple asks.

We’re both interested in disability studies. Or, rather, after being exposed to scholarship, activism, and art about the portrayal of disability in popular culture, we’ve both come to realize a few things.  A. Ableism is far too prevalent in society, B. Any scholarship that includes identity politics (race studies, queer studies, post-Colonialism, etc) NEEDS to consider the disabled identity, c. We need to amplify disabled voices, especially artists, and d. Media portrayals of disabled characters are often deeply problematic.

Bug and I are not experts in disability studies, but we are both working hard to educate ourselves and apply disability studies to our chosen fields.

A quick definition for those of you unfamiliar: ableism is “discrimination in favor of able-bodied people...it’s also the belief that people with disabilities need to be fixed or cannot function as full members of society, and that having a disability is a defect rather than a dimension of difference” (X). It’s casting disability as something wrong with the body of the disabled individual, rather than something wrong with the society that fails to accommodate disabled bodies and minds. It’s assuming people with disabilities have little or no autonomy—basically what Jake (and to a lesser extent Marco and Cassie) do in #50 when they meet James, Kelly, Colette, and the others. Allie Cannington says that society tends to have “a very narrow-minded perception of disability. That narrow-minded assumption that all individuals with disabilities need and want certain things.”

This isn’t meant to point fingers or blame anyone. We didn’t know this a few years ago. We really doubt anyone on here is being deliberately ableist. But there are a few things that skirt uncomfortably close to ableism, so we won’t answer asks dealing with:

The assumption that people with disabilities would want to become nothlits in abled bodies. (Aside from lumping everyone together, this implies the superiority of abled over disabled bodies.  Also, the U.S.’s abysmal history of mistreating and dismissing the disabled makes it questionable whether this technology would be offered, whether or not anyone wanted it.)

The assumption that anyone with a disability would want to use alien or human technology to change themselves, including when it comes to mental illness and neurodiversity.

The assumption that Yeerks in their natural form are disabled. If humans figured out a way to fly, or teleport, or make things appear out of midair, it wouldn’t mean that the humans who couldn’t do those things were disabled. All the things I listed are super cool, and if I gained one of those abilities I would be VERY reluctant to give it up. But unless it was something that evolved organically (which takings hosts didn’t,) and/or anyone without this ability would die, (which isn’t true for the Yeerks,) the lack of having a host/a superpower/whatever does NOT automatically make someone disabled.

The assumption that an entire group of people (vecols, the visually impaired, the elderly, Minnesotans, the YPM, Hork Bajir, water polo enthusiasts, etc etc etc) would want the same or similar modifications to their minds or bodies.

Any strong assumptions about a disability that neither we nor anyone we’re close to has experienced. As Bug mentioned in her deaf Marco AU, we have an uncle who is hard of hearing. Simply knowing him isn’t enough—it’s the stories he’s shared about everyday ableism, about the frustrations of being hard of hearing in a hearing world, and about Deaf culture—that informed Bug’s AU.  We’re not close with anyone with, for instance, paralysis or amputation; our ability to speak meaningfully about the life experiences of those individuals is severely limited.

If you have a disability and you’d like to consider what it would mean if Rachel were blind, or if Timmy was angrier at the Animorphs for getting his best friend killed, go for it. Tag us and we’ll happily share it. Also feel free to message us if we ever say or share anything that you find ableist. We’re still learning.

As Bug has said before, there’s simply no way that every ask will be answered. Just because you didn’t receive an answer doesn’t mean you did something wrong. Bug (and rarely, me,) answers asks that spark an idea, a scene, etc. There are some really interesting asks that won’t get answered. We’re Ph.D students: free time is a rare commodity.

— Cates

A couple of Bug’s asides on discussions of disability are below the cut.

To quote Cates: “Some people choose to modify their bodies/minds, some of them because of disabilities.  Some do not choose to do so; some do not have that choice.  However, ‘Julie didn’t want to be deaf anymore’ isn’t a story. ‘Julie decided to get a cochlear implant after considering the opinions of friends who had and hadn’t chosen to get the implant. She was nervous that she was just doing it to please her husband, who wasn’t deaf, but she decided that getting the implant would help her in her career as a speech therapist, and, hey, it was something she really wanted, so she went for it.’ That’s a story.”

Some other Animorphs-specific ideas that are doubtless well-intentioned but do not necessarily reflect the experiences of individuals with disabilities:

Yeerks as assistants for individuals with communication-related disabilities.  This practice could be useful for individuals who understand the process of yeerk infestation and give their fully informed consent.  However, it would involve giving a total stranger access to the disabled individual’s email passwords, personal fantasies, secret fears, weird crushes, and literally every single other piece of private information in that person’s life.  The implications become extremely troubling extremely quickly if the would-be host didn’t choose to seek out a yeerk assistant of their own accord.

Vecols finding a haven on Earth.  Although Mertil specifically chooses to live on Earth to avoid andalite ableism, no Earth society is absent of ableism.  The attitude that individuals with disabilities should “hide away” because it’s “for their own good” exists among humans as well as andalites.  The possibilities of humans and andalites having different attitudes toward disability are endless, but unfortunately Earth is definitely not a utopia for vecols.

Yeerks as having a “right” to use others’ bodies by force because of qualities of yeerk bodies.  At least in the U.N., there aren’t policies about anyone having the “right” to enslave anyone else, regardless of any of the individuals’ embodied experiences.

James and the other Auximorphs preferring abled bodies by default.  Some of them might prefer abled bodies, some might not.  We don’t know, and we don’t have enough information to make any assumptions.

Anyway, I’m echoing what Cates said: nobody is making these assumptions on purpose, and nobody has any malice here.  I’m still learning about disability studies, and a few years ago I wouldn’t have realized that many of these discussions are dominated by abled voices.  I’m trying to become more educated and responsible about my own abled privileges, and I seriously appreciate anyone who is willing to let us know how we can be more responsible and inclusive in the future.  Thank you.

— Bug

[ruffsficstuffplace]

And The AWRD Goes To... (Part 38)

I wrote a massive, self-indulgent Magical Girl episode that probably wouldn’t be safe for Earth kids, but totally fit for Remnant kids, considering that they allow marital training at extremely young ages to slaughter Grimm.

The good news is, I have the basis for yet another LWA/RWBY AU, or an original series of my own.

The bad news is, I felt it was WAY too self-indulgent to show you guys, and completely got out of any of the plot or the characterization of the show, along with being too self-congratulatory to my writing skills, however my audience will take the self-indulgent trash I wrote.

The other good news is, I figured out a completely different way to write this chapter that won’t alienate people or feel like desperate, self-praising filler.

I hope, at least.

“I must say, I’m rather impressed the creators took the time to weave such complex, coordinated, and physically-involved fights into the show!” Diana said during the credits of another episode of Starlight Crusaders: Solar Eclipse. “Most other examples I’ve ever seen of this genre always seem content to have the characters blast their foes with an obscene amount of visual effects from a distance, and have the monsters just writhe and cry out before they’re defeated.”

“Not Starlight Crusaders!” Weiss said, hugging one of her pillows to her chest as she sat up and watched. “Man, there’s so many things I love about this franchise, but the way all the fights just leave stick with me long after the credits are a huge part of it...”

“Hah, remember when we used spent the entire week between each episode trying to recreate them in the training grounds?” Akko asked.

“How could I forget?!” Weiss replied, laughing. “It’s why I wanted to become a huntress in the first place!”

“You decided to go into this dangerous career because you wanted to reenact scenes from a children’s show...?” Diana asked.

Weiss smiled at her. “Relax: I’ve added a whole lot of other mature, deep reasons to it since… but as they say, every aspiring hunter had to get that passion from somewhere. I guess it didn’t hurt that grandpa and grandma could actually make it a reality, to a certain extent.”

Ruby blinked, before her eyes brightened. “Are there giant robot monster parts stored in your house somewhere?!” she asked excitedly.

“Sorry, Ruby, just giant monster costume pieces, made to be worn by Schnee Grimm summons,” Weiss replied.

Ruby frowned, the light in her eyes fading. “Aww…”

“I suppose that’s why your house’s training grounds were so complex and modular?” Diana asked.

“Mhmm!” Weiss said. “Could basically reenact the mechanics of any sort of Starlight Crusader fight, save for those while falling out of the sky, underwater, in low-orbit, or the Shiny Chariot special crossover special for Luna Nova.”

“What was the problem with that last one?” Ruby asked. “Maybe I could help solve it.”

“I appreciate the offer, Ruby, but it was entirely with the cast,” Weiss replied. “Lack of a Shiny Rod and what means Chariot used to transform it into so many different forms aside, she had both my speed and agility PLUS Akko’s strength and endurance; whenever either of us tried to play her, we’d either end up exhausted before the ‘episode’ was even halfway done, or didn’t have the necessary finesse and grace to even try to pull off her acrobatics.

“Looking back on it, she probably needed to be that strong and skilled to even use the damned thing without breaking every bone in her body after each show...” she finished, casting a glance at the Shiny Rod.

“More like ‘definitely needed!’” Akko added, before she sighed. “I always knew Chariot was awesome and incredible and way beyond my level, but I’m only realizing by just how much right now… I’m conflicted, you guys:

“On the one hand, she’s like, 500% more awesome, and given how amazingly spectacular she was already, that’s a huge increase in raw Coolness Factor!

“On the other hand, now the difference between us is even bigger than before and I’m not sure if I can even reach that, period...” Akko finished, now moping in her bed.

“… Maybe I can still help with that...” Ruby said.

The next episode of Starlight Crusaders was about to begin, Weiss paused it. “What do you mean…?”

“Ah, how do I explain this… back at the Bunker, it was generally a given that someone would be heavily reliant on tech to compensate for something when they first get in. If it wasn’t prostheses to replace original parts, it was accessibility technology, like a sound-sensitive pair of glasses with a heads-up display for a student with hearing impairments, or Battle Saddles.”

“Pardon me: Battle-what-now…?” Weiss asked.

“Battle Saddles!” Ruby repeated. “It’s what we called wheelchairs and other mobility devices, generally after we motorized, armoured, and armed them. They even have specializations called ‘Battalions’--my favourite was Rolling Thunder, the heavy weapons, artillery, and explosives specialists.

“Anyway, we were always making, adapting, and developing new tech to compensate for impairments and handicaps, and I could definitely do the same here, like develop shock absorbers for Shooting Star so the reaction from all the raw force the Shiny Rod is capable of won’t break our bones and send us flying off again.”

“May I interrupt you, Ruby?” Diana asked. When Ruby gave her the go ahead, she continued, “I know it might be rather irrational and biased given my experiences, but it feels like we might end up over-relying on your tech, which has its own consequences...” she said, looking down at herself.

Ruby nodded. “And you’re right to be worried about that, Diana, but you didn’t let me finish: once we were done getting someone up to the standard levels of performance, we started thinking about how we could go BEYOND that.

“Heck, that was actually a huge part of my developing Crescent Rose! At first, I didn’t have the balance, the coordination, or the strength to even swing her properly, let alone all the essential combat techniques, so I built a giant robot helping arm to provide raw strength and control for me.

“Then, when I could swing it and stop it without its help, I started thinking how I could start using all that momentum and weight to my advantage. And after a LOT of experimenting and redesigning, I started using it to amp up the force of my attacks like back with the grave lord, and all the other times I’ve cut something when I wouldn’t normally have enough raw power to do so.”

“So… what, you’re suggesting we make training wheels for the Shiny Rod…?” Weiss asked.

Ruby thought about it for a moment. “… Yeah!” she said. “I guess I do want to try and build training wheels for the Shiny Rod, if those training wheels happened to get cannibalized later as components for magnetic-levitation wheels to help your bike go even faster!”

She got a thoughtful look on her face, before her eyes started scanning the others, too. “… And come to think of it, I could make improvements to all our other weapons, too, especially Gwragged Annwn...”

Diana frowned. “Ruby, I’m not entirely sure I want you experimenting on my spear… it’s a prized family heirloom, totally irreplaceable!”

“Oh, then I promise I won’t!” Ruby said, smiling. “I respect the weapon’s owner more than my desire to improve and experiment on said weapon. Or I guess in the Shiny Rod’s case, the weapon itself. How about you guys, though…?”

“Count me in!” Akko said.

“The designers called Myrtenaster the peak of multi action dust rapiers, but that’s what they called her predecessor, too—feel free to experiment” Weiss replied, nodding.

“Awesome, thanks!” Ruby replied. “That’s going to be for when we’re all out of the hospital, though—back to the anime!”

Weiss picked up the remote and began to unpause the video.

“WAIT!” Akko cried. “I forgot something!”

Weiss flinched. “What is it...?” she asked, the others turning to look at her.

“What happened to the giant robot helping arm?” Akko asked.

“Oh! It’s probably in the storage room along with all the other robot helping arms, waiting for someone to either study it to make their own, or borrow it for their experiments,” Ruby replied. “They still take it out to the cafeteria sometimes to try and arm wrestle with it—still unbeaten in the ‘Giants League’ without disqualifying damage to the apparatus!” she said, beaming.

“Nice!” Akko said. “High—oh wait, sorry...”

“We’ll high five in spirit!” Ruby cried. “High five!” she said, cast-covered limbs still immobilized.

“Up top!” Akko replied, her cast-covered arms still by her sides.

Diana and Weiss both burst out laughing. “You two are ridiculous...” Diana said, shaking her head.

“You haven’t seen the worst of it, trust me,” Weiss added, smiling. “Unpausing now!”

The four of them went back to watching Starlight Crusaders. Whenever there was another fight scene and weapons started getting brought out, however, Ruby didn’t seem to be enjoying herself quite as much as she did earlier.

They eventually made it to the last few episodes, tensions ramping up, story arcs coming to a close, the Crusaders tearing their way through the main villain’s ranks until the inevitable final confrontation.

One of the nurses knocked and opened the door, Weiss reluctantly paused the video again as a nurse popped his head in. “Excuse me, Ms. Schnee, your family has come to visit you.”

“We brought umeboshi and blueberry froyo!” Whitley called out from outside.

Weiss and Akko both brightened up. “Let them in, let them in!” Weiss said.

Snowie stepped in with a shopping bag filled with the promised treats, among others. “Hey there, sorry we took so long, we couldn’t really—“ her eyes widened. “--Oh my gosh, is that Solar Eclipse?”

“It is, it is!” Whitley said, giddily rushing into the room and taking the seat beside Weiss, Snowie and Winter sitting or perching by Akko’s side. “Play it, play it!” Whitley said, beaming as he leaned forward with his chin in his hands.

Weiss didn’t hesitate. The nurse looked at them, patients and visitors alike all completely enamored with the show, smiled, and began to close the door. Then, he felt someone put a hand on his shoulder, turned around, and knocked again.

“Excuse me again!” the nurse said. “Ms. Rose, your father’s come to visit you.”

Ruby’s eyes brightened up as she took her eyes off her screen. “Dad! Come in, come in!”

The nurse turned back to Taiyang, and opened the door with a flourish, he happily stepped in with a silly swagger and a huge smile on me face. “Hey there, dear daughter of mine! How’re you doing?” he asked as he came over to Ruby’s bed.

“All four limbs still broken, dear dad of mine!” Ruby chirped. “I’m getting better, though, especially since Weiss can use the remote for all of us.”

“That’s good to hear!” Taiyang said as he carefully hugged her, she tried to nuzzle her head into his shoulder. “So, what are you guys watching?” he said as he settled into the chair next to her bed. “No, no, wait, don’t tell me! It’s... Starlight Crusaders, and this season’s, this season’s, ah...”

“It’s--” Whitley, Weiss, Winter, Snowie, and Akko began.

“No, no, don’t! I’ve got this!” Taiyang said, peering intently at the screen, sweat forming on his brow as he concentrated, listening carefully to the names of the characters and their Crusader titles as they fought each other,  willing forth the answer from deep within his mind...

“NEW MOON ORDER!” he cried, nearly launching out of his seat. “It’s New Moon Order, right?” he said, nodding and smiling, proud of himself.

Whitley, Weiss, Winter, Snowie, and Akko spared a few moments from the show, and all shared looks with each other; after a silent vote, Snowie got the duty of breaking the news to him. “Ah, Mr. Xiao Long? It’s actually Solar Eclipse; New Moon Order was one of the movies.”

“Call me Taiyang or Tai, please. Anyway, it’s based off this season, at least...?” Taiyang asked hopefully.

Snowie smiled politely, slowly shook her head, and went back to watching with the others.

Taiyang sighed. “At least I got the franchise right this time...” he muttered to himself.

The episode ended in suitably dramatic fashion, the girls and Whitley all cheered. Weiss paused the video as the credits started rolling, and turned to Snowie. “You mentioned blueberry froyo earlier?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

Snowie dug out a tub from the bag, and handed it over.

Weiss took it in both hands, and cradled it to her chest. “Thanks mom, you’re the best,” she whispered, before she opened it and started digging in with the spoon attached to the side.

“You’re welcome, Weiss,” Snowie hummed, looking proud of herself. “We even got treats for all your other friends!” she said as she dug into the bag again.

Akko cried out in delight as she pulled up a jar of umeboshi, Ruby eyed a pack of chocolate chip cookies hungrily. “I didn’t really know whatever it was the rest of you liked, so I just sorta got a little bit of everything from a convenience store on the way here.”

“She really does mean everything,” Whitley added as he took the jar of pickled plums, opened it up for Akko. “You should have seen her back at the aisles, trying to figure out if she should grab any special varieties, or just stick with the original flavours.”

“Hey, it’s not MY fault someone decided there needed to be like, 500 different flavours of Kari-Kari!” Snowie cried as Winter took to the bag of snacks over to the other side of the room. “I swear, that store had basically everything on the shelves!”

“There’s 317 total, and only 47 in that store, mother, I looked it up and I counted while we were there,” Whitley said as he started feeding pickled plums to an eagerly awaiting Akko.

“Still too many damn flavours of candy coated wafers...” Snowie grumbled. She blinked, looked around, and sighed. “Aw, crap—anyone seen my snowball?”

“It’s right here, mom!” Winter called out, pulling up a ball tightly wrapped in plastic, colourful packets taped to it.

Snowie held her hands up. “I’m open!”

Winter tossed it, Snowie missed it, it hit her in the face. She winced, caught it before it could fall to the floor, and started unwrapping it, revealing a ball of shaved ice.

“Well, haven’t seen those in a very long while...” Diana said as Snowie ripped open the syrup packets with her teeth, poured the blue liquid onto her snowball.

“Probably because it’s not as good as what you’ll find from the shops that really care, or the kind you could make at my da—father’s office, but you know, the mass produced stuff isn’t half-bad,” Snowie said, before she gleefully chomped down on her snowball.

“Anything you’d like in particular?” Winter asked as she showed off the rest of the bag over to Diana.

Diana looked uneasily at the sea of junk food, then back up at Winter with a frown.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure there’s something healthy in here…” Winter said as she sat down and really dug into the mess.

“There’s a handful of sandwiches and a salad in there!” Whitley called out. “Don’t take both the egg sandwiches, one of them’s mine!”

“Found them, thanks, little brother!” Winter said as she dug them out. “Any catch your eye?” she asked as she held them out to Diana.

Diana looked at the plastic wrappers, and the proud labels of Mistral’s ubiquitous “Sari-Sari” convenience store franchise, and said, “I suppose I’ll take the strawberry cream…”

“Good choice!” Winter said, putting the rest back into the bag.

“I’m really rather sorry for inconveniencing you like this,” Diana said as Winter unwrapped the sandwich.

“It’s no trouble at all,” Winter replied. “Though if it bothers you that much, I suppose I could just wedge a tray on your chest to your chin, let you try and eat this with just your mouth?” she asked, smiling.

“… I’m not that sorry.”

Winter chuckled, and started feeding her.

“So!” Snowie started. “Diana, your family planning on flying over from Vale to visit any time soon?”

“No, actually,” Diana replied, before she took a dainty, careful bite out of her sandwich, started humming shortly after she started chewing.

“Aww, that’s sad,” Snowie said. “You want our help making a video to send to them, while they can’t come? I found that always helped when my parents were still going off on expeditions.”

Diana’s chewing slowed down, before she swallowed, and smiled politely. “The gesture is appreciated, Ms. Schnee… but I’d really rather not.”

Snowie paused for a moment, before she nodded, and went back to her snowball.

“Anyone else want more?” Winter called out after empty containers were thrown into the trash, or resealed for later. “Plenty of snacks still left in here,” she said, gently shaking the bag.

Whitley took his sandwich, and Taiyang grabbed some “to go” for himself, but otherwise everyone answered in the negative.

“So, anything else we can do for you guys while we’re here?” Snowie asked.

“We were just planning on going back to watching Starlight Crusaders, thanks,” Weiss said as she picked up the remote, Whitley hurriedly unwrapped his sandwich in preparation. “There’s really not much else we can do when I’m the only one with a working pair of arms.”

“I could recommend some pretty cool voice-recording apps we use at the Bunker!” Taiyang offered. “Free of charge, too, though getting support if something goes wrong can be a little… iffy, because they’re all experimental.”

“The offer is appreciated, Mr. Xiao Long, but Blake and Lotte have been doing an excellent job of transcribing from our diction,” Diana replied.

“I just wish Constanze wasn’t so busy with the mind palace machines and her own projects, though,” Ruby said. “She’s basically the only person that can help me take down weapons engineering notes.”

“I’m sure you’ll be able to get right back to it soon enough, Ruby,” Taiyang said, ruffling her hair.

“Maybe I could try helping with that?” Snowie said. “I take a lot of notes and dictation for my parents when they’re busy, I could probably do it.”

Taiyang chuckled. “Now I’m not saying I don’t believe you, but I have to warn you: my daughter’s thought process when she designs or studies weapons is a giant, jumbled mess of jargon, doodles, and schematics flying everywhere all at once.”

Snowie snorted. “And you’ve just basically described what my brain is like 24/7! I’ve got this, probably,” she said as she stood up.

“I’ve seen parts of Ruby’s journal when she sent me info on the Shiny Rod, mom, he’s really not kidding!” Winter said.

“Be my guest, though!” Taiyang said as he stood up, and gestured to the chair he was sitting in.

“You sure about this, Snowie?” Ruby asked as Snowie sat down beside her.

“Positive!” Snowie replied. “Jumping headlong into things without being entirely sure what I’m doing is kind of my thing! I mean... it doesn’t always work as well I think it will, but I work best when I’m figuring things out as I’m going along!” she said as she pulled out her scroll, complete with her own quill.

“Alrighty then!” Ruby said.

Whitley nudged Weiss to resume playing Starlight Crusaders, she did, and the others went back to watching the show. She found herself frequently looking away from the screen and listening in to Ruby and Snowie’s conversation, however.

“So, what exactly are you thinking of here?” Snowie asked as she got her quill at the ready.

“Well, I was thinking about trying to make some sort of recoil buffer for Shooting Star, hopefully one that will also work when it fuses with the Shiny Rod to become Shining Star,” Ruby started.

“There’s just WAY too much force that thing is capable of whenever Akko chops with it, and short of starting to learn how to throw it; let go just before each impact, and hope it doesn’t hit her or anyone else when it inevitably flies off in the opposite direction as soon as all that aura force is discharged; or chop really, really, really gently with it, we need to drastically increase her upper body strength, muscle mass, and possibly even aura reserves if we’re ever going to be able to use Shining Star without ending up in the hospital, or causing more excessive, collateral damage if we try to use the firearm component.

“It’s really bad because we can’t really use any of my momentum harnessing and/or controlling techniques and tech I use with Crescent Rose because Shining Star’s a shotgun-axe, and it’s a lot less aerodynamic.

“On the plus side, I might be able to just freely attach them to the weapon thanks to the already bulky design, but then that might necessitate Akko having to get used to the entirely new balance and weight of it.

“But do the buffers need to be on Shooting Star itself?” Snowie countered as she continued scribbling without much effort. “My daddy’s robot limbs have a lot of internal buffers and servos to amplify and compensate for all the stress, damage, and physical labour he puts himself through, not to mention all the upgrades he made specifically for surpassing his biological limbs’ limits, or making it a better option than using his originals.

“He prefers punching Grimm in the face with his robot hand for a very good reason! You know, aside from the fact that it’s easier and less painful to repair if it breaks, than his flesh-and-bone hand.”

Ruby blinked. “Huh. That’ll definitely be much more expensive, and I’ll have to call some friends back at the Bunker who specialized in exoskeletal enhancement rigs, but yeah, it could be better in the long-run!

“Maybe we could even go past recoil absorption, and go straight into power amplification, with all the extra leeway.”

“Thermoelectric generator to charge and power servos, make the second chop hurt much more than the first?” Snowie offered. “Though we’ll have to limit how much energy they can actually store, or else we’ll probably blow Akko’s arms off from the reaction...”

“And even if they do stay on, they’ll likely shatter all her bones, probably beyond repair this time...” Ruby muttered.

The two of them furrowed their brows as they considered a way around of this problem, before two metaphorical lightbulbs went off in their heads at the same time.

“Her semblance!” Ruby and Snowie said at the same time, their eyes shining with a similar glow.

“Temporary invincibility, plus a strength boost from the inhibition of her pain receptors, right?” Ruby asked.

“Exactly!” Snowie said, furiously scribbling now. “If we can train Akko to activate it JUST before it comes into contact, every single time, she can probably decimate whatever she’s attacking without completely fucking herself up!” The light in her eyes faded, her writing slowed down. “… And probably everyone around and behind her, too, because the reaction will likely send her spinning, or flying off at an angle like a missile, and then we better hope there isn’t anything hard and solid that she’ll hit while she still has high velocity, because her semblance would be deactivated and recharging by then, so...

She sighed and looked down. “… Never mind, it’s a terrible idea...” she mumbled as she put her quill down.

“Hey, don’t feel bad, we’re brainstorming!” Ruby said. “It’s a feature, not a bug! And besides, I got a great idea for how we can redirect all that force away from her arms, inspiration thanks to Diana’s semblance...”

Snowie blinked, looked at Ruby in a mix of wariness and fear, before she hesitantly took her quill back up. “Okay…? I’m listening…!”

Whitley gently nudged Weiss on the shoulder. “Don’t worry: I’m certain it’s simply just the two of them platonically nerd-bonding, nothing more,” he said teasingly.

Weiss blinked, and looked at him. “What are you talking about…?”

Whitley he looked at Ruby and Snowie deep in conversation once more, then back at Weiss’ confused expression. “Oh... oh, I see how it is,” he said, nodding and looking satisfied.

Weiss’ eyes widened. “Are you--?!” Her cheeks turned red. “Look here, you little shit: this isn’t one of your yuri manga or fanfics when the team full of girls eventually hook up with each other!” she hissed. “This is real life, Ruby is just my teammate and my friend, and if I may remind you again, I swore to hold off on the romance ever since Aqua...!”

“I believe you!” Whitley said, holding up his free hand. “Calm down, I believe you, Weiss!”

Weiss glared at him, before she sulked and went back to watching Starlight Crusaders.

“Here’s to hoping it goes better than it did with Aqua...” Whitley thought as he turned back to the screen, a small smile spreading on his face.

Yes, the Bunker also has a storage room full of robot helping legs, giant or otherwise. The other body parts and non-human limbs share a series of rooms together, because they’re not nearly as numerous enough to justify having their own dedicated storage.

No, Weiss is DEFINITELY not afraid her mother is going to attempt to make a move on Ruby, it’s more a “I’m jealous I can’t do this thing that my new, good friend clearly enjoys so much and needs at the moment because her arms are broken, and realize I could have learned to do it if I bothered to learn more about mechanical engineering when I was younger, and now I can’t even concentrate on my favourite show because I really kinda hate myself right now for not being here to help my teammate.” sort of feeling.

[kaibagirl007]

Belated Birthday Surprise

The 26th July was a date that Kaiba would never forget after having discovered it’s importance. The significance being that it was in fact his boyfriend’s birthday, something they had both learnt after Ishizu had helped Atem to decipher ancient Egypt’s calendar into modern day format. So it pained him that he’d pretended not to remember at all, though knew it was the only viable option he’d been presented with...

Over the last several months, Kaiba Corporation was struggling,- quite badly,- though he would never let on to the full extent of just how bad things were. Instead Kaiba chose to be seen shrugging it off as nothing more than an unexpected ‘dip' in the economy so as to keep his brother and boyfriend free from worrying. Yet in truth, matters were far worse as he strived to maintain dwindling partnerships.

It wasn’t completely unheard of that his company would have contracts terminated. Though that very rarely happened, and if it did it was because he felt the collaborating business gravely lacked in meeting the standards required of them. But ever since going public and revealing his relationship with Atem, his company had suffered drastically as a result.

Yes he’d been prepared to have the odd one or two bigoted businesses part ways, but hadn’t expected anything like the true scale when over a dozen contracts were ended within the first month of the reveal alone. Of course less than a third had actually had the gall to explain their decision directly. One of them however had even been brazen enough to ‘inform' him of the dishonour brought to his ‘family name', and that the only consolation was the fact that he wouldn’t be able to ‘spawn’ a dynasty of hafus with his chosen lover.

From then on he’d found himself working even longer overtime hours in an attempt to re-nagotiate as many contracts as possible so that only a few projects would be culled, thereby allowing his business to continue to thrive. It hadn’t been easy, and although he still maintained his major partnership with Industrial Illusions,- “I’d never leave you in the lurch dear boy, especially not over something so trivial as your choice of lover. Those narrow-minded enough to have done so don’t deserve to be acquainted with such brilliance as yours. You’re much better off without them trying to hold you to ransom with their discriminatory ways.”,- the withdrawal of smaller outsourced contractors meant that several projects had had to be placed on hold for now. Those included the expansion of KaibaLand theme parks both at home and abroad, his dreams of opening a school specialising in duelling and the building of his very own space station, as well as the his current labour of love in creating a duel disk that was powered by a person’s thoughts.

And had it not been for the fully booked week of numerous meetings,- that unfortunately happened to surround and occur on his boyfriend’s special day,- then he wouldn’t have been fortunate enough to have secured the deal allowing him to proceed with development of the Duel Links game designed for play on touchscreen devices.

Having purposely avoided any living soul that was likely to remind him of the importance of the date in the days leading up to it, the CEO then pled ignorance when his brother finally collared him the following day. A swift ‘apology' with the promise to make it up to Atem then appeased his sibling’s wrath. That then lead him to now; flying to a ‘secret' location.

“How much longer is this going to take?” Atem enquired as he sat in the back seat of the Blue-Eyes jet with a blindfold over his eyes.

“Not long.” Kaiba responded after having checked the remainder of their route on the navigation system. “We’re almost there; perhaps another ten, fifteen minutes max.”

“Very well… But no more loops! I wasn’t joking when I said you were in danger of re-seeing what I had for lunch.”

“No more loops.” He assured with a grin and pushed down harder on the thrusters to make sure they would definitely arrive within the timeframe he’d just given.

After another brief moment’s silence, it was hesitantly broken. “In case you’re wondering Seto, I’ve no ill feelings with you for having forgotten my birthday. Much like you, I’d rather not make a fuss. And it’s the first time in three thousand years that I’ve known the date myself, so I hardly expect anyone else to. You really didn’t have to go to so much trouble-…”

“It’s no trouble at all.” He cut in on the other’s words before he felt even more guilty by being assured that he’d done nothing wrong. “I had this surprise all planned for you. It’s just a little late in being given.”

“Of course it is.” Atem simpered, knowing that his boyfriend was far too proud to admit that the date had slipped his mind due to his busy schedule. That was all the other seemed to do lately; work. The fact that they’d be spending some quality time together was more than he could ask for. And away from Japan where they ‘hopefully’ wouldn’t be sneered at for being a same sex and/or mixed race couple. Yes, these next few days were exactly what the two of them needed.

It wasn’t much longer before the jet came to land at their destination. Once the cockpit visor lifted, Kaiba was the first to jump out,- quite literally,- and assisted his visually impaired boyfriend out of his seat too. When they were both firmly standing on the ground, he removed the blindfold to the sound of a rather theatrical, “Ta-da!”

Atem’s eyes took a moment to readjust to the bright sunlight now filling his vision as he looked out across rows and rows of grapevines. “Where are we?”

“In a vineyard.”

“I can see that!” He didn’t know whether to laugh or roll his eyes at the CEO’s deadpan response so did both. “I meant ‘WHERE are we’, as in what country?”

“France.” Kaiba declared as he then went to retrieve their bags from the jet’s storage compartment. “The Graves region of Bordeaux to be precise.”

“Bordeaux.” Atem quietly mouthed in awe at having been brought to the birthplace of some of the finest wines he’d ever consumed. Sometimes it amazed him at just how much thought his boyfriend gave things by catering them to his personal interests and tastes. “Wow, this was unexpected. Please tell me we're here to sample the wine.”

“Heh heh, not quite. Though you’ll certainly be able to do so during our stay."

“Well then, why ARE we here?”

“To make the ownership handover of my vineyard to you more impressive.” Kaiba pulled out a file full of documents and handed them to his perplexed looking boyfriend. He leant down and delivered an accompanying kiss. “Happy Birthday.”

Atem was too stunned to react as he tried to process what was happening. Finally he found his voice. “Wait a minute… how long have you owned a vineyard?”

“A good several years or so. It was one of my earliest investments that allowed me to keep Pegasus sweet with a continuous supply of wine. Costs like that can build up pretty quickly. I’ve saved myself a considerable amount of money in doing it this way.”

“And now this place is mine?”

“That was kind of the idea.” Kaiba suddenly began to feel nervous. Was his gift not liked? Had he somehow messed up? Knowing how much the other loved to drink wine, he’d been so sure that it would have been well received…

“You can relax.” Atem assured as he sensed the growing uneasiness festering behind those blue eyes surveying him. “I love it. Thank you.” He clutched the file close to his chest and stood on tiptoes to return the kiss from just a moment ago.

“You’re not just saying that?” He held the other close once the kiss was over.

“Of course not. Granted I am a little unsure of what it is you’re expecting me to DO with this place…?”

“That choice is completely up to you.” The CEO’s long fingers brushed blond bangs aside as he spoke tenderly to the one he loved. "You want to use this vineyard as your own personal lifelong wine supply, go right ahead. However, this place turns over a fairly decent profit,- the Claret produced here is especially popular with the British and Americans,- so it should set you up nicely if you wish to expand into a bigger empire. Or if you’d rather sell up-…"

“Monsieur Kaiba.” One of the vineyard’s workers approached the two men, completely unfazed by the affectionate display right in front of him. “The pressing process is about to begin if you’d like to witness it for yourself.”

“Can we join in?” Atem’s eyes seemed to light up at the announcement which had been made. He had such fond memories of him and Mana dancing together inside the huge pressing baskets. Oh how he’d love to relive such a simple pleasure.

“Oui.”

“Then we’ll be right there.”

The worker nodded in response to the shorter man’s reply and headed back to the processing shed.

“You certainly perked up.” Kaiba chuckled as he let go of his boyfriend from his hold and the two of them followed on behind.

“Wine pressing is fun.” Atem threaded his fingers with the other’s hand as they walked. “I’ve done it many times as a child. Haven’t you?”

“No.” The scoff came before the CEO could stop himself. “Besides, what’s so great about turning a wheel to push a plate down on some grapes?”

“A plate? You mean you don’t crush the grapes with your bare feet?”

“Heh, sometimes I forget just how old you are… No, no-one makes wine like that anymore. That method died out centuries ago.”

“Oh.” Atem was saddened by what he heard. He wouldn’t get to have fun after all. No wonder people in this day and age were so gloomy all of the time if even the pleasurable tasks had machines to do it for them. He then glanced down at the document file held in his other hand. “Wait a minute! I own this place now, correct?”

“Yeah…?”

“So I could just instruct to have the plate removed and do things my own way?”

“I guess so… if that’s really what you want?”

“Yes, it is! Very much so!” He grinned upwards. “You’ll join me, won’t you?”

“Pfft, you won’t catch me treading on grapes with my bare feet.”

“Oh come on, live a little. It’s not like I’m asking you to strip down and do it naked… Not unless you want to of course?”

“There is no way you’ll get me to crush grapes with you, and definitely NOT without my clothes on.”

“But it’s my birthday!”

“No, that was last week.”

Atem resorted to pouting. Hey, it always seemed to get Mokuba whatever he wanted so why not him?

“N O, spells no.”

Damn, it didn’t work. “Okay then fine! I can’t make you do something you don’t want to do…” An idea then hit him. “But you DO realise the double standards you hold?”

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

“Well on the way here, did you or did you not, do a triple loop whilst we were in your jet?”

“Yeah, so? It was fun.”

“But did I have any say in it? No. I had to sit there and-…”

“Okay, okay; you’ve made your point! I’ll press wine with you just this once. But if I get grape juice in places it should never go-…”

“Then I’ll lick you clean.”

“…!” Kaiba froze just several steps short of the pressing shed door. He looked at Atem whilst displaying a curiously cocked brow. “You better be able to live up to that claim.”

“You know damn well I can.” A sly smirk was given in return. Sometimes his boyfriend was far too easy to lure into his playful traps. And whilst their time together for his special day may have been delayed until now, Atem had a feeling that this birthday was going to be his best ever.

@heartof-thepharaoh

[mittensmorgul]

I think one of the things about SPN that is so interesting is... characters lie. All the time. And we aren't always given obvious reasons to suspect they're lying until later when they say something contradictory. I saw a post the other day about Rowena and how she'd mentioned Crowley was conceived during an orgy (something I'd forgotten) and it occurred to me with later information we had... that doesn't sound likely if she knew who the father was and was abandoned by him. (1/2)

This has a point that's relevant, sorry. What I was referring to is the post about Becky and how we don't know why she and Chuck broke up because there is conflicting info, so we have to make our best guess. In a weird way, "canon" isn't canon, because a surface text reading doesn't account for characters being disingenuous. We aren't told which is the lie and which is the truth every time, we kinda gotta figure it out for ourselves using what we make of the characters and additional context(2/2

Hi there! And if this isn’t a potentially loaded question, I don’t know what is. And it’s something that’s even been raised as a question in text on multiple occasions, which makes it a valid thing for us to question and carefully consider. You may have seen this old post I reblogged a little while ago with an addition about context:

http://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/162709800125/mittensmorgul-i-offer-this-up-as-a-metaphor-for

Congrats, you’re the anon I was referring to in the little blurb at the bottom of that post :D

I’ll start by saying that yes, we know the characters are capable of lying. In 6.03, Dean tells this to Ben in plain words:

Dean: Ben, I know you're lying... Because I lie professionally, that's how. Now tell your mom that you broke the damn thing and take it like a man. Okay? Okay.

He lies professionally. In 5.03, he explains why he lies to Cas, by lying about it:

Dean: Seriously? You're going to walk in there and tell him the truth?Castiel: Why not?Dean: Because we're humans. And when humans want something really, really bad, we lie.Castiel: Why?Dean: Because that's how you become President.

Dean’s explanation of why they were going to lie to the cops was also a lie. Walking into the police station and politely informing them the gas station explosion was caused by an archangel taking his vessel would’ve resulted in them being either laughed out of the police station or locked up on a 72 hour involuntary psychiatric hold. Yet Dean didn’t need to explain that to the audience, because we’re supposed to understand that fact. That’s where critical thinking skills come into play. We understand the humor of what he said to Cas anyway, without having to be led by the hand and told that Dean was joking there.

So I’d argue with your assertion that “Canon isn’t canon because characters lie sometimes.” It’s all still canon, because the characters DID say these things, but it’s up to us if we accept or reject the surface text reading as honestly intended dialogue, or sarcasm, or humor, or a misdirection, or a warning that there’s something deeper happening beneath the surface layer text. Sometimes the surface layer text sets off alarm bells because it directly contradicts other facts that have already been established, and in those moments we’re SUPPOSED to react by yelling out at the TV, questioning the character’s motives for saying something we already understand to be incorrect, you know?

It’s still incorrect to assume that EVERYTHING the characters say is a lie, or untrustworthy, or unreliable. Just because a character CAN be unreliable as a narrator doesn’t mean that they’re ALWAYS unreliable as a narrator.

It’s our jobs as viewers to apply critical thinking skills, combined with our previously established understanding of the characters, and the information we already have about the situation the characters are dealing with on screen, and then interpret the subtext and visual narrative cues the show has established over more than a decade of telling us this story, and not just make willy-nilly random assumptions about scenes, but incorporate ALL of that into an educated assessment of what’s most likely.

Because despite all of that ^^, and the fact that multiple interpretations are certainly possible, and character motivations and unverifiable statements (like Rowena’s story of how Crowley was conceived, or even Crowley’s story of having sold his soul for “an extra three inches below the belt” since that’s another character statement I’ve personally always doubted) are more open to potential interpretation than things like entire plotlines and situations that are directly contradicted by events we have seen or will see with our own eyes, not all interpretations of those larger events are equally probable.

It reminds me of the scene in 2.14, after Sam-possessed-by-Meg told a very one-sided and hurtful version of the story of how her father had died, having been shot in the head by John Winchester, leaving room for Jo to doubt whether it had been an accident that her father could potentially have survived if John had tried to save him instead of shooting him. Meg was deliberately trying to upset Jo, and it worked, to an extent:

JO: I know demons lie, but ... do they ever tell the truth too?DEAN: Uh, um, yeah, sometimes, I guess. Especially if they know it'll mess with your head. (Another swig.) Why do you ask?

Thing is, your very first assumption there, that the characters lie all the time, is equally untenable. Because just as often as they lie, they DO tell the truth. Not everything they say is equally open to interpretation or doubt. For a random fun-fact, like the situation in which Crowley was conceived, didn’t affect the larger narrative. It only provided characterization for Rowena. This was how she CHOSE to present herself when we were first introduced to her, but then we watched her character develop over the next few seasons. We began to understand her, her history, her motivations.

We saw her less as a carefree villain and more as a woman who’d been used, abused, wronged, and who’d reinvented herself multiple times as she amassed the power to not only take back control over her own life, but in search of revenge against those who’d wronged her. In 11.09 we learned the painfully harsh truth about why she may have originally been so flippant about Crowley’s father. And again in 12.11 we learned yet more reasons why she’d carefully crafted her cool facade, during her conversation with the witch who’d once thought of Rowena as little more than a disposable sex toy. So understanding Rowena’s history with the benefit of later canon and context, it not only helps us understand that her original self-narrative was a lie in the first place, but it gives us the ability to understand why she would’ve told that particular lie about herself. This is how you write complex, three-dimensional characters with depth.

Now with the Chuck and Becky situation, we have learned many things over the years about both of those characters, as well. Ultimately it doesn’t matter to the narrative why they broke up, nor does it matter whether Becky was telling the truth about why. The only thing a varied interpretation on whether she was lying there could potentially change is how we feel about her as a character. Do we sympathize with her? Do we have a greater insight into her as a “person” and what her motivations in life may be? Does a varied interpretation also affect the way we view Chuck as a character, especially when taken through the lens of late s11 Chuck episodes where it’s confirmed not only that he was God all along, but also in 11.20 we see through Metatron’s questioning of him, his motivations, his entire autobiography, that Chuck was sort of veracity-impaired as well? Being able to question the veracity of Becky’s statements all those years before lends us a greater understanding of Chuck as a character, too. Especially once we understand the depth of his denial over the original act that made all of creation possible in the first place.

Ultimately it doesn’t affect the larger story, other than to support our understanding of the characters, and offer a depth to explore the characters more fully.

That’s just good writing. It forces us to question things, forces us to really think about things, and hits us on an emotional and sympathetic level that colors our interpretations.

If the narrative just came straight out and told us all these things, it would be boring. The characters wouldn’t be three dimensional. We wouldn’t be able to think about them as if they were real people. They’d just be paper cutouts with words written on them telling us exactly who they were and what their motives and intentions were. There’d be nothing to actively engage us in the narrative.

That said, this is why looking at isolated incidents out of context of the rest of the things we already know and understand about the characters will often lead to wonky interpretations that don’t really work when viewed in context with the rest of the narrative.

I think this kinda-sorta addresses your question? I hope? This is such a difficult topic to discuss, because it does introduce subjectivity into the narrative. The thing is (and this is partly where the concept of “meta” differs from “headcanon” or “speculation”), at least the way I approach it, meta is grounded in postmodern literary critique, and not just random commentary on random things without a foundational understanding of how stories are told.

Not everything is as open to interpretation as everything else. There are rules to this gig, and actual meta will at least acknowledge that those rules exist. :P

[kinkykinard]

V is for Visual Impairment (22/26)

Fandom: Star Trek (AOS/TOS) Pairing:  ReaderXBones. Prompt: Fic 22 of 26 in the CMO’s Log – A to Z series.  Click here for a listing of all the fics in this series!  V is for Visual Impairment. Word Count: 4597. Warnings: vision loss, anxiety, surgical procedures. Rating:  Teen+. Author’s Note: Requested by my cinnamon roll @fandomheadrush – this fic got away from me.  I just started writing and couldn’t stop.  A lot of it is written from personal experience (word to the wise: don’t ever detach a retina if you can help it, it really effing blows), and I’ve left the procedure very much the same as the way it’s performed today just because from what little I know about physics and lasers, even 200 years from now we’re not going to have the kind of technology required to close a large retinal tear without invasive surgery.

V is for Visual Impairment Your head is still reeling as you swing your legs over the edge of the bio bed you’ve been lying on for the better part of the afternoon and your ears are still ringing.  You’d been involved in an explosion on an away mission, and while you’d been armored well enough that you’d avoided shrapnel injuries, you’d been close enough to the epicenter of the blast that you’d been knocked on your face by the shockwave that followed the detonation. As soon as you’d been beamed back up onto the ship, you’d been rushed to medical with the rest of the team and thoroughly checked over.  After looking over your scans and monitoring your condition for a while, Dr. McCoy had finally pronounced you fit to leave medical, and you’d jumped at the chance.

Now, however, you’re shaky as you slip off of the bed and stand, and you glance up at the CMO as he steps in to put a steadying hand on your shoulder. “Alright there, Ensign?”  He asks. “Yes sir,” you reply.  “Thank you.” He nods, ensuring that you’re stable before dropping his hand away once more and giving you some space. “You might feel a little bit dizzy for a few days after that kind of a shock so I’ve put you on light duties until you’re feeling more like yourself,” he explains.  “All of your scans look fine and I don’t anticipate any complications, but if you’re concerned about anything at all, I want you to come right back in here to see me or anyone else on duty, alright?” “I will, sir,” you assure him.  “Thanks again.” “Don’t mention it,” he says with a brief smile. “And you can stop with the sir nonsense – it makes me feel old.” You laugh and nod, acknowledging his wishes, filing away his request for the next time you see him.  He steps aside, giving you room to get to the door and you give him a friendly wave before slowly making your way out of the exam room. The walk through the med bay, down the hall, and to your quarters isn’t a long one, but you’re exhausted enough that it’s daunting. By the time you reach your quarters you’re ready to hit the hay and so you make quick work of stripping off your uniform, washing up, and changing into a pair of pajamas.  Once you’re all set, you crawl into bed, take a long, deep breath, and put the day’s events out of your mind as sleep carries you off into the night. You stir many hours later, groaning as you stretch your aching muscles and yawning.  You slowly blink your eyes open and you furrow your eyebrows as you realize that something’s not right.  Blinking again once, twice, a third time, you realize that the problem isn’t resolving itself; the vision in your right eye is extremely fuzzy and dim, like there’s a shadow being thrown over part of your visual field.  Reaching up, you rub your eye and blink a few more times, hoping that the defect will clear.  When it still doesn’t, you begin to panic. Jumping up and out of bed, you don’t even bother getting dressed as you head for the door.  Slipping on a pair of flip-flops, you dash out of your quarters and head for med bay.  The trip isn’t a very long one but it’s extremely clumsy as you’ve lost a lot of depth perception with the occlusion of half of your visual field. Tears of panic are streaming down your face as you finally reach med bay.  Losing your vision has always been one of your biggest fears as problems with visual acuity run in your family, and now that something is happening to you, all of your fears are crashing over you like breaking waves, dragging you further down into the abyss of terror. A nearby nurse spots you first and she’s out of her chair in a flash, rushing toward you and gently taking your shaking shoulders in her hands.  You remember her from yesterday even though it’s hard to make out her features through the haze and you reach up, clinging onto her arms as you try to breathe through your panic.  You hate med bay as it is; being there for a problem as serious as the one you’re afraid you’re facing now is literally your worst nightmare. “Ensign Y/L/N,” the nurse says gently, already leading toward a bio bed.  “What’s going on?” “My eyes,” you reply, sobs choking you and threatening to burst out of you at any moment.  “Something’s wrong with my vision.” The nurse nods in understanding as she helps you up onto a bed, giving your shoulder a squeeze as she activates it in preparation for the doctor. “Just hang in there a moment,” she soothes. “I’ll go and get Dr. McCoy.  Try to take some deep breaths.” Her words fall on deaf ears; you’d stopped listening after she’d said your attending physician’s name.  Instead, you continue to hyperventilate, crossing your arms over your chest and curling in on yourself as you feel the world start to crumble in around you.  You’re not sure how long you sit there like that, afraid and anticipating the worst, but eventually your attention is drawn to the sound of hurried footsteps approaching. You look up just in time to see the CMO breeze into the room, followed by your good friend and his best nurse, Christine Chapel.  She moves in beside the doctor as he comes to stand before you and hovers on the periphery, waiting for orders while he reaches out to put a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Try to calm down for me, Ensign,” the doctor insists, his tone gentle but authoritative.  “Breathe in and out and tell me what the problem is.” As you attempt, however shakily, to comply with his instructions, he exchanges a few words with Christine and she rushes off to fetch him the equipment he’s requested.  His hand remains on your shoulder as he glances at the bio bed’s readout, assessing all of your vital signs.  He stays quiet, waiting for you to catch your breath, and he listens closely when you finally find the wherewithal to speak. “M-my right eye,” you wheeze in between sharp, shallow breaths.  “My vision’s really blurry, I can barely even make out shapes.  It’s kind of dark.  Oh, God, am I going blind?!” The doctor’s grip on your shoulder tightens even more and he puts his face right in front of yours so you can easily see and read his expression. “No,” he replies firmly.  “I promise you, you’re not going blind.” “B-but my dad,” you explain weakly.  “And my aunt.” “Both have macular degeneration,” the doctor supplies.  “I know, darlin’; I’ve read your file.  I promise you that’s not what this is.” “What is it, then?”  You ask, your tone barely above a whisper like you don’t really want to know, and like if you ask quietly enough you can avoid facing whatever horrible reality you’re afraid is waiting for you on the other side of his next statement. “I’m not entirely sure,” he admits.  “But I have a good idea.  Still, I don’t want to say anything until I’ve confirmed it. I’m going to have Nurse Chapel put some drops in your eyes to dilate your pupils so I can get a good look at the back of your eyes.  While those drops do their thing, I’m going to give you a little something to help calm you down – nothing too strong, just enough to take the edge off.  I don’t want you driving your blood pressure up while you’re still recovering from that blast yesterday.” “Is that what caused this?”  You query. The doctor nods as he turns away from you briefly to accept the tricorder and the hypo Christine has brought him.  She also sets a number of other tools down on the bed beside you before holding out a dropper bottle.  Dr. McCoy steps aside and begins to assemble a hypo as the nurse takes his place and encourages you to tip your head back. “If it’s what I think it is, then the force of the blast or your impact with the ground probably contributed to the problem,” he explains.  “Trauma to the head can cause all sorts of eye injuries.” Christine gets the drops in both of your eyes easily – two different kinds in each one – and moves off again.  She stays nearby, reaching out to gently rub your back as the doctor rejoins you, holding the hypospray in his hand. “Just a small pinch here, Y/N,” he says softly. You nod and close your eyes, wincing as they sting from the medication.  You feel one of his hands gently rest on your collarbone, bracing you as his other hand presses the hypo to the opposite side of your neck and discharges it with practiced ease.  You start a little at the sound it makes and the bite of it but Dr. McCoy’s hand is there immediately, massaging the injection site and soothing you. “You should feel better any second,” he explains. Somehow, miraculously, you do.  You’re still thinking clearly and worrying about what your symptoms could mean, but the anxiety accompanying your thoughts has been removed, to a large extent, and so you disconnect from those worries even more, focusing instead on the doctor before you. “That’s it,” he encourages you quietly. “Now, open your eyes for me so I can take a look at you.  The light’s going to be really bright, but it’ll be over quick.” You nod mutely and watch him reach for a tricorder.  He waves it around your face, watching the screen intently.  Once he’s done with the first one, he picks up another scanner, repeating the process.  You have no idea what kind of information he’s gleaning from the instruments, but whatever it is he seems not entirely displeased, and you hope that’s a good sign. Putting away the second scanner, he picks up an opthalmoscope, holding it up in front of you as he levels his gaze with yours. “Keep your eyes open, try your best not to blink,” he instructs.  “This’ll only take a minute.” You follow his orders, keeping your gaze fixed straight ahead as he leans in close to you, shining a light in your eyes one at a time, examining you carefully.  The light very quickly becomes uncomfortable almost to the point of making you nauseated but you tolerate it; if it means he’ll be able to diagnose you and treat whatever is affecting your vision, you’ll hang in there indefinitely. You comply further as he asks you to look up, down, and to either side so he can see as much of the back of your eyes, particularly the affected one, as possible.  Eventually he finishes and removes the awful, intense light from your field of view, allowing you to relax.  You blink away some tears, shutting your eyes tightly to hasten the disappearance of the persistent burn left in the wake of the light and you feel his hand land on your shoulder again. “I’ve got some good news and some bad news,” the doctor begins softly. Christine is still rubbing your back reassuringly and you take a deep, shaky breath. “What is it?”  You ask weakly, your head swimming a little from the sedative he’d given you. “The good news is that this is something we can fix,” he explains, and your heart leaps, though carefully as you wait for the other shoe to drop. “What’s the bad news?”  You query. “It’s a retinal detachment,” the doctor continues.  “It’s spared your macula, but it came extremely close.  I’m confident that we can restore your vision to near perfect levels, but if your macula’s been disturbed after all, you may have a small bit of distortion in the vision in your right eye afterward, and that would be permanent.” “What kind of distortion?” You question, bouncing your legs nervously where they hang off of the side of the bio bed. “Does that mean I’ll be grounded?” One of the doctor’s hands lands on your knee, calming the anxious habit as he goes on speaking. “No,” he assures you.  “It’ll be minor, it might cause a bit of double vision until your brain gets used to the defect, but it’s not going to end your career, I promise you that.  I do have some concerns, though.” You meet his gaze, silently urging him to keep talking.  If you’re going to have to contend with even more complications, you just want to know what you’re facing so that you can start to get your head around things. “Neither myself nor Dr. M’Benga have much experience with the type of procedure you require,” Dr. McCoy says plainly. “I’ve watched several, assisted in a few more, and performed one.  The tear in your retina is, unfortunately, a fairly large one – too large to close with just a laser.  The surgery you need, a pars plana vitrectomy, is invasive and best performed by a specialist.  Now, we have all the equipment we need to fix it here, but we’ll be passing by a starbase in the next week that has a surgeon that would be able to perform the procedure for you.  There are risks to waiting, though; the tear can become bigger, and if it spreads in the wrong direction, you could face blindness.  If that’s what you want, however, I’ll keep you in here and resting so I can keep an eye on it until we can get you where you need to go.” “What’s my other option?” You croak, all of the moisture suddenly gone from your mouth, chased off by adrenaline. “I can perform the procedure,” the doctor answers slowly.  “I’ll need to take it slow, so you’ll be under the knife longer than you would be with someone more qualified, and while I’ve got steady hands, there’s still a risk that I might come too close to the macula while closing up the tear, endangering your vision further.” You sit in silence, absorbing what he’s said. You trust him implicitly, but you also know that your vision is critical to your work and things will be a lot harder for you if you’ve got to contend with losing your depth perception and fifty percent of your visual field.  With a sigh you glance up again, meeting his gaze. “What would you do?”  You ask. The doctor doesn’t hesitate. “I’d let me perform the procedure,” he replies. “We can always have you follow up with that specialist once we reach the starbase, but your vision stands a better chance of recovering if we act now.” It’s settled, then.  You nod. “When?”  You query.  “And… can you please explain what’s going to happen?  I’m really, really out of my depth here.  I’m scared.” “Of course you are, Y/N,” he murmurs.  “I don’t blame you.  I’ve got you though, darlin’; it’s going to be okay.” You smile weakly at the term of endearment, only just noticing that Christine’s gotten busy without so much as a word from the doctor while he’s been comforting you.  She’s pulled out a gown for you and assembled some IV supplies, and you marvel at their partnership as the CMO speaks again. “The procedure is relatively simple, though it takes an hour or two depending on exactly how complex the tear is to patch once I get in there,” he explains.  “We give you a bit of a sedative to keep you relaxed, we numb your eye with an injection of anaesthetic to the space around the nerves behind it, then we-“ You cut him off, sucking in a sharp breath at his words and shaking your head. “N-no,” you stammer.  “I can’t handle a needle in my eye.  Please.  I-I don’t think I can do this.” “Okay, okay, sweetheart,” the doctor soothes you.  “It’s alright.  It’s higher risk, but I can put you to sleep for the surgery.  You’re young and healthy, I don’t foresee any problems with that.” You calm a little at his words, relief washing over you.  Your head is reeling so much that the sedative he’d given you minutes before already feels like it’s wearing off and you can feel yourself trembling.  You tip your head a bit, encouraging the doctor to keep talking as you keep on top of your emotions. You listen carefully to his explanation, trying your best to keep the mental images of what he’s talking about – incisions into your eye, lasers, stitches – at bay.  You groan inwardly as he explains what the recovery process will be like – two weeks of strict bedrest without any bending or lifting.  Once he falls silent after a couple of minutes, you stare off into space, processing what he’s said.  He gives you a moment to collect yourself, but after a minute has passed by in which you haven’t reacted, he bends to your level, catching your gaze. “If you’re okay with that, I’d like to get you set up right away,” he prods gently.  “The sooner we do it, the sooner you’re out of the woods and on your way to recovery.” You glance up sharply, your head snapping to attention and your heart rate increasing a good measure as you realize what he means; you’re going to be having surgery for the first time in your life, and on your eyes no less, within the hour.  Tears spring to your eyes again as panic consumes you, effectively overcoming the sedative he’d given entirely. “Y/N, hey, it’s alright,” the doctor says softly, his palms coming to rest on your shoulders.  “Just breathe for me.  Now, I’m not going to do anything without your consent – I won’t force anything on you.  You just tell me whenever you’re ready, okay?” You nod silently, looking into the doctor’s eyes as you work to breathe more evenly.  A few minutes go by before you’re able to speak but you finally find your voice. “Let’s do it,” you say quietly. “Alright,” the CMO says with a nod, moving to step away from you, intent on getting the ball rolling. You reach out, grabbing a hold of his sleeve to keep him from getting too far away.  He stops and turns his attention to you once again, searching your expression as you let go, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Sorry,” you mumble, casting your gaze downward.  “I just… Will you be there when I go to sleep?” The doctor nods. “And the second you wake up,” he promises. “I’m going to ready the OR – Christine will take good care of you for me in the meantime, darlin’.” Christine sweeps in to take his spot as he leaves the room and does her best to comfort you as she leads you to a different part of the med bay.  It doesn’t take her long to get you changed into a patient gown, and less time still to start an IV line and get you settled onto a bed.  You watch her go through the motions as she explains exactly what she’s doing, giving you more eye drops and some other standard pre-op medications. Before long you’re being wheeled into surgery and you’re beside yourself with anxiety.  You keep trying to find your voice, to ask Christine where Dr. McCoy is, but all you can do is lie there and tremble, withering from the fear.  You relax a fraction, however, as your bed is pushed through the OR doors and the doctor appears at your bedside. “I’m right here,” he assures you, then gestures to a woman behind a surgical mask.  “This is Amy; she’s going to be putting you to sleep.  I’m going to stay right here and hold your hand while you drift off and then I’ll see you in recovery.  Are you ready?” You take a deep, cleansing breath as Amy moves around, attaching monitor leads to your skin and tucking some blankets in around you to keep you warm and still throughout the procedure.  She leaves your hand out, though, and you shiver as you feel the doctor grasp your cold, clammy palm between his warm, gentle hands. A mask is placed over your face and you shut your eyes tightly as the doctor’s grip on your hand tightens.  You breathe deeply, wrinkling your nose at the rubber scent that permeates the mask, and before long Amy is telling you to count backwards from ten.  You feel a flush of warmth through your body and a stinging in the arm that your IV is in and that’s the last thing you remember before you’re off to sleep. You wake up a few hours later groaning and reaching up to pull at something uncomfortable on your face.  Your hand is met with another and you attempt to open your eyes but find it impossible to do so with the right one.   “Good morning,” Dr. McCoy says from your beside.  “The surgery went very well.  You reacted a little more strongly to the anaesthesia than I had anticipated so I’m keeping you on a bit of low-flow oxygen to help wake you up for a while and your heart rate and blood pressure dropped a little more than expected so I’m going to keep you for observation until tomorrow.” You haven’t understood any of what he’s just said; you’re still floating in an anaesthetic haze, but his presence is comforting.  You could swear you hear him say something about getting some rest and you do, dozing off once more and sleeping for a while longer. You wake up throughout the night on occasion as a nurse comes in to check your vitals, and while you’re curious as to how the surgery went, you don’t feel any of the anxiety that you had before and you’re certain Dr. McCoy has given you something for those nerves again.   Hours later, you’re sitting up in bed when he comes in to check on you at the start of his next shift.  He smiles warmly at you as he approaches your bedside and asks how you’re feeling as he glances at the screen at the foot of the bio bed, reading through the log of your vital signs from over night. “Okay,” you answer hoarsely.  “Li’l bit sore.” “Yeah, that’s the anaesthetic, I’m afraid,” he explains.  “I’ll give you something for the pain shortly, but first I’m sure you’re dying to get that dressing off.” You nod, reaching up to gently run your fingers over the patch that’s covering your injured eye.  You watch the doctor move closer to you with bated breath and sit perfectly still as he reaches up and gently begins to peel the tape away from around the patch. “Remember,” he reminds you.  “You’re not going to be able to see clearly out of it for a week or two, so don’t panic.” You take a deep breath, trying to still your racing heart, and blink your eye open as he removes the patch at last.  It stings like crazy and feels like there’s something in it – the stitch he’d mentioned, most likely – but you can still see. Everything is extremely distorted, but you can make out shapes and colors.  You know that it’s just the gas he’d mentioned instilling to apply pressure to the repair, and you’re hopeful that even the little bit of vision means you’ll be back in working order soon. You and the doctor exchange some words as he gently cleans the remainder of the iodine from the procedure away and cleans the crusty bits that have collected in your eyelashes overnight.  He examines the eye and pronounces the procedure a true success.  You’re elated to hear it, and anxious for the next couple of weeks to go by. They do so excruciatingly slowly with you confined to your quarters on bedrest, but your vision improves day by day and you don’t mind the doctor stopping by to check on you twice daily much, either. The two of you are quickly becoming good friends as the time passes and by week’s end, he’s coming by to hang out just as much as he is to check in on you.  The two of you have a lot in common. When he appears the morning of your tenth day of recovery, he finds you sitting in bed and beaming.  With a smile of his own, he approaches you and takes a seat on the edge of your bed, setting down his med kit.  Reaching up, he gently cups your face, tracing his thumb over the cheekbone beneath your injured eye.  It’s still red and irritated from the sutures, but the drops he’s got you on are helping with the discomfort and besides, you’re no longer overly bothered by the residual symptoms. “I can see!” You burst out before he can say anything.  “The last of the air bubbles are gone!  I was reading before you came in!” Leonard, as he’s now having you call him, reaches out with his free hand to take one of yours and gives it a squeeze. “That’s great!”  He says excitedly.  “What about distortion?  Any double vision?” You shrug. “A little bit, but it’s nothing I can’t work around,” you reply. He smiles and pulls away from you, reaching into his med kit.  He quickly instills an antibiotic drop into the operative eye and then pulls something you’ve never seen before out of his kit.  It’s a small sheet of plastic with a grid printed on it with a dot at its center. He holds it up in front of you and asks you to close your uninjured eye and tell him what it looks like. “Uh, the lines are a little wavy,” you venture. “More around the very middle.” He nods and puts the grid away. “It looks like I may have done a small amount of macular damage,” he explains.  “The central distortion is characteristic of it.  I’m sorry, darlin’ – there’s no way to fix that.” You smile softly and shake your head, reaching out to take his hand in yours and giving it a squeeze. “If I have to live with a little bit of double vision, I will,” you say firmly.  “It could have been so much worse if you hadn’t acted quickly.  You saved my vision, and I don’t know how I can ever thank you for that.” He laughs softly and meets your gaze, his eyes dropping to your lips for a moment and making your head spin before settling on yours again. “Have dinner with me,” he suggests. You’re floored and you want nothing more than to pounce on him for a hug, but you’re still on bedrest and you somehow feel like throwing yourself at the man would be a violation of the “take it easy” rule.  Instead, you nod and edge forward a little, reaching out to put your hands on his shoulders. “I’d love to,” you murmur, your own gaze dropping to his mouth this time. It's all the encouragement he needs and a split second later, his lips are pressed gently up against yours.  He tastes like coffee and you drink him in, finding him as bold and rich as what he’d imbibed.  You can’t help but smile into the kiss. It took you nearly losing your vision to find a lover, and now that you have him, you’re never letting him go.

@whatsthematterwithamelia @imamotherfuckingstar-lord @feelmyroarrrr @starshiphufflebadger @trekken81 @yourtropegirl @theonlyparadox @musingsongbird @the-alpha-otter @gerardnot-gerald @earinafae @ababyinatrenchcoat @arrowsshootyouforwards @alluramc @medicatemedrmccoy

Graphic by @wonders-of-the-enterprise

[your-dietician]

Scarsdale officials, residents hash out retail pot options | Top Stories

New Post has been published on https://tattlepress.com/latest/scarsdale-officials-residents-hash-out-retail-pot-options-top-stories/

Scarsdale officials, residents hash out retail pot options | Top Stories

Faced with a year-end deadline to decide whether to opt out of allowing marijuana dispensaries or on-site consumption businesses in the village, Scarsdale trustees agreed at a work session June 15 to draft initial legislation that would make smoking or vaping tobacco and marijuana products on village-owned property (parks, sidewalks, etc.) illegal.

The state’s marijuana regulation and taxation act (MRTA), signed into law by Gov. Andrew Cuomo in March, legalizes the possession, use, cultivation and sale of certain amounts of cannabis products for adults 21 years or older. The legalization ends a decades-long marijuana prohibition in New York, which proponents of the law said unfairly targeted Black and brown communities.

Though the law immediately legalized the possession and use of cannabis, the retail sale of marijuana is not expected to begin until late 2022 or early 2023, according to the New York Conference of Mayors.

Though the state has largely preempted local regulations on marijuana, the Scarsdale Board of Trustees held its first meeting this week to discuss whether to opt out of retail marijuana dispensaries and on-site consumption venues within the municipality’s boundaries as allowed by law.

Municipalities that do not opt out can still pass local laws and regulations governing the time, place and manner of licensed cannabis establishments, as long as the rules don’t make the operation of those businesses unreasonable.

If Scarsdale chooses not to opt out and puts no further restrictions on dispensaries or consumption sites, marijuana-focused businesses could theoretically open up in the village’s downtown.

Source: Village of Scarsdale

Though local governments must decide whether to opt out by Dec. 31, they would be allowed to opt back in at any time. Municipalities that choose not to opt out cannot change that decision after the December deadline.

Trustee Lena Crandall, who chairs the village’s law committee, which is tasked with analyzing MRTA, said that she was open to the idea of a high-end dispensary in Scarsdale, but was hesitant to allow places for on-site consumption.

“As a community we need to really think through what … the intentional and unintentional consequences of legalizing a dispensary [are],” Crandall told the Inquirer. “I think the idea of an on-site consumption lounge is moot because we simply don’t have a way to test reliably whether or not someone is under the influence when they’re driving. We are a driving community.”

Trustee Karen Brew, the vice chair of the Law Committee, said she was opposed to on-site consumption businesses, but remained open to a dispensary option.

“There are a lot of different factors that we need to consider, and my hope is that we do it with information and data and logic rather than emotion, and work through it all to get to the best decision,” she said.

While they do have Breathalyzer tests for alcohol, police departments don’t yet have a roadside test to detect whether someone is driving under the influence of marijuana.

Scarsdale Police Chief Andrew Matturro said officers would need to rely strictly on visual cues, which would make prosecutions more difficult.

“What we’d like to see in place hopefully by the time you have to make your decision is some type of roadside chemical test,” said Matturro to the board. He also said police chiefs and commissioners in the county were petitioning the state to provide funding for drug recognition experts. “That is a very expensive undertaking for law enforcement. Having one per department wouldn’t be sufficient,” he said.

According to the legislation, the commissioner of health is tasked with selecting higher education research institutions to conduct studies that would evaluate new methodologies and technologies for the detection of cannabis-impaired driving. When the studies are completed, the research institutions will need to issue a report to the state on or before Dec. 31, 2022.

The potential influx of tax revenue is another variable that municipalities will analyze in their decisions on whether to opt out or not.

According to the law, retail sales of cannabis will have a local excise tax rate of 4%. Counties will receive 25% of the local retail tax revenue and 75% will go to the municipality where the product was sold. If the village were to opt out, then it would also forgo any potential revenue from marijuana sales.

“Obviously, we all know we are fiscally challenged at this moment so … the heart of the matter is making sure we understand the economics of it,” said Trustee Jonathan Lewis.

Deputy Mayor Justin Arest, who opposes on-site consumption lounges, was also focused on the tax aspect of dispensaries, which he estimated could add a few hundred thousand dollars a year in revenue to the village.

“People can have it in their house, they can consume it, they can grow it, they can possess it and people can deliver it. Delivery services can come into Scarsdale. We cannot stop that,” said Arest, noting that dispensaries and on-site consumption lounges might open nearby in New Rochelle or Eastchester if those communities decide not to opt out.

“Our residents aren’t going to necessarily understand or appreciate that it’s still in their backyard and on top of that we’re not getting the revenue,” he said.

Other municipalities are also in the same boat as Scarsdale in determining what they plan to do about opting out. According to Scarsdale’s village attorney Dan Pozin, Mamaroneck, Briarcliff Manor, Dobbs Ferry, Elmsford, Tuckahoe and the city of Rye have not focused substantially on the options for retail marijuana yet. The town of Eastchester, however, held a public hearing June 15 to consider a local law to opt out.

At the June 15 hearing in Scarsdale, some residents argued that the tax money generated from marijuana sales was not an alluring prospect and that they’d rather the village just raise village taxes rather than allow dispensaries and smoking bars to set up shop.

“I would really be shocked if revenue were the guiding factor in our decision here when we’re talking about the environment and we’re talking about health. If we can’t be more creative to come up with the revenue that we need, other than by supporting this concept in the community, I would be disappointed,” said resident John Schwarz. “I would almost rather … say just raise our taxes the amount, whatever it takes. Don’t put our kids at risk; don’t put us at risk; don’t put people in a … DUI situation.”

Carol Silverman, chair of the Advisory Council on Senior Citizens, shared a similar view, and said the council agreed unanimously that the village should opt out.

“If the matter is strictly money, just raise the taxes or whatever we have to do to account for that,” said Silverman. “We don’t think that we should be encouraging it or enabling [retail marijuana] in our town.”

Bob Harrison, a 40-year resident of Scarsdale and chairman of Scarsdale Taxpayer Alert, said the watchdog group wasn’t looking to raise revenue for the village from marijuana sales and was concerned about giving teenagers an extra opportunity to pick up the drug.

“There are better ways to approach the problem of drug use,” he said.

Though the village hasn’t come to a consensus on the question of retail marijuana, trustees were supportive of having village attorney Pozin draft a resolution to further limit smoking on village-owned property. According to Village Manager Steve Pappalardo, the village currently has an administrative policy in place that prohibits smoking in village facilities and entrances, at the swimming pool complex and on any field or playground, though it isn’t prescribed in the village code.

“The village does have some authority over its property, so it’s not just parks and parking lots and playgrounds, but also the streets and the sidewalks. To the extent the sidewalks are owned by the municipalities, they can regulate their use,” said Pozin. “But recognize that that’s going to have to include banning cigarette smoke … So, it can’t just be cannabis.”

Marijuana and tobacco products are treated the same by law, which means marijuana can’t be consumed in places of employment, bars, restaurants, enclosed swimming pools, public transportation or ticketing areas, child care service facilities or day cares, group homes for children, public institutions or residential treatment facilities for children, all public and private universities, hospitals, indoor arenas, zoos and bingo facilities.

People are also not allowed to smoke marijuana on school grounds or within 100 feet of an entrance or exit of an elementary school or public library.

Retail marijuana dispensaries and on-site consumption sites also can’t be located within 500 feet of school grounds or within 200 feet of a house of worship.

According to a map presented by Village Planner Greg Cutler, if the village doesn’t opt out or add further restrictions on dispensaries or on-site consumption locations, marijuana-focused businesses, according to state law, could theoretically open on Scarsdale Avenue, Garth Road, Harwood Court, East Parkway and Spencer and Christie Place.

Susan Douglass, vice president of the Scarsdale Forum, said the group was studying the issue and plans to release a report on the opt-out issue. Personally, she said she was against on-site consumption lounges, but open to an upscale dispensary. She also asked whether landlords had a say in allowing a marijuana dispensary or on-site consumption business in their privately owned building.

Pozin said it wasn’t specified in the law, but he didn’t see the state requiring landlords to include marijuana-focused businesses if they didn’t want that sort of business in their buildings.

DJ Petta of Scarsdale Improvement Co., which owns many of the buildings in the village’s downtown, told the Inquirer the company hadn’t discussed the law yet and didn’t have a strong opinion either way about allowing dispensaries or consumption lounges.

“I think it would be more so how other merchants feel about it and how the community feels about it that would lead to our decision,” said Petta.

Marcy Berman-Goldstein, co-president of the Scarsdale Business Alliance, told the Inquirer the group didn’t have a statement on whether the village should allow cannabis dispensaries or lounges, or whether there should be a smoking ban on village-owned property.

Locally, Scarsdale’s Drug and Alcohol Task Force has voiced opposition to recreational legalization and its members have shared concerns about what the impact will be on the village’s youth, who are often targeted by cigarette, alcohol and vaping industries to use their products despite age limits imposed by law.

Wendy Gendel, chair of the task force, said the group would continue to educate students and families about the dangers of marijuana with youth.

Trustee Randy Whitestone, who serves as liaison to Scarsdale Edgemont Family Counseling Service which oversees the Drug and Alcohol Task Force, said although there was an increasing acceptance of marijuana and a “social evolution,” allowing it in the community was still an “affirmative decision.”

“Just because other villages do it and get revenue from it … doesn’t mean we have to make that same decision,” he said.

Though many community members shared a concern about the village’s youth being enticed by marijuana if the village were to allow local retailers, according to 2017 PRIDE survey data, marijuana use is already prevalent among students in the high school. In 2014, 15.4% of high school students said they had used marijuana in the past 30 days. In 2017, the numbers increased to 20.3%. The survey respondents also reported that they perceived marijuana as less dangerous than alcohol and cigarettes.

Brew said she had seen marijuana use “skyrocketing” in the high school, based on the survey results, and she said people need to consider the 21-year-old age limit for dispensaries, which could limit marijuana’s black market.

Brew also said messaging and educating students about marijuana use is essential.

“It’s here. It’s in the high school. Our kids are consuming it whether we want them to or not,” said Brew. “I think there are a lot of things to consider.”

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[thebaileynina]

People with autism and Down syndrome find work despite the pandemic.

Coronavirus cases are on the rise, which could put the labor industry at risk again. Working from home is not a viable option for those who work in industries such as retail and hospitality. In the past year, companies have laid off people who were younger workers or whose absence would make no difference. Unfortunately, they included people with disabilities.

Even before the pandemic, people with disabilities had difficulty integrating into a work culture that was still developing. Then they had to work to find that they were more than just a charity recruit. However, with the layoffs caused by the pandemic, they have returned to where they started looking to find the right job.

In this scenario in particular, it is not easy to return to the labor market or switch fields to find work. This can have serious consequences, like loss of confidence, uncertainty about your own abilities and of course financial suffering.

Although there are no national data on the unemployment rate for people with disabilities, a study by the National Center for the Promotion of Employment of People with Disabilities, “Locked Up and Left Behind” of 1,067 people with disabilities, shows that 57% experience financial difficulties due to loss of jobs.

When Vineet Saraiwala from Jamshedpur realized this, he launched the online job portal Atypical in December 2020 to help recruiters find applicants with disabilities based solely on their merit. There is also an area that sells products made by people with disabilities. Vineet fully understands the profound implications of disability as he himself suffers from retinitis pigmentosa (RP), a rare genetic disorder that causes vision loss due to breakdown or loss of cells in the retina.

“When the pandemic broke out, several people from the disabled community turned to social media platforms and WhatsApp groups for help. I can help 4-5 people on my own, but the extent of these people was so high that I would need support at an institutional level. The concept of working from home exacerbated the problem and the training or aftercare of the disabled became a growing problem. Thanks to Atypical, job seekers can post their profile instead of relying solely on someone’s goodwill” – Vineet told The Better India.

Vineet was ready for it, he said. His goal was to uncover each person’s stories in detail while focusing on their references. Finding talent wasn’t as difficult as living up to their profiles. He then used social media and a strong network of NGOs operating in the arena across India to spread the word. The tedious process took almost nine months.

Vineet said we did everything from taking a decent photo to translating written bio-data into native languages to bridging the communication gap over the phone. At the time of our launch, there were 200 applicants listed on our website and that number has grown to 400. There are 20 categories or industries listed on the portal, including singing, dancing, photography, sign language interpreting, physiotherapy and magic, etc.

Meanwhile, recruiters arrived in decent numbers too, and Biswajeet, a masseur with visual impairment, was deployed on the first day of launch. He organized an independent therapy session in Mumbai.

Recruiters need to fill in their information. If the person is nervous or uncomfortable talking to the recruiters, Vineet and his team act as the go-between. Sometimes they even help job seekers find a better salary package, as in the case of Sheetal, a hearing impaired person in Nagpur. She wrapped up a magic show for Tokyo Edelweiss.

This article is shared by https://www.itechscripts.com/php/job-portal-script | A leading resource of inspired clone scripts. It offers hundreds of popular scripts that are used by thousands of small and medium enterprises.

[meharsblogposts]

my first theme - ‘prisoner of your mind’

with all this resarch in mind, being a 'prisoner in your mind' became my theme. gypsy rose blanchard. Gypsy Rose Blanchard grew up with her mother, Dee Dee Blanchard, making claims about her health that resulted in a series of dire diagnoses and medical interventions. However, Gypsy wasn't actually unwell — her mother had been lying about her symptoms. Experts believe Dee Dee's behavior stemmed from the mental disorder Munchausen syndrome by proxy; because Dee Dee wanted to be a caretaker, she feigned and induced illness in her daughter. The truth about Gypsy and her mother only came out after Gypsy arranged for an online boyfriend to murder Dee Dee in 2015. Dee Dee began pretending that Gypsy had different illnesses when Gypsy was a baby Gypsy Rose, who was born in 1991, was a baby when Dee Dee claimed her daughter had sleep apnea. When Gypsy was eight years old, Dee Dee described her as suffering from leukemia and muscular dystrophy and said she required a wheelchair and feeding tube. The list of medical problems that Dee Dee related about her daughter would go on to include seizures, asthma and hearing and visual impairments. Due to Dee Dee's actions, Gypsy was prescribed a litany of medications and had to sleep using a breathing machine. She also went through multiple surgeries, including procedures on her eyes and removal of her salivary glands. When Gypsy's teeth rotted — perhaps due to her medications, missing salivary glands or neglect — they were pulled out.

Yet the truth was that Gypsy could walk, didn't need a feeding tube and did not have cancer. Her head was bald only because her mother shaved off her hair. Experts believe Dee Dee had a mental illness known as Munchausen syndrome by proxy (also called factitious disorder imposed on another), which made her fabricate her daughter's ill health in order to receive attention and sympathy for taking care of a sick child. Dee Dee appeared to be a charming, devoted mother, so people believed her Medical tests often showed inconclusive or contradictory results regarding Gypsy's diagnoses, but Dee Dee would stop seeing any doctors who questioned her daughter's ailments. And many caregivers went along with what Dee Dee wanted. She'd had some nurse's training, so she could accurately describe symptoms, and she sometimes gave Gypsy medication to mimic certain conditions. Dee Dee was also charming and seemed devoted to her daughter. When Gypsy was old enough to talk, Dee Dee instructed her not to volunteer information during their appointments — she was always the one relating Gypsy's fake medical history.

Dee Dee told Gypsy's father, Rod Blanchard, that their daughter had a chromosomal disorder that had led to her many health issues. He complimented Dee Dee for her devoted care. When some of Dee Dee's family noticed that Gypsy didn't seem to need a wheelchair and asked questions, Dee Dee and Gypsy moved away. Dee Dee claimed to be a victim of Hurricane Katrina, so she and Gypsy received assistance to relocate from Louisiana to Missouri in 2005. There, Dee Dee continued to bring Gypsy to doctor's appointments. Hurricane Katrina also provided an excuse for missing medical files.

Gypsy Rose Blanchard and her mother, Dee Dee Photo: Courtesy of Investigation Discovery Even when Gypsy was a teenager, Dee Dee still claimed she was sick and began to lie about Gypsy's age In 2008, Gypsy and Dee Dee moved into a new home in Springfield, Missouri. Built by Habitat for Humanity, it was painted pink and had a wheelchair ramp. Gypsy and Dee Dee also received benefits that included charity-sponsored visits to concerts and Disney World. All along, Dee Dee continued to bask in the attention she received for being a devoted caretaker. When Gypsy was 14, she saw a neurologist in Missouri who came to believe she was a victim of Munchausen syndrome by proxy. However, this doctor never reported her case to authorities. In later interviews, he stated his belief that there wasn't enough evidence to act. In 2009, an anonymous report was made to authorities stating that Dee Dee's accounts of Gypsy's ailments had no medical basis. This resulted in two caseworkers visiting their home, but Dee Dee convinced them there was nothing wrong. As Gypsy grew older, Dee Dee began to lie about her age, going so far as to alter the dates on Gypsy's birth certificate to make her daughter seem younger. But Gypsy was still becoming harder for Dee Dee to control. READ: Gypsy Rose Blanchard Is 'Happy' and 'Optimistic' in Prison: Interview with Rod Blanchard, Gypsy's Father Gypsy convinced a man she met online to kill Dee Dee In 2011, Gypsy tried to get away from her mother by running away with a man she'd met at a science fiction convention. But Dee Dee soon tracked them down via mutual friends. She convinced the man that Gypsy was a minor, though she was actually 19 at the time. According to Gypsy, Dee Dee smashed her computer and physically restrained her to her bed after they returned home. Gypsy has also stated her mother would sometimes hit her and deny her food. Gypsy eventually managed to get back online. She joined a Christian dating site, where she met Nicholas Godejohn. She told him the truth about her mother's actions and ended up asking him to kill Dee Dee so they could be together. In June 2015, he came to her house and stabbed Dee Dee while Gypsy waited, ears covered, in the bathroom.

Gypsy and Godejohn returned to his home in Wisconsin, where they were found by police. Gypsy had twice posted to the Facebook account she shared with her mother, once writing, "That b***h is dead!" She later explained she made the posts because she wanted her mother's body to be discovered.

Gypsy Rose Blanchard Photo: Courtesy of Investigation Discovery Gypsy was 'afraid' and believed she 'didn't have anyone to trust' After Dee Dee's murder, many people who'd known Gypsy wondered why she had gone so far as to kill her. Since she could walk, she simply could've exposed Dee Dee's lies by standing up in public. Yet Gypsy had been conditioned to think no one would believe her. She explained, "I couldn't just jump out of the wheelchair because I was afraid and I didn't know what my mother would do. I didn't have anyone to trust." The fact was that Gypsy had spent her entire life being controlled and monitored by her mother. She wasn't allowed to go to school. Though Gypsy was of normal intelligence, Dee Dee told everyone her daughter had a mental age of seven. When they were out in public, Dee Dee constantly held Gypsy's hand, squeezing it when she wanted her daughter to be quiet. Dr. Marc Feldman, an expert in Munchausen syndrome by proxy, said of Gypsy's life and actions, "The control was total in the same sense that the control of a kidnapped victim sometimes is total. Her daughter was, in essence, a hostage, and I think we can understand the crime that occurred subsequently in terms of a hostage trying to gain escape." Gypsy is 'not happy' that Dee Dee is dead As Gypsy's medical records documented the abuse she'd been subjected to, her lawyer was able to arrange a plea deal for the charges she faced in Dee Dee's death; in 2016, Gypsy pled guilty to second-degree murder. She was sentenced to 10 years in prison, though she'll be eligible for parole beginning in 2024. Godejohn was found guilty of first-degree murder in 2018 and was sentenced to life in prison. Gypsy has stated it was only after Dee Dee's death that she realized the extent of her mother's deception. While Gypsy had known she could walk and eat regular food, she had believed she had leukemia. Today Gypsy is healthy. She's also said she enjoys more freedom in prison than in the life she shared with Dee Dee. However, when asked by Dr. Phil if she was glad her mother was dead, she stated, "I’m glad that I’m out of that situation, but I’m not happy she’s dead." By Sara Kettler https://www.biography.com/news/gypsy-rose-blanchard-mother-dee-dee-murder

Kettler, S. (2019). The Story of Gypsy Rose Blanchard and Her Mother. [online] Biography. Available at: https://www.biography.com/news/gypsy-rose-blanchard-mother-dee-dee-murder. 

[flauntpage]

NFL Needs Harsh Punishments for Teams Blowing Off Concussion Protocol

The year is 2057. Science has created a race of cyborgs that are afforded all the rights of full humans, including the opportunity to play professional sports. Tom Brady is flourishing for the Tulsa Fleshlights, the NFL’s 54th franchise, but now he is mostly machine. His brain is perfectly preserved in a skull-shaped snow globe atop his titanium shoulders.

It’s Week 25 of the regular season, and Brady needs a win to get the Fleshlights into the playoffs for the eighth straight year. It’s sixth down and 6.4 meters to go (Canada forces America to adopt the metric system after winning the War of 2036), when Brady is pulverized by Tank Robotsky, a notoriously dirty robot linebacker that has been fined hundreds of thousands of loonies (again, Canada) during his career.

Brady is clearly in distress, as his protective glass tank has cracked, and his brain is lying on the 74-meter line. His limbs are twitching violently as sparks fly from his neck. A trainer jumps into a Zuckerberg Teleporter, appears on the field, and scoops Brady’s brain back into the cracked case before they teleport back to the sideline.

“We’ll probably see Josh McCown on this next series,” remarks 88-year-old Joe Buck, who is not at all robotic but does have a full head of hair.

Brady is back on the field five minutes later with masking tape holding his glass skull together. Buck, his shoulder-length blond mane flapping in the breeze at Martha Stewart Stadium, is outraged. How could the Fleshlights allow Brady to put himself in danger like this? His brain was just spilled onto the playing surface and they are letting him back in the game? Not surprisingly, Brady throws four inaccurate passes and the Fleshlights go six-and-out.

That’s when the independent doctor robot declares Brady has a concussion and the malfunction won’t allow him to return to the game. Brady, of course, pitches a fit, which announcers say is reflective of his competitiveness.

As absurd as that future sounds, it is no more absurd than what the Houston Texans did in allowing Tom Savage to return to the game Sunday afternoon after the quarterback suffered the most obvious brain injury in the history of brain injuries. And if the NFL doesn’t give its concussion protocols some teeth, nothing will change between now and 2057—so who's to say that any of my Brady-as-Fleshlights-QB story can’t actually happen?

Violence is inherent in football. There’s no way to remove it completely, or even to an extent that makes everyone happy. The Steelers' Ryan Shazier was attempting a routine tackle last week when he suffered a spine injury. No matter what rules the NFL enact to limit head injuries, short of becoming a flag football league they will never completely disappear.

What can change, however, is what the league and teams do when a player has clearly suffered brain trauma. You did not need to be a medical professional to understand that Savage was in extreme distress when his arms began to shake as he lied flat on his back after a devastating hit from Elvis Dumervil of the 49ers.

Texans coach Bill O’Brien, likely covering the asses of everyone in the organization, said after the game that Savage was checked and showed no signs of a concussion, and that it was only after he came to the sideline after the next series that his condition became clear. When it’s time to choose between admitting maliciousness or incompetence, teams will always choose incompetence (and pass the blame on to the independent doctors).

You can understand how O’Brien may have missed it from his spot on the sideline, but how does anyone near a working television set not try to get in touch with the sideline and insist that Savage needs immediate help? He may have been having a seizure! Are doctors looking at television sets? Assistant coaches? Does anyone care about the well-being of players in Savage’s situation? Especially since he was evaluated for a concussion last week against Tennessee, too.

Sometimes players will deftly hide an injury. Sometimes a routine tackle that causes a concussion will be missed by spotters. But you have to be cold-hearted, visually impaired, or a fucking idiot to think that Savage should’ve been allowed back into that game.

The obvious way for the NFL to avoid concussed players returning a game is to inflict serious penalties on teams that allow it. If a player doesn’t go through the protocol, like what happened with Russell Wilson earlier this season, take away a first-round draft pick. If an incident like the one with Savage happens, take away the pick and levy a massive fine. Make the team responsible when concussion symptoms that were obvious to everyone but the doctors somehow only magically appear upon another exam five minutes later.

For now, the NFL Players Association is asking for a review, as NFLPA executive George Atallah announced on Twitter Monday:

If there were actual consequences for teams, things would change for the better as quickly as coaches pass the buck when questioned about a concussed player going back into a game. Is Tom Savage playing out the string against the lowly Niners worth a first-round pick? No, it is not.

Another issue is the player’s responsibility. In a fantasy world where a player on a non-guaranteed contract will volunteer that he is injured and remove himself from the game, thus earning a stigma of weakness that could result in being released and ending a career in a sport that’s just one big dick-measuring contest, sure, that’s definitely a thing that should be expected of players.

But since this is the real world and there’s a better chance of an NFL team in Tulsa being named the Fleshlights than that happening, the responsibility for player safety falls on the teams and the league itself. Athletes need to be saved from themselves sometimes. If teams can't be bothered to care about the personal well-being of their players at the risk of franchise success, then the league needs to make it clear that risking a player's health will very much jeopardize the organization's health.

The Savage situation demonstrates just how out of whack this whole calculus is because it doesn’t even make sense for the Texans to want him back in the game. Heading into Sunday, they were 4-8. Their season is over. Plus, Savage sucks. At least when Russell Wilson skips the tent and runs back on to the field while Pete Carroll looks the other way, you understand since Seattle is in the middle of a playoff push and the Seahawks' backup quarterback is… I want to say Charlie Whitehurst, but I don’t know.

I won’t pretend and sanctimoniously proclaim that this is why I won’t watch the NFL anymore. I’m well aware of this league’s nature and have been for some time. I put myself through Cowboys-Giants on Sunday afternoon because I’m hooked. Most of my identity is forged through the results of Giants games and how my fantasy football is doing. I’m complicit and not proud of it. It’s all very sad.

But you can’t tell me that sights like Savage flopping and twitching and being inserted like everything is OK isn’t a turnoff for some people. At the very least, it’s not helping to attract new fans to the game. The NFL could immediately take steps to improve how it handles brain injuries during games, and help its bottom line—maybe that’s the rationale league execs need to hear enough times before they finally take action to protect injured players.

Either way, though, you can bet your life the NFL will still exist in 2057 and Brady will be in the playoffs. Go Fleshlights.

NFL Needs Harsh Punishments for Teams Blowing Off Concussion Protocol published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

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NFL Needs Harsh Punishments for Teams Blowing Off Concussion Protocol

The year is 2057. Science has created a race of cyborgs that are afforded all the rights of full humans, including the opportunity to play professional sports. Tom Brady is flourishing for the Tulsa Fleshlights, the NFL’s 54th franchise, but now he is mostly machine. His brain is perfectly preserved in a skull-shaped snow globe atop his titanium shoulders.

It’s Week 25 of the regular season, and Brady needs a win to get the Fleshlights into the playoffs for the eighth straight year. It’s sixth down and 6.4 meters to go (Canada forces America to adopt the metric system after winning the War of 2036), when Brady is pulverized by Tank Robotsky, a notoriously dirty robot linebacker that has been fined hundreds of thousands of loonies (again, Canada) during his career.

Brady is clearly in distress, as his protective glass tank has cracked, and his brain is lying on the 74-meter line. His limbs are twitching violently as sparks fly from his neck. A trainer jumps into a Zuckerberg Teleporter, appears on the field, and scoops Brady’s brain back into the cracked case before they teleport back to the sideline.

“We’ll probably see Josh McCown on this next series,” remarks 88-year-old Joe Buck, who is not at all robotic but does have a full head of hair.

Brady is back on the field five minutes later with masking tape holding his glass skull together. Buck, his shoulder-length blond mane flapping in the breeze at Martha Stewart Stadium, is outraged. How could the Fleshlights allow Brady to put himself in danger like this? His brain was just spilled onto the playing surface and they are letting him back in the game? Not surprisingly, Brady throws four inaccurate passes and the Fleshlights go six-and-out.

That’s when the independent doctor robot declares Brady has a concussion and the malfunction won’t allow him to return to the game. Brady, of course, pitches a fit, which announcers say is reflective of his competitiveness.

As absurd as that future sounds, it is no more absurd than what the Houston Texans did in allowing Tom Savage to return to the game Sunday afternoon after the quarterback suffered the most obvious brain injury in the history of brain injuries. And if the NFL doesn’t give its concussion protocols some teeth, nothing will change between now and 2057—so who’s to say that any of my Brady-as-Fleshlights-QB story can’t actually happen?

Violence is inherent in football. There’s no way to remove it completely, or even to an extent that makes everyone happy. The Steelers’ Ryan Shazier was attempting a routine tackle last week when he suffered a spine injury. No matter what rules the NFL enact to limit head injuries, short of becoming a flag football league they will never completely disappear.

What can change, however, is what the league and teams do when a player has clearly suffered brain trauma. You did not need to be a medical professional to understand that Savage was in extreme distress when his arms began to shake as he lied flat on his back after a devastating hit from Elvis Dumervil of the 49ers.

Texans coach Bill O’Brien, likely covering the asses of everyone in the organization, said after the game that Savage was checked and showed no signs of a concussion, and that it was only after he came to the sideline after the next series that his condition became clear. When it’s time to choose between admitting maliciousness or incompetence, teams will always choose incompetence (and pass the blame on to the independent doctors).

You can understand how O’Brien may have missed it from his spot on the sideline, but how does anyone near a working television set not try to get in touch with the sideline and insist that Savage needs immediate help? He may have been having a seizure! Are doctors looking at television sets? Assistant coaches? Does anyone care about the well-being of players in Savage’s situation? Especially since he was evaluated for a concussion last week against Tennessee, too.

Sometimes players will deftly hide an injury. Sometimes a routine tackle that causes a concussion will be missed by spotters. But you have to be cold-hearted, visually impaired, or a fucking idiot to think that Savage should’ve been allowed back into that game.

The obvious way for the NFL to avoid concussed players returning a game is to inflict serious penalties on teams that allow it. If a player doesn’t go through the protocol, like what happened with Russell Wilson earlier this season, take away a first-round draft pick. If an incident like the one with Savage happens, take away the pick and levy a massive fine. Make the team responsible when concussion symptoms that were obvious to everyone but the doctors somehow only magically appear upon another exam five minutes later.

For now, the NFL Players Association is asking for a review, as NFLPA executive George Atallah announced on Twitter Monday:

If there were actual consequences for teams, things would change for the better as quickly as coaches pass the buck when questioned about a concussed player going back into a game. Is Tom Savage playing out the string against the lowly Niners worth a first-round pick? No, it is not.

Another issue is the player’s responsibility. In a fantasy world where a player on a non-guaranteed contract will volunteer that he is injured and remove himself from the game, thus earning a stigma of weakness that could result in being released and ending a career in a sport that’s just one big dick-measuring contest, sure, that’s definitely a thing that should be expected of players.

But since this is the real world and there’s a better chance of an NFL team in Tulsa being named the Fleshlights than that happening, the responsibility for player safety falls on the teams and the league itself. Athletes need to be saved from themselves sometimes. If teams can’t be bothered to care about the personal well-being of their players at the risk of franchise success, then the league needs to make it clear that risking a player’s health will very much jeopardize the organization’s health.

The Savage situation demonstrates just how out of whack this whole calculus is because it doesn’t even make sense for the Texans to want him back in the game. Heading into Sunday, they were 4-8. Their season is over. Plus, Savage sucks. At least when Russell Wilson skips the tent and runs back on to the field while Pete Carroll looks the other way, you understand since Seattle is in the middle of a playoff push and the Seahawks’ backup quarterback is… I want to say Charlie Whitehurst, but I don’t know.

I won’t pretend and sanctimoniously proclaim that this is why I won’t watch the NFL anymore. I’m well aware of this league’s nature and have been for some time. I put myself through Cowboys-Giants on Sunday afternoon because I’m hooked. Most of my identity is forged through the results of Giants games and how my fantasy football is doing. I’m complicit and not proud of it. It’s all very sad.

But you can’t tell me that sights like Savage flopping and twitching and being inserted like everything is OK isn’t a turnoff for some people. At the very least, it’s not helping to attract new fans to the game. The NFL could immediately take steps to improve how it handles brain injuries during games, and help its bottom line—maybe that’s the rationale league execs need to hear enough times before they finally take action to protect injured players.

Either way, though, you can bet your life the NFL will still exist in 2057 and Brady will be in the playoffs. Go Fleshlights.

NFL Needs Harsh Punishments for Teams Blowing Off Concussion Protocol syndicated from http://ift.tt/2ug2Ns6

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