#just. spare thought for disabled people please

[camellia-thea]

.

#vent #time for my regularly scheduled crisis #please hold for a regular lia to return #hhh #the problem with being a student who's rent and groceries are almost their entire living cost entitlement #is that you don't have anything to spare like ever #and add being disabled on top of that is that you cost more than you receive #i just. want small things and to not feel guilty over wanting them. #it also means that. who knows if i'm making rent at the end of this year. i might just. have to go home early again. which. i don't want #just to drop food costs. #and the thing is is that because our groceries fluctuate costs so much i physically cannot calculate how much i am spending #and like. how do i do anything about that? i literally can't #and i just want small things. like being able to get dried cranberries to snack on without my brain screaming at me #for wasting money #i've just. been in a constant thought spiral about so many things for the last month and a half. and nothing has changed or shifted #and i feel like i can't *do* anything about it #i dunno. like. i just want to be able to live without feeling like i am a drain on finances and the people around me #because i cannot fucking do anything. #like. longterm work? who the fuck knows if i'm going to be able to get a proper job where i want to be #and like. yeah i have a foot in the door but not nearly as much as i'd like and not for the things i really want to be doing #and i've had five (5!!!!) *professionals* reach out and then back out as soon as they realise that i actually charge for my services #like. what the actual fuck. yeah i'm going to make you pay me for my fucking labour?????? and it's like. how the fuck do i go on from there #one of these people had a 150k manuscript they thought i was going to sensitivity read for free. like. what the fuck. #and i keep getting excited because i like doing that stuff i enjoy it #and like. in general maybe an extra twenty a week would make the difference for me. that's *it*. but food costs keep being raised #and our living costs aren't raised to match #and the same happens with rent #and i just. don't know what i can even do about it #sorry. this is. just weighing on me #like always tbh.

[qqueenofhades]

Maybe this is a controversial opinion, but its one that I've been reminded of in the few weeks since things have escalated so severely in Israel and Palestine-- I feel like the pressure for random, average individuals online to be vocally political is not only entitled and uncomfortable, but also just an example of misplaced priority.

Like, I have people on twitter right now that are flat out saying if you don't talk extensively about I/P you're truly, irredeemably evil. I've had mutuals say that silence means you're complacent in genocide, that you have blood on your hands (exact words). But it just doesn't make sense? Most of the people who I've seen being flat out harassed for being silent are teenagers who don't have money to donate, working class folks who don't have time to spare, and normal people who just don't have enough of a following online to even spread any word effectively. Of course, the ones doing the harassing are also poor/busy/not-popular, but they don't see the irony. (I've also seen them say that talking about war constantly is taking a toll on their mental health, saying they've cried, had nightmares, panic attacks, etc...but they also say that taking a mental health break from social media is "selfish" and genocidal, so.)

The whole interaction leaves me with so many questions. If stepping away from social media because politics are stressing you out (which they are known to do), are you obligated to use social media? Do you have to use twitter to be a good person? What does that say about people who can't afford a phone, or live in a country where it isn't quite possible? (Are homeless folks inherently genocidal, or is that an "obvious" exception that was never clarified because no one uses nuance anymore?) If you have to talk about world events, lest you side with the oppressor, at what point is something so catastrophic you *must* talk about it? Is there a number of lives lost that is low enough you can get away with being quiet, and a certain amount too high that you're obligated to talk about it? Is it your duty to have the news on 24/7 to make sure you don't miss anything and catch all the global disasters as they happen? How much do you have to talk about something for it to be considered "enough"? Is there a quota??

It just feels like a lot of people are acting as if people who aren't chronically online aren't 1. doing any activism, because the only important activism is social media networking (sarcasm), or 2. are inherently bad people for *not* spending 6 hours a day on their phones. Like, I had someone I thought was a friend say I was a bad person because I was trying to cut down my social media usage, because the timing was "too convenient"... as if that's a normal thing to say to someone, ever. Sorry if I went on a little bit of a rant, it wasn't my intention. I dunno, maybe it's just me; I've seen a lot of people saying this sort of stuff so maybe they are the majority. It just feels really weird to let people that are addicted to social media take charge of who online is "good" or "bad" based off their internet usage. As if we were all catholics or something. If I were to say that current takes on morality were very catholic-seeming, would you know what I mean?

As recently noted, I am myself on an embargo from answering asks related to this topic. I will make one exception because this is important. Please note that any wank in replies or reblogs will be instantly blocked (and I won't hesitate to disable reblogs if necessary). I will not be answering follow-up asks or getting drawn into Discourse. I do not want to do it and it will not be happening.

I have said it before, but it bears saying again: thinking that the only way to Do Activism is to be constantly on social media and immersing yourself in terrible things nonstop and then posting the Most Correct Opinions (and then viciously attacking anyone who is even slightly Not As Correct as you) is absolutely bullshit. If you're engaging with this content so much that it's giving you a mental breakdown or otherwise plunging you into a spiral of anxiety that you take out on other people who are just as far removed from actually doing anything about it as you: why? Do you really think that you and you alone, one random person on the Internet, are the only way anyone else is going to find out about these things? Or do you think you have to perform the Most Correct Opinions nonstop, viciously harass anyone who isn't responding in exactly the same way, and this is the sum total of what your response should be? Especially in a situation as bloody and complicated as this, dealing with reams of religious, social, cultural, and political history where the average commentator on this conflict knows only what's been fed to them by propaganda on TikTok? How the fuck is that useful or constructive for anyone, aside from perpetuating the idea that you have to be angry all the time on social media about things you essentially know nothing about? I can't see that it does.

What's happening to the Gazans right now is no qualification or equivocation, a genocide. It should rightfully be opposed and called what it is. But unfortunately, I have spent too much time around Western Online Leftists to believe they actually care a whit about stopping genocide as a fundamental principle, and only want to be seen to loudly care about what their Ideology has told them to care about. If it means hand-waving aside genocide and atrocities when committed by their preferred polities, so be it. Why haven't these same people been wall-to-wall up in arms about what Russia has been doing in Ukraine, or for God's sake Syria for the past ten years, if they're really concerned about the rights of innocent Muslim civilians attacked by a far-right imperialist power? Why not the Uighurs in China? Why not [insert the blank] of all the terrible things happening in the world as a result of far-right fascist genocidal imperialism? Why only this conflict? Why now? Why does it involve so much excusing of terrorism as long as it's committed for the Right Ideology? Why are some of the most loudly pro-Palestinian accounts on here also the most rabidly pro-Russian? How does that make sense? To put it bluntly, those genocides are being committed by nation-states that Online Leftists like for being "anti-Western," and therefore their activities are actually fine and should even need to be defended.

My point is not to say that what's happening to the Palestinians is not bad. It is. It is awful and inexcusable. However, I seriously doubt the motives and morality of those who are being the loudest about screaming on social media and attacking everyone else for not instantly repeating their views. I seriously doubt that the Online Left actually opposes genocide and accelerationism as fundamental principles, because they proudly demonstrate every day that they don't. Until those vast factors can be dismantled and shown for what they are, and this can be placed into its larger context, I don't buy it and I don't believe this wall-to-wall social media outrage factory is actually aimed at helping the Gazans or anyone else suffering the most as a result of this. It is just to show that they can be counted on to Perform Outrage and harass anyone else who doesn't do the same, and that does nothing for anyone whatsoever.

#anonymous #ask #politics for ts #israel hamas war #once again any wank will be blocked #reblogs will be turned off if needed #i will not be elaborating further #the end

[eelfuneral]

Some of the discussion that happens within the Star Wars fandom, particularly discussion of the Jedi, can be really upsetting to observe if you have certain disabilities. In fact, I’m having a hard time even liking the Jedi right now because I can’t help but associate them with some really ableist takes that I’ve seen in their defense.

Let me explain: a lot of people with certain disabilities (such as autism, ADHD, bipolar disorder, and C-PTSD) deal with something called emotion dysregulation, which means that you feel emotions more intensely than the average person and that this strong emotional state sticks around for far longer than it should. When you have emotional regulation issues, an event that might make somebody else a bit sad or mildly frustrated has the ability to put you out of commission for hours or even an entire day. Emotion dysregulation is very stigmatized, even in people who go out of their way to avoid harming people or lashing out while dealing with an episode. People with this specific issue are often told that they are “dramatic”, “attention seeking”, or “future abusers” for what amounts to an automatic emotional response that a person cannot control. This constant pushback forms a metaphorical blister that can easily be popped back open when you see anything that reminds you of what caused it in the first place.

Now, let’s move on to the Jedi. While it can be argued that their teachings were intended to instruct people to reign in their BEHAVIOR as a result of their emotions, several lines in the fist six movies sound an awful lot like they are condemning having negative emotions at all. Yoda literally tells both Luke and Anakin that emotions like fear and anger BY THEMSELVES are of the Dark Side, and these lines were very difficult for a lot of people who have dealt with trauma, neurodivergence, or other issues that cause “big emotions”. These lines, intentionally or not, mirror a lot of the things that real people have said to those of us dealing with emotion dysregulation, and people have every right to talk about this in their own spaces unmolested.

Some of the defenses of the Jedi in the context of how they are instructed to deal with their emotions come off as dismissive at best and ableist at worst. Yes, if you dig through Star Wars canon enough, you can find portrayals of the Jedi and emotions that point to a more nuanced view where choices and actions are the source of evil rather than the emotions, but this does not change the fact that the Yoda lines and other emotionally repressive applications of the Jedi Code very much exist in parts of canon. A person who found the emotionally repressive variant of Jedi teachings to be upsetting due to a disability will likely feel as though you are trying to dismiss their feelings and belittle them if you “correct” them for “misinterpretation of the Jedi”. I get that it sucks to see people bash your blorbos, but if someone is doing it because they are dealing with something IRL like trauma or ableism, then it’s best not to engage and just let that person work through it.

I have also seen people who are defending the Jedi make statements that outright attack people for having intense emotions. I remember a take that basically said that you were a baby or a psychopath if you found the Jedi code regarding emotions to be “too hard”. I’ve seen people dismiss the trauma that Anakin went through and its possible effect on how he reacted to some aspects of the Jedi order in a way that mirrors the invalidation that those of us with emotional regulation issues have experienced for being “too much” for all of our lives. Yes, it is important to avoid harming others when you are in a bad place, and no Anakin was not a great person, but so many of these takes are devoid enough of nuance that they read as if they are just trashing people who have “too many”emotions.

Feel free to defend your favorite characters all that you would like, but please spare a thought for those of us who might not dig everything about them for reasons connected to disability and trauma. The Jedi aren’t real, but we very much are.

#jedi critical #fandom ableism

[mj-iza-writer]

Deaf Whump... I've been watching a lot of YouTube shorts from the deaf community lately. I love exclusivity in my writing and making my characters human. Please do forgive any errors I've made in representing the deaf community in this story, I also have two others in the works. I am not hearing impaired, but I support awareness for the deaf community. I hope you enjoy. -MJ

It started with frustration.

Whumper had found out their hearing loss was progressively getting worse. They had months before hearing would be next to impossible unless something was done.

"Hearing aids", Whumper sighed, "and those may not even help."

Whumper wanted to punch someone, hit something. Maybe that would help.

They drove past a clearly homeless person.

"That could work, they won't be missed", Whumper turned around. Without a second thought the person was in Whumper's trunk.

Once home, Whumper left the person in a spare room and got ready.

Whumper walked into the room they could partially hear them yelling... the person was..... signing.

"Shit are you deaf?", Whumper signed as they turned pale.

"Yes" the person fearfully signed, "are you?"

"Almost", Whumper looked down in defeat, all fight left them.

"My name is Whumpee", the person signed, still panicked, "please don't hurt me."

"I'm sorry, I'm Whumper. Please forgive me. I've made a terrible mistake", Whumper looked up tearfully, "I'm so sorry."

Whumper learned that Whumpee's expenses for their hearing loss were what landed them on the streets.

"If you're okay with it, you can stay here", Whumper offered, "it's unfair that we have to pay for our disability, but I'll help as much as I can."

That was a few years ago, and boy did Whumpee liked to poke fun at Whumper with that reminder. They now loved bickering back and forth like it was a game.

"Whumper can you....", Whumpee spoke and signed.

Whumper grinned as they reached for their hearing aids.

"Don't you dare", Whumpee signed frantically.

Whumper pulled their hearing aids out and set them on their lap.

"I don't want to hear you right now", they grumbled.

Whumpee frowned, "then look at me", they signed.

Whumper pulled out their phone and completely ignored Whumpee.

Whumpee picked up a tennis ball and threw it at Whumper.

Whumper just laughed as it bounced off their leg.

"Watch out for my hearing aids", they signed with a smirk.

Whumpee rubbed their temples out of frustration and left the room.

Whumper watched them leave and chuckled to themself.

Whumpee came back after a few minutes carrying a spray bottle.

"Don't you dare", Whumper signed as they watched Whumpee inch closer.

"Put those aids in or sign to me then", Whumpee threatened.

"Fine", Whumper sighed as they placed the aids back in their ear, "what do you need?", Whumper signed.

"I need to go to the store or have a few things ordered", Whumpee signed.

"Okay, well, I need to go to the store anyways", Whumper stood with a sigh, "let's go", they signed.

At the store Whumpee grabbed the few things they needed before they dragged Whumper into clothing.

"You don't need any clothing", Whumper signed.

"Yes I do", Whumpee grinned as they looked.

Their eyes got big as they noticed a display for deaf awareness.

"Look, look", they signed happily.

"Okay, that's cool", Whumper looked over some of the display, "pick out a few things."

A few people walked by and pointed out the display.

"They'll celebrate anything nowadays", someone commented.

Whumpee was too busy to read their lips, but Whumper unfortunately heard the comment.

Whumper tapped Whumpee's shoulder and started signing. Whumper glared at the group as they watched them turn and quickly walk away.

Whumpee looked at them confused, "why are you telling me about a dog driving to the ocean?", Whumpee signed.

Whumper laughed not realizing what they were actually signing, then told Whumpee what had happened.

"Morons", Whumpee signed.

Whumper nodded, "I'm taking a hearing break", they signed, "let's use signing for right now."

Whumpee picked out two ASL (American Sign Language) hoodies, then their was a small statue that they had to have.

Later as they were leaving the store, they saw the group again.

Whumper and Whumpee both glared at the group.

The group held their head low trying to ignore the glare.

Whumper turned up their hearing aids.

"Hey", Whumper called, "keep in mind awareness is important for many groups. What you said was extremely rude and hurtful, and I hope you've learned your lesson."

One person from the group turned and apologized while the rest kept walking.

"That's why we need awareness", Whumper called again, "because some of you just don't get it."

Whumpee nodded.

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all. @villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived @sacredwrath @porschethemermaid @monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz @bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13 @notpeppermint @cyborg0109

#whump community #whump stuff #whump writing #whump ideas #whump #whumpee #whumper #whump scenario #caretaking #oc #carewhumper #deaf whump

[eyeslikewatercoolers]

Through the Parking Lot- Jasya

Jasya one-shot, in which Jasmine loses her vision in an accident, and adjusts to blindness with her supportive girlfriend, Daya. I was really contemplating posting this, as I wasn't sure if I wrote blindness and disability with the justice it deserves. I'm still learning and growing, so if anyone has any recommendations or ways to further educate me on these topics, PLEASE let me know <3

Read on ao3

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The automatic sliding doors opened, bringing a rush of air into the vestibule of the hospital’s main entrance. The younger man in scrubs was behind the wheelchair that Jasmine was sitting in as she heard the ground below her change from the metal floor, to the concrete of the patient drop-off/pick-up area. She listened to the plastic bag of her spare clothes getting carried nearby and the jiggle of the keys to the pick-up truck that she would be riding back home in. Her hands felt over the smooth plastic of the folded-up red and white cane in her lap, with a soft, round tip at the end. 

Jasmine had her vision ripped away from her ten days ago, and this was her first time feeling the sun warm her skin but not being able to see it for herself. 

Ten days before, she was on a bus trip back from a dance competition with a group of young dancers and a few other teachers from the studio she taught at. The bus had a side collision with a tow truck, as the sun was setting on a day that was supposed to be celebratory, as her junior competition team won top awards.

The others on the bus only had minor injuries, and a few had broken bones. But after a cruel twist of fate, Jasmine had a grim reminder that scratches and broken bones can heal over time, but glass and metal in her eyes caused permanent damage. 

She felt the wheelchair come to a gentle stop as the man behind her leaned over to lock the right wheel and then locked the left wheel. She kicked the footrests up and unfolded her cane to its long length. After a few days of practicing in the hospital hallways, Jasmine had just started getting used to navigating the world with her four other senses and a red-and-white cane.

Jasmine slowly stood up from the wheelchair, using the armrests to steady her balance. The doctor and nurses warned her that vertigo was a common issue in other blind people. She realized a few days before how quickly vertigo can rear its ugly head when she stood up from her hospital bed and felt she was about to collapse on the floor before her girlfriend caught her.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to bring the truck around? I can run and pull it up to you, that’s okay if you want me to.” She heard her girlfriend quickly stand next to her, holding her hand with her free hand. She heard the wheelchair get unlocked and pulled back into the building.

“It’s alright, Daya. I want to do this.” She looked up to where Daya faced her and gave a reassuring nod. “I have my cane and I have you to guide me, I trust you.”

She felt Daya press her warm lips to her temple and smiled at the gesture. “Okay, let’s get you home then.”

Daya has hardly left her side in the past ten days, spending most of her time in the uncomfortable visitor chair next to Jasmine’s bedside. When Jasmine woke up in an unfamiliar place and slowly realized that her vision was gone, she felt a hand gently hold her own, resting on her left side. She felt the metal rings on the hand and carefully grazed her fingers over the chipped nail polish. She heard Daya softly sleeping in the chair next to her and instantly felt comforted in her girlfriend staying with her, for who knew how long. 

Jasmine was pulled from her thoughts when Daya squeezed her hand “Just like we practiced in the hospital, okay?” 

Jasmine gave a slow nod  “Okay, I’m ready.” She followed Daya’s lead further down the sidewalk a few more steps, sweeping her cane in front of her. She listened to the cane running over the sidewalk, remembering what the orientation and mobility coaches taught her what to listen for. She practiced so much in the hospital’s therapy gym when the staff put together an obstacle course to practice walking through. But that was indoors, and she had others there to ensure she got through it safely. Walking through this parking lot was her biggest challenge yet, and she knew the risks of what could happen, since there were moving cars, and other people outside. Jasmine trusted Daya with this helping guide her in a simple yet terrifying task, she has crossed plenty of parking lots before but never blind.  

Her cane reached a new part of the sidewalk, Jasmine felt the cane give a little more bounce. Jasmine felt the sidewalk dip lower and felt the bumpier patch as the pavement reached the asphalt. Daya stood still as she looked both ways of the street for incoming traffic, and Jasmine tried to listen for the sounds of vehicles. If there were any cars, they were too far away for Jasmine to hear. “It’s safe for us to cross, right? I don’t hear anything.” Jasmine looked towards Daya, asking for confirmation.

“Yeah, we’re good. I don’t see anything.” They stepped off the sidewalk, hand-in-hand, and began to walk over the painted pedestrian crosswalk. This was the part of the parking lot that Jasmine was most nervous about when any car could cross too early or too late, or not even see her cane. She tightened her grip on Daya’s hand and felt her girlfriend give a reassuring squeeze back. She was in safe hands right now, Daya wouldn’t let her get hurt. 

After about twenty steps, Jasmine felt they were starting to reach the end of the crosswalk. Her cane reached the familiar bump patched on the other side, and she heard a vehicle quickly zoom behind her, feeling the wind from the speed move her hair. 

She quickly stepped onto the sidewalk for safety, as she heard Daya mutter next to her “Asshole couldn’t even wait until we were off the road.” She moved her hand to Jasmine's lower back as she turned to face her. “I didn’t even see that car, I think that guy was going at least 30. Are you okay?” 

Jasmine nodded again as Daya moved her hand to hold Jasmine’s again “I’m fine, I think it just made me jump.” She re-gripped her cane and pointed it in front of her. “Let’s keep going.”

She and Daya walked in between the vehicles in the row Daya’s old pickup truck was parked in. They didn’t use the car often, since they lived in a walkable city, and both their workplaces were within walking distance from their apartment. Daya had her pickup since her last year of living in Missouri, sentimental from when her sister helped her buy it and fix it for her to drive. Jasmine grew to love it too, as they used it on trips to see her family in West Virginia and camping trips with their friends in the summer. 

Jasmine heard the sound of little feet running in front of her, and multiple children’s voices getting louder. She felt a movement against her cane and heard a small thud hit the sidewalk. She immediately stopped and held her cane closer to her. Before she could ask the child if they were okay, she heard a shrill woman’s voice come closer.

“Hey! Can you not try to trip my kid? Watch out next time where you swing that thing.” The woman rudely pointed out. The child easily stood back up and went back to the mother. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see them. I’m still getting used to this.” Jasmine quickly explained as she gestured to her cane. She felt Daya put a protective arm around her waist, and Jasmine had a feeling that Daya wanted to scream at this woman. 

The woman paused, as Jasmine assumed that the woman was eyeing her down. “You don’t look blind to me. You should consider being more careful next time.” She heard the woman start walking past her, pushing against her shoulder. She felt Daya turn to speak to the woman, and Jasmine put a hand on her upper arm to stop her.

“She’s not worth it, Daya.” she looked toward her. Jasmine took a deep breath, settling her nerves. Her chest tightened, and let out a deep exhale. She was not going to cry over this. “Can we just get to the car, please?”

Daya grudgingly agreed, and they rejoined their hands together. They continued walking together until they reached the car. Jasmine reached out and felt the cooled hood of the truck, and walked along to the passenger side door. Her hands guided her along, following the advice from the mobility coach in the hospital of using her hands as her eyes. She felt the door handle and stepped back to open the door. She expected Daya to leave to the other side to throw her belongings in the back of the truck’s cab. But Daya never left, staying close behind to ensure Jasmine got into the truck safely. She folded her cane and used the handlebar above to guide herself to the seat. She felt around for the seatbelt, as Daya guided her hand to the buckle and inserted it to buckle herself in. 

She heard to door shut, and a few moments later, she heard Daya open her door and start the ignition. After the click of the driver’s seatbelt, Daya leaned over and kissed Jasmine on the cheek. The one positive of being blind that Jasmine had come to realize was that her girlfriend got to surprise her with affection. “Ready to go home? Willow said that your cats have been going stir-crazy without you.”

Jasmine gave a small smile, unsure of what her life is going to be like without vision, but she had her biggest supporter next to her. 

“I’m ready, let’s go home.”

#jasya #rpdr fanfiction #my fics #my writing #one shots #angst #rpdr s14 #jasmine kennedie #daya betty

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 206

In which I relentlessly mock Sophia for being nosy, while also addressing some of the questions @baelpenrose, @quantumizedinsanity, and @writing-with-olive brought up when the last chapter featuring Noah was being written. And some other questions that came up in my own mind while I tried to go to sleep several nights in a row, because hyperfocusing on the plot is what I do to combat insomnia.

Reader shoutout this week is for @nicestpamkale.

Extra shoutout for everyone who has been suffering through my drawing skills while I tackle Inktober 2022.  To the three very nice people who alerted me that someone is stealing my posts.... GOSH I wish. Unfortunately, I’m posting the art both here and on my main blog, @areasontobreathe.

Help request: I got xkit for Firefox, but can’t find the plug in to build my tag clusters so I don’t have to type out all the tags. If you know where I can get it, please PM me!

After leaving Arthur’s office, I felt compelled to meddle.  Asshole could have just told me, I sulked while fervently hoping that Simon figured out that Nixe was somewhat interested in him.  Adding to my pout was the fact that Arthur had been spot on - Teeth was already adopted, and the only thing I could do was ask Charly or Nixe if either knew exactly why their goblin had been hanging upside down so much. After that, it was in their capable hands.

To burn off some energy, I decided to walk the ship.  I had several hours of spare time, and this could be counted as cardio. After all, the Ark was huge, Tyche and Charly were both at work, and it was my off shift.  A couple hours of meandering were very much overdue.

I made it a whopping four decks before realizing there was a massive presence rather close to me. “Geezus, Noah.” Jumping, a hand landed on my sternum as I tried to calm down. “Warn a girl next time.”

“I was not aware your proximity alert was disabled.”

Waving vaguely at my head, I explained. “I’m walking through the ship during a busy time of day.  My options are mute it and assume that bystanders will see anything crazy, or let it keep going off for hours on end.”

Four blunt appendages flew up in an approximation of a human surrender. “Administrator Costa has demonstrated the auditory equivalent of the alert. I believe I understand why you would temporarily disable it.”

My hand swept flat in a pretty standard there ya go. “Can I help you?”

“I would like to hear your thoughts regarding the recent proposal.”

Oh.

“Well then, walk with me.” The smile plastered on my face was less forced than I had expected it to be. “I actually did have some questions, so your timing is perfect.”

“The previous discussion was quite brief, as I understand it in human terms, so inquiries are welcome if they will assist in decision making.”

“Awesome,” I exhaled. “I thought about it a lot, and really my biggest concern is… we’re talking about a life form that has lived solely on a starship for hundreds if not thousands of years.  Teeth only lived on one for about twelve, and they’re having a hard enough time adapting.  But on the other side, the comparisons I have available range from subsisting on plant collagen all the way to actually eating radioactivity and even high risk pollutants.  I can’t tell if the environment suggested will be too extreme or not extreme enough.”

“Tens of thousands of years would likely be most accurate, which further validates your concern.” A vomu gestured elegantly around us. “However, testing has shown they are able to survive and adapt quite quickly to the environment on the Ark, so estimates indicate that they will be fine on Von.”

“Even with the temperature extremes?” I pointed out. “Regardless of how flexibly the Ark is designed - and I mean, this ship is pretty awesome - humans have an incredibly broad range of tolerable temperatures.  It won’t be comfortable for us, but we can take it.  It’s the whole reason this planet was selected for our relocation - literally no one else could survive the damned thing, so it was free for colonization.”

That bought me about two decks of silence before one spidery hand started rubbing their eyespots. “I will admit, extensive testing has been done in the BioLabs to ensure the temperature range could be tolerated.”

I stopped abruptly. “How extensive?”

“Extensive enough to know that the aquaponics lab is tolerable and yet entirely unpleasant.”

“Steamy hot cow farts will do that…” I bopped my head for a moment in consideration. “That’s good, but there’s another issue: the hive mind sentience threshold.  As new bodies develop, will it be fast enough to replace the ones that are being worn out by any unexpected changes in environment?  Or will they at some point, however brief, lose sentience?  You pointed that out, yourself, when we realized that Else was allowing themself to die to keep from killing us.”

“There may or may not be several fully mature bodies already on the Ark from the environmental and temperature extremes testing.”

I groaned before continuing my walk. “Is there a percentage I should be asking about?”

“Working with our most recent information on the planet, enough. Given the age of the data?” They paused. Noah never paused, and my stomach sank. “Hopefully enough? Is that the term?”

Anxiety sped my steps up even further. “Shouldn’t you already know this? There has to be data somewhere. Or ancestral knowledge, or… I dunno, something. There’s no way y - this being could have existed for so long, and have no definite idea of what the exact threshold is.”

“In broad strokes, the information exists.  But in fine detail, less so.  It is apparently profoundly rare for one to go below the sentience threshold before reaching one which can absorb them to avoid the loss of knowledge. And in the cases where the loss has occurred - “

I waved off the rest of the sentence. “Yeah, I get it… can’t exactly report how many there were when you lost sentience if you’re not sentient anymore.”  I let the conversation lull for a bit, until we get to a less crowded area. “But why come to me? You and I weren’t even on speaking terms.”

“We spoke.”

“We were on speaking terms at the same level that I am on speaking terms with a food console.” The comparison was blunt, but accurate.  “You still have somewhat cordial relationship with several people. Hell, on the Council alone, you are on semi-social terms with Xiomara, Huynh, and Charly.”

“All of whom, as well as most others you could suggest, currently need to focus all of their spare energy on the tasks surrounding settlement on a new world.”

Figured.

“In addition to this,” Noah continued, “Due to the exact incident to which you are alluding, you feel a strong need to make amends, in addition to being the last person I would be expected to ask such a favor of.”

“Wooooooooowwwwwwww,” I drew out, half laughing. “You know how to make a girl feel special.”

Randomly picking an Else-chick off the wall, they stroked it gently before setting it on a limb. “Odvub is also interested in you, and I find that intriguing.”

“Odvub is fascinated by humans,” I corrected.

“Indeed. But you were the first human to inquire about even the potential of such a being, much less being able to identify a signal you were never expected, intended, or even conceivably believed capable of identifying. All by a pattern.  Odvub is fascinated by clever beings, I have found.”

Both of my hands raised over my head, and I twirled without stopping my forward progression. “Look around you, dude. The Ark has what might be the highest concentration of clever humans to ever exist. Sure, we’re assholes, bastards, and broken in mind, body, and soul, but we are very clever.”  My hands dropped, and I choked out in a whisper. “When you can’t escape, you don’t survive the end of your world without being clever.”

Thankfully, they let that statement pass without response. We walked for nearly half an hour before I spoke again.  “So, you told me because, of all the clever-ass people on the Ark, I’m the one who wasn’t busy.”

“It is an overly simplistic answer, but essentially correct.”

“Damn, Noah. I thought we were friends.”

“We were what humans would call ‘friends’. I would like to believe we still are.  However, I also consider other people on the Ark my ‘friend’, but I do not trust them to keep a secret. As I said previously, others, such as Charly, cannot be distracted.”

My pout was back. “I want to be really, really mad, but it’s really hard to be angry at being second-place to Charly.”

“She is incredibly likeable, unfortunately.  It’s terrifying.”

<<Prev       Masterlist     Next>>

#the miys #found family #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #humans are space fae #haw #original science fiction #original fiction #original sci fi #post apocalypse #post post apocalypse #my writing

[depizan]

I should've been in bed over an hour ago, but I am dumb. Please enjoy (or "enjoy") another installment of Kyrian's career somehow going even worse in ficverse than in game.

Watcher X Escapes

Kyrian slowed the speeder to a stop outside the row of docking bays and shut off its engine and repulsor field. Not that either could have been heard over the heavy equipment loading the large freighter in the first bay.

It was a cargo port. Not one of Nar Shaddaa’s finest and not one of its grimiest. Some of the cargo being loaded might even have been legal in the civilized parts of the galaxy. Regular passenger services ran from Mezenti and Ducalon Spaceports, as did more reputable charter services. There were no fellow passengers here to get lost among, no crowds for Watcher X to disappear into, just a scattering of droids and dockworkers and a few guards in mismatched body armor.

Yet Watcher Two had been certain this was the port her long disgraced former colleague had chosen. Docking bay Isk-7, a short-range cargo shuttle bound for Hutta. How he’d contacted the pilot was just as much a mystery as how he’d disabled the cranial bomb that should have prevented his escape. He’d had access to far more than a prisoner should have, even one in so loose a prison as Shadow Town.

Watcher X—just X now that he was only an escaped prisoner?—wouldn’t quietly return to his quarters, no matter what Kyrian promised. He’d only aided the mission under threat of punishment from his conditioning; what loyalty he’d had to the Empire had ended with his imprisonment. He’d all but said as much.

Kaliyo glared at the guards as they passed, daring them to raise a weapon or object. They ignored her, focused only on the docking bay they protected.

No one spared them more than a quick appraisal as they made their way to Isk-7. With Kaliyo’s well-used armor and his dark clothing, they looked like they belonged. Just another ship captain or businessman and his bodyguard. That he was only armed with a blaster pistol at present simply added to that impression.

Infiltrating VerveGen had necessitated leaving his rifle and armorweave coat behind. There’d been no time afterward to retrieve them from Shadow Town. Not if they wanted any chance of stopping X’s flight.

Watcher Two certainly wanted them to. And Kaliyo was angry he’d used them.

Kyrian could see a corner of the blocky shuttle through the docking bay’s open doorway. It was the second time that day he’d been faced with a mission that had no hope of a peaceful resolution. VerveGen had been a mission to stop terrorists, a situation in which there’d truly been no other option, involving people who thought nothing of dooming others to a hideous death. Watcher X…

Kaliyo nudged him, none too gently. “C’mon, Agent. He’s getting away.”

Kyrian drew the blaster pistol and cautiously stepped through the doorway. If X had already boarded the ship, there would be little they could do.

The former watcher stood by one of the shuttle’s landing struts. He’d taken the time to clean up and change into sturdy spacer’s clothes. He looked ordinary, relaxed; even the cybernetics at his left ear and eyebrow wouldn’t have kept him from blending into any crowd.

He looked up almost as if he’d been expecting them.

“Scan your target,” he said, as coolly as ever. “Check him for weapons—held, concealed, improvised.” There was a holdout blaster clipped to his belt and something small in his left hand. “Now scan the rest of the area. Does he have allies? Are they hiding?”

Kyrian resisted the urge to look away from the man, to follow his direction and scan the docking bay for hiding places, for the shuttle’s pilot, for hired mercenaries. The bay had been empty save for the ship and X when he’d entered it. It was still empty.

“Are you outmatched without realizing?”

“Shut up,” Kaliyo snapped. “You’re just fucking with us.”

“I’m disappointed, Cipher.” X continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “I offered you information that could have given you power over your masters.”

“Don’t even.”

“Your help was invaluable,” Kyrian said. “Perhaps something could be arranged.”

“Oh, Cipher, you know that isn’t possible.” He looked thoughtful. “I misjudged you. I offered you power, information most Ciphers would leap at. I should have offered you freedom.”

“Shut up!” Kaliyo repeated. “Drop your weapons, don’t try anything funny, and maybe we don’t shoot you.”

“Yes.” X nodded slightly. “You balked at our methods, shied away from the hard necessities of your work, offered soft, inefficient solutions. I should have realized you’re too young, too naïve to be an actual Cipher agent. You’re in over your head.”

“You’re stalling,” Kyrian said. “You know you can’t escape. Let me find another solution.”

X chuckled. “Even now, you hesitate. Would you like a way out? A traitor’s end is far less pleasant than my own was meant to be.”

“I’m loyal to the Empire.”

“Are you?”

“Just shoot him!” Kaliyo raised her blaster.

“You should have taken my offer.” His left hand moved.

White agony blazed up Kyrian’s spine. He didn’t hear his blaster clatter to the docking bay floor or feel the ground slam into him as he collapsed. There was nothing but all-consuming pain. Then cold darkness swallowed him.

.

Blurry shapes bent over him. Indistinct voices muttered. The world tilted, slipped sideways, and vanished.

.

When he finally came to, it was to the familiar antiseptic smell of an infirmary. He felt drained, his muscles rubbery, and there was a foul taste in his mouth. The pain had faded to a dull ache along his spine.

“I kinda thought you were dead,” Kaliyo said.

“You’re lucky you’re not.” The doctor was middle aged, her steely gray hair cropped short. She shook her head. “Those implants could just as easily have killed you.”

Kyrian sat up stiffly, the thin sheet pooling around his hips.

“Careful.” The doctor put a steadying hand on his shoulder. “You’d be in a kolto tank if I had any free.”

“Thank you.” He could think of nothing else to say.

The room was small, the walls Imperial gray, the overhead light just a little too bright. A monitor beside the bed helpfully displayed his vitals. Kaliyo slouched against the far wall, her arms folded.

“You look like shit, Agent.”

“I’ve had better days.”

“I know you Intelligence folks don’t listen to the rest of us, but don’t stick experimental tech in your spine in the future.” The doctor set a clear jar on the table next to the bed. The implants lay at the bottom, fine strands of wire curling out of them like the legs of dead insects.

Kyrian swallowed, suddenly queasy.

“Rest,” the doctor ordered. “Eat something when you’re able to. Keep kolto patches on those incisions until they’re healed and there shouldn’t be any scarring. You’ll be fully recovered in a day or two, if you manage not to do anything else foolish.”

Kaliyo snorted.

“I should have time to rest.”

“That wasn’t a suggestion,” the doctor said. “You’re not cleared for duty until you’ve fully healed. I’ll explain it to your superiors if I have to.”

He nodded. “I understand.”

“Good.” She tossed a comm to him. “You’re to check in now that you’re awake.” The door closed behind her.

Kaliyo pushed off from the wall. “Bastard got away. You probably figured that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You gotta get smarter, Agent. That freak was right about one thing: you’re too soft. It’s gonna get you killed.”

Kyrian turned the comm in his hands. “I don’t think that’s what Watcher X intended.”

“Naw, he thought it’d be more fun to leave you screaming on a docking bay floor. People aren’t like you think, Agent.”

“I know.” He switched on the comm.

#i write #kyrian nessar #Watcher X is supposed to be smart #and dangerous #and in ficverse unfortunately he is #kyrian is not particularly enjoying his job in this fic #long post

[the-path-to-redemption]

Vol 9 Ch 2 Review

....Man.

Spoilers for Chapter 2

Again, what is with this tonal dissonance between the situation and the characters? It went from, “hehe haha what a whimsical place” to “nothing make sense, and this world is fucking stupid” to “we’re terrible people and everything we touches goes to hell” within a minute. The tone transition doesn’t feel natural, and it nearly gave me fucking whiplash just looking at them interacting.

I do appreciate the more cartoony, slapstick style of animation though. Even if it’s, once again, tone deaf and weird AF.

Wow, Blake is finally a bookworm again. After 6 fucking years.

A little nitpick, but really? Alix and the Jabberwocker? That’s the length you’re going with? Just fucking slap me with a brick that said “it’s Alice in Wonderland”, I don’t think I caught the memo yet. /s

The Dormouse gag with Little is getting a bit tiring tbh. 

Two thoughts about Jinxy: 1) he’s kinda cute :3 would pet. 2) Oh my fucking god, please tell me this isn’t a caricature of Romani/travelers, please please PLEASE. You can’t just do something else?? Bro, we know fairy tales are laced with antisemitism and anti-traveler rhetoric but you’re supposed to be AGAINST it.

*flashback* “hey it’d be kind of interesting to see Yang without an arm and having to adapt to the situations without relying on-” 

*Yang got her arm back literally the next episode, killing any potential ideas of her actually being interesting as a disable character having to navigate and adapt to her surroundings using skills and wits*

...I’m in hell.

Speaking of Yang:

Yang: Alix was kind of an asshole huh. :/

Also Yang: I’m going to disrupt a public event full of civilians, beat up someone in front of the guards and potentially create chaos the moment I step foot in a foreign community, despite Blake telling me to “when in Rome, do as Romans do”.

Hypocrisy has a bloodline, and it started with Raven. 

Another nitpick, but wow, I wonder which is the arm. The two ambiguously looking items, or the scepter that looks exactly the same as the damn arm. 

Also, ENOUGH with the Bumblebee pussy footing. “What’s the meaning of love?” “Are we holding hands? :3c teehee no no, just teasing.” Get. It. Over. With. You wanna fuck each other, just do it already and spare me 8 more episodes of your pseudo-queer bullshit. 

Again, the tonal dissonance. Ruby’s having a crisis over Penny’s sword (I’ll get to this madness later), Yang excitedly running away, Blake is frantically doing the same... Weiss just walk off nonchalantly. ISTG if this is her stihck for the Volume I’ll wrangle her myself. 

Blake: I just didn’t expect us to be morals in a story.

...so, the entire White Fang storyline, in which you were constantly on Adam’s case about being “pacifistic” in the eyes of systematic oppression, continuously making a fuss about an issue that affects YOUR race and life despite barely doing jackshit, and always fucking around when it comes to the reality of a racist world that shits on your people wasn’t a moral journey to you. 

Can’t say I’m surprise, Blake, you pasty All Lives Matters bitch. You continued to ignore an enterprise’s legal slavery after TWO people you knew shows you the horror of racial discrimination while your ass was cozy in an island mansion. You can’t be trusted to talk about morals, you lacked them. 

Ruby herself is giving me so much mixed feelings right now, more bad than good. She’s broken up about Penny, which is understandable, but I really, REALLY can’t believe her when she honors the poor girl. Not after gaslighting her in Volume 8, not after barely having a discussion about the events of Beacon, not after everything between them that was just Penny giving and Ruby taking for the entirety of Atlas. 

She got a W though, for being the only sensible person at the end. None of them know what they’re doing, not after crashing a kingdom and economically cripple another in your absence. So stop acting like they know what is going on. 

#rwby #rwde #long post #fuck me I'm gonna die at the end of this #rwby vol 9 thoughts

[writingbrainrot]

Hey. Allow me to introduce myself

Member in a system (i dislike roles but i'd technically be a reluctant host)

Neurodiverse af, disabled af and qpoc af

Body is 24

I need a body double to start writing again ;__;

We prefer discord cus pluralkit but also just easier to have all communication in one place

We suck at replying on other platforms

If you are 22-30 and want to write together and also talk about blorbos and you're accepting of someone saying "hey saying that hurts me, could you not?" And capable of saying it back when you're hurt then lesgo 👉😊👉

(Aka im ok with people making honest mistakes but not wanting to fix them and grow, that just doesn't work with where i am in life atm)

If you identify as conservative, right-wing, anarchist or communist (USSR definition, not US's weird definition that just means empathy=communist) person then please do not message me. Biological family are survivors of the genocides done by soviet so let's just spare us all the pain and not interact/gen

What we write if that's important:

We're self-published and write as diverse stories as possible, in whatever genre we feel like (the main one tends to be slice of life though) that are meant to be accessible to people currently experiencing brainfog aka what we needed and still need/lh

Potential cons of knowing us/dealbreakers depending on who you are:

•Strongly opinionated on the opinions we have solidified based on the best info we can access. Examples:

"don't be a dick, if you are being one, fix that" or "human rights are not up for negotiation" or "genocide bad regardless of who it is done on" (surprised how often i have to state these/gen) but also ones that seem silly and yet i feel strongly about like "having problematic faves". Loving barbie/disney/veggietales while wholly rejecting the companies. Trying to see things in a more nuanced way etc etc

•i'm both spiritual and scientific

•body eats meat cus traditions and health

•may disappear from time to time for a few days up to a week cus crashes happen despite our best efforts

•c-ptsd but like.... i think that's a given on this site/lh

•We're also not good people. Not the worst but not good people, we're just people.

•so many special interests, obscene amount because of above c-ptsd/masking

•oh also if you're drawn to talk to me but currently think you're NT.... you may discover you relate to me a bit too much and realise you were less NT and more ND than you thought. Many a friends have discovered their diagnoses solely by us sharing our symptoms so like, if you don't want a/another diagnosis, steer clear?/lh

•learning to unmask so we get more and more "blunt" every week

•we also like to talk, v social and we will penguin pebble because sending things to friends is fun ^__^

•when triggered, our communication dramatically gets worse and more frantic (i think this is normal but at this point i'm not sure anymore)

Fave quotes:

"Let the world we dream about be the one we live in now"

"What would you take from a burning building?

Anyone can answer that, the fire"

"I feel weak

You've never looked stronger"

"Tu fui, ego eris"

"Fortuna favet fortibus"

#body double #body doubling #writing #writer #writers #selfpublishing #traumagenic #actually autistic #adhd #did/osdd

[emile-hides]

You requesteth Fairy Tail asks? I have arrived to inquire about my favorite, my love, Laxus. Tell me about him.

Shaking you shaking you You ask about Laxus my Grand Son your favorite guy you are obligated to come back and tell me your thoughts on him as well please

My favorite thing about Laxus and the thought I always have first when I think about him is when we first meet him, and really every time we see him, he's wearing Jeans.

I don't know why this stuck with me so hard, maybe it's because it was Season 1 and up until we meet Laxus and see him in full we're very much in a Fantasy Medieval vague Europe kind of setting? There's Taverns and people ride in Carriages and there's talk of Dragons and Monsters like it is very much solid in it's aesthetic spare like. The Gun Magic.

And then Laxus just showed up in skinny jeans and his beats by dre and his pimp coat and we were all just supposed to go along with that break in aesthetic. The Mangaka knew ONE cool guy outfit in 2009 and that's just what Laxius' fashion is now it's too late to back up.

I think Laxus is gay. I think this is something he himself didn't know until Makarov banished him from Fairy Tail and he started traveling. It wasn't the only thing he realized about himself while just kinda vibing around, but it was the one he looked at and went "This seems like a conversation for later." packed up, and then forgot to unpack until he was back in the guild and around Freed a lot.

Not because he liked Freed that way (yet) but just because Freed is an openly gay man and being near him again made Laxus kind of step back and have basically a second awakening, which prompted him to just. Ask Freed what it's like being Gay? Freed, who thought he was doing a stand up job hiding in the closet from Laxus (he was not), immediately choked on his drink and almost died on the spot.

This gets stupid away from canon because sometimes canon deserves it. Here's all my headcanons on how the Lacrima implanted in Laxus works.

Laxus was born with no natural magical energy, a birth defect that almost always results in death of the infant. It's unknown why this happens and is still being researched, but one of the cures, though with just as high a fatality chance as doing nothing at all, is implanting a Lacrima of a pure type (Fire, Water, Ice, Sky/Air, Earth, Thunder/Lighting, Light, or Dark/Shadow) into the baby to artificially give them enough Magic Energy to survive and live, so long as they don't use too much of it.

You see not having a Natural Source of Magic Energy also prevents Laxus from absorbing Magic Energy from the area around him like other humans do, meaning he (and other's with his disability) can't actually replenish their magic energy naturally, what they have in the Lacrima is what they'll have their whole life. In theory.

Studies show a Lacrima's magic can be replenished if it is exposed to the same element. Basically one with a Lacrima as their magic source could replenish their magic by absorbing their element. The easiest to do this with would be water, as all you'd have to do is Drink Water. However this has a draw back as well, one can over charge a Lacrima with power, causing it to shatter. It’s a lot like a heart attack, can be survived but will be majorly crippling.

This is specifically why Ivan went on a Quest for a Dragon Slayer Lacrima, as it'd make it easier to absorb Lighting for Laxus to replenish his magic, and has more strength making it less likely to shatter, allowing him to follow his dream of being a Wizard. Without the Dragon Slayer abilities, Laxus attempting to replenish his magic would most likely bring him pain, as he wouldn't be as immune to electricity as he is now.

#Fairy Tail #Laxus Dreyar #My dear Grand Son #I've really Homebrewed up the Fairy Tail universe I know I'm against canon I know Laxus got his Lacrima when he was like 10 #But canon also says Lucy is 17 years old and I simply refuse to stick to that as well #I've changed many things but the story still functions I am playing Jenga with Canon #I saw a post somewhere in the main Fairy Tail tag once that went on about Autistic Laxus and I think about it constantly #Like his headphones are noise cancelling #I agree I agree Laxus full of Autism I love that for him I agree I agree #Thankyou very much for asking I love to ramble on against canon and think my thoughts out loud and I love Laxus #My Grand Son #I rattle his big thunder head around I love him I love his whole story arc and redemption #He really Set The Tone for Fairy Tail being the biggest bad of season 1 but also still just a guy #And he's family and I love him #And for some reason he wears Jeans

[nightinghoul]

This is a post about having an invisible disability:

There are many types of pillow cases. Two of them are:

1. The standard bag style (exactly what it sounds like).

2. The Oxford pillow case (the kind with a slit in the back, and a boarder around the edges. Usually used for decorative pillows.

I was employed at an animal shelter for several years. My job was to oversee the cattery - you know, where all the cats live. Yes, that fun word is the actual name for it! Anyway, I had wonderful volunteers to whom I delegated certain tasks, although they didn't always agree with how I did things.

The cats slept in beds that were wrapped in pillow cases, which we switched out every day. There were at least forty beds, and I had a system to get them out of the old pillow cases and into the new ones with as little time and energy as possible. Most of them were bag style, but a few were Oxford. I hated the Oxford cases, because they disrupted my flow. I couldn't work as quickly with them, and as a spoonie (a person with a health condition that forces me to carefully allocate my energy) it did have an effect on my overall job performance.

A volunteer of mine - one whom I genuinely liked and appreciated, but who had some disagreements about my system - always said she wanted to switch out all the pillow cases to Oxford style, because it would look nicer, and it might deter some of the cats who liked to get inside them. I would say, "Please don't switch them all out. That would be hard for me."

She always said I was wrong - thay it would NOT be harder for me - and argued the point. She cornered me into explaining WHY it would be harder, but I could tell anything I said sounded ridiculous or lazy, and that annoyed her. Maybe, MAYBE, it would take one second longer, she would say. There was no way I could explain it to her, because I wasn't even sure what the problem was. I just knew it took more energy for some reason, and I didn't have energy to spare.

In retrospect, supposing it took about twenty seconds longer to deal with them:

Pillow cases off: 20 seconds

+

Pillow cases on: 20 seconds

x 40 = 1600 seconds

That's about 26 minutes

Say taking them off is only an extra ten seconds, that's still 19 1/2 minutes.

Why am I doing this? No really, I'm asking myself. Well, it's the first time I've ever quantified why this was more difficult for me, and it's because I didn't have a minimum of 20 free minutes of energy. But she either had the energy, or just didn't have trouble fiddling around with pillow cases like I did.

Anyway. I run into this a lot.

"Why can't you ________?"

What's easy for me might not be easy for you, and vice versa. I don't think it's because one us wrong. And I don't think it's defeatist to say, "That way doesn't work for me."

I think even healthy people make small accommodations to what works for them all the time. A lot of the time, we don't even think about the accommodations we create for ourselves. We just think of them as preferences, or assume everyone does things the same way. Nobody owes anybody an explanation of why one simple thing works better for them than another.

Anyway, that's my thought of the day. I get frustrated trying to just be me in this world sometimes.

#spoonie #chronic fatigue #invisible illness

[unblinded-by-nostalgia-blog]

The controversial chick flick of 2016, GhostBusters: Who You Gonna Call (that's the full name, it's on the end credits, but the beginning title only says GhostBusters for some reason, and it's also called GhostBusters: Answer the call... Let's just stick with Ghostbusters!

IMPORTANT NOTE: I will NOT be comparing this film to the original two films. These films are different entities and will be treated as such.

The Story

The story is about a University Science Teacher who sees that an old friend of hers has published a book they wrote in highschool which theories the existence of ghosts.

The first part of the film (all of the ghostbusters being established and meeting each other) is definitely the weakest part of the film. Some of the jokes are really cringeworthy and the beginning is definitely rushed.

But once you get past that first hurdle, you are in for a real treat! The story isn't a very serious one, in fact, it never takes itself too seriously. It knows it's dumb and it ravishes in its silliness. Even some of the special effects look cheap and silly! It emphases on the less serious tone of the film and it somehow works!

Watching this film really reminds me of High School DxD. The first couple of episodes that set up the plot isn't that great, but once you are over that hurdle, you will enjoy it's silly, dumb ride.

The Characters

The biggest reason why the first third of the film is so weak is because the characters on their own are really dull, boring and unoriginal. But once they are together, the interactions of the characters are so funny! The best one out of the lot of them is the teacher's fat friend. She is so nuts and over the top that it's hard not to laugh when she's in a skit.

The inventor really reminds me of Haruko Haruhara from the anime FLCL (why does this film make me keep thinking of anime?) just by how crazy and punkish she is. I wish she had more jokes than the over the top gadgets, but she isn't a bad character.

The side characters are quite weak. The only side character I really remember is the secretary for the Ghostbusters just by how much I can relate to him. It is implied by his actions that he does seem to have a mild form of Aspergers Syndrome and it doesn't put any stereotype of the disability in any way. Plus, he is the most funny character in the film (other than the teacher's fat friend).

The Special Effects

The special effects don't look that great, but when it's a silly film like this, really nice CGI won't suit the film in the least. But the special effects suits the tone of the film well.

I he film also givens some nods to the fans of the original films such as mentioning Zuul in the post credit scene (if you stick around to see all of the end credits at the cinema), and others which I won't give away.

Some of the acting from the extras is terrible (such as the tour guide at the beginning of the film) and you can tell that they didn't know what they were doing.

Final Thoughts

Overall, this is a great movie, but it has some serious flaws that might put some people off from watching the film (plus, the trailer has had a lot of dislikes on YouTube) and many reviewers who were fans of the original bashed this film to the point of being to biased. Even though I enjoyed this film, I do understand why some people don't like it. But don't treat it as the worst film ever made. I can assure you that there is a lot worse out there.

I think the main reason why this film is hated by the fans of the originals is because the original films were very manly films, while a this film is more of a chick flick. I'm not saying all fans of the original hate this film. But this film is definitely targeted to the female audience and it knows how to make females laugh!

So don't end up cursing the creators of the film when you become a ghost, they clearly knew that they were taking a lot of risks with this film, and in this reviewer's opinion, it paid off. So, please spare him so I don't have to spend 100s of pounds on a phone bill from New York City to call...

You know who I'm gonna call!

The Story 4/5 The Characters 3.5/5 The Special Effects 3.5/5

Overall 3.5/5

#ghostbusters #who you gonna call #2016 #Film Review #movie reviews #review #reviews #contraversy #female ghostbusters #ghost busters

[josephquinnswhore]

It Ain’t Weakness, Baby.

Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader

Summary: Joel survived Abby’s brutal encounter, but has left him with major mental and physical disabilities.

Word Count: 2k

Content Warning: mentions of reader having ptsd, blood, amputation, scars, disabilities, murder. blowjob, Joel whining and begging????? cumming in mouth. female masterbation/orgasm. Joel praising reader. insecurity. Joel treating reader like shit. implied age gap.

Note: yeah.. I kinda ruined my own heart with this one.. anyway, enjoy!

Things weren’t the same. They’ll never be the same. That’s what Joel said, over and over. Saying anything he could in order to push you away, to try and build back the wall between you that you’d seamlessly picked away at.. brick by brick all them years ago.

His old age wasn’t his hinderance. His physical disability wasn’t his hindrance. Though, these were his painful claims, that he couldn’t bare to see your youth wasted on someone like him. A no good—worthless old cripple. That’s what he called himself..

“You’re wasting the best years of your life on me! There are plenty of healthy and capable men that could take care of you here! Just.. just go and find someone else!” He’d spat through gritted teeth, his insecurity gnawing at his insides after he saw a younger man offering your hand at the Christmas dance.

Joel Miller had sunken into the dark and ever falling abyss of self destruction and isolation, daring to say cruel things to you, to push you away.

He’ll never admit it’s the last thing he truly wanted, in fact he was terrified of the thought of you leaving.

One day he found out what you did.

“Tell me you’re not that stupid.” He insults, glaring at you from the recliner he’d come so attached to.

“I did. Tommy and Ellie and I, we fucking did it Joel. They’re dead, all of them, we made them suffer. I made her suffer before I buried her sorry ass for ever touching you!” The argument was bound to get heated, after all, they were talking about the girl that mutilated Joel and left him disabled.

“Do you realise what she could’ve done to you? Look at what she did to me!” He snarled. “Goddamn fools the lot of you!”

He didn’t want you to leave, to stop fighting for him. But he convinced himself he was worthless. He saw it; the looks people gave him, sympathy strewn on their faces. Sympathy he didn’t need. He was fine.

It was the irony of it all. He told himself he was fine, he didn’t need help, he could somehow maintain some semblance of control and independence. No matter the wheelchair, or the crutches. Yet, he would snarl and snap at you, unwilling to keep you close. He would angrily claim he was worthless, useless.

“I can do it!” He growls, shrugging off your hand from the metal crutches, his first time using them as a result of his amputated leg. Refusing any help, as he had done every single day for the past few months.

Perhaps at one point, you did grow tired of it. Of his inability to try. After months of trying and limited resources, you’d tried to teach Joel how to write again, how to play guitar, how to sculpt, how to fix.

“Baby come on, please! Just try again for me. Five more minutes then I promise we can stop.” You pleaded, and were met with a dismissive snarl.

“I ain’t no damn kid so stop treating me like one. I’m done with this!” The pen was sent flying, ink splattering all over his favourite journal, which you’d spent a few hours delicately cleaning to save the important book.

You were trying to get him to live. To have the independence he so desperately craved, but he was stubborn, always had been. He was his own worst enemy.

You were even kind enough to take the only spare time you had, to build him a wheelchair accessible ramp, it was weeks worth of labour, and trading a tonne of sentimental personal items to trade for the wood and nails. Yet, it remains unused, even now, as it rains and the snow coats the wood, they begin to rot and wither. All your hard work and dedication to your husband had gone completely unnoticed.

Yet, for some reason, you never quit on him.

“Stop scowlin at me like that and just try, would you?”

He grunted, his hand trembled, the majority of his soup fell off the spoon. With whatever strength he had, he tossed the spoon onto the floor, as it clattered along the wood, it sends soup flying all up the wall. The bowl soon clatters to the ground before you can catch it.

The bowl was heavy, and the sound of it on the hardwood floors sent your movements to a halt—frozen. Your ears ringing as if it were that forsaken shotgun again, tearing a hole through Joel’s leg, flesh and blood splattering against the carpet rug and the floor. Stumbling, you take a moment to yourself, rushing out of the living room and into the kitchen.

The noise over and over replaying in your mind, the golf club coming down on Joel’s head, sure you would witness the love of her life being brutally murdered in front of your eyes. What Joel didn’t know, as far as he assumed, that you had these triggers as a result of ptsd.

The ticking of the clock in the kitchen becomes unbearable and you find yourself back in the living room.

Waiting for you, is another mess of his you’d have to clean.

“It feels like you’re not even trying anymore Joel. It’s been months—why can’t you see I’m trying to help you!” You insist.

“I don’t need your help!” He growled bitterly.

“So you’re just going to sit in that stupid fucking chair till you die huh? Is that it?” Finally reaching the breaking point after your recent trigger, tears cascade down your red cheeks.

His scowl softened, into a look she hadn’t seen since the incident happened. He battles his ego and his stubbornness to finally reach a hand out to you, his shaking fingers just graze your own.

“Baby—you know I don’t mean it.” He murmurs hopelessly. “I’m—I’m sorry. I appreciate you tryin’.”

The atmosphere changes in the air, the winter suddenly doesn’t feel so harsh, and the breeze that slides through the crack in the window frame can’t be felt over the warmth of the heater that Joel nests by.

You kneels down onto the floor, taking his trembling hand. “I’m not giving up on you. When we took our marriage vows I fucking meant them. Just let me be here for you. It’s killing me that you’re trying to push us apart. Please.”

For some reason, your plea pierced his old heart with such reverence that he doesn’t argue, he relaxes his tense shoulders and murmurs, “okay.”

Finally, acceptance, peace. The white flag was being waved. Seventy two days of fighting was finally over.

“Shouldn’t be.. on your knees like that baby. You—you’ll get sick.” The worry in his voice had another kind of anxiety behind it.

One that you soon found the reasoning of.. his cock.. stiffer in his pants than you’d seen it in months. “Don’t tell me you’ve been suffering all this time.” You gasp in disbelief.

His aimless gaze and silence was enough to confirm the accusation. He’d been so sexually frustrated.. that he hadn’t been able to cum.

“This is why you’ve been so upset.” You murmurs. “Isn’t it?”

He answers with a simple and shameful nod, you press a kiss to his hand, ready to offer him a solution. “Can.. Can I help you?”

The question takes him off guard, his thick and greying eyebrows meet together in a low frown.

“Why would you want to touch me? I’m .. I’m a goddamn freak—“

“You shut up and let me decide what I see you as Joel Miller.” You scold. “I see someone strong, brave, handsome.”

He scoffs, but it doesn’t deter you. Instead it only motivates you more. Leaning up against the recliner, your chest on the left side meets the fabric, where his leg had to be amputated from the thigh downward, due to the inflicted shotgun wound.

“I see a man so incredibly capable, of living, thriving. Needing help doesn’t make you weak, baby. Let me take care of you.”

His trembling hands struggle to unclasp the stubborn button on his jeans. “Hey, just let me look after you baby. Relax.” You insist softly.

Making quick work of his button and zipper, your cool and small hands make his cock look enormous as it springs out of his jeans, rock hard. Has it always been this big? Perhaps the illusion of deprivation has her mind as desperate as her dripping cunt. Even your mouth begins to salivate, gulping as you come eye level with the small clear bead of precum.

Without warning, you lurch forward, pressing a small kiss to the red and aching tip, before swirling your tongue around the bulbous head.

“Ah, ah fuck baby,” he whines, sharply inhaling a breath, his good hand moves to grip the back of your head, begging for you to swallow him.

His desperate pleas only serve the purpose of rilling you up, with the gentle touch of his fingertips in your hair, desperately clutching at a fistful of your hair..

Opening your mouth wider to fit his enormous girth, halfway down and you’re already gagging. He whimpers, sounding the most vulnerable she’s heard since their last intimate encounter. Sneakily, you slide a hand down to your entrance, sliding your fingers inside to collect some of the slick before, sliding them upwards towards your enlarged and throbbing clit. whine is muffled by his cock.

You push on, feeling the mushroom tip sliding down your throat as you gag, covering his cock in your warm and sticky saliva. His untamed coarse public hairs tickle your nose.

The noises were absolutely despicable and lewd, the way you took the whole length of him, gagging at every descend, it was a sensation that had him trembling underneath you. His trembling hand attempts to clutch the arm of the recliner.

“Baby, baby stop.” He begged. “Not.. I’m not gonna last.” His breath quickens and as he tensed up, you take his length out of your mouth, but he quickly thrusts back into it, craving the warmth and the pleasure of the hole.

“Don’t stop, hmph please don’t stop.” He pleaded in a whine, Joel Miller, begging you.

You felt your stomach tightening, the pleasure of your fingers on your soaking clit, swirling at the perfect pace and Joel’s soft voice begging. You moan around his cock as your legs tremble underneath you.

Joel finally catches on and it’s the last straw for him before he throws his head back onto the recliner and grunts, the growl that leaves his lips is primal and comes from his throat. “Fuck—such a good girl.” He stutters and thrusts his hips upward, filling your mouth and throat with him, sending his ropes of warm cum straight down your throat, you drink, like it’s the last source of energy you’ll ever receive.

His hand unclenches from your hair as he feels himself shrinking inside of your mouth, encouraging you to look up at him, and you do. You’re met with Joel, looking at you with all the love and adoration and affection you deserve.

“Come here baby.” He murmurs, his thumb caresses your cheek as you look up at him. Climbing up onto his lap, you rest your head on his shoulder.

“Could.. could you please pull the recliner back?” His voice escapes timidly. Here he was, asking for your help; finally.

With a swift movement, you pull on the latch on the side of the recliner and the bottom end swings upward, now you’re both laying, your hand reaches for a warm blanket on the nearby couch, and toss it over the two of you.

“Thanks for not giving up on me.” The world circle in her ears, and she runs her thumb over the large scar on his forehead that spans to his temple and eyebrow. “I wouldn’t ever dream of it.”

“I love you, Mrs Miller.” Is the last thing your happy heart hears before your eyes flutter, peace and pleasure lulling you into a dream.

#joel miller angst #joel miller hurt/comfort #joel miller smut #Joel miller fix #joel miller tlou #husband joel miller #joel goes golfing

[very-grownup]

Book 56, 2023

Let's talk "Stars of Chaos", which is the first priest novel I've read. My experience with her otherwise is watching WORD OF HONOR which I understand to be an adaptation of her unlicensed "Faraway Wanderers". But I know she's prolific in multiple genres and also even censored WORD OF HONOR had some wild levels of gore and violence and leads with huge murder counts. Which gave me high hopes for "Stars of Chaos" and boy did the first volume exceed expectations in all it's (what the kids would call) problematic glory.

I don't know how to describe the setting because I know enough nerds who are sticklers about steampunk (and nerds who are burnt out on steampunk as an aesthetic) [if you do not know a nerd who, etc.] to refrain from throwing it around, so: cultivation with power armour. Cusp of industrialization cultivation fantasy? I'm down. Please add magic-fuel powered mech suits to the tools for skull crushing and dismemberment; priest and I clearly speak a similar literary language.

"Stars of Chaos" is the story of sort-of-orphan Chang Geng and the secret of his birth which is not as magical fairytale destiny as your orphaned fantasy protagonist usually gets. There's the taste of manipulation and state propaganda to it and Chang Geng, even at his starting age of 14ish, is rightfully cynical. It's about power plays between emperors and spares and the erosion of peace between countries after the original architects of that peace have fallen.

And it's also about Chang Geng realizing he wants to bang his godfather.

I'd say "it's complicated" because it is but not in an excusing it kind of way. Almost in a relief kind of way because sometimes you want things to be messy and not clear cut with easy answers.

If it's a tap-out point for someone it's a tap-out and not one I'm interested in discussing.

I /am/ interested in discussing two things that feel very new in my reading of these Chinese webnovels: disability and fatness. Two things that authors from every culture bring their own baggage to that are still pretty ugly, regardless of where they're from.

Chang Geng's godfather is disabled, partially deaf and blind. Except he isn't, he's been faking it. Except he IS, he's just using drugs of decreasing efficacy to keep all but his oldest friend and confidant from knowing that without the drugs he's almost completely deaf and blind. How do I feel about this? I have no idea and it feels preemptive to make a call when we're only at the beginning of the novel (unclear how many volumes "Stars of Chaos" is; Seven Seas, the publisher, has volume 3 slated for release next May and nothing beyond that at this time and maybe it would be a nice thing to include the number of books a series is going to have because it's not like these are unfinished works). It's just. Interesting. It's an interesting choice in how the character sees himself and how the people around him relate to him and interpret his actions and words. I can see how this interesting starting point could go in a very unpalpable direction and I can see how it could be used as a tool for a microscale understanding of the world's relation to disability and technology. priest has already shown some interest in more thoughtful exploration of the effects of industrialization than some authors straddling the technofantasy niche, so I'm hoping it's the latter.

To the second point, Chang Geng has a sort-of childhood friend, sort-of sidekick in Ge Pangxiao, a butcher's son who attaches himself to Chang Geng's hero's journey. Ge Pangxiao is fat. He's a fatty little fat fat porker chubby boy hungry little round plump fat did I mention fat because he's fat. But he's also clever and resourceful and resilient and a character with interests and motivations eager to follow Chang Geng both because of loyalty but also because he sees a path to his own dreams via attaching himself to Chang Geng. He's a likeable character who isn't a comedy punching bag or the bearer of various moral failings because he's fat. But man, do not doubt that he is a chubster. Like a danmei Bobby Hill.

I really liked the first volume and I'm put out that I won't get the second until 2024. Sometimes it's really good to read something messy and also a man bites out another man's throat and eats it and a tiger mauls a clown.

#2023 books #stars of chaos #priest

[alastairstom]

bottom 5 tsc books and characters

Do you want me to get flayed open?

Books (worst to best, subjective):

Queen of Air and Darkness

Lord of Shadows

City of Fallen Angels

Lady Midnight

City of Bones (though I concede that it is fun and I do enjoy it. It's just one of Cassie's weakest books, which is GOOD since it was the first one)

Characters (worst to best, subjective):

This is hard because obviously I hate, like, Sebastian as a person. But I think he's a great villain. This means that I am not going to include him. This list is not going to be the objectively worst people in TSC. It's my subjective least favourite characters. So It's going to be characters that I dislike based on a wide variety of factors. I'll explain myself next to each of them, but note that I understand they are not the worst people ever (unless they are).

Zara and Horace Dearborn. Atrocious one-dimensional villains. They're awful people and they have literally 0 layers or redeeming qualities. I'm lumping them together because they're basically one entity. I'm comfortable saying that they're my least favourite characters on both an objective and subjective level. Kill them.

J*lian Bl*ckthorn. Censoring his name because he has actual fans. He had enormous potential as a morally gray antihero. Would have probably thought he was a great character if he had gone dark. But he's just an absolutely awful guy that cc wants us to love and adore. He and Emma are super codependent. He's a toxic dickwad. He drugs his disabled uncle. He fucks over a vampire who was just selling some pizza. I was deadass surprised when he was worse soulless. Cassie botched his execution by making him a Good Guy and taking away his complexities at the end to make him a Pancake Dad. Horrible guy, horrible arc, mismanaged. Also, we're clearly supposed to love and adore him, which I resent.

[Redacted because I do not dare, but if you know me, you know]. Literally 0 interesting traits. No real development despite untethered potential. Too popular in the fandom. Too obviously The #1 Favourite of the creator. Way too much content but none of it gives them substance. Not an interesting character in any capacity, and if you do not love the character, you are deemed the Worst Person. This character actively ruins content for me. I have their name blocked on every social media platform. I'd get along with them in real life, and I like them in certain situations, but please free me from the content and social pressure that they present.

(and 5). Charles Fairchild and Elias Carstairs. I'm lumping them together because I have the exact same feelings for both of them. If I were given the chance to personally stab one TSC character, it would be one of them. They were abusive to my fave and they deserve to die for that. But I can't say I wish them out of the TSCverse because I think they're necessary backstory for Alastair, and they helped to shape him into the character that I love and cherish. So I am happy that they exist as characters, but I hate them as people and very much have a personal vendetta against them. I would yeet them from the universe if they were real because it would spare Alastair suffering. I will defend my son with my life.

[dear-indies]

You do so much for the RPC and I was wondering if there's anything we can do to support you in turn? <3

Oh my goodness this is so sweet I don't know how to reply thank you so much for being so thoughtful and kind ahhhh! 🥺🥺🥺🥺

The first one is kinda lame but please send me cool faceclaim suggestions, I know I'm the suggestion giver but it's always amazing when people are like "hey watched this show and there's this actor!" or "look at this instagrammer!" esp if the person is queer, fat, trans, disabled, and/or dark-skinned.

If anybody has any spare ££ which I know is tight right now so please don't feel pressured, there's the MDS foundation, which although I have no experience with the foundation (dw it's a legitimate 501(c)3 tax-exempt organization) it has everything I would have liked to have known when my loved one got diagnosed. Donating to any of your local hospices, homeless charities and/or mental health support charities would also be cool. Oh, there's also Age UK which is beyond amazing for the older folks in the UK who are neglected by the government.

And then I debated putting this on here but just like every disabled person right now we're begging people to PLEASE MASK IF THEY CAN even if they're the only person wearing one! Showing disabled people they're not an inconvenience and are valued is punk.

#cancer tw #medical tw