“They have guns, wear badges and patrol Michigan’s streets.
They’re even in uniform. But they’re not real cops.
Across Michigan, police departments have enlisted civilians to work alongside licensed officers to patrol communities and even assist real cops with arrests. But unlike the regular officers licensed by the state, these armed civilians are unregulated.
A Detroit Free Press investigation found there are no state-established training requirements for reserve officers, as they are commonly known; no standards for screening their qualifications, and no process for monitoring their conduct. The state agency responsible for police licensing and training is not regulating reserve officers — despite gaining authority last year to do just that — and has no idea how many such unlicensed volunteers there are statewide.”
Let’s have a quick talk about Clint Barton. This little shit is an orphan who grew up in the circus and somehow managed to become an avenger. This DEAF motherfucking ARCHER was asked by Tony Stark to be Captain America and he said no. He said NO to becoming Captain America. He finds out some random 20 y/o girl becomes Hawkeye while hes “dead” and what does he do? He tells her the world is big enough for TWO HAWKEYES and they form a team and he tries act as a mentor. They are both Hawkeye. Not Hawkeye and lady-Hawkeye. Just two Hawkeyes. He fights street crime when he’s not on missions. He’s friends with his neighbors. He made an ultron costume for Halloween. When his brother stole all his money and bought an island, he got over it. He rescued and adopted a one eyed dog named lucky/pizza dog. Did I mention he’s deaf? And can’t hear without hearing aids. And he wears his own merchandise. He wears Hawkeye underwear. Hawkeye wears Hawkeye underwear.
SO! FINALLY! I can show you all what i’ve been working on for the past 3 months!
Back at the end of september I hustled together a group of incredible artists to interpret their favorite canon straight couple as lesbians. The artists were each given a double spread to explore the characters and writers 3-6 pages, the results are beautiful and touching. Creator list here
The 82 page zine comes with 5 themed vinyl stickers and includes worldwide shipping with additional costs for faster shipping. There is a limit on the number of copies being sold in this first run so I recommend buying sooner rather than later to avoid disappointment. (second runs of the zine are a possibility if there is demand)
THIS IS A PRE-ORDER for the zine, actual zines will not be ordered and then posted until the pre-order period is closed on the 2nd of February (zines will start to be posted in the second week of Feb)
SHIPPING LEVELS $24+ 7-42 days International Economy $28+ 5-7 days International Standard $34+ 5-7 days International Tracked (UK buyers zines will be shipped 2nd class with 2-3 day delivery on $24+ and First class with 1 day delivery on $28+)
Hello everyone! I made you a new cozy autumn ambience soundscape. Hope you like it and that it can provide some background noise or help you sleep/write/study/draw, etc. Enjoy! 🍁
So, today, a woman came into our shop. It was a woman I’ve only heard my parents refer to as ‘the Deaf Lady’. My mum had told her about me, explained that I was doing Sign Language, and come to find me on a day she knew I was working.
But today, she didn’t need her lawnmower repaired. In fact, she hadn’t touched it since it had been, and as far as she knew everything was fine.
She’d come in to sign to me.
She waved hello, and instantly explained that my mum had told her I would be in today. I asked her how she was, and the smile that she had on her face was the biggest I’ve ever seen.
And we spent about an hour in my family’s little shop, talking about everything. She told me about her life, about how she’d lived in the same house for 60 years.
She’d been born deaf, and been a Brownie, but never a Guide, because of the War… she’s now 86.
She had some amazing stories to tell, and twice she cried. One of those times was remembering her youth, and the other was when she was explaining to me that her husband had died around 20 years ago, and how he’d been the last person she’d known that could communicate with her.
She’s been alone for 20 years, living in a silent world, unable to communicate with anyone for the most part. The most interaction she has is when she writes things down for people, but she’s struggled to make any recent friends, and her family is long gone.
Now someone explain to me what’s wrong with every school teaching a certain amount of Sign Language, and for colleges to offer it more freely and frequently. People should be encouraged to learn BSL, because otherwise we’re cutting ourselves off from talking to around 8 million people or so (in the UK alone).
That’s millions of people who are no less important than you are, who have their own stories to tell, and the same need for communication as anyone else on this tiny little planet.
J. cried today because it was the first time for a long time that anyone has asked her for her name, or listened to her stories.
She’s also coming back into work tomorrow, to sign with me, and help me practice. But also - because we’re only human - for the company.
Every school should offer the native sign language of their region.
Normalize and celebrate language in all its modes, and the cultures that go with it.
When I was younger and more abled, I was so fucking on board with the fantasy genre’s subversion of traditional femininity. We weren’t just fainting maidens locked up in towers; we could do anything men could do, be as strong or as physical or as violent. I got into western martial arts and learned to fight with a rapier, fell in love with the longsword.
But since I’ve gotten too disabled to fight anymore, I… find myself coming back to that maiden in a tower. It’s that funny thing, where subverting femininity is powerful for the people who have always been forced into it… but for the people who have always been excluded, the powerful thing can be embracing it.
As I’m disabled, as I say to groups of friends, “I can’t walk that far,” as I’m in too much pain to keep partying, I find myself worrying: I’m boring, too quiet, too stationary, irrelevant. The message sent to the disabled is: You’re out of the narrative, you’re secondary, you’re a burden.
The remarkable thing about the maiden in her tower is not her immobility; it’s common for disabled people to be abandoned, set adrift, waiting at bus stops or watching out the windows, forgotten in institutions or stranded in our houses. The remarkable thing is that she’s like a beacon, turning her tower into a lighthouse; people want to come to her, she’s important, she inspires through her appearance and words and craftwork. In medieval romances she gives gifts, write letters, sends messengers, and summons lovers; she plays chess, commissions ballads, composes music, commands knights. She is her household’s moral centre in a castle under siege. She is a castle unto herself, and the integrity of her body matters.
That can be so revolutionary to those of us stuck in our towers who fall prey to thinking: Nobody would want to visit; nobody would want to listen; nobody would want to stay.
