Today’s disabled character is Mia Franklin from the film “Musical chairs(2011)”.she is a beautiful dancer.One day on the sidewalk ,Mia turns to cross the street, when she struck by a taxi and rendered a paraplegic, paralyzed from the waist down.With the encouragement from her new friend Armandos (soon becomes her boyfriend) ,she participate in ball-room wheelchair dance competition.
Link: https://www.imdb.com/title/tt1874633/?ref_=tt_mv_desc
Character portrayed by Leah pipes
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I really do not feel like going into this more on Twitter because it’s fucking
Twitter
But my god, sometimes it’s jarring to realize what a unique upbringing I had and how that affected my worldview.
The people in an uproar about this are out here like “Who’s she even talking to, the blind?” And “How do blind people even know what ‘a blue suit’ looks like?” And “If there’s deaf people there how come she’s wearing a mask? They can’t read her lips!”
And it’s just like, yes, she is talking to an audience that includes blind people. Not everyone was blind from birth, and some do have some vision—enough to, say, discern the shape of someone in a blue suit from another person sitting in the next chair. And they’ve never even heard of sign language interpreters, something I took for granted as a fact of life since I was about eight.
And then I remember that it’s because they are deeply incurious. They are absolutely unconcerned. They have a certain picture in their head of what blindness is and what deafness is and what accommodations they may want. Why should they care to learn about things like descriptive audio for films, or a TTY relay, or alt text for images? Do you think they’ve ever even wondered why the fire alarms in the mall have a small strobe light under them? They have no use for them, so what does it matter?
And that’s for disabilities that they at least have to have heard of.
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Kenma is harassed into getting his nails done
kenma kozume x fem!reader | fluff | 773 words
c/w: skinny shaming (briefly, once)
It’s a weird building, Kenma thinks, as he pulls into the parking lot. Enormous arched glass on a too-pink wall. It hurts his eyes. The entire street does; it’s all so Barbie-like.
He finds the inside is just as pink when he enters. “Time of appointment?”
“Uh, no, I’m just here for my girlfriend.” Where are you? It smells like alcohol in here. Maybe he should just text-
“Kenma!” His eyes whip towards you, as every other set of eyes whip towards him.
“Your boyfriend?”
“He’s very pretty.”
“Very pretty.”
“Like a girl.”
Kenma feels himself go rigid. It feels like a family dinner, where every aunt is scrutinizing his long blonde hair. He points backwards with his thumb. “I’ll just uh- wait outside.” Fuck. Why is he so awkward? This is pathetic.
“You sure? I think I’ll be here for another half hour-”
“PICK A COLOUR! PICK A COLOUR!” Cardstock flurries in his face, and he instinctively stumbles backwards. The sheets are shoved into his arms- some land on the floor- and pushy hands are now ushering him into a chair. “Uh, no, actually, I’m just here for my girl-” He’s shoved into a seat- a very plushy one- before it rams into a table, lurching him forwards slightly. He whips up. Are middle-aged women supposed to be this intimidating?
“I’m- uh, I’ll just-”
“Pick a colour.” The sheer intensity of her glare shuts him up.
Fuck, are you laughing?
“Pick a colour, Kenma!” He whips around, affronted. “We can be matching!”
Kenma looks down at your nails-in-progress. Stickered. Sparkly. Kuroo would never let him live it down. “I don’t think I want that.” You smirk, and he knows you know exactly what he’s thinking.
“You have a My Melody keychain.”
He looks down at his hands, still holding his keys. They certainly are adorned with an obnoxious My Melody plush. You won it at an arcade, but couldn’t fit it on your own keys.
“Oh! You should get Pompompurin. He’s yellow, like you.”
“COLOUR!” He snaps back to the woman in front of him, somehow more irritated and somehow more frightening. He cowers. “PICK A COLOUR!”
Is this normal treatment? Is he paying for you to get your nails done or to be harassed and accosted? Because if this is normal he’s not sure he wants you coming to this place anymore-
“Kenma.” Your familiar scent drifts over him, releasing the tension he didn’t know was there. “You can get something simple. What about this?” You pull out a picture on your phone, but he doesn’t really see it, not when he's resting his head on you behind him. “Whatever you think.” Is that a mistake? Will he regret that later?
Thankfully, he doesn’t see the usual devilish smirk on your face, which surely means you’ve taken pity on him. He stares daggers as you walk away, willing you to come back. Why are you ditching him at the boss level? You’re supposed to be a team; this is supposed to be a two-player game.
“Your hands are pretty! Long fingers!”
“Good nail shape. Very healthy.”
“Too soft. You don’t work?”
When did the crowd spawn? And how the fuck did he get roped into this?
—
The next half hour is a blur. Somehow, he weathered the scrutiny of the mob (“too skinny”, “why blonde?”), paid some ungodly sum, and escaped that Barbie dollhouse hell. Fuck. It’s getting dark. He was going to treat you to boba but the shops are closing so he can’t do that. The shops wouldn’t be closed if your appointment wasn’t pushed back- and your appointment wouldn’t have been pushed if that one rude customer hadn’t been late. What’s up with late people anyway? Fuck them. This is why he became a streamer- so he doesn’t have to deal with people. Now he has to drive in the dark- he hates driving in the dark- he’d fucking die if he crashed the car and you flung out the windshield and paralyzed yourself. He’s not going to be responsible for making his girlfriend a paraplegic-
“Kenma. Your face is weird again.”
He’s never treating you to boba again-
“C’mere; I want a picture.” Kenma lets you manipulate his hand into frame, holding yours when you let him. They’re pretty, your nails. They always are, but this time they’re sparkly, catching the light at every turn. His aren’t bad, either. A simple four-point star in the corner of each. And a Pompompurin sticker on one. It’s cute, actually. They’re nice.
“Okay, let’s go.”
He looks back up to the sun. Probably not too late for boba after all.
masterlist
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