#it’s like the thing where someone doesn’t get what’s wrong with aba

[rotationalsymmetry]

I had some thoughts about gender as I was trying to fall asleep last night. (And I did the responsible thing and prioritized sleep over posting, and I still want to post now even though it is later and my brain rarely holds on to motivation for this sort of thing longer than whenever the next distraction is. Miracles sometimes happen.)

So, nail polish. I like nail polish. But I started getting into nail polish as an adult, and there’s sort of a social expectation that when you’re a kid or maybe a college student, nail polish can just be about fun and personal enjoyment, but by the time you start holding down jobs nail polish should look “professional” or be absent. Relatively subtle (boring) colors, no chips, etc.

Anyways, as somebody new to nail polish (and tbf, most of the time someone who wasn’t “employed”), my nails often didn’t actually look very good, and I was more interested in having fun and experimenting and doing artsy things than in it looking, well, polished. Still am. I got dark blue nails with holo topcoat right now. Topcoat that got smudged a lot while it was drying.

Early on I decided I was going for “interesting” rather than “perfect”, and that’s spared me a lot of stress when something goes wrong. As it often does.

I think gender can be looked at the same way. There’s different ways to do gender, and one is about being polished and looking good while staying within societal rules. And one is about making your own damn self happy. And while people just don’t start identifying as trans unless they’re giving a lot of weight to their own happiness over fitting in, right, this is actually mostly independent of being trans vs cis, cis people also have a choice about whether they want to experience their gender primarily in terms of measuring up to societal standards or primarily in terms of pleasing themselves.

You can experience gender a la carte, based on what does and doesn’t make you happy.

For guys, this can look like: am I a sports fan kinda guy or a nerdy kind of guy or both or neither, am I a car appreciation guy or not, how much do I care about being a husband and/or father and what kind do I want to be, how much do I care about things like how I dress and how my home is arrayed, and if I do care do I prefer a fancier aesthetic or a more casual aesthetic or something else, what do I want to do about hair on my face and about hair on my head, what is my relationship to conflict and violence going to be, what is my relationship to my emotions going to be, what is my relationship to my own health going to be, what is my relationship to relationships going to be.

For gals, this can look like: maybe I like long skirts but not sexy mini skirts, maybe I like mini skirts and girlboss feminism but don’t expect me to cook, maybe I love cooking but will not smile at strangers or refuse to interrupt when everyone else is doing it, maybe I barely even know what mascara is but am more interested in forming connections with other human beings than with career success or in looking out for #1.

(And this can get really complicated when people straddle cultures, classes, even just different families with different understandings of what men and women should be like. Sometimes you have two immigrants from the same culture marry each other and one assumes they’ll live as much like they’re grandparents as possibly and one figures the best thing about not being in the old country is you don’t have to do that any more. While pretty much everyone’s got concepts of male and female, none of them entirely match up with each other.)

And it’s not an accident that a lot of feminism is about… having women and girls take on more traditionally guy roles. More on girls playing sports and women climbing the corporate ladder than boys playing with dolls and men figuring out their feelings and working on their communication skills and caring for their one children. One of these is more in tune with the life-destroying priorities of capitalism than the other, and when you try to swim across a current you get swept downstream.

I think there’s often a strong connection between what individual people need most in the depth of their souls, and what is best for people as a whole, and one of the most important tools of societal repression is alienating people from their heart’s desires.

Which means one of the most important tools of collective liberation is reconnecting with your body and your feelings and what you want most in your life.

I didn’t get at first what queer stuff had to do with the rest of it. But that’s it, isn’t it? Not everybody is gay or trans or etc, but everybody does have some way in which who they are, fundamentally, doesn’t match who they’re supposed to be, and that difference and what you do with it matters.

[macncheesenketchup]

things you should avoid, know, or do if you support autistic and adhd people and why: a list for allistic, non adhd or neurotypical people

TW FOR AUTISTIC/ADHD PEOPLE READING THIS: DESCRIPTIONS OF ABLEISM, MENTION OF R-SLUR, MENTION OF AUTISM $PEAKS

People often don’t realize why what they say or do is offensive, and want to do better but don’t understand how. So, for those of you who want to be less ableist/stigmatizing, here’s a list of things you can do to help autistic and ADHD people live more easily. If someone has a question or an autistic/adhd person has something to add, please feel free to do so in the notes/reblogs and I’ll most likely answer you or add it to the post!

1. Never, ever support Autism Speaks. Autism Speaks is an organization that has never been on the side of autistic people. There’s plenty of research on the wrongs they’ve committed, but off the top of my head:

- Supported the Judge Rotenberg Center, who are known for using shock therapy on autistic people.

- Supported and made their own version of ABA therapy, a form of therapy designed to stifle/“cure” autism. This therapy form is traumatizing, often forces autistic people not to stim, to word things in an uncomfortable way or do things that are physically painful to them.

- Tried to look for a ‘cure’ to autism, for the longest time didn’t have a single autistic person on staff, and had influential members who had said and done horrible things (what comes to mind first is the member who was shown on camera with their autistic child in earshot saying that they hated having an autistic child so much, they had more than once considered getting in the car with their autistic child and driving the both of them off a cliff, leaving their non autistic child alive)

2. When an autistic/adhd person says they’re autistic/adhd, it’s okay to ask questions. An autistic/adhd person won’t usually be offended by innocent questions designed to better understand us. With that said, if an autistic person tells you a statement or question is offensive, just take their word for it. Examples of typically offensive things to say as a person without the disorders include “you don’t look/act autistic,” “oh, like Einstein/The Good Doctor/Rain Man/Sheldon,” using autistic/adhd like a slur or adjective, or using autistic/adhd as an adjective for yourself or for derogatory purposes.

3. If you respect neurodivergent people, you respect their behaviors, too. If someone with autism/adhd tells you that something they do is because of their disorder, please don’t argue. And don’t make fun of behaviors like having ‘weird’ interests, stimming, laughing inappropriately, not knowing social things, etc.

4. Never use the R-slur. The R-slur refers to the word “r*tard”, and both this word and variations of it are extremely harmful. Don’t say it, don’t write it, don’t Morse code it or sign it. Don’t. Not even as an example.

5. Don’t victimize yourself for knowing an autistic or ADHD person. Just don’t. It’s a horrible and disheartening thing to see as an autistic/ADHD person.

6. Don’t use functioning labels. Functioning labels are most common for autism, and consist of words like ‘low functioning’ or ‘high functioning’. Terms like these are harmful and don’t give a full sense of what autistic people are like because it makes autism seem like a scale where you either can’t do anything and are incapable or you can do everything a neurotypical can and don’t deserve accommodations. Instead, view and explain it with the ice cream bar analogy, which says that autism is more like an ice cream bar with various symptoms as flavors and toppings that can be mixed in any way.. You don’t have a high functioning autistic child, you have a child who, using the ice cream bar analogy, doesn’t have social issues in their sundae, but DOES have educational barriers in their sundae, and they don’t struggle with loud noise but they do struggle with COMPLICATED noise. It’s more effort, yes, but it’s more kind to autistic people.

7. Don’t tell someone with autism or ADHD what their experiences are. Don’t tell them they’re using their disorder as a crutch. Don’t tell them they don’t experience a certain symptom when they say they do. Don’t tell them what they don’t need when they’ve told you what they do. Just listen, and accommodate as much as you can. You do not know them better than they do.

8. Autistic people often experience nonverbalism or selective muteness. This means sometimes they can’t talk, and it physically harms them to do so. Don’t force them to speak. Let them write down what they have to say, or put it into a text to speech, or do what they must.

9. People with ADHD often experience hyperactivity or an inability to focus. Don’t tell them to ‘just be still’, because often doing so can be painful. Don’t yell at them for not being able to focus, because the result will be them forcing themselves to focus and not actually hearing. Rather, if someone with ADHD can’t sit still, allow them to stand up and pace back and forth in the room, or step outside or go for a walk. If they can’t focus, ask them what you can do to help and DO YOUR BEST to do that.

10. People with autism and ADHD come in every shape, size, color, ethnicity, and personality. Don’t dwindle them down to a ‘type’. You’re harming them by doing that. There are POC, trans, female, male, non-binary, and lgbt autistic/adhd people, there are autistic/adhd people who can sit still, who can mask well, who don’t show specific symptoms, or who like things that aren’t autistic/adhd in nature and they’re all valid and deserve representation. Don’t act like they aren’t, don’t act like they don’t, and give them what they deserve whenever you can.

11. Not every symptom of autism and ADHD is well-known. ADHD people can experience impulse lying, horrible intrusive thoughts, and RSD (rejection sensitive dysphoria) that can take extreme forms. Autistic people can experience using extremely offensive language or dogwhistles without being aware that it’s offensive or bad, selective muteism that isn’t complete nonverbalism but still makes the autistic person incapable of speaking without harming themselves, and harmful stims like slamming their head against things or biting their skin. These are only a few examples of things people don’t seem to consider when meeting a person with autism or ADHD, but they’re easy to fix without being harsh, discriminatory, or ableist. If you ever don’t know how to address a symptom or behavior, ask an autistic/adhd person for help! You can find many of them in tags like #autism, #actuallyautistic, #actuallyadhd or #adhd.

12. Please don’t claim autistic/adhd culture, terminology, behaviors or otherwise things that are theirs for yourself. Don’t use #actuallyautistic or #actuallyadhd if YOU, YOURSELF are not autistic, even if you have an autistic family member. Don’t say you stim/have self-stimulatory behaviors. Don’t say you experience special interests or hyperfixations. Don’t say you’re ‘so autistic’ or ‘so adhd’ based on a stereotypical autistic/adhd thing you did. Don’t use fidget toys, stim toys, or chewing toys if you aren’t an autistic/adhd person who needs them, especially not in places like schools or workplaces where abusing necessary accommodations can lead to the people who need them being refused them. If you think something MIGHT be an autistic/adhd thing that you yourself shouldn’t use, do or say, ASK.

13. Self-diagnosis is valid. Autism and ADHD are severely undiagnosed because of the diagnostic requirement and bigotry in psychology. You can have autism and ADHD and not be diagnosed simply because you’re POC, or don’t ACT autistic/adhd enough, or looked for diagnosis late in life, or even just because you’re a girl. Don’t tell someone they aren’t actually autistic or ADHD if they are self-diagnosed because many people with these disorders CAN’T be diagnosed due to things outside of their control.

14. Don’t spread false or unchecked information about autism and ADHD. You can fact check things you read online or hear by mouth just by asking an autistic/ADHD person, and it’s best to do such before saying something that isn’t true.

15. Possibly most importantly, listen to autistic/adhd voices and support people with autism/adhd. Allow people with autism/adhd to have jobs. Reblog when autistic/adhd people speak out. Correct people who show ableist behaviors online and if they argue with you, tag or otherwise get ahold of autistic/adhd people who you know would be willing to help you. Block and report ableists who refuse to cooperate when their ableism is pointed out. Buy from autistic/adhd businesses. Don’t go blue for autism, use red instead. Follow tags like #actuallyautistic and #actuallyadhd in order to familiarize yourself with and validate their voices, but if they don’t want neurotypical or allistic people to reblog or comment, don’t. It’s not difficult to let our voices be heard, and you can do so without supporting corrupt organizations or using non-autistic people, non-adhd people or neurotypical ‘autism/adhd moms/dads’ to get information. Ask autistic/adhd people questions, check in with them, make sure they’re okay. Treat autistic and adhd voices like biblical word on the matter because they ARE.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Lost Their Voice From Screaming: Chris

For the @badthingshappenbingo​ prompt “Lost Their Voice From Screaming” (requested for Chris by Anon) - here you go! Timeline is during Chris time training at the WRU Facility. 

CW: Dehumanization, degrading language/victim blaming, noncon touch, referenced noncon, forced drugging, ableism (may be tough for those who underwent ABA therapy), internalized ableism, institutionalized pet whump, captivity, restrainted, shock collar, whump of a minor (character is 17)

---

Handler Petrus is already in the training room when the boy is escorted there, going over some paperwork at a desk in the corner. He glances up at the trainee, gives him a perfectly normal smile, and beckons him inside with a quick, absent-minded gesture. “Come on, ‘499.”

His friendliness is a trap, and the boy knows it, but there is no way to avoid any traps here. The boy must step into them, again and again, until he learns to love the way it feels as they close around him.

Even if he had a way to escape, he’d never think of it fast enough. His thoughts drift slowly, drugged into a foggy numbness. He feels fear, but only around the edges. In the center of his mind, it’s all just… smoke. 

He glances over his shoulder at the two handlers who escorted him, who give him blank, uncaring faces in return. Once he’s fully inside, they close the door, and the boy swallows at the sickening familiarity of the ssshhhh-click of the lock. 

Alone, now, with his primary handler. Alone, and the only way out of the room is Handler Petrus’s keycard, the ID he wears on a bit of blue stretchy nylon clipped to his belt, right next to his black baton.

“Good morning, ‘499,” Handler Petrus speaks warmly, affectionately.

The boy takes a breath, keeping his expression carefully blank, hands hanging at his sides. He’s wearing the weights again, heavy hexagonal pendants that swing from short chains off the cuffs they put around his wrists. When he moves, they clink together, and he has to work harder. He can’t hide it, if he tries to tap on himself or the walls. 

He managed to get one around to where he could hold it pressed into his palm, fingers curled, and he can settle himself just a little by letting his fingertips just brush along its textured edges. It’s something, to settle the nerves that crackle inside him no matter how much they drug him, how chalky they make his meals taste. The fog can’t quite steal all of him away, but he is not allowed to move.

He must be still.

He must-

Handler Petrus clears his throat and the boy jumps, his heart racing in a sudden panic as he realizes he’s been silent too long. It’s hard to understand, when he has to be quiet and when they want him to speak. He can’t read their faces very well, only the punishments that follow his failures. “Trainee-”

“I-I’m sorry, I’m, I’m sorry, H-Handler Petrus, I, I, I was only, I was-”

“223499.” Petrus’s voice goes cold, and so do his eyes, and the boy’s weights click together as his hands jerk in an aborted attempt to tap on himself to calm down. There is no calming. He has to learn how to calm without touch, without taps, without the things he needs but they tell him he isn’t allowed. “I will give you one more chance. Good morning.”

Silence is better than stammering.

The boy’s breath comes shaky and he hears a faint whine at the edge of his own exhale that makes his cheeks flush in embarrassment. He whines more now, whimpers, makes animal noises because it’s safer than using words. They like those sounds. They hate his words because he uses his words all wrong.

He speaks with careful, plodding slowness. “Good morning… Handler Petrus.”

“Better. Do you know why you’re here, when this was meant to be a rest day?” Handler Petrus sits back in his chair, tapping his pen on his desk idly. The boy’s eyes drift there with a twist of ravenous envy. 

Why does his handler get to tap when he doesn’t? How is Handler Petrus chewing the ends off all his pens different than the boy tapping on the walls? How in his foot tapping, like it is right now, his work boot hitting the cold tile floor that freezes the boy’s bare feet, any different than the boy bouncing on his feet?

He doesn’t understand how one kind is okay and another isn’t. He doesn’t know why he has to be a statue now. He doesn’t know, and no one can explain it, and no one ever even tries.

“Yes… yes, Handler Petrus.” He wants to rock. He wants to rock, and tap, and move his hands. The heavy weights make his shoulders ache just carrying his hands around all day. But they… they help, he tells himself. They keep his hands still.

He has to be still.

Stillness is better than what I do.

“Tell me.” Petrus’s pen stops tapping, the boy’s eyes frozen on it. The end is all chewed to bits. The boys swallows as he feels a rush of saliva in his own mouth. Deep inside, he remembers he used to chew on the ties to his hoods on coats and sweatshirts-

A sharp stab of pain cuts the memory off before it gets any further, and he closes his eyes against it, the overwhelming pain and the weight of the fluorescent lights on his skin. He feels the buzz, tangible and obvious, a pressure he can’t run from. 

“Tell y-you…” He’s trying to buy time, to get his mind back, but his foggy drugged-up brain struggles to lurch in this direction at all. The weights click, clack, together, and he remembers. “Because… b-because H-Handler… Handler Everly… caught me. In my room.”

Petrus starts tapping his pen again. The sound is deafening in the silent room. “Caught you doing what?”

“T-... tapping. With my… my fingers. On… the wall.” It’s so hard to speak like this, and he doesn’t know how other people can do it. He has to let words drop like stones and somehow hold them one at a time when they want to fall out all at once. Somehow, he manages. It’ll only get worse if he can’t use his words right.

“Good. The first step to fixing the problem,” Handler Petrus says easily, amiably, “is acknowledging it exists. I thought we broke you of that nonsense, ‘499.”

“I’m… sorry, sir.” 

Petrus finally stands, dropping the pen on top of a stack of papers. The boy’s eyes drift over there, and there’s a word he almost remembers written across the top in thick black block letters, it starts with D, he remembers the letter D-

More pain. He winces, this time, whines at the stab of it right behind his eyes. He has to close them tightly against the tears that instinctively well. By the time he opens them again, Handler Petrus had closed the gap between them. When the handler’s rough thumb rubs across his lower lip, the boy goes perfectly still.

Statue boy - don’t blink don’t move don’t tap don’t breathe.

He waits.

Handler Petrus drops his hand, with a slight smile on his face. “You really do try to be good for me, don’t you, trainee?”

“Yes… yes, sir.” He feels sick with the handler so close to him, knowing what usually comes with the proximity. His clothes, the thin white t-shirt that’s too big and hangs on him like it belongs to someone else, the shirt black shorts… they feel suddenly too constricting. He wants them off, but not because he wants this. He just wants something more. He wants to be coated in clothing, covered in layers of it, until no one can touch him anymore.

“But you failed today. You waited until you were alone and you broke rules. Do you know what happens when you break the rules, trainee?”

He had a name once.

Didn’t he?

Did he ever have a name?

The boy’s breath hiccups with a sob he wants so badly to let out, and he nods shakily, lowering his eyes down to the floor, to those heavy black boots all the handlers wear. Steel-toed, snapping ribs with a kick at just the right angle. He’s seen it happen to a trainee who threw a punch. He’s seen worse, too.

Everyone sees worse and worse and worse and when they think it’s as bad as it gets, the handlers find something new, something that cuts deeper than they knew a cut could go and still be survived.

“That’s right. Discipline.” Petrus’s smile is thick in his voice. “Discipline in a humane and necessary method of ensuring continued good behavior in a pet, right, trainee?”

The boy only nods again, his heart rabbit-fast inside his chest. He doesn’t look up when Petrus’s hand brushes against his face again, his knuckles just touching the boy’s cheekbone, trailing down to his jaw. 

He feels the collar around his neck shift, the slightest warning before the shock follows a half-second later on its heels, and his head jerks up, tears bubbling too quickly for him to blink them back. “H-Handler-!”

The pain rips through him, races along nerve endings from toes to top of his head, catches air in his lungs and refuses to allow them to exhale it.

“Eyes on mine,” Handler Petrus reminds him softly, taking his thumb off the button to the remote that controls the shock collar of any trainee within his radius. The pain fades, the boy’s muscles trembling as he forces them to lock, meeting the handler’s eyes with difficulty. He hates looking them in the eyes. The handlers all look cold to him, he hates it, he hates it.

“Y-Yes, sir, yes, so… so sorry, I’m, I’m, I’m-I’m-”

“Sssshhhh. Silence-”

“-is better than, than stammering, sir,” The boy finishes quickly, shaking, and he is rewarded with a smile from Handler Petrus, and finally… finally… he can breathe out.

“Discipline is essential,” Petrus reminds him, voice low. “Get on the table.”

Every training room has one. A padded table - like an exam table in a doctor’s office, the boy thinks, before the pain wipes that memory away, too - with restraints that line the sides, the top and bottom. He knows this table too well, has spent whole days strapped down here. The boy shudders in disgust and his body’s memory of worse things, darker things, pulled from him against his will.

But, no, it’s not. 

He signed up for this. They tell him all the time. He wants this, to be strapped down, to be visited when he is trying to sleep, to have handlers tell him things and touch him and worse. They promise him he asked for it, specifically to be this. They tell him he was made for this, or he wouldn’t have signed the contract.

It’s not against his will.

Somehow, all this horror and agony and disgust and the way he never, ever feels clean… somehow, this is what he wants.

They tell him, anyway. They tell him he wants this.

“S-sir? What am, am I… learning today?” He is already moving, following the command obediently. The padding for the table is slightly warm when he climbs up onto it, looking over to Petrus for guidance on how he is meant to position himself. 

“Not to think you have an ounce of fucking privacy, and not to tap on the fucking walls ever again. Now, we’ve been kind.” Handler Petrus moves to him, gently pressing a palm into the center of his chest, until the boy shifts onto his back, swallowing against the nausea that threatens to bring up the chocolate shake he was given for breakfast. 

How can he have wanted to be this, when it always makes him feel so sick, and scared? How can this be what he signed up for, when he is always holding back a scream behind gritted teeth while it happens?

Handler Petrus hums as he takes the weighted cuffs off the boy’s wrists, letting them drop to the floor with a careless clatter. He takes a thin wrist in his hand, rubbing his thumb along the veins on the inside of the boy’s wrist, and looks up at him.

The boy stares right back, right into his eyes. They look like empty cold marbles in the handler’s face, skin like putty twisted into a smirk. 

He hates looking them in the eyes.

Each wrist is shifted fully above his head, buckled into the straps there to hold them fast. Shoulders that have carried pounds of weight at his wrists for days now ache as they are forced into a whole new position, and the boy’s top teeth come down on his lower lip until he feels pain that overwhelms the pain in his arms, if only for a second.

Then the handler moves to his ankles, securing them to the sides of the table. This isn’t… this isn’t a position the boy knows. It’s not a number, but it’s also not a position good for… for…

“S-sir?” His voice trembles.

“Sssshhhh. Just be still.” Handler Petrus pats his stomach, and the boy realizes he’s still clothed. He doesn’t know whether to be relieved - his training usually involves no clothing at all - or even more terrified of the horrible unknown of what could be done that keeps his clothing on. “You broke the rules. Now you receive your discipline.”

He steps away, and the boy’s head twists, trying desperately to follow his movements across the room, but he can’t quite see him. He hears the sound of a drawer being pulled open, then pushed shut again. A click - something opening, maybe? The boy flinches with every noise, because he doesn’t know what they are, and not knowing is worse than whatever it could possibly be.

Or so he thinks.

Until Handler Petrus comes back into his vision with a small square alcohol wipe and a syringe filled with a pale yellow liquid.

The trainee has never received this one before, but he knows what it is. They all know, soon enough. There’s a whimpering sound he only belatedly realizes is his own voice, and yanks hard against the restraints.

Of course they don’t give. He’s exhausted from never sleeping, weak from wearing weights on his wrists, weak from the lack of real food, weak from the drugs. They cheat, he thinks with a sudden wild defiance, as Handler Petrus grips his left arm at the elbow and wipes quickly along the crease. They cheat to break the trainees down, because maybe they couldn’t win without it.

Win what? He signed up to be this, whatever they want him to be. He’s a natural slut, a whore, they told him so, they told him over and over and over again, natural-born slut, made for it, you like this, you want this, you want it you want it you want it-

He cries out as the needle breaks the skin, slides in, finds his vein. It’s an awful feeling, like the drip at the beginning that he can barely recall beyond the eternal press of the needle, the sight of the IV bag slowly emptying and being refilled where the boy hung helpless against the wall. 

The handler’s thumb presses lightly into the boy’s arm as he depresses the plunger on the syringe. “After this, I think you won’t break the rules again, even alone.” Handler Petrus smiles at him, but his eyes are still so, so cold. 

Just like the liquid that moves into his bloodstream. He gasps at the ice of it, and he can’t begin to thrash, only be held still, forced to take it, just like he is forced to take everything here. Because he wants to be forced.

They tell him he wants to be forced.

He can’t remember, but… but he must have, because how else did he get here?

All pets are of legal and consenting age and sign contracts of their own free will fully informed as to the consequences of their decisions-

The cold dissipates, mixes in with his blood, his heart pumping the new drug through his body all too quickly thanks to his rapid, panicked heartbeat. 

“Please, please, I’m, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, sorry-sorry, I’m… I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean, didn’t, I just, my body, my body has to, to to to-to-to move, Handler, s-sorry-”

“Your body does what we tell it to do,” Handler Petrus says, pulling the syringe back empty, giving the boy one more smile. “And nothing more. You will understand that now.”

He walks away, leaving the boy to breathe, in the awful anticipation of what he has never experienced before but knows is coming.

He listens to Petrus drop the used syringe in the biohazard disposal box along the wall. He has the symbol memorized, the bright orange lid with black writing he can’t read. He could turn and look and see that if he wanted. But the boy only stares at the ceiling, gasping in breaths.

It starts as heat.

His veins start to burn, like fire pulses through him and not blood. It’s not the warming heat of the purple drug, the one that leaves him panting and desperate, the one that makes them all laugh at him even as they offer to give you what you need. This heat is sharper, stronger. It moves straight from a sense of warming to pain, and the boy catches his breath.

The pain begins in his arm, where the needle went in, but it spreads with each beat of his traitor heart until every inch of him is burning.

At first he whines, and whimpers. He pleads. Apologies tumble from his mouth, catch on his tongue, as Handler Petrus walks back over to his desk and turns his chair around so he can watch. The boy manages to turn to look at him just long enough to realize he is drinking out of a travel mug with a cat on one side. The sharp pain that comes with trying to read is less than the agony in his bones and so he clearly sees the words NO TALK ME ANGY WITHOUT COFFEE written on the side, and lets out a gasping, breathless sound that might be hysterical laughter as he realizes that he’s reading it.

The laughter breaks into sobs as the pain doesn’t stop building. His back arches off the table, wrists and ankles yanking at the straps that restrain them, twisting until they are rubbed raw, until they bleed, until he cannot imagine hurting any worse than he hurts now and still the pain keeps building. 

He can’t hurt worse than this and then somehow he does.

At some point, the sobbing tears turn into screams.

Handler Petrus keeps watching, sipping his coffee from his mug, as the boy screams in helpless perfect agony. 

The sound of his pain bounces off the ceiling and the walls, contained within the heavily soundproofed room. Only Handler Petrus - and whoever might be checking the security cameras right now - gets to enjoy this show. 

The boy is aware of nothing, now - his vision has narrowed to a horrible pinpoint. Everything is white around the edges, the pure cold clear white of the tiny room he sleeps in. The only thing he feels is pain.

Pain, and pain, and pain - because he couldn’t be still, couldn’t be a statue, couldn’t be good when no one was watching just as much as he is when their hands are on him. He wishes their hands were on him now, anything would be better than this, anything-

He is begging, he thinks, but the begging isn’t words, just shrieking screams. 

At some point the screaming stops.

Oh, his throat is still tensed with it, mouth open in a perfect rictus O, his eyes wide and bulging and running endless tears that collect and pool in the shells of his ears before they drip to the waterproof padding on the table beneath him. His breath still exhales with a force that keeps all the muscles of his body tense and shaking.

But the screaming stops, because at some point he has no voice left to scream with.

When that happens, the Handler has finished his coffee and started back on his paperwork. He glances up, briefly, and gives the boy a pleased smile. Then he looks back at his desk.

How long it lasts, the boy will never know.

The pain fades in increments, so carefully and slowly he doesn’t realize it a first. Eventually, though… eventually he understands that it’s less than it was, and then less again. He goes limp against the table, staring up at the fluorescent lights of the ceiling again. He can feel the trickle of blood along his wrists, his ankles. He can feel the sharp glass-shard pain of his throat when he swallows, hear the whistling exhale of his breath.

Eventually, he can even feel the clothes laid over his skin again.

Handler Petrus’s hand in his hair is gentle and soothing, and the boy pushes into it desperately, trying to please him so it won’t happen again. So he won’t be hurt again. 

Handler Petrus chuckles, his voice low and deep, and traces his fingers over the boy’s face, down his neck, rubs a circle just behind one ear. The boy whimpers, but no sound comes out. 

“Will you break the rules in your room again?” Handler Petrus asks.

The boy tries to say no, sir, but no sound escapes from him except a hoarse whistle. His eyes widen in panic as he tries, again and again, and he can’t make a sound. 

“Perfect,” Handler Petrus murmurs, and undoes the straps at his wrists, moves down to free his ankles. He takes the boy’s hands and helps him up to sitting, smiling at his pale face, the pinch of pain when he swallows. “Silence is better than stammering, 223499. And you can’t stammer if you can’t speak, can you?”

The boy’s eyes are wide and, in the nearly colorless room, terribly green. He nods, slowly. His mouth automatically forms the words, yes, handler, although he can’t say them.

“Good. And you won’t break the rules now, will you?”

A shake of the boy’s strawberry-blond hair, soaked with sweat now, sticking to his forehead and the back of his neck. No, sir.

“Good. Let’s get you back to your room. No more training today.”

The boy can barely stand as he is helped off the table, leaning heavily against his handler. Petrus’s hand around his back supports him, keeps him moving, and the boy is grateful for the gentleness.

The handler could have chosen to have him train, today. Instead he is taken back through the maze of hallways to the room he stays in, shaky and weak, and deposited on the cold floor. Shivering, the boy drops to his knees.

When the handler’s fingertips press against the underside of his chin, he raises red-rimmed eyes. He hates looking them in the eyes so, so much.

But he’ll do anything not to feel the pain again.

“We see everything you do,” Handler Petrus says, almost gently. “Everything. Do you understand me, trainee?”

The boy swallows, licks at dry lips, and nods. 

“If I catch you tapping again, I’ll give you the full dose next time.” 

That wasn’t the full dose? It can get worse than that?

The boy whimpers, hoarse and barely-there, and then winces at the pain that comes from making any sound at all. He shakes his head, I’ll be good, I’ll be good for you, I’ll be so good, mouthing the words he can no longer speak.

“Damn straight,” The handler replies. He presses his thumb against the boy’s lower lip, and he opens his mouth obediently to let the handler push it inside, press down against his tongue. His thumb tastes like salt and skin and the boy knows that taste as well as he knows the taste of the chocolate shakes. 

He is silent. 

Still.

“That’s it. That’s a good boy.” Handler Petrus pulls his hand back, ruffles the boy’s hair. “That’s my statue boy. Don’t break rules again.”

He leaves, the door sliding shut behind him, and the boy is alone in the white room.

The need builds and builds inside of him, but he doesn’t try to tap on the floor, on the wall, on himself. He curls into a ball on the floor, arms over his head to try and create enough darkness to sleep, and pushes down the need he has to tap, to rock, to do something with his body into a twisted little ball of fear and pain deep inside himself.

He is good. Just like they want him to be.

Just like he wanted.

They tell him he wanted this, to be fixed of his wrong words and his wrong hands. They tell him over and over again, and so it must be true.

In the white room, the boy weeps.

His tears are silent, and his body is still.

Just like they wanted.

---

Tagging: @burtlederp​, @finder-of-rings​, @endless-whump​, @whumpfigure​, @slaintetowhump​, @astrobly​, @newandfiguringitout​, @doveotions​, @pretty-face-breaker​, @boxboysandotherwhump​, @oops-its-whump​

[alwaysabeautifullife]

Why are you against ABA?

Warning ⚠️ Severe triggers for ABA therapy, child abuse etc in article and quoted below

This entire article is why:

http://unstrangemind.com/aba/

As a side note, not doing ABA is the reason why my autistic child is happy and healthy.

A couple quotes from the article above if you’re pressed for time:

“ABA was developed by Dr. Ivar Lovaas. As a 1965 Life Magazine article explains, the core theory of ABA was that a therapist, “forcing a change in a child’s outward behavior” would, “effect an inward psychological change.” The article says, “Lovaas feels that by I) holding any mentally crippled child accountable for his behavior and 2) forcing him to act normal, he can push the child toward normality.””

“ABA therapists are trained to find out what your child loves the most and hold it ransom. Often, it’s food. “

“A therapist might tell you that “a little crying” is a normal thing, but I was once an Autistic child and I can tell you that being pushed repeatedly to the point of tears with zero sense of personal power and knowing that the only way to get the repeated torment to end was to comply with everything that was asked of me, no matter how painful, no matter how uneasy it made me feel, no matter how unreasonable the request seemed, knowing that I had no way out of a repeat of the torment again and again for what felt like it would be the rest of my life was traumatizing to such a degree that I still carry emotional scars decades later. “

“Finally, Janie’s entire body went limp with defeat. She apparently made eye contact because Mother and Father began to lavish praise on her. “Good girl, Janie. Good eye contact. Good girl. Let’s get some ice cream now.” Janie’s limp body slid to the sidewalk where she lay, sobbing. Father picked her up and carried her to the car, the whole way praising her submission. “Good eye contact, Janie.””

“Janie learned that adults can have whatever they want from her, even if it hurts and even if they have to hurt her to get it. Janie learned that her body does not belong to her and that she has to give others access to it at any time, for any reason, even if she wasn’t doing anything that could hurt herself or others. Janie learned that there is no point in resisting and that it is her job to let others do what they want with her body, no matter how uncomfortable it makes her.”

“

And intensive ABA therapy will also teach a child that there is something fundamentally wrong and unacceptable about who they are. Not only is that child trained to look normal, they are trained to hate who they are inside. They are trained to hate who they are and hide who they are. They will work very hard to hide who they are, because they have learned to hate who they are. And as a result, they will push themselves to the brink of destruction.”

A few thoughts of mine—

I have witness this therapy still practiced today in an entire classroom (I spoke about it before you can try searching but don’t remember the tag). So the myth that ABA isn’t like that is incorrect. I know the argument “not all ABA therapy is like this”, maybe it isn’t, but I have yet to see therapy for Autistics that isn’t specifically to force them to look non-autistic. I haven’t seen ABA therapy that doesn’t use “exposure therapy” by forcing them to be uncomfortable and feel physical pain with their triggers that has shown absolutely zero effectiveness for neurological brain diversities, and has been proven to cause trauma. I haven’t seen ABA therapy that doesn’t suppress healthy stimming and healthy autistic traits and behaviors.

I taught my Autistic child she has the power to control her environment when she is uncomfortable, that her discomfort is heard and understood, that she can stim, leave the situation, and most importantly the power of ‘no’ and ‘stop’. She communicates as she is able, in ways that are comfortable for her. She has no obligation to pretend to be something she is not, or hide who she is. She will be ruthlessly herself and if someone is uncomfortable with that, well too bad. There will be people that love her and people that don’t but what’s important is she loves and accepts herself.

[yay-depression]

daily fucking reminder that ABA therapy (applied behavioral analysis therapy) actively harms people who are in it

your idea that being unable to talk is a bad thing that needs to be corrected is wrong and is ableist.

your idea that someone needs to know how to accept a high five or a hug “properly” (usually without resistance even tho it’s their fucking body) is wrong and ableist.

your idea that everyone needs to learn to make a lot of friends and that people with autism were “hopeless” until aba came along is wrong and ableist.

ND people don’t need you to teach us how to act normal. we need you to fucking figure out a way to work with us that doesn’t require the suppression of things you deem “unprofessional” or “not socially acceptable” your social rules are stupid and they don’t work for a lot of people, all they do is make you comfortable and they only do that because you were taught that is what’s normal.

get used to things making you uncomfortable, and then get used to things not being normal.

y’all wanna know how people who didn’t take aba grew up? maybe communicate with them like they’re a fucking person and you’ll find out

[kaediisarchive]

chrysanthemum | daisy | lilac

[ @redcrimes | botanical headcanons | still accepting ]

chrysanthemum :   how does your muse express romantic love ?  how do they feel about love as a concept ?  

          Something that is core to Skarlet is her intense desire for love and affection in any form, be it platonic, familial, or romantic. She was deprived of it in her childhood, growing up in an abusive household and later living on the streets as an orphan. It’s something that manipulative individuals have noticed in her in the past and used as a method to control her (familial affection and approval from Shao Kahn, romantic affection from Reiko). She can make all the excuses for her choices that she wants, but the driving factor that let them manipulate her was her drive to be valued by someone. To be loved in whatever form it takes. She tries her best to suppress it, especially now looking back at how it was used against her in the past, but she cannot bring herself to fully put it aside. So, love as a concept to Skarlet is a double-edged blade. It’s what she wants most in her life, but it’s also the thing that has hurt her the most. She is avoidant of it for the most part, trying her best not to get attached to anyone, but when she does love, she loves deeply. So deeply that, when things go wrong (which she sees as an inevitable thing based on her past experiences), it will wound her in a way that no other physical or mental pain could match.

          As for the expression of romantic love, Skarlet is a very affectionate person. Her main priority when she’s in love with someone is supporting that person, putting their needs before her own. She’s very “touchy” in private and physically expressive. She is very in-tune with her sexuality and sensuality, and romantic love will definitely bring out the latter in her. She is thoughtful and puts in a lot of effort to help her romantic interest be their best self. This comes in many forms, be it unsolicited compliments (that are more personal to that person rather than generic compliments), surprising them with their favorite foods/items, helping them with their work, contributing to their hobbies, and other random acts of kindness. She is very protective of her romantic interest and their well-being. She notices the small changes in them that occur when they are sick or stressed and will actively encourage them to prioritize themselves and their health over everything else. She cares for them when sick, and if stressed, she will create the most comfortable environment she can for them, including keeping stressors (work, other people, etc.) away from them for as long as they need. Skarlet is selfless in love and self-sacrificing, and this quality can easily be taken for granted or misused by others. A good partner will make sure that she takes care of herself, too.

daisy :   did your muse ever feel as though their innocence had been lost ?   what moment in their life could be described as the end of their innocence ?

          Skarlet definitely feels like her innocence was stolen from her at a young age. It waned all through her childhood as she was constantly exposed to horrible things and forced to participate in her father’s crimes. He made her steal, pickpocket, scam people, help him cheat when gambling, and all sorts of shady shit like that. But there is definitely one moment in particular that she marks as the moment her innocence was lost completely: the moment she watched her father be beaten to death by debt collectors. Aba died a few short months later, and Skarlet was on the streets with no one to support her. Even though her father was shit, she still cared for him at the time because she was a child who didn’t know any better. Though now her opinion of him has changed in hindsight, it was traumatic, not only because it happened at all, but because she witnessed it firsthand.

lilac :   what was your muse’s childhood like ?   how has their upbringing affected them as they’ve aged ? 

          Her childhood was awful and set her on a dark path. (Here’s a compilation of various headcanons I have about her childhood, since I’ll be referencing some of them.) Her father was verbally and emotionally abusive and treated her like she was responsible for her mother’s death. He was also a gambler and a drunk who taught her to lie and steal. And as mentioned, he was beaten to death before her very eyes, so that was highly traumatic. She spent a few months afterward with a loving grandmother-figure she called “Aba”, but Aba died, and Skarlet was forced onto the streets when she was only eleven years old.

          From that point, Skarlet had to make a living by stealing. For a time, she stole on behalf of other orphans that shared the warrens of the Imperial City to earn food for them all, but after her thievery got her best friend Teeko killed, she blamed herself and exiled herself from the others.

          To make it short, here’s a bullet list of the ways her childhood affected her:

She was indoctrinated into crime early. She has no solid morality; she’s a survivor first and foremost, and she’ll do whatever she has to do, regardless of where her actions fit within the societal concepts of “right” and “wrong”. It’s all grey to her.

She’s highly distrustful and hesitant to get close to people.

She has a crippling fear of loss.

She craves the love, affection, and approval she was denied in childhood, and this has been used to manipulate her several times.

She’s got classism issues that skew towards a disdain for the upper classes, especially when it comes to the Edenian nobility due to her experiences. Not only was it an Edenian noblewoman who sent the guards after her friend Teeko (guards that killed him) setting the stage for this to develop, but Shao Kahn also purposefully fostered jealousy in her towards Kitana and Jade in order to keep her on his side so that when Kitana inevitably turned against him, Skarlet would not join her. I would say it’s ironic that Skarlet has this bias considering she is unknowingly half Edenian by heritage, but her bias isn’t directed towards Edenians as a whole, only the Edenian upper class specifically, and tbh, her classism has slowly lost that kind of specificity directed at the Edenian nobility over time since Shao Kahn died, and now it’s more along the lines of “fuck greedy, rich bastards” in general.

She has survivor’s guilt from Teeko’s death.

She has intense PTSD that manifests in the form of nightmares, night terrors, disassociation periods, intrusive memories, periods of severe depression, and insomnia. She’s learned to live with it because she’s had it from such a young age, but her symptoms have not gotten much better since then. It may seem to others (who know this about her) that her PTSD has gotten better since she doesn’t react vividly to these symptoms any more, but it hasn’t, she’s just grown used to them.

[ramona-ratguider]

Scandinavian Folklore - Charms

1. If you're following after someone who is riding on a road, and you want to have his horse become lame so that he won't overcome you, take a nail and pierce it into the ground where the horse has trod (specifically it’s hoof-print).The nail should be from a coffin.

2. So that you will never lose a court case, take the tongue of an otter and put it in your right shoe under your bare foot, when you go to court.

3. To hit any target with a shotgun. Take the first feather in the wing of a cuckoo and chop up the cuckoo while the heart is warm, then stick the feather into the heart and put it together in a linen cloth. Put Rosmarinus officinalis into the cloth with the heart and hang it on a kettle hook over a stove for 9 24-hour days. Then take it down and tie it on your right arm.

4. To shoot and hit the target take bat's blood and apply it to the bullet or the shotgun.

5. To shoot with accuracy. Take a hoopoe bird and take the heart out of it and the tongue and carry it with you.

6. So that no wolf can do you any harm, say "Cristus est nattus, lapus est capttus intt nina Dnus"

7. Good for hunting. Take the blood out of your right hand and make a powder from it and mix it with the shotgun powder.

8. To shoot whatever you want. Take the heart and the liver of a bat, put it under the lead when you shoot bullets or shot, then you'll hit whatever you see.

9.  He who takes the eyes of a hoopoe bird makes a person agreeable to strangers. If one carries them about the throat over the chest to a trial, then all enemies with become good again.

10. When one boils a raven's egg, which you then put back into the nest, and they then go to lie on it again, then they'll fetch a stone, with which he will touch the egg. Then it will immediately become raw again. If one takes this stone and then puts a laurel leaf under it and then has it set in a ring, and the goldsmith shall make an oath, that he will say nothing about it if he doesn't want to die; and that ring is good if one is bound in iron chains or some other imprisonment: if one touches it with this ring, then he is free again. Whoever has this stone in his mouth, he can understand the language of birds

11. So that everyone will be fond of you. Take a stone that is found in a swallow's nest and carry it with you

12. Take the root of an Artemesia vulgaris plant and carry it on you, then no one is able to slander you.

13. How one obtains a swallow-stone. Take a swallow chick out of the nest and stab out its eye, and tie it in a silk thread around its throat and put him back into the nest. On the third day, go back there again, then you will get three stones, one white and one black and one red. When one has the white stone in one's mouth, then he'll neither hunger nor thirst; if the black stone is in his  mouth, then all women will be crazy about him; and if he has the red stone in his mouth and he kisses a virgin, then she'll fall in love with him over all others. The one who has the red stone with him cannot be harmed by anything.

14. To melt a steel binding between your hands. Take the root of the wolfberry, Atropa Belladonna, and tie it under your right arm.

15. If someone has done you ill, to know who did it. Buy some oregano spice {Origanum vulgare) at the pharmacy, tie it under the right arm and go to bed to sleep, then you'll see the one who has done you wrong.

16. So that the lady folk will lift up their skirts. Take the blood of a young hare and smear it on the candle there where they're inside.

17 To get the strength of 3 men. Take the root of Artemisia vulgaris and saffron and spread it all over your arms. 

18. So that no horse will throw you, then yell these words: "Astulis Astula Cosso forottis." Take a tongue of a young swallow, that hasn't been out of the nest yet, and put it under your tongue when you kiss a virgin so that your tongue goes into her mouth, then she'll not let go of you until she's had her way with you.

19. Another: take an otter's tongue with arsenic and carry it with you, then you will have favor with highborn men and others. 

20. To give to a horse to eat, so that no other horse can outrun him, Eberroot dug up on Bartholomew's day is good. If you eat it yourself, then no other will be able to outrun you. 

22. Tie a raven's tongue on the middle finger, as he lies and sleeps, then he will reveal all his secrets to you. 

23. Artemisia root, carry it around your neck, then no poisonous creature can harm you. 

24. The one who puts the powder of that root over their door, no harm will befall that house. 

25. The one who carries a hoopoe bird's tongue on themselves, will have no harm befall him, and all his enemies will like him.

26. The one who wants to ride out, should hang Verbena officinalis around the horse's neck, then he won't become tired. 

27. To make oneself invisible. Go before Saint Jakob's day to an anthill and pour warm water on it, then they'll all run out, and look into it and go a little bit away, and then return and seek in it, then you'll find a stone that has three colors; you should have that with you. 

28. Take an egg between 11 and 12 o'clock and put it in an anthill, and when you go back again, then you'll find a stone: you should take that with you. To get a virgin to lift her skirts. Take bat's blood and put it into a linen cloth, and when you are sitting with her, then light it on fire, then it'll work. 

29. To get the strength of 9 men. Take a heart of a wolf, 2 of a fox and 3 of a dog and sew them in place on the left side. 

30. To know where money is. Write these words on virgin paper: D. + . + . 8 . X . 3: d d U: W. 6. X. V. Z.

31. Take an old hen and clean it well and boil it together with oxmeat in a new pot. When it is cooked, take a new wooden plate and put it together with the oxmeat on it and bury it all deep in the earth at a fork in the road, and put another plate over it, so it is quite tight, so that no earth will come between, and let it sit for 9 days - it should be arranged so that it will be a Monday when it will be dug up again - then there will have been three spirits with it that ate it up: the first having replaced it with a table cloth, the second with a mirror and the third with a dice-piece. The table cloth when one spreads it on the table, means that one will have food enough; in the mirror one can see what is happening in the whole world; the dice-piece one can throw as much as one wants and never lose. One of these three things you should leave behind. 

32. To make yourself invisible. Shoot a raven on Maundy Thursday and take the tongue and tie it to the right arm. 

33. If one is captured, to get free. If one is in a stock or in irons, then they'll loosen and not harm one. Have these words on you: allb. +. Fellea +. ieyiga +:nex +. FanstiG + gennt + Sebortt + G + S + ff + ScHutAueG. 

34. So that no one will outrun you. Take quickroot and tie it under your right toe.

35. So that a horse can't throw you, then yell these words in his ear: "Alius as aba ara via capel."

36. So that no one can defeat you when you argue your case, and so that they will all escape. So that if one is preparing to go to court, then one won't lose. When the sun goes into the sign of Taurus, then seek a viper, that is a snake, and take the skin off it and burn it to a powder and carry it around your throat. It has virtue. It should be taken during the first 5 days when the sun is in the sign of Taurus: all of this should be done. If one has that powder, then when one argues, then no one can defeat him. And if it lies in a house where no one knows about it other than he, then no one can remain inside it. Third, when one has to go to court, put it into your shoes, so that it lies under your bare feet, then one won't lose. 

37. If you drink Rute water each morning on an empty stomach, then your eyes will become so clear that you will be able to see the stars in heaven during the daytime. 

38. To release a lock. Notice when the frog is out. Grab hold of it and put it in a glass and put a stone on it. Then there'll come a spirit and he will have an herb and hold it before the glass. With this it will burst asunder. If one holds it in front of a lock, then it will release and open.

39. To make a couple become enemies. Take an egg and boil it hard and write both of their names on it and cut the egg right in two and give the one half to a dog and the other to a cat. 

40. Take hare's blood and apply it to a haystraw and put it in a virgin's bed, then she won't give up until you go to bed with her. 

41. Tie a rabbit's foot to your right arm, then no dog will bark at you. 

42. So that you get what you ask for, then carry these words with you: + Los + pastor + avB 1 C. 

43. So that you are liked by everyone, then carry these words with you: pnu Sanilo Pro C Sanctus: Pro. 

44. So that no one is your enemy. Have these words with you: M. G. C. B. y. Jn nomino Pattris: et Fyly. x et. Spiritus amenque eta gramatam. 

45. If a wife runs away from her the husband, then take her right shoe and put it in smoldering coals. As long as the shoe smolders, then she'll have no peace until she comes back to him again.

46. Take a needle with which a corpse was sewn into a burial shroud, and stick into the underside of the table where you are sitting and playing cards, then you'll win. 

47. Carry a 'galdevedh '20 as it is called in German, put it in your right shoe, then you'll win at cards. 

48. If you want the strength of 9 men, then carry on your left side a wolfs heart or a fox's heart or a dog's heart. 

49. Take the heart a thrush, that is a small edible bird, and put it under one's head, then he'll tell you what he knows; or put it underneath you. 

50. Take a pea and put it on a frog. Stick out its left eye, and put the pea in its place. Bury it and then the pea itself will grow, and the peas that grow on that plant, if you take one of them and put it under your tongue, then you're invisible, as long as it remains there. 

In my personal craft I don’t like to hurt any living thing, these are mostly for interests sake and I hope you take it as the same, but to each their own.

[verilyruth]

Prompt idea: Javid trying to have private moments, can range in ratings, but they keep getting interrupted by other couples and their friends.

Pairing: Jack/Davey

Warnings: Nothing? I don’t think. I mean, cursing, but it’s me so duh.

  Davey let Jack lead him by the hand up the stairs, down the hall, and towards his room. 

  “And you’re sure I’m allowed to be here?”

  “Course. I told you, Dave, Medda isn’t like the other foster parents I’ve had.”

  “I know but I’m your boyfriend and she’s not home.”

  “So? We’re at your house without your folks all the time.”

  “Yeah but my parents know you and she doesn’t know me. If Sarah brought a random boy home they wouldn’t be allowed to be by themselves, let alone in her room,” he said. 

  Jack ignored him and opened the door. Davey almost gasped when he turned the lights on. “Jack!”

  “I know,” Jack replied, pretending to be casual. Davey smacked his arm playfully.

  “Seriously! You must be so excited.” There was one bed in the room. Davey knew that Jack had always had at least two roommates in the past. The closest thing he had gotten to privacy was when he showered, and even then there was always someone banging on the door. 

  As the friendship between them grew, Davey had learned more about his living situation and past and knew that Jack was always looking out for others with no time for himself. It had taken a long time, but eventually Davey had managed to convince him that it was okay to ask him for help.

  There had been more than one occasion when Jack had come over not to spend time with Davey, but to have some peace from the constant noise and chaos. Sometimes Davey’s parents would come home to their children sitting quietly downstairs and Jack asleep upstairs. They didn’t question it.

  But now, Jack had a room to himself for the first time ever. He wasn’t going to be up all night with little kids’ nightmares or kids their age doing homework; he could just sleep and be by himself. Davey had never been happier for his boyfriend.

  “Yeah,” Jack said with a smile, “I’m excited.” He shut the door behind him and pulled Davey into a kiss. Davey smiled through the whole thing and Jack laughed at him. “You’re happier than I am.”

  “I’m just grateful that you’re getting something to yourself. Can I sit on your bed?”

  “You don’t have to ask.”

  Davey took his hand and dragged him over before kicking off his shoes and lying down. “Comfortable?”

  “Yep.”

  “Good. Are you going to kiss me for real this time?”

  “Excuse me?” Davey raised an eyebrow. “Before it wasn't real?”

  “Whatever. Just shut up and kiss me, will ya?” Before Davey could respond, his phone rang. He flashed Jack an apologetic look before answering.

  “Hello?”

  “Davey!” Race yelled. “Are you with Jack?” 

  “Why?”

  “Come get pizza with me and Spot and Romeo and-”

  “Not right now, Race,” he said. “Sorry.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s been a long week and I’m tired.”

  “Not too tired to hang out with Jack.”

  “Jack lets me lie in bed and nap. Will you let me lie in bed and nap?”

  “You’re boring. Okay, love you, bye!” He hung up and Davey rolled his eyes before putting his phone back down. 

  “Sorry, Race was just being an idiot,” he told Jack, who just smiled.

  “Some things never change.” He pressed a soft kiss to the corner of Davey’s mouth. “Do you want to nap?”

  “What? No, I was just saying that to get him to leave me alone. Although honestly I might not object to taking one in a little while.”

  “Me neither.”

  “It’ll be nice to nap with you without being interr-” Davey’s phone buzzed again. Jack groaned. “Sorry. Hi?”

  “David, where are you?” Les asked. “School ended fifteen minutes ago!”

  “Sarah’s picking you up today, remember?” 

  “No, she said you are.”

  “Seriously? I’ll call her. She’ll be there soon. Sorry, boychik.” 

  “Whatever.” Les hung up.

  “Sorry, I just have to call Sarah because she’s an idiot.”

  Jack grumbled but otherwise didn’t object. Davey gave him a quick forehead kiss as the phone rang. 

  “Hey.”

  “Hey. It’s your turn to pick up Les.”

  “It is? Shit. Okay, I’m going now.”

  “Where are you?” There was a lot of background noise. “It sounds loud.”

  “I’m in Spot’s car and there’s a bunch of people here but we’ll go get him.”

  “Are you sure? I can-”

  “Nah, it’s fine. We’re going to get pizza so he’ll be happy to tag along.”

  “Wait, you’re with Race? Never mind. Okay, thanks. Love you.”

  “Love you too, bye.”

  “Okay–” he placed his phone on Jack’s nightstand “–no more interruptions.” 

  “Good. Come here.” Jack pulled him into another kiss, this one a lot more passionate than the last. “You know,” he said after a few minutes, “you’re–” 

  “Jack!”

  “Seriously?” Jack asked the universe. He got up and opened his bedroom door. “Hi! I’m up here. Davey’s with me.” 

  “Let me come meet him.”

  “You might want to fix your hair,” he whispered to Davey. He immediately stood up and ran to the mirror. 

  “Of course now’s the time she decides to meet me.”

  “What’s wrong with now?”

  “I’d prefer if I didn’t look like I was just making out with her foster son.”

  “Honesty’s the best policy,” Jack said, earning himself a playful shove to the chest. 

  Medda ascended the stairs and knocked on the doorframe before entering. “Hey, Medda.”

  “Hello boys. You must be David. Jack’s told me all about you.” She offered Davey her hand and he shook it. 

  “Yes, ma’am. It’s nice to meet you. Thank you for having me.”

  “Of course! Any time,” she said. “Jack’s boyfriend is always welcome in this house.”

  Davey blushed.

  “I told you he’s shy, Medda.”

  “Jack!” he hissed. 

  Medda laughed.

  “I’ll leave you boys alone. Nice to meet you, David.”

  “You too.” 

  She closed the door behind her and Davey raised an eyebrow at Jack. He shrugged. 

  “I told you, she’s relaxed.”

  “I believed you, I just didn’t think she would want the door closed, let alone close it herself.”

  “Whatever. Come on, I-” Davey’s phone rang again. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Sorry! I’ll silence it.” He picked it up and looked at the caller id. “Actually, it’s my mom, I have to answer it.” 

  Jack flopped down on his bed dramatically.

  “I hate everything.”

  “Hello?”

  “David! You’re on speaker phone. I’m in the car with Aba.”

  “Oh. Hi guys. What’s up?”

  “Are you home?”

  “No, I’m at Jack’s. Why, should I be?”

  “No, that’s all right, I was just curious,” his mother told him. “That’s not why we’re calling. We wanted to let you know we’ll be back Sunday night around seven, okay? Our trip was cut short.”

  “Okay, great. I’ll tell Sarah and Les,” he rushed through his sentence. “Can I call you guys back later? I’m helping Jack with SAT prep.” 

  Jack snickered into his pillow. 

  “Of course! Love you.”

  “Love you guys too. Bye. Sorry, they just wanted to let me know they’ll be back Sunday night.”

  “Wait, what? Your parents are out of town?” He nodded. “Then why the hell aren’t we at your place?” 

  “I wanted to see your new house! Besides, I thought Sarah and Les were gonna be home and you said Medda wouldn’t be.” 

  Jack sighed.

  “It’s kinda sad that we’re in high school and the reason we’re looking for privacy is to nap, ain’t it?” 

  Davey laughed.

  “Naps are underrated. I’ve changed my mind, can we sleep now?”

  “Sure. Pajamas are in the bottom drawer.” 

  “This is why I love you.”

  “Because I lend you pajamas?”

  “Yep! Come on, you get changed too. I’m not cuddling you under the covers while you’re in jeans.”

  “Has anyone ever told you you’re very demanding?”

  “Yes. You. Constantly.” 

  “Well, I’m right.” 

  They changed and curled up under the covers. Jack exhaled happily as Davey kissed his cheek.

  “Good night, Jacky,” he said, despite it being three thirty in the afternoon.

  “Good night, Dave.” 

  Davey couldn’t recall ever being more comfortable, although come to think of it, he always had that feeling when he cuddled with Jack. He enjoyed it anyway and allowed himself to hold his boyfriend even closer. He drifted off slowly.

  This was peace. This was what the word paradise meant. There was nothing better than this. 

  His phone rang. 

  “Are you fucking kidding me!”

[badass-women-league]

-TIVALI-

1- The reunion

"When will I see Ima ?"

The little girl was holding flowers in her hands. She was hopping up and down with impatience. Tony looked at his watch and said:

-"come on Tali be patient, I've already told you she's gonna get out from there" he pointed at the arrival terminal doors. He whispered "you inherited that impatience from your mom for sure"

Tony could not blame his daughter, he was as impatient as she was. He hasn't been in contact with Ziva for month and he haven't seen her for years. YEARS! Away from the woman he loves, the mother of his child and on top of that she had been in danger all this time. She could have died and he would probably not have been aware of it. Raising Tali on his own hasn't been easy. He was worried about their reunion. Worried that things would be different between them. After such a long time away from each other it would be normal. Tony had changed and Ziva had too. Tony knew they would have to get to know each other again. But he was still Tony, he still loved food, movies and he was still the class clown who makes fun of everything. So maybe there was a chance that Ziva was still the same after all: the sexy, strong and independent ninja that he fell in love with.

The door of the terminal opened and passengers walked out. Tali and Tony were looking for Ziva's face. Tony was getting worried. What if she had not taken that plane at the last minute ? It was irrational, she would have told him. Finally she walked through the doors. Tali yield "IMA!" And rushed to Ziva with her flowers in her hands.

Ziva heart stopped when she saw the little girl. She crouched to hug her daughter. Tony walked to them. Ziva took Tali's face on her hand to take a better look at it. She was so big, so beautiful. She was crying tears of joy. She unconsciously started speaking in hebrew. It was always happening when she was upset or like right now, overwhelmed by her emotions. She switched back to english: ⁣

-"my baby! oh my god Tali, look at you, you are so big now"

-"we missed you Ima"

Ziva hugged Tali again and sobbed:

-"I missed you too Tali"

-"look these are for you ! Aba said you like flowers... I choose them myself"

Ziva took the flowers and kissed her daughter's forehead.

-"thank you Tali, they are very beautiful" she glanced at Tony and said "Aba remembered my favorite flowers"

Tony proudly smiled.

After a long hug to her child, she looked up at Tony. He was smiling to her, happy to see that the strong bond between Tali and her mother hasn't been broken after such a long time. She stood up, keeping Tali close to her. The little girl was looking up at her parents. Tony and Ziva were shyly smiling to each other. Ziva was still scared that things could be awkward between them. Tony talked first with his usual charming grin:

-"hi..."

Ziva smiled and tilted her head on the right side:

-"hi..."

Tony smiled too and cupped her face before kissing her softly. When Tali saw this, she immediately shouted a long: "ugh!!!!!!!!" in disgust. Her expression made Tony and Ziva smile and laugh. It was the first time that Tali was seeing her father kissing someone and she was pretty disgusted. Tony was still holding Ziva's face. He looked at Tali and then deeply at Ziva and said:

-"you gonna have to get used to this Tali, because it's gonna happen again.. a lot"

Ziva smiled and kissed Tony.

After a long minute of kissing Tony whispered:

-"come on let's go home"

Ziva was finally home. It doesn't matter if it was in D.C or Paris, her home was where Tony and Tali were.

Tony opened the door of his apartment and stepped aside to let Tali and Ziva in. He smiled and said:

-"welcome home"

Ziva stepped inside and took a deep breathe. She looked around her. It was bright and beautiful. It was the perfect mix between modern and old design. She walked through the room and stopped in front of framed pictures. Mostly pictures of Tali. Some with Tony, some with Senior. Tali's first day of school. Tali's first time at the zoo, Tali's 4th birthday. She was looking so happy. Ziva's heart was broken by the idea that she missed all those crucial moments of her daughter life but at least she was strengthened by the idea that she had the best reason for that. She had protected her.

Ziva looked surprised when she noticed a picture of her between Tali's. The picture of her that Tony took on their first trip to Paris. Tony's favorite one "because she was smiling", as he said years ago. Tony stepped closer and said:

-"you said it would look better in black and white, so I got it reprinted that way.. it's still my favorite"

Ziva fought the tears growing in her eyes. Tony turned to Tali:

-"why don't you show your bedroom to Ima ?"

Tali looked excited and she grabbed her mother's hand to lead her to her bedroom.

When Tony walked to Tali's bedroom 15 minutes later, Ziva was sitting on Tali's bed. She could not take her eyes away from her daughter. Tali was very chatty. She was showing Ziva all sorts of things: toys, clothes, drawing she had made for her. Tony leaned on the door frame to look at them. A tear rolled down Ziva's cheek. A tear of joy and regrets at the same time. Tali saw it and stopped talking. She was confused. She walked to Ziva, touched her mother's face with confused eyes and asked:

-"are you hurt Ima ?"

Ziva smiled and kissed Tali's tiny hands. She wiped her tears away and said:

-"I am fine Tali. I am just very happy to see you"

-"why are you crying ?"

Ziva pulled Tali closer to her and said:

-"because when I left you and Aba, you were just a baby and now you are a beautiful girl. Sometimes grown ups cry when they are happy. It's stupid I know but it's like that"

Tali laid her eyes on Ziva's necklace. She grabbed it with her little fingers. Ziva was struck by her memories of when Tali used to touch it when she was a baby.

She looked at Tali's neck and noticed her Star of David necklace. She took it between her finger and said:

-"see, I have yours and you have mine. As long as we wear them, we'll be together, no matter where we are"

Dinner time. Tony, Tali and Ziva were all gathered around the dinner table. Tali was talking about her school and her friends. Tony discreetly turned to Ziva and asked:

-"Was I that talkative too back at NCIS ?"

Ziva smiled:

-"you were worse than that. She definitely inherited that from you"

Tony looked resigned and said:

-"she got my talkativeness and your bad temper..."

Ziva faked to be offended:

-"My bad temper ? What bad temper ?"

Tony turned to Tali and said:

-"oh I see that miss Dinozzo forgot to mention what she did to young Jeremy last week didn't she ?"

Tali shyly smiled, as a child who knew she had done  something wrong. Ziva looked confused and asked:

-"What did you do Tali ?"

-"I punched him in the face..."

She was obviously not very proud of her action and certainly got lectured for her behavior by her father. Ziva looked at Tony with confused eyes and Tony asked:

-"and why did you punched that poor Jeremy ?"

Tali answered quietly:

-"Because he said he wanted me to be his girlfriend"

Ziva closed her eyes and bit her tongue to control herself but she really wanted to laugh which would have been very wrong for Tali's education.

Tony whispered:

-"does that remind you of someone ?"

Ziva could not disagree.

-"alright alright.. maybe she got that from me..."

They both laughed. Tony turned to Tali and said:

-"alright Kung fu panda! It's time to go brush your teeth and go to bed, go on"

Ziva was clearing the dinner table. Tony looked at her and said:

-"don't worry about this I'll deal with that later"

He knew she was trying to keep herself busy. He walked to her and grabbed her wrist to stop her. She made eye contact with him. A long and deep one. Tony looked at her wrist and saw the scar from Paraguay on it. He quietly said:

-"I know you need some time but you'll find your place Ziva. We're gonna help you, me and Tali" he briefly paused "Gibbs told me about Adam.. I am sorry"

A little voice raised from behind and surprised them:

-"who's Adam ?"

Tony glanced at Ziva and looked sorry for her that she had to deal with that now. He grabbed Tali, sat her on the countertop and said:

-"Adam was a very dear friend of Ima. He took care of you when you were a baby and he helped Ima to get you to me"

-"where is he now ?"

Ziva swallowed hard. Tony chose his words wisely and continued:

-"He is gone but he's still keeping an eye on you and Ima"

Tali was trying to understand:

-"Is he with saba ?"

Ziva was surprised about Tali evoking her grandfather. She never thought that Tony would have mentioned him.

-"yes, yes he is with Saba. They are both looking after you, but now it is late and I am sure that Adam and saba would like you to go to bed"

Tony turned and placed his back in front of the little girl:

-"get on board princess"

The little girl laughed and got on her father's back. He led her to her bed, Ziva following them with a smile.

[clareguilty]

Somewhere Safe

Read it here on the AO3

Rating: Gen/Teen | No Warnings Word Count: ~2100 Mandalorian & Reader & Baby Yoda

Yelling. Everyone was always yelling. Husks and guts and roasts for sale. Scraps and parts and tools. You wormed your way through the throngs of shoppers in an attempt to make your way to the two or three stalls you actually needed to get to. The market was always busy. No matter what day or time you visited, there were always hundreds of people, and they were always yelling.

Sighing, you recited your list to yourself and tried to shove past a group of thugs who were attempting to intimidate a junk trader into giving up some speeder parts. God, this planet was a shithole. You were about to spend far too many credits on some produce that wouldn't even be that fresh just so you could return to the tiny room you were renting from a guy who was definitely running some kind of drug operation.

You probably should have just saved up for passage to another planet, somewhere quiet and peaceful where you could actually breathe the air without getting a whiff of fumes and toxins, but it was hard to save up when you were just doing contract work. Eating was difficult enough between one job and the next. You were stuck here until you came into some kind of mysterious fortune.

You stopped at a crossing and let out a groan as a caravan of six legged beasts lumbered through the square. They were huge and slow and took up the entire crossway. It would be at least a few minutes before they all had passed.

Glaring at the brown-grey clouds that blanketed the continent, you dreamed of quiet nights and moments of gentle solitude. This corner of the galaxy had gone to shit, one revolution after another it felt like. Warring factions destroying entire planets for reasons you couldn't comprehend.

A gentle tug at the hem of your overclothes had you reaching for your knife. Like hell someone was going to pickpocket you.

There was a... something clinging to the bottom of your coat. Maybe a baby Nautolan? You had only met one before, and he certainly didn't look like this. Whatever this was, it was green and small: barely taller than two power converters stacked on top of each other. Wide, innocent eyes and even wider, floppy ears. A tiny hand fisted in the fabric of your coat. The thing was wearing clothes, so you assumed it wasn't some kind of pest. It blinked at you and tugged on your coat again, waving its other stubby arm towards the other side of the road.

"You need help getting across?" You tucked your knife away. "Alright, but if you try to rob me, I'm going to throw you in the garbage heap."

The tail end of the caravan came into sight, and you began slowly walking to the other side of the road. The child -- you assumed it was a child -- toddled after you but couldn't keep pace with your long strides.

"Oh, come here," you scooped the thing into your arms. It was surprisingly light. You made it to the other side of the street and glanced around, looking for a larger green person that wore the expression of a worried parent. "Your parents should be ashamed," you shook your head. "This is no place for someone like you."

Scanning the crowd, you realized it would be nearly impossible to find a total stranger. "I don't even know what they would look like," you frowned at the little guy. "I sure hope I don't wind up having to take you in. I hate to say it, but I probably can't even afford to feed you."

The baby made a slurping sound, alternating between watching your face and gazing out at the people who filled the market. Maybe it was smart enough to recognize its parents? You sure hoped so.

You continued on, trying to tabulate how much this thing would need to eat in the event you had to take care of it. Would even be able to learn Basic? You had only had the child for less than ten minutes and already you were planning your entire life with it.

"I hate that your cuteness is a protective mechanism," you wrinkled your nose. "It works far too well. I feel like I would give you anything I owned if you asked for it." You felt like an idiot, talking to this random child you had just probably stolen.

Blinking and cocking its head, the baby reached for one of your necklaces. Sure enough, you handed over the charm without question. Tiny green lips clasped over the polished bone, and a bead of drool slid onto your sleeve. Of course.

A large figure stepped out in front of you, stopping you in your tracks. You clutched the child close and took a half-step backward.

"Give him to me," a modulated voice demanded. You stared past the barrel of a blaster and into the terrifying countenance of a Mandalorian helmet. You recognized it -- who wouldn't? The Mandalorians were legends around these parts. They had survived the fall of the republic, the fall of the empire, the rise of whatever power currently claimed the galaxy.

You raised your chin, turning your body to shield the baby from any potential fire. "I'm looking for his parents."

"He doesn't have any," the Mandalorian said. "He belongs to me."

"He's a child! Not a trophy! He needs someone to take care of him." You held your ground.

A few people had glanced your way, but you had lived on this shithole long enough to know that shootouts in the marketplace were hardly even a talking point anymore. Would they even move your body out of the streets?

"Hand him over. Now."

You were about to turn and make a run for it -- who knows why you felt the urge to protect this thing -- when the child reached out towards the bounty hunter.

"A- aba ba?" he cooed. In favor of drooling on your necklace, the baby was watching the Mandalorian with a small smile. "Baba."

"Oh," you pursed your lips. "He's yours."

"He belongs to me." The Mandalorian repeated.

"Is that your baba?" you asked, pointing at the hunk of beskar that was still aiming a blaster between your eyes.

"I'm not his father," the bounty hunter said.

"No," you corrected him, "You're his baba." You knocked the business end of the blaster aside and took a step forward. "I'll give him back to you, but you have to buy me a hot meal. Him too," you pointed to the child. "You owe him an apology for abandoning him on the streets like that."

The Mandalorian sighed. He reached for the child, but you turned away and stuck out your free hand instead, waggling your fingers expectantly. 

"Food."

-

You wound up in a dimly lit cafe on the outskirts of the city. It was quiet, but not in a good way. Tension was palpable in the air; and even with 3 knives, you were sure everyone else was more armed than you. No one dared give you any trouble when you were party with a mercenary in a full suit of beskar armor. Though you thought the tiny green child sitting on the table next to you was a little weird.

The Mandalorian ordered two of the cheapest thing on the menu, but you weren't going to complain because it was free and it was hot. The baby seemed to agree with you, practically falling face first into his bowl before you and the Mandalorian caught him. To your surprise, the bounty hunter began carefully feeding the child small bites. It was hilarious and heartwarming.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"What's yours?" you countered. You weren't about to give up your information to some flashy mercenary. You were trying to stay alive for at least a little while longer.

"Mando," he answered, and you snorted.

"Let me guess, your second name is Lorian? People actually let you get away with that?" You rolled your eyes and shoveled more food in your mouth.

"They don't have a choice," he said flatly. Your eyes wandered to the blaster at his side, then to the pulse rifle on his back. You were amazed you weren't dead already.

"Your name?" He asked again, and you finally told him. Your meal continued in relative silence. No sound but the gentle cooing and smacking of the baby as he ate.

At last, your curiosity got the better of you. "How did you wind up with a child anyways? You don't strike me as the fatherly type?"

"Apu," the baby gurgled.

"He was a job." You blanched. Someone wanted this baby dead? Or captured?

The Mandalorian continued, "The client was... not to my liking, so I took responsibility for him. I'm going to take him somewhere safe."

"Well you picked the wrong planet for that," you scoffed.

"This is just a stop along the way. I needed supplies." There was an edge of annoyance in Mando's voice.

You stared past him into the café. It looked terrible. You thought about going home to your room and fought back a groan. As much as you knew you were going to regret this, you had no choice.

"Take me with you."

"No."

You mustered all of your courage and stared straight into Mando's stupid mask. "I'll pay you back for the passage. I can work."

"I said no."

"You're my only chance of getting off this stupid planet. I don't have much, but I'll earn my keep. I can shut up when I have to. Just get me somewhere better than this and you'll never have to see me again." You weren't going to beg -- not yet.

"You're lucky I haven't killed you." Mando stood. He towered over you. It was terrifying. "Hope that I never see you again."

The baby pushed himself to his feet and toddled over to your side of the table. He stopped in front of you reaching out with his tiny little hands, "Ootoo."

"Oh," you reached for your necklace, turning the charm in your palm. "You know what, you slobbery bastard? You can have it. Just don't choke, please." You pulled the necklace off and looped the cord a few times before placing it around his neck.

Mando didn't say anything. You could feel him watching you, but you gathered up what remained of your pride and walked away without looking back. You would find another way off this planet.

-

You woke in the night to the sound of someone banging on your door. Slamming on the button, you glared at whoever had the audacity to wake you. They had better have a good reason for interrupting your already fitful sleep.

It was a kid. A different kid. Older for sure. This one was a Rodian. He asked for you by name.

"Who are you? How did you find me?" you demanded. The kid held out his hand and you peered at the object. It was your necklace. The one you had given the baby.

"What does he need?" you squinted. You had no trust for Mando -- even if he did buy you food. He had basically threatened to kill you at that same meal.

The kid shrugged and motioned for you to follow him. He seemed a little rushed.

"Oh, hold on a moment," you groaned. "Let me get my things." You grabbed your gear, throwing your coat on and digging up the shitty blaster you kept at the bottom of your trunk.

The kid led you on the most uselessly obscure path through the city. You raced to keep up with him as he darted through the dark alleys. If this Mandalorian didn't kill you first, you were sure as hell going to make him pay for this. The trail ended at an empty loading bay, and you were instantly on the defensive.

Footsteps echoed off the nearby buildings. You drew your blaster. Was this some kind of ambush?

The Mandalorian stepped out of the shadows.

The little Rodian ran up to him, pressing the necklace back into his gloved palm. In turn, Mando gave him a handful of coins. It was certainly more than he had paid for your meal earlier, stingy bastard.

You looked after the kid as he disappeared into the night. It was just you and Mando.

"Where is he?" you demanded.

"Asleep -- in my ship."

"Why am I here?" You adjusted your grip on the blaster. Damned beskar would probably render your shots useless -- if you could even manage to hit him.

"You wanted to leave."

You hesitated. Was he offering you a way out? Holstering your blaster, you took a tentative step forward. "I want to start over somewhere new. Somewhere safe."

Mando didn't move, so you took another step. Then another. You stopped once you were directly in front of him, staring into his mask and fighting down the hope that was rising in your chest.

He extended a hand to you, "Somewhere safe."

[toomanysurveys9]

What day of the week is it? Unfortunately it’s only Monday. What does that mean you have to do? I had to work today.  What are your plans for tomorrow? Work. Where do you work? A local center that provides ABA therapy for kiddos with autism. What was the last book you read? It was a children’s book at work.

Are you pro-choice? I guess that’s the easiest way to describe my views.

Are you a vegetarian? I am not. What is your favorite kind of salad dressing? Ranch. Have you seen your number 1 more than twice in the last month? This doesn’t work like that.

How old will you be in 2013? I was 20. When you were young, what did you want to be when you grew up? A country singer. Have you ever been in someone’s wedding? My own. Would you rather visit the Taj Mahal or the Eiffel Tower? Hm. Probably the Eiffel Tower. Do you live in Florida, Nebraska, or Virginia? I do not. I used to live in Florida for a very brief amount of time. Have you ever been to South America? I have not. Where does your number 2 work? This doesn’t work that way.

Did your last kiss mean anything to you? Sure. If your house was on fire, what 3 things would you try and save? They’re not things, but my kids (they wouldn’t be able to get out on their own), my dogs, and probably my phone. What does your status say right now? I would have to check and I don’t feel like it right now. Have you ever ridden on a subway? I have not. Are your toenails painted at the moment? I never paint them. I hate my toes. Open the nearest book, turn to page 8 and type the first sentence: I don’t want to. Have you showered yet today? I did this morning actually. What were you doing the last time 11am rolled around? I was at work..  What do you plan to be doing in 2 hours? I’ll probably be cooking dinner or watching tv. Who knows. What is your middle name? Dee. Do you prefer to write in pen or pencil? Pen if it’s not something I’ll mess up too much. Do you keep a journal? Besides this, no. Are you still friends with your best friend from kindergarten? Kind of I guess. We aren’t close though. What did you do on your last birthday? Spent time with family. Would your number 3 be more likely to see Taylor Swift or Lady Gaga in concert? Ugh.

What brand is the deodorant you use? Secret.  What was the last movie you watched? Zombieland  Double Tap..  Are you ticklish? A little bit. Are you shy? Extremely. Are you hot-tempered? Some days. Was your mom over 30 when she had you? Nope. Have you ever won more than $100 dollars playing the lottery? I have not. Have you ever played strip poker? I have not. What is your most memorable Halloween costume? Operation Gone Wrong with Jon and Jacob. Is your number 4 one of those people who can instantly cheer you up? ...

When was the last time you ate popcorn? It’s been quite a long time. What color is the floor of the room you are in? Brown. Who is your 4th phone contact and how do you know them? Wyatt has my phone. Have you ever lived in a dorm? Nope. Do you live in an apartment? No. A house. Are any of your friends pregnant? Not that I can think of. Do you have any nieces or nephews? I do not have that pleasure yet. Who do you trust with your secrets? No one specific.  How short would you be willing to cut your hair? I keep thinking about cutting it all off. But I don’t think I could pull it off. Do you wish on shooting stars? No. If someone made a movie about your life, who would star as you? I don’t have the slightest idea anymore. Is your birthday in winter? It is not. What’s the story behind your most noticeable scar? Self-injury. Is your car newer than a 2000? It is. Did you graduate high school within the last 2 years? No. I graduated high school in 2012. Will you graduate high school in the next 2 years? No.

Is there anything buried in your closet you wouldn’t want anyone to find? There’s some old guns. They’re not a secret but ya know. What was the last song you listened to? Something in the car on Pandora. Where do you see yourself in the next 3 years? Maybe I’ll be a BCaBA by then, or maybe I won’t be doing anything or something totally different. Who knows.

[thewishender690]

Henlo ooc ahead!

My account is not dead I swear, this week was rough, and it wasn’t the finals doing it to me (Thankfully)

There is a rant below but long story short, I have bad neighbors, and the only things I have planned for this weekend is working on my finals, lore scripts of Vasili, more art on Vasili, rolepaying here, possibly playing minecraft with my lil brother and a Crown of Sorrows run with my clan-

I do apologize for the afkness, I have just been trying to handle this all as best as I can.

Sooooooo, my number one suggestion to people who cannot mentally handle having their children around them (and I speak of experience from my childhood, and these last few months) give them to someone, that you trust, who can actually handle discipline/raising them.

I’d like to warn right now that I’m Autistic, and while I have had treatment in learning to control my actions, and I will brag that I’m kind of happy that this is being handled better than it would have 10 years ago-

Now I can go into my petty, long, roast on my neighbor and her inability to actually be a mother. But I won’t. I also don’t know this lady’s name- and frankly I don’t want to.

When we first moved into this apartment this lady let her kids to damage to other tenants cars. including mine. Normal people get mad, my ABA treatment however has conditioned me to not do that, and I tried to make friends to prevent further damages. Well long story short, that didn’t work when her son decides to throw their Chihuahua down the stairs and our security cameras caught it. To be fair in that, we wanted nothing to do with the investigation on that, we are two lesbians living in Austin, Texas, and while it is Austin, it is still Texas and I think that speaks for itself.

We have two cats, one tiny black cat, and one floofy Maine Coon, and they loved to be in the windows and watch nature, birds, ect. But not to long after that second incident, this lady’s son began to throw rocks, and scream at them if they were in the windows, going far as to baiting them to the windows to do so. And now this is where I step in, and start telling him to stop. Maybe I should have gone to his mother about the issue, but it wasn’t as if I was trying to get him into trouble, I just wanted him to stop, and if he did, no harm no foul, I’d let bygones be bygones and count this up as character development for the kid.

This has gone on for the last several months,

Then about around the beginning of the year, when the Austin rains finally kick in, there is a kitten that lodges its head in this lady’s car. Of course I contact the lady about it, and she blows up at me for doing so. In all fairness it was 6 in the morning, but the little one was screaming in terror, and it triggered my anxiety, and PTSD-  Before I could even call animal control, her car is gone and there is a kitten body with no head. I swear it was a while since I had felt so angry, terrified, and disgusted. The office managers got one of the maintenance guys to help me bury it, and they said they would be filing a police report against the lady on it regarding the animal abuse, though I never heard back on this incident.

But what did happen was a week later this lady’s eldest daughter started to get her friends to stomp around and scream about how they want the “dykes” gone and how they should be raped and killed. 

 This goes on for almost three weeks, until finally I threaten to call the cops if it the death threatening and the rock throwing doesn’t stop. The mother blows up at us for this at 12 am (which is two violations of her lease right then and there), threatens to get us evicted, because we asked her kids to stop harassing us. 

Of course I talked to the office about this, because we have done nothing wrong except contact them at 6 am. Well long story short they’re on our side, and want us to press charges. 

They want this tenant gone for all of the damages done (And 14 different violations including the most recent three with us). This lady has already assaulted one other tenant here because they defended themselves against this absolute bullshit. The manager told me to put up a sign stating to leave the cats alone, and to keep the cameras up.

I am at my wits end with this, though I have been patient and doing snide white Karen mom roasts behind closed doors as a vent, even making a meme about it and throwing it into Shaxxposting on fb-

At this point I’m thinking of taking advantage of the fact I live in Texas and getting a firearm, especially last night. Last night my oldest cat was losing her absolute shit, growling and hissing in fear, she was nowhere near the windows (she was in the kitchen by the stove)

At first I thought her and the tiny one were play fighting again because she hisses and growls when she is losing the play fight. But when I checked outside the window I saw a figure wearing all black walking away from the parking lot.

Last night was a whole bunch of hell no, I’ve seen enough movies to know what happens here, and If I have to go down, I’m not going down without a fight-

Trust me, I am gonna try to be active, but until this issue is resolved, I’m going to be hella spotty- which makes me sad because my musing is kicking me in the shins and demanding to be written >:(

[lightandwinged]

Short version: Isaac is being evaluated for ASD. Yay.

So!

The twins have been developmentally delayed their entire lives because that’s what happens when you’re born six weeks early. You were supposed to do six more weeks on the inside, you popped out, you’re not ready to breathe or eat or be alive yet, so even four months after you’re born, you end up looking like fatty tumor gremlins with faces instead of human infants:

We’ve had Early Intervention working with them since Isaac was about 3-4 months old because he had a condition called torticollis, which basically meant that he could not turn his head except to the right because of how he was positioned in my uterus (read: with his sister sitting on his head). They’ve both made really great progress throughout their course of therapies, and for the most part, they’re about where they should be without even adjusting for their prematurity.

Or, well. Carrie is.

Isaac had been my rock star, surging ahead in his development and leaving Carrie in the dust, and then he... just wasn’t. What I really noticed, though, was the stimming. He rocks, almost violently at times, and does it all. the. time. And to some extent, young kids all rock--it’s an interesting sensation, they like to stimulate the inner ear, it’s good times. 

Isaac, though, did it a lot. And while I figured “eh, it’s probably nothing” because he is very sweet and social, Early Intervention offered to do an evaluation of him just in case. 

The first evaluation was the Autism Screening Questionnaire, or ASQ. On that one, a score of 0-50(ish? it seems wrong, but that’s what I remember?) is little concern, 50-65 is moderate concern, and 65+ is qualified for the next stage of testing. Carrie had the test because it’s just standard at the evaluation closest to the 18 month mark, and she scored a 30--not even close to autistic. 

Isaac, meanwhile, scored a 95.

What struck me about the ASQ was how many items were things I’d never have considered, things like his absolute lack of a sense of stranger danger or his always stiff muscles or his alternating bouts of constipation and diarrhea. I knew we’d have questions about stimming and eye contact and socialization, but the other items took me by surprise. 

So scoring high on the ASQ qualified him for the M-CHAT, which he’s not technically supposed to have until he’s 18 months (they’re 16 months yesterday), but he scored high enough there that the Early Intervention autism specialist is coming out to do her own eval one of these days to see if he should be fast tracked into the UMass diagnosis program or if we can just add our names to the (very, very, VERY long) list. 

I have a bunch of feelings on the whole thing, most of which are preventing me from even dipping a toe into any group for parents of kids with autism.

First, I’m not even slightly surprised because I’m (not officially diagnosed, but still) on the spectrum, both my parents are on the spectrum, my sister and brother are both on the spectrum, so it would’ve been weirder if none of my kids even had anything besides tendencies. Sam’s in the clear, with nothing to even suggest autism besides dietary issues; Carrie’s in the same boat. But Isaac has always struck me as having that sort of familiar weirdness, like looking into a slightly distorted mirror and seeing my own quirks reflected back at me. 

Which brings me to the second part, that I’m glad he’s my kid and not the kid of a neurotypical parent. It sounds awful to say it that way, but it’s like... I get how his brain is working, what’s behind things like stimming and lacking stranger danger and communication delays; and I get it because that’s how my brain works. So that’s a twofold feeling: glad that if he is autistic, he’s got a mom whose brain works the same way his does; and glad that if he is autistic, I’ve got a kid whose brain works the same way mine does.

And third, even though I don’t want him to have to deal with the obnoxiousness of life with autism (like being so tired at the end of the day from consciously processing so many bits of sensory input that neurotypical people just filter automatically), I’m hoping he scores high enough on his next evaluation to get him into the UMass screening program sooner rather than later, just to let us know one way or another. If he doesn’t score high enough, the wait could be months or years; if he IS autistic, I want to be able to give him what he needs even before that point, whether it’s noise cancelling headphones or just a signal to let us know when he needs a break or is feeling overstimulated; and if he’s NOT autistic, I want to be able to put the matter to bed sooner rather than later.

And FOURTH, I’m afraid of two things: first of him having therapists who will force bullshit like ABA on him and second of Autism Moms (TM). I don’t want to adjust his behavior and make him act more neurotypical; I DO want him to learn coping skills so that if he’s overstimulated or having a hard time, he can help himself, even if I’m not around to help him. I want him to understand the quirks in his brain and be able to work with them instead of fighting against them. And I’m afraid of coming up against brick walls where that’s concerned because everyone will want to force him into a neurotypical mold and I just cannot do that to my baby. He is who he is; he needs people to teach him coping skills, not people to force him into being someone he isn’t.

And related to that, AUTISM MOMS. Every time I encounter one in the wild, it ends up getting ugly, usually with me being like “look, little Brexitleigh has autism, which doesn’t change the fact that THEY ARE A PERSON AND HAVE EMOTIONS, which means that your comment of ‘I wouldn’t wish my autistic child on my worst enemy’ WAS A REALLY DICKISH THING TO SAY.” And then they claim that I don’t understand autism and can’t possibly be anything near to autistic and blah blah blah.

I am all about the parenting village, but I swear to Jesus, Mary, and Joseph that if I have to deal with Autism Moms (TM) at any point in this journey, I’m going to absolutely lose it and destroy something.

So that’s where we are.

[dayna-scully]

ncis/tiva liveblog...the dregs

season 3  |  season 4   |  season 5  |  season 6  |  season 7  |  season 8  |  season 9  |  season 10

11x01

the real whiskey tango foxtrot is the writing on this show

at the moment, you

😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖

want some company?

yes :-)

murder me???????

“this is good”

that fake typing though

you’ll always be an agent in her heart

is mcgee Abby’s Shannon

after what happened to secnav, how can I stay?

oh gut punch

clonk

I mean, someone’s gonna get a souvenir from Tony’s trip to Israel

a living, breathing, tiny human souvenir…

maybe it’s not the brightest idea, but we’re not coworkers anymore, so

Anthony!!!!!!

he was so happy

I’ll travel for good hummus

I didn’t know that “hummus” was, uh, some kind of new…slang

but all of their stuff is still there?

mid century mob hit

where’s ziva?

thank you dick

he reminds me of the terrible sweets clone bones got after sweets died

which was a terrible decision, btw

who would she trust

TONY

SHE WOULD TRUST TONY

oh tony

11x02

don’t worry tony, we will be okay

can you put the hammer down please

perhaps the him is you

baby ziva hadn’t yet been weaponized by the men in her life

gibbs absolutely knows who Captain Kirk is

why should she have the man that she loves

wow that’s really dark

and cruel

he looks good with some hair on his face

Tim does not

I can’t believe they’ve kept that goatee on him for multiple seasons

tony should have stayed in Israel

baby!!!!

“I meant to do that this morning”

HE DIDNT FORGET HE WAS JUST TOO BUSY GETTING BUSY

confession: I don’t think I’ve ever actually watched this episode

I didn’t watch s11 because at that point we (obvs) knew cote wasn’t staying

yeah dinozzo can sure feel somethin

maybe you could try saying what you’re saying

he already found her, dad

you know how hard that was

you did not have to do any of this

except???? He did????

her “old life” man fuck these writers

finally I found you here, of course

FUCK THESE WRITERS

the center of all this pain is me

I’ll kill whoever wrote that

I hate these people!!!!

this is what Eli made of her

bad adr

tony should have stayed

it’s a start

you don’t have to do this alone

ziva was a fantastic investigator, regardless of what she did for Mossad

she loved being an investigator

this doesn’t make sense

just come home

I remember after truth and consequences came out I sat down with a notebook and my iPod and whittled down a tiva playlist

it was a very intense project

I just want you to come home with me

oh tony

I can change with you

he should have just…stayed

that’s a very bad fake black eye

did he clip Tobias’ ass

you shot me in the ass!

I’m the one got shot in the ass for it

they done did it

I want to make him proud

😖😖😖😖😖 her daddy

alone

that’s horseshit

horseshit!

tony you are so…loved

I wanna be done with this

this hurts more than I remember

I am more angry about all this than I remember

then came tali

pick up the phone!!!

hey ziver

13x24

who made these terrible styling choices

why does tony look like an old man

I bet it’s the same person who thinks that goatee McGee has now was a good idea

I can’t stay here

surely she would have told gibbs

right??

he wouldn’t have told tony

maybe she wouldn’t have told him tony was the father

oh tony

ah, dinozzo

oh are you just fucking figuring that out now gibbs??????

ten years later??????

really???

I hate these writers

I need to know what happened

I’ll breathe when Trent kort is dead

are these writers fucking serious

his ziver???????

fuck

stop with the monologue

something about you running off with her father

friends don’t let friends get hit by mortar fire

you’re Mossad you know everything

like, this whole ass house was leveled to nothing but tali’s room just…survived intact

how convenient!!!!! Almost like ziva had planned this!!!!

tali girl

tali is ziva’s daughter

and your daughter, tony

what a clusterfuck

no doubts

that was not her decision to make

it wasn’t

it was, for once, in character

but it was a shitty decision nonetheless

she knew you wouldn’t be pleased/then she never knew me at all

we cannot lose sight of Anthony

daddy tony

tali’s aba

your mom always packed a go bag

because she was always one step ahead

and she would have been ahead of this

you’re a single dad now, tony

were you and ziva an item the whole time

because lbr of all of them, McGee would absolutely be the last one to figure it out

and he wouldn’t even figure it out, Abby would tell him

I loved her, Tim

ima and aba

ziva must have told her

tony must have always had that with him

I think I’ve decided against watching 16x13

I know the gist of what happens, I’ve seen the screenshots

I don’t read Hebrew, so the fantranslations are all I really need anyways

I don’t really want to watch them write gibbs badly again

how did he get his eyeball back

selective morality

she was my family

I’ve never been anybody’s everything before

abby knew

abby 100% knew

aaand I’m done

I don’t even really know how to summarize all of this.  I don’t understand the thought that will-they-won’t-they is somehow more exciting and fulfilling than consummation of slowburn.  Shows keep doing it over and over again, and sometimes they get it right at the last minute (see: josh and Donna, tww) but most of the time they get it wrong.  Like at least with something like Olivia and Elliot (svu) there was a reason that they couldn’t be together - he was married (though I think they could have and should have handled Chris leaving better than him just vanishing).

Bones kind of fumbled through it all - I don’t think that they would have put b/b together if Em hadn’t gotten pregnant.  Maybe eventually, but I think they had and would have made the same mistakes the ncis writers did.

Clearly that could have been handled better, but like b/b being together was so good?? They were happy, there was still drama, but god it wasn’t a poorly written tease (well, actually, let’s not get into the quality of the writing on Bones)

Cote is such a fantastic actor, and as horrible as MW is, he is (was??) a really good match for her (was if only because bull kind of sucks and I’m not sure if it’s shitty writing or him sucking or him not wanting to be there??).  There was so much emotion and intensity in all of their scenes, romantic or not, it’s absolutely astounding.  I really appreciate them for all the effort that they put into tiva, because they were really the heart of it.

How often do you have couples that are written but not acted? Couples with absolutely no on-screen chemistry, and actors who can’t or won’t put the effort in to make it work.  And they had that!  They could have done so much with it.  But the writers failed. Over and over again, they failed to deliver consistent characterization and complex plots beyond the same old.

Tony was so much more than a frat boy.

Ziva was so much more than a weapon and a perpetual victim.

I was trying to find good fanfic while I was watching (I…didn’t find much), but there was one where the author decided that Ziva, who was alive, had only put the message out that tali was Tony’s because she knew it would get his attention, and that tali was just some random guy’s.  And that really pisses me off.  Ziva (the writers) made some really poor choices in regards to Ziva’s impulse control, but that’s too far - Ziva wouldn’t intentionally hurt tony, and that would be the worst thing she could do.

Ugh.  I’m tired.

basically how I feel about the series:

[bifrostbookreviews]

Orpheus Girl by Brynne Rebele-Henry

Note: special thanks to Soho Teen and the ABA for sending an ARC of this book to Copperfish. I was utterly delighted to be on the receiving end for this.

Secondary note: this book hits shelves in October. You can preorder a copy here

ORPHEUS GIRL is an astounding, whistle-blowing YA about two teenage lesbians in a small, overly-conservative town who get found out and are sent away to a re-education camp, where the main character, Raya, vows to descend like Orpheus into hell to save her beloved and get them out.

To be perfectly blunt, this is the LGBT novel I have waited my entire life to read.

It's inclusive. It actually spotlights lesbians (which is rare in and of itself, sorry to fire some shots), but there are transsexuals and gays in the book as well. It perfectly, perfectly highlights the millennial/gen-z experience of being gay when it's not OK (aka living in the rural south), of struggling with identity, and of living in constant fear. But most of all, this is the loud-mouthed, homophobia-exposing book that should have come out decades ago.

I cannot put in words how much I loved this book. A lot of the experience isn't mine - I'm straight enough that most of the concerns in this book aren't things I personally went through - but as someone who's not entirely straight and has way more experience with conservative Christian America than anyone should ever have, this cut to the core. This was the book I've wanted to see.

ORPHEUS GIRL is aggressive, ok? It doesn't care about coddling homophobes, or pretending that the Bible is right but gay is also OK, or trying to appease people who will never be appeased. It calls the kettle black like no other book I've seen so far. It's like the anger that the LGBT has on Twitter against, say, Chik-Fil-A, but in an official novel that directly calls out re-education camps, and I could wax poetic all night about how someone finally freaking did it. The disgusting underbelly of religiously-fueled homophobia has been exposed to the light of day. Halle-friggin-lujah!

On that same note, what I like about this book is that it doesn't try to get religious. It doesn't quote the Bible, it's not interested in talking theology--because theology isn't significant when you talk to Christian conservatives, really (and I say this from experience. It's a tricky time, and they will let you think it's theology all day--it's not). And it's not about trying to offend every Christian who exists, which is the other thing that can happen if you get too into the theology and Biblical interpretation. Instead, ORPHEUS GIRL is about what happens when you allow homophobia to run unchecked. It's about what happens if you so fully believe that gayness is wrong that you'd rather let someone be dead to you than to accept them. It's about how hatred disguised as religion can completely and utterly destroy families. It's powerful, it's moving, and it's arguably the most important book I've had my hands on this year.

So in conclusion, god bless ORPHEUS GIRL, god bless Brynne Rebele-Henry for writing this, and god bless Soho Teen for putting this book out. I can't wait to watch this get big.

[lilacbombs]

A J N for tara

You didn’t specify a number anon so I guess you meant... all of them? why not!

A: Aptitude (Tara)1. what are your oc’s natural abilities, things they’ve been doing since young?- Tara has always been a natural climber. (buddha have mercy on aba and the others) For anything- trees, walls... cabinets... She always manages to find higher ground- even the giant tree that sits inside avalo vihara, AND the roof. She’s also naturally good at performing menial tasks, like tending a garden or building small structures. (because monks have to do that sort of thing, and this is the rare case where tara wishes she could have dish duty.)2. what activities have they participated in?- Does drinking count? why not. Tara has also done regular kid/teen things like snowball fights, cards, diving off cliffs... hopscotch (I KNOW THE VINAYA SAYS NOT TO DO THAT but what beef did the buddha have with hopscotch??? why!! *that one ‘what was the reason’ video*)3. what abilities do they have that they’ve worked for?- Tara had to learn to use a sword- at first it was just a “in-case-of” thing, but after a while tara found it as a good way to let off steam/get out pent-up energy.4. what things are they bad at?- Tara was once moderately good at things like sutta-chanting, but not anymore. Tara has always struggled with meditation, as it requires that whole sitting-still thing... she usually ends up falling asleep.Tara can’t draw/do math to save her life, but it’s not because she’s stupid- it’s just not that valued of a skill in her area. (most kids only have a pre-k education, with most of them either go into mercenary work/agriculture/family business or on rare occasion, leave for college in the capitol.)5. what is their most impressive talent?- probably the tree-climbing thing, but I think using a sword can be impressive. too. I think some people might admire tara’s unfaltering nature, too. That and she fought a mercenary captain and won somehow.

J: Joy (Tara)1. what makes them happy?- being around friends, animals, children. Seeing people get what they deserve. (in a good or bad way)2. who makes them happy?- June, sarahi + other people at the watering hole, laomia (their relationship has just begun but shes a very nice person) 3. are there any songs that bring them joy?- uhhh I don’t have any original tunes or songs written for this comic yet but, if this counts- tara really likes the metta chant, which she memorized as a novice by singing it. She would sing it for June as novices sometimes, too.  (thank you imee oi for my life)4. are they happy often?- for the most part, yeah. tara rarely experiences really high, outward expressions of joy- she’s usually just “ :| ”5. what brings them the most joy in the world?- june approval from others, mainly people she cares about.

N: Never Have I Ever1. what would they never do?- kill another person. This one is kind of conditional, though... I mean I think there are a lot of things we say we’ll never do but we end up doing anyway, either on accident or because a situation forces us. that’s all I’m going to say on it though..tara would never cheat or give up another person. Unless it was a really bad person- tara would always offer herself in place of another.2. what have they never done that they want to do?- see the world, travel across/visit the ocean3. is there anything they absolutely can’t believe people do?- be straight cruelty to children/animals... like tara doesn’t like any cruelty but at least adults have a way to defend themselves... hurting children is really like saying “fuck this thing that has done absolutely nothing wrong.”also wearing corsets/several layers of underwear... its rumored that people do that in the capitol but like why would someone ever wear that many layers?? hahaha4. what is the most embarrassing thing they’ve done?- get in a fuckin bar fight, drink a whole bottle of perfume thinking it was whiskey5. have they done anything they thought they’d never do?- get in a fuckin bar fight, fight a giant snake with a slightly smaller snake and your bff, become a novice, tara’s entire life basically

I’m shocked I thought you guys would go straight for the angst ones but I guess not lol