First trailer for the Magic School Bus Rides Again is here! Featuring a theme song by Lin Manuel Miranda plus the voices of Lily Tomlin and Kate McKinnon as the Frizzle sisters.
Some people can speak, but at a cost that’s not worth it.
Some people are better off communicating in other ways.
Some people speak sometimes, and type other times.
Some people have words all the time; some don’t.
Some people can speak fluidly, but only on certain topics. (Just like how one can be fluent in some topics in a foreign language, but be unable to read the news).
Some people lose speech at certain levels of stress.
Some people rely on hand movements and stimming in order to find words.
Some people have a monotone and convey tone through motion.
Some people make a lot of mistakes with words, and rely heavily on tone to make themselves understood.
Some people rely heavily on scripts, and only sound normal when they stay on-script.
Some people say a lot of words they don’t understand, and are perceived as having meant them.
Some people substitute one word for another a lot, and don’t always realize it.
Some people can answer questions even when they’re having trouble initiating speech.
Some people who find speech easy sound odd.
Some people who find speech difficult sound normal.
You don’t really know how someone communicates until you’ve communicated with them substantially, and even then, you only know in the context you’ve communicated in. Appearances can be deceiving.
And it’s important to be aware that all of these things exist.
Other person: I already explained to you that it’s hot in here!
Autistic person: The door is open!
Other person: Why do you have to repeat things all the time?!
Often when this happens, what’s really going on is that the autistic person is trying to communicate something, and they’re not being understood. The other person thinks that they are understanding and responding, and that the autistic person is just repeating the same thing over and over either for no reason or because they are being stubborn and inflexible and obnoxious and pushy.
When what’s really happening is that the autistic person is not being understood, and they are communicating using the words they have. There’s a NT social expectation that if people aren’t being understood, they should change their words and explain things differently. Sometimes autistic people aren’t capable of doing this without help.
So, if this is happening, assume it’s communication and try to figure out what’s being communicated. If you’re the one with more words, and you want the communication to happen in words, then you have to provide words that make communication possible. For example:
Other person: Do you want the door to be closed, or are you saying something else?
Autistic person: Something else
Other person: Do you want to show me something outside, or something else?
Autistic person: Something else
Other person: Are you worried about something that might happen, or something else?
Autistic person: Worried
Other person: Are you worried that something will come in, or that something will go out?
Autistic person: Baby
Other person: She’s in her crib, and the baby gate is up. Is that ok, or is there still a problem?
Autistic person: ok
This post always makes me cry.
I’m sorry, I try not to add my own stuff to Autistic posts, but I need to explain why I’m SO thankful for it.
I have ADD. Most people think I communicate normally, if a bit over-excitedly. I may even be considered well-spoken – my vocabulary is quite large. But I don’t get a lot of social cues. And I constantly misplace the words I need. I can’t do names. I point at family, and have learned to refer to almost everyone else indirectly, so I don’t have to say their name at all. Other nouns are replaced at random. Sometimes I talk at half speed, fighting to drag the words out of my mouth. In public I apologise, misdirect, and stay politely silent.
It makes sense that I’m drawn to other people with communication difficulties. I helped my now-husband learn scripts and social cues. I’ve worked with non-verbal kids. I constantly watch everyone around me, to figure out how to communicate to them, in particular.
Communicating is SO HARD. Neurotypicals think it’s easy, because they set up rules that they can follow, which let them take shortcuts. They make assumptions, most so culturally ingrained they aren’t even noticed.
This simple example of how to do the work FOR the person with limited words – it means everything. I do similar things all the time. I long so much for others to do things like this for me.
When I’m windmilling my hand to try to find a word.
When I desperately trying to figure out what your polite expression means.
When I can see the huge mountain of work I’ll have to do to communicate neurotypically and want to go back to only talking to family for another 6 months.
I want people to do this for my son, when he’s spiraling towards anger because he has a different definition of a word than you do.
For my husband, when he misses nuance and responds to what he THINKS you’re saying.
For my sister, when she doesn’t understand and doesn’t have the words to ask why.
The idea of sometimes not having to do all the work makes me cry. My loved ones not having to do the work. So thank you for posts like this.
“I can’t believe your guardian is making me do this,” Bull says as he examines the scores on a tree. They look the appropriate size for a griffon that’s just learning to menace its territory, but they’re old. It’s entirely possible that the griffon took this forest as its own, or it left for a new place away from its fellow fledgling terrors. “It’s as though he doesn’t trust me with you. Frankly it should be the other way around.”
“He’s not making you do anything,” Ellana says, floating behind him on her back, an entirely frivolous display of magic that Bull told her to do because at least this way he can tie a rope around her ankle and tie it to his waist so he wont lose her. Ellana thinks this is entirely amusing, as if she couldn’t just transfigure the rope into growing longer to allow her to wander off without him noticing.
Bull had asked her if she’d really betray his trust like that and Ellana sulked in silence for all of ten minutes before going through his pockets to find his compass, his map, and some rune bones Stitches forced him to take when they split up to tackle the numerous and truly unnecessary challenges Ellana’s mentor put in their way to prevent them from taking his favorite – and only, therefore also least favorite – student from his care. She’s now taken to trying to figure out if she can trick Bull’s compass using magic.
“No, Trevelyan is making us all do this properly, because she was raised a noble and is annoying about this shit and proper everything,” Bull says. “We have plenty of mages on our team.”
“But I’m your favorite mage,” Ellana says.
“Not by the longest shot.”
“Your favorite elf mage.”
“No.”
Ellana huffs and throws one of the rune bones at the back of his head as he examines a series of broken branches – also old, new branches growing around the old, and moss and worn down points marking approximately how old it is. A spring or so, maybe. Bull bends down to pick the bone up.
“You could just not listen to him,” Ellana says, “I mean. I’m here, aren’t I? Just say that you’re going to do the thing later. But for now you got distracted along the way by other things and I just went along with it.”
“How did you sneak out of your literal ivory tower of bones?”
“Bones, the Iron Bull, as you may guess, are not the best sort of building material,” Ellana says, bumping into his back and then looping her arms loosely around his neck, resting her chin on his shoulder and nuzzling close. “Also, as if Solas could stop me. I’m not a witchling anymore! I’m a full grown mage! With magic and things! He can’t stop me!”
“Common law says you can’t take a person’s apprentice without that person’s permission,” Bull says, walking towards the sound of running water.
“Since when did any of us care about common law? Besides, I don’t remember anyone going through this much trouble to get Dorian to come questing.”
“That’s because Pavus doesn’t have a mentor.”
“Untrue, we disgraced his mentor publicly. I don’t see any of us asking his permission to bring Dorian along questing, though. Or asking his permission to bring Dorian along to disgrace and overthrow him.”
“That’s a different story.”
“Semantics,” Ellana lets go of him, drifting alongside him now, head on the same level as his, “So. What’s the plan for catching and taming the griffon? You’re no ranger, the Iron Bull, I don’t think animal taming is in your many, many expertises. Is that the right plural? Expertise? Expertises?”
“The plan is to knock the thing out, drag it back to your mentor, and hope it wakes up at his feet and claws his face off.”
“If your plan was to piss him off the entire time, what was the point in jumping through all the hoops?”
“Semantics. It’d technically be complete,” Bull says.
“I like the way you think,” Ellana says, nodding to herself, reaching down to return the compass, map, and rune bones to his pockets. “That said, how do you plan to knock the griffon out if it’s flying above us?”
“It’s what?”
–
“You’ve done what.” It’s not a statement, not when it’s said like that.
“Caught a mermaid,” Bull says at the same time Blackwall says, “He got hit on by a mermaid.”
Cassandra looks between the three of them, decides that none of them can be trusted, and turns to Evelyn and Cullen who have washed their hands of this situation and have gone back to looking over fortification plans for their new fortress at the Storm Coast.
“As long as it’s not unwilling,” Josephine says and Cassandra turns to her, betrayed. Josephine looks a little sheepish, “Well, Cassandra, I think the most important thing is that the mermaid is here of her own free will. It’s both bad practice and bad luck to take a mermaid, unwilling, from the sea.”
“I know that Josephine, but they shouldn’t have brought a mermaid here at all,” Cassandra says. Cassandra turns back to the three men in front of her. “Put her back where you found her. Her shiver might be looking for her. What if they bring disaster on us? What if this is a trap?”
“I don’t think that we can’t do that, Seeker,” Varric says. “You didn’t see this mermaid. She was entirely beyond enthusiastic to land in the Iron Bull’s rippling arms.”
“I didn’t see signs of more than one, I don’t think she’s got anyone who’s going to curse us or anything,” Blackwall says.
“What did you want me to do? Throw her back?” Bull asks, “I’m not going to be rude to the mermaid flinging herself out of the water at me. That seems like more bad luck.”
“Has anyone talked to the mermaid?”
“Mostly she seems really excited to be out of the water,” Bull says, “And she thinks my eyepatch is neat.”
“Neat?”
“Her words, not mine.”
Cassandra turns back to Josephine who just smiles.
“It looks like we’ll have to work on getting some sort of water container for our new friend.”
I’ve finally been won over from just being a fan of Hearts’ writing for Dragon Age. I am now tentatively a fan of this Dragon Age fic, irregardless of its writer.
I never know what’s happening, what’s canon, and who these people are. Descriptions and powers of characters are impossible to pin down. I’m starting to love them all anyways.
Mermaid catching consent is a perfect plot and I am HAPPY right now.
INCREDIBLE: Wanda and Pietro basically share a brain so they crush it; Illyana and Piotr also do amazing because their 6ft+ sports machines; Kurt and Rogue do alright but have the most fun; Scott and Alex bicker the whole time but do surprising well; CapnBrit and Elizabeth don’t try but do sabotage everyone be else because it’s the Brand; Lorna does it with Charles (her step dad) and they technically cheat because like they’re on whEELS and he’s also a judge??? Kitty and Bobby also participate, claiming they are “blood brothers”.
The mental image of overly competitive Maximoffs and Rasputins using mostly silent communication, hopping over tires and shit, as Kurt and Rogue are laughing their asses off at Lorna riding on the back of Charles’s chair as he victory yells and Kitty and Bobby are just trying to double Dutch through everything IS AMAZING.
headcanon no one asked for: clark kent and dick grayson both love the avett brothers and every team-up turns into impromptu karaoke at least once and bruce fucking hates it. he has never stopped blaming clark for the nightwing mullet.
“Flash, I’d like it if you could come to Gotham to assist with this,” Batman said.
Superman looked at Flash. Flash looked at Superman. They both looked at Batman. Superman pointed to Flash. Flash pointed to Flash. “Me?” Flash asked. Superman turned his palm upward and splayed his fingers to emphasize the question.
Batman looked at Superman. “I don’t want you around Robin,” he said.
Flash’s eyes widened. Superman held up both hands. “Don’t just say you don’t want me around kids in front of people—”
“You’re a bad influence.”
“That’s not better!”
Flash looked between the two of them like he was watching a tennis match.
“He came home with a banjo the other day, Kal,” Batman said. Clark hated when he called him Kal like that. It was an obvious power move. Batman didn’t have a layered set of secret identities to let Clark call him anything except Batman.
“That’s not my problem, Steve,” Superman said.
Flash gasped quietly, and stared at Batman, mouthing the name ‘Steve’. Batman remained impassive. Then Flash frowned and looked at Superman. “Wait, why banjos?” he asked. “Are you… big into banjos?”
Superman did not break eye contact with Batman, who had not broken eye contact with him. He silently willed Batman to bail him out, since this conversation was his fault anyway. Batman was not silently willed.
“There is a popular instrument among Kryptonians,” Superman said finally, “that is essentially an… Earth banjo.”
The corner of Batman’s mouth twitched at the phrase ‘Earth banjo’.
“Oh! Okay.” Flash had no trouble whatsoever accepting this. “So you’re just sharing your culture, with… the youth. Of Earth. Earth youth. And you’re not cool with that?” he asked Batman, who did not respond. “That’s messed up. You know what, Ka—Superman. You should go to Gotham.” He looked pointedly at Batman. “I don’t want to participate in any close-minded behavior.”
They were silent as Flash disappeared in a whoosh of air. Another whoosh rustled their capes when he returned just as quickly.
“Actually,” Flash said to Superman in low tones, “would you mind, um, dealing with his, uh, cultural insensitivity? Next time? Because this is sort of a rare opportunity for me and I—”
“You’re fine, Barry,” Superman said. “Go to Gotham.”
Flash exhaled with relief. “Okay, cool. Thank you, I really appreciate it. I super support your, uh, Kryptonian heritage, and stuff, though.”
“Thanks.”
He disappeared again. Superman’s cape fluttered more than Batman’s did. They said nothing.
“Kryptonian culture,” Batman said finally. “A popular instrument.”
“Fifty-five percent is a majority,” Clark said. “That’s popular.”
“Where did you get the other five percent.”
“I’m bigger than she is.”
“That’s not how math works.”
“Maybe not Earth math.”
“Your understanding of math is the problem with journalism today.”
“Really? Because we ran a straw poll and found that fifty-five percent of all Kryptonians think you’re being a huge dick.”
Batman’s mouth twitched again.
“I think if we do more investigating we may even find universal agreement on the subject,” Clark added. He rubbed the bridge of his nose where his glasses weren’t.
“I think you should rework the wording on your dick poll,” Batman suggested.
“Don’t make it weird.”
Batman turned to leave. “Keep your poll out of Gotham,” he said, stalking away.
Woah, I have not written in so long and I’m finally getting back into it. Sorry for the wait! And this went slightly fluff despite my intentions, haha.
***
The morning was a red hot haze of sun through the window and across the cot. Cassandra Cain did not get up to pull the blinds down against the heat and light, but she lay waiting. Eventually, the heat would fade from the bare safe house and the hurt in her would fade, too.
That was how the world worked: you went until your body wouldn’t go anymore, and then you waited until it would listen again.
The light moved as the day swelled from morning to noon and then evening. It took a long time after darkness fell for the heat to dissipate and the hurt in her stayed the same.
She waited.
Her mouth was dry and her stomach tight, beginning to burn like the morning from the window. It was empty, like light, like sun so far away she’d never touch it. Moving hurt but she told herself she didn’t get up because her body didn’t deserve it, not yet, not until it fixed what wasn’t working.
At some point, Cass slept. She woke to golden glow across her face and began to sit up, but her shoulder stopped her and she dropped back down without a sound. More waiting or eventually ignoring the pain to go on, but there was no rush. She could handle hunger for a while longer.
It was another day gone, the window dark when the window grew suddenly darker and then he was in the safe house room with her. He stood for a moment in the shadows and then stepped forward, silent as a shadow himself.
Cass’ lips were cracked and her mouth was dry, but she didn’t need to say anything. He saw her; he knew she was there. And she was…her stomach was confusing her head, the words weren’t there. There were flashes of her father’s face, clouded with furious lines at her failure to be enough, for needing things that were distractions.
She closed her eyes and rolled over. Her eyes were dry even though her shoulder was unhappy with the movement.
“Batgirl,” he said in a low voice, from behind her now. It was not as hard as she was expecting, his voice, his upset at her disappearing. There was a rustling of stiff fabric and it was only when a hand rested on her head that she recognized it as the removal of gloves, of cowl.
She knew from the angle of his arm that he had crouched down and that she could break it or dislocate the elbow, even one-handed, with quick and sharp motion. She didn’t want to, but she knew how.
“Cassandra,” he said, and this time his voice was soft and gentle, like a pillow or a breeze; the way it was when he helped Barbara teach her to take black lines dancing across paper and see words in them.
“Failed,” she said, because he had to know, he needed to know before he kept sounding like that and making her throat ache.
“No,” he said. There was a long pause and then, “Even if you failed, you’re still important to me. Let me help you.”
In the thick and hot air of the room, she nodded. Her father’s angry face faded from her thoughts when she turned and saw Batman– Bruce– there instead. He looked a kind of sad, not angry, that made him look younger than he usually did to her.
“Your shoulder?” he asked, when she sat up without moving her stupid arm.
“Grappling,” she said.
It hasn’t even been a fight. A fight would be not as dumb.
“That happens to me, too, sometimes,” he said, his eyes on her shoulder while her eyes watched his face. He was concentrating and she didn’t react to his hands prodding her arm. When he glanced at her, she raised an eyebrow.
Things like this didn’t happen to him.
“Don’t make that face at me,” he scolded, with one of his small sideways smiles. It was little and brief, but she had sharp sight. “I’ve had to go to Alfred for this often enough. Ask him if you don’t believe me. Hold still.”
And then with a press and a pop and a shrieking, voiceless pain inside that made her bite her lip, her shoulder felt better. Not healed like magic, but less spiteful.
“Three nights off,” he said, in that tone that she wouldn’t argue with or ignore. Sometimes, it was worth ignoring him– sometimes, she had to. But not now, for this, when he used that voice that made her feel safe. “I’m going to patrol a few blocks while you change out of the suit. I’ll come back with food.”
Cassandra looked up from the cot when he stood, pulling the gloves back on.
“Thank you,” she said. It was the whisper of a mouse, a small thing that wanted to be heard and wanted to be secret all at once.
He brushed her hair back with a gloved hand, left it for a moment heavy and warm on her neck.
He didn’t have to say You’re important to me. again with his mouth when she could see it across his body, his face, the way he moved.
And then he was gone, out the window, but she knew he’d be back if he said he would be. She peeled off the Batgirl suit and found the shower in the safehouse.
Her shoulder ached but she was clean and dry and moving when he came back, when he took his mask off again and sat on the floor with a box of take-out and she sat next to him and made a pillow of his shoulder while she chewed spicy chicken. She took long drinks of water over her dry lips until they felt less like desert sand.
“Next time, come home,” he said. “Alfred can help, or I will.”
“Okay,” she said with a nod, rolling that word over, that new idea: home. It wasn’t real to her yet but it could be, she thought, if home was like a father who didn’t hurt you for hurting and seasoned broccoli on sticky rice and a strong side to curl up against.
The food was almost gone when he pried the fork from her sleepy fingers and when he leaned to put a kiss on top of her head.
“Thank you for letting me help,” he said.
And she thought of Barbara, on the phone; of Stephanie and Tim and the things they said to her, to each other, to Dick and Babs and Alfred.
“I love you, Papa,” she echoed them and the books she’d read. Sometimes she wasn’t sure about the right words but she was sure now, even when he went rigid next to her for the span of a breath.
She knew what words she wanted and she knew that they were sometimes heavy, difficult words.
“Love you, too, Cassandra,” he said, his voice scratchy like the way her shoulder felt inside.
kiragecko 