#tw: reference to ABA therapy

[jennyandvastraflint]

A Snake's Eyes

A contemporary retelling on Medusa, a tale of neurodivergence and finding strength in myths.

Written by me.

The girl didn't look at other people. Not because she didn't want to, she did, but everyone would stare her in the eyes, try to crawl into her soul and force back awful memories.

There had been two adults who hurt her very badly. Both had been at what everyone called the Temple because it promised curing.

The first was the man in a blue suit with a horse pin who forced her to stare into his ice cold eyes for what he deemed an appropriate amount of time every other day. She had liked the horse pin, but when her gaze faltered (falter, as though looking down was wrong), she would be splashed with water. When she talked about her interests 'too much' and didn't follow the scripts, splash. Her mouth not in a constantly pleasant smile, splash. For everything that felt natural to the girl, splash.

The second was the Observer, the owner of the Temple. She was an infinitely tall woman with eyes that were as bad as the man's. 'Wisdom and Strategy', the sign on the door to her office said underneath her name.

"Wrong, wrong, wrong," she would say while pointing at different parts of the girl, each stab with her bony finger tearing on the girl like a predator bird's claws. Behind the mask of worried frowns and concerned smiles, no one saw the cruelty in the woman's eyes, even though the girl saw it so clearly.

"We have simply tried everything, but she won't behave. Poor, poor girl,” she would say, shaking her head.

The girl didn't want to listen, and so she unfocused her eyes and let her mind slither away. She imagined slithering like a snake, the animal she had lots of books and posters about, out between the bars in front of the window. The air was chilly, and the girl breathed slowly, enjoying each cool blade of grass that touched her scales.

"... special school," the girl caught the last words of the Observer, and she snapped back into her body, spine straight.

"What?" she asked, and in her hurry, she forgot to look up, up, up to the Observer's grey eyes. Almost immediately, the little bracelet the Observer had forced on her wrist the first day buzzed, so strong the girl let out a cry. She corrected her gaze and asked again, in the tone the man had splashed into her, "Miss, could you repeat that, please?" The words were unnatural, and the girl's tongue couldn't wrap around the stilted speech easily.

"We have decided you will go to a special school, dear." She always called her 'dear', but the word was hollow and wrong. When she said it, she sang something else, a word the girl didn't want to hear.

"But I would like to go to other children school," the girl said, her tone balancing right on the edge of Too Much and Too Little. She stood, and restraining her hands' dance, she argued in the words the Temple had forced into her head why she should not go to a special school (she knew there would be more men in suits doing script exercises and splashing her, and more Observers picking away at her). In the end, the Observer had to yield, the girl’s arguments flawless, and the Observer was not happy about that. The girl was happy, but she could only show a fraction of it while her hands were itching to wiggle and move freely.

The lightning bracelet came off two months later. After having 'adjusted' to school and proved she was 'normal enough', the girl was free, after years of weekly visits to the Temple, to go to school and – at least very secretly when no one saw – be what the Temple had tried to splash and shock out of her.

Two months in, the class went to the school library, and the girl got to explore the shelves of books in a calm, dimly lit environment. The natural light was kinder to her eyes than the fluorescent lamps overhead in many classrooms. Every day, when she came home, the girl would retreat into her room – her caregivers called it her cave – and lie in the blanket fort she had permanently set up, reading with only a little light her favourite snake books (she had some on other reptiles as well, though) and listening to violins and cellos play on an old tape she had gotten from a flea market. Her head would follow the melodies, and the tightness that built up over the day unspooled.

Just as the teacher was calling them all back, the girl’s eyes fell on a book depicting a woman with snakes for hair on the cover. Her mouth fell open in awe as she beheld the woman’s beauty and the green on her head. ‘Medusa’, the title read. The girl grabbed it and returned to her group, and they left after checking out the books.

The first night she had taken the book home, the girl had read it three times, and she had fallen in love with Medusa and her snake hair.

The next day at school, a boy thought it incredibly funny to taunt the girl for how she looked at her classmates, studying them. “Hey, watch out, or she’ll turn you to stone with her intense glare.” Many people laughed, but the girl sort of liked the idea.

When the boy stared at her, too, the girl said, “That’s right, don’t you look me in the eye, or I’ll turn you to stone like Medusa!” There was power in it, and though some were still laughing, she could hear the uncertainty in the melody their laughs sang.

From that day onward, the girl called herself Medusa to anyone who asked. Interacting with her classmates got a little easier now that they weren’t staring into her eyes constantly, though some of the teachers (the very strict ones that reminded Medusa of the Observer and the man in the blue suit) told her to stop fooling around. Medusa didn’t care, and if they were particularly nasty, she imagined turning them to stone.

In Medusa’s fourth year, a new student joined their class, and seeing as the spot next to Medusa was empty – no one wanted to sit next to Snake Girl after all – the newcomer got to sit there.

“Hi,” they muttered during religious education, and Medusa tilted her head at them. “I’m Perseus,” they introduced themselves.

Medusa frowned, remembering the character from the story. “You have the same name as the stupid man who beheads Medusa. I’m Medusa,” she said, and too loud, as it seemed, because the teacher cleared his throat rather noisily and glowered in their direction.

After the lesson, Perseus stood and stretched their limbs. “You have a cool name. Did you choose it yourself, too?”

“Yes,” Medusa said, because she had. “I don’t like when people look me in the eyes, and I wish I could turn them into stone for it.”

Perseus laughed, and their laughter was like silver bells playing a gentle song. “Well, I’d better not look you in the eyes then! Wanna be friends? Promise I won’t behead you.”

“Sure,” Medusa said after a moment of hesitation, and just like that, she had made a friend for life.

Medusa and Perseus were inseparable, and Medusa noticed that Perseus didn’t quite fit in themselves. It wasn’t in the same sense as Medusa, but when they got changed for PE class, she noticed Perseus went to a different room to the boys and girls, but they joined in enthusiastically in the games, and much more competent than Medusa whose limbs just wouldn’t seem to listen to her.

“My older sister is like that, too,” Perseus said after PE one time, and they offered Medusa half of their granola bar.

“I don’t like those,” Medusa said, eying the raisins in the bar wearily. Perseus simply shrugged and ate both halves themselves.

“My sister’s autistic, and she has dyspraxia as well. If you want, I could introduce you later today. She’s home from university.”

Medusa knew only the first word Perseus had used, because that’s why she had been sent to the Temple. Perhaps the second one was true as well; it felt true.

Medusa followed Perseus home, and she stood a little lost in their small room until Perseus offered her a chair to sit. “I’ll go get my sister Euryale,” Perseus said, and when Medusa nodded, they rushed out.

Moments later, two people came back: Perseus with their shoulder-length blonde hair, and a taller girl with curls that were dyed green. Medusa shrieked in delight, and she couldn’t help her hands dancing along with the rest of her. “Your hair looks like snakes!”

Euryale grinned. “Well. Perseus, you weren’t lying about your new friend, she’s sweet.”

Perseus flustered, and they tugged their sister’s sleeve. “Gift?”

“Oh right.” Euryale pulled a small box wrapped in snake-scaled paper. “Perseus told me about the lights at school. They suck, don’t they. I hope this’ll help…”

Medusa unwrapped the box carefully, not wanting to rip one single scale, and she beheld the mirrored sunglasses inside the box.

“You’d have to tell the teachers, but they shouldn’t make too much of a fuss. They suit you.”

As soon as she had put them on, Medusa gasped. The world was so much quieter when some of the light was gone!

“Exactly my reaction,” Euryale said, fiddling with one of the hair-snakes. “People don’t like seeing their own reflection, it makes them too aware of how they’re staring at others. Those mirrored glasses will make at least a decent portion of them look away.”

Medusa wiggled her hands happily, finally feeling truly herself and comfortable to show it. “Thank you.”

Euryale reached out a hand for Medusa. “Got to stick together, haven’t we?”

~fin~

[clownrecess]

(TW: Talk of ABA, trauma, abuse, self offing, etc.)

ABA is abusive whether you want to admit it or not. It just is.

It doesn't "depend on the therapist", it is abusive by nature. The abuse and trauma inducing experiences are deeply rooted in it.

"Oh, well ours is basically just some OT and speech", that's not ABA, then. Whilst yes, OT and speech do very much have the ability to be abusive, ABA always is. A combination of some in home OT and speech is not ABA.

So what is ABA? ABA stands for applied behavioural analysis. It is a "therapy" that parents of autistic people are usually pushed to do. And often times, the parents agree! Whether that's because the insurance covers it, or because the school told them to, or whatever, they tend to accept it.

I was one of the people who's parents accepted it.

I was in ABA for a little over a year, I would have been in it much longer but eventually I was taken out because I threatened to off myself if I remained in it. And this didnt work immediately, I had been threatening this for months. I'm not sure why it finally worked.

ABA likes to trick you at the start. My therapists in particular referred to this tricking as the "honeymoon phase". In this phase, they would act like my friends. They made me trust them.

We would talk about our interests, and play games together.

It felt safe, and I liked it!

Until it changed, that is. About two months into ABA, they stopped being like my friends.

It went from me happily playing chess with him, to him yelling at me, a child hiding under a table, because I didn't say what he wanted me to say.

And this of course evolved too. And I was further traumatized.

I was tricked, and then abused by the hands of so called therapists.

It has been around 2, almost 3 years since this. I am still extremely frightened by anything remotely related to those experiences.

I had a panic attack in a water park because somebody looked **slightly** like one of them.

Please don't put your kid in ABA. I don't care how helpful you think it'll be.

[wlw-lovestruck-fiction]

May i request hc or fic of liora, zhora, and vivienne finding out that their girlfriend had been psychologically/emotionally abused by her parents; making her use the safe word because of how triggering it was for her? For Xenia, make it MC’s foster parents psychologically/emotionally abused her while she was moved from house to house? Pretty Please?

Warnings for: Near Drowning Panic Attacks Autistic Overload Reference to ABA therapy Emotionally abusive parents Reference of physical abuse SPOILERS Swearing

Written by: @evoedbd *****

The sound of water rushed in her ears. That dulled, sloshing of limbs weakly paddling. Underwater always felt so far away from the world, each source its own little ecosystem waiting for someone entitled enough to come by and befoul it. Bubbles, little pockets of air rushing to escape the vast nothingness, the inevitable trap before they burst at the surface. Until they ceased to exist to contribute to a larger whole. There was something morbidly poetic about water and bubbles, something that enchanted even the youngest of minds. Water and bubbles, no matter the age of the being observing them, held an allure. Zoe remembered when bubbles and pools were a thing of joy when the bath was the highlight of her day. That time when her mom would spend time with her, and later, where she could be alone to think. The journey into adulthood had seen bath bubbles fade into basic soaps, then baths into quick showers. Strange, that her life would lead her back to pools. Back to the inevitable. Perhaps time was nothing more than an air bubble, and she was merely meant to add to the whole.

Zoe let her body float, unable to do anything but watch the bubbles from her escaping breath. That was wrong. She knew she was meant to rise now, meant to use her arms to take a stroke enough to lift her face from the water. To take a breath… but she couldn’t. Her body was locked, floating face down, about to begin sinking if she couldn’t do something. Puff her stomach, rollover, flap for help. Something. ANYTHING. She couldn’t. She was helpless to do anything but think. Teenage years all over again. That same drugged out feeling, that cloud on her mind, that helplessness with her own body and opinions. An air bubble at the bottom of an ocean doomed no matter what.

She had to wonder, if a bubble could feel, would it be as melancholy as she was thinking? Surrendering to the water was so effortless. Letting herself sink, she was able to finally look up, to see how far she had fallen beneath the surface. Or was it how far she’d come? When everything had started, she was merely this naive little girl babbling about all the attractive people she bumped into, trying to just stay in line and keep her head down, then trying to protect what she loved so that everything would be normal again. She’d been so safe in normal, content with the lies she’d been fed for a scrap of approval. Now? She could see how brainwashed she’d been, how accepting of things as normal instead of wrong. How she’d enabled these things by holding her tongue. It had only taken a storm of nature to sweep her off her feet, to grab her in the typhoon, for her to truly see what had been in front of her all along.

It was so beautiful, looking up, especially once the bubbles had all burst. A clean screen but a blurred view of white blue bands dancing across the industrial concrete ceiling. No shape was the same, yet all were stripes, rippling between straight and curved with the gentle artificial waves. Light and reflections, smoke and mirrors, but so serene that Zoe could almost just let herself drift away. But her body had other ideas. She tried to breathe, only to inhale a lungful of water. The beauty faded. It was no longer serene, but stinging and agonizing. It was a lungful of chemical and death, foul-tasting and burning all the way down her throat. It was bitter defeat, with a side question of how many people had peed in this pool? Was she really about to let herself drown in a pool full of other people’s piss?

Before she could even answer that, it was white. It was a storm of bubbles, a stampede of white crashing so loudly in her ears that she almost screamed. Why was it so loud? What was the muffled screaming? The chaos? It was her teenage years all over again. Her life. Was this what a life flashing before one’s eyes truly meant? Not all the sexy times, not a movie of achievements and desires, but a mottled sensation of one’s worst times?  Why would anybody romanticize this crap? Before she could truly contemplate it, there was an answer. A tight arm around her midsection, pulling just that little bit too tightly, squeezing and intimidating, dragging her through the water, out of the water. Finally, she could take a breath.

It was useless. Everything was too cold, stinging against confused nerves. But her back was hot, cushioned, but the cushioning was all rough and wet which made it cold. It defied logic. What else could she do but gasp for that useless air to make her lungs work? She needed air to struggle, to defy this illogical clash of sensation and right the galaxy. Then it was moving, it was vanishing, replaced by a smooth heat, save particular points of contact. A silkier wetness, somehow, and more heat than even the warmed water. A nicer sensation. At that, Zoe turned, trying to worm her way into the comfort even as she tried to think of everything she wanted to say. To process what had happened.

“Zoe?” The mass behind her spoke, tone… why couldn’t Zoe identify the tone? It was right on the tip of her tongue, within reach of her grasping mind, but it was just… blank? Was that even the right word? She knew the word, she knew lots of words, words that had people scratching their heads, but right now. Right now, not a single word was within her reach. She couldn’t access her files, couldn’t make herself process the world. It was too much, too loud. The assistant droids were clanking, the kitchen pots and pans beating her over the head, making it throb… only, nothing was touching her. Wyst was yelling for help, or was it her father yelling at her to get help? They sounded nothing alike, but… she was scared, terrified. Was a zombie coming back from the grave or was she the zombie? Well, with all the cells constantly dying in people, everyone was always a little dead inside but that was totally irrelevant. Why did she think that? She shouldn’t think that… should she? Could she even say that? If she tried to explain what was happening, would the words even make sense? She wanted to scream, to shout, needed to get the noise off of her chest before it drove her deaf, but what noise should she even make? If she was to be silenced, what solitary cry would save her? What would bring her world back into balance?

“Dolphin…” The whisper escaped. A single word. A code. Something she remembered even in the depths of her pain. When her mind was flooded, the word remained. An old-world mammal, which swum the oceans. Logic defying and yet completely logical. Beautiful. Unique. Her favourite. An image of safety for a young child, turned a word for an adult. A single word which said more than an entire sentence could. A word she wouldn’t ever be punished for uttering. She knew that in her bones. Zhora had told her.

“Dolphin.” Louder this time. Zhora had let her pick one word, for when she was so overwhelmed that she needed everything to stop. Just like now. Zhora would make it happen. Zhora would make the world stand still if Zoe merely requested it. If a way did not exist, Zhora would invent one. Zhora was safety just as she was the typhoon. How a force of nature was the safest thing in Zoe’s life made no sense, especially Zhora, but despite defying what Zoe had always recognized as logic, the results spoke for themselves. Beaten, bruised, wounded, Zhora would always win. She’d crawl across molten lava and shards of glass, bleeding out whilst being shot at if it would see Zoe safe. Zhora had been the storm to wake Zoe to corruption, just as she was the saving grace when Zoe had begun to fall. Zhora sparked rage but quelled it too. She was a criminal with a heart of gold. She was the constant. Zhora was… Zhora.

“Zoe?” that tone again. Zoe couldn’t even think what it was, but it was. She knew exactly how it made her feel. That warm, gooey feeling in her chest, as if her heart were a melting chocolate pudding. As if the warmth of a good hot chocolate was blooming in every muscle, in every bone, without the unpleasantness of having to slide down into her gut first. Instant gratification, instant security. Enough to lure Zoe out of her hiding place. To lift her head.

“Dolphin,” Zoe repeated, this time crystal clear. The word escaped clean, even as Zoe was finally able to blink enough to see through the blur. Green. A unique shade of green that washed away the awareness that anything else existed. Captivating, gentle and sweet without appearing weak. Zhora’s eyes, concerned, relieved and understanding. Zhora understood! She knew. She could now bring everything to a halt, hit the restart, or perhaps shoot the knees out of any racer who didn’t respect the pause button.

“Cover your ears, cutie.” The captain warned; that same goo inducing tone laced with an edge that left no room for question. Zoe obeyed, or rather, she was pretty sure she did. What were ears again? She knew the answer but damned if she could comprehend.

“STOP! Everyone, clear out. Wyst, get them out of here.”

There was no way anybody would second guess Zhora. No way anyone would do anything but obey. The muffled stampede of obeying bots and humans alike barely reached Zoe’s ears, not when Zhora’s warm arms settled around her, pulling her into a firm embrace. Safety. Zoe wasn’t sure how long she lingered in that embrace, appreciating the heat against her, the way the world was still save for the rhythmic rise and fall of silky wetness… no, Zhora’s wet bra. Bra and skin. The rise and fall of her chest… weapons and jacket abandoned. That was enough to have Zoe’s cheeks heat, definitely embarrassment mixed with something else. If Zhora had just jumped in though, that would mean that… a quick glance down and a shuffle of one leg confirmed both of Zoe’s suspicions. The Captain was still wearing those form-fitting pants, which were now soaking wet and clinging enough to outline defined muscles. All at once, Zoe realized how small she was, cradled to her half-naked captain, staring at the pale skin on display.

“Enjoying the view, cutie?” Zhora’s teasing tone was accompanied by a ripple of tension through her defined core. Then the piercing, emerald and sapphire across silks. Two moons in the skies above the rolling hills. Glorious, fluidly rolling hills. Strong hills that could flip credit chits. That felt so… oh stars. The gleam of her belly button piercing was enough to have Zoe’s poor ears near steaming. It was bad enough to be so overwhelmed, but this was an entirely different direction Zhora was yanking her in the land of overstimulated. If she looked away, there was so much happening, nothing which appealed as much as the view Zhora offered. Yet, staring was also so much.  Inappropriate, thirsty behavior… in a swimming pool, no less. Oh hubble, that’d read so badly on her tombstone. Here lies Zoe Leonis – Loving Inventor of ADA, AI- died of thirst in aquatic physical therapy.

“Yes?” she squeaked, earning a low chuckle in response. Oh… that definitely had her aware of her toes again, they practically curled at the low timbre of such a sound. And her ears, they were probably on fire by now. Still, she wasn’t about to lie. Especially since her response earned another round of selective flexing. It was enough to have Zoe’s mind wandering elsewhere, until her weakness due to the long term side effects of the antidote in her system came swinging back to the forefront of her mind. Seriously, fuck Zenith’s poison. Fuck Scorpion and her “misleading implications” over the lack of side effects. Right now, Zoe was prepared to create the most cusswords she had ever created in her life to cuss out the bitches and their poisons.

“Want to tell me what that was about?” Zhora requested, bringing her hand to Zoe’s face. Cautiously, she tucked hair back behind Zoe’s ear, careful to keep every move telegraphed. The care behind each gesture was more than Zoe’d ever experienced before, especially from those close to her. Why wasn’t Zhora angry? This was the type of thing people could get angry about, but Zhora was so relaxed. So tender…

“I have autism spectrum disorder, commonly known as ASD,” Zoe answered quickly, barely taking a breath. This was the moment it’d all go to hell.  Where Zhora would realize what a wreck she was.

“I know, cutie. I saw your medication withdrawal.” Zhora’s answer left Zoe reeling. She… knew? Why didn’t she say something? Why didn’t she ask about it? Why was she taking this so calmly? It was as if Zoe had just read her a shopping list, not divulged a diagnosis which had haunted her childhood.

“Wha-? How? Why didn’t you say something?”She demanded quickly. These were the types of things that people asked when a big secret wasn’t a secret, right?

“Zoe, your symptoms over your mom. Increased aggression, lowered impulse control? I knew, but I wasn’t about to come at you about it. You’d just left your family and we were all you had left. I wasn’t about to make the ship unsafe for you to satisfy my curiosity. I also know you; how could I not notice the little things you do differently?” Zhora explained, stilling her hands around Zoe’s jaw. Supporting her head, never forcing the eye contact they held. It was effortless to keep eye contact with Zhora. Her eyes were so pretty, the emotions there were always so pure, so kind. Even in her fury, those eyes never held the hatred Zoe had witnessed in even her own flesh and blood. Zhora never forced eye contact, she lured Zoe in. Zhora never shied from eye contact. She could hold it without increasing the tension, without that awkwardness creeping in… she was also nice to look at. Definitely, her looks made it easier.  

“I never knew you felt that way,” Zoe admitted weakly, offering a twitch of her lips. An awkward flicker of a smile. What expression should she make in this situation? Oh shucks, she was probably making all sorts of weird expressions trying to settle on one. If so, Zhora never laughed. She simply smiled, eyes twinkling in that endlessly fond manner.

“If you need to talk, I’m here, cutie.” Zhora’s voice was so gentle, her eyes so understanding. How could Zoe do anything but talk? But spill her guts and trust Zhora wouldn’t tangle them up? There was a terrible realization in her eyes, a terrifying understanding. Of course, Zhora knew. She’d seen the moment Zoe’s relationships had crumbled. She’d been there when Zoe’s aunt had tried to shoot her, had been the one offering comfort and covering fire. Had been the one to talk her through all the family lies, to gently open her eyes. Zhora had been the one watching Zoe slowly crumble, the one holding her together, encouraging her to talk to her family. Zhora had been in the next room over when Zoe’s mother had all but disowned her. She deserved to finally hear the semi-tragic backstory.

“We tried to cure it when I was young, you know.” Zoe began, barely taking a breath before plunging into the explanation.

“We did all the treatment with the specialists, I mean, my parents were medical geniuses. Me not being… well, I was delayed. I didn’t talk for years. Then I wouldn’t shut up.”

“You do ramble a lot, Cutie. It’s adorable.” Zhora commented, smiling as she gave Zoe a playful squeeze. In return, Zoe merely stuck her tongue out, eyes twinkling. Zhora, without missing a beat, simply nipped in Zoe’s direction, would have caught her tongue if Zoe hadn’t sucked it back into her mouth. Instead, a playful bump of noses left them both grinning like fools. It was effortless, to take a moment of playful reprieve before diving back into the darkness of the topic at hand.

“Everyone thought it was weird. The other kids didn’t like me much back then. I knew too much, spoke too much like an adult and couldn’t play like a normal kid. These doctors would make me play all these games I didn’t really want to play, then take things away from me if I didn’t do what they wanted, how they wanted. I never bothered too much cause they’re just things, right? I like things but things are things, not people. Then, if I did things wrong, my parents would ignore me until I got it right. They were trying to help me learn but I didn’t process learning without this. I had to use big girl words when I was struggling to get help, couldn’t be all weird or I wouldn’t get acknowledged. Sometimes, it took me a long time to get the words right.”

“That’s why you keep talking until you feel you’ve said the right thing,” Zhora noted softly, her brows lowering over her eyes in concern. There was more there, something hardening, a storm brewing.  

“I had to get it right. Like, if I wanted the food, I had to read the label and ask correctly. If I didn’t pronounce it right or asked wrong, I didn’t get it or even acknowledged until I did. I had to play with toys a certain way. If I played wrong, they got taken off me. That’s why I liked science so much. There was no wrong. It was all an experiment, and me doing things differently was appreciated.”

“They wouldn’t give you what you needed unless you were perfect? Fucking hell, cutie…” Zhora’s lowered tone became a growl, irritation flooding her… yet that kindness in her eyes remained. That protectiveness that somehow Zoe could always translate. It wasn’t anger at her, but for her. It was a safe anger. One she could cuddle up to and forget she’d ever been in danger.

“Dad always got angry and yelled. Started ignoring me no matter what. Mom was with me more. But, it all got to be too much. I kind of snapped. I took a lot of medication and went for a bath. Passed out, hoping to drown myself. My parents found me, screamed at me, called me selfish and…” Zoe trailed off, taking a deep breath as her thumb ran across her fingers, across the cuts surrounding her ring. At that, Zhora froze, eyes homing in on the little damages. Injuries always explained as engineering accidents. A mechanic’s hands. Gently, as if she might break Zoe beneath her grasp, Zhora lifted the hand.

“These aren’t from an accident, are they?”

All Zoe could do was shake her head. No. They most certainly weren’t. The pressure built in her throat, forcing her to gasp for breath. She was drowning again, ready to succumb before Zhora leant closer, pressing her lips to Zoe’s forehead as if it might still the rising flood. It did. Somehow, such a gentle gesture allowed Zoe to take a breath, comforted.

“Oh, Zoe, fuck… I’m so, so sorry.” The Weapon smuggler whispered; her tone laced with the tears pouring from her eyes as she pressed her lips to the scars.   It was beautiful, to see the storm in her eyes, to see her rage burning even as she touched with such sweetness. To see the kindness amplified into wrath, yet never disconnected.  

“My parents said I should look at it. So, if I ever got married, I’d see it and remember how selfish I was for trying to end my life. Dad left after that, and things seemed to get better. Mom realized how fucked up it was and apologized for it. I thought… I don’t even know, Zhora. It just came back to me when I fell, and I couldn’t even move. It just bombarded me, how small and helpless I felt. And the poisoning weakening me, just… thanks for jumping in after me.”

“If I meet your parents, Zoe, I’m going to fucking shoot them. I am so glad you’re out of that family.” Zhora whispered, once more pulling Zoe into a tight embrace. The Captain closed her eyes, quietly tucking Zoe under her chin. Those closed eyes couldn’t conceal the reckoning brewing within Zhora.

“Think Leonis fits me better?” Zoe couldn’t help but tease, taking the out such a joke offered. This conversation was too much, too heavy, but a weight gone too. Feeling someone had heard her, feeling someone validating her own ire and outrage towards the past with their own. Perhaps that was all she truly needed. After all, she couldn’t run from the past, couldn’t wipe away the emotional and physical scars. Time still turned the pages of the books it burned, after all. But, maybe, with her chosen family at her side, Zoe could write faster than the flames. Maybe, with Zhora, the story could have the happily ever after she’d always dreamed of.

It had always been Zhora. For each and every time Zoe’s family had let her down in her adult life, Zhora had been there, gently and silently picking up the pieces. Helping Zoe reconstruct herself the way SHE wanted to be. Not the way others had moulded her to be. Even without knowing how, Zhora had seen the tampering others had done, just as she’d seen the woman Zoe could become. It’d always been Zhora. Why Zoe had felt the ending could have been any different was suddenly laughable. Even jagged, a mess of open wounds and scars blended into dangerous coping mechanisms, Zhora had refused to be another letdown. Another betrayal. Rather than ever demand Zoe change, the Captain had sat back, had worked on her own issues to be better for the woman Zoe was moulding herself into. Zhora hadn’t just abandoned Zoe, or merely offered a place to be. Zhora had grown with her, quietly changing to become a better foundation for the little engineer. Opening her own wounds so that Zoe was not alone. Opening her heart to no longer be a lone wolf, all to ensure Zoe had a pack should the worst happen. At least, Zoe was somewhat convinced that’s what Zhora told herself. Zhora hadn’t looked at the broken girl as less worthy, or her challenges less valid. She’d taken them on board, had grown into herself to ensure Zoe could grow into herself. Two separate trees shaped around each other. Both could stand alone, but together their unusual shapes finally made sense. Finally had harmony.

“Zoe Leonis… sounds better than Zhora Rayner.” Zhora’s gentle purr lured Zoe back into the land of the living, had her turning in the smuggler’s lap, winding her own arms around Zhora’s neck, a hand running over the shaved side of her head. In turn, Zhora’s hands crept below the water, landing on the familiar curve of Zoe’s rump in a manner Zoe had come to associate with sweet. How someone grabbing her butt could be sweet was another one of life’s illogical logics. It was this way because it was Zhora. It was that simple, to Zoe, at least. Zhora could defy a lifetime of logic, yet still be the clearest thing in Zoe’s existence. That was just Zhora. Her air at the end of a bubbles journey. Her inevitable.

“Yeah…” Zoe couldn’t help but agree, lips peeling into an utterly smitten smile as she leaned closer, pausing a moment before pressing her lips to her happily ever after.

“It does.”

[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.

[strangerdarkerbetter]

Hi! I found your blog under the "actuallyautistic" tag. I'm a neurotypical woman, and I'm writing my thesis on neurodiversity in autism intervention. After scouring the tags on Tumblr, I've found that identity first is normally preferred, but my advisor (who has a doctorate in ABA) has told me to use person first terminology ("person with autism"). I know one person on Tumblr does not represent the entire autism community, but do you have any insight on this? Thank you!

First, I really appreciate that you are seeking out autistic voices to help guide you in your work. It is very refreshing.

The majority of the autistic community prefers identity first language for a number of reasons. One of the main reasons is that autism is an intrinsic part of who we are. We are not neurotypical people covered in a layer of autism. We are autistic through and through and have been since birth. Our autism can no more be separated from us than a person can be separated from their skin tone. Autistic is something I am not something I have. Just as you would not refer to someone as a person with femaleness, you shouldn’t refer to an autistic person as someone with autism. 

Another reason is that if people need to say that I am a person to remind themselves of that fact, the problem is with them, not me. Language should not have to be manipulated to remind people that I am, in fact, a person. 

The following are some other autistic voices on why they prefer identity first language:

Identity First Language

Why I Dislike Person-First Language

Identity First Language

Further, ABA is a very harmful therapy. It is abusive to autistic people and often leads to PTSD. The following are various autistic people weighing in on why ABA is bad:

ABA Masterpost

Why I Oppose ABA as a Method of Instruction

No You Don’t (tw: discussions of poverty, abuse, rape, discrimination)

ABA 101

Truama and Autism

What ABA Is Like From the Point of View of a Former Therapist

Why I Left ABA

I hope this helps you!

[witchofenoch]

TW ableism Some not-autistic people just don’t get it, some choose not to. My mother is somewhere in between but most chooses not to.

“You don’t stutter.” “You speak well!”/”You’re very articulate!” “You’re so good with people!” “You need to go out! Have fun! Make friends!” “If you get a job you’ll meet new people and make friends!” “Meet new people so you can get out more!” “You didn’t have a panic attack that one time, you’ll be fine!” “You know how to talk to people.” “People love you!” “You'll feel better if you just get out more.” “You don’t know how you’ll feel around people unless you’re around them.” ”Maybe you should look into therapy for your autism.” YES I GET IT MOTHER. But you don’t. At all. You’re a damn social worker. While you may be good with the people you work with, you’re shit at understanding me. I miss when you were just my ignorant, somewhat abusive mom and not my both willfully and unintentionally ignorant, ableist, somewhat more abusive, over-analyzing mother who thinks she knows better because she got a degree.

She doesn’t believe ABA is anything but helpful. Fact: ABA is extremely harmful! For anyone who’s confused about that, ask me or (better option) search “ABA abuse” on tumblr or a search engine (Google, Bing, etc.)

Having a degree does not mean that someone knows what another person feels, knows, understands, thinks, etc. let alone group of people they aren’t included in. Degree =/= expert. Degree = you know some stuff from neurotypical POV.

Before this whole degree thing she’d have listened and at least tried to understand my meanings, look things up that I can’t totally explain or that require more in-depth explanations that I can’t offer myself, like all of the research and first person accounts of ABA and how it actually affects autistic people. She’d have listened. She’s have tried.

With her nifty little degree that cost way too much money? Now she thinks she knows. She doesn’t look anything up. She takes what she’s been told by people who are neurotypical, who have mental illnesses for completely different reasons and to very different extents than mine, who are cisgender or at least binary, who are either homo or het (mayybee a bi or 2), people who are in no way like me. People who are in no way me. Yet she applies the same “logic” to me as to them or to what she’s been taught. Her child < Fancy book learnin’

I know, I know, I know that I need to bring this up. I need to call her out on it. She won’t be upset like angry or anything. I just get so. damn. frustrated! I try to say six things at once and as I’m straightening them out to say one at a time they all just vanish. Having a script has never worked out for me. I have to basically write an entire actual script or a very detailed list that take up several pages front & back: basically an essay. I never make it through that part. It’d have to be a full essay complete with references and original sources and bonus sources (or whatever they’re called. I’ve been out of school too long now).

Ugh

[clownrecess]

Do you recommend any type of therapy for autistic children that’s not Aba? Other than occupational and speech. A way to help them learn that you don’t find abusive? Like floor time therapy? Or early start Denver model? Im new to all of this and want to help my child so he can one day be self sufficient and live on his own and such. I want to help his development. Of course I was told aba was the way to go but many disapprove. So what is a good alternative?

(TW: ABA, OTHER ABUSIVE THERAPY, GENERAL ABUSE, TRAUMA, MASKING)

I'm sorry, this is probably not going to help much, but honestly, no.

I will never be able to live alone, I will never be able to do most things the way nondisabled people will. And that is okay! And I understand wanting your son to be more independent, but he is in fact disabled, and he will be as independent as he can be, but there is no way to make him "less disabled".

I do want to thank you though, because you actually listened to autistic people, and a lot of parents don't do that. ABA is always abusive, speaking from first hand experience, and I am very glad we could change your mind on putting him in it. You mentioned floor time and early start Denver model, and I honestly wouldn't recommend those either. Floor time is essentially an alternative to ABA that is less harsh, but it's the same thing with the same goals, that in the end being to make us appear "less autistic". It also tends to refer to the way we naturally experience our emotions as "deficits". And Early Start Denver Model is directly based on ABA. So I shouldn't really have to explain why that's not good, if you know why ABA isnt good.

Honestly, as a MSN-HSN autistic, I really just wish the world let me exist as I am when I was younger, instead of trying to intervene to "help", because it didnt help, and now I have severe trauma surrounding people I dont know coming into my house, going to certain locations, and school. It didnt help, and it never does. Even if it seems like it helps on the outside, it doesnt. It just makes us mask, which is traumatic and unhealthy itself.

I apologize if that didn't help or if I seemed rude, I just really really wanted to express my actual feelings on it all.