to find socks


Suicide Squad isn’t the first time we’ve seen Joker having a hard time with Harley Quinn’s absence. This scene from the animated series gets me every time.

The Clown Prince of Crime can’t even find his god damn socks without Harley.

Imagine that first time Bitty leaves a toothbrush at Jack’s place.

They haven’t really discussed it but it’s just sort of happened – Jack left a shirt at the Haus, Bitty left a pair of shorts – and it just began to gradually build from there. It wasn’t uncommon for Jack to find a stray sock or two in his laundry, but one morning after Bitty had gone home from staying for the weekend, Jack walked into the bathroom, bleary-eyed and yawning, and picked up a toothbrush that wasn’t his.

Jack stared at it for a long time. The bristles were stiff and straight, the vibrant blue perfectly intact, as if Bitty had just purchased it and used it that weekend for the first time. Then he left it there on purpose, next to Jack’s, just so he wouldn’t have to worry about bringing one the next time he came over. Because there would for sure be a next time, a next evening or morning that Bitty would need it.

Jack returned the toothbrush to the holder on the counter and picked up his own instead; brushing his teeth that morning came much easier since he couldn’t control the wide smile on his lips.


those lazy November days by Rona Keller
Via Flickr:
Daniel and I usually spend our days each in our own rooms, but today I joined him in his and let a very homey and cosy day fade away in this spot. :)

Once upon a time there was a very rare, wise and saintly rich man whose name was Hamza.

Sensing his approaching death, Hamza called his son to his side and gave him these instructions, “My son, I shall be leaving you very shortly. On the day I die and they have washed my body and shroud it, I want you to put one of my socks on my foot, burying me with it. This is my final request of you.”

Soon after this, Hamza did indeed die, leaving behind his goods, his property, his children and his dependents.

The body had been washed and was almost completely wrapped in the shroud, when the son remembered his father’s wish. Finding an old sock of his fathers, he handed it to the washer of the dead, saying, “In accordance with my father’s last request, please put this sock on his foot.”

“That is quite impossible” said the washer of the dead, “Such a thing is utterly impermissible, I cannot do this.”

Despite this valid objection, the son insisted, “That was my father’s final request; it must certainly be carried out.”

The washer was unmoved, “If you won’t take my word for it, go and ask the scholarly elders. They will confirm what I tell you, that it is not permissible.”

Holding up the funeral, the son consulted the elder men, religious head and scholars, all of whom declared that this was impermissible.

The son kept on insisting, but to no avail. Hours and hours of deliberation went on, with no success.

Family, friends, acquaintances and neighbours that attended Hamza’s funeral, were getting frustrated, wondering what all the fuss was about.

Just then, an aged old friend of Hamza’ interrupted the debate with these words to the son, “My boy, your late father entrusted me, with a letter, which I was to hand over to you after his departure; but not until there was a long delay at his funeral.”

The whole crowd were taken by surprise. Teary eyed, the son opened the envelope and read out the contents of his father’s letter…

“My son, all this wealth and property I have left to you. Now you see, at this last moment, they won’t even let me take an old sock with me, to my grave.

You yourself will be in my condition one day and they will also refuse to let you take anything with you, to your grave, except for your good deeds, that you will be able to carry over from this fleeting world into the Hereafter.

So pull yourself together and be prepared. Spend the fortune I have left you, not for the satisfaction of vain desires, but in ways pleasing to Allah'Sūbhanahu'Wa ta'ala, that you may achieve honor in both worlds.”

Lessons of the Pious.
Why Some Companies Are Trying to Hire More People on the Autism Spectrum
The majority of those with autism are unemployed, but new pilot programs at big companies, such as EY and Microsoft, are discovering unexpected benefits from having "neurodiverse" colleagues.
By Bourree Lam

Found a great comment on this article by Laney Chandler. It’s wasted in a comments section, so I’m sharing it here.

So now imagine what it is like for an autistic person to work with neurotypicals. Our nervous system is structured completely differently. The challenges we face apply to essentially everyone around us.

People expect us to read non-verbal communication, but we have a neurological deficit that prevents this and yet people are not shy about chastising or rejecting us for our disability, so we are operating from a place of anxiety all the time.

The way we dress is based on sensory challenges. Many of us cannot “tune out” tactile information, so while you may put on a pair of woolly socks and find them scratchy, you soon forget about it. For many of us, when we wear certain materials, cuts, or something, we have the equivalent of someone following us, beeping loudly in our ear all day. It becomes excruciatingly painful.

People around us say one thing with their words and another with their faces - which we often cannot read. We need to verbalize things, and we are direct. We are susceptible to lies and manipulation because we have challenges in reading certain non-verbal aspects of social communication. It means we are abused and exploited many, many times, and yet, most of us continue to try and show up. Only to be told we are “too direct”.

Repetitive behaviors can have several causes. Tic disorders are extremely common, which means that many of us have repetitive movements that are of neurological origin that cannot be controlled. You think it is annoying to see someone shake or roll their head? It is much harder to endure the social scrutiny that follows an involuntary movement, not to mention pain from repetitive strain.

In other cases, repetitive movements are a natural form of self-regulation in response to a vastly different sensory system. Some people have hyposensitivities, which creates anxiety. Thus rocking may be an effort to feel where one’s body is in 3D space. We also routinely take in 2-4 times as much sensory information through the 5 standards senses, which means the world is intense and chaotic. Repetitive movement helps to ease the neurological pain we experience from that. The only analogous experience in neurotypicals is physical pain.

We generally cannot filter sensory input either, and cannot multitask. Our cognitive functioning is different - we have to focus deeply. It is how we are wired. If you startle a person on the spectrum while they are focusing, it can be extremely painful. So what you dismiss as behavior is actually an acutely difficult experience.

Temple Grandin is not the archetype for what autism is. What Grandin does is pass, whcih means that, even though she has sensory needs and experiences pain, she has learned to pass as neurotypical (as close as she can manage), by making her own needs and pain subordinate to the needs and expectations of neurotypicals. It doesn’t change her disabilities - it just hides them from your view. Many autistics do this out of fear of social punishment, rejection, etc. But that does not make it right - the problem here is that no room is made for someone with different neurological needs. Not all of us CAN pass, and the damage from passing is cumulative and devastating. Imagine having to hide who you are and sweat bullets because you are in agony in every single social encounter just so you will not be punished. It damages self-esteem. Fundamentally.

If neurotypicals can bother to learn about the differences and at least meet autistics half way in communication, a lot of the challenges would be avoided, including what you call “trouble with men.” What is actually happening is that autistics - the people with significant neurological challenges and disabilities - are being asked to shoulder the entire burden of bridging the communication gap. They are being asked to mask who they are and live in pain so that neurotypicals, already in the majority, can have a seamless experience of the world.

In terms of providing accommodation for a disability. autistics are being asked to accommodate neurotypicals far more than neurotypicals are being asked to accommodate autistics.

So in terms of having a “thick skin”, autistics are absorbing the rougher end of that. It is worth remembering that. Because they endure the challenge of dealing with difference in 99% of the people they meet. Likely all of their work colleagues (if they are lucky enough to get a job). And they struggle with this for their entire lives, feeling like an alien species and shut out of most of social life. A little compassion in place of a zoological taxonomy would go a long way.

What Our Dead Teach (p1)

(Alpha!Derek, werefox!Stiles, canon violence, mild gore, spoopy stuff, some pack angst, some post nogitsune and other stuff angst, anchors.)


This shouldn’t have happened.

His nail breaks when he sinks his fingers into the earth like claws, and pulls himself forward as far as he can. There’s no point in holding in the loud hiss of pain that leaves him, or the long, drawn out groan as he drags himself across the ground at a snail’s pace. He’s been in the woods since nightfall, and by the look of the sky right now, Stiles would say it’s just about time to get up and go to school. For normal teenagers, anyway.

In times like this, he misses being one of those teens. To get up, eat a Pop-Tart, find that missing sock, run out the door with a quick hello-goodbye to his dad coming home, and off to school in his Jeep. Totally average high school student stuff sounds marginally better than crawling around in the dirt, bleeding, bruised, there’s definitely some snot and tear action going on here, maybe some broken bones, too.

Stiles drags himself forward another inch, and tries to remind himself that this isn’t the worst thing that’s happened to him. It’s not, there are worse things. He just can’t… think of any of them right now.

“Really fucking helpful, brain.”

His brain reminds him that talking to himself isn’t a good sign. It also comes up with a worse thing: Gerard. Murdered friends. Nogitsune.

“Good one,” he mutters to himself, reaching out with his now-bleeding hand and fastening his fingers around a tree root. It provides him with much better leverage than the stupid dirt, and Stiles manages to actually pull himself into a half-reclining position. It’s not ideal, but it will do.

It’s almost light enough to see the body he left behind in the clearing by the time he realizes he’s been leaning against a tree doing nothing for at least twenty minutes. Swearing under his breath, Stiles sticks his—Ow ripped off finger nail shit—hand into his pocket to pull out the small vial he shoved in there before leaving the house. Inside, the thick, ink-like substance seems to shudder and look at him as he swirls the stuff in front of his face. He grimaces at the smell when he pulls the top off, and tries not to think too hard about where it came from. This is not what he wanted, not the way things were supposed to go. No one’s supposed to do this, and for, like, twenty different really good reasons.

But, Stiles can see the body through the trees.

He can see a leg twitching.

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Ups and Downs

 So I wrote a Lams oneshot. Here it is, in all its incredibly cliche goodness.

John and his best friend and roommate, Alexander, get stuck in an elevator on their way to work one day. John may or may not have loved Alexander from the day he laid eyes on him.

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