Oh, I almost forgot that I wrote this for Halloween!
Summary: It’s Rob and Reader’s first Halloween with Jackson. Will it be filled with tricks or treats?
Word Count: 2466
Warnings: fluff and illness
A/N: Ah, my signature cliffhanger… it’s been a while.
“Babe!” You shouted down the hall, “are you ready?”
You studied yourself in the mirror in the living room, adjusting your blue wig as you waited for Rob to finish up. Regardless of the fact that the two of you were wearing basically the same costume and you had taken the time to do your makeup and get Jackson in his costume, you were ready before he was. You felt a little bad about yelling at him. You had been snapping at him all day over every little thing, and the fact that he was taking so long made you extra grumpy. It didn’t help that you weren’t feeling well today either. Jackson had just gotten over a nasty stomach bug last week and you were now sure that you had caught it. The last thing you really wanted to do tonight was dress up and go out, but it was Jackson’s first Halloween, and you weren’t about to let a queasy stomach stop you from making memories with your family.
“I’m coming!” You heard him shout back at you. You frowned and shook your head, already aware of the fact that you were running late to Briana’s party. You packed up some last minute items into Jackson’s diaper bag and went to track him down. He had been in the living room with you, but you took your eyes off of him for one second and he was gone.
“Please tell me Jackson’s with you,” you called out, still checking under and behind furniture for him. Almost as soon as you had asked, Rob appeared, Jackson in tow and trying to squirm out of his arms.
title: just like in the movies wordcount: 2,527 rating/warnings: PG-13, and likely to stay that way. It’s about the same as regular RVB, I’d say. werewolves? if that counts as a warning. ships: Blue Team Family, probably going to turn into Blue Team OT3 feat: Caboose/Tucker/Wash summary: Blue Pack, Blood Gulch Branch Alpha, is getting smaller every day. Sheila, Sister, Tex and now Church have all up and left. Luckily Caboose is in the habit of taking in strays. On the other hand, “Washington” is one of the sketchiest people Tucker’s ever laid eyes on, and he’s certainly not pack. Yet.
Tucker is casually getting ready for sleep in the most relaxing, stress-releasing way he knows how when he hears a crash outside the house.
It’s a dark and stormy night, but it’s not the dark and stormy night he and Caboose have to schedule their nightly plans around, so he figures it’s just a tree branch and not those dicks from the red house three doors down and across the street. Even if it’s not, he’d like to see someone try and get in this house without getting torn apart. It’s not the full moon, so he and Caboose can only half-shift, but half is enough to rip apart any burglar stupid enough to try breaking in.
I Am No Longer Thirsty: Or Why I Need a Break From Talking About Accessibility
In six grade, I had to pee every day during math class. Unfortunately, the class was fifty minutes long. If I left, walked down the hall, squeezed the walker into the stall, came back reentered the door and sat back down, approximately one third of that time would be gone. Not only that, but my movement in the cramped classroom was, as ever, conspicuous. The three minute pass time between class was a non-starter. This worked ok for me most of the time though, because several years previous, I had stopped drinking water during the school day. I never let myself get to THREE MISSISSIPPI at the water fountain. I did not carry a water bottle.
In fact, by sixth grade, I had basically stopped feeling thirsty. Over the last decade my self-advocacy skills, while still lacking, have improved markedly. I understand things about my body that I didn’t then, but the impulse to deprive myself of water has endured. It is a function of not knowing exactly where I am in relation to my built environment. I cannot guarantee the presence of an acceptable bathroom or time to use it, and so I am harshly preemptive at cost to my physical and emotional well-being. Anything seems better than the unthinkable humiliation of not making it in time and what that will say, not about the inadequate layout of the school building, but about my self-care abilities and competence. Terrified because the zippers don’t close and the buttons don’t close. And because I like privacy more than help.
It seems that my spastic muscles became adept at this controlling because even when I am home, my bodily needs are like a coiled spring, jammed until exploding point. If it is too much information to tell you, then maybe it is too much pain to weave into an easy discussion about access. And here’s the thing: my body gives me much of what I need, and my absence is less conspicuous than some. And I have parent that puts lime juice in my water to try to tempt me to be thirsty again. And I am always ok and sometimes a great deal more.
I wonder what would happen if we took inaccessible and replaced it with, unsafe, undignified. I wonder what would happen if more disabled people, women especially, were able to name the deprivations that form deep grooves in even the most fortunate life.