#and she keeps me tied up or handcuffed to her bed or otherwise restrained so i absolutely cant escape | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

countessrivers · 4 years

Note

15 for the cuddling prompts please (if you still feel like doing them! 😁)

The prompt is ‘In the dark’, set in the early days of the Year That Never Was.

(and got longer than I was expecting, so under a cut)

The Doctor is back in his correct body, has been for about a week, but it hasn’t presented him with any fresh escape opportunities, because from the moment he’d recovered from the transformation, he’s been kept restrained in some way, or drugged.

He’s moved around too, never left in the same place for long. Usually kept within the Master’s line of sight during the day, or at least nearby, if sitting at his feet is technically outside of his direct sightline, but at night in particular it varies. And like everything on Earth now, it all very much depends on the Master’s mood.

He’s in a room of his own this time. It’s pokey, and rather basic, but it has a bed, which is a definite upgrade from the tent. Still not the most comfortable place he’s slept, but certainly not the worst. It helps that he’s not currently handcuffed or tied down, and the sedatives he was given this morning have mostly worn off. The lights have been switched off, leaving him in the dark, but that just makes it easier to rest and recenter himself.

The Doctor’s well aware though that it’s an illusion of leniency, or perhaps disregard, as he knows there are two guards just outside the door, and likely at least one Toclafane. Even if direct escape was on his mind, he wouldn’t be getting very far.

It’s almost impressive, the lengths to which the Master was going in order to not give him an inch. The Doctor is tempted to view that as him learning from past mistakes, justified paranoia, and maybe in part it is, but mostly, he knows the Master is simply afraid.

The Master is terrified of him, of what he might do. He’d deny it, lash out at the accusation, but the Doctor knows, can tell. He’s sees it sometimes clear as day, in the Master’s face, in his eyes, and it breaks his hearts, because the Master is right to fear him, but not in the way he’s thinking.

He would never.

There’s a click as the door to his room unlocks, and the Doctor has to close his eyes against the blinding brightness of the hallway lights as it slides open. He doesn’t need to look to know who’s standing in the doorway. He can feel him.

Think of the devil…

The door shuts behind the Master, plunging them both back into darkness. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust enough to see even the vague outlines of the room, the dark too deep for even his heightened senses to fully manage.

The Master stands by the door, silent, with a tension radiating off him that puts the Doctor on alert. He wonders if he should play at being asleep, or if the Master is waiting for something in particular. Neither one of them move, or speak, the only sound in the room the reverberating hum of the ship’s engines.

It’s because of the quiet that the Doctor notices the Master’s breathing is faster than his own, uneven too, like he’s agitated. The silence stretches on, and the longer it does, the more unnerved the Doctor becomes. He’s not afraid, though he too would have every right to be. More…concerned.

“Master?” he eventually asks, voice pitched quiet and low, loath to fully disturb the stillness, but unwilling to let the silence continue.

There’s a sigh, but it’s not the pleased sound that usually follows him speaking the other Time Lord’s name out loud. There’s a weight to it, a heaviness, and it’s something he’s not heard from the Master in a very long time.

“How do you stand it?” The Master’s voice is matched to his own, he too seemingly deciding to keep the strange atmosphere between them intact.

“What?”

“Being around humans.” The Doctor can hear the distaste in his voice, can picture clearly the narrowed eyes and the twist to his mouth as he says the word. He still doesn’t raise his voice though. “Eighteen months I had to hide here because of you. Over a year, surrounded by their stink and their noise, all those dull, pathetic little minds. Pretending to be one of them”

The Master’s voice, hissing as it is, falters ever so slightly at the last, and the Doctor wonders if maybe spending a lifetime as a human had more of an impact than the Master would like to admit. Not that the Master has ever had a particularly high opinion of humans. The majority of Time Lords didn’t, unfortunately, and add to that the Master’s long-standing jealous-like approach to anyone he spent time with, or showed the slightest affection or appreciation for…

Still, there’s something off. Something more, that has the Master noticeably disquieted in a way that has brought him here, in the middle of the night, to him.

“You married one,” is all he says in response. Which is the very least of what the Master’s done, and does, with Lucy, as the entire ship could easily attest to.

“Lucy was useful, and conveniently ambitious. She’s…tolerable, as humans go. And she leaves me alone if I tell her to. Unlike the others.”

“What others?” The Doctor decides to sit up, now that it’s clear they’re having a proper conversation. He shifts back to lean against the wall, bending a knee to wrap his arms around. There’s no way the Master doesn’t hear him move, but all the same, he remains by the door.

“All of them,” the Master continues, voice still pitched low, but with a growing level of noticeable ire. “The guards and the staff, even the Toclafane. They’re always there, wherever I go. They’re just there. Dozens of them. Every room, every corridor is filled with them. It’s unbearable.”

The Doctor makes note of the strange inclusion of the Toclafane in the Master’s complaint, given that all they seem to do is sing his praises and kill on command. He still hasn’t worked out precisely what they are, though he has his suspicions, but every time he thinks on them, his mind inevitably circles back around to the Master’s warning, his insistence that the knowledge would break his hearts. It’s not stopped him, but he can’t help but dwell on it. The Master knows him as well as he knows the Master. He knows exactly the kinds of things that would hurt him the most.

Beyond that though, he thinks he has an idea of what has brought the Master to his room. More so, he even understands.

He imagines telling the Master he could just leave, if being around humans bothered him so much. He imagines offering to go with him, offering to help dismantle the paradox machine so they could leave, the two of them leaving Earth behind, leaving everything behind. No humans, just them. Two Time Lords together.

He’d do it too. It would be hard, but he’d do it, and in truth, would never look back.

“They burn, don’t they, Doctor?” The Master’s voice suddenly sounds much closer, and with a start he realises that he’s approached the bed. He can see the outline of him, the shape of him, so close now, but he still cannot make out his features. The bed dips under the Master’s weight as he sits on the edge, and the displacement has the Doctor tipping towards him.

Maybe it’s because he can’t see, but the Doctor’s singularly aware of their current closeness, of the way they’re only a hair’s breadth from touching. Because the Master’s not wrong. Humans run so much hotter than Time Lords, so much so that it can sometimes feel like scorching. For the Doctor it’s become almost normal. Something that can be uncomfortable at worst, but otherwise, just a peculiarity of humanity. Something that’s different, but manageable, and not necessarily off putting.

But sometimes they do burn, sometimes it’s too much, and there are moments where the Doctor misses the familiar touch of his own kind more than anything.

Before he can think better of it, he reaches out a hand and places it on the Master’s back. The reaction is almost immediate. Instead of stiffening or pulling away or lashing out, the Master exhales, sinking back into the touch.

Encouraged, the Doctor leans in closer, sliding his hand up and feeling the play muscles under his fingers and his palm as the Master rolls his shoulders back. He feels over the Master’s shoulder blade, hand moving across and around to the front, never breaking contact. He shifts again, pressing up against the Master’s back, hooking his chin over his should as he places his hand over his right heart.

This too, the Master more than allows. He tilts his own head back, angling it towards the Doctor’s in a way that has his cheek brushing against his temple. When the Doctor brings his other hand to wrap around his middle, the Master’s fingers find his wrist, pressing against his pulse, like the Doctor, feeling for the proof of two beating hearts.

Even this close it’s still too dark to see much, but it doesn’t matter, because the Doctor doesn’t need to see the Master to enjoy, despite everything, having him here. He could close his eyes and it wouldn’t make a difference because he would still be able to feel him. Feel his heart beating beneath his hand, feel the comfortable warmth of him, the solidity that all proved he was real, that he was there. He’d still be able to smell him, listen to his breath, touch the very edges of a mind that was like no other.

“Doctor.” The Master mouths it almost silently against his skin, fingers around his wrist tightening, but no where near painfully.

“I know,” he whispers back. “I know.”

#doctor who #tensimm #thoschei #the doctor #tenth doctor #the master #simm!master #fan fic #my stuff #imlowercasemad #ask replies

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beatricethecat2 · 7 years

Text

backstairs affairs

I scribbled the bones of this when I was desperate for a break while on a crazy work deadline. Now that I’m free(er), I’ve honed in on it as a fun thing to finish, as it’s a truly a silly piece of fluff. It could use more shaping but I'm putting it up anyway.

Timeframe: Vague mid/late season 4. Instinct never happened. Leena’s still with us. Claudia’s Caretaker. B&W are an established thing. Sorry for typos!

////////////////////

Myka enters the B&B dressed in full winter regalia, shutting the door quickly to keep the cold out. She drops her keys in a bowl in the foyer and begins brushing snow off her jacket, but slows to a stop as a low, muffled groan draws her attention. When the groan swells in volume, she jettisons her jacket and boots and hurries down the hall to the living room.

“Stop moving," she says, eyes scanning a horizontal Helena as she shifts on the couch. "Let me help you.” She kneels down and gently lifts Helena’s arm, the one in a sling, then rearranges the blanket and pillow underneath. “Where's Claudia?"

"Caretaker," Helena says, her non-restrained hand wafting in the air as if blown upward by a puff of wind, then flopping down limply, as if the wind abruptly stopped.

Myka meets Helena’s gaze, but Helena’s eyes never fully focus, instead loll past her towards the glowing screen beyond. Myka looks over her shoulder to see what’s there.

“What are you watching?"

“Some nonsense Claudia put on. ‘Easy to follow in my condition,' she said."

“Why’s the sound off?"

“Is it?"

Myka looks at Helena and quirks a brow. Helena is on hardcore painkillers, but she's too fixated on the show to not notice the sound's missing. She twists at the waist toward the TV and watches for a few beats, then turns all the way around and sides to the floor, leaning her back against the couch.

As the action unfolds, she sees why Claudia put his show on. “Easy to follow" has little to do with it; the sultry-eyed, pouty-lipped, shoot-from-the-hip protagonist swaggering across the screen has more. When Helena returned from astrolabe duty, it became quickly apparent there was a type of show she’d become addicted to: the female fronted police drama. Not only the show itself but a specific female character, always wronged in some way and fighting tooth and nail for what’s right. Such a stereotype in this modern age, a cardboard cut-out to fit into a plot, but Helena said the repetition fascinates her, each heroine’s motivations different in some way. Claudia says it's because they remind Helena of Myka, but Myka sees little resemblance.

In this instance, an attractive, dark blonde is dressed in a too-casual-for-this-event but hot-for-her dress and is holding hands with an with an impeccably suited, broad shouldered, roguishly handsome man that accents her nicely. They chat with each other while walking down an ornately decorated, red carpeted hallway, into what looks like an office or den. The man closes the door and abruptly pins the woman to the wall in what first appears to be rough flirtation, but the shot cuts to her wrists, which strain to break free as he cuffs them too tightly. He sneers as he speaks and the woman laughs at whatever he said, then she knees him in the groin. A fight ensues, one over dominance rather than escape.

“That’s impossible in those shoes,” Helena huffs, breaking Myka’s concentration.

"You wear heels in the field sometimes."

“Boots, darling, not stilettos."

“That's a stunt double anyway."

“Really?” Helena says, craning her neck and squinting as if it will allow her to see the switching of bodies. “How disappointing. And misleading to those choosing a career in government.”

Myka snickers, and pulls a corner of Helena blanket around her shoulders. They fall silent while watching the scene continue.

The woman is overpowered, and tied to a chair, then beaten while being questioned by the man. During a lull in the interrogation, she hangs her head and spits blood from her mouth, then looks up and smiles devilishly at her captor. Just then the door busts open.

"Oh, no. Not Johnny No-face again,” Helena mumbles.

"Johnny who?"

"Claudia’s moniker. Stereotypical male stepping in to save the day. Love interest of the pretty blonde."

"You think she's pretty?” Myka says, focusing the blonde. Blood drips from a cut on her forehead, but her hair is somehow perfectly arranged.

“I find her eyes expressive, captivatingly doe-like. Quite like your own."

“My eyes aren’t…they’re not doe-like,” Myka says, turning toward Helena.

“Lost in an emerald sea so deep, I’m wont to look away.”

Myka knows Helena is talking about her, not the blonde, but still…where is this coming from? Helena's gaze is glazed over, but the look in her eyes is adoring enough it elicits a half smile from Myka.

Satisfied with Myka's gesture, Helena's eyes drift back to the TV, and Myka turns around, analyzing the scene in front of her. The interrogator now lies in a lump on the floor, unconscious, while Johnny No-face talks to the woman, still bound in the chair. She studies the woman for a minute, then looks at the man.

"Is he more your type?” Helena asks.

Myka flinches. Damnit! The last time they went through this, it was awkward enough for a lifetime. No need to rehash.

The blonde holds up a pair of handcuffs, and from the look on her face, she broke out of them before the man arrived.

"Look, she was handcuffed. She seems pretty capable otherwise. She would have gotten out on her own, without the dude.”

"Like you would have, had I not interfered?"

Myka flinches again. Not the change of topic she was hoping for. “We’ve gone through this," Myka says, wondering what in her tone set Helena down this path.

“I saved you from that artifact."

“You fell down the stairs and took me with you. And I fell on top of you. Now your shoulder's dislocated, and your ribs are bruised. We’re lucky things weren’t worse.”

Myka braces for an argument but Helena's attention flicks back to the screen. She studies Helena, thinking “lack of follow through” is an attribute to add to the list of side effects from Helena’s drugs. Not that she's complaining, it’s just odd.

On the TV, the pretty blonde now sits at a table, surveilling a long haired brunette stationed at a different table, spying on a bottled blonde in a lab coat, camped out at yet another table.

“Intriguing,” Helena says.

“Who’s the brunette?”

“The blonde’s notes on her are written in Cyrillic.”

“Which blonde?”

“The pretty one."

"Talk about stereotypical,” Myka huffs.

"What if they’re lovers?”

“Who?”

“The brunette and the pretty blonde."

“Not on a show like this."

“Why ever not?”

“Uh…” Myka’s mind fills with a flurry of lame but institutionalized excuses. “There’s the Cold War for one. And the blonde's probably dating that guy...”

“Johnny No-face.”

“Yeah. So she wouldn’t…well, typically…switch teams.”

“How unfortunate,” Helena grumbles.

Helena slumps down in the couch, obviously disappointed by Myka’s statement. Myka worries that in Helena’s mercurial state, a familiar diatribe may be on the horizon, the one on how disappointing the twenty-first century's been where sexuality’s concerned.

“Why don’t we make up stuff. Like, play the parts ourselves. I'll be the blonde; you be the brunette,” she says, purposefully steering the conversation somewhere else. "I’m...defending my country, while you’re…stealing secret plans."

“You’ve already indicated they’re meant to be enemies. I’ve no desire to portray such roles.”

“Couldn’t they be enemies and lovers?”

Myka shifts and looks up at Helena, utilizing the doe-eyes she’s been told she’s in possession of.

“Da,” Helena says, and smiles dozily, draping her good arm around Myka’s shoulders.

“Don’t do the accent,” she says, cringing at the sound.

“I’m meant to be Russian, and I not?"

“Yeah, but, it’s…just, don't.” Myka hadn’t realized Helena feigning an accent would chillingly remind her of Emily Lake.

"Let’s watch some more,” Myka says, placing her hand over Helena’s and lacing her fingers through. They look back at the screen in tandem and see the brunette and pretty blonde sitting at the table together, conspiring over something unknown.

"They've met time and time again, throughout many empires and continents. They're destined to be together; intimately acquainted, yet their superiors haven’t a clue they’re involved.” Helena's voice deepens and formalizes, her words sounding like a voice over from a movie trailer.

Myka absently nods at Helena and studies the pair on the screen. They’ve tracked down the man, the one previously knocked out by Johnny No-face, and have tied him to a chair.

“Do you think I could be a spy?” Myka asks.

“You? No,” Helena scoffs.

“Why not?"

“You’re far too earnest."

“No, I’m not."

“You’d never perform a bludgeoning such as that.”

“She’s just slapping him around a little….oof,” Myka says, squeezing Helena’s hand and closing her eyes as the brunette shoots the man in the knee.

“That’s why you could never be a spy."

"I’m not going to shoot someone just to get information."

“You’ve never been tempted?"

“Well, Pete, but mostly to shut him up.” Myka laughs at her own joke, and her laugh ends in a snort.

The blonde and brunette smile at each other as they talk, their body language much friendlier than before. They divvy up papers found in the (now dead) man's (shot) open briefcase.

“After this, they'll tumble madly into bed, and Johnny whots-its will all but forgotten,” Helena says.

“TV doesn’t work that way,” Myka laments, shaking her head.

“One can dream,” Helena says, tensing her arm around Myka’s neck, hugging her close.

As the show cuts to a secondary plot thread, Myka's gaze wanders towards the coffee table.

"How many pills did you take?” she asks at the sight of several open bottles.

"All of them."

“Helena!"

"Claudia disbursed them before she...”

Helena’s arm, the one in a sling, lifts as if to waft in the air at the mention of Claudia. Myka places her hand on top and guides it back down before it rises too far. In the process, she turns her wrist to check the time and scowls at her watch. It’s too early for drugs. No wonder Helena’s out of it.

“Marvelous inventions, these pills, much better than opium."

“Opium?"

“You’re marvelous as well. Much prettier than that pretty blonde." Helena lifts up and leans forward to kiss Myka but jerks back in pain before she reaches her target.

“Easy there,” Myka says, fussing with Helena’s placement on the couch. “You just got out of the hospital."

"Did I? I can’t recall."

Sooo out of it, Myka thinks and smiles while completing Helena’s kiss. She settles back into place in front of the couch and reorients Helena’s good arm where it previously was resting and turns her attentions back to the TV.

“Wow. That was quick. The Russian’s dead.”

“No,” Helena says, sounding genuinely concerned. “Let’s hope our heroine's allowed time to mourn the death of her timeless lover."

“Uh-uh,” Myka says, squinting at the screen. “She’s not in Europe anymore. South America, I think."

“These spies are certainly…well…traveled,” Helena says, her words slowing as she yawns.

“So are we,” Myka says. “And we serve our country, just like them. But I like our job better."

Helena’s hand goes limp and slips from Myka's shoulder, falling to rest over her chest. Myka glances up at Helena and smiles; she’s fallen asleep.

“I like coming home to you, even if you think you saved me when you didn’t,” Myka says. She threads a lock of Helena’s hair behind her ear and kisses her forehead.

When she turns back to the screen, the pretty blonde is "getting it on" with Johnny No-face. She missed that transition, not that she really cares, but for some reason, she finds the proceedings hard to watch. Maybe it’s the way the scene is cut, or the lack of chemistry between actors, but the whole scenario looks forced upon the plot. She clicks the remote to read the show summary, and it begins, “In this fifth and final season....”

Typical, she thinks, and turns off the TV.

“I don’t know what I’m going do with you when the drugs wear off,” she says, quietly, as she turns toward Helena. But you’re so adorable right now, asleep, I don’t care. Helena makes a tiny, equally adorable noise as if responding to Myka's thought, and Myka combs her fingers through Helena's hair.

Maybe we’ll play spies one day, just for fun. You’d have to be English, though, like, 'James Bond’ English, without the sexist and trope-y stuff. And I could be…does Canada have spies?

#bering and wells #vague season 4 #fan fiction #fluff #comfort #TV cop dramas #Myka Bering #Helena HG Wells #I'm still pounding away at if/then(2.0)#and shaping up a sequel to that Emily Lake piece I did last xmas #(it's taken on a mind of it's own)#but I think I needed something finishable #to make me feel it's possible #to finish something #somewhere #somehow #sometime #(because when vacations over #I'm back to deadline hell)

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ficdirectory · 7 years

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The Fosters: Our Thoughts on Episode 5x02 “Exterminate Her”

We’re back for more of our thoughts on this week’s Fosters. As usual, check out @tarajean621‘s thoughts on Jesus and brain injury representation in italics below:

You Know What Could Have Happened, Callie?/Honey, She Was Terrified: I can totally understand Callie wanting to focus on the good side of things. I’m sure she is keenly aware of just how badly things could have gone. And Stef being short with her and Lena taking the time to explain how scared Stef was rings so true to Real Stuff Parents Do.

This Is Nothing to Celebrate!/Surprise! And, naturally, all the charges are dropped. But how awkward is this surprise party led by Robert? Especially Mariana leading her brothers in a rousing chant of “hip hip hooray” because “our sister’s a hero!” So cute, though.

How Long Are You Gonna Stop Speaking to Your Brother?/How Long Are You Gonna Stop Speaking to Mariana? I missed this part somehow when it first aired.

How’s The Treehouse Going? Has She Taken Over Yet?/No, She Just Found Us a Tree: Wow, everyone’s crabby today, aren’t they? Settle down, Emma. Only a few more days and you can be really far away from Mariana. (And Jesus. I wonder how that will go?)

Hey, Can I Talk to You for a Second?/Uh, Yeah, Sure: I hate that everyone is now actively fearing Jesus. It’s especially disheartening seeing Mariana react out of fear here. And the camera stays with Brandon as he jumps and then leaves the table. I’d love for the assumption that Jesus now resides at Intimidation Station to not be a thing.

I have been looking for statistics on how likely it is that people with TBIs assault their caregivers, since this seems to be the slant the writers are taking with 5A. I could not come up with one link.

I did, however, find pages of links (over 3 million results) about disabled abuse and victimization.

One source says that disabled people are 4-10 times more likely to be victims of violence, abuse or neglect than nondisabled people. It goes on to share why people living with TBIs are likely to encounter victimization - the list includes the use of undue force (which I covered last week when Gabe restrained Jesus), caregivers misperceptions about TBI leading to abuse or not believing us when we report abuse, or having to endure abuse “in return for” help with tasks of daily living.

Definitely. In just existing as a disabled person and talking to others who are, I can say that everybody I know who is disabled, has, at some point, been abused. (Usually, this is by a caregiver.) Another source I found on the maltreatment of children with disabilities states that:

“Children with disabilities may have increased vulnerability to abuse because...[they] may be perceived as less valuable than other children. Their reports may not be considered trustworthy. Discipline may be more punitive and accompanied by a lack of respect.”

So, I’ve Been Thinking and I Wanna Do My Senior Project By Myself/Well, You Can’t: Um. Wow, Mariana. Maybe you should have been honest with Jesus from the start about this.

Yes, this might have been a more timely conversation weeks ago. Although, it was really up to Moms and Drew to deliver this news to Jesus, so Mariana is not the only one to blame here.

I’m Gonna Talk to Drew Myself and See What He Says: You pretty much have to, Jesus. It’s the only way you’re guaranteed the truth.

But wait, if Jesus speaks to Drew all on his own, who will Drew look to if there is not a suitable nondisabled person present? <-- Sarcasm

Was This Emma’s Idea?/No. I Just Need to Prove That I Can Do Something on My Own: Of course, Jesus would feel strongly about this. His family doesn’t respect him as he is. It makes sense for him to feel like he has to prove his capability to get them to take him seriously. Nothing else is working.

Our society views productivity as the be-all and end-all. You go to school to produce meaningful work so that you can graduate and get a job, thus becoming a contributing member of society. You are useful and worthy then. Jesus feels like he needs to produce a meaningful senior project without help to be seen as useful and worthy again. And it doesn’t hurt that it might earn him points with Emma to distance himself from Mariana.

I Just Wanna Help/I Don’t Need Your Help/Well, We Do/So You Want Me To Go Live with Robert? Honestly, though, what else is Callie supposed to think? Moms are pretty much saying she is too much for them and they need backup to handle her.

Callie, We Love You But There is Only So Much That We Can Do For You: I guarantee you the only part of Lena’s sentence that Callie heard was “We love you, but...” which feels exactly like, “We don’t love you,” or “We used to love you, but don’t anymore.” (Please think about what you’re saying Moms, these words will stick.)

You Need to Decide Who You Want to Be Going Forward, Because This Girl is Not Acceptable: OMG talk about a back-to-back gut-punch! Jeez... What is Callie supposed to do with a statement like this? She is who she is. She can’t change who she is. She has had a ton of stuff happen to her before she ever came to Stef and Lena. That all impacts who she is and her decision making process.

This morning I read an article called 3 Reasons Traditional Parenting Doesn’t Work With Kids From Trauma. Callie has lived months as an adopted child, as opposed to 7 years in foster care. She is in survival mode all the time, and completely shut down during Moms’ and Robert’s lecture.

I’ve heard similar remarks as an adoptee myself and that is exactly how they resonate. Moms’ words must feel like such a rejection.

After This Last Thing With Callie, I Just Don’t Know What To Do/I Know That Was So Awful For You. I’m So Sorry. How Can I Help? What Can I Do? This is probably a bit of a raw wound for me personally, because Stef absolutely needs and deserves comfort. But it feels so jarring to see this scene after the previous two with Moms and Callie.

Lena excused Stef’s anger at Callie in the car when Stef talked about how Callie could have been beaten or raped (she has experienced both in foster care, Stef.) Then the lecture. But we just don’t see that level of love and support for Callie herself. Nobody is asking Callie “How can I help?” or “What can I do?”

I Need You to Say You Can’t Help Unless It’s Both Our Projects, Because You Can’t Choose Sides: Mariana, I get that you are always at least 25 billion steps ahead, seeing every possible bad eventuality but you need to try to reign in this impulse to manipulate the adults in your world. Maybe talk about that in therapy? (But speaking of Kids Who Came From Trauma...pretty textbook behavior.)

(On the positive side, give Brandon Quinn all the points for the physical comedy of trying to put those jeans on! So funny!)

He’s Lucky I Didn’t Suspend Him/And You’re Lucky I Don’t Sue You. And The School: Yes, Lena! (Also how gross is that pro-privatization piece in the ABCC school paper?)

Portfolio?/Your Body of Work: I find it hard to believe that Callie would have zero idea of what a portfolio is, but maybe she doesn’t hang around a lot of art students?

Mariana Just Told Me That This Treehouse Project is Approved for Her and Not Jesus Because He Might Not Be a Senior Next Year? It was news to me, too, Gabe! I’ve literally been thinking (for months) that Mariana went in to support Jesus for his senior project. That it was his meeting. And that when it was not approved for him that was the end of it, but Mariana couldn’t let it go, so she lied and said it had to be both of their projects.

But Jesus Has No Idea, Right?/We Don’t Want to Frighten Him with All the What-Ifs/Keeping Things From Him Blew Up in a Pretty Big Way: I mean, Gabe’s not wrong...

Dean Bayfield: Well, hello, new neighbor. Looks like Stef’s a little tongue-tied around you...

When Do They Send the Paper to the Printer?/They Already Did/What If It Caught an Error and Sent a New File? Mariana Adams Foster...put that big, beautiful brain of yours to good use and be careful. (I’m so proud! But I’m so conflicted about being proud!)

Pick Up Your Senior Project/Toss It: This Girl Is Not Acceptable.

The Art Professor...is Gonna Let Me Audit Her Class and Help Me Put Together My Portfolio/That’s Amazing: This Mama Sandwich for Callie is so bittersweet because she looks so relieved that they still love her.

Do Think I’d Be Better at Scooping Ice Cream or Flipping Burgers?/That Depends. You’d Be So Bad at Both: OMG Callie! Hahahaha!

Maybe This Could Be My Still Life. I’m Salty, Right? Why would she want to find an object that defines her if the girl she is is not acceptable? No wonder she is struggling so hard with this.

I Used to Blow Dry My Hair Straight, Too, Mariana. It’s Called Time-Management: These are the moments that I love. Because Mariana’s hair is not a lost issue, and Lena remains supportive about it, giving Mariana advice from her own experience.

We Have 5 Teenagers/Oh God Bless You! We Just Have the One: Hahaha! I love Theresa!

A Good Basic Case With All the Essentials: Can’t go to art school without supplies!

The Article Doesn’t Appear to Quote You or Anyone on the Administration. It’s Just One Kid’s Opinion, Right? OMG Lena, I love you! Also, check out the screencap Tara got of the article in the Sea Breeze! Love that it cites IDEA and points out what this article says, in part, which is “ If the private...school does not accept any federal funding, then the school is not required to provide accommodations” to students with disabilities.

What Did You Bring to Sketch?/I Think I’m Just Gonna Sketch My New Art Set: Because nothing says Callie like an art set you got 10 minutes ago... :(

Grace! Are You Okay? Are You Hurt? Why Are You Handcuffed to the Bed?! Brandon, your reaction to Grace here was, hands down, my favorite part of the episode. You give me hope for humanity in this moment.

Otherwise, Why Would You Be Here? I also love Ximena! There is such a shortage of positive female friendships depicted on TV that I would love to see Callie and Ximena develop one. But it looks like Ximena’s complimentary question to Callie isn’t sitting quite right...

It’s For This Foster Family That Has, Like 12 Kids. Some of Them Are Special Needs: First of all, it seems illegal that one family would have 12 foster kids at once? And secondly? Pretty much no one in the disability community likes the term ‘special needs.’

Since I Got This TBI, People Treat Me Like I’M Special Needs: So revealing there, Jesus. I always say, the hardest part about being disabled isn’t the disability, it’s the way we’re treated as inferior. I imagine that dealing with a sudden disability as Jesus is, that feeling is even stronger. (And I can’t shake the feeling that the ‘people’ Jesus is referring to is his family. And honestly, nobody should be treated like they’re less when they’re disabled, especially by family. It’s bad enough to experience it in general society.)

Having a brain injury is not a bad thing, but it does take some adjustment. The way Jesus says, “People treat me like I am special needs” is revealing, as Tonia pointed out. People treat him like a pile of unreasonable demands - like a list of symptoms - instead of as a human being who has a brain injury.

Talk to Your Moms/All They Do is Lie to Me and Keep Secrets. They Aren’t Going to Tell Me. So, What Is It? I can’t say I wouldn’t be making the same call Gabe ends up making here...and so far, Gabe is one person whose ableism is at a minimum, and Jesus feels that. He feels respected by Gabe. His experience with Moms post-TBI has been that they treat him as less now. They have lied to him and he doesn’t need anymore of that. He’s out of the woods, healthwise, he doesn’t need to be ‘protected’ in this manner.

No Longer Funding Any Junior Student’s Senior Projects: Of course you aren’t, Drew...

Did You Talk to My Father? Robert Quinn? Oh Lordy, this isn’t gonna end well, is it? How humiliating for Callie. Like she needs Robert calling in favors for her to get to audit art school class...

I’m Not Gonna Be a Senior Next Year?/We Don’t Know That, Jesus: Now Jesus knows, and Stef still won’t give him a straight answer? Really? At least tell him what you DO know...

Also, inquiring minds would like to know what IS happening with regard to Jesus and school? Stef and Lena are both back at work and Jesus is home all day, talking to Gabe as he builds the treehouse. Lena’s an educator. School is always on this family’s radar. Even if Jesus isn’t ready for full days, I’d think a teacher coming to the house for a bit wouldn’t be out of the question. But school hasn’t even been mentioned by Moms except to say that Jesus is missing a lot, and taking Drew of all people as the expert on post-brain-injury reentry to school.

Jesus, I Need You To Calm Down/No, I Am Not Going To Calm Down/Then You Can Go To Your Room Until You Are Willing To Listen To Me. Now:

In my opinion, Jesus is not out of bounds or out of control here. He has a right to be upset, but Stef sends him away. (Instead of sending Gabe and/or Mariana away so she can have a private conversation with Jesus.) She tells him to leave until he is willing to listen to her - but Stef is in no way willing to be around his feelings in this moment.

Too often, disabled people are expected to “be nice” in the face of ableism. And let’s be clear, not telling Jesus about what is going on with his schooling is ableism. Dismissing Jesus’s current upset? Also ableism.

If any of the other kids found out Moms withheld information for weeks about them possibly not being promoted a grade, upset would be an expected reaction. In Jesus’s case, it is not justified in Mom’s eyes.

I’m Not Going Up There With Him! Did You See What He Did to Brandon’s Room? What If He Takes a Baseball Bat to My Head? Kids learn ableism from their parents...and Stef doesn’t refute Mariana here... So harmful. (And also - if Mariana isn’t comfortable going upstairs, the least Stef could do is tell her to go to the living room or something. Anything so she is not right there when Stef tells Gabe that if he can’t respect Stef and Lena’s authority as the twins’ parents, he’ll have to leave. Awkward. And not a conversation for one of the kids to overhear.)

Is This a Bad Time?/Jesus is Up in His Room and I’m Sure He Would Love to See You Right About Now: Um... If Jesus is supposed to be being punished or taking a break or whatever, why would you send Emma up there? (But I have a pretty good idea why. Disability as a Plot Device, anyone? Because up until now, Emma was the only person who wasn’t fearful of Jesus. The choice to send her up there just to witness Jesus throwing things is a conscious choice to continue his ostracization and isolation. To make sure he has no one to turn to or lean on.

Notice how this “outburst” comes immediately after being dismissed.

Also, here is another example of how traditional parenting does not work on kids with traumatic backgrounds. And a Traumatic Brain Injury is yet another trauma for Jesus to juggle, in addition to his unstable infancy and childhood (until age 8). Sending Jesus to his room just drives home the fact that he, like Callie, is seen as unacceptable now.

I Wish I Had Somewhere to Unleash My Beast/You Do. Your Art: Jesus, do you hear this? You and Callie could totally channel all your feelings into art. That’s what it’s there for, and you’re both good at it. (I’d actually really like to see this!)

How Did Your Job Interview Go?/I Was Late So I Probably Didn’t Make a Great First Impression: Yeah, like when your girlfriend calls you with fake emergencies when she KNOWS you have a job interview soon...

Pretty Sure She Was Trying to Have Sex With You/Oh, My God: I loved this! Rang so true to me that the adopted kid would totally get what Grace was trying to do with Brandon while Brandon remained innocently oblivious...

I Wanna Try to Be a Senior Next Year, Even If That Means I Have to Go to Summer School/Honey, That’s Really Great to Hear, But Your Senior Project Will Have to Wait Until Then: Okay but Jesus literally did not say anything about his senior project. He’s talking about his education right now. Why does no one take him seriously? (Oh wait, I know...)

“That’s really great to hear.” What does that even mean? “That’s really great to hear that you still desire and value an education even though you have a brain injury?”

It sounds as if that was Lena’s way of possibly skirting the education conversation.

Because I Got Mad? Are You Punishing Me? Of course, it feels like a punishment.

Drew’s Not Funding Any Senior Projects by Juniors/You’re Lying: Moms, remember Stef’s brilliant take on ‘trust has to be earned?’ I feel like it’s time to work on starting to earn Jesus’s. Because right now, he can’t trust anything you say, and why should he?

Also, I’m pretty sure Monte said last episode that Drew isn’t the principal because she hasn’t yet resigned. So...why is the vote invalid but his word about Jesus’s senior project like signed, sealed and notarized by a judge?)

I Could Probably Get Jesus’s Uncle to Donate/Birth Uncle: This is interesting, because we watched this episode with a friend who adopted her daughter. And she specifically commented on this scene. Said she never corrects her daughter when she wonders about her birth mother. And she felt it was out of place for Moms to correct Gabe here.

I Do Wanna Keep My Senior Project/We Took It to the Dumpster Already: Ouch, Callie :(

I Didn’t Give Her Any Money, I Just Asked Her to Give You a Chance, But Only If She Believes in You, Which, Obviously, She Does/You Don’t: Bam. It’s truth time, by Callie. And that really is what Robert’s actions communicated. Instead of helping with her or giving her advice on what to do next, he went behind her back and appealed to the teacher’s pity, and that never feels good.

I Know You All Think That I’m Unacceptable/That’s Not What We Meant/It’s What You Said: Right, Callie? And no matter how many other times she is affirmed, those words will be inside her, challenging the love she’s shown. It’s this thing: anger resonates as the “truest” feeling, while love feels forced. It’s hard to explain...

When You First Met Me You Told Me I Wasn’t Disposable and I’m Really Trying to Believe That: We keep track of every single word.

We Don’t Want You to Throw Away Your Past, We Just Want You to Stop Repeating It: But that might not be entirely in Callie’s control. How often do we rehash or recreate an aspect of our past in an effort to work through it, or because it feels familiar and that feels safe? Moms want Callie to feel safe, but safe is new. And it’s going to take some getting used to. (Also I’m really glad Lena rescued Callie’s senior project from gettting thrown away.)

So, I’m Not Going to See You Before You Go?/I’m Sorry/I Love--: Emma’s pulling away so hard and fast. This sucks.

I really hope that this whole Aggression Is A Symptom storyline does not end up Teaching Jesus A Lesson.

Did Mamas Talk to You About The Treehouse?/I’m Gonna Ask Emma to Do It With Me...If That’s Okay: Ugh, and the twins aren’t getting along still. And at this point it seems like working with Emma on the treehouse this year or next is gonna be a bust...

Not being able to connect after an injury is a thing, and I appreciate that it is being depicted. To add to Tonia’s comment about Emma, we don’t know what is going to happen with them. He is trying to make things work with his girlfriend while putting Mariana in her place. We will have to see what happens...

I Guess I Shouldn’t Have Read Fifty Shades of Grey: Oh, Grace, what a terrible book!

I Don’t Know Where The Keys Are. I Think They’re Over Here/Okay, I’m Coming: Hahaha! Don’t play with handcuffs, Brandon and Grace...or Stef will have to come unlock you...and wouldn’t that be embarrassing?

Fearless: I love Callie showing Ximena her necklace from her mom as her object for her Still Life and I love Ximena’s reaction to it!

Tess/Oh, My God! Stef! So, I was in the shower, the morning after this aired, and it occurred to me. The thing that everybody already knows about who Tess is. But in case someone hasn’t made the connection. I realized Tess was Stef’s high school friend who she was cuddling and got caught by Stef’s dad. Also the reason Stef was sent by her dad to see a priest, who told her being gay was a sin (episode 1x06, I believe.)

For more: Fosters Recaps

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