#9th class result

[eduhq]

EduHQ: Your Comprehensive Hub for Educational Results and Services

EduHQ is a dynamic educational platform dedicated to empowering students, educators, and institutions throughout Pakistan. By offering accurate, timely, and comprehensive information on academic results, EduHQ has emerged as a trusted source for students across the country. Our platform specializes in providing seamless access to the results of 9th, 10th, 11th, and 12th class exams across all major educational boards in Pakistan. With an easy-to-use interface and a wide array of support services, EduHQ ensures students can navigate their academic journeys with confidence and clarity.

As one of Pakistan’s most reliable online educational resources, EduHQ simplifies the process of checking exam results and accessing vital educational services. Students can quickly retrieve their results by entering their roll numbers, names, or by using SMS. Whether you are affiliated with BISE Gujranwala, BISE Lahore, BISE Peshawar, BISE Karachi, or any other board, EduHQ offers real-time updates, ensuring that students never have to wait long for their results. Our platform covers all educational boards in Punjab, Sindh, Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, and Balochistan, catering to students from all regions.

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A Reliable Platform for Students’ Academic Needs At EduHQ, we pride ourselves on delivering reliable, accurate, and timely information to students. We understand that exam results are a crucial part of a student’s academic journey and that errors or delays can cause unnecessary stress. That’s why we work closely with all educational boards in Pakistan to ensure that the information we provide is always up to date and accurate. Whether it’s checking your exam results or accessing educational services, EduHQ is here to support you every step of the way.

Conclusion

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By choosing EduHQ, students gain more than just access to their results—they receive a reliable partner throughout their educational journey. Explore EduHQ today to see how we can support your academic success!

[seilon]

love when this is referred to as the gifted kid website. shockingly my mental disorders made me mentally disordered and school never really vibed with that so. couldn’t be me

[gardengnosticator]

i am a walking embodiment to the eternal psychic damage shit like supersize me and the biggest loser did to my generation

[coachingclassdombivli]

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[amu-buddy]

How to Get Admission in AMU School - Application Form and Selection Process 2024-25

[martian-astro10]

Astrology observations - Part 3 (use whole signs)

🎀 For a lot of people with moon in 7th house, their mother had a huge impact on their personality (in a good or bad way). They'll either admire her a lot and try to be more like her or, do their best to not be like her. Their mother usually has a lot of say in who they marry. If the ascendant lord is not strong, then these people completely change after marriage and start to behave in a way in which their spouse would like them to.

🐈‍⬛Saturn in 9th house people can be really good when it comes to their career, they end up getting promoted earlier than others, but I've noticed that they prefer to work alone. It's like, they create something, but they would like someone else to market and sell it since communication is not their strong suit. Can be very introverted, not the best at taking initiatives, are very prone to undermining themselves.

🎀 moon in 11th house people have a really good relationship with their kids (unless it's debilitated). It doesn't matter if you're a guy or a girl, it's the same for both. They're the parents who have a very "chill" relationship with their kids, their kids trust them a lot, treat them as a friend. All my friends who have a great and healthy relationship with their parents, 85% of those parents had moon in 11th.

🐈‍⬛ Mars in 5th house people have such an "interesting" dating life; love triangles, friends with benefits, they've (or will) experienced it all. The people to say "it's complicated" when you ask them about their love life. But I've also seen that these people are very accepting of other people's dating preferences, this is one of the things that I really admire about them, this can result in them having a very diverse group of friends.

🎀 Jupiter aspecting ascendant/midheaven is one of the best placements that you could possibly have. I was going through celebrities' charts and I noticed that the ones who were exceptionally popular or rich had this like 90% of the time. With opposition and square it can indicate that people hate you at first, but then some info comes out and suddenly everyone loves you, but you gotta go through the hate first. Conjunction can go either way depending on the sign.

🐈‍⬛ Saturn in 4th house women have my full respect, like, these people go through so much shit in their life and yet they're so hardworking and never give up. Their mother was probably their worst enemy growing up. If you know someone who has this, give them a hug, they're carrying so much burden, and yet they never show it. You'll never hear these people complaining about life, have a very, "it's okay, problems come and go, you can't be sad all the time" mentality.

🎀 Sun in 1st house people make me so angry, I don't get along with them. They have such a shitty personality, and always wanna fight for absolutely no reason. Start a beef out of nowhere, but they are so fucking good at their job, that's actually what makes me hate them more. My class representative has this, and she's such a bitch, but she's so responsible, it breaks my fucking heart, can't even complain 😔

🐈‍⬛ Mercury in 11th house people have unmatched Rizz, will charm the pants off you (unless it's debilitated). I'm so jealous of people who have this. I know people with this, who are not conventionally attractive but their charm is what makes people like them. I never knew what it meant to be attracted to someone's personality until I met someone who had this. (I know this sounds like a backhanded compliment, but it's really not)

🎀 I have never in my life met a moon in 8th house person who was like....okay. these people will have a mental breakdown almost every week. Can't take criticism AT ALL. I have seen that people with this have a tendency to date whoever they see once they break up, just to show their ex how "wanted" they are, and it's not healthy because a lot of their hook ups have bad intentions. Have a habit of playing the victim "everyone bullies me 🥺" "I have the hardest life" and blah blah. On a positive note, they can handle fame really well because of their ability to manipulate people, once you get in their trap and start liking them, you'll never be able to hate them.

🐈‍⬛ I never see people talking about how smart Venus in 3rd house people are. I'm always so amazed by the way they carry conversations. A lot of women who have won beauty paegents have this because of how nice their answers were. A lot of young politicians have this as well. Their juniors often look up to them.

© martian-astro All rights reserved, 2024

[worldlxvlys]

i NEED a wedding day typa thing with matt where hes just stressing and his vows are cuter than anything and he admires u while ur walking down the aisle that typa shit

long enough

matt sturniolo x reader

warnings: noneeeee

a/n: hope you likeee <33

don’t cry. don’t cry, don’t cry.

i took a deep breath as i stared at the doors, waiting for her to come through them.

i’ve waited for this day for so long, and now that it was actually happening it felt surreal.

“please stand”

as i watched everyone collectively stand up i felt a rush of nerves take over me.

this was really happening.

i wasn’t in my 9th grade science class, watching her expertly mix chemicals together, day dreaming about marrying her.

we weren’t studying for our math test together, her explaining how to solve the problem while i zoned out, imagining how amazing she would be at planning our wedding.

i wasn’t watching her walk down the stairs on prom night, finally seeing which dress she chose, thinking about what it’d be like to see her in her wedding dress for the first time.

now, i was living it.

every minute i spent longing for her, all of the pain i went through waiting for her, it all led up to this exact moment.

chris, most likely picking up on my nerves, patted my shoulder lightly from his spot beside me.

i momentarily glanced over to him, and he gave me a slight nod.

nick, who was on the other side of him, gave me a quick thumbs up.

i took another deep breath, attempting to relax, as i watched the doors in anticipation.

the moment they opened up, i lost it.

i let out a quick breath, tears welling in my eyes when i saw her standing there.

i held my breath for a second while i took in her dress. it was perfect for her.

the white seemed to make her glow, only adding to her natural beauty.

the top of the dress was lined with intricate designs, with a touch of lace to top it off.

the straps were thin, but not too thin, a detail of the dress she was adamant about being perfect.

the bottom of the dress was long, but not long enough where she had to worry about it dragging behind her too much.

the dress had a small slit going up her leg. it wasn’t anything too crazy, just long enough for me to see the lace garter decorating her thigh, peeking through when she walked.

it was unlikely that anyone else even saw it, however, i was purposefully looking for it.

the dress just screamed her. it was simple, yet so unique. the extravagance wasn’t in the dress itself, but in the details.

it was clear that she put an abundance of time and thought into picking out the dress, and it paid off.

“oh my god” i whispered under my breath, attempting to blink back my tears.

READER’S POV

“take a breath” mary lou spoke as she rubbed my back gently.

i was currently staring at the doors in anticipation, my hands shaking lightly.

i did as she said, inhaling through my nose and out of my mouth.

“i’ll be next you the whole time, sweetheart” she smiled at me.

my parents and i were on less than optimal terms, as they liked to call it.

at least, that’s what they said when people asked about it.

they were never there for me, but mary lou and jimmy were. i never even had to ask her to be the one to walk me down the aisle, we both always knew it would be her.

“i’m so grateful for you” i told her, my voice wavering slightly.

she pulled me into a hug, giving me a slight squeeze.

“good, cause you’re stuck with me” she chuckled.

after waiting a few more minutes, the doors finally opened.

everyone’s head turned to me, and my eyes widened slightly under the pressure of so many people’s gaze.

“you’re ok” she whispered to me, knowing how i would react.

my eyes found matt’s across the aisle, and my focus on everyone else completely faded away.

tears were streaming down his face as he stared at me in awe.

i took in his appearance, and almost melted right there.

he looked so good.

his suit was crisp, no doubt the result of him making sure it was hanging at all times. knowing him, he probably never even took it out of the protective bag, wanting it to stay wrinkle-free.

his tie was tied perfectly, the result of him watching youtube videos repeatedly, needing to master the skill. (mary lou ended up having to teach him how to do it over facetime.)

every piece of his tuxedo matched perfectly, his meticulous planning shining through.

the tux fit him better than i ever could have imagined.

he wore a few rings, knowing how much i loved them on his hands. i was excited for one ring in particular, though.

as mary lou guided me down the aisle, i noticed matt’s gaze run up and down my body, stopping at the garter that i let him pick out.

i smiled lightly at that, watching as he met my eyes again.

once we got to the end of the aisle, we stopped directly in front of matt.

“hi baby” i whispered to him, watching as he began to laugh lightly.

his smile grew even wider as mary lou, handed him a few tissues for his tears.

we both laughed lightly at this, “where did you get that?” i asked. everyone around us laughed at that.

“no, i’m serious. where did that come from?” i asked, confused.

we were met with more laughter, my question left unanswered.

she gave us both a kiss to the cheek, before placing my hand in his.

i felt tears of my own start to fall at the gesture.

“you may now be seated” everyone sat down at the request.

“family and friends, thank you all for coming today to share in this wonderful occasion. today we are here together to unite matt and y/n in marriage”

“and now for the vows” the officiator spoke. matt decided he wanted to go first.

“ok, hi” he breathed out, a large grin spreading on his face. “y/n, i have spent such a long time dreaming about this day. for so long, i would tell chris and nick that i was gonna marry you one day. but then you started chasing after other guys and you seemed so unattainable all of a sudden. but we’re finally here, we’re getting married” he whispered excitedly, as though he couldn’t believe it, “and there’s no one else that i’d rather be with. i love how deeply you care about the things that are important to you, like this. i’m pretty sure i’ve seen everything in this room on your pinterest board at some point” the room filled with chuckles, “ you’ve put so much love and time into this and i’m so grateful to have found someone who cares about this, who cares about me so much. and seeing you walk down that aisle with my mom, i-” his voice broke as his lip began to quiver slightly.

i sniffled softly, blinking rapidly as more tears fell from my eyes.

“you mean everything to me, and i can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you” he finished.

when the officiator gestured to me, i began my vows.

“ geez, that was really good” i breathed out, making everyone laugh.

“ok” i spoke as i took a deep breath, “matt, i have loved you for so long. i can’t even pinpoint when, we were so young. but, i always thought that i was just gonna be in the crowd, watching you do this with someone else. i never imagined, for a second, that you felt the same. and growing up, your mom would always tell me that when we got married, she’d be the one to hand me off to you. and i never believed that i would actually get to experience that”

“i love you more than words can describe, and i’m so happy to be able to call you my husband. i’m so grateful to be marrying my best friend, because i couldn’t imagine life without you, and now i never have to. thank you for accepting me, thank you for loving me. just- thank you” i finished.

“do you matthew sturniolo, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to live together in matrimony, to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, to have and to hold, from this day forward, as long as you both shall live?”

“of course i do” he spoke, staring at me.

“and do you y/n , take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to live together in matrimony, to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, to have and to hold, from this day forward, as long as you both shall live?

“i do”

we were then given our rings to exchange.

as i slid the ring on matt’s finger, i spoke “with this ring, i thee wed and pledge you my love now and forever”

matt did the same with my ring, “with this ring, i thee wed and pledge you my love now and forever”

“by the authority vested in me by the state of massachusetts , i now pronounce you husband and wife!”

“you may now-” he didn’t even finish the sentence before matt wrapped his arms around my waist, placing his lips against mine in a passionate kiss.

the room was filled with cheers and applause as our lips moved against each others for a few seconds, before pulling away.

he pulled me into a hug, kissing my forehead. “you could’ve let the man finish first” i spoke, teasingly.

“i’ve waited long enough”

🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️

masterlist

tag list: @lustfulslxt @flowerxbunnie @sturnssx @mattslolita @its-jennarose @sophssturn @bernardsleftbootycheek @queen161718 @cupidsword @imwetforyourmom @nickmillersn1gf @mattsneezing @chrisstankyleg @sturniolobltch @charlotteblogs777 @bethsturn @bernardenjoyer @mbbsgf @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @ssturniolo @blueeyedbesson @mxqdii @sturniolowhore @readerakayourname @defnotayonna @urmom2bitch @rootbeerworshiper @starsturniolo @hearts4chriss @theyluv-meee @carolinalikesthings @itzdarling @chrisstopherfilmed @judespoision @sstvrnioloo @littlebookworm803 @nicksdrpepper @chrisloyalgf @robins-scoop @fandomhopped @chr1sgirl4life @bbglmfao @55sturn @sturniolololover @meg-sturniolo @leah-loves-lilies @vanteguccir @ineedchriscock @junnniiieee07

[ramblingsfromthytruly]

my academic journey (warning: i ranted) -

so ever since i started school till about the end of 8th grade i was always a 90%+/straight A student. the kind of child my classmates & cousins would be compared too. not trying to glamorize comparison btw, i personally think that's really toxic & pressurizing. so yeah, i was a "good" quiet kid. i listened attentively in class and submitted all my homework on time. the only complain teachers had about me was that i was "too quiet" but that wasn't a real issue. i was just shy but talkative with my few friends yano. i spent the entirety of 7th grade & most of 8th grade in online classes so my habits of studying went to shit. still somehow managed 91% in my 8th grade finals. and then 9th began and it all went downhill. teachers kept saying 'next year is ur board exams, u need to study a lot, etc, etc.' so if u're not from india we basically have these major 'board exams' at the end of 10th & 12th grade. but 10th boards don't really matter all that much, teachers just make a big fuss about it. 12th boards matter, but that's also the time we give college entrance exams and that sorta matters more according to most ppl. n yeah, idk what happened but i got overwhelmed. i could no longer just do well in class and study before exams and get good marks. i felt dumb. my grades didn't see a single improvement. i honestly gave up in the middle of it all and got sick of school. and at one point, it became less burn out & more clinging to the familiarity of not doing anything. i became lazy. and i became a hypocrite. i'd always tell myself, this time i'm gonna study, this time i'm gonna score well. well that 'this time' never came. 10th grade got even worse and i scored 73% in my board exams because i barely studied at all. at the same time, my relationship with my parents has constantly been unraveling. and i saw just how much of their 'pride' was dependent on me being the kid they could show off and smile widely when others replied 'wow she's going places'. my father can't hold a single conversation with me now that doesn't go back to me being a disappointment. and now i'm the kid who has to listen to her parents compare her to others. 'be like her, your friend', they say. halfway though 11th rn and i guess what?? still no fucking improvement. but the thing is i know this is the last straw. i can feel it. i got around 64% in my first tests (pa-1) of 11th. haven't gotten mid term results yet but i'm estimating just above 50%. and the thing is it's not that i can't score well. i know my potential all too well. i know i can score such high marks. but the problem is i don't study. if i just studied a couple hours every day, i can easily manage above 80%. with constant improvement i can manage above 90% again. but i don't. and that's ending right this instant. i'm not gonna turn into an academic weapon overnight or smth ik that. but i'm gonna start slowly but surely working hard. i have big dreams, i know i can achieve them if i just put in the effort. plans have been made, all i need to do is execute them. execute my laziness. i'm gonna get better. i'm gonna prove everyone who thinks i'm never gonna do it wrong, and i'm gonna prove myself right. this comeback will be for me, my inner child. the little kid in me deserves to not wind up a washed-out failure.

academic goals! -

pa-2 - 75-80%

11th finals - 80-85%

12th pa-1 - above 90%

uni - iiser (college for pure science research, bs + ms integrated)

[word-wytch]

Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 13

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

Chapter 13/? 8.4k. Series Masterlist

✏︎ Catalyst — an agent that provokes or speeds significant change or action.

✏︎ Series Summary: Forced to move back home to Hawkins after your fiancé cheats on you, you begin to fall in love again with an audacious 20 year old metalhead, only there’s one problem — he’s still in high school and you’re his English teacher.

While you struggle starting over in a place you never thought you would return, Eddie struggles feeling stuck in a place he can’t manage to leave — until you offer to help him. Of all the lessons learned, the most important are the ones you teach each other.

✏︎ Series CW: forbidden romance, slow burn, true love, smut (18+ mdni), internal conflict, student-teacher relationship, 10 year age gap, mutual pining, sexual tension, emotions, drama, angst, character development, happy ending :)

Chapter warnings: angst, drama, implied partner abuse, harm to fantasy creature 

Monday, December 9th 1985

Eddie propped his cheek against his knuckles as he watched you from the back of the classroom, just like he did every day. You were radiant on this one, brimming with excitement as you lectured on your favorite subject.

“We’re still in the planning phase for our short stories, but now that you all have a general idea of what you want to write about, I want you to start putting together an outline,” you prompted.

His eyes traced down the back of your blouse to where it met the waistline of your trousers. His hands still itched to hold you there. Burned was a better word now. He watched your hand scratch words onto the board with a nub of chalk, following the bend and curve of your fingers as they formed letters. 

The past three weeks had been much of the same. You and him, behind the big desk every Monday and Wednesday after school. You; trying to focus on his schoolwork. Him; trying to focus on you. You; letting him get away with it. 

There was plenty of studying happening too. In between studying the curve of your lips, the hue of your laugh, and the bones of your knuckles under his thumb, there were shining moments were something would click and he would solve an equation. Perhaps it was something to do with memory association or whatever textbook word you used to describe the psychology of learning, but something about the way you presented things made it easier for him to absorb. Perhaps it was your gentle patience, or your intuition. Knowing when to press forward and when to back off. Knowing how to show something differently than he’d been taught. Maybe it was just sweeter coming from your lips instead of Ms. O’Donnell’s. 

Eddie shifted in his desk as you clicked the end of your sentence against the board with a flourish. Stretching against the confines of the tiny chair, he hunched over the slab wood barely big enough to fit his notebook, and picked up his own chewed utensil to copy what you’d written. Maybe it was the bulk of his jacket, thicker and warmer with padding for winter, but suddenly he felt claustrophobic.

You whipped around brightly to face the class. “Alright, who remembers what three things inform character action?”

The question was met with restless silence. A cough. A sniffle.

With a defeated sigh, you turned back around to scratch desires, fears, and misbeliefs onto the board.

Glancing out the window at the pale grey sky and naked trees, Eddie counted on his fingers the number of months until there would be leaves on them again. 

Five. 

He just knew it would be an agonizing winter. One that dragged on and on, long after the groundhog saw its shadow. Huffing, he stared down at his beat up spiral notebook, blue lines blurring in his tired vision. The pen went slack in his hand. He closed his eyes and listened to your voice.

“I know these are short stories, but in the end something should have changed internally or interpersonally for your characters as a result of the plot. Remember, the plot is what happens, the story is how it affects the characters,” you said, jotting down the last bit.

It took on a different tone in front of the class. More rigid and professional, louder so it carried to the back of the room. It lacked the warmth and softness that it held when he was next to you. He imagined, for a sweet moment, how it would sound even closer; against the shell of his ear as you breathed a sigh beneath him. The gentle feather of your lips as they traveled south, just below his ear, where his jaw met his neck. In the playground of his mind, he could show you what a man he really was. Here, his hands were free to wander wherever they wanted; dip into the valleys of your clavicles, over the hills of your breasts, around the bend of your waist, the peaks of your hips, the mound of your—

A snicker broke his reverie. When he opened his eyes, Jason’s were already on him. 

“Taking a nap, Munson?” he mouthed mockingly.

Eddie rolled his eyes and seethed as he glared down at his notebook again. He shifted against the back of the hard plastic chair, against the tight cage of the desk. Finding no relief, he huffed and stared blankly ahead at the chalkboard, at the beige concrete wall, at the big desk, and then—at you. The gap had never been more enormous. An ocean of desks, a gaping chasm between where he was and where he wanted to be.

He must have looked downright pitiful, because the look you returned brimmed with a soft concern. In the two seconds he held you, Eddie released a deep sigh. Then you were back to the board.

“L-let’s start by highlighting the main point of each scene,” you said quickly, turning as you cleared your throat. Eddie caught your hand dart behind your neck before it fell promptly to your side. “Basically, why a scene exists and what it needs to accomplish. Does it provide information about the characters or move the story forward? Remember, these are short stories, so we want to make each scene really count.”

Eddie gripped the chewed pen and dutifully copied what you wrote. He knew he could have asked you later, had you explain it all again, given him tips, and pointers, and strategies, even helped him with his outline. But he wanted you to see that he was trying. He wanted you to see that he cared. He was always bad at school. Bad at paying attention. Bad at turning in assignments. Bad at following rules and keeping his mouth shut. 

He wanted to be good for you. 

When the bell rang, chair legs screeched against tile, notebooks crinkled, zippers ripped open and shut in a frenzied cacophony. Eddie hung back until the room filtered out. Until the only person left was you. Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he padded up the long isle of desks until he reached yours. A standard routine.

“Hey,” he said, just like every other day. Just to savor another couple seconds in your presence, alone.

You looked up at him from the mess on your desk as you did countless times before, same tired smile, same soft eyes, same response. “Hey.”

Eddie rocked back and forth on his heels, holding your gaze for a little too long. “I’ll—uh, I’ll see you later, yeah?”

Your face grew bright and warm, a glint of summer against the pale, grey sky. “Yeah, see you later, Eddie.” 

There it was, the thing he really came for — his name. He sighed a smile and gave a single nod, turning slowly toward the door. 

______

By the time he made it to chemistry class, Eddie was ready for a nap. Maybe it was the pizza that sat like a rock in the pit of his stomach. Maybe it was the fact that, yet again, he had stayed up entirely too late, lost in your world. 

But he couldn’t just stop, not when Cybelle was being attacked by a ferocious fenfink — like a weasel, only much larger. Sharper claws, bigger teeth, and fatally attracted to something Cybelle had on her person. They were packing up camp in the morning when it happened. Perhaps it had been drawn to the smell of sweet Myrnish breakfast cakes, or the herbs stuffed inside Cybelle’s mask, or perhaps it was her gold amulet that sparkled in the glow of the fire. In hindsight, they really should have picked up a sword in Fenwood. Not that Lazarus had ever swung one. Not that he would trust himself to when the beast was grappling with the neckline of Cybelle’s coat as she struggled to fling it off her. Too much movement. Too many opportunities to miss. Instead, Lazarus had done the only thing he could manage to do in a panic, which is to grab the animal’s back and try to pry it off. 

The path through the boglands was narrow with small allowance for a camp site. On either side lay deep, murky water spotted with mounds of moss and pale, petrified trees. The fenfink didn’t give up easy. It tore at her silk with its claws, sniffing and growling at her crescent moon mask as Lazarus tugged at its furry body. As Cybelle’s boots threatened stumble back over the berm of the trail and into the wet abyss, Lazarus tugged as hard as he could, but the animal snatched a lifeline; a shiny gold chain that glimmered in the pale blue light of the early morning. 

It bent Cybelle forward at the neck. Time froze as her golden promise, his future, dangled in the space between them. Her hands fumbled at the animal’s rear claws to unlatch them from her abdomen. Eyes desperate, mask askew, Lazarus knew what he had to do. One good yank and the chain would break. She would be free, and he could hurl the beast into the bog to buy them time.  He knew it could be done, in theory. What would become of the treasure, however, would be left entirely to fate. 

In the glittering twinkle, he saw his cottage, his garden, his full size bed, his curtains billowing in the salty air. It swayed and skirted across the taught chain, dangling dangerously close to the edge of the murky water.

With a strangled cry, Cybelle worked the claws free of her dress, and he was left with a split second to decide. The golden tether winked in the fire’s glow. Fear flickered in her umber eyes. With a firm, decided tug, Lazarus broke the chain. Time slowed to a halt as the glimmering treasure launched upward with the force of it all. Cybelle stumbled back over the berm, grasping desperately at the air. It followed the arc that she took, hovering just out of reach. She just about bumped it with her fingertip, but the cold, wet shock at her back knocked the wind out of her.

Lazarus watched his dreams tumble into the water, helpless to stop it. As he grappled with the snarling beast, his eyes caught the last golden glimmer of hope before it plunked beneath the inky surface of the bog. He pivoted quickly, launching the creature in a heartbroken rage, and it flailed in the air before its headfirst collision with a tree scattered the birds for miles.

A wet, sobbing cough from the other side of path sent him scrambling toward it. Cybelle was a mess. Clambering on her knees, waist deep in a peaty, black filth that soaked through her gold coat. Her hands raked desperately, blindly, at the thick decay beneath the murky water. 

Lazarus stumbled over the mossy ledge and into the bog, extending his hand, but she could not meet his eyes.

“I-I can find it,” she choked, sucking what little breath she could muster as the soaked fabric clung to her face. “It-it is somewhere here… I heard it.” 

His heart sunk deeper than the treasure. “Please, Cybelle,” he pleaded. 

“I can find it,” she insisted weakly, and another desperate grasp beneath the water sent her tumbling further down. 

He dove in after her then, sinking deep into the muck to grab her by the waist before she slipped beneath the surface. Cybelle was persistent, twisting in his arms as sobs shook her tiny body. He simply gripped her tighter, drawing her toward his chest and out of the water. Her struggles paled to his strength.

“Please,” she whimpered, stamping his white linen shoulders with muddy hands. “I can—I can…” she could barely catch a breath, silk crescent now crooked and blackened with peat. 

With both arms clasped tightly around her back, Lazarus shushed her. “It’s gone, Cybelle.” He could not hide the mourning in his voice.

She shut her eyes with a defeated grimace and went limp. Tears burned her lash line as she sobbed against his chest. They opened when she felt a finger brush behind her ear. Gingerly, slowly, Lazarus hooked his fingers through the loop of her mask, eyes darting back and forth between hers in a wordless request for permission. Her stillness granted it, and with that, he peeled it away.

In the pale blue light of the early morning, waist deep in muck and mire, Lazarus saw Cybelle. Not for the first time ever, but for the first time like this. Raw, and ragged, and inches apart. She inhaled deeply, freely, and for the first time when she breathed out, there were no barriers between them. They stood there a moment in a captivated stillness with nothing but the hum of frogs and song of birds.

Cybelle was the one to break the silence. “We might as well turn around then,” she wavered bitterly. “I have…” her breath hitched, “nothing to offer you.”

Lazarus sighed, shaking his head as he raked in her soft features. “Your company,” he began, “is enough.”

Cybelle shut her eyes, blinking tears over her lashes to streak trails through her the dirt on her cheeks, and for the first time, her muddy arms drew around his waist, and she embraced him.

Eddie pressed his heated forehead to the cool slate of the lab table and shifted his stool back against the floor with a loud screech. Images of fenfinks, and pendants, and bog mire danced behind his eyelids. He could hear the weary exhaustion in Mr. Westfield’s voice. He didn’t even need to look up to know he was leaning against his desk and running his hand through his thinning hairline as he’d done a hundred times before at the top of sixth period.

“Alright, so today we’re going to be creating magnesium oxide. Magnesium plus oxygen. Get it?” The question was answered with sleepy eyes and a few stray sniffles. Mr. Westfield sighed. “Right. Since the school can’t afford enough bunsen burners for all of you, this week you’ll be splitting up into pairs.”

The room came alive, eyes meeting eyes as claims flew across the room. Eddie peeked over his arms at the table in front of him. Tina was practically falling out of her stool as she reached for Chrissy on the other side of the room with grabby hands. 

Mr. Westfield looked thoroughly unamused by the commotion. “I’ll be assigning them.”

The classroom groaned almost unanimously. 

“Hate to be a party pooper,” he started, his tone indicating quite the opposite, “but you’re here to learn, not to chit-chat. Ok, let’s see here…” Mr. Westfield adjusted his glasses on his nose as he scanned down the list of names in his attendance book. 

A restless silence fell over the room as the students awaited their fate. 

“Looks like we have an even number, excellent. Tina, you’ll be with Bobby.”

Eddie could see Tina’s eyes roll through the back of her head. 

Mr. Westfield peered up from his glasses. “Don’t act so excited. Ok, then we’ll have Ricky and Carmen, Sally and Janae…” he went down the list of names, checking them off and scribbling them on the side of the sheet to keep track.

Eddie sat up and glanced around the room as pairs were made, mentally checking off classmates as their names were called, ears perked and primed to hear his own. As the ones who remained dwindled and dwindled down to only two, his pulse quickened. 

“Ok and then that just leaves Ms. Cunningham,” he punctuated with his pen, “and Mr. Munson.”

Fuck.

Eddie turned his head slowly, reluctantly, toward the other side of the room where Chrissy Cunningham sat, and was met with a soft, coy smile. He swallowed and whipped his head to face forward. 

Un-fucking believable. If there was a God, which Eddie sincerely doubted, he sure had a twisted sense of humor.

Since their brief confrontation in the hallway following Tina’s Halloween party, Chrissy had, to his honest surprise, respected his wishes and kept her distance. It never stopped her from looking though. Stares, he would discover, were something you could feel. Burning into his temple from behind the curtain of his hair in class, heating the back of his neck at his locker as her perfume wafted up the hall. It was almost a daily occurrence. 

As the classroom rearranged itself in a cacophony of screeching stools and shuffling backpacks,  Eddie remained planted right were he was, thumbing at the bent spiral of his notebook, mind racing as his eyes glazed over. It was less than a minute before he smelled that familiar perfume and heard the stool next to him scoot against the floor.

“Hey,” came a voice like powdered sugar. 

Eddie looked up from his notebook with a slow hesitance. “Hey.”

“I…grabbed you some safety glasses and an apron,” she said, setting the items on the counter.

Silently lamenting the idea of spending the remaining hour wearing them, he gave a single nod and thanked her.

The room bustled with chatter as Mr. Westfield came around to dole out the bunsen burners, crucibles, scales, and other small tools. “You got a hair tie, Munson?” he asked.

Eddie patted himself down and feigned disappointment. “Fresh out I’m afraid.” 

“I’ve got one,” Chrissy interjected, rolling a powder blue scrunchie from her wrist to swing from the curve of her finger.

Eddie stared at it a second as it dangled in the space between them before snatching it. “Thanks,” he conceded. As he twisted the satin band around his curls to form a low ponytail, he could feel the heat from her gaze. It lingered as he put on his goggles, even as he tied the ribbons of the stiff apron behind his back. 

Wayne, perceptive as ever, had been right all those years ago outside the auditorium. He did, at eleven, have a crush on Chrissy Cunningham, but there were only so many times a person could ignore him before he got the memo. Before he figured out he wasn’t worth their time. It wasn’t the first time it happened. In fact, Eddie had become so accustomed to getting looked through instead of at that he’d made it a lifestyle to stand out. To talk loud, and dress loud, and play loud. To bite back, and shirk rules, and cause a scene. And over the course of a year he barely remembered, he’d left whatever feelings he might have had for her exactly where they belonged; in the graveyard with everything else he would rather forget.

But for some reason this year was different. He wasn’t sure what switch flipped that caused her to suddenly see him. Maybe it was because she was tired of her meathead boyfriend and needed a distraction. Maybe it was because he looked especially dangerous this year. Maybe it was because he’d been held back so many times that he’d become more forbidden than ever; an odd and tempting fascination. 

Eleven year old Eddie would have been elated. Twenty year old Eddie was, to put it simply, annoyed. 

Mr. Westfield returned to the front of the classroom to give instruction, and Eddie tried his best to follow along with the handout. 

The room sparked to life with the hiss of gas and the whump of it igniting from all corners. As the tall flame dance in front of him, Eddie tried to ignore the little voice in the back of his head that tempted him to dangle the sleeve of his flannel a little too close so he could escape to the nurse’s office. Freshman Eddie wouldn’t have thought twice.

Chrissy turned on the scale between them and set the empty clay crucible on top of it as instructed. She leaned in to record the weight and copied it onto her worksheet. Eddie did the same. According to the worksheet, the next step was to add the magnesium and weigh it again. 

“Make sure the coil isn’t too tight,” advised Mr. Westfield, “you’re gonna want to leave room for air.”

Eddie picked up the clay triangle, doing his best to stay focused on the task, and set it on the metal ring above the flame as demonstrated. 

“I think the ring is too high,” said Chrissy, leaning in to twist the clamp loose enough to lower it. “It’s gotta be like, in the blue part of the flame I think.” Her arm grazed his as she reached into his bubble, and suddenly he was back on that couch, feeling the her phantom fingers on the pins of his vest again, gold halo crooked, lips ghosting cherry alcohol. Eddie shot his gaze forward.

“Ok, now place the crucible in the center of the triangle,” Mr. Westfield instructed.

Eddie grabbed hold of the metal tongs and used them to pinch the pale clay vessel. Chrissy leaned closer as he lowered it to rest above the flame. 

Then they would wait. In the waiting, the classroom grew louder. Tina stood by her stool, arms crossed, eyes cast sideways in annoyance as Mr. Westfield came over to address the lack of flame coming out of her bunsen burner. 

Eddie sat there in tense silence, eyes fixed forward as the flame licked the crucible with its blue heat.

“You know, this definitely beats equations,” Chrissy remarked with a soft chuckle.

He couldn’t really argue with that. Eddie didn’t say that though, instead he just nodded quietly. 

“Say um,” Chrissy thumbed at the gummy eraser of her pencil, “Jason hasn’t given you any trouble, has he?”

Resentment rose up from the graveyard. “Define trouble,” he groused.

Chrissy sighed. “He can be a real asshole sometimes,” she admitted, to his surprise.

Eddie took a deep breath. It was vivid — the way she stumbled off that couch. How she nearly tripped over her own shoes. How Jason barked at her. The crazed look in his eyes. The fear in hers. “Sometimes?” he bit back.

Chrissy toyed at the hem of her skirt. “He’s not all bad.”

He wasn’t sure if it was the inflection of her voice, or the way her eyes cast down in shameful denial, but it transported him — all the way back to that small kitchen table, feet dangling from the chair as the red wax in his hand filled in the flame from a dragon’s mouth. He could see his mother in the kitchen doorway, her finger coiled tightly around the telephone cord, uttering the same words to a concerned voice on the other end. 

Eddie hardened his lips and shook his head bitterly. “Yeah, well, doesn’t make him good.” 

“Alright folks, listen up,” Mr. Westfield called out, drawing the attention of the class. “Next you’ll add the oxygen by lifting the lid to let some air in.”  

With a sudden, determined movement, Chrissy reached across him to grab the tongs, bracing herself against the slate table. She gave them a few clicks before pinching the handle to lift the small, clay lid. A reaction occurred; blinding and white, igniting the gap between crucible and lid in a flickering flare.

They jumped back in unison. 

“Try not to stare,” advised Mr. Westfield with monotone enthusiasm. “You could damage your eyes.”

Timely advice. Eddie blinked the white dots that clung to his vision away, and a smile caught him by surprise, betraying his steely resolve. 

Chrissy caught it, and her sea green eyes found his from across the bunsen burner as she lowered the lid again. “That was awesome,” she whispered wildly.

It was kind of cool, he had to admit. He would take playing with fire over staring numbly at numbers on a page any day. Eddie peered over the rim of his plastic safety glasses and offered a tentative smile. 

The heating continued, allowing for air every once in a while until finally there was no more reaction. There wasn’t much to say. Eddie removed the crucible from the burner. Chrissy added water from the pipette until the contents formed a paste. Eddie returned the crucible to the heat. The water evaporated. In the silence of their cooperation, in the passing of tools and scribbling of notes, Eddie wondered how long it would be before Chrissy came to her own conclusions. If she would ever figure out that even though Jason wasn’t all bad, she could do so much better. 

Not with him, but on her own.

Clutching the crucible in the tongs, Chrissy set it on the scale for the final time. They both copied the weight onto their worksheets — different than when they started.

With five minutes to the bell, the cleanup was frenzied; a clammer of equipment hastily returned to shelves and boxes backdropped against the hissing water of half a dozen sinks. Even Mr. Westfield had given up on volume control in favor of tidiness. Eddie rid himself of the dreaded apron and goggles just in time for the bell to ring, and with that he snatched his backpack from the floor and followed the flow of his classmates out the door. 

It wasn’t until he made it to the hallway that he remembered. Reaching back behind his neck, he felt it; ruffled satin. The owner was only a few feet ahead, ponytail swaying in ruffled white cotton as she walked. 

“Chrissy!” 

Her footsteps slowed, eyes brimming with a coy mischief that shot dread down his spine when turned against traffic to face him.

______

“Outlines are due on Friday,” you called to your class as you wiped down the board, a cloud of chalk dusted the air as you swiped the soft eraser over the letters. Like the wave of a magic wand, the bell had turned your practically snoring class into an eruption of noise. Before you could hear a pin drop, now you had to shout. With two periods left in the day, you wondered how many more times you would answer the same question. How many more times you would ask one only to be met with coughs and tired eyes.

Your feet hurt. Even the boots you had chosen for comfort and practicality were causing an ache in the soles of them, the hard heel putting too much pressure on your own. The lukewarm coffee you’d savored during fifth period had long since run its course through you. Glancing up at the clock, you realized you had about five minutes to take care of business or be forced to suffer for the duration of seventh period as well. Setting down the eraser, the decision was easy.

Your tired feet clicked down the crowded hallway with a sense of urgency that seemed to evade the rest of traffic. Scent pockets of perfume, mint gum, cigarettes, and body odors wafted through the air as you hurried past the rows of slamming lockers, dodging a pair of students overcome with the temptation to roughhouse, one grabbing the other by the backpack and yanking, sprinting ahead so his friend couldn’t catch him. You sighed, voice too tired to conjure discipline. 

As you picked up on that strange, familiar scent of the approaching science lab, your eyes, like a magnet, were drawn to a familiar silhouette, standing just outside the door. You would have recognized him anywhere, picked him out of a crowd of thousands. Flutters bloomed in your chest. His long, dark curls bounced as he shook them out with his hand, like he was scratching the back of his head. 

It was enchanting; the way he did just about anything. The way he moved, his sharp elbows and quick hands, the bright timbre of his voice, how his energy could shift on a dime from a soft breeze to a ripping gust. 

The past three weeks had been much of the same. Conversations that strayed from educational to casual. Lingering glances. Secret touches. Stolen moments. Never speaking the truth of your heart. Never offering more than your hand. 

The flow of students swept you forward, and as you passed, a figure emerged from behind where his shoulders obscured. In the seconds that slowed to a crawl, your eyes gathered volumes. 

Strawberry blonde, petite, clutching a book to her soft, white cardigan. Sparkling eyes under soft blue shadow, cocked head, fluttering lashes, a smile bright enough to draw a moth.

Craning your neck back as traffic surged, you searched for his eyes.

Eddie didn’t see you.

You blinked, hard, and snapped your gaze forward over the sea of students as your heart leapt into your throat. 

It was fine. 

Click.

It was nothing.

Click.

He’s allowed to talk to people. 

Click.

He didn’t see you.

Click.

Of course not, it’s crowded.

Click.

It burned, like the image was seared into your retinas. Her clean, white sneaker coyly toeing at the tile. Teeth that teased at plump, pink lips. Heavy lidded eyes. Arched back. Delicate fingers curled around a textbook spine. You tried to blink it away.

It was fine. It was nothing.

You rounded the corner for the faculty bathroom, relieved to find it empty, and shut yourself inside. The tried old light bathed the room in a yellow wash. You locked the door and stood there for a moment, heart racing, chest heaving in the quiet reprieve from the bells, lockers, and voices. Space for your thoughts to grow louder as you went about your business.

Why shouldn’t he talk to some girl? There was nothing wrong with that. In the glimpse that you caught of his face, it was lacking in distinct expression. Listening. Nothing worth noting. It was hers that really stuck with you. Her rosy cheeks and perky ponytail. The way she batted her eyes and licked her lips like she wanted to make a meal out of him.

Eddie Munson; summer wind. Tall and roguish, charming and animated, full of surprises. It was shocking he was single. Downright unbelievable that no other woman in this entire school would harbor any feelings. There had to be at least a handful that cast shy gazes as they passed him in the hallway. At least a few that floated curious whispers across lunch tables. In the dark corners of your imagination you had always figured, you’d just never seen it. And now the image wouldn’t leave you. Sticky. Clinging like you’d stepped in gum. 

You met your tired eyes in the mirror above the sink. Timeless, it mocked, as the whisper of lines became canyons. 

On the other side of the door was sea of young women. Free to talk and gawk and get into the sort of trouble he surely had a taste for. The kind of trouble you only had the freedom to imagine. How long before the novelty of you wore off? Before his restless hands sought something more? Something he could grasp in broad daylight? Someone who could keep his stride, share a milkshake or a bucket of popcorn?

You cast your welling eyes downward, turned on the water, wet your hands, and pumped the soap.

It started subtle, last spring. Started with the way he looked at you; a flame that dimmed to embers over months of dinners spent alone, plates gone cold, beds left empty, leaving you with nothing but to wonder how he looked at her. 

Time moves quickly for young men. You of all people would know it. Like a wildfire; hungry and insatiable, devouring everything in its path. It renders promises of meaning, leaves the past in charred remains. It surges ever forward, seeking fuel. 

It left behind an ice in you. Stalling over the sink as the world surged on outside, you felt it seize your chest again.

Eddie Munson; wildfire. Twenty years old. Restless. Reckless. He wasn’t your boyfriend. You weren’t an item. You were nothing.

The water was scalding. Bubbles erupted as you worked up a lather. Scrubbing your knuckles, your palms, the space between your fingers where his had nestled once. 

No. You weren’t nothing. 

The bell had you flinching; a loud and shrill summons back to your post, your place, your duty. 

You were his teacher.

Pinballs. Louder than the shrieking bell. Louder than ever before. You didn’t dare meet your eyes again, frightened of what sort of monster would stare back.

What am I doing? 

You turned off the water and paused, hands weeping over the sink. 

It was foolish, to play with fire. It was foolish just about anywhere, but here the walls were made of tinder, the desks of charcoal. His fingers like matches, striking you with every touch. But oh, how you craved the heat. Close enough to thaw you; the ice deep in your chest, weeping as it melted, pooling in your lap, making puddles on the floor.

Droplets fell to the tile as you turned to grab a paper towel. It soaked through, blooming dark, wet patches as the brown paper blotted up the dampness.

You shook your head bitterly. No. You certainly weren’t nothing. You were a phase. A passing fancy. An odd fascination. You would never make it to May. You’d be lucky if you made it to January without losing his interest entirely.

You crumpled the soggy paper in your fists and threw it in the trash. Blinking back tears, you pressed your hand to the door and took one deep, final breath as you prepared to face the world again — to put on your mask and perform in front of twenty pairs of judging eyes.

The gap was enormous. Cavernous and treacherous. He deserved someone he could be with in public. Someone he could take to a park or a movie. Someone he could go to fucking prom with. 

With a ragged exhale, you pressed open the door.  

He deserved someone his own age. 

The hall was a flurry of slamming lockers, a scattering of the few straggling students who rushed to find their classrooms. The wind cooled your heated face as you marched, one foot in front of the other, to your post. Shoulders back, deep breaths, sore feet making echos off the polished tile. 

He’d get tired of you too.

Click.

Click.

They always do.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Click.

The hall stretched on like an Escher drawing, twisting and distorting in your vision as you neared your classroom door. Tears threatened your lashes, and you huffed them away with a determined shrug of your shoulders.

As your fingers grazed the cold metal handle, you caught your own eyes in the glass. Sad and droopy, welling with longing and resentment. On the other side you could already hear the commotion, the questions, the stares, the awkward silence. The bell rang again — a final warning. 

With a heavy sigh, you turned the handle.

______

Eddie twisted the ridged dial of his locker in his fingers, left and right until he heard a click. Popping the door open and slinging his backpack forward on his shoulder, he unloaded three weighty textbooks into the dark, cluttered enclosure. He grabbed his thick, leather coat, tucked it under his arm, and slammed the door shut. 

In the absence of the books, and of the dimming noise as it filtered out through the front doors and into the parking lot, he felt another weight lift in him. In a matter of minutes, the mindless chatter, the tried scenery of this dull prison, the days worth of stares that clung to him like glue would fall away as he passed the threshold of your door. 

With every step he took, Eddie felt lighter. The slamming lockers didn’t phase him, the weird looks from freshmen went right through him, even the shoulder check from a jock coming around the corner glanced right off. In a million years he never would have expected to feel relieved to stay after school, or a pep in his step as he approached a classroom, but in a million years he never expected to find you behind the big desk. 

He could feel the warmth already as he approached your open door. Hear your laughter at his stupid jokes, feel the heat of your arm graze his, catch your hand, and you, by surprise. But when he turned into threshold, knuckles raising out of habit to rap against it, he was met with a different scene.

You didn’t look up. Not even when tapped his knuckles to the wood in a shave-and-a-haircut—two-bits pattern. Head cast down over a sea of papers, you looked like you were drowning. He padded slowly toward the big desk, face dropping as he noticed another detail: the wooden folding chair—his chair—sat empty and open. Across from you.

Eddie dropped his backpack to the floor with a heavy thump, making his presence known. “Hey,” he started, tentative and cautious. 

It wasn’t until he was practically towering over you that you finally looked up at him, face heavy, expressionless, tired. “Hey,” you stated plainly.

Eddie craned his head and searched your eyes. “You ok?”

You blinked and swallowed. “Yeah, everything’s fine.” 

He stood like this a moment, vision locked with yours, dark eyes roving, searching. When you offered nothing more, he simply nodded once, strolled around to the front of your desk, grabbed the back of the chair with a determined slap, and dragged it around to where it belonged — beside you. 

He took his place in it; draping his coat over the back of it like always, creaking the wood with his weight as he plunked himself down.

You resumed wading through the sea, heavy gaze cast over it. 

Eddie toyed with a pencil on your desk, tapping the eraser to the wood as his eyes bored a hole into the side of your head. You just kept on roving, shoulders tense, lips worried. He could have been invisible, watching you from a hole in a poster, or a crack in the wall. You offered him the same level of attention. “Something’s wrong,” he confronted, unable to take the frigid silence for a moment longer.

You sighed and set your pen down. “I’m sorry, it’s just…” your hand worried the back of your neck, “…a lot, this time of year, work wise.” Your eyes met his only for a second before casting downward again at the pages. “Here, let me clear this up.” Your hands busied themselves with the mess, shuffling the paper into a clumsy, hurried pile.

“No—no, it’s…it’s ok.” He scooted his chair closer, feeling so useless all of a sudden, burdensome, like his presence added to your task load. He wanted to help, to alleviate the tension, but his hands simply fumbled in his lap as you collected the clutter with your chalk dusted knuckles. As you tapped the pile of papers against the desk in haste to form a semblance of a pile, his hand gained a mind of its own. 

As if possessed by its own separate consciousness, an impulse deep and thrumming with the need to soothe, it took up refuge in the place between your shoulders; warm and firm, drawing slow, caring circles at your blouse. 

You froze, papers stiff against the surface, gaze straight ahead. His hand followed suit, freezing, twitching, arm locked in its extension.

“Y-you should—” you stuttered, blinking wildly as you found your breath. “Why don’t you go grab your schoolwork?” you asked with a curtness that startled him.

Eddie lurched his hand away like you were a hot stove. “I—I’m sorry I just… w-wanted to help. I’m sorry.” His mind became a whirlpool, swirling with worry as his stomach did backflips. He fumbled with the zipper on his backpack.

“No—no, Eddie, I’m… I’m sorry,” you lamented. 

He’d never seen your face so fraught. Like you’d stepped on a cat’s tail, chased it through the house with apologies. 

“It’s not your fault, it’s…” You swallowed, breaking his gaze. You couldn’t finish the sentence. You didn’t need to. 

Mine.

He was losing you. 

He should have expected it by now. What could he possibly offer you anyway? His hand? A few stolen moments? Some flirty comments to make you feel good about yourself for a second or two? 

He wondered when the other shoe would drop. When you would open your eyes and see this for what it really was — that you were a grown ass woman with a college degree and a real career, and he was twenty years old repeating his senior year of high school for the third fucking time, selling drugs to teenagers, and oh, your student for fuck’s sake. 

It wasn’t lost on him; that he was playing tee-ball in a big league stadium. He stared into the crumpled contents of his backpack with a deep, shaking breath, and pulled out his notebook. It fell from his hand with a dejected slap against the big desk; juvenile amidst the tidy assortment of office supplies. The spiral was bent and crumpled, the cover worn soft from abuse. He sat there a moment and stared at it as the heavy silence swallowed you both. 

Your lips hardened to a bitter line, eyes cast down over the evidence of your position. Over the evidence of his. You wouldn’t look at him, like you were afraid to. Finally, after a suffocating minute, you spoke — frigidly professional. “What do you want to work on today?” 

The question sent a hot rage coursing through him. So that was it, then? Business as usual? Pretending like nothing happened? That none of this was real? Eddie sat back in his seat and boiled with a gaze so intense it could have burned right through you. He wouldn’t give you the satisfaction of an answer. Not until you gave him enough respect to look him in the eyes when you asked the question.

You just sat there, frozen, shoulders locked, eyes cast down at the big desk for an agonizing moment that stretched well past the point of comfort. His gaze was unrelenting, fueled by stubborn indignation. You felt it. He knew you did, because when you finally did submit your eyes to him, you flinched. 

He almost felt bad for it. For causing you to shrink so small, to look so fragile, like how you did when you’d relinquished a fragment of your past, when the impulse to soothe you drove him to your hand. The impulse rose again, as did some annoyance by it; the grip you had on him, even in his most determined anger. 

“What?” you choked out, barely above a whisper.

You knew damn well what. The audacity to ask sent heat coursing through his veins again, but the look in your eyes, like cornered prey, quelled the fire enough to sigh his way to a level-headed response. “You’re acting different,” he said simply. 

You swallowed, breaking his gaze like you’d been caught. It would be insulting to deny it. He could see the gears turning over in your head, the thoughts forming careful words behind your eyes, but in the end, all you could muster was, “I’m sorry.” 

It was a weak admission. It answered nothing, really, other than confirming his suspicions. But it was something. He wanted to press, to poke, to pry, and get to the bottom of what caused this shift in you, but in the silence of the classroom, with floors that echoed and walls that listened, words like “you won’t let me touch you,” seemed too far too direct, far too pointed. In the end, it was your eyes that said the most; welling like pools with all the words he knew would pierce the ever thinning veil, poke holes in your shared secrets, make them monstrous and real.

In the end, your eyes just tugged him forward, made him soft and pliant until all he could muster was decency. “It’s…” he sighed, raking his hand through his hair, “it’s fine.” Soft as he intended it, he couldn’t hide the broken edge.

There was little relief in sigh you gave, heavy and ragged. Your fingers grazed the curled, beaten corner of his notebook with a caring reverence that made him wish that he was paper. 

He wondered how much longer it could go on like this, before you craved something more than he could offer. Before you tired of secret touches and passing glances. Before some hot-shot with a convertible saw you at a bar somewhere and swept you away. The crushing realization hung heavy in the space between you, the gap more cavernous than ever.

Eddie twisted his rings in his lap, fingers burning. It was a miracle you’d let him touch you to begin with. But you did, and he had, and by god, he refused to go back. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t. Not when you’d let him into your world, given him more than he ever thought possible — a sliver of hope. For you. For himself.

When the silence became too much for him to bear, he broke it with your name.

Your first name.

Bitter grief melted to soft shock as your lips parted, eyes widened. At last, he had your full attention. 

With a deep breath, he started. “I don’t… know what happened. If it’s something I did o-or something someone said, or, fuck,” he ran hand through his hair, exasperated, words trailing off into nothing. 

“Eddie,” you started, eyes softening deeper; into sympathy, into pity. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why won’t you look at me?” he snapped, but the quiver in his voice betrayed him. 

You swallowed, shaking your head, but before you could give an answer he didn’t want to hear, he continued.

“I know, it—it’s ludicrous, this whole thing. To think that I—” he breathed a bitter laugh, “that you,” he glanced at the door. 

But instead of shutting him down with the ugly truth, you leaned closer, like your whole world hinged on him. He saw it then, hope, glimmering like a golden treasure in the tremble of your lips, in the pinching of your brow, in the welling of your eyes that threatened to spill over.

“I know,” you whispered, like it caused you pain. 

Slowly, Eddie raised his hand to rest on top of his notebook, a fractional distance from yours. Close enough to feel your heat, to catch the subtle tremble of your knuckles. So transfixed by the curve of your delicate fingers beside the broad, ruddy angles of his, that had he not dared to draw his eyes away, he might have missed the tear that pinched through your lashes when you closed them.

Slowly, bravely, he inched his pinky forward. Just close enough to graze yours. It was a phantom of a touch, but you didn’t pull away. In fact, when he looked up, he was surprised to see a whisper of a smile. A sad, soft thing, like it was breaking through layers to surface. Emboldened, he raised his pinky, ever so slightly, to gently stroke yours. The gesture was small and silly, but enough to earn a puff of laughter through the smile that cracked the gloom upon your features.

It opened up a narrow passage, and he entered with the boldest thing that he had ever said.

Maybe it was the fact that he was too stubborn, or perhaps too stupid for his own good, but the sheer audacity of what came out of his mouth next surprised even himself. “Um, my band is playing at the Hideout tomorrow—a-and—” he swallowed, gaining composure as he raised his eyes to your level with conviction. “I want you to come.” 

It was all he could offer. An experience. 

Your jaw dropped. 

“I think—I-Iwant you to see some of the new stuff we’ve been working on. I think you’d like it,” he peddled on.

“Oh, Eddie I—” you shook your head. “I don’t know, I mean—”

He doubled down, brows level and serious. “We—we don’t have to come together. Hell, bring a friend, bring several. It doesn’t have to be a big deal if we don’t make it a big deal. People go to bars all the time.”

As you worried your lips in your teeth, he could see the scales tipping back and forth, weighing the odds and risks against the want. “Oh god, I don’t know.”

“You’re allowed to exist in public. You don’t just like… fold your arms and retreat into the walls here at night,” he laughed.

It snapped a chuckle out of you, like sunlight peeking through the clouds. “Oh yeah? Tell that to the students I run into at the grocery store,” you quipped. Then, as quickly as the sunlight came, the clouds were back. You surveyed the room and dropped your eyes in pensive worry. 

Eddie stroked his pinky over yours, slowly, sweetly. “Please?”

You gave him a look, one that threatened resistance but hiding just beneath it, surrender.

“It doesn’t have to be a big deal,” he persuaded, “just me on stage, and you in the audience cheering with your girlfriends or whatever, well, hopefully cheering. I mean ‘Hand of Doom’ is still a crapshoot sometimes but,” he breathed a laugh. 

With a chuckling shake of your head, your resolve crumbled like sand in front of his eyes. 

“You can boo us too, wouldn’t be the first time. We’ve got tough skin.”

You rolled your eyes and laughed. “I’m not gonna boo you.”

A wicked grin cracked like lightning across his face. “Not gonna, you mean you’ll come then?” 

You sighed, deep and heavy, shifting the scales back and forth.

Eddie tipped his head and raised his eyebrows. “You know you want to.”

“Of course I want to,” you deadpanned.

His umber eyes glimmered, wild and auspicious. “Well then, do what you want,” he said, sitting back in his seat like the decision was easy.

Want. A shelved, forgotten thing, like something you’d lost in the move. Something you’d tucked away long before that. Left to grow stale inside a box, in the back of a closet, in a place you barely remembered. 

It sat beside you now, loud and unignorable, with lips that begged and eyes that pleaded. And you, in all your years of practiced discipline, could no longer deny it. 

Eddie Munson; wildfire. Restless, frenetic, warm, and compelling. 

With a dignified sigh, and a verdant conviction that peeked through the ash, you turned to him at last, and surrendered.

______

A/N: So begins the craziest week in the whole story. Two words: Donkey Kong. 😈

The next chapter might take me a little longer than usual just because it's a moment we've all been waiting for and I want to make sure it's absolutely perfect.

Also, I've been featured on a PODCAST so if you want to hear me talk about this story and specifically the appeal of reader insert fics, check it out HERE!

✨ As always, nothing encourages me to continue writing this story more than hearing from you. Seriously, please give me your thoughts, your theories, your keyboard smashes. Hit up my inbox, my DMs, whatever suits your fancy.

Taglist: @mermaidsandcats29 @toxicjayhoo @ooo-protean-ooo @jadequeen88 @storiesbyrhi @wroteclassicaly @kissmyacdc @mantorokk-writes @loveshotzz @trashmouth-richie @big-ope-vibes @carolmunson @wordscomehither @munson-blurbs @blueywrites @alottanothing @bebe07011 @latenighttalkingwithgrapejuice @idkidknemore @alizztor @godcreatoreli @ethereal27cereal @munsonsgirl71 @alienthings @eddiemunsonsbitcch @emxxblog @siriusmuggle @sidthedollface2 @dollalicia @lma1986 @catherinnn @eddiemunson4life420 @readsalot73 @ruby-dragon @ladylilylost @3rriberri @princess-eddie @nightless @eddieswifu @thew0rldsastage @chaoticgood-munson @hanahkatexo @eddiemunsonsbedroom @beep-beep-sherlock @averagemisfit03 @vintagehellfire @haylaansmi @sllooney @lunaladybug734 @callingmrsbarnes

[eduhq]

Title: EduHQ: Your Comprehensive Educational Resource for Academic Excellence

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Whether you are seeking the latest 12 class result 2024, exploring study guides, or looking for tips on how to navigate the educational landscape, EduHQ is here to provide you with the information and support you need.

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[banana-milk907]

DEAD BOY DETECTIVES HEADCANNONS

Edwin and Niko clicked immediately because they’re both autistic (they’re besties). No, I will not be taking criticism.

One of Edwin’s special interests is detectives/ detective work. That’s partly why he decided to become a detective with Charles.

Niko has a special interest in trinkets. She cannot stop herself from collecting them. I believe this would result in quite the large stuffed animal collection. Other special interests she has include animation and manga.

Charles has ADHD. His ADHD makes it hard for him to remember stuff Edwin has told him, so he repeats the parts he remembers, and Edwin will happily fill in the rest.

Crystal is 100% bisexual. I feel like she would’ve had girlfriends in 5-7th grade, and then she decided to take a break in 8th grade. Then, she would get a boyfriend in 9th grade.

Edwin LOVES learning new information. He definitely spends his free time in libraries, classes, and other places he can learn from.

Niko has a specific ringtone for every one of her contacts. Choosing them is one of her favorite activities to do after hanging out with them for the first time.

Charles would LOVE audiobooks. I feel like he has trouble reading because of his ADHD, but hearing them is different. Alternatively, he would love having Edwin reading to him. Edwin would happily read to Charles, and would only stop to add context when needed or to congratulate Charles if he made a good observation. I feel like Charles would commentate while Edwin is reading, and occasionally have actual insight into the book.

Crystal DEFINITELY paints her own clothes. As a result, she owns many bleached shirts, jackets, and jeans. Kind of similarly, I feel like she would occasionally dye her own hair.

Edwin’s parents wanted him to be an athlete, but he would run away during practices to read detective comics.

Niko was afraid to dye her hair before the sprites made it white because she didn’t want to damage it, but she definitely dyes the tips pink (maybe Crystal dyes it for her?)

Charles makes mixtapes for people he cares about (specifically Crystal and Edwin) but they can’t/ don’t know how to play them. They appreciate the gesture though, and I feel like Crystal would make a Spotify version of the mixtape.

Crystal is 100% an only child. Her first experience with having a sibling experience was Edwin (it’s found family, your honor)

Feel free to add on to this! These are all kind of quick thoughts that have been running through my head.

[ofmdrecaps]

11/01-02/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; David Jenkins; Rhys Darby; Darby Foster Kittens; Taika Waititi; Kristian Nairn; Vico Ortiz; Nathan Foad; Samba Schutte; Leslie Jones Guz Khan; Anapela Polataivao; Erroll Shand; Adam Stein; Boris McGiver; NSFW: "DILF Awards"; Fan Spotlight: BabyKittenTeach; Love Notes;

= David Jenkins =

David's been reposting more fan tweets! This time this lovely cloud that absolutely DOES look like our boys.

Source: David Jenkins Twitter

Also too, David answers the hard questions, and yes, I agree, definitely 'Boy'!

Source: David Jenkins Twitter

= Rhys Darby =

New Full length episode of The Cryptid Factor (Episode 99!)! You can access it on The Cryptid Factor Patreon

The Cryptid Factor Patreon

= Darby Foster Kittens =

Apparently Bumbles and the Dog are literally breaking the Darby Foster kittens out of their room and then they're all breaking into the food.

Source: Rosie's Instagram

Source: Rosie's Instagram

= Taika Waititi =

Our friends over at @adoptourcrew brought this great article to everyone's attention! Agreed! It is VERY natural looking and good god is he hot in it! The wig department deserved an Emmy.

Source: Adopt Our Crew's Twitter

= Kristian Nairn =

Kristian's on his way back home!

Source: Kristian's Instagram

= Samba Schutte =

More halloween Shenanigans from Samba!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Samba Schutte (@sambaschutte)

Source: Samba's Instagram

Are you going to be attending Samba's class on Saturday the 9th? If so, Momentus has sent out the recipe list! If you didn't get it for some reason, reach out, I got you!

Source: Samba's Instagram

= Nathan Foad =

Nathan reminiscing about Lucius and then showing us his gorgeous mug for today!

Source: Nathan Foad's Instagram

= Leslie Jones =

Leslie is going to be LIVE in Los Angeles on Nov 6th! Get tickets here!

Source: Leslie Jones Instagram

= Vico Ortiz =

Some fun from October with Vico!

Source: Vico's Instagram

= Anapela Polataivao =

More Auntie at the Pacific Institute of Performing Arts!

Source: Gaby Solomona Instagram

= Guz Khan =

Guz out in Instanbul!

Source: Instagram

= Erroll Shand =

Our Prince Ricky, Erroll Shand's show 'One Night' will be streaming on Netflix starting this month in Australia!

Source: Screenmedia_NSW Instagram

= Adam Stein =

One of our beloved writers, Adam Stein is in a production of Waiting for Godot at the Geffen Playhouse, Los Angeles. Nov 6 thru Dec 15 2024!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Geffen Playhouse (@geffenplayhouse)

Source: Adam Stein Instagram

= Boris McGiver =

Father Bonnet has some BTS of his show Teacup, finally getting to see him smile-- it's so lovely!

Source: Instagram

== "DILF" Awards" ==

Well, apparently the "DILF archive" results that were going on, really left many of our crew frustrated with where our dear cast fell. Seven_sugars on twitter has rectified that issue and was kind enough to make some Our Flag Means DILF awards for our various D's out there!

Source: Ashley (Seven_Sugars) Twitter

== Fan Spotlight ==

= babykittenteach =

Idk if you've see it yet but there's an ADORABLE picrew that our dear @babykittenteach created, where you can make some pretty fantastic Ed picrews! I had such a blast with them-- it's so cute and fun, and thank you dear for sharing it with us all!

https://www.tumblr.com/babykittenteach/766039915755683840/hi-i-made-an-ed-picrew-and-you-can-play-with-it?source=share

Source: BabyKittenTeach's Tumblr

== Love Notes ==

Hey there lovelies. I wasn't sure if I was going to get these done in time tonight... what with how behind I am. I know that a lot of us are all very worried about what's going on in the world, and specific in the US with the presidential elections about to happen. No matter what the results are, I know it doesn't just affect the U.S., it affects the whole planet. So many of our crewmates from around the world have been sending support and love, and I'm so very thankful to have the honor of knowing you all. Just remember, that no matter what happens tomorrow the 5th, you all are just as strong, and resilient and beautiful as you were yesterday. We are going to make it through whatever happens. Remember to lean on your crew if you need help, we're here okay? We are stronger in numbers, and we care about you <3 Additional love note tonight from our friend @illustoryart with Nadja!

Source: @illustoryart's Instagram

[transfaguette]

I’m also a Zoomer, and I believe it’s wrong to generalize us all as sex-negative because some of us vocally are on the internet. Outside the online world, there are plenty of us who are supportive of sexual rights, freedom, and work; however, there are also some of us who are anti all of this, but they don’t represent our entire generation. Anti-sex Zoomers are a loud minority, both on and outside the internet, whose noisiness makes them appear bigger than they actually are.

100%- I personally do not know anyone my age with any sort of sex negativity that isn’t a result of like, growing up in a christian fundamentalist household. but certainly no one that is otherwise progressive but sex negative, which tends to be the angle people mean when they talk about “puritan gen z.” so its a bit perplexing to me. I don’t deny they exist but I think a lot of this notion stems from pro/anti discourse and what is ostensibly arguing with maladjusted 9th graders about fanfiction in between algebra and gym class. in my personal experience.

[williamkisser]

Franziska Kurz - The Maid; her lore

Finally a lore drop YAAYAYAYA. I’ll probably be updating this post from time to time as i’d like this to be some kind of a masterlist.

🧹 Name: Franziska Kurz

🧹 Career: maid

🧹 Gender: female - mtf

🧹 Faction: survivor

🧹 Item: none

🧹 Role: assist - contain

🧹 Hunter switch: none

🧹 Difficulty: 1.5/3

🧹 Birthday: June 2nd

🧹 Nameday: March 9th

🧹 Age: 20

🧹 Height: 171cm

🧹 Nationality: Polish

🧹 Ethnicity: slavic

🧹 Social class: working class

🧹 Faith: protestant

🧹 Voice claim: Pola Negri - x

🧹 MBTI: INFP

🧹 Favourite dish: angel wings

🧹 Traits: paranoid, perfectionism, insecurity, humbleness, freedom-loving, judgemental

🧹 Talent: housekeeping

🧹 Likes: going on walks, showing affection

🧹 Dislikes: self centered, obnoxious people, cipher machines

🧹 Interests: literature

🧹 Associated character: Kurt Frank, Montague - @hauntted-idv oc

🧹 Character EP: Drunk by Kylie Minogue - x

My take on who would she get along with

PRE MANOR

Lore: Franziska, a girl raised at an ordinary province was born on the grounds of Poland annexed by the Kingdom of Prussia. Like many other people, she felt like helping out on the field and in the barn was far from her calling, therefore, she hired herself at the most common occupation for poor women at the time - a Maid. It was a very unrewarding job. They barely could find any free time and often worked hard all week with very little pay. Franziska, that wasn’t yet aware of her gender identity quickly realized that this place is not good for her either, and the owners of the mansion she worked in didn’t treat their servants with respect, not even knowing their names. Together with other male servants, she often had to engage in tough physical jobs. Unconsciously, she would often daydream while gazing at the female workers skirts and beautiful hair coverings, which shortly after made her realize she feels more like a woman. Her stay at the rich house took a serious toll on her mental health - resulting in her burning down the place and running away with a traditional dress she stole from the owner’s daughter - leaving the then-rich family without a bright future.

AT OLETUS MANOR

Lore: Shortly after the accident, Franziska fled to England on a ship, where she began working for rich home owners. Her employer was a German man, which made the task more easy as she knew the language. His family was much more nicer than the previous one. Despite her pay being still very low, the owner’s wife started paying for her English tutor, which would help her a lot. After some time, she received a letter from the infamous Oletus Manor, inviting her to the crew: and promising a big pay that would let her find a better job. Franziska took the risk, but little did she know her task was going to be much more than just becoming a part of the crew.

Personality: Due to her difficult past, Franziska developed many unhealthy behaviours. First of all, she’s extremely paranoid nearly on the verge of schizophrenia. The feeling of guilt makes her think that she’s being followed. She can’t stand dirty places, she is a perfectionist that could clean one little spot for several minutes. Many people may consider Franziska not unapproachable, judging by her mean face expression, she is however extremely friendly and loves talking. She can judge someone easily as well - she’s prejudiced towards people of higher status - often without reason. During her free time she discovered her passion for literature, amazing, engaging stories. She wasn’t the best at reading but she would work on it. She formed a strong bond with Kurt through his stories, eventually becoming lovers.

This is lowkey half assed and i feel cringe posting this but whatever yall…i am cringe but free………i’m sure my goober would like to interact with other ocs……..

Pleek ignore the fact that this is anne’s model i happen to be very bad at drawing😔

[orbitposting]

"Accommodations give disabled people an advantage over non-disabled peers"

TW: mentions of ableism, mistreatment of disabled children, and it's effects, mentions of fatphobia

For context, my sisters and I all grew up in the late 90s/early 00s with different disabilities (overlap was acknowledged later in life). My eldest sister has autism with some support needs without intellectual disability, my older sister has dysgraphia, and I have asthma. Looking back, none of us were fully accommodated.

At home, when my sister would have meltdowns due to sensory overload or changes in environment, and my mom consistently chose to scream at her for "misbehaving"/"being difficult". In order to stop the chaos, I was often left to comfort my sister. Often, I would simply offer her ice-cold water and tissues, and things would calm down.

In middle school, I remember she went to an alternative school in order to accommodate her better. While it was very valuable to have her learn the bus system and the self-reliance of getting to school, this program taught 4th grade math to her in 8th grade. She struggled with getting back on track with math for years. Eventually, she left due to difficulties with other students and the lack of consequences for various unacceptable behaviors.

In high school, she was supposed to pass a language course in order to graduate. She took Spanish, since my mom was offering to help with her knowledge of Spanish. However, this didn't help, even with my mom's college-level knowledge of Spanish. Notably, she didn't speak English in full sentences until she was seven years old. ASL was also not an option, but fortunately they waived the language requirement. Graduation was a close call, for other reasons, as well.

My older sister's experience is what is prompting this post. She has struggled with dysgraphia throughout her school years, and it was never accommodated. While she was a prodigy with immense knowledge of history, it would never come across in her writing. She was diagnosed around 10th grade, which she remained in denial about. However, my mom talked to the school regarding accommodations, and they had nothing to offer. Throughout her education, she would fail every writing assignment or writing-based class she was given. This was especially frustrating when classes that didn't revolve around writing paragraphs made her do it, anyways. She only passed 10th grade Physical Science since my mom knew the teacher, and asked that he not account for the lack of writing assignments and explained her situation. What prompted this post was actually my dad finding her SAT results, and me discovering that she had all zeros for her essay score, despite getting a 1170 for the multiple choice portion. (Quick aside: standardized testing should NOT be considered indicative of any student's performance if they cannot properly accommodate disabled students.) She did graduate, but my family wasn't sure the school would let her.

In my case, throughout elementary, middle, and high school, gym class felt like I was constantly fighting for my life. While I was allowed to have my inhaler on me starting in 6th grade or so, I was still expected to do the exercises everyone else had to do. I was not allowed to take breaks, technically, but I did. This was especially noticeable when we would run laps around the gym. Every time I did so, I was harassed by the PE instructor until I kept running. Games weren't much better, either. I was always picked last (which makes sense), but not only that, I was purposefully targeted during games. I was openly mocked as I did my best to participate.

In 9th grade, things hit a wall. When swimming was introduced to the class, I outright refused. I kept "forgetting to bring my swimsuit", when that stopped working I "had to go to the health clinic", and when that stopped working, I got a note from the health clinic excusing me from the swimming portion of gym class.

The PE teacher did not go down without a fight, nor did my parents. I was told that I could have to do it again when we moved schools the next year (that school ended up not having a swimming pool), that I wouldn't graduate without this credit, that I was making the situation worse by singling myself out in this way, and that I would get an F in gym anyways. They eventually acknowledged my excuse, but made me sit by the pool as everyone swam so I could take notes on the same article about what to do in case of a drowning every week.

Peers would acknowledge me from the pool, friends would say hi and guys would mock me. Girls I didn't know would talk about how strange my lack of participation was. Meanwhile at this time, my dad was making me log my calories on MyFitnessPal and I was very aware of how "different" my body was from the other kids. I would have panic attacks just thinking about going into the pool. While it was hard, I don't regret fighting for what I needed. Also of note: it was a chlorine pool, and chlorine heavily affects my asthma. Sometimes my lungs would hurt just being in the pool room. This wasn't really acknowledged, I would wheeze while walking up the stairs, and it often hurt to sing in choir after pool days.

I also struggled with ADHD throughout K-12, but I wasn't diagnosed until after I graduated high school. However, as an AFAB person, I constantly had teachers mention symptoms of ADHD in my comments. It started with not turning in work and doodling/chatting in classes I didn't care about, but it eventually spread to other classes that interested me. I also struggled with severe compartmentalization, which I didn't realize until after high school. I couldn't remember what my homework was when I was at home. If I remembered what the assignment was, I couldn't remember the information needed to complete it! This meant I did any homework I did complete while at school.

Fortunately, graduating high school didn't turn out to be a problem for me. After a rough freshman year, I turned things around. I became a member of NHS my senior year and finished out pretty strong. That was, until COVID. I had my therapist send a note saying I was not in a place to do schoolwork, and to simply keep my grades from pre-lockdown. I didn't get AP credit for AP Biology, but I learned plenty. I also withdrew from my dual-enrolled Calculus 2 course. Looking back, with my compartmentalization issue, there was no way online school would work for me.

So yeah, actually being disabled in school isn't a walk in the park! Imagine that! For anyone wondering, we're all doing fairly well now. My eldest sister works janitorial in a hospital setting and enjoys it, since she finds the surgical field fascinating and doesn't mind all the blood and such. She did eventually catch up in math in community college, but she wasn't able to finish the degree (due to her advisor). My older sister works retail and is a union steward. A lot of what she does is mainly talking and some basic math. Fortunately, if she needs to write, she can just use a computer, since the physical act of writing is what is a lot of what's hard for her. Spellcheck is also helpful. I spent my summer doing more intensive mental health care, and now I'm more directed than I have been for years. I'm currently waiting on hearing back about a bank teller job, and I'm looking forward to that!

If anyone is currently struggling with accessibility in education, just know what you are asking for is reasonable. All you are asking for is equal opportunity education, and you should not be denied that.