#I’d have a hard time focusing on school with a teacher like that

[thinwhitedoc]

MILLER'S GIRL | Martin Freeman as Jonathan Miller

[eiightysixbaby]

the lacy black pair with the little bows

pairing: robin buckley x fem!reader

robin’s thoughts run wild when she catches a glimpse of your panties in class… (1.4k)

cw: 18+ only — SMUT. i guess you could argue that this is perv!robin bc she’s fantasizing about reader???, fingering, v v brief blood mention. lmk if i missed anything!

a/n: i hope y’all like this!! i’d really like to do a part 2, let me know your thoughts… 👀

There’s a muddied hum in Robin’s ears; the droning voice of the teacher that has melted into nothing but incomprehensible mush. Focusing on Mrs. Click’s ramblings was a near impossible task even under normal circumstances, and the present circumstances were far from that.

See, Robin’s a good student. Maybe easily distractible at times, but she tries her best to stay focused and take her notes and do well. It’s just that today you’re making it really hard to concentrate.

You sit in front of her, diagonally to the right. And she’s always been respectfully appreciative of having such a beautiful girl in such close proximity to her, if even for a 50 minute class-period.

She knows you, but she doesn’t know know you. She knows she’s seen you roaming the halls with Nancy Wheeler, she’s spotted your name on articles in the Hawkins High school paper, but she hasn’t exchanged a single word with you aside from the time you asked her to borrow a pencil. (She had, in her nervousness, given you her only pencil and was left unable to take notes the entire class.)

It would be a lie for her to claim that she wasn’t crushing on you. I mean, how could she not be? There’s no possible way anyone could expect her not to have a crush on someone like you. It’s been pretty tame, however, just little daydreams here and there.

But today. Dear God, today was testing her limits.

The thing is, Robin didn’t mean to look. She really, really didn’t. But it’s kind of hard not to when you’re in a natural line of sight and she already has a reason to look your direction because even the back of your head is pretty.

Today, you’re showing off a little more skin than usual.

It’s a simple fashion mishap. Your jeans rode down a bit too low once you sat in your seat. It happens to everyone, right? It’s just that you’re wearing these underwear, and they’re peeking out above your pants, and it’s like you’re personally taunting her.

They’re black with lace, and holy shit Robin was a goner the instant she noticed them.

Again, she didn’t mean to look. She’s trying really, really hard not to objectify you. But what the hell.

She might as well be drooling, her head propped up by her right hand, her gaze locked on you and that scandalous little garment. Uninterested in the topic at hand, she easily tunes out the teacher’s monologue. Her mind wanders; as much as she’s trying to be good and polite and respectful, her thoughts are turning out to be anything but.

Because it’s so, so fucking easy to imagine herself unbuttoning your jeans. Tugging down the zipper, hands eager to cop a feel. She can picture the way you’d shiver when her nimble fingers cupped your heat over the fabric of those pretty black panties. She can nearly hear the gasp you’d let out when the pad of her index finger teased your hole. Her mouth nearly tingles with the imaginary softness of your lips against hers, the pretty gloss you wear rubbing off on her own smirk.

She’s in too deep, because she’s imagining hooking her fingers through those panties and slowly working them down your thighs; teasing you. Locking eyes with you as she strips your bottom half bare, letting her fingers caress you carefully. The image is so clear in her brain; sliding a digit through your folds, already soaking wet for her. Your eyes flutter closed and your head tips back, exposing the column of your neck to her teeth and tongue. She can feel the warmth of your skin on her tongue as she sucks on a section of it, only pulling away when you’re mewling in a satisfied sort of pain.

You’d make the cutest sounds, there’s no doubt about it, your high-pitched little moans ringing in her ears as she imagines pushing one finger fully inside of you. She’s testing the waters, slowly pumping her index finger in and out, feeling the warmth of your inner walls engulfing it.

And when you start to buck your hips, because you just can’t take it and you need more, she’ll throw her middle finger into the mix, too. Two fingers fucking you, slowly at first then gradually picking up speed and intensity. You let her name fall from your lips, and it makes goosebumps erupt on her skin with how pretty she guesses it sounds in your mouth.

She thinks it would be fun to taunt you a little bit, get you even more riled up.

“What, pretty girl?” she can hear herself asking you after the second moan of her name.

“Feel so good,” is your reply, your voice taking on a breathy quality.

Your body is pliant under her control, arching into her touch and encouraging her actions. She knows she wouldn’t be able to take it, letting her composure slip a little as she fucks you harder with her fingers. Your cunt makes the filthiest sounds, your wetness sloshing and squelching with each pump of her palm against your sex. It only eggs her on; if she had a tail, it would surely be wagging.

She’d start kissing your neck as she fingers you, dipping down to the junction where it meets your shoulder. Maybe she’d bite down, see how you react to it. Maybe she’d let her teeth draw blood, only to lap it up with her tongue.

In real time, you shift in your seat at your desk, and it makes Robin’s whole body feel warm. A tiny bit more of your panties poke out, your ass just centimeters out of view.

In her head, her free hand grabs your ass, squeezing the doughy flesh until you mewl into her mouth.

“Don’t stop, Robin,” you’d cry, muffled by her sloppy kisses to your mouth. Her fingers curl mercilessly inside you, and if your words are anything to go by, you’re getting close to release.

She’d keep up her pace, listening to you moan and whine with each press of her fingers to that sweet spot inside of you. She can feel the ghostly press of your fingertips to her shoulder, nails digging in to brace yourself.

“Are you gonna cum for me, gorgeous girl?” is what she would ask, coaxing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Mhm,” your whimpered response reverberates inside her brain, your bottom lip sucked beneath your teeth in concentration.

She knows it would be earth-shattering, watching you cum. She knows it would be even better feeling it happen, around her fingers.

Her fantasy reaches the perfect peak, your body trembling as your orgasm rips through you. Your walls squeeze her fingers, clenching in an erratic pattern. Your head is tipped toward the ceiling, her name slipping past your lips.

“Robin,” you nearly scream.

It’s the prettiest sound she’s ever heard.

“Robin.”

It’s a plea, a chant, a prayer all in one.

“Robin!” her name comes for the third time, but this time the voice doesn’t sound so much like yours. It sounds like—

“Ms. Buckley, are you paying attention?”

Robin’s head snaps up, her posture straightening, suddenly alert. The fantasy slips out of her brain, the images going cloudy as the classroom comes back into focus.

Mrs. Click stares disapprovingly from the front of the room, tapping a pen against her palm in waiting.

Her face goes crimson, embarrassment flooding her body. She’d been completely laser-focused on you, and she finds herself suddenly taking up faith and praying to every god that no one realized she was staring so hard. Staring so hard at your ass, to be specific.

“Y-yes ma’am. Sorry ma’am,” Robin replies, voice hoarse. Of course she hadn’t been paying attention. She doesn’t have the slightest clue what’s going on.

“As I was saying,” the teacher huffs. “You’ll be partnered with Y/N for the project.”

Robin feels herself nod, even give a weak smile, but she suddenly feels like there’s cotton in her ears. The last thing she thinks she needs right now is to have to work in close proximity to you, on a project she knows nothing about because she was too busy fantasizing about finger-fucking you.

She chances a glance at you, only to be met by your gaze staring right back, over your shoulder. You give her a sweet little smile, fingers waggling in a subtle wave, oblivious to the things you’re doing to her.

She waves back, swallowing hard.

The universe might just have it out for her.

[eff4freddie]

After She Left | Five

Words: 6k

Preparations for Jackson's first ever prom are well underway, and even Ellie is helping out. As Jackson's only teacher it is, of course, your job to run the show and you'd be more than capable if one parent didn't keep distracting you.

Chapter warnings: Illusions to smut, slow burn, angsty memories of being a teenager, 'She' finally arrives. Minors DNI.

A/N: Ok, second act kicks off after this chapter. You'll get a glimpse of what that means now. Hope you enjoy!

Four | Series Masterlist | Six

Your dreams were changing. Used to waking with a chill, the echoes of loss and the face of your sister blurred in the grey clouds streaking across your dreamscape, you’d started to wake now with a warmth, a vein of light. You felt it on your skin like the first spring day out of a long, cold winter. You’d wake trying to grip its tail as it slipped from you.

The prom thing was your idea, and you only half regretted it. You’d had the idea when Isaiah had asked you what school for you was like, so fascinated by the before times, the kids trying hard to imagine classroom upon classroom filled with students all of the same age. You’d tried to explain that school wasn’t anything, really, that sometimes you didn’t even go because it was so boring, and they gawped at you, disbelieving. You felt a little sliver of shame at having wasted it, reminded yourself that was what you were supposed to do at age 14.

You’d mentioned prom, and there had been a ripple of interest throughout the room.

‘So, there was dancing? But it wasn’t the whole town, it was just you and your friends?’

‘Well, there were teachers and parents as chaperones, but…yeah, there were so many of us that it was just each grade. We got all dressed up, we had our picture taken, we had to choose dates.’

‘You went with a boy?’ Celina piped up from the front row, her nine-year-old face scandalised by the idea that you would willingly expose yourself to boy germs.

‘Yeah, well, some girls had boyfriends in their grade.’

‘Did you have a boyfriend?’ someone asked, the judgement almost silent, and you knew without looking that it was Ellie.

‘No, I didn’t. I had a crush on a boy, but it didn’t really…’

You remembered him, even now, an actual apocalypse not enough to erase the shame. You’d let your friends talk you into a promposal, standing in the bleachers as he ran track with an enormous sign that you’d spent far too many hours painting at your bestie’s kitchen table. It had heart-shaped glitter. You were especially proud of that detail.

You hadn’t realised that the entire track team would also see it, that you would need to specifically point him out in the crowd. Never had you imagined that he would dodge away from your finger, pretending to hide behind another boy, dodging your desire for him while his teammates laughed. It was enough to shrivel your heart into coal. You’re not sure you ever recovered.

You said none of that in your Jackson classroom. Instead, you focused on the decorations, that there was always a theme, that you heard the high school two towns over got Nelly Furtado to play live at theirs, but you weren’t convinced that was any more than an urban legend. They had no idea who Nelly Furtado was. You didn’t try to explain.

‘So can we have one?’ Mika asked, finally looking up from his comic book. You hadn’t thought he was paying attention.

‘A prom? Well, I’d have to talk to the town council.’

‘Tommy’s my uncle, I got an in,’ Ellie said, her face lighting up with the power of being connected, such nepotism so rare as the last vestiges of civilisation withered.

The kids grinned up at you, and you realised that maybe this was something they needed. Jackson already did Christmas, blew eggs, painted them with bees wax and dye from mashed beets and honey, and held a hunt on the first weekend of what the town council’s best guess was April. You could get the kids to decorate with paper flowers. It would be really cute to watch them decorate the mess hall, and there was probably some kind of educational value in it, too.

--

From his post, Joel watched Guillaume and Jonah, his new patrol partner, disappear into the treeline. He watched them, a little nugget of shame festering in the depths of his belly, but mostly – if he allowed himself to admit it – he was happy to have been moved to shifts on the wall. It meant he wasn’t back so late for Ellie, that he could be home to help with her homework or make her help him make dinner, and he didn’t feel so paranoid all the time when he could see the horizon. He didn’t mind the early starts, preferred the quiet up there, liked being able to turn and survey the town as much as the wilds outside it.

If he turned and leaned over a little, up on one foot on the top rung of the ladder, and leaned a little to the right he could make out the path heading up to the schoolhouse. When Billy asked him what he was doing, he explained he wanted to make sure his girl got to school OK. He generally, for the most part, broadly speaking, was referring to Ellie.

Tommy had been nice to enough not to give him shit for it, even after a bloody-nosed Guillaume took it upon himself to point out that Joel was a liability out there. Tommy had appeared on his doorstep the next morning, his brows crowding together, but Joel had spent most of the early morning on the wall, had imagined you lying in bed as he made sure to keep the nastiness away from you, and he was more ready than his little brother expected to hang up his boots.

‘M’getting older, Tommy, we talked about that,’ Joel reminded him, and Tommy nodded.

‘Still the best shot we got, and the best survivalist.’

‘Don’t mean I can’t advise if anyone asks it of me,’ he said. ‘S’not even that hard, just gotta keep your wits about ya.’ He thought for a long moment. ‘Maybe it’s gettin’ harder, now I think about it,’ he conceded.

‘Well, so long as you’re agreeable,’ Tommy said, shuffling awkwardly.

‘What would’ya have done if I wasn’t?’ Joel asked, a crooked grin forming on his face.

‘Would have taken you off patrol, but mighta felt a little bad about it,’ Tommy answered, earnest. Joel scoffed.

‘You’d pull rank, Town Councilman?’

‘Yes’sir, I would,’ Tommy said, no less earnest. Joel nodded at him.

‘Good,’ he affirmed, and saw the way Tommy expanded under the praise of his big brother. ‘You do what’s right for Jackson, always,’ Joel said, and Tommy agreed.

It was cold up there, though, the windchill on his face and his fingertips causing his whole body to tremor in his coat. It was Spring, but it was turning out to be a cold one, not a lot of warmth getting around the mountain. Joel shuffled his feet, trying to get the feeling back in his toes a little. He hadn’t brought his big coat, thinking the sun would be enough to keep him warm, but now that it was nearing the end of the day, the sun disappearing below the mountain ridge, he was counting every minute until he could clamber down and warm up.

He knew you’d be at his place already, working with Ellie at his kitchen table now that the heat had gone out of the day. He was going to try and make his beef stew tonight, had practically begged the kitchen staff to let him have a side of the meat. He hadn’t resorted to violence, but he would have.

He just wanted to thank you for everything you were doing for his daughter. Wanted to nourish your body the way you were nourishing her mind.

Billy called up to him from the bottom of the ladder. ‘Come on down, Joel, night shift’s here.’ Casting one last glance at the treeline, he vaulted down the ladder to rungs at a time.

--

You’d held a democratic process to determine the theme for the prom, but Ellie had dominated it anyway, either unfamiliar with, or just straight up unwilling to, compromise. As the day grew closer you gave up any pretence of tutoring her, working instead on cutting out yellow paper stars at Joel’s kitchen table.

‘Why does the moon change?’ Ellie asked, one day, and you’d paused for a second. You weren’t sure how bad FEDRA school was by the time she was in it, but that seemed fundamental.

‘Well, I mean, you know we’re a planet, right? That we’re like, a big round ball? Floating in the sky?’ Ellie levelled an impatient gaze at you, and you swallowed.

‘Do you think I’m an idiot?’ she asked, and you thought very hard and very fast.

‘I think you’re brilliant and FEDRA school is terrible,’ you said, diplomatically. She softened, her cheeks pinking up a little.

‘Can’t argue with you there,’ she said, quietly.

‘I mean, how much did they teach you about planets?’

‘Sweet fuck all,’ she said, plainly, and you wanted to tell her not to swear but she was in her own house, and it felt like the horse had bolted long ago in any case. ‘But I read about it as much as I can.’

‘The moon?’

‘All space… being that high up where nothing can, no-one up there who can…it’s just so cool. Were you alive when they landed on it?’

‘Ellie, that was the 60s,’ you complained, waiting for her to do the mental maths and wondering how old she thought you were, or if all adults were just ‘old’ to her, a kind of non-descript age in which you are both responsible for everything and also mere moments from shuffling off into death.

She stared at you blankly. ‘I wasn’t born for another like, twenty years,’ you said.

She nodded. ‘Oh.’

‘A lot of people didn’t even believe we really did land on the moon,’ you said. You picked up another piece of paper, your pile of stars nearly double the size of Ellie’s. She wasn’t being careful, her general distractedness was making her slow.

‘What? But wasn’t it on TV?’

‘Yes, it was, but they said it was faked.’ Her eyes blew wide at this, and you realised she was considering it. ‘Ellie, there’s no way it was faked. There are footprints up there that’ll be there forever.’

‘Guess we’ll never know, now,’ she said, quietly, and you suddenly wondered whether the space theme was such a good idea, after all, whether you were tormenting the kids with something they would never see, never have even the smallest chance to explore.’

‘Ellie…’ you said, but she wasn’t looking at you anymore, concentrating hard on her paper star.

‘It’s ok, it’ll be fun to pretend for the night,’ she said. ‘There’s a lot of pretending, won’t be too hard.’

You wanted to ask her what she meant, who she thought was pretending, but you heard heavy footsteps on the front porch and knew Joel was home. You felt your cheeks flush, your hands picking up a little tremble that make it hard to grip your scissors.

‘Hello, ladies,’ Joel said, and when you looked up, he was grinning at you both from the doorway, his hands criss-crossed over his chest as he leant on the frame. It was a domestic enough moment that you had to fight the impulse to go over to him and welcome him properly, into your arms. Ellie barely acknowledged him, because she was 14.

‘What are we making?’ he asked, picking up one of Ellie’s ‘stars’ and genuinely requiring clarification. You winced a little at it. Perhaps it could go towards the back.

‘Prom decorations,’ Ellie said, and she still seemed a little down. You watched her, carefully, trying to determine if she’d already lit her fuse.  

‘Oh, I won’t interrupt,’ Joel said, raising his hands, feeling something in the air. ‘You stayin’ to eat, Teach?’ he asked, and he hoped his voice didn’t make him sound too eager, didn’t give him away.

‘I don’t want to be a bother,’ you said, just like you always did.

‘Oh my God!’ Ellie sighed, throwing her star down in front of her and pushing her chair back. ‘Just say yes, you always end up staying anyway.’

‘Ellie!’ Joel barked at her, and she huffed, her shoulders so high they nearly touched her ears.

‘It’s true, you guys do all this polite bullshit and for what? Just say what you want and then you can get it. It’s not so hard.’

You looked over at Joel, who was staring at his likely hormonal teenager with a perplexed look on his face. You took a second to gather yourself.

‘I would love to stay for dinner, Joel, but one of these days I want you to let me cook for you both.’

Joel paused, considering this. Eyes still on Ellie, who was still quietly fuming, he nodded his head, once. ‘I would like that, Teach,’ he said, his careful tone that of every bewildered teenage-girl-Dad the world over. ‘Ellie, I want you to go wash up before dinner, then I want you to peel the carrots.’

She stood up, stomping to the washroom. You concentrated hard on the paper in your hands, hoping it was enough to stifle your smile.

‘I want to know what the fuck that was about,’ Joel said to you, but smiling.

‘I want to remind you there’s nothing worse than being a teenage girl,’ you replied.

--

You stood, wobbling on the end of a step ladder, hanging up the stars. Tommy found some string lights and put them up around the mess hall, and Johnny and his assembly of post-apocalyptic musicians set up in the corner. You and Tommy had already pushed all the tables back against the wall to make a dance floor. As you worked, he regaled you with his favourite memories of his own prom, most of which seemed to involve trying to get up the skirt of someone called Tammy Schmidt. She’d never let him anywhere near her, and you told Tommy to his face she was right to do it.

‘You would have been Tommy and Tammy,’ you said, and he started to giggle. Actually giggle.

‘That was the appeal!’ he said, sheepish. ‘I figured it sounded like those made-up celebrity names.’

‘Brangelina,’ you said, and he grinned.

‘Tomammy,’ he replied, and you rolled your eyes.

After everything was set up you went home to get dressed, pulling out a little black number foraged from the bottom of Maria’s wardrobe. She had complained she was never going to get back into it, and you had waved her off. It made you feel silly and out of place and pretty and ridiculous, and you liked the way it swished when you walked. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d swished anywhere. It felt so normal you weren’t sure you could trust it.

When you arrived back at the mess hall the lights had been dimmed, and Johnny and his band were starting to warm up. With the lights down and the paper streamers and stars you could forget for a moment it wasn’t a normal prom, a real one. You felt a surge of pride in your belly, looked around at the tangible good.

You heard the doors to the mess hall swing open, followed by shrieks and laughter and multiple sets of rapidly advancing feet.

‘Oh my god it’s so amazing!’ Mika said, his face illuminated by the warm glow of the string lights, of the smile stretching his cheeks.

‘This is cool,’ Dina said, quietly, up the back, and you grinned. Something in you, some teenage part of you, was quietly relieved.

More kids arrived, some trailed by their parents, and you busied yourself setting up the orange juice and cola station. The kitchen had done little sandwiches and finger food and you wanted to make sure the kids ate, worried you’d send them home on empty stomachs and sugar pinging through their veins. That their parents would never forgive you, and that they would be right.

As soon as the band started up you stepped back, letting the kids swarm the plates and start to dance. You wanted to join them but you also felt a pull back to the edge of the room, kept thinking you were seeing snatches of your sister in the half-light, of you as a girl. You weren’t sure what the feeling was, some kind of melancholic nostalgia, some kind of longing for something that didn’t make sense to you. You’d never even liked prom that much, had mostly just gone because everyone else was. But it was different seeing one from the other side: from the other side of adolescences, from the other side of the end of the world. It felt precious and sad and joyful, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to turn away from it or bottle it up and store it safe under the bed.

You kept wondering if this was what your 14-year-old self ever envisioned for herself, if she could have envisioned anything so apocalyptic at all.

The doors swung open again, and you exhaled the breath you didn’t realise you were holding when Ellie strode in, almost skipping, her face titled up to the ceiling to see all her decorations hanging in the rafters. ‘Holy shit!’ you heard her exclaim, and you cringed a little, trying to avoid the eyes of the parents. You would have to speak to her about that, eventually.

You turned to pour yourself a juice, the acid tingling at the back of your teeth, before you heard heavy footsteps behind you, even over the thrum of the music and of Ellie grabbing Mika and swinging him around the dancefloor.

‘Hey, Teach,’ Joel said, his baritone rumbling out from his chest. You suppressed a shiver.

‘Joel,’ you turned to him, allowing the surprise to show on your face. ‘What are you doing here?’ You were ignoring that he was standing in black suit pants and a white shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, maybe a size too big, you couldn’t be sure. He’d done his hair, or had made an attempt at it, maybe running water through it and in the humidity of the room it had started to curl. You were alarmed at how distinctly you wanted to lean forward and sink your teeth into his neck, to lave at the skin there, to feel his pulse with your tongue.

You swallowed, the juice catching in your throat and making you splutter. Suddenly Joel was beside you, an enormous warm hand between your shoulder blades as you fought, doubled over, for breath.

‘Easy, easy,’ he was saying, and you wanted to slam your eyes shut and imagine him whispering exactly that as he slid inside you, as he rocked into you and felt your cunt quiver around his length. Jesus Christ, you were going to spontaneously combust.

‘Sorry, went down the wrong hole,’ you said, fluttering your hand in front of your face in the hope it would ward him off somewhat. As you straightened, he let his hand slide down your spine and away just as he reached the small of your back, and you felt your spine arch towards where his touch had been.

Fucks sake, you needed to get it together. You were like some horny teenager at, well, prom.

‘Tommy had something he needed to do at home, something with the baby.’

‘Is he OK? Is Maria Ok?’

‘Yeah, they’re fine, the baby just has a sniffle and I believe Maria’s exact words were “you’re not going out there to watch teenagers marinate in their hormones while I sit at home being snotted on by your crotch fruit”.’

You gaped at him. ‘Maria did not say crotch fruit.’

‘Might have put my spin on that bit,’ Joel said, grinning.

For his part, Joel was watching your eyes so that he wouldn’t look down at your dress, a little black flitty number that came up to your knees and down close enough on your chest that when you leant over trying to get your breath he had to move away to resist the urge to stare at the swell of your breasts, instead coming to stand beside you and placing his hand on your back just to try and keep himself standing. You were so fuckin’ pretty, done your hair all up nice. He wanted to swivel you around, tuck you into his chest and nibble on the nape of your neck, put his nose in your hair and inhale as he flipped that silly little skirt over your rear, letting one hand wonder over your cheeks as he slid further down, cupping and probing, into the slick between your legs.

Christ on a cracker, he needed to get it together. He was behaving like Tommy at, well, prom.

‘Place looks great,’ he said, his voice slightly strangled. You gazed up at him, taking a second to comprehend his words.

‘Thanks, Ellie did amazing work with the stars,’ you said, and you knew he knew you were lying, and you also knew he was a good enough Dad that he was going to let you get away with it.

‘She certainly has her own style,’ Joel replied, eyeing one particularly wonky cutout you had strategically placed in a dark corner.

You turned to watch the kids dance, Ellie’s hair bouncing around her face as she twisted her hips, holding Mika’s hand as she did.

‘She’s really gravitated towards him,’ you commented, and you looked over at Joel just in time to see a cloud pass over his face.

‘He probably reminds her of…’ he said, but then he trailed off, recalibrated. ‘He’s a sweet kid, so it makes sense,’ he finished.

‘Oh, speaking of sweet, Billy loves having you on the wall,’ you said, smiling at him and watching him blush.

‘What do you mean?’ he asked, and you swore you could see genuine anxiety on his face.

‘Big Bad Joel Miller helping out? Billy getting to tell you what to do? He’s like a pig in shit.’

Joel could feel the heat on his cheeks and was powerless to stop it. ‘Big Bad Joel Miller,’ he echoed, feeling the words on his tongue, seeing how they tasted. ‘Not sure about that.’

‘You must know there are stories,’ you said, leaning into him a little, goading him a little, wanting to see if you could get him to crack and tell you something about himself.

‘Don’t pay any of that much mind,’ he said. ‘Don’t reckon any of ‘em are close to the truth.’

‘Well, no they can’t be,’ you agreed, quickly, feeling like the conversation was slipping from you and not really knowing why.

‘Not sure there are words for some of the shit I’ve…seen,’ he said, and he saw the shift in your face, the shock before you covered it, and he knew that he’d scared you a little, but there were things he didn’t want to talk about, shit that he’d had to do to get Ellie here, to get her to be able to forget the cost of it all. Big Bad Joel Miller. No one had any fucking clue.

He looked over at you, at the way you had sunk into yourself, and he cursed himself. You were too sweet, too warm, and he’d gone and thrown a wet rag on your fire. If you knew about him you wouldn’t want to be anywhere near him. He took a step back, too. You’d made him forget for a second, that he was no good to anyone. Especially not to someone like you.

You were lost in your thoughts, watching the kids again but not really seeing. It wasn’t even what Joel had said, although you felt the way he was pushing you away, and you went willingly. It was that as he spoke you realised, finally realised, what the feeling was that had been pulling at you all night.

You were fucking lonely. 14-year-old you might have been OK with the QZ stuff, with what you had to do to survive, with keeping your sister alive along as you could, with making sure her death meant something, even just until they cleared her body away. 14-year-old you might have even been OK with the teaching, although that would take some convincing. But the fact that you were alone, that you were nearing 40 and hadn’t ever really loved anyone other than your family, hadn’t ever really had anyone love you. OK, so you hadn’t married Jonathan Taylor Thomas, in the circumstances maybe for that you got a pass. But that you weren’t with anyone, that you had wanted love for yourself and never got it, that you had wanted to belong in that most specific way and you hadn’t, hadn’t ever really come home. 14-year-old you was screaming and howling and gnashing her teeth. You’d failed her, failed the both of you.

You were horrified to feel a tightness across your throat, the heat building behind your eyes. You needed to get away from all these people, needed to go and pity yourself in peace.

‘I just need some air,’ you said, barely above a whisper, pushing past Joel with your face turned away lest he see your eyes growing redder and wetter by the second.

‘Teach…’ he called after you, but you were gone, heading straight to the door, not seeing Ellie turn to follow Joel’s voice, to see you making a break for it, turning back to him with her hands in the air.

Joel felt his stomach drop, staring back at Ellie with panic written all over his face.

‘What did you do?’ she mouthed to him, and he shrugged, helpless. He’d pushed you away, had shut you down, had been rude and cruel and cold. But he had no idea how to mouth that to his teenage daughter across a dance floor. ‘GO AFTER HER’ Ellie whisper-screamed at him, and it jolted him, got his feet moving before he’d even given it another thought.

You were standing under the awning a couple of paces from the door, leaning on the railing and sucking in the chill of the air. You realised when you heard the door swing open that you’d cornered yourself, cursed yourself for getting all your years in the QZ.

‘Teach,’ he said, and you hung your head. ‘M’sorry, I didn’t mean to…’

‘Wasn’t you, wasn’t that, I just…I needed to breathe for a second.’

Joel paused, watching the way your shoulders rose and fell, sharp and insistent, as you gathered yourself.

He took a step forward towards you, saw the way you flinched and turned away, and stopped, deciding instead to sit on the steps, giving you space but not too much, distance but enough that he could reach out for you if you wanted him to.

‘I did a lot of things to get here,’ he said, after a while. The hair stood up on the back of your neck. ‘I ain’t ashamed of ‘em, I’d do ‘em all again to keep her safe, you understand?’ he asked, and you nodded, still with your back half-turned. ‘Never regretted getting her here, both of us, to safety and to family.’ You nodded again. You knew all of this, had lived all of this, but you didn’t stop him, couldn’t turn to look at him, just let him talk because you couldn’t think of a single thing to say. ‘What bothers me, Teach, is that Big Bad Joel Miller might be too old to do ‘em again.’

You felt a pull towards him, turned your body to peer at his face. He was staring down main street, avoiding looking at you, too.

‘What if I can’t keep her safe?’ he asked, almost to himself. You swallowed, moving towards him, sucked into his gravitational pull. As you sank down beside him on the step, he shuffled to make room for you, but you didn’t want distance, leaning further over so that your shoulders touched. He was so warm even in the chill of the night. You wanted him to take your hands and blow warm breath onto them, smile and put them on his chest to warm them even though the cold of your skin stung him.

‘She’s so capable, Joel,’ you said. ‘You did that. She’ll keep herself safe, soon.’

‘She’s just a kid,’ Joel said, but he wasn’t attacking, just stating a fact.

‘I wasn’t much older on outbreak day,’ you said, simply.

‘Lotsa girls her age weren’t so lucky,’ he replied, quiet.

Blood smattered all over a pink and purple tee-shirt. Curls caked in blood and mud. He swallowed.

‘I know that,’ you said, after a while. Joel watched your face. He saw that it was true, that you knew.

‘S’what was it, if it wasn’t me being so rude to ya?’ he asked, after a long silence that would have made his bones itch if he’d been sharing it with anyone else but you. You shied away a little, and he watched as you started to recede. ‘Hey,’ he said, reprising the conversation from the night at the kitchen table. ‘I want you to tell me what’s up,’ he said, and you smiled, faintly, recognising what he was doing.

‘Prom, I guess. Memories. I don’t know.’ You paused, tried to form the words. ‘It’s all about promise, isn’t it, being a kid and being in high school and doing all of these…rites of passages. There’s an assumption about how things will go. We all make ‘em, made ‘em. Guess it’s hard when they didn’t come true.’

Joel nodded. He wanted to pull you into his lap and rock you, gentle and soft in the night, feel your warm breath on his neck as you pushed your fingertips through the buttonholes of his shirt.

‘Most of the time I’m OK,’ you went on, trying to repair it, slink back under your shell, your slimy snail body suddenly exposed to the elements.

‘Everyone’s OK til they ain’t.’ Joel said. He turned to look at you, swivelled his body to yours so that your knees rested against his. His eyes were so deep and dark in the streetlights, his brows saddled as he petitioned you. ‘I don’t mind it, Teach. You can be all of it with me.’

You felt your heart gallop in your chest, heat suddenly in your belly.

‘So can you, Big Bad Joel Miller,’ you told him, smiling but earnest, wanting him to believe it was true. ‘I’ll take whatever you got,’ you said.

There was a moment, Joel knew, when he could pull back from it. That this was that moment, when he could turn away from you, could crack a joke or make some excuse to head back inside. Could get up and bolt for the gate, swing it open and face whatever demons were out in the darkness so as not to have to face his own. He knew this was the moment of no return, for him.

He looked down at your lips, painted red for prom and so soft, so plump. Your skin soft and glowing so gently in the light. How many more times was he going to have to resist you by porchlight? How many times could he?

‘Joel…’ you whispered, edging yourself closer to him, leaning in without even really thinking about it, watching him mirror you and Joel knew the moment had passed, that your little whimper of his name was branded on his chest, that he would parade it around town for you, would bare it to anyone who wanted to lay their claim.

Your hair was soft, so soft, in his palms as he pulled you into him, his lips crashing into yours, your mouth opening to welcome him, tongue dancing across his. He groaned, from deep down in his belly, for the want of it, for the way his tummy flipped at his first taste of you.

You were pretty sure you were dead. It was the only explanation. But if this was heaven then so fucking be it, because Joel was cupping your face in his hands, and his kiss was insistent and gentle and he was guiding you through it, teasing you open as you felt the hinge of your jaw creak under the pressure of your want for him. You weren’t sure you were breathing. You weren’t sure you cared.

He was pulling you closer, wrapping his arms around your back and pulling you into him, the weird angle meaning both sets of knees were in the way. You considered vaulting over the top of him, riding him on the steps of the mess hall while a bunch of teenagers supposedly under your charge danced under paper stars, but you had the wherewithal to hold back, to pry yourself from him, to lean your forehead on his and catch your breath.

Granted, you didn’t have a lot of experience. But you’d never had a kiss that felt like that.

‘Teach,’ Joel said, so quiet and just for you, and you could hear that he was out of breath, that his chest was heaving, that he was fighting it back just as hard as you. He lifted his head and gazed at you, the look of naked desire on his face such that you wanted it to be photographed, painted, hung in a gallery and studied by future generations.

Then, alarms. And yes, you thought, that felt about right. Everything had just shifted off its axis, after all, it made sense that the universe was now screaming.

Except it sounded weirdly familiar. Kind of like the one that you pulled when there was a problem at the gate.

You turned your head down main street as you saw the flood lights come on. You were up, Joel just behind you, as you and your little swishy dress headed towards it, front doors ripping open around you, men and women pulling on jackets over their pyjamas, arming themselves for war.

‘State your business!’ you heard Billy yell from the top of the gate, his rifle trained at a hard angle just beneath him. Jesus, they were close, you realised. Nearly right up on the iron.

You couldn’t hear the reply, vaulting up the ladder without thinking, without a weapon, leaving Joel to defend the gate.

‘State your business!’ Billy called again, and you came up beside him, peeping over the edge to report back on what you could see. There were three of them, that you could see from here. You scanned the treeline, the floodlights turning the trees into fingers scratching harsh at the night sky.

‘Where they come from, Billy?’ you asked, and he gestured with his head over to the right. You picked up the binoculars and scanned.

‘Can’t see any others,’ you reported back, going to the other side and holding up three fingers to the crowd.

‘We’re just passing through,’ the man called back, ‘saw your lights and thought…we’re injured.’

‘Injured how?’ Billy called. You could hear murmuring beneath you, a plan being hatched.

‘One of us is a woman. We were ambushed. They took everything we have, nearly took her but she got away.’

You peered down over the gate, could see that a woman was indeed holding her arm in a sling, her face pale. She was wavering, like she was ready to collapse.

You heard footsteps on the ladder, felt it sway the wall as Tommy appeared beside you.

‘Whatdya reckon?’ he asked you, his eyes focussed but his breath coming in short and fast.

‘They’re telling the truth so far,’ you said, ‘best I can tell.’

You stepped out of the way, Tommy taking your place at the wall while Billy stayed fixed, his gun unwavering from the strangers.

You heard a gasp, a kind of choking shock. ‘No fucking way,’ Tommy said, and you peered over his shoulder again, trying to figure out what he could see. ‘Shauna?’ he called down, the woman’s face snapping up to him, a shaky hand covering her eyes to make him out.

‘Tommy?’ she asked, as though she was dead and found herself at the gates of heaven, surprisingly less gilded than expected. You swallowed, saw Billy’s hold on the gun waver.

‘Open the gates!’ Tommy called, before turning back to the strangers. ‘Hands up and come forward slowly, I’ll meet you there.’

‘Who is that, Tommy?’ you asked him, grabbing at him as he made to hurry past.

‘It’s Shauna,’ he said, his face pale and disbelieving. ‘Where’s Joel?’

‘Who the fuck is Shauna?’ you asked, every nerve ending screaming.

‘She’s Sarah’s mom,’ he said, before he disappeared down the ladder, calling for Joel as he went.

‘Who the fuck is Sarah?’ Billy said to you, his gun lowered but eyeballing the group all the same.

You had no idea.

Taglist (let me know if you want to be on it)

@harriedandharassed

@vickie5446

@kaseyconnour

@orcasoul

@missladym1981

@spacesoutdaydreamer

@tangled-tumbler-blog-blog

@fancyyoouu

@anoverwhelmingdin

[blessyatoz]

longfic (+55k words and on posting) tags: pro-hero izuku midoriya, manager au, falling in love, humor read all on AO3 excerpt from chapter six: how to (try to) do a photoshoot and attend to a hero-con [excerpt w fluff, bit angst, humor; no smut]

MARIN'S POV

The event was nearing its end when we left the special screening of an All Might documentary.

Midoriya-kun, obviously, couldn’t stop talking when there—his eyes practically glowing with excitement and admiration as everything coming out of his mouth was about his mentor. At one point during the session, I asked how they met in the first place. Midoriya-kun spoke so fast, but what I got was that it had something to do with him jumping in front of a villain to save his friend Kacchan (who’s Dynamight?!), All Might taking him under his wing as a disciple, and his late-blooming quirk awakening.

Damn, Midoriya-kun had a crazy teenagehood, no doubt about that.

Someone told us to shut up—so we focused on the documentary and picked up the conversation again after the session ended.

He told me how hard it was—and I didn’t doubt it for a second. Broken bones. Always having to give his best—because everyone was already ahead of him, given how late his quirk had developed. Always having to do more because if he didn’t, it wouldn’t be enough to become the hero he wanted to be. A hero who saved everyone, no matter what, always with a smile; 

“Kitagawa-san, I want to be a hero strong enough that no one would have to worry about me.” as he said at that moment too (That stuck with me. Stuck—Why?). A hero who honored his mentor’s legacy.

As he spoke, I couldn’t help but think about the enormous sense of responsibility he had with all of it: becoming the hero he always dreamed of, fighting to protect people…

Slowly, the outlines for my article started to take shape in my mind. One that wouldn’t just honor All Might’s legacy but would do justice to Deku’s. His own. As Deku.

That’s what I wanted to do—what I wanted people to know. I wanted people to experience how genuine, hardworking, sincere, and real Pro-Hero Deku was.

“Oh! And All Might was also my teacher, back at UA. He was an amazing mentor! He really was! He really took care of me—even when I didn’t deserve it. I learned a lot from him—and from Aizawa-sensei, too.” Midoriya-kun chuckled softly. He seemed to recall those days fondly. “I… I miss him. All Might. It’s been a while since we last saw each other. But we still text all the time!” He stared off into the distance, like he was reflecting for a moment before turning back to me and saying: “I… I hope I can one day be at least 1% of the hero he used to be… I—I already have my own hero path! And I’m following it, o-of course! I’m really happy with that.” He looked ahead, almost nostalgically watching a bunch of kids running around in All Might costumes, holding special trading cards in their hands. I followed his gaze. “But… to inspire people the way he did, inspire them to be the best they can be, overcoming whatever life throws at them… To always go beyond, no matter what…”

Purpose. Determination. That’s what I felt while looking at him now.

“That’s the kind of hero I’m working to be, too.”

The smile of that little girl from early came to my mind—and the gratitude shining on everyone’s faces when they saw him, whether he was stopping a villain or helping out with the simplest task possible. Even the regretful tears of today’s wrongdoers, who seemed like they’d rather die than commit another crime after hearing Deku-kun's words.

The look of admiration from that child who so kindly asked him to sign their school notebook.

“You’re already doing that. A great job. More than that, even.” I spoke softly, kindly—but not as kind as he was. That was impossible for me. I’d known that for a long time. So many smiles, so many admiring looks of ‘I want to be like you’ came to mind, all directed at him. At them. “You know that, right?”

I waited for him to blush, like he usually would. Then I’d laugh and say, ah, Deku-kun, for God’s sake, you need to get used to compliments, man!

But the blush never came.

Deku’s expression seemed to drop—and he became a little distant.

Not shy, not embarrassed—like usual. Just… distant.

“Not enough, though, Kitagawa-san.”

I frowned.

But before I could say anything, one of the kids dressed up and running wildly around Hero-Con bumped into us.

“Oh, sorry, oni-san!” Then he grabbed the hand of the kid next to him, dragging him towards a group of people gathering nearby. “Come on, Tsuki! Let’s go get a Hawks hero tattoo, hurry before they’re gone!”

“I don’t want one of that stupid parrot!” The other one looked surprisingly disgusted. “I want one of All Might! And Red Riot, 'cause he’s so manly!”

“Whatever, dude! Let’s go!”

Midoriya-kun and I watched them run off like two little rockets.

“Oh… Hero tattoo stickers… I always wanted to get one of those when I was a kid…” I heard him say softly, like he was talking to himself. A bit nostalgic, even. He blinked, realizing I was still there. “Kacchan never wanted to get one with me, though, when we were kids. Said it was stupid and useless—since they come off with water. Something about it being for dumb kids—which was funny, thinking about it now. We were kids.” He laughed.

I glanced over at the booth: kids, adults, and teens crowded around it. Some were cheering, others celebrating when they saw the tiny less-than-8cm disposable tattoo fixed on their skin. They were grinning from ear to ear. They looked happy.

I grabbed his hand energetically—I could feel the roughness of his scars, the lines they made against my fingers, the history and effort they carried.

Then I smiled.

“So, what are we waiting for?!” Practically shouting with excitement, practically shouting please, smile like that again Deku-kun, I said: “Let’s go!”

“W-w-what?!”

I was already dragging us over.

“W-wait, Kitagawa-san! W-WAIT!”

Fifteen minutes later, I had a small tattoo of Fat Gum's face hidden on the side of my wrist. Midoriya-kun had one of All Might—comically flexing his muscles.

He stared at the tattoo, a bit goofy, a bit embarrassed, and a bit incredulous.

But he looked happy.

“I can’t believe we did this…!”

“Well, believe it! BELIEVE IT!” I threw my arms up in the air and flexed my muscles. I puffed out my chest—and then struck the same pose All Might was making on his tattoo. Making that face. “YOU DID IT, MIDORIYA-SHONEN! IT WAS YOUR BRAVERY, HOHO.” Then I laughed, all proud, just like All Might would. “It’s never too late to fulfill your childhood wishes, shonen.” I winked.

Midoriya-kun burst into laughter. The kind of loud, genuine laugh that’s just contagious, you know? The kind that makes you want to laugh just from being there, listening to it. His hands held his stomach, tears of laughter streaming from his eyes.

I dropped the All Might pose, grinning widely at him.

Not enough, though, Kitagawa-san.

What makes you think that? That’s what I wanted to ask him as I watched him laugh and laugh, smiling and laughing in that sincere, genuine way he always did. The way he showed it to everyone. What makes you think that, Midoriya-kun?

That’s when I realized: maybe… maybe Midoriya-kun carried more on his shoulders than he let on, more than I had imagined—must be a hero thing… like him. Like them.

Because they carried the same too. They carried the same, and I was too young to understand that back then.

But I’m not a kid anymore.

I can fight to keep others safe now, in my own way. Smiling.

And I don’t need to be a Pro-Hero to do that.

“How long did you practice that, Kitagawa-san?!”

“A month, I think?” I was about to say it was for an All Might cosplay shoot I did a few years ago, but I stayed quiet.

Midoriya-kun’s eyes practically bulged out of his head like they were gonna fall to the floor.

“Whaaaaat?! It took me years!” He sounded half-surprised, half-impressed, and half-indignant. “That’s not fair!”

“I’m a natural, pretty~” I flipped my hair, all smug. “Get over it.”

Midoriya-kun gave me the biggest side-eye in the universe.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that!” He shook his head and started walking toward the exit. I thought I saw a flash of a shy smile on his lips—and that familiar blush again. Huh? “Midoriya-kun? Midoriya-kuuuuun!”

He suddenly stopped in the middle of the path, his head lowered slightly.

“Thank you, Kitagawa-san.” His voice was soft, embarrassed—but sweet, gentle. And when he looked me in the eye, that’s exactly what I saw, too.

I broke into a smile.

“It was nothing, Midoriya-kun! Really!” I winked cheerfully at him, bouncing up to stand in front of him. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

He paused for a second.

And then there it was: that smile again.

“Yeah, it is!” And that laugh, too. “You’re right. It really is.”

“But I’m also your manager, so strike a pose so I can snap a picture of you with that super cool and not-at-all childish tattoo right in the center, please.”

“O-okay.”

“And let’s take a selfie too! Showing off our hero tattoos together! They won’t last long anyway~ We gotta capture the moment!”

[renthony]

Hi! Could you talk about what it’s like being an independent media researcher and how you became one? Did you go to school for communications or media studies? How do you make money?

I’m about to graduate college and I really want to go into the media studies field but I haven’t really figured out what the best way for me to do that is. I have a lot of similar research interests as you (animation, censorship, media analysis, queer media) and I’m disabled so I’ve been worried about not having the energy for a traditional 9 to 5 sort of job, so I’d love to hear more about how you’re able to do the research you’re passionate about!

Honestly, I got here by accident, and I'm still figuring things out as I go. I don't make much money and right now I feel like my work is in a period of transition. I have plans, but some days it feels like I'm barely making baby steps.

I started writing when I was pretty young, and I read every single "how to write" guide I could get my hands on via the library or bookstore. I wrote constantly. Short stories, various false starts at baby's first novel, even newsletters for school activities and community clubs. I was most focused on fiction at first, but I learned a lot about nonfiction as well.

I got involved in online writing communities back when forums were still a big deal, and I joined Twitter back in 2009 when it was still new and there was a massive author and freelancer community. (Anyone else remember before retweets were a thing? We had to copy, paste, and manually type out "RT @[user]" like barbarians.) I learned an absolute fuckton about the craft and the industry by talking directly with other writers, literary agents, editors, and various other people in the field. From the time I was like 14, I was interacting with professional writers, sharing my work for feedback, and racking up rejection letters from magazines and literary agents (which was a badge of honor in the communities I was hanging out in, because it meant you were working hard and refusing to quit). When I was 17, my best friend even scraped together money from their shitty fast food job to pay for us to attend a major writing conference in Denver, where we participated in all kinds of classes and panels with industry professionals.

My mother was also writing at the time, and I got a lot of support from her. She had a blog that got a decent amount of interaction, because this was right around the rise of the Mommy Blogger and my mom wrote from the perspective of a socially-isolated tattooed punk mom who never planned to have kids (which was unusual in a landscape of perfect housewives with perfect photogenic babies with weirdly-spelled Mormon names they chose when they were kids). Eventually my mom started writing for a website owned by Yahoo, to supplement the household income while staying home to care for my little siblings. When I decided I wanted to take a whack at freelancing, she gave me a lot of advice on how to get started. I also had a writing class at school taught by a teacher who made it a class project to submit to magazines, so I basically got a head-start on freelance life. I wrote a lot of random articles for a website that's since gone defunct, and I submitted a lot of short stories to contests and magazines. Didn't really make a lot of money, but I learned a ton and got a lot of experience.

When I made it to college, I studied anthropology and French. I'd planned to study history, but switched my track after a single semester because anthropology suited me better. I took a lot of AP classes in high school and did well on all the standardized testing, so I managed to get a full academic scholarship and skip right past a few of my gen eds. Unfortunately for me, I had a lot of difficult life experiences during that time period, and I started to struggle in pretty much everything that wasn't directly related to my degree. I failed Latin so bad I didn't bother to go to the final exam, because even a perfect grade wouldn't have saved me. I fucked up my algebra grade beyond salvation. Those two classes alone tanked my GPA enough that I lost my academic scholarship, and I wound up dropping out entirely. Grades in my required courses were solid, but the scholarship requirements meant I had to do well across the board or lose my funding.

My mother still has debt from getting loans to pursue a master's degree, and I knew damn well I didn't want that kind of student debt piling up on me, so I opted for dropping out. Sometimes I regret it a little, but I honestly think it was the best option. I was having so much emotional upheaval on top of the academic stress that I needed time away to figure myself out. I graduated high school early, so I was like two years younger than everyone around me, and I didn't have many friends. I lived at home and came to campus just long enough to go to class, so I had nothing in common with my classmates who lived in dorms and participated in campus activities. I missed orientation because I registered late, the administration sent me to the transfer student registration day instead of the new student registration day, and I didn't get any "here's how you navigate university life" support. I didn't know I was supposed to have a one-on-one academic advisor for a year and a half, and when I finally met him, his only comment on the matter was, "wow, I wondered why you hadn't come to see me yet!" without any sort of inquiry into how a fuckup on that scale was allowed to happen in the first place. I wasn't set up for success by university administration, and I burnt out hard. I dropped out.

My wife encouraged me to do what was going to be best for me mentally instead of letting finances dictate my next step. She had a steady job, and even though we were still pretty broke, her support let me drop out of college and focus on recovery. A lot of people gave me shit because their perception was that I was dropping out of college to become "just a housewife," and they couldn't fathom why. From my perspective, I'd been given a lifeline.

I took care of our shitty little one-bedroom apartment. I read a lot of books and played a lot of Minecraft. When I felt up to it, I did some more freelancing. My wife was working unholy hours in a factory and we didn't get to spend much time together. I started doing tarot reading as a side hustle, and we started making vague plans to move somewhere better for us, but saving up was hard.

Things felt stagnant for a long time. I didn't write very much, I wasn't really doing anything related to my studies. I wrote when I had energy, and I kept scraping together extra cash doing tarot readings while my wife started working a new job in a lumber yard. Her support is the only reason I was able to recover and figure myself out, so big shout-out to my beloved working woman wifey. God, I love her.

Eventually we packed up and moved to a different state so we could be closer to my family. I got a job baking for a coffee shop. I wrote whenever I could. When I got laid off from the coffee shop, I realized there was no way in hell I could keep working a regular job without sacrificing my health, so I went back to writing full-time. (The Queen of Cups was written during this period.)

At some point I started getting back into anthropology and history research, just for fun. I didn't have money to finish my degree, but I had enough academic experience to know how to track down and evaluate good sources. I wasn't really trying to do anything for career purposes, I was just incredibly bored and wanted to study something again, so I got really, really into studying local history. Once I read everything I could about that, I jumped to another topic I was interested in, and then another. Media studies became my biggest focus as a natural outgrowth of my interests in speculative fiction, animation, and the history of the entertainment industry. I studied anthropology in school because I loved learning how and why humans do the things we do, and media studies always felt like an obvious facet of that. It's part of why I was always obsessed with cave paintings and paleolithic sculptures--people make art! It's what we do! It's what we've always done!

Anyway, I now live in a university town that has resources available to the public, and I have friends who work in various university libraries or as professors. I started making use of whatever I could get access to. I read a lot of nonfiction books from independent researchers pursuing their own passion projects, I got really into video essays on YouTube, and I had the epiphany that you don't actually have to finish college to study and write about things as long as you put in the quality research and source all your information. At some point I started calling it my "DIY academia," which my university-employed friends found utterly delightful.

Honestly, I credit my formal-academia friends with a lot. They've all been an incredible source of support and reassurance, and have helped me track down quite a few sources I was having trouble getting my hands on. Everyone do yourself a favor and make friends with someone who works in a university library.

I started a Patreon several years ago (in like 2017 I think?), primarily for my fiction writing, but there's plenty of other things that have shown up there over the years (art, cosplay, essays, etc.). As I started getting more into my DIY academia, folks started expressing interest in seeing me write about it. My tumblr posts about media generated a decent amount of attention, I'd managed to build up a platform, and it wasn't hard to say, "okay, screw it: I have freelance experience and I know how to write a paper, does anyone want to pay me for it?"

I haven't been submitting to existing publications like I used to, mostly because I don't have a decent portfolio assembled. My old freelance work in high school and college was for a platform that closed down a decade ago, and no matter how popular they get I can't bring myself to include tumblr posts alongside professional credits. My current plan is to build a portfolio on my website showing off the commissions I've been taking, and then start submitting to magazines and newspapers again between my other work. I'd love to eventually write for something like Polygon or IGN.

It's hard. I love research, I love writing, and I love sharing information with people, but having to DIY everything is really, really hard. I often feel like I'm just throwing nonsense into the void in the hope someone will like it and leave a tip in my Ko-Fi. I don't have formal academic credentials beyond "I was planning my senior thesis about the ethics of investigating ancient burial sites, but then I dropped out." I just have a neurodivergent brain, a handful of special interests, a wife who works the graveyard shift in a lab to pay our bills, and the ability to hyperfixate on research for absurd lengths of time.

The most common advice I used to get about freelancing is that you just have to keep throwing things at the wall to see what sticks. It's been years since then, but I think the advice still applies. Read a lot, learn a lot, and write about the things you're most interested in. Search around and look for magazines and newspapers and websites that accept unsolicited freelance submissions. Read the other articles they publish to see how your work stacks up. Submit, submit, submit. Rake in rejection letters and keep them as a reminder of how hard you're working. If you're up for it, start a Patreon to post the things you don't submit elsewhere. The worst thing that can happen is that people don't give you money, but maintaining it still helps you lay the groundwork for a portfolio and a reader base.

I deal with a lot of hellacious impostor syndrome. I worry a lot that I'm just a hack who doesn't actually know what they're talking about. Like I said, I got here totally by accident, but whatever I'm doing seems to be working for me. I'm broke, but my work is being read, and opportunities for more work show up when I least expect them. I'm not sure what's next for me, but I'm excited to figure it out. Money's tight, but I keep enduring despite the chaos. I throw things at the wall, I see what sticks, I clean up whatever flops and then try it again later. Wash, rinse, repeat.

It's hard, but so is everything else. I like it better than a lot of other things I could be doing.

[jimxnslight]

Chapter 2: Nothing Personal

Summary: Elitist Academy is exactly what it sounds like: an academy that focuses on teaching students from elite classes of the magic community. When Y/N is thrown into the academy to learn alongside 8 men, she realises she’ll have to learn to work with them, whether she likes it or not.

Pairing: Reader x OT7 (Choose Your Own)

Genre: Magic School au, mystery, angst

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: domestic abuse, additional warnings might be added as story progresses

“When was Elitist Academy created, and for what reason?”

A few students gasped as the sound of the button going off reverberated around the room, a moment of complete shock replacing the once tense atmosphere. It was like the silence after a storm, the room so quiet that you were sure a pin dropping would have been heard easily.

Slowly, your gaze dropped to your hand. Namjoon’s much larger palm was pressed against your own, which itself was pressed roughly against the bright red button. You smiled. 

Poor Namjoon… he really did put up a good fight. 

But this victory was yours. 

“Elitist Academy was built in 1740, two years after the discovery of the Tree of Life. It was built to protect the tree, as well as to teach the children of the elite to be respectful, humble, and kind members of the magic society,” you concluded. 

You may not have been as cocky as Namjoon, but you were sure of your answer. It would be your win today.

The Professor seemed pleased as she smiled and turned towards the class. 

“That is-”

“Incomplete!” Namjoon exclaimed, cutting the teacher off in his excitement. You watched him laugh smugly, clearly believing that your answer had been incorrect. 

“Excuse me?”

But Namjoon was undeterred as he crossed his arms over his chest, “Park Bogum also built this academy for his sons, so that they could learn magic in a formal and academic setting.”

You scoffed.

“That’s just a personal goal, it doesn’t count as one of the formal reasons for his decision.”

“Of course it counts. It was one of the goals and you didn’t state it. Therefore, you got the question wrong,” he spoke matter-of-factly. 

You could only blink incredulously, “you can’t be serious…”

Was he seriously going to be so petty? Namjoon was many things, but a sore loser was one thing you thought was beneath even him. Why was it so hard for men to just admit when they are clearly in the wrong? Their ego was so unimaginably large, especially the ego of the blockhead standing before you. 

“You lost,” you finally deadpanned, “just accept it.”

“How can you deem yourself the winner when you failed to correctly answer the question?” He stated again, this time a little annoyed, but now your patience was wearing just as thin.

“I did answer the question correctly! Personal goals don’t count in the official creation of the academy.”

Professor Kari stepped forward, “alright, why don’t we try to be a little civilised-”

“We are being civilised,” Namjoon said, turning towards Ms. Kari for a moment before turning back towards you. You already knew the look in his eyes, already knew to brace yourself for his next words.

“It’s the lack of intelligence that’s the issue here.”

“Intelligence?” You replied without skipping a beat, “no one with intelligence would willingly have hair that resembles a porcupine.”

You watched in satisfaction as his cocky face fell, an offended expression taking its place, “Wha- You’re going to attack my hair when you’ve got a mouth like that? I’d expect a little more class considering you’re literally the daughter of-”

“Enough.”

Professor Kari’s voice cut through your argument, a firmness to it that had even the other students sitting up a bit straighter. Her expression no longer held a warm and welcoming smile.

“The answer that was provided was enough to be counted as correct. But since you feel that it is not, I will grant both of you the extra credit,” she sighed, “and remind me to never do any competitive activities in this class again…”

The bell chimed throughout the classroom as she mumbled those last words to herself, while the students waited for the ringing to cease uncertainly, unsure if this was a “the bell doesn’t dismiss you, I do” class or not. Once the classroom quieted again, Professor Kari faced the students. 

“That will be all for today, class dismissed.”

You sent Namjoon a glare before walking off, pissed off at his immaturity. All he had to do was throw a small tantrum and the extra credits were served to him on a silver platter. It was infuriating.

Namjoon, on the other hand, simply matched your glare as he watched you practically storm out of the room.

So she has a few more brain cells than I expected, he thought.

That doesn’t mean she’s anywhere near my level.

-

-

-

You entered the main hall fuming, grateful that the lecture had come to an end and you could finally stop looking at his stupid face. Namjoon had always been a first class imbecile growing up, his cocky attitude mixed with an enormous ego tended to make it easy for him. But boy did he have his extraordinary moments.

You scanned the main hall, eager to get any thoughts of him out of your mind. It was huge, with maroon and gold banners lining the walls and a shiny creme-coloured marble floor. The walls encompassed different shades of rich mahogany with wonderfully carved designs and windows that showcased the lush green grass of the courtyard. But what really attracted attention was the centrepiece, the Tree of Life, which stood proudly underneath the stained glass, dome-shaped ceiling. Its branches spanned almost the entirety of the ceiling above you, and held vibrantly pink petals that seemed to glow under the natural light that entered through the stained glass above. 

It was beautiful.

“First years, please gather in the dining hall for a mandatory assembly in 10 minutes, thank you,” a voice suddenly announced through the intercom. 

The students, which had paused their conversations during the announcement, went back to talking and laughing with each other. The ones you assumed were first years, on the other hand, began searching the halls, clearly confused as to where the dining hall could be.

“Excuse me?” A voice behind you called.

You turned around to find two guys, one enthusiastically waving you over while the other’s gaze studied the Tree of Life nonchalantly. Reluctantly, you walked over to them.

“Hi, I’m Hoseok,” the one that had been waving to you spoke. 

His face, which consisted of soft cheeks but a sharp nose, held a bright smile that you almost felt was too bright. The only thing that dampened it a bit was his brown hair, which had messily been parted at the side. You suddenly recognised him as one of the students in the class you had just attended earlier. 

“You wouldn’t happen to know where the dining hall is, would you?” He continued, “this school is just one big maze to me, I swear.”

“Just go through those double doors over there and it’ll be the first door on your left,” you explained, pointing towards the giant pair of double doors on your right. There was a pause after your words, as if he was waiting for you to say something more.

When he realised you weren’t going to continue, he smiled again, “I see, thank you so much you’re a lifesaver.”

You turned away, ready to make your own way to the dining hall, but Hoseok stopped you with his hand.

“I don’t think I caught your name.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in annoyance.

What did this guy want?

“Y/N,” you said reluctantly, hoping he’d get the hint and leave you alone. 

Unfortunately, he did not.

“Y/N… that’s a pretty name,” he continued, ignoring your flat tone, “we were just in the same History of Magic 101 class. You seemed to know the subject pretty well if the competition was anything to go by.”

Did he really think flattery would get him anywhere with you? 

“Oh! I almost forgot,” he suddenly exclaimed, looking apologetic, “this is my friend, Taehyung. We’ve known each other since we were kids.”

He motioned towards the guy behind him, who had been scanning the room carelessly. At the mention of his name, his gaze finally fell on you. It felt… strange. His hair was messy and almost silver in colour while his skin seemed almost as white as snow. But it was his eyes that uncharacteristically drew you in for a moment. Despite being sharp and unwelcoming, they were a piercing blue colour that seemed to draw goosebumps from your arms. The more you stared at them, the more you felt… chilly. As if there were a thin sheet of ice covering your skin. 

For a moment, you believed it was because you felt intimidated by him. But then your gaze dropped to your hands and your eyes widened at the faint layer of frost coating your skin. 

“What the-” You muttered incredulously. 

Hoseok, on the other hand, raised an eyebrow, “Taehyung…”

Taehyung turned his head and the chills suddenly vanished, replaced instead with the feeling of melted ice trickling down your arms. 

“Don’t mind him, he’s a little intimidated by strangers,” Hoseok said, a bright smile still very much apparent on his face, “but once you get to know him, he’s a great friend.”

“If you get to know him,” Taehyung corrected flatly, his piercing gaze back on you for a moment. 

You scoffed internally. He must think so high and mighty of himself with that attitude, yet the only thing it made him was a jerk. 

“Well, it was really nice meeting you, Y/N,” Hoseok chuckled, as if Taehyung had told a funny joke, “I hope we can be friends.”

He held out his hand towards you, clearly waiting for a handshake. You couldn’t tell what his intentions were, whether he was looking to start some kind of friendship or something more. But either way it only took you a second to make up your mind. 

Instead, you shrugged your bookbag onto your shoulder…

 and then wordlessly walked away.

Surprised, Hoseok watched you disappear behind the giant double doors without so much as a glance backwards.

“Was it… something I said?” He asked.

“Not everyone is interested in being friends,” Taehyung said, his tone a lot more thawed than earlier. 

“Let’s get going, the assembly will start soon.”

-

-

-

Thankfully the assembly had gone by pretty quickly, saving you from having to listen to a long and boring speech from the academy’s principal. He had mostly just gone over all the basics, like obvious rules and regulations. Despite the academy being for the spoiled children of the elite, the rules seemed pretty strict in your opinion. Now whether the punishments for breaking those rules would actually be applied or not remained to be seen. 

After the assembly, you wandered through the residences to look for your dorm room. If you were reading your documents right, it should be on the top floor in room 308. So you walked through the halls of the top floor, taking in the large off-white planters filled with ghost white flowers and the luxurious mini chandeliers that lined the hallway. Similar to the main hall, shades of mahogany coated the walls while the marble floor was covered in a plush, maroon carpet. 

You finally came to a stop in front of your room, taking in the dark brown wooden door and gold handle. With the exhausting day you had endured, you wasted no time in turning the knob.

Your room, to no one’s surprise, was enormous. 

You stood in what seemed like the living room, with high ceilings that held a huge chandelier and a carpet coating most of the wooden floor. A bookshelf spanning an entire wall stood to one side, filled to the brim with various books, while another wall was entirely made up of glass to showcase a view of the city. In the middle of the room, a sofa atop a plush carpet faced the glass wall while a TV stood between them. You could make out two small hallways on either side of the room, no doubt leading to the kitchen and the bedroom. The size of the living room may not have surprised you, but the grandeur of it definitely did.

Was this really all for you? 

You walked into one of the hallways that led to two doors, curiously peering inside one of them. Unlike the living room, it was a simple bedroom with a generic wooden floor, desk, and bed. The academy probably expected you to magic the room to your liking so that it was more personal. 

You walked out of your bedroom and turned to the other door, curious as to what it could be. There was already a bathroom and closet attached to your bedroom, so maybe it was just another closet? You turned the handle to find out. 

“Oh!” 

You startled at the sight of a man who seemed to have been making his way to the door. His hair was dirty blonde and neatly parted, while his lips were pillowy and plush. His eyes were a sparkling blue, not as bright and icy as Taehyung’s had been, but still intense in their own way. Your gaze dropped from his equally surprised face to his uniform, coming to the realisation that he was a student. 

Who on Earth was this guy…?

You looked over his shoulder to see a bedroom identical to yours, with the same simple desk, bed and floor. Why was there another bedroom in this dorm if you were supposed to live here alone?

“You scared me,” the man chuckled, giving you an apologetic look, “you must be my roommate, Han Y/N? I’m Park Jimin, it’s nice to meet you.”

The word “roommate” had your gaze snapping back to him. 

“Roommate?” You repeated incredulously, “what do you mean roommate? I thought the dorms were individual?”

Jimin shook his head, “no, we share the dorm rooms in pairs. Something about creating profound friendships and whatnot?”

Honestly speaking, you didn’t really mind having a roommate. Living in this enormous dorm by yourself seemed lonely anyway. The problem was, why was he your roommate?

“Okay, but how can we be roommates? You’re a guy and I’m a girl…?”

“What difference does that make?” He asked as his head tilted slightly,“in the world of magic, no gender is stronger than the other. We are equal in the face of power, are we not?”

As correct as he was, being compared to someone like him in any way had you irritated. You were nothing like the man standing before you, who was likely hiding his many evils behind a pretty smile and kind words. You wondered what kind of evil you would have to endure this year from him, because ultimately you really were stuck with him for the rest of the year. 

Yet even so, you weren’t going to let him hurt you. He could try all he wanted once he finally showed his true face, but you’ll be ready to deal with him the same way you’ve always dealt with the others. You’d never let someone like him walk all over you. 

Never.

“Whatever,” you finally said, tired and annoyed by the new turn of events and especially your helplessness within it all, “just stay out of my way, I have no interest in people like you.”

Jimin watched you lock yourself in your room with a surprised expression on his face, unsure of why you’d looked so angry. 

“People like you…?” He muttered. 

What did she mean by that?

-

-

-

You threw yourself onto your bed with a frustrated sigh, annoyed by today’s events-or rather today’s people. You hated that guy that got bullied this morning. You hated Namjoon. You hated Hoseok and Taehyung. You hated Jimin. 

But really…

You just missed your mom. 

You knew you sounded like a child saying it, but it was true. A rotten feeling had been eating at your heart ever since you left your home and arrived at this school. A part of you felt like you had left her behind, and being alone in that house… with him…?

She must have been miserable at this moment, all alone. You felt like a horrible daughter to do that to her, but what other choice did you have? Ultimately, you were helpless in front of-

“Y/N?!” Jimin’s voice suddenly exploded from what seemed like the living room. 

Your eyebrows furrowed at his tone, which sounded demanding and urgent. So he finally decided to reveal his true colours? Yelling for you as if you were some kind of servant that was made to tend to his needs. If he was one of those men that will make you do all the chores in this dorm,

you were going to beat him to death with a frying pan. 

You pushed yourself off your bed angrily, storming out of your room and into the living room. If a piece of your mind was what he wanted, then a piece of your mind he would get.

“Okay listen up, Park Jimin,” you said angrily, “I thought I told you t-”

You came to an abrupt stop at the doorway of the living room, eyes widening at the scene in front of you. 

On the ground was Jimin, with his eyes closed and motionless. But the rest of the room was empty and entirely untouched. Why was he passed out on the floor? 

Did he have a heart attack or something…?

“Oh my god,” you panicked, running towards him. You had no clue how to handle a medical emergency like that. Sure you may not have liked him, but that didn’t mean you wanted him dead. 

You started to shake him, trying to get him to wake up, “Jimin-?”

A hard object suddenly slammed into the back of your head, causing stars to burst in your line of sight as you fell to the floor, finding yourself in the spot next to Jimin. The pain was unbearable, as if your entire skull was imploding in on itself. You had to blink a few times to get your bearings and keep yourself awake. 

The sound of footsteps made you turn around, but you could only take in a pair of gold and black school-issued shoes. Your headache and blurry vision prevented you from looking up any further. 

You opened your mouth to speak, but the person snapped his wand forward, slamming your lips shut immediately. 

“Sorry, but we won’t be having any of that,” they said. 

Damnit.

How were you going to get out of this if you couldn’t speak?

Your head suddenly began to throb even more painfully, probably from the hit it had taken earlier. You could feel black spots begin to invade your vision as you started to blackout. 

The person’s shoes thudded against the floor once again, getting closer and closer to your helpless form. From your blurry vision, you could only make out long blonde hair. 

“Sorry kid,” the person said, but his voice felt far away. You felt your eyes close and your mind shut down, but not before one last sentence. 

“It’s nothing personal.”

<< previous chapter || masterlist || next chapter >>

[plusvanity]

Alright so, I wouldn't have finished this so soon but some of you showed interest in my silly ramblings sooooo... here are some of my headcanons for Larry's 'aloof' personality.

Asperger Syndrome

-Since he was a small child, there were a few behavioral differences between him and the rest of the children.

He never really knew how to properly communicate. That might be very common in children BUT he literally had struggles trying to explain anything. Sentences like: 'I want that' or 'can I have that?' were never on his tongue and lots of time he'd get upset at himself/ people around him for not being able to read his mind and take care of his demands. This kind of behavior crosses a bit into 'anti-social' tenancies. (Hard time to communicate, preferred playing alone, very poor social skills, etc) Shortly, his 'forever-upset' personality resulted in children excluding/ isolating him from their games and plays.

-Larry didn't know why nobody wanted to play with him, why everybody avoided him like plague and gave him dubious looks. Throughout his kindergarten and early-school years he never made friends, never had any significant relationships except with his parents.

Why did nobody see these signs and act accordingly?

We're in the late 90's. There's no such thing as ‘diagnosing kids with mental illness’ unless they've got some kind of schizophrenia that really makes them act out. Parents had little to no information about mental health, let alone autism and how it manifests in children. Rough times but that's how they were.

-Growing up lonely, Larry found his refuge in drawing and writing silly little cartoon stories. Solo hobbies are extremely common in the autistic spectrum, especially when they come in package with die-hard fixations/ obsessions.

-Sensorial sensibility: he can’t stand bright lights in his basement. That’s why he always keeps a small desk lamp on and nothing else to see around him.

-In school, he did poorly. The motto was: it’s either you’re the only one who gets it and nobody else does OR everybody else gets it and you’re the only one who doesn’t. No way in between these two.

-The internal struggle of 'Why am I like this? Why do they hate me? What's wrong with me?' never left his brain. Now, communication was absolutely required no matter if he liked it or not. That's school, you're supposed to answer stuff, use your brains to solve problems and get through the day.

-Firstly, he did what his autistic mind told him to do.. he went fully fucking honest and blunt. With every occasion when he got asked about something, he innocently pointed out everything that bothered him/ seemed wrong or annoying without any fucking filter whatsoever. Needless to say, his true-nature approach didn’t escape punishment. His mother was called, the teachers complained that he’s ‘too mean and arrogant’ , ‘never focused’ , ‘too lazy and selfish’ etc. Everything while Larry looked like a fucking deer in the highlights telling his mom that he didn't do nothing wrong.

-When he finally understood that ‘being honest’ wasn't the key for normal human-communication, that's when his mind began searching for other ways to go by.

-Masking-

Masking was the second option.

-He watched, heard, studied, learned and taught himself the Fine Arts of mimicking normal human response in social situations. Now, that's how he mostly made it work.

-As a chill but tragically misunderstood child, he had finally learned how to make friends. It started with Ash and Maple (alternative music and general outcasts) and later in middle-school, Ash presented him to Todd. (Now, I'd rant about Rob and their 'brother from another mother' dynamic and friendship but that's for another long post if any of you are interested)

-When his father abruptly disappeared from the family frame, it just.... made everything ten thousand times worse for Larry (This is gonna be another post if you're interested)

-All in all, now with a select group of friends he’s still aloof, weird, too loud or too quiet sometimes BUT at least he’s not alone and miserable anymore.

Normally, he's a laid back dude, a stoner (autism and substance abuse is another headache of a post..) a metalhead and maybe just a little delinquent sometimes after 8 pm because of teenage rebellion and all that stuff.

-His ‘masking act’ falls sometimes when he talks about painting, video games, music and basically everything that interests him. Asperger in boys is a lot different than in girls. Girls tend to keep their ‘masking act’ better than boys as boys often don't realize when they slip and start talking miles and miles about their favorite hobbies/ subjects without noticing if the person they're talking to completely loses their interest or gets angry for being talked over and interrupted all the time.

His friends find him a bit annoying at times cause… fuck, who like being talked over? but they’re so used to him that it’s just common and gets easily forgotten.

-When the sudden chronic-insomnia hit him, the fatigue and lethargy didn't go unnoticed by Lisa. Finally, she managed to drag him to a doctor that surprisingly or not, completely missed to diagnose him with autism. The shrink blamed his insomnia on weed (another rant here) and …. ADHD?. Larry took the classic DSM-4 test (oh boy, gotta love the 90′s..) it came back negative on symptoms, confirming everybody that he didn't have ADHD. (Now, I know that the two behavioral illnesses often came in package but with Larry it wasn't the case) After that, nobody did anything.

-Now, he lives freely his teenage years hanging out with Sal, regularly smoking weed, getting deeply offended by the un-true belief that he might have ADHD, still trying to figure out what's actually wrong with him that no shrink or DSM could tell and ultimately enjoying his hobbies and little shenanigans him and his best amigo do.

-The ‘masking act’ has long become an automatic behavior, an unconscious switch for normal social situations so, now he’s most definitely not aware that he’s doing it. 

Sal highly suspects him of being autistic due to the fact that he had far more contacts with doctors and psychiatrists in his entire life that he knows VERY WELL the red flags or autistic behaviors. That and because of their first interaction when Larry was like ‘Sup, you like metal? You GOTTA like metal!’ it screams autism from a fucking mile.

This post is embarrassingly LONG and useless.. and I'll shut the fuck up now for real. BUT If anyone feels like asking questions or going deeper down this rabbit hole, feel free to text me <3 as I love waffling about psychology and pretty much anything lol.

Sorry for my bad English, I did my best in trying to explain all that's written above. These are just some of my little silly headcanons and possibly?? more in-depth explanations for some of the things that go on in my SF fanfic.

Ko-fi l  DeviantArt

[eds6ngel]

hey, love! i absolutely adore your writing and thought you’d be the best person to write this:

maybe reader is neurodivergent and gets overstimulated during class. the teacher just yells at her for not paying attention and the other kids are just making snide comments. eddie sees how overwhelmed she is and does his best to help by sticking up for her (however you like).

love you! <3

hi, my love! of course i can do this! i based this on a lot of personal experiences, so it probably leans more in the direction of autistic!reader (although not clarified because of the time period), but a lot of neurodivergent conditions overlap, so it could apply to you as well!

warnings: fem!reader. neurodivergent!reader. use of y/n. pet names. meltdowns. yelling. use of ableist slur (r slur). ableism. overstimulation. hurt. comfort. tooth-rotting fluff by the end [1.5k].

A digger. It was always a digger. Why was this school always been built upon? Could they not take a break for five minutes?

And it being a hot summer’s day in Hawkins meant that your Math teacher Mrs. O’Donnell just told everyone to ignore the sound, closing the window meaning herself and the other students would become overwhelmed by the suffering heat.

Which you found pretty ironic, considering that feeling is what you experienced from the head-aching drilling of the machine outside.

Luckily, your other teachers were pretty familiar with your condition, allowing you to use fidget toys, headphones and other items that would help keep you at ease. But, Mrs. O’Donnell was a completely different story.

“Miss. L/N! I asked you a question!”

The sound of her screaming voice snapped you out of your head, the volume of her yelling overtaking the loud drilling.

“I-I’m sorry Miss, what did you ask me?”

She huffs, “It doesn’t matter what I asked you, you were not listening to me. I’m giving you one more chance else you will be sent out of my classroom. Understood?”

That’s another thing you hated: non-straightforward answers. What was so hard about her repeating the question? If anything, although you weren’t fully focused, you understood the content pretty well, and could probably answer what question she asked.

And then came the snide comments, the snickering from the students on the table just behind you.

“She definitely uses it as an excuse.”

“Oh, totally. She can hear perfectly fine, she just doesn’t want to do the work.”

“Look at her, she doesn’t even look like she has her supposed condition.”

“Maybe I should start doing it, get a free pass out of work.”

You turn around in your seat to see the boy behind you looking around in all directions, frantically waving his hands and talking in a robotic voice.

And then comes the word, “Dude, you look so retarded right now.”

That word. You hated that word. It cut like a knife through skin. And it really fucking hurt.

“Excuse me, Miss. L/N!” Mrs. O’Donnell screams again, you realising how long your back has been turned staring at the boys, “I told you I’d give you one more warning and you have broken it. Outside, now!”

You sigh, putting down your pencil and walking out of the classroom, every student eyeing you up as you exit. Every stare felt like it was burning into your soul. Although, there’s one boy situated right in the back left corner who gives you a sympathetic smile.

There was so much you wanted to say, there always is. But, your brain wouldn’t allow it. You turned into a mouse the second someone punished you. You want to scream and yell about how rude the boys were behind you, how the digger was giving you a headache and how your whole body felt like it was on fire. From the loud machine, to the scratching of the chalk, to the snickering laughter behind you. It just felt all too much, and now that you were sat on the floor in the corridor, everything was starting to feel a lot less hectic.

However, from inside of the classroom, you can hear continued yelling, before the door opened once more, that boy now outside with both his bag and your own in his hand.

“Jesus. You okay?” he asks, a worried expression on his face.

You nod, sniffling a little from the tears that had pricked at the corner of your eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine. This usually happens a lot, so I just kind of ride through it at this point.”

What you said wasn’t a total lie. You’ve learnt over the years that riding through the pain was healthier than suppressing it. But, it sure did help when you had your headphones with you.

And your knight in shining armour had seemingly come to save the day.

“Hey, um, I’m not sure whether you’re the same as me,” he leans down, opening up his backpack and pulling out his cassette player and orange headphones, “But, I always find music is the key to calming the mind. So… my offer stands.”

Looking up from your curled-up state, you notice the boy holding out his music towards you, a warm smile on his face. And his eyes… God, his eyes were pretty. If anything could improve your eye contact, it would be staring into his chocolate brown orbs.

You hesitantly take the cassette player off of him, instantly sliding the volume down to zero, knowing that he would’ve probably had it blasting beforehand. You slide on the headphones and press down on the ‘play’ button.

“Yeah, sorry about the music choice. As you can see, metal is kinda my thing.”

You softly laugh at his apology, “It’s okay. It’s not all bad. Although, I would say ‘Paranoid’ is the better album over this.”

Eddie almost choked on his own spit at your comment. A pretty girl who likes Black Sabbath? He thinks he just died and went to heaven.

“Um,” he coughs, “Yeah, I mean, I absolutely agree that ‘Heaven and Hell’ isn’t their greatest works, but I would personally argue that ‘Master of Reality’ should be everyone’s top pick. ‘Paranoid’ is the easy option out for any baseline Sabbath fan—“ He stops himself, this poor girl had just experienced the worst humiliation of her life, and here he was practically calling her a fake fan. God, why was he like this?

You smile up at him, noticing his change in demeanour as he looks away and rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment, “Keep talking. It helps me ground myself.”

His eyes light up at your comment, and my God was it one of the cutest things you had ever seen. You were exactly like him in that sense, super strong interests that you had learned to suppress. People had always told you to “calm down” or “shut up” whenever you rambled about Blondie, and it made you give the same response as him, catching yourself before you knew you would annoy somebody.

“Really?” he asks, you nodding as you direct him to continue, “Well, of course, music taste is subjective, and I didn’t mean to call you some fake fan or whatever by your favourite album choice, ‘Paranoid’ is a killer after all, it’s just a beginner’s choice sweetheart, I hate to tell you.”

You laugh and take a huge gasp, clutching your hand to your heart, “Actually, they did a ranking of all of their albums recently in ‘Heavy Metal,’ and you would be shocked to know that ‘Paranoid’ came out on top. So, is everyone a fake fan according to your rulebook?”

Pretty girl, rambling about Black Sabbath to him. Maybe love at first sight was real after all.

He shakes his head, “Sweetheart, I read it too, don’t you worry.”

Sweetheart. Why did that make your heart jump?

“And I have to say, still a basic choice regardless. They didn’t even put ‘Master of Reality’ in the top three, which I personally think is a disgrace to Sabbath’s legacy. They seriously put ‘Dehumanizer’ at number two. I thought we all collectively agreed that Ozzy was always the better vocalist over Dio.”

If there was one thing that would instantly bring you out of your shell, it was mutual interests. You were known as the “quiet mouse” in the walls of Hawkins High, but with him? You may have been the most talkative you’ve been outside of your friend group in years.

“Yeah, ‘Dehumanizer’ was a shocker at the number two spot for me too, I can’t lie to you. But, as a Sabbath fan, I would argue that the top spot was well deserved.”

“Well, I guess we’d have to agree to disagree there, sweetheart.”

The pair of you laugh softly as you come to the realisation that all the tension had evaporated from your body. You pause the tape halfway through ‘Die Young,’ handing it back over to the curly-haired boy, “I think I’m okay now, you can have this back.”

This was one of the fastest times you’ve ever calmed yourself from a meltdown. You were no longer curled up in the messy ball you once were, with your legs now sprawled out across the floor instead. And your head wasn’t pounding either, it felt clear as day.

“Hey, um, do you wanna skip? We can finish the rest of this album then.”

You look up at him, eye contact becoming the easiest it had ever felt. No questioning how much was too much or too little, it just came naturally to you.

God, he was having such an effect on you already.

“Sure, why not? I’d take any place away from the sound of that annoying digger.”

He softly laughs as you get up off the dirty floor, “Yeah, it wasn’t the most peaceful sound in the world.”

“The halls were heaven, that place was hell.”

Pretty girl makes references too. Was it normal to fall head over heels that quickly?

“Yeah, pretty great timing to play that album,” he chuckles. He turns to you, looking you deep in the eyes, “I’m Eddie, by the way.”

Beautiful name for a beautiful boy.

“Y/N.”

Pretty name for a pretty girl.

this was kinda self-indulgent i can’t lie to you :’) but i hope you enjoyed it regardless and could relate in a sense! <3

[thatesqcrush]

In Another Time: Finals Fun

AN: To the tune of Everybody (Backstreet’s Back) OMG I’m back again! I missed Prof. Kneef. Enjoy! 

Bryan Kneef x f! reader. CW: NSFW language, finger fucking. WC: 2377.  

The end of semester was a few days away. 

You and your friends decided to have a last hurrah at the local pub. And apparently the entire school also had the same idea. The pub was running a special, $5 pitchers, $2.50 “beer of the day,” and half off apps. To say it was packed was an understatement. Fortunately you and your friends arrived early enough to snag the last booth. You held the booth while your friends, Elody, Diego and Teresa ordered food and pitchers.

You scrolled through your phone, waiting for your friends. You debated texting Bryan but you knew with finals, he had been busier than ever. Your friends made their way through the crowd, walking carefully with overflowing pitchers in hand along with some appetizers. You reached up to help take things off their full hands. 

Music was pumping, the baseball game was on. It felt nice to relax and unwind after all the hard work you had been putting in - the endless hours, the grueling exams, the way law school prepared you for the Bar, not actual law practice. You plucked a loaded nacho chip from the red plastic basket in front of you before refilling your glass. The four of you chit-chatted as you people watched. 

Teresa let out a low whistle. “Professor Hottie is here.”

“Huh?” You questioned, turning your head. When you saw who it was, you nearly choked on your beer. “Oh, Professor Kneef.” 

Bryan was at the bar, his attention on the bartender. You felt yourself grow warm as you drank him in. He was dressed casually, dark jeans and a button down, the sleeves rolled up, top button undone. 

“That’s all you have to say?” Teresa teased. “Oh?”

“What do you want me to say?” You questioned as you plucked another chip. “He’s here. And?”

“You worked with him right? At his firm?” Diego  asked. “I heard he was a real ball buster. In and out of the office.”

You nodded and took another sip of your beer, hoping against hope that the subject would soon change. 

 “What was he like?” Teresa questioned wistfully. “I wouldn’t be able to get anything done at all. I’d be on my knees, serving him in more ways than one.”

“Right? I would let him teach me a thing or two after hours,” Elody laughed in agreement.

You bristled at the idea. “I guess I can kind of see the attraction. Asshole fired me—“

“Kind of? He is gorgeous! We should invite him to sit with us.” 

“What?” You nearly screeched. All eyes at the table turned to you and you felt yourself flush again, but this time out of embarrassment. “It’s weird,” you clarified. “He’s a teacher, we’re students…”

Being in a secret relationship was tough.

None of your friends knew of the explicit relationship you were engaged in with Bryan - or as they knew him, Professor Kneef.

“And he’s an adult. We are adults. I wanted to order mozzarella sticks anyway,” Elody replied, ignoring your comment. “I’ll ask- worse, he says no.”

You watched as Elody made her way through the crowd and to the bar. She tapped Bryan on the shoulder and you saw her ask him. She pointed back to the table and when Bryan’s eyes met yours, you turned your face, focusing on your drink once more.

You knew you couldn’t come clean and admit to people that you and him were in a relationship. At least not yet. No, that was not the part that you struggled with.

You wanted no more than to stay in bed all day with Bryan - just fucking and cuddling, rest and repeat. School got in the way of that.

In class, you’d catch Bryan staring at you from his desk during exams. You would purposefully try nibbling the end of the pen, in an attempt to act seductive. If it worked, he didn’t let on. If you ran into Bryan on campus with classmates, he would deliberately brush against you, causing you to jump in response. Other times in class or during office hours, you would purposefully wear something a bit more revealing and bend forward ever so slightly, squeezing your cleavage together as you sat down, giving Bryan an even better view. And when he rolled up his sleeves in class or came in just slightly more causal than usual, you knew he had done for it you.

Moments later, you heard Elody’s cheerful voice through the loud music. “Look who wants to join us!”

You looked up at Bryan and he gave a friendly smile to all. When he turned to you, his demeanor was downright smug. “Hope you don’t mind.” He was eating the whole situation up.

“Not at all, Professor Kneef,” someone replied. You turned back to stare at your beer, wanting nothing more than the ground to open and swallow you whole. 

Bryan slid into the booth, sitting next to you. There you were - smack in the middle between Bryan and the wall. You couldn’t go anywhere. The scent of his cologne did things to you and you squirmed in your seat. Bryan squeezed your knee.

“What’s your poison, professor?” Diego questioned. 

“Scotch, neat,” Bryan replied. He raised his glass. “To the end of the semester.”

Everyone cheered and clinked their glasses.

Your breath hitched as you felt Bryan’s hand brush against your thigh. As if that wasn’t enough, you decided to take a sip of your beer at the exact moment his hand made its way to your crotch, cupping through the denim of your pants. 

You coughed, spewing some beer. You apologized to the table as you grabbed a handful of napkins.  As you cleaned up, you glanced in his direction. If Bryan noticed, he didn’t let on. Rather he was engaged in a conversation with Diego. You found yourself inwardly panicking but also incredibly turned on by Bryan’s secret touches. 

“I need to use the restroom,” you announced loudly to no one in particular. “Excuse me. 

“Actually, I have to get going myself,” Bryan replied. “I am meeting a colleague here and she should be here soon.”

Your head whipped at him at the comment. “Oh?”

“You remember Nancy Crozier.” 

You squinted your eyes and racked your brain. Nancy was blonde, blue eyed, too thin, too pretty and very charming. 

“Yeah, I do,” you replied quickly, grabbing your purse. “Excuse me, I do really need to go.”

Apparently Bryan wasn’t as busy as he told you. At least, not for Nancy.

You turned into the crowd, pushing your way through. You were upset that you were upset - jealous, really. Nancy was a formidable attorney who went toe to toe with STR frequently. She used her looks and feigned naivety to gain sympathy from the judge and have them rule in her favor. 

And deep down, if you had to admit it, you always compared yourself to the bevy of women Bryan had on rotation back when you both worked together. And it wasn’t as if your friends were the only ones who noticed Bryan’s handsomeness. You heard the whispers from others on campus as well. And there was always a line for office hours. Many times you felt as if you were living out that scene from Raiders of the Lost Ark where all the female students fawned over Dr. Jones. 

You could feel Bryan’s eyes boring on you as you walked away. Your throat tightened and tears threatened to spill. Instead of turning left towards the bathroom, you kept true until you hit the back entrance which led out to the bar’s courtyard. You took a deep breath as you stepped out into the cool fresh air. To your surprise, no one was outside. You leaned against the exposed brick and closed your eyes. You chewed your lip and tried to think of reasons as to why you had to go home. You figured you could just text the group when you realized that there was no back exit. The fence was a bit too high but you debated hopping over it anyway. 

You let out an irritated sigh as you turned around, and walked right into a solid chest. 

You began to apologize when you realized it was Bryan.

“This doesn’t look like the bathroom.”

“I— um, what are you doing here?” You scanned behind him, hoping no one was watching.

Bryan grabbed your wrist and dragged you into one of the covered cabanas. There was a small sign hanging on the cabana and Bryan flipped it around to indicate it was ‘reserved.’

“Wha—“ you began, but Bryan interrupted you by pulling you tightly against him and capturing your mouth with his. You instantly sagged in his arms, as his lips pressed against yours, his tongue rolling against yours. You wrapped your arms around him and pulled him even closer, if that was at all possible. His mouth moved to your neck, nipping and sucking. You couldn’t hold back the moan that bubbled from within.

“So glad this semester is over. I’ve missed you so much,” Bryan growled as his hands roamed over each and every curve and plane of your body. He pressed into you and his length was hard against your stomach. “Can’t you tell?”

“Here?” You ask, the word broken up by the hitch in your breathing as his hands keep moving. Thoughts of Nancy and the other women faded away. 

“Of course here,” Bryan growled. “Are you worried someone might see?”

You moaned, a surprising sound that caught you off guard. Weren’t you worried about someone seeing you only a moment ago? Bryan’s hands are on the waistband of your jeans and your pussy throbbed in response.  Weren't you just thinking it wouldn’t matter at all if anyone saw?

“I—“

There was a fleeting thought that perhaps you’d want them to see. Show everyone and then some who Bryan Kneef really wanted. 

“I don’t care,” Bryan growled. That comment alone made your heart flutter. His hands made way to the front of your jeans and he nimbly undid the button and fly before shoving his large hand down your panties. 

Bryan let out a dark chuckle. “So wet for me. Is this turning you on?”

It was torture, plain as day, having Bryan’s skilled fingers down your jeans and in between your thighs. You let out a whimper as he turned his wrist so that the heel of his hand was pressed against your clit.

Bryan sensed you holding back, desperate not to make a sound. He slid two fingers deep inside of you. You keened wordlessly into his shoulder, biting down on his shoulder to suppress a moan. You can hear the mingling sounds of other patrons who had made their way outside. They were chatting away, blissfully unaware that you were getting finger-fucked. 

And anyone could walk in at that moment.

Bryan pushed the heel of his palm flush against your clit and ground it hard. 

“You really are beautiful,” Bryan murmured in your ear. “Making you come is my favorite thing to do.”

You jolted your head, staring at him with wide eyes. Your chest was heaving, your lips swollen from kissing. A small sweat had broken along your skin. 

Bryan ducked his head once more. But he didn’t kiss you, instead just breathing against your mouth, lips barely brushing. Every nerve in your body was electric. You felt warmth bloom throughout your body as the pressure caused you to explode, coming against his hand, your arousal dripping down his hand. Bryan swallowed your sounds with another kiss as he massaged the last ebbs of your climax with the tips of his fingers against your clit and you can’t help but come again. “Just like that,” he cooed. “Such a good, good girl.” 

You remained all starry eyed and in a daze as he removed his hand. With his other hand he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze as he took his fingers and placed them in his mouth, sucking them quickly. His eyes were twinkling as he pulled them out with a satisfying pop.

“Delicious.”

You watched silently as he fixed your jeans, re-buttoning and zipping the fly. His fingers, still wet with his saliva, traced the dark mark he had left on your neck. 

“Beautiful,” Bryan murmured. He pulled you into an embrace once more, his lips pressing gently against yours. The hairs of his beard tickled you ever so slightly. Your brain was empty, completely blissed out. 

There was a buzzing sound and Bryan looked at his phone “Oh, Nancy is here. I have to go back in. Tell your friends I covered their tab. I’ll text you later sweetheart.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but Bryan had already made his way out. After a moment, you collected yourself again and made your way back into the bar.

As you sat back down, your friends looked at your curiously.

“You okay? You look flush and you were gone for awhile,” Elody questioned, her brows furrowed. Her face was etched with concern.

You shook your head and waved your hand. “There was a line, like usual. But on my way back, I ran into Professor Kneef and he said he paid our tab.”

“Is that a hickey on your neck?”

“What?” you asked alarmed, slapping your hand over your neck.

“Yeah, did you have that before?” 

“Uh, you’re seeing things,” you sputtered. “You’ve had too much to drink.”

There was a cacophony of glass shattering sounds - followed by raucous cheering and applause. You took advantage of the opportunity to slide out of your seat. 

“Catch you later,” you shouted to no one in particular. 

You made your way through the crowd, and as soon as you got closer to the door, you spotted Bryan and Nancy. Your eyes met his and you felt your cheeks burn as he winked at you. 

Outside, you took out your phone, and ordered a cab. As you waited,  you texted Bryan. “I don’t want to go home all by myself. I’ll be all by my lonesome.”

The car hadn’t even left the parking lot when you got a message from Bryan.

“On my way - leave your door unlocked.”

FIN. 

AN2: I tried tagging folks but tumblr is being dumb.

Tags: @madpanda75 @beccabarba @melk917 @averyhotchner @qvid-pro-qvo @sass-and-suspenders @detective-giggles @detectivebarba @ottosuricato @plaidbooks @witches-unruly-heart @wanniiieeee @tintinxtintin @mrsrafaelbarba @mrsraulesparza @i-justreally-like-cats-okay @glimmerglittergirl @lovebishoplosamiguelgalindos @storiesofsvu @madamsnape921 @zoeykaytesmom @greeneyedblondie44 @alwaysachorusgirl @amelia-song-pond @annabelleb49 @gibbs274 @glimmerglittergirl @imjustreallynosy

[mustainegf]

— Masterpost

— Chapter 7

Sitting in class, I found myself absentmindedly doodling on a stray sheet of paper, my mind wandering back to the events of the past days. It's been a week since she cried on the beach.

Mom was letting me go out, but not without a tense look after I begged.

I had been spending time with Felicity almost daily, except for the days she had dialysis.

I noticed a pattern. After her dialysis, she would be radiant, her eyes sparkling with life, her laughter infectious, and her energy boundless.

But as the days passed, I could see her gradually losing that spark. She seemed more tired, her smiles less frequent, and her enthusiasm waning. It broke my heart.

But then, she got dialysis again and the process would repeat all over again.

Lost in my thoughts, I continued to sketch. I hoped and prayed that Felicity would get better.

As much as I hated using the word “pray,” especially considering my moms close knit relationship with it, I would do anything for her to heal. Even if that meant praying.

As the teacher droned on, my attention drifted further away from the front of the classroom. The end of class was nearing, and I figured it didn’t really matter if I missed a few details here and there. That was until a particular word caught my ear.

"dance."

My gaze snapped to the front, focusing intently on the teacher as she announced an upcoming school dance to celebrate the end of the school year in just two weeks. A flurry of emotions smacked me in the face, and for a moment, my mind raced.

The thought of the dance brought Felicity to mind almost instantly. I remembered her mentioning her brother going to prom, and how she wished she could experience something similar.

As the teacher continued to discuss the details of the dance, I found myself lost in thought once again.

Should I ask Felicity to the dance?

Would she even be able to go?

What if she couldn’t because of her dialysis?

What if she didn’t even want to go?

Despite the questions in my mind, I wanted to make her feel special, to give her a night she would remember.

The bell signaling the end of class finally rang, snapping me out of my reverie.

As I gathered my things and headed out of the classroom, my thoughts remained on Felicity and this dance.

As I walked through the bustling hallways, I realized I had never actually asked a girl to a dance before. In the past, I had either gone to hang out with friends or found an excuse to skip it altogether. The idea of formally asking someone to be my date was foreign to me.

The thought of asking Felicity made my heart race a little faster. It was hard not to develop feelings for someone like her.

Did I have a crush on her?

The question caught me off guard, and I found myself stressed. Each memory brought a smile to my face, and I couldn’t deny the warmth that spread through me whenever I thought of her.

The idea of having a crush on Felicity felt both exciting and terrifying.

I guess friends don’t daydream about kissing each other.

Something I’d been doing a lot recently.

What if she thought I was only interested in her as a friend? Or worse, what if she didn’t feel the same way?

The idea of the dance consumed my thoughts as I sat in my next class, the teacher's voice fading into the background as I daydreamed about what that evening could look like.

I had never been to a dance with a girl before, and the uncertainty of it all left me nervous.

What did couples even do at dances?

The image of slow dancing with Felicity came to mind, her in the most beautiful dress, her eyes shining with happiness.

The mere thought made my palms feel hot, a flush creeping up my cheeks.

The idea of holding her in my arms, feeling the warmth of her body against mine. I imagined the way her hair would fall around her face, the softness of her lips, and the sparkle in her eyes as she looked up at me.

I was getting ahead of myself.

The rest of my day at school was a blur, my mind consumed by thoughts of this dance and the possibility of going with Felicity. The halls echoed with chatter and laughter, but I barely registered any of it, lost in my own world of daydreams and what-ifs.

With each passing hour, my excitement grew, imagining the joy and happiness Felicity would feel at being a part of something as special as a school dance.

I could picture her face lighting up with delight, her eyes glimmering. The thought of being able to share such a memorable experience with her filled me with warmth and a sense of purpose.

As the final bell rang and students poured out of the school, I found myself walking home in a daze, consumed in my thoughts.

The way she would look in a dress, I couldn’t even come up with a word to describe how beautiful she would look.

It's been 3 days, and still no sign of Felicity. The days without her felt longer, like they were stretching into endless hours of waiting and wondering. Each time I walked down to the lake, my eyes scanned the familiar spots where we usually met, but she wasn't there.

The silence of the empty shore only taunts me, making a mockery of my solitude.

I tried to convince myself that she was simply resting, recovering from her treatment. But the nagging worry in the back of my mind refused to be silenced. What if something had gone wrong? What if she was in pain or facing complications? The thought twisted my stomach into knots, I worried about her like this a lot.

Every day, I found myself missing her more than I had ever thought possible. She had become such an integral part of my life, and her absence left a void that nothing else could fill.

Was she thinking about me too? Did she miss our time by the lake as much as I did?

I had been looking forward to asking Felicity to be my date, imagining how her face would light up with surprise and joy.

Now, with her nowhere to be found, my plans felt like distant dreams, fading with each passing day.

I found myself wishing for a sign, a message, anything that would reassure me that she was okay.

As the days dragged on, I tried to stay positive, reminding myself of how much of a fighter she was. She had faced so much already, and I had to believe that she would overcome whatever challenges she was currently facing.

I was lost in my thoughts, staring blankly out the window, when my mother's voice suddenly broke through the fog of my emotions.

"How is your friend doing?" she asked slowly.

Her question caught me off guard, pulling me back to reality with a jolt. I blinked, trying to refocus, as I turned to face her.

"She's... she's okay," I replied hesitantly, my voice barely above a whisper.

It was a simple question, but it felt odd coming from Mom.

"I hope she's doing well, and I expect that you’ve been praying for her," my mother added softly.

There it was.

"Thanks, Mom," I replied, offering her a weak smile, trying to ignore her mention of prayer.

I found myself checking the clock more often than usual as the day wore on, each tick reminding me of the possibility that Felicity might be at the lake later.

I knew her dialysis schedule by heart now, and yesterday was one of her treatment days.

The thought gave me a glimmer of hope that she might be feeling well enough to come out today.

[dirtbra1n]

hihihi tashiro anon here guess who got access to the second years novel :)

do you ever think about how tashiros a natural charmer? to the point kuresawa talks about being hesitant about intruding him to his girlfriend even though he has full trust on him? how him being on a all boys school almost seems like a missed opportunity?

now add this to the way how tashiro struggles with emotions, i think he would be quite obvious when hes involved in anything romance related. only when its his own tho, that boy is way too observant of his surroundings and his friends despite looking like he doesnt think most of the time (which is another interesting point, tashiros own pov reveals another side of his character to you, i think)

i dont know honestly,, i was just thinking about how theres multiple instances of tashiro asking romance related questions to his friends to understand it better, only to get more confused at the explanation. if hanzawa to tashiro ever become real, it probably would have quite a different tone than the other two thanks to our main characters

hihihi tashiro anon CONGRATULATIONS ON THE SECOND YEARS NOVEL sorry I’m late I wanted to finish writing tashiro post before replying to you. as a sort of Gift. but it’s getting long so Here we are

I THINK ABOUT IT. SO MUCH. this is a personal realization I’m having right now that tashiro in his own right has so much magnetism…. so charming so easy to like…… SUCH A GOOD GUY, ALSO…!!!! I actually get really emotional thinking about kuresawa’s narration. just every instance of it. because he really does like and care about his friends and he talks about them in such. AN ENDEARING DEVASTATING WAY……….. but the way he talks about tashiro specifically is such a big beautiful Window (kuresawa’s eyes) to tashiro (and his minute details)

so when you think about That, and think about the night trip they were all on, and tashiro’s first love being Sorry I went back to start rereading this bit and I’m feeling kinda weepy suddenly. kuresawa using a soft tone of voice with miyano and making a concerted effort not to say anything too mean out loud. tashiro shirahama back-and-forth. shirahama fussy about his appearance and working hard at playing stylist. I understood—Tashiro was such a straight shooter with his kind words that you could get a little bashful. also while I’m here Suddenly laser focused in on I wonder if [Shirahama] had a crushing story of first love, too, even if he wouldn’t fess up to it. ha ha. anyway

TASHIRO’S FIRST LOVE no hold on I’m getting distracted again tashiro’s ears perking up when he hears ‘ping-pong’ Auh. whys this guy so cute. and unknowingly passionate Agony! BUT TASHIRO’S FIRST LOVE, THOUGH, GOD. “probably a teacher in elementary school or something” <- non-answer that he came to after thinking about it for-ever. My type is whoever I have a thing for at that particular moment.

I’m just really trying to get at tashiro’s facets lately. he’s so much. a hundred different angles to look at him from.

thinking about hanzawa to tashiro from the outside is so so so much fun. malleable enough to be fruitful in anyone’s hands. as efficient at trapping people as like. a bog pit or something. forces people to really think about and poke and prod at two guys who’ve got a lot more going on than a lot of people give them credit for. tashiro would have been so popular romantically if he was at a coed school but he didn’t go to one. is always asking questions. who could possibly be a better companion in weird love for hanzawa masato than tashiro gonzaburou, who’s also just. so weird about love.

I’d still kill to see harusono’s hanzawa to tashiro. the potential it has for being weird and strangely visceral. Please. please……

[brynnterpretations]

Hi!! I’d love to request a ship for The Boys if you’re not sick of those!

my name is willa. i think it’s a little less common in the usa and people have trouble spelling it sometimes, so if someone gets it right the first try i will immediately love them lol.

im a bisexual girl with a preference for guys. i have curly blonde hair with blue streaks, blue eyes, pale skin + freckles, and i’m about 5’4. i’ve always wished i was taller but i would kinda love having a partner taller than me lol. i have two ear piercings and a nose stud, and i’m hoping to get more piercings soon like lip piercings or a septum ring. i’m also thinking of getting some tattoos, though nothing huge. i have an apple body type and am a little insecure so i would never date someone who would make me feel bad about myself.

^^also for someone i would not date! i don’t like people who yell a lot or people with severe anger issues. i totally do get having trouble with emotions but i don’t want to be around/be with someone who would take that out on me.

i love clingy people or people who love to talk, i’m a good listener. once you get to know me im very energetic and i love people who match my energy! i try to keep a positive outlook on everything. i have a lot of “nerdy” interests and i will not judge other people’s, so even if i have no idea what someone is talking about i will absolutely listen. my main love language is probably physical touch.

the career i’m currently pursuing is an elementary school teacher. and if that doesn’t work, i’d like to be a social media manager. two pretty different jobs lol.

my long term goals are to travel more, live by the ocean, and own some horses.

i love fashion!! i’m in the process of building a better wardrobe and i love dresses, skirts, bows, anything sanrio, and i wear a lot of pink or black lol.

my main hobbies are reading, swimming, baking, singing, walking. i love anyone with similar interests as me.

i also love people who will go out with me! i like fairs, theme parks, seasonal events especially, but beaches and shopping are also a yes. im very adhd so i’m not that big on museums but i would go if it’s important to my partner/friend. my favorite holiday is halloween.

i hope this was okay and not too much or too little!!! have a lovely day or night < 3

Thank you so much for the request! You have a beautiful name and seem like such a sweetheart.

I ship you with...

Hughie Campbell ♡

Boyfriend

GIF Source: @nellcrain ★ (link)

You and Hughie meet at a Halloween festival in the fall. Your placement is having you help organize events for the youngins, while Hughie is just a festive guy. Who can blame him? He loves himself some pumpkin pie.

However, doing so in NYC is pretty hard, especially because one of the kids you've been trying to keep in the petting zoo while his parents check out the candles decides to hop the small fence and, after disappearing from your line of sight, plop straight into Hughie.

Hughie likes kids, but he is not good with them — he tends to freeze up and worry about the "right thing to say", the "right way to play", etc. — so he would be slightly frightened, mostly frazzled, and would just be focused on getting the kid back to where she came from.

And, after some well-meaning interrogation, he would return her to your station, where he would meet you.

Just at first glance, he finds you extremely cute, especially with how you're not judgmental about how very visibly flustered he was, and exchanges in very sweet (but awkward) small talk with you before going off under the excuse of "getting cider".

He finds you very, very cute in both personality and appearance, so after pacing around the festival three times, he works up the courage to ask you out once bystanders (and children) are away with a signature Hughie ramble: "hey, so, I don't mean to make you feel weird at work or anything—so it's fine if not—but would I be able to get your number?"

And, once you say yes, expect a lot of sweetness. He would make up for not being able to get too much conversation in at the fair by texting you (as well as sending you cute good morning, and good night texts) and would take you to Long Beach for a bite to eat and sightseeing.

Expect the full gentleman package; Hughie picks you up, takes you home, and pays for everything.

As he continues taking you on dates (most notably Miniso on 42nd Street, a book café, and a scary movie marathon, which did end in you having to cuddle him because he got too freaked out), you two start really, really falling for each other.

Hughie definitely stresses and labors over the "right time" to officialize your relationship (and, as evident in the kid stuff, the "right way" to do anything) so he would wait 2 – 3 months before making it official (using the consensus from Reddit). When he would, he'd say he was dropping things off at your apartment, and show up with something you forgot, a bouquet, and a high-end arrangement of your favorite candy.

While the dude's a massive rambler, he would be well-worded and to-the-point when he confesses his feelings to you and says he wants to be your boyfriend, because he takes you extremely seriously and does not want to mess things up.

Once you make things official, y'all become the #1 cutest couple.

Also, since you're into people taller than you, Hughie's your guy. Dude is 6 feet and four inches of anxiety and rambles, and you only go up to his upper arm.

And, since you like rambles: bro will ramble to you about literally anything, whether it's computer software equipment or the anti-war movements during the Vietnam War period.

It's returned, though. Whenever you want to talk about your interests, Hughie listens enthusiastically and always makes notes in your head of date or gift ideas based on them.

For this reason, you two have a PowerPoint night every weekend.

He's not a huge PDA person since he gets flustered easily, but he will always hold your hand in the street, kiss you, and put his arm around you while sitting down.

In private, though? Hughie clings to you like a monkey. He loves to big-spoon you and always stays in bed with you as long as he possibly can. Also, a plus when it's cold in either of your apartments/homes: he is an absolute furnace.

Also really likes your body (I looked up real images of apple body types and think they're super cute as well, but this ain't about me) and always compliments, even if/before you tell him you're insecure about it.

Plus, he loves, loves, loves your fashion style, and particularly loves getting photos of your outfit of the day (he'd ask for them politely, of course).

If you have a Pinterest or anywhere else you log fashion inspiration, he would stalk it and get gifts for you based on it.

So... bad news: Hughie is terrified of horses, because they're big, they're powerful, and they get this look in their eyes when he goes near them.

But, good news: our dude will never be a dream-crusher and would love to pal around on a ranch with you, so he starts getting over his fear of them for you, taking you to ranches where you two can volunteer and interact with horses.

He would avoid telling you his work because of his want to protect you. You are, no joke, the purest person he's ever met, and while he knows you're a strong individual, he doesn't want you to have more things added to your plate.

However, when he realizes that not telling you is only putting you in more danger and is damaging to your relationship, he'd tell you and introduce you to them.

And that brings us to...

The Boys

Acquaintances

GIF Source: @screwsupes ★ (link)

You don't get much interaction with the boys because of Hughie wanting to keep you out of harm's way, but you do make your bonds with them, and they you.

M.M. is 100% your closest acquaintance in the group. He loves to read, and he loves kids, so you two bond very quickly, even though he's one of the more quiet members of the coup.

After Hughie and the rest had to run to another location, you had to awkwardly sit with M.M., which turned into a long, pleasant conversation, and it turned out you two had some of the same favorite books.

Do you have Goodreads? M.M. has Goodreads. Friend him on Goodreads.

I also imagine he has a lot of clout on there, so if you make one or don't have many followers, he would 100% boost it and get you 1K more.

If Hughie gives a heads-up you're coming by, he always perks up and will order in something for you depending on the time, like coffee or Insomnia Cookies.

Butcher thinks you're a sweetheart, but definitely was put off by your fashion taste at first — when he first met you and wasn't expecting any visitors, bro point-blank said "what's this lollipop-lookin' cunt doing in here?", which... yeah.

He doesn't think it's bad, he's just used to Hawaiian shirts and shirtdresses.

He wouldn't talk to you very much, just because he's not really focused on making friends as of late, but Butcher would always welcome you when you come in, and, if he happens to see you afterward, give you the bro-nod. It looks as funny as it sounds.

Annie adores you. She and Hughie amicably split before you came in, but she's not a jealous person, and, too, wants Hughie to be happy: something he always iswhen he's with you.

She would be wary of hanging out with you in case that made things "weird", instead complimenting tattoos of yours she likes and making sure you're always comfortable when you visit the coup.

Kimiko loves your fashion style. She tends to wear dark, plain clothes not for aesthetic reasons, but for a need to "hide", and she loves how yours is colorful and out-there in a good way.

Also wants to dress like you, even if she only does it in the comfort of her room, so she'd ask for advice on different clothes, trinkets, and ask how you have the confidence to do it (which sounds bad, but trust me, for her, it's not — she's tried living her life invisible, and admires people who don't do the same).

She'd teach you some basic sign language, too! She really likes talking to you, and wants to more.

Lastly, Frenchie: he thinks you're so cool. Bro thinks you are so freaking cool. He digs the tattoos, fashion style, everything, and takes book recommendations from you once he figures out you read, since he tends to stick to very specific genres (poetry à la Neruda for the most part).

And, once he figures out you bake, he shares recipes for you.

Also, uh... made you some weed brownies once, so do what you want with that.

All in all, for someone who's only acquaintances with the boys, they all think you're great. You've got some very, very good people by your side, Willa.

[obscureobsidiandraws]

IDEAS FOR A HYPOTHETICAL BOY MEETS WORLD REBOOT (Part II of Lord Knows How Many)

(I already made a part I, go check that one out)

- We’d get to know more of Feeny’s backstory, including several episodes where Cory dreams he can travel back in time and meets Feeny when he is the same age as him, with the first one being a Christmas special. One of the things we’d learn is that Mr. Turner and him are actually quite similar, both coming from wealthy families and choosing to work as educators in the public education system, with both of them even going to the same prestigious all-boys private school when they were teens (not at the same time ofc), and Feeny even similarly optimistic when he started in JAH just like Turner, but after decades of experience he has became more jaded.

- And talking about Mr. Turner. For everyone who ever wanted Mr. Turner adopted Shawn back in the original Boy Meets World so they could be father and son legally, don’t worry. But not only would Jonathan adopt Shawn. Mr. Turner would also have as a will they won’t they love interest the new school counselor, who started to work in John Adams High the same year as him, and who would marry Turner AND adopt Shawn alongside him. She’d actually be the one who proposes to do both, and she’d admit later that, had Jonathan said no about adopting Shawn but yes to the marriage, she wouldn’t have married Turner.

- Mr. Turner would also encourage Shawn to start training in martial arts, because he thinks it’s a good way for Shawn to learn to have better self-discipline. Although Feeny definitely agrees with the goal, he disagrees with the method to achieve it.

- And now that we’re talking about the teachers, we would get to know much more of the faculty of John Adams High besides Feeny and Turner (and Eli Williams, don’t worry I haven’t forgotten him). Although they might be some incompetent ones, most of them would be good hard-working teachers who are, like Feeny, jaded and overwhelmed by the many issues of their jobs. 

- Not so much the character that John Adams High would have for a principal in the first seasons, who would be portrayed as an absolute buffoon unable to do his job but able to get on Feeny’s nerves even more than the students, making him constantly question why a man with such little to no idea about education got the job, and to get the school in trouble on multiple occasions because of his incompetence. Eventually he’d get fired and Feeny would become the new principal to the faculty’s relief, but not so much to the majority of the student body.

- And speaking of focusing more on the adult secondary cast, we’d have some episodes and subplots dedicated to Amy’s workplace, which would be a law firm where she’s a paralegal. The first one would be one where Cory gets to magically see a single day in her mother’s life when Eric and him are not around. There would be two cliques, one where Cory’s mother is, which would consist of other paralegals like her or the lawyers that tend to work in the less flashy cases, while the other would consist of the other lawyers, who tend to work in the most mediatic cases and would look down upon the paralegals.

- There would be an episode where Shawn meets Virna again after Chet has died, in which Shawn confronts her about choosing to send him a letter to tell him she wasn’t his mother, instead of telling him personally, and another one afterwards where Shawn finally finds out what happened to his biological mother.

Keep tuned in for more posts where I write down my ideas in regards to my hypothetical reboot, specially for new characters I’d introduced and the music I’d used for the show.

[ofdetonation]

wishlist of things i’d love to do someday:

katsuki and endeavor just. talking. about endeavor’s younger years, about his training during the agency arc, etc. he doesn’t exactly like endeavor but he respects him and any advice he gives as a mentor.

katsuki and ALL MIGHT. they talk about izuku in canon and all might often watches them spar between one another, but i just want more interactions focusing on the two of them specifically. build on that lowkey regret that katsuki never took the chance to ask all might for his signature on his card.

ok honestly any interactions with the teachers / pro heroes.

any of class 1a finding out about katsuki’s recurrent nightmares that only get worse post-war, but they find out indirectly because katsuki refuses to talk about them + show weakness. by extension, i think anyone from 1b learning about this would be plausible too!

to extend on the previous point, katsuki learning how his classmates are dealing with the knowledge he died and came back. hard to forget when he has a scar to show for it + some of them saw it, and it’s likely the business course caught the moment on camera while documenting. i wonder just how many people find out about how he died… and how many more found out how he came back.

actually i have to mention this one too: katsuki and aizawa. my main thought is aizawa helping katsuki through his survivor’s guilt (working on the assumption that aizawa has a similar experience with shirakumo, and katsuki is dealing with all might’s retirement + edgeshot later on)… but anything with aizawa being a decent role model will make me happy.

bakusquad shenanigans. i don’t care what they are because katsuki probably got dragged into them anyway, but i think it’d be fun.

big three interactions inside and outside of ua. i feel like post-war, katsuki has unending respect for the big three considering they were all there at the floating ua and did everything to help. i just wanna see them talk more.

generalisation, could apply to anything: katsuki getting ANGRY. he’s in a perpetual state of annoyance for the most part (when i write him at least), and sometimes it escalates to different degrees of frustration depending on the interaction, but i would like to write when he gets genuinely pissed off more… he tends to dig his heels and bare his teeth, and refuses to budge even when he knows the other person might actually be right.

give him more reasons to smile and laugh. i love his stupid dorky laugh from the mr smiley ova, come on.

i’m usually nervous about tackling anything pre-ua, but i also wanna write more young bkg shenanigans. as in, baby. (not too sure about middle school yet.) i also know he hasn’t met anyone from ua besides izuku when they were super young, but shh. i don’t care. gimme.

ON THAT THOUGHT: any of katsuki’s friends (they’re his friends whether he likes it or not lbr) meeting mitsuki and masaru for the first time. they kind of float around as guest appearances on here sometimes, and i have a very specific dynamic in mind when it comes to the bakugou household, n while i don’t think katsuki often brings people home… when he does, i’m inclined to believe mitsuki and masaru really like his friends. (bring them around more often, katsuki!)

pro hero moments with team-ups. angsty, goofy, i don’t care, gimme. have fun (and good luck) with great explosion murder god dynamight.

i’m also terrible and know very little about a lot of anime (the only ones i could accurately delve into are fairy tail and of course bnha, why tf would i be here otherwise), and i haven’t even seen pretty much any of the big names bc i’m a sham, but !! even if i don’t know the depths of where your muse is from, i’d love to have a chance to have crossover interactions. katsuki is a little bastard. he will likely throw hands though (and for so many cases he will lose so hilariously bad, rip his confidence).

[tvccreator]

Playing Devil’s Advocate for Garten of Banban

Okay... before you kill me for this, please know I haven’t played the game personally yet. I have Chapter One and am going to attempt playing it later to get a feel for how the game runs, but until then, I’m going off of the gameplay videos I’ve watched, specifically SuperHorrorBro, Jacksepticeye, and 8-Bit Ryan. 

Long post ahead; you know the drill. TL;DR - the gameplay isn’t great but I feel like, with some TLC and time put into going back and smoothing out the gameplay and character movements, the game could be really good and not just a Poppy Playtime knockoff/mascot horror cash grab.

Now, from what I’ve seen, the game is... clunky. The drone controls seem to be finicky, the puzzles are confusing with very little explanation (poor Jack ran around trying every combination for the color-coded desk puzzle when the combination was on the wall), and the designs for the characters are a bit bizarre. It definitely feels like a cash-grab mascot horror game.

However... there is potential for the game.

For one, I can’t think of any mascot horror game that has taken on a kindergarten. Middle school/high school, sure (Baldi’s Basics & Doki Doki Literature Club are two off the top of my head,) but not a kindergarten. It’s a bit scarier thinking that there are five-year-old children who have fallen into the abyss that is the ball pit’s underbelly where there is something that probably hasn’t even interacted with children before. The premise is really unique and gives the game an interesting identity.

Secondly, the voice acting isn’t bad. It’s a little goofy, but then again, there are other video games where the voice actors feel like they’re not even trying. These voice actors sound like they’re trying, and I have a lot of respect for that, especially since I want to do voice acting work someday, too. Banbaleena’s voice actress is doing a really good job - my friend Cotton said that she sounds kinda like a child trying to play a teacher, and that definitely fits for what we’ve seen her personality to be. Banban’s voice and inflections are funny, but I like that his tone kinda implies he’s tired of being seen as a “bad guy” and is a bit socially awkward. Slow Seline’s voice is actually pretty scary and pretty much exactly what I’d expect her voice to sound like. I’m really excited to see if Stinger Flynn will talk or be a silent antagonist like Opila Bird and Jumbo Josh.

Thirdly... well, this is going to sound slightly mean, but the puzzles in Garten of Banban 2 - to me, at least - appear easier than in Poppy Playtime Chapter 2. I have horrible memory (thanks ADHD/depression combo) and I am incredibly bad at reflex puzzles that Whack-A-Wuggy poses. The puzzles in Garten of Banban aren’t necessarily testing reflexes and memory, but instead feel more like logic puzzles. Banbaleena’s entire class section is more logic-based. For example, her very first question with the long string of numbers makes you look at your options: Smart Kid, Really Smart Kid, Dramatic Kid, and Weird Kid. Sure, it’s not like it’s extremely hard to figure out that “Really Smart Kid” is your best bet to avoid death, but it’s more focused on logic/reasoning instead of being memory or reflex-based. Poppy Playtime Chapter 2 can get overwhelming fast, especially when I was merely watching people play through it. Flashing lights and rapid movement make me slightly sick, so being able to do puzzles that emphasize thinking instead of speed and memory are going to be a bit more favorable in my eyes. Not to mention old-school parkour is fun if you can land the jumps. (*looks at me failing at parkour in Minecraft*)

So, what do I think? Well, since I haven’t personally played Garten of Banban yet, I can’t tell if my critiques/compliments are warranted or are too nice/harsh. However, I feel like, if given more time, the creators can make a really good game. People seem to forget that Ink Bendy from Bendy and the Ink Machine was originally just a blob with a smile and vaguely horn-shaped objects on his head back in its early days. If the creators go back to the previous chapters and fix up the gameplay and designs like how theMeatly did during Bendy and the Ink Machine, I feel like this game could be a very interesting game in and of itself. It’s like my personal thoughts on Balan Wonderworld. The gameplay and the costume mechanic aren’t good in the slightest, but everything else made me enjoy the game nonetheless. Garten of Banban feels like it will be similar to my opinions of Balan Wonderworld when I play it. Is it a cash grab? ...I don’t know. Most likely? But I feel as though, behind the cash-grabby feel and the janky gameplay, there’s a good game just waiting to come out.

[vykko]

Not going to lie, dyslexia is amazing as nobody in my school or life remembers it exists and if they do they pretend it isn’t a disability

it great like

Tiny letters for no reason that I have difficulty reading

Me trying to make my phone more accessible to myself is not as good as I want it because both, the lay out is not meant for big letters and it doesn’t apply it’s self to anything not deflauf on the phone LIKE GOOGLE

having to learn cursive just as it was no longer useful so now I write in semi cursive when tired or having to be quick, I can’t read cursive

having to ask people who know I’m dyslexic even as well to slow down multiple times when writing stuff

not spelling well so getting lower marks

its a pain in the arse to get my accommodations and ATAR is basically wanting me to get diagnosed again to get a lower word limit so fuck me I guess

I can write and spell well, buuuut because everyone else can write quickly I have to too so I cant read my notes and I’ve cried before because a teacher would slow down

I have to write my notes before the teacher says so, so I can have written before they ask if everyone’s done. Which if I say I’m not I get either have everyone now focusing on me or it’s kinda ingored

”why do you have someone scribe” we don’t have teacher aids in high school for some reason, and during exams yet again getting accommodations is incredibly difficult it was a very hard for me to just get word limits brought down

beimg forced to write rather then type because if the teacher lets us use computers people might play games so again fuck me

them trying to help me with effectively treating dyslexia like I I understood nothing in the English language. also we worked on vowels sounds for ab example of how they did stuff, first I’d done it for 2-3 years 2 yes pior in speech therapy and I was flying through the activities and instead of picking up that I already knew the basics they kept doing the basics

effctivly trying to teach someone who is having difficulties holding their breath underwater for the same time as everyone else by teaching them how to swim by scratch when they allready can swim

more gaint stuff but it gets more ableist so I’d not want to talk about here but later

Last one is the time they changed the daily noctice section telling us where to go when a teacher was away

everyone had difficulty reading it and I couldn’t read it at all and got mild headaches from eye strain, I got lost for 20 minutes because I had forgotten my teachers name and had to get others to read out the table for me and getting pointed I’m the wrong direction by myself

It happened again but it was fault of lazy admin

yeah but I have soo many more stuff on how dyslexia isn’t at least in my school, city, most standard books, old people, the special system at my school, most signs, weirdly a lot of dyslexia awareness stuff and much much more is not accommodated for

also why is dyslexia treated like it’s not a disability

Like if a website has a bad autocorrect system you can very easily tell how much difficulty I have eg

tumblr = good

Skype= BAD!!

like it’s so jarring when I go and write after texting because all of a sudden it’s incredibly hard to English

like if you want to see how kinda I write in pen but for typing either look at posts I made while tired or upset or I’ll take a screenshot of Skype messages

sorry for how long of a rant this is, it’s just infuriating how I honestly struggle because somehow I’m excepted to do as well as my peers WHEN I HAVE A LEARNING DISABILITY, honestly dyslexia isn’t hard to accommodate