#my eyesight just went up a grade

[sarakiz]

22-23 season costume appreciation

Conrad Orzel (CAN) - Carmina Burana: O Fortuna by Carl Orff

[vktrsnclr]

TEACHER'S PET (R18+)

MINORS GTFO

pairing: miguel o'hara x f reader

summary: you're a college freshman in biochemistry and miguel is your professor in biochemical engineering, a major subject that you're about to fail.

warning: I'm a feminist and I'm concerned.

word count: 1.9k+

contents: humiliation, degradation, age gap, height difference, fingering, oral sex, p in v, hair pulling, public groping.

MASTERLIST

It's your first year in college studying biochemistry, the exam results for the first semester's finals are supposed to be distributed today.

Your professor in biochemical engineering, Mr. O'hara discusses the grading system for the second semester but you're losing out of focus. You're staring at his thick voluptuous thighs, thick veiny hands and imagined how he would choke you with it.

You took a gulp at the thought of it. He then started the distribution of the report cards. Your stare followed him as he sat on the table, individually calling out your names and distributing the cards.

"Parker, good job. Reyes, do better next time. Stacy, impressive. Stark..... dios mio." His voice was hoarse. The way he says your last name followed by a spanish term you don't understand sounded like a moan but truly, a term of disappointment.

"Ms. Stark... Are you seriously daydreaming right now?" He asks with a stern voice.

"Oh um, no sir. W-What is it?" Your classmates tried to hold their laugh, you can hear them giggling.

"Get your ass over here." He orders. You stood and walked up to him, hands behind your back, signing 'fuck you' to all of your classmates.

"What are we gonna do with this?" He points at your grade in bio-engineering which is his subject and a major too. You looked at it by bending your torso down, slightly bowing cause you have an eyesight of a dying man. Your cleavage flashes in front of him unintentionally. He tries to look away and focus your report card.

"2.0 (C/73-76%). This is bad." Everyone in your school knows that you're a daughter of a billionaire genius and this is what you got.

Deep inside, you know that the reason you failed is because you've been partying too hard. Just like your father, you're a party animal.

"What can I do?" You asked worriedly.

"Meet me at my office at 6. Class dismissed." He stood up, towering over you at 6'9 ft. He walked out of the room with your classmates.

Your friend, Gwen Stacy clinged on your arm on the way to the cafeteria. You sat with her and his boyfriend, Peter Parker. You can't really understand what they're saying cause your mind is split between your daddy getting disappointed and your disappointed professor being such a daddy.

Four hours later, it's time to go home but you still have to go to Mr. O'Hara regarding your first semester results. You walked into an empty faculty, the other teachers already went home. You walked by Miguel's office window and saw him looking at his watch with what seems to be an irritated brow. You proceeded to walk inside his office, it's smells good and is neatly organized.

"Good evening Mr. Ohara."

"Miss Stark. You're 10 minutes late. Seems like you're not being very committed to your studies." He clenched his jaw and his pair of brow furrowed.

"I'm sorry I was j-"

"Was just expecting 'daddy' to fix it with his money?" He stood up and mocks, pertaining to your father offering a grant to your school.

"No... sir, I just ran into my friends." You opposed, looking down at the floor.

"Are they gone?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. Sit down." He sighs.

In a heartbeat, you sat down in a reclining chair right next to the table. He walks up to you, taking his crotch inches away from your face.

"Good girl." He takes your chin to look up at him. The view made your heart race and your cunt twitch.

"You think I'm not aware of your lustful eyes, hermosa?" He looks directly into your eyes with his hands still on your chin. Your eyes gawks and your face slowly turns red, not knowing what to say.

"Mr- Sir, I uh, I'm here for extra credits." You stuttered.

"Uh huh, what else?" He leans down, not breaking an eye contact.

"Uhhh... um m-my dad can pay you!" You blurted out of nowhere. You didn't know what to say since your mind is occupated by dirty thoughts but now you just seemed like a brat.

"Daddy's money hmm?"

"I'm your daddy here." He whispered roughly onto your ear, his hands shifted from your chin into your neck, gently gripping under your jaws.

"Daddy?" You spoke weakly.

"That's right, bitch." He replied with smirk.

You kind of expected this as a cliché porn category but you had no idea that you're gonna experience this in real life.

"You want credits? You little slut?" He cups the side of your cheeks and leans back to watch your face near his pants again.

"Yes! Yes, I want it." You nodded in agreement.

"Then earn it." He grabs a fistful of your hair and rubs it softly in his black pants with a huge bulge on it. You can smell his essence leaking from the fabric. This is all you ever dreamed of since the first day of school, you didn't think it would happen but it DID. All of your fantasies, clothed in black, sliding across your face.

You unbuttoned his pants in a hurry, dropping his undergarments down then finally busting his dick in front of you.

"Good girl." He slapped your face and you loved it. You proceeded to wet your lips to seduce him. He gripped on your hair tighter as you lick the tip of his 8-inch fat cock.

"Fuck." He groans, his voice deep and hoarse. You licked his length, wetting it together with his pre-cum leaking from the tip then swirled your tongue in its head while jerking him off.

"Holy shit you're good." The corner of his lip curling upwards.

He started throat fucking you, his head thrown back, moaning in pleasure. His cock reached your throat but you continued to take it until your eyes water. Miguel likes the way you look, internally choked by his massive cock.

He drags you up and makes you open your mouth as you spread your tongue that still has his pre-cum.

"Swallow." He ordered and you followed. You showed him an empty tongue to prove it.

"I'm gonna fucking destroy you." He places his hand on your chin to squeeze your face and starts kissing you roughly, like you've taken something from him. This is exactly how you want it. It's wet, sloppy and aggressive.

His kisses trailed down on your neck, you let him take off your clothes, even tear it up. He threw your designer clothes in the air like it was nothing. You would let this man do anything to you.

He began to roam his hands all over your body, from pumping your breasts down to your vagina, already dripping. He circles his middle finger on your clit sensually.

"You want this?" Miguel asks between the kisses.

"Uh huh." Your mouth can't form a proper word but a moan. He slaps you again, wanting you to say it clearly.

"You want this, you whore?!" He dips his hand on your hole, teasing you.

"Yes daddy, do it!" A high pitch pornographic whine came out of your mouth.

He then crooks his head onto your neck, leaving marks as he rams his finger up in your hole, sounds of wet squelching, moans and ass slaps filled the corners of his office. He reaches for the back of your clit inside your tight cunt and it drove you crazy. Your eyes roll at the back of your head. Unlike your other sexual partners, Miguel knows all about human anatomy.

"I'm gonna fuck the shit out of you." He takes your hands from his cock to your back, pulls his belt out of his pants and then ties your wrists.

"Yes please, I've been dreaming of this." You replied while he bends you over on the desk.

"Oh I bet you do you fucking slut." Miguel teases the tip of his cock on your clit, both wet from foreplay.

"Please fuck... fuck me."

Without any reply, Miguel rams his long and fat dick inside you, filling your walls with euphoria.

You groaned in pain after he put his full length in.

"Daddy it hurts."

"Nah, you can take it cariño." He reassures then pins your head on the desk while thrusting deep on your leaking hole.

"You... You've been spending a lot of time with that Parker boy huh? You like him?" He asks curiously, grabbing your hair.

"No, please he's with Gwen." You explained.

"You guys fuckin? Huh?" He ignores your answer while pounding at your pussy, making you scream in pain and pleasure.

"No daddy, Pleaaase.... I only want you. I want youuu." He grabs your tits from the back, holding it for support as his pace goes slower, making it comfortable for you.

"That's my girl. Now I'm gonna make you mine." His last words before sucking the skin off of your neck, leaving love marks that is visible to everyone.

"Ironman's daughter, pumping on my dick with her drenched punani. What's he gonna do? Save you?" He laughs devilishly. At this point you didn't care about your reputation. Your body wants him, even your cunt pulses everytime you peak behind your back to see him using you.

"You're my daddy, please fuckin destroy me." You surrendered. Miguel removes his belt on your wrists and puts it back as he pins it over your head in missionary position. Now, he can see your face while he fucks you, your lips smeared in red lipstick, smiling psychotically. Becoming undone by the stroke of his dick, his hands playing with your nipples and the other holding your wrists.

Your smile made him excited. His thrusts go faster and faster as you scream his name. "Mr. O'hara I'm cumming." You whined. It made him chuckle, you using honorifics despite your pussy currently being destroyed. He bit his lips, carried you by the hips, using you as his fucktoy. He pumps his dick in your tight little hole in a doggy position. Your feet doesn't even touch the floor because of your height difference. You simply just hang in the air with your pussy continously getting pounded.

"Shit shit shit I'm cumming." He whimpers.

"Cum inside daddy." It's the first time you had sex without protection and now you want him to cum inside you.

"That's right, princesa."

He continued plunging his sword into your uterus ramming even harder, seconds later, he busts his load. Your pussy's leaking with his thick cum all the way to your thighs. He lets go of your hips and places you on the table, back arched, pussy flowing.

He puts your panties back without cleaning your pussy, only the sides and the extra cum dripped on your legs and thighs.

"You did great, mija" He kisses your forehead.

"I did?"

"Yes you did." He smiles softly, saying it like he's a proud mentor.

After that encounter, he kept you as his pet, your friends noticed the hickeys on your neck every now and then and your alibi is always getting burnt by the hair curler. Flash Thompson even joked that the hair curler you're talking about is Mr. O'Hara.

Even if you denied it and threatened him with a lawsuit, It's obvious. Your lustful stares in the classroom, the special treatment you get in class above all the other students.

At times when the corridor is empty, he would grope your ass, spank it and squeeze it until you reach the classroom, walking in together at the same time. Your friends would always ignore the same smell coming out of you and Mr. O'hara. Fucking in every empty room, any chance that you get. You've certainly become the teacher's pet.

[itsjusbleh]

sam zablowski x reader oneshot

a/n: GRRSRRSARTA sam is so under appreciated and his actor is just… ughhhhh anyways the time is set when reader and sam are juniors in highschool.

It was first day for eleventh grade and Sam felt muggy. He attempted to walk into school with one bag strap off his shoulder but ended up aggressively putting it on his shoulder because it was just too damn uncomfortable and awkward. Walking alongside Gabe and almost tripping on the stairs to the entrance, his mind was in a tired blur. Summer break went way too fast and he felt like he just couldn’t keep up.

Barging past people, he hooked a hand around Gabe’s shoulder to avoid losing him in the ocean of teenagers.

“Ouch, my nipple,” Gabe seethed after getting barged by a random passing through. Sam suppressed a laugh from spilling out as he grinned at him.

Losing the traffic finally, they reached Sam’s locker and Sam tossed his bag onto the floor with an exaggerated groan. Gabe resumed his gamblings as he leaned against the other lockers. Sam turned his head to see Anna and Maya chatting away, smiles cheesy and wide. His stomach churned a little. Things were always a bit weird with Maya after they had stopped going out a year ago.

“Back onto my theory that Darth Vader was actually dead all along. When Vader says to…” Gabe’s words went through deaf ears as he watched the two girls break into a funny dance splitting apart slightly and revealing another girl in the middle of them doing the same thing.

His chest tightened and his heart did a little spin. With a dry mouth, he muttered, “Who’s that?”

“Huh?” Gabe says, following Sam’s eyesight. “I dunno.”

She was really pretty. He’d never seen her before, ever. Her smile was capturing and her style was dope. He sucks in a tight breath.

“She must be pretty weird if she’s talking with Maya and Anna,” Gabe adds with a scoff.

“Yeah,” Sam looks away, pushing down his thoughts with a forced laugh.

*

Moving schools was hard for you. Like any other person, it’s different and new, something that humans don’t like at most times. You parked at your locker with awkward insecurity and were lucky enough to have a blond girl named Anna’s locker next to you, with her friend Maya talking to her.

After exchanging names, Maya tilted her head at you. “You’re new, right, because.. I’ve never seen you around, right, Anna?” She looks to the blonde, to which she nods in response, shifting a piece of hair from her face.

“Yeah, no, I haven’t seen you around…”

“I just moved. I used to live two hours away,” you say, looking down at Maya’s blue shirt and seeing Bratz printed on it. “You like Bratz?”

“Yeah,” she drags out, smiling as she exchanges excited looks with Anna. “The intro song is like, so catchy cause it goes like…”

Both her and Anna start moving their bodies in a little dance, going, “Ooooh, Bratz.”

You giggle, mumbling the song too and moving your shoulders like a wave. You all burst into laughter, backs hunching over. First friends, maybe you aren’t gonna do so bad.

Your first class was history, and you piled yourself into a chair blindly, a bit anxious to start your first lesson at your new school. About forty minutes into the class, your pencil’s led had gone flat. Rummaging through your pencil case, you frown to see no sharpener in there. You bite your lip, turning your head to see a brunette boy.

“Excuse me,” you mumble, and his eyes flicker to you. Gosh, they were such an intense colour of brown, it actually took you aback. “Um, do you have a sharpener I could borrow. Please?”

He stares at you for a second, but he snaps out of it, muttering, “Yeah, let me just.. grab it for you.”

When he hands the sharpener to you, your fingers graze and while your sharpen your pencil, you can feel his eyes at your shoes.

“I like your shoes.”

Looking down at your converses, you smile. “Thanks, my mum got them for me last Christmas.”

When you look up, he’s staring at you again. His head turns away really quick and he looks to something, squinting his eyes a little.

Looking back at your book, your nose crinkles. He’s a bit weird.

“I’m Sam, by the way.”

You look at him again to see he’s not even looking at you but at the board. You say your name as well, turning your attention to the teacher. For the rest of the lesson, you strangely had a fluttery feeling inside of you.

A few weeks later, you’re settling in more than you thought you’d be. Anna and Maya were really good friends to you, and you were understanding your classes pretty well.

On a Friday, you had history last, and you were paired up with Sam for your assignment. There was a specific sort of tension between the two of you. Not awkward, just.. odd. Odd tension.

“So my house?” Sam asks while the class packs up, flipping his book in his hands.

“What was that?”

“Do you wanna come to my house. For the assignment, I mean. We’ll get some done this afternoon, maybe. If you want to,” he explains.

The bell rings. “Um, sure. I’ll just go quickly ask my mum,” you reply with a smile.

“Cool,” Sam points a finger gun at you, but he retracts it within an instant. “Fuck, that was so bad.”

You break out into a laugh, walking out the classroom doors with him. “I just cringed, like, so bad.”

When you got to his house, you knocked at the door and his mom opened it. She was really nice and your nerves eased at the homely welcome. She led you up to Sam’s room, and that’s when the nerves came rolling back in.

“Now, I’m leaving the door open,” his mum scolds in a joking manner, and your skin burns with the embarrassment of the implication behind it.

“Mom, oh my god—“ Sam yelps, slapping a hand to his forehead in stress. She leaves with a few giggles, and he looks to you with a sympathy felt expression. “Sorry about that, she’s so…”

“No, no, it’s okay. She’s nice,” you wave your hands. Your eyes skim around his room, head turning. “Your room’s cool.”

“Thanks,” he sighs, leaning back in his chair a little. His legs spread out slightly, and the motion makes you look somewhere else. “So,” he pats his thighs. “The assignment. You can come sit on my bed if you want.”

You have to fight the butterflies spawning immediately in your stomach. You were so pathetic that sitting on Sam’s bed was excruciatingly extreme for you. You awkwardly sit on his bed near him, flipping open the assignment sheets and taking out a pencil from your case.

About thirty minutes pass by of work when Sam gets up from the chair and stretches, groaning a bit. He moves to sit on the bed as well, even more closer to you as he leans up against the headboard with his legs in a pretzel.

It’s probably been a hour and a half and you’re tired. You keep on yawning and your eyes itch every two seconds. Your concentration disappears by the minute and you’re ready to head home for dinner and bed. Wanting to finish the last paragraph on the page, you turn to Sam. “Hey, how should we word the last sentence?”

He licks at his lips as he leans over to you and your sheet, looming over your shoulder. “Um…” As he thinks, you feel his breath fanning at your skin, making goosebumps arise. He smells of clean laundry and grass, stirring the mushy gather of butterflies in your belly. “Link it back up to the first sentence, so be like… yada-yada proves this accusation to be false due to what’s-his-name’s quote stated above.”

The air is still and it’s all quiet for what feels like for an eternity as he looks to your face. “Yeah, okay,” you quip, writing just what he had said.

What you don’t expect is for him to still be there once you’re done writing and you audibly suck in a breath when you turn to see him so close. He blinks a few times, and you catch the way his eyes drop a split second to your lips. Your heart begins to speed up, the tension now clear to you.

His head moves and he captures your lips in a kiss. You accept it as you let go of your breath, nimbly placing a hand on his knee to stabilise yourself. Breaking apart for a second, he kisses you again, this time with a tad more energy.

His hand comes up to hold your neck, as his tongue prods at the slit of your lips. You allow access to him, shyly allowing his tongue to slide along yours as his head tilts at an angle. You turn yourself more to him, and his other hand moves to grip at your hip, thumb drawing circles on your jeans.

You can feel your insides melt to a goop, can feel the tiny pulse beginning in the middle of your thighs. His lips are feathery and his mouth is warm, and you can feel your heartbeat now pounding against your ribcage.

You’re the one to let go, as your lungs feel like they’re going to burst. Or maybe it’s your heart, you don’t know.

There are his gorgeous brown eyes, staring so deep into you. “Sorry,” he mutters with a few puffs of ragged breath, and you could just melt right there.

“Why are you sorry?” You whisper back, unable to keep the unevenness of your breath at bay as well. He looks down for just a moment before he looks back up at you.

His shoulder lightly shrugs, “I dunno.”

You can’t help the way your lips swirl into a tiny grin, cheeks at a temperature of a burning oven. “You shouldn’t be.”

His eyes run around the map of your face, awe shun clear in them. “Then I’m not,” he states softly, smoothing his hand around your neck to support the back of it. He lets his fingers skim through your hair as he pulls you in for another kiss.

[thorn-rosed]

HEADCANONS:

~ Evan has heterochromia or is blind in one eye.

~ Pandora seems innocent and childlike but in her greenhouse and the place where she experiments with spells, she keeps things that cannot be found even on a Knockturn.

~ I read somewhere that Evan has a collection of haunted dolls in his room. One doll loves Evan but hates Barty, so she throws random objects at him. Unfortunately I don't remember the name of the blog, but I love it.

~ Barty was that kid to moan in the middle of class and act like its the funniest thing ever (It's me)

all of these are so amazing tbh

1: I never really thought about the heterochromia thing, but the other day i had some thoughts about blind Evan! I imagine he went blind due to an accident, maybe got chemicals in his eyes or something, and can't let the seen world go. His solution is to feel everything, experiment with everything, trying desperately to see with his ears, nose and touch. Hell, he even tries to restore his eyesight with various experiments on people that lost their eyesight the same way he did.

2: Pandora seems like the sweetest human-being on this planet to anyone who doesnt know her, but she's just as twisted and cruel as her brother. Honestly, if she wanted she'd probably be more dangerous than him, due to the amount of unregistered spells she has up her sleeve. Regardless of how dangerous her experiments were, Peter would always keep his slightly illegal plants in her greenhouse, simply because everyone knows well enough not to go inside there.

3: oh my, this one is a tasty one. I imagine it made Barty feral, he tried to destroy it several times, but each time it just repairs itself and hangs above Barty's head in the middle of the night, so when he wakes up, his heart will occasionally stop. Evan tried to lock her up, but girly is too powerful and somehow escapes each time. On top of that, visitors of their house would be creeped out by the random dolls standing around everywhere, and it always looked as if they're following them by turning their heads around. If the visitors asked Evan about it, he'll simply tell them they're hallucinating. They also make for great home protection, there's no thief trying to enter their house without permission, he knows he'll only get eaten by some ancient spirits.

4: Barty is such a typical straight guy in general. In modern times he would have loved all the opportunities. There's always at least one vape in his pockets, which might or might not get used during lessons. He also engraves random shit into the school tables and puts his chewing gum underneath them. He also is so sleeping with the teacher for better grades. (I need to make a teacher x student flowerrosekiller au)

[defectivehero]

Hi recently found your blog it’s so good! But was wondering if you could one where the hero lost there glasses in a fight maybe or just at home and the villain sees them idk take your pick possibly m x m? Ty even if not have a good day!

your wish is my command! (not really, but this is a great idea and you asked very nicely!) here you go, hope you have a great day <3

The hero has grown accustomed to working late night hours at the agency. He's grown used to being the last person in the office, to shutting the lights off and locking the door behind him once he leaves. The hero always feels guilty leaving right at his scheduled time, especially when his job can determine if a person lives as a bystander to a horrible event or dies as a victim. He begins to stay later and later into the night, and it becomes increasingly hard for him to tear himself away from the agency and his hero mask.

This overtime habit is how the hero finds himself hunched over his desk with rather painful crooked posture as he compulsively checks his computer for messages. His agency is one of the first to adopt a sophisticated messaging system that converts audio from emergency calls to text, which are sent as alerts straight to their inbox. The idea sounded morbid at first—the hero didn't want to equate life-saving to checking his email. But the system grew on him. It's convenient and easy to use, drastically improving the agency’s response time.

He squints at the screen in front of him, rubbing his eyes roughly when his vision begins to blur. He's tired.

Perhaps the hero’s exhaustion is the reason why he fails to notice a figure standing in the corner of the room, watching him. “Your eyesight is terrible.” The hero hears, stiffening in his seat and turning around to find his enemy, the villain, lurking in the shadows. It takes him a few moments to process the statement.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” the hero then huffs, blinking a few times as he realizes his eyes feel incredibly dry. His close-up vision is passable, so he's still able to do his job. His distance vision, on the other hand...

The hero has worn glasses since fourth grade. He experimented with contacts but eventually went back to wearing glasses. He's spent an ungodly amount of time in his life wiping his glasses clean with a cloth or pushing his frames further up his nose.

“I’m serious,” the villain sighs. “How can you even see out of these?” At that, the villain steps forward and holds out his hand, revealing a pair of glasses. The hero immediately recognizes the telltale blue gleam that distinguishes his glasses, and reaches out to his enemy. He almost expects the villain not to hand them over, so when the glasses hit the hero's palm, he raises his eyebrows.

"Thank you," the hero feels the need to say, when the silence stretches on to a painful tension. When he puts on his glasses, the blurriness around his vision clears and he can see the words displayed on his screen in sharp, clean strokes. The hero then stares at the villain, several questions on the tip of his tongue. How did the villain remember the hero had lost his glasses? Did he go back to retrieve them? And if so... why?

"It took me a few days to realize why you hadn't shown your face since our fight," the villain answers, as if reading his mind. The hero has to wonder how he grew so predictable. "After that, it didn't take long for me to remember that blow I dealt you—rather powerful, if I do say so myself—and the ensuing clatter of your glasses falling to the ground. So... I went back to the rooftop and grabbed them."

That answers the hero's first two questions. He is still left with the most important query of all: why?

The villain seems to telepathically understand this question too. He takes a slow breath in and ambles around the office in a carefree manner that makes it seem as if he owns the space.

"A win is more enjoyable if it's a complete victory," the villain drawls, tapping his fingers along a nearby desk. The hero has to wonder if his enemy has his power activated—if charred fingerprints will be left as remnants (as tangible evidence) of their encounter. "That means no cheap advantages or hinderances."

Ah. The villain wanted a fair fight—one unimpeded by the hero's poor vision. He supposes he can understand that. The villain is honorable above all else. The hero knows this about his enemy, has grown to accept it. Perhaps he should've intuited that motivation before bothering to ask.

The villain is still lingering, as if waiting for something. The hero's patience only lasts a few minutes. “Well, was there another reason for your visit, or…?” The hero asks, looking at him with sharpened vision. His glasses now provide him with a glimpse of the nuance written in the villain's form—the minuscule pull to his lips, the faded scars tangled around his hands. The hero is suddenly thankful to have his glasses again—but for entirely different reasons than before.

“That was it,” the villain says, his gaze turning scrutinizing. "Why are you in such a rush? Got a hot date?" The latter statement is spoken with a surprising amount of venom.

The hero raises his eyebrows. "A date?" He hums casually, his heart racing in his chest. He didn't expect the conversation to take such a sharp turn into such a convoluted and confusing subject. "At this hour? Of course not."

Something settles in the villain's expression. "Right," he says, something close to relief coloring his tone. "Then, I'll be seeing you." He remarks, turning on his heel and walking out the door. The hero watches him leave, a multitude of different emotions battling in his chest.

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[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Am I the asshole for breaking up with my boyfriend?

I (32F) broke up with my boyfriend Jack (30M) a few months ago over a couple Issues I've been dealing with: I found out I have a degenerative issue with my eyes and will be going blind, and his dad hates me for being as he quotes "fat, uneducated, and bad with jobs". Note: I am infact obese, I do not have a college degree, and had lost my job 3 times in a row in 6mos before I hit the stable job I'm at now, due to mental breakdowns at work.

Jack has lived with his parents his whole life, and revers them greatly. However I can tell he's going through the same thing I did with my parents- Where they prioritized him getting good grades over his mental health, he constantly apologizes and thinks I will hate and abandon him over very simple things, he rather delve in games than face his problems, because he thinks he is comfortable when it's very much making him feel worse.

I cut contact with my parents 3 years ago for these exact same reasons- They were overbearing, abusive, and without another way to say it: extremely catholic. Because I was financially dependent on them and didn't know any better, I thought I could live with them as an adult because of how expensive housing is where we live.

Eventually I had to start getting therapy because I would have meltdowns so often in school, and found out it was the way that my parents treated me when I was younger, and that I have AuDHD- something my parents denied as me being too stupid and lazy to do anything after high school.I got on medication and though my ADHD improved, i had to continue therapy due to my Autism now having more time to focus and overwhelm me and having to learn to unmask. I've been told my personality did a 180 over this from peers that hadn't seen me pre-pandemic, but I'm happier now, and eventually found a way to move away from my parents and living with my Uncle instead, who instead of belittling me is encouraging my therapy.

I am explaining this, because Jack does the same things I do- he's almost the exact same as I was with my parentls. He has constant meltdowns and spirals, he thinks he's worthless because of the way his Mom and Dad treats him, yet he keeps putting his parents on a pedestal. It's because we seemed to grow up in the same kinds of environment that we bonded and eventually started dating last year.

Us openly dating did not last long, though, because when he introduced me to his parents they immedietely did not like me. They did not like that I wanted to help with dinner, or refuse eating chicken, because Jack is severely allergic to it. They also did not like that I wanted to clean the table and kept sidelooking at me whever we talked.

Because of this simple lunch, for months, they pressured him to break up with me but he wouldn't. He said he loves me as I am, and his parents are just stupid. We even had to start keeping the relationship secret, because his parents would harass him for coming to just pick me up, or meet me at a tennis court so we would play a game or two. His parents can track him through his car, so they always knew where he was.

I told him what I had to do to leave my parents house, but he said it's too hard to do that. My Uncle was sympathetic about this and even discussed with him to move into our house, but he refused that too.

Last month, I went to a vision doctor due to headaches and blurrier than usual vision, and found out that I would be losing my eyesight due to something going on within my eyes. Its extremely stressful for me, and dealing with that, and the constant harassment from Jacks parents, I got very tired. it was getting to the point where he couldnt go out without his parents yelling at him about me for something, we only hung out for once day per month. I didn't want to give them something else to yell about me at him, and I felt it would ease his stress because they would stop bothering him. And, though it seems weird, I hoped it make him uncomfortable enough to do something for himself. So I ended up breaking up with him.

It has really hurt to do this to him- He's someone I love dearly, and he's taken it way harder than I thought. He won't listen to me, But. He does listen to his friends- it's how he asked me out, and at least try out therapy, his friends hyped him up about it so he did it. I feel if his friends help him realize what he needs to do, he'll be more inclined to help himself than me just telling him. And if not, his friends are still there to back him up than me staying near him and having his parents harass him about it.

His friends are mad at me though, and told me I should have just put up with his parents, because in the end I am in love with him and that I actually made the whole situation worse, because he has loss motivation. Even though I am still talking to him and still there for him alongside his friends- I just make myself scarce so his parents don't know we talk. Am I the asshole?

What are these acronyms?

[nickeverdeen]

Hiya! Can I request an arcane matchup?

I'm black and light skinned with either peach or gold undertones depending on the lighting I'm in. I'm 5'3( I stopped growing since 7th grade and I hate it), and bisexual (I prefer girls tho) I go by she/her, or him I don't really care. (I've been mistaken for a boy many times before I grew my hair out)

Speaking of that, I have shoulder length locs and I love to put hella charms in them!! Sometimes when I don't feel like doing my hair I would normally wash them the night before and let them down or something. and omggg the shrinkage is REAL! Every time I get a retwist my hair shrinks so bad the day after and it looks like my hair is short (which it kinda is but ykwim)

but anyway I was born with a birth defect called unilateral cleft lip and pallet, so there used to be a split on my lip and the roof of my mouth which caused my gum line to mess up completely until I got surgery..

I grew up with a really bad lateral lisp and I had to go through speech therapy. It's getting better now a little bit but my s and z sounds are a bit hard and I fumble up my words a lot. I don't have braces yet, but if I did have them they'd probably be blue right now lol, it's my favorite color!

Fun fact: I have no uvula!

I have like 5 beauty marks, the only one that's on my face is underneath my nostril and it's really noticeable. I have two birthmarks, one on my leg and one on my back! I used to have one on my cheek when I was 11 but it faded and I lowkey miss it. I have really big brown eyes but poor eyesight (my mother and sisters are blind, so it's like a genetic thing)

Now for my hobbies and interests, I love to draw, paint, color, crochet, make bracelets, and all! I completely suck at digital, tried it once, never again.. well idk

I am very athletic, I grew up playing basketball with my dad and it has grown to become one of my favorite sports, and I can run fast!

I'm in love with fashion! I dress pretty basic tho .. I normally wear baggy jeans and graphic tees, or on SOME days jerseys & jorts with my sambas and gold jewelry, but if I do have time to spend 3+ hours putting together random stuff in my closet I'll just wear that out.

Sometimes I like to switch up from dressing really fem to masc, or even a mix of both.

Dogs or cats? Although I do adore them both, reptiles. I have 2 leopard geckos, a bearded dragon and a ball python!

I have a very diverse music taste, wouldn't say I listen to EVERYTHING but I do listen to anything. R&b is my favorite tho, I'm an old soul.

Relationships.. my love languages are quality time, gifts, and play fighting! I was like a REALLY rough kid , especially when it came to those pretend wrestling games in the bounce house . (I almost broke some kid's finger once, but we're not gonna talk about that.) If I'm comfortable with someone, I would would definitely yap nonstop about any and everything. I would probably accidentally say too much and regret it later, but I can't help that, my mouth constantly runs and like NEVER stops.

I'm an estp! I'm really hyper most of the time and always find ways to smile. If you were to ask my friends what they thought of me they would probably say I'm funny, sometimes I don't even try to be funny and everyone's already on the floor, but I do laugh at my own jokes most of the time. I am really impatient and sensitive, I cry over the smallest things, but it's better than completely crashing out.. When I get really angry I quite literally destroy everything around me . I would say I have anger issues, but it really came from my past trauma that I went through alone, so it's something I also can't help. During arguments, such and such, I will NEVER bring up personal things and use it against people, it's just not in my heart, because I know how it feels to have family problems, etc. I've been through it all too.

The problem with me is that I don't take my own advice, I am a good therapist to many of my friends, mostly my younger family members, but when I'm giving them advice it's mainly just me comforting my past self.

But yeah, that's it!

Your Arcane match is…

Vi

Vi would immediately notice your strength and resilience, especially with what you’ve been through, and she’d admire how open and empathetic you are with others

She loves your style, especially your locs with all the charms, and would make a game of spotting the different ones whenever you changed them up

Vi would always be encouraging you to talk and say whatever’s on your mind, appreciating that you feel comfortable opening up to her

She loves your confidence in your mix of masc and fem looks and would be happy to lend you any of her own clothes to incorporate into your style

Vi would absolutely be in love with your art and would keep little things you made for her with her at all times, finding comfort in them when she’s away

She’d find your R&B taste perfect and would constantly be asking you to play your favorite songs when you’re together

Vi adores your playful side and wouldn’t hesitate to spar with you

Expect lots of play fights and wrestling matches that inevitably turn into laughter and goofing around

She’d admire your athleticism, and the two of you would be competitive about anything and everything

She’s secretly thrilled whenever you can keep up with her

When she finds out about your reptiles, she’d be impressed, and though she might be hesitant at first, she’d warm up to them quickly

Vi would be the most patient listener, knowing that sometimes you worry about saying too much but still loving every little detail you share

If you ever got upset or frustrated, Vi would be there for you, not trying to fix things but just being present, letting you vent as much as you need

She’d be protective of you and would always have your back, especially in stressful or triggering situations

Vi would love your spontaneous personality and how you’re always finding reasons to laugh or make others laugh, often joining in and egging you on

When you’re hyper or really in your element, Vi would just sit back and enjoy it, loving how much energy and life you bring to her days

She’d notice your impatience and try to slow things down for you, but never in a patronizing way—she’d just help you keep your cool when needed

She would always check in to make sure you’re okay after intense moments, showing her softer side and genuinely caring about how you’re feeling

Knowing that you’ve been through a lot alone, she’d make it clear that you’ll never have to go through things by yourself again

She would always be gentle and kind with you, respecting your boundaries and never pushing you to talk about your past unless you wanted to

She respects how you handle anger, and she’d trust you deeply because she knows that you’re a safe place and would never use personal things against her or anyone else

[caramelmochacrow]

tell me about your new oc

seeing this made me so happy you have no idea--

OKAY!! I guess I can start sharing stuff about these two sillies, for now i'll just talk about one of them lol

Here she is~

I don't have a name for her yet but I'm thinking of making it flower related or star related (I'll see what sticks)

I'll just go copy and past what I wrote down about her for now, hehe.

edit: im putting a cut bc i pity people--

Filipino, Grade 12 (18y/o)

Symbols/Things associated with her: Capybara, butterfly weed, colchium, american cudweed, hemlock, jonquil, peach blossom, and zinnias*.

*She shares this with her friend.

She was friends with [my other oc] when she was younger because of their shared judo classes, their bond being a pain from the past. When her friend went to visit her relatives in Brazil, her family had to move away because of her parents' job, never letting her say a proper goodbye. She moved back years later after her parents got a job in her hometown. She was bullied in the past because of the way she looked when she was younger. She decided to toughen up because of the bullying and became her school’s local delinquent. She distances herself from other people so they don’t know her fragility and fear of loneliness; she knows when someone gets close to her, she’ll cling onto them like crazy. The girls in her school later on develop an intense hatred for her because she’s close with the class president; the boys are terrified of her. Her judo lessons as a child helped her maintain the delinquent image. She also makes sure her grades are at least average level so people won’t get suspicious of her; she can reach honor student level if she didn’t hold back.

When she was younger, she used to not wear glasses and had longer hair. After she moved away, her eyesight got worse and she cut up her hair. She wears the boys uniform because she likes it more, but still believes she’s a woman; she just likes masculine clothing more than feminine clothing. Her father used to go to the school, so she uses her father’s old uniform. (Yes they have not changed uniforms in YEARS.)

Both of her parents are Filipino. Her father works as a lawyer while her mother works as a nurse; this made her spend most of her childhood alone. Her parents are really glad that she reconnected with her friend, especially because she’s the class president and is quite strict, giving their daughter a chance to “reform”. (Even though the class president girl is not strict with her at all.)

Uh, other stuff I haven't written down yet about her because I want to expand on it more:

She only does her best during exams.

She colored a strand of her hair to look more like a delinquent.

She loves hot water a lot.

She's butch but never uses the word outright because she doesn't know that label yet (emphasizing the yet because I want that to be an arc in some way)

She has zero idea what to do with her life because she doesn't really see a chance for her to do anything she's interested in with how she's been leading her life.

That's all I have for her.... I still need to tinker with a few stuff. :P I would talk about the Class President OC but I don't wanna take the focus off her so yeah.

[my-own-walker]

Someone You've Never Seen Before

A Kyle Spencer Fan Fiction

frat!kyle AU, fem!main character, sexual themes, mature language, use of drugs and alcohol, frat boy antics

1.

There's a beautiful simplicity in the way college students choose their seating arrangement in large lecture halls. No assigned seats. Just vibes. On the first day of class, everyone shuffles in, bleary-eyed and foreboding. The semester is fresh. There's potential. There's dread. There's an uncertainty. How will this class be? Will I find it easy? How's the professor? Is there anyone I know here?

They find a seat in an empty hall that looks appealing to them. A seat they will sit in for the rest of the semester. They go from the freedom of winter or summer break back to the confines of grades and assignments.

Some prefer the back row, some prefer the seat closest to the exit, and others prefer to stay hidden, being just another head among the sea of students. I, personally, always found myself in the middle somewhere. I could hide easier. Never the back row, though. My eyesight was too poor for that.

Calculus is easy for some. For me, an English major, not so much. I knew I would struggle horrendously in class when I sat down in the fifth row on the first day. My mind was not oriented in the realm of math. I knew dozens of papers and other writing assignments would be due in my other classes. Looking over the syllabus, it was clear that I wouldn't be able to wrap my head around derivatives and complex analysis. 

I sighed internally and opened my notebook, preparing for the worst. It was the fall semester of my third year at Tulane, and it snuck up on me, truly. 

The school wasn't large. Class sizes weren't huge, so it was hard to hide, but I sure as hell tried. I thought I did a pretty good job of being unknown. I was born and raised in a small town near Salem, Massachusetts. I grew up in the kind of neighborhood you'd see in movies. Victorian-style houses painted with bright colors, trees lining the streets that would turn shades of orange in the fall. We'd get some pretty cold weather and tons of snow in the winter. I basically existed in only Doc Martens, oversized corduroy jackets, sweaters, and baggy jeans.

That upbringing put me in a weird position in New Orleans. I liked to think of my town and Nola as sister cities. They had the old-world charm of small main streets lined with shops and the kind of architecture that made you think you'd stepped back in time. I was a pretty smart kid, so Tulane was enticing due to its low acceptance rate and similarity to my hometown. I got in with my high SAT scores and GPA. My scholarship essentially gave me a full ride. It seemed like the perfect place for me. I didn't anticipate just how out of place I'd feel.

For one, the weather never dipped below 50 degrees, even in the winter. It was more humid there, as well. I suffered a fashion crisis, knowing I couldn't rely on large jackets for comfort. I moved as far away as I did to get out of the small-town rut. Everyone I knew went to UMass or Boston. Tulane was a new start. As time passed, though, Tulane became just another small town to me.

Everyone knew everyone. No one was above petty drama, not even me. News about social matters got around quickly. There was no class I joined that I didn't know a single person in. As much as I wanted to disappear, I easily got swept up into things. For example, I wasn't one to engage in the school's Greek activities. But even then I still went to their parties to get drunk, which meant I rubbed shoulders with almost every frat bro and sorority girl on campus. I would always be home by midnight, though.

Greek life was the lifeblood of Tulane; the thing that kept the social scene going. Everyone was involved. Everyone. I refused out of defiance, but even my closest friend and roommate, Lily, was in a sorority. I wasn't particularly interested in paying to have friends, but hey, whatever floats your boat.

Lily and I met freshman year. I put in an application for a random roommate pairing; an unintended consequence of me knowing no one at Tulane. I got extremely lucky, though. The housing department paired me with Lily Davies, an education major with dreams of one day teaching kindergarteners. She had pin straight blonde hair, piercing green eyes, and a bright smile. Despite how innocent she sounded, Lily was the sickest son of a bitch I'd ever met, and I loved it.

She was a crop-top-and-leggings-wearing-bastard with the sickest sense of humor. She was wild and witty with a sunny disposition. She blurred the lines of the dichotomy between popular and weird. Lily was a Louisiana-native, born and raised in Lafayette. Tulane was also her way of getting away from people from her high school (who had mostly gone to U of Louisiana Lafayette). 

Our friendship was the only reason I survived at school. Lily would force me to leave the dorm and socialize. There was a standing, open-invite to any of her sorority events for me. I rarely ever went, but it was nice to not be alone all the time. 

After freshman year, Lily and I moved into an off-campus, two-bedroom apartment. Both of us had no problem footing the bill, as my scholarship and her in-state status made school itself cheap for us. She had the opportunity to move into the Pi Phi house, but she declined out of respect for me, knowing I'd have to find another random roommate again. There was a small chance that it would work out as well as it did the first time. I felt bad being the thing stopping Lily from branching out, but she swore she didn't mind, and that she'd "rather live with The One And Only Hannah Martin."

She balanced me. She was the pop-music to my indie-records. The Nike to my Converse. The silver to my gold. You get it. 

Two years of school went by in a flash. By sticking my head in the books, only emerging for occasional social time, I managed to forget to "cherish my youth," as old people would say. Another thing that snuck up on me was my math requirement. I needed one math class to graduate. Most English majors try to get it done in their freshman year to get it out of the way. I, instead, prolonged my dread until I couldn't any longer. 

As I surfaced out of my sea of thoughts, I noticed the lecture hall had filled up quite decently. I took stock of who was in the class, rolling my eyes inwardly at some. Archie Brener. What a loser. The professor stood at the front of the room, shuffling through his papers, just two minutes until he was due to start the lecture.

The number of people filing in had dwindled significantly, and the seat next to me was still not occupied. I celebrated internally, happy that I would get more legroom and a chair to throw my bag onto. My elation was short-lived, though, as the hall's door swung open with a crash, and a blonde-haired boy rushed in to grab the first open seat he could see. I whipped my head around to see what the noise was about as Kyle Spencer rounded the chairs and rushed down the stairs, eyes scanning the crowd. Despite his rush, he made a point to fist-bump Archie as he passed him. Of course, he chose to sit in the seat next to mine. 

He sat with a huff and hurriedly unzipped his backpack, pulling out an already-crumpled notebook. I tried not to stare, but the last time I had seen him, he was streaking through the Kappa Lambda Gamma house. I averted my gaze when his naked form ran past me, but I had already seen too much of him and his "brothers."

"I nearly didn't make it," Kyle panted next to me, clearly catching his breath from running here. "I read it wrong. Thought this class was in another building." I looked over to see who he was talking to. It quickly dawned on me that he was talking to me. 

"Oh, uh, haha," I replied awkwardly. He leaned forward in his seat again, returning to fumbling through his bag. I returned my gaze to my notebook and began to idly draw some flowers in the corner of the blank page before me. I felt someone tap my shoulder, though.

"Sorry," Kyle whispered, "but do you have a pencil? I can't believe I forgot mine." He laughed shyly to punctuate the end of his question. I nodded and reached into my own bag, producing a brand new no. 2 pencil for him to use and abuse. 

"You can keep it," I murmured. It was about to be a long semester.

Next Part

[lady-laureline]

There's been a lot of discussion about the validity of neurodivergent self-diagnosis, including a fair bit of fuss about the notion that there is a whole swathe of people faking their disability for attention, so I think it's a great time to dissect a few fun topics such as representation, intersectionality, prejudice and privilege (this post is unapologetically long).

Tl;dr for the people at the back: cracking down on perceived fakes has unintended consequences. If you don't know what you're talking about, what is "believable" is not for you to decide.

×××

To those with concerns, a few questions. What was your first encounter with disability? A joke in a movie, perhaps, or an insult you heard at school?

Incidentally, did you know the brain uses your first impression as the foundation for your understanding of any concept? This can be tricky to reflect on (we all have a built-in resistance to changing our minds), but if you are comparing the people you see online to Rain Man you might have some catching up to do.

There's this insidious notion of being "reasonably disabled". People tend to go for an all-or-nothing dichotomy without really thinking about it, which is detrimental to literally everyone in between. Personally, I think it has something to do with our discomfort around being bad at something. As if being blind was somehow more legitimate than having poor eyesight - it sounds ridiculous, but tell me there isn't a part of you that thinks this way.

Likewise, there are plenty of neurodivergent folk that are able to function in society, but will not quite match up to the neurotypical standard in certain contexts, whether we lack the performance skills or just have a different taste in things. Y'all seem to be having difficulties translating a theoretical understanding of this into not cringing like we're bringing down the average grade.

×

Okay, but aren't we talking about a medical diagnosis? Surely that should be left to the professionals? Yes & no. Hope you don't mind that I explain with the help of anecdotal evidence.

I am at a point where I am feeling pretty good about how I identify, i.e. officially diagnosed with adhd, and self-diagnosed as autistic. Through a combination of digging through online resources and a whole lot of recuperation, I've been able to put many of the struggles I was fighting blind with into a framework I am able to understand. I feel more like a person than I ever have in my life, and that, for me, is the greatest benefit of a diagnosis, official or not.

While I am certainly not ruling out seeking a doctor's confirmation of my autism at some point, there is some trepidation involved.

A non-trivial part of this is my adhd diagnosis experience. This was during the pandemic, I was just coming to terms with being burnt out and was so so ready to finally get some answers as to why. An immigrant (read: used to paying for healthcare) living in the UK, I naturally opted to seek guidance and support from the National Healthcare Service at this vulnerable time in my life. If you're familiar with the NHS, you can probably guess how it went to bother this already overwhelmed and underfunded organisation that definitely did not want to deal with my trauma dumping.

After being coerced to try an SSRI "to find out what's under all that anxiety" and having a terrible time with it, plus feeling legitimately gaslight in my pursuit of getting to the bottom of what it would actually take to get approved for an assessment, I found out about my right to choose and swiftly obtained both my diagnosis and prescription via Psychiatry UK, a private organisation.*

A decidedly shitty experience overall, but I ended up with a lot of useful insight into navigating the bureaucracy, and I can safely say that taking (the right) medication has helped a lot with symptom management, and thus, life in general.

×

Now, autism has been in the public eye much longer than adhd and has accumulated more research over the years, but its implementation is far from adequate, especially for autistic adults. Some of the studies that shaped the understanding of doctors practicing today betray the derogatory and/or infantilising beliefs of doctors of the past.

So I have concerns about the toll another clinical runaround might have on my mental health. It would take a lot of work, too - prior to assessment, you are more or less expected to build a convincing case for yourself, which means you have to do enough research to persuade a medical professional who may or may not be inclined to think of all this neurospicy nonsense is a waste of time.

Even if I did get approved for an autism assessment with the NHS, the waiting list is years (yes, years) long. Private care is prohibitively expensive, unless you're desperate enough. Or, you know, rich. I've seen prices in the thousands (yes, thousands).

I'm also unsure, in practical terms, what I stand to gain from an official diagnosis as opposed to, say, seeking out a local branch of the autistic community. Not because I don't trust institutions, but because "access to accommodations" rarely gets elaborated on further, and is not a guarantee. There are also situations where the label would create incompatibility where there previously was none - for example, certain immigration policies reject autistic people outright. Not that I'm thinking of moving to New Zealand, but still.

There's a lot to consider. I haven't gotten around to making an exhaustive list of pros and cons and I don't think I'll have the energy for it anytime soon. Please feel free to add your two cents if you'd like.

×

Alright, so an official diagnosis isn't quite the no-brainer you thought it was, but "that doesn't excuse people labelling themselves for the fun of it".

Buddy. Friend. Kindred spirit o' mine.

We are doing this because we are having difficulty surviving in a world that wasn't built for us. I don't know what your definition of "fun" is, but I can think of a few other things I'd rather be doing than grappling with burnout and existential crises for half of my twenties - because that's what happens when you grow up being told that your lived experience isn't real. That you couldn't possibly feel this way, because the rest of the class feels fine.

People worrying about fake disabilities are still trying to fit neurodivergent content into a neurotypical point of view. They see someone trying to normalise the disabled experience and think: "If I did that, I'd be doing it for attention," then carry on to brutally mock them as some sort of righteous punishment for being too weird online.**

I have had to sift through a metric ton of trauma to build my identity back up from scratch. Really puts the "fun" in "dysfunctional". And believe it or not, I have had a relatively easy time of it.

About that intersectionality:

My trials as a disabled immigrant have been frustrating, but I'm also a young, straight-passing, cis white woman. People of colour go undiagnosed at far higher rates - their symptoms are overlooked more, and when they are recognised they are often misconstrued as threatening. Trans people get written off altogether, because transitioning apparently means there are no other medically relevant aspects of your life? Same thing if you're overweight.

I cannot speak with authority on these experiences, but I can say that defining someone by a single facet of their personhood is redundant and insulting, and causes real harm when that preconception bars access to the care they need. It's high time we put work into understanding how our differences interact, and hammer home the fact that intersectionality isn't the exception, it's the rule.

If there's one thing that's going to make it harder to recognise the signs of genuine neurodivergence, it's facing constant doubt. Which we do, about our struggles themselves, and the severity of them. The things that happen to us either happen to nobody, or they happen to everybody - so don't be such a bummer, it's neither the time nor the place, etc.

Maybe there is no adequate time or place for these conversations by design. Maybe the discomfort you feel has less to do with sensing pretense and more to do with rejecting something you don't understand. Maybe it's possible for us to think, speak, and act a little differently than you do, all while being sincere. Maybe letting us exist as we are won't make the world implode.

Food for thought.

×

I'll end on this note, because there is always someone who needs to hear it: Whatever the rest of your life looks like, if you are neurodivergent, you are part of the community. I believe you. You belong.

×××

*In the case of the NHS being unable to provide adequate care, it is a patient's right to request access to an alternative healthcare provider, free of charge. This is known as the right to choose. I've linked Psychiatry UK because they have a comprehensive explanation (and they were nice to me), however their waiting lists have also extended into oblivion.

**Like when Chloé Hayden (actor, author and disability rights advocate, with diagnosed auDHD) received overwhelming backlash (after posting a video of herself displaying unmasked joy) that led to her stepping away from social media.

[conflictandscotchblog]

I Really Hope God Has a Sense of Humor

For those of us who grew up in the sixties and seventies, and from an Italian household, our parents thought it was their duty to send us all to Catholic school to be taught by the nuns.

Gee, thanks.

From that, all of us in our sixties, are paying for the summer homes of our therapists.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure some of us received a great education and went on to lead normal, happy lives…

...or did we?

So, let me share the story that sealed my fate, and the reason I am okay with that because, well, it was just so damn funny.

In the late sixties, I was in fourth grade. You know, those precious, formative years.

We were invited to go see a play in a theater in Newark, New Jersey. It was called The Robe, the story of Christ’s crucifixion on the cross, and his resurrection.

Uplifting, and traumatizing, at the same time.

Obviously, just what every fourth-grader wants to see.

We were directed, not asked, to be in front of the church at seven o’clock Saturday morning. Not very convenient for a household with one car, a father who worked all day, and a mother that didn’t drive.

My father dropped me off before work, in front of the church. Just a little side bar to show how times have changed.

As I said, my father dropped me off in front of the church at seven o’clock in the morning. Church was in the center of town, not another soul around within eyesight. Then, my dad just did what all dads did at that time...

...he drove away.

If that happened today, I would be visiting my father in his orange jumpsuit, and we’d talk through the glass in the jailhouse.

By eight o’clock, all my mates were there with me. We horsed around in our best suits, and made the girls scream as we pulled their hair.

You know, we did the things that all boys did.

Little did we know at the time, all the nuns of the parish were in church, attending full high mass.

Those of you that do not know what a high mass is, let me explain. It is hours of standing, sitting, kneeling, singing, much like a low impact workout at Planet Fitness.

When mass was over, the doors of the church swung open, and an Armada of nuns filed out of the church, like a military Boot Camp. Scared the living shit out of all of us.

I peed a little in my pants.

As I remember, it was a cold blistery day, and all the puddles were frozen in front of the church and on the sidewalk.

Leading this pack of nuns, and always first out of the church, was the high commander, Sister Marcella.

Let me give you a brief description of the leader of the pack: She was a towering four-foot-eight-inches tall, and about the same size wide. Below her nose, she sported a very well trimmed mustache to match her uni-brow.

Sister Marcella came to the end of the church landing, and she looked over as if we were her subjects. As she stepped off the last step, her foot hit a frozen puddle on the sidewalk, and immediately went ass over tea kettle.

Her habit wrapped around her head, her feet shot straight up into the air, which revealed her utility belt underneath her habit.

For those of you not familiar with the term, the utility belt was worn underneath a nuns habit. It was there to carry rosary beads, or lunch, maybe handcuffs, possibly a bull whip, and pretty sure our commander carried a gun.

After she stepped on the frozen puddle, she executed a gold medal worthy Olympic flip.

The Russian judge gave her a 9.8.

Sister Marcella landed on her back, with her legs pointed straight up to the sky.

And here’s why I’m going to hell.

When we all finally caught our breath, and try to focus on the events that just happened, I saw something that I never thought, or wanted, to see.

That’s right, I saw a nun’s vagina.

Being in the fourth grade, I’m not sure what it was at that time in my life. However, it was nothing like I have ever seen before, or since.

I am not sure because I blacked out from laughing so hard. I must have been the only one that laughed because before I knew it, sister Marcella had me by the ear and neck. She screamed at me in Latin, something about the Almighty and the vengeful hand of God.

So, because of my outbreak of laughter, I had the pleasure of sitting with sister Marcella on the bus. All day, both ways, to and from, the theater. I stared forward, and never made direct eye contact with anyone.

Much like when you go visit a Silverback Gorilla at the zoo.

So yes, I’m going to hell, but it brings me comfort. Once again, I will be with all my friends.

And, knowing my luck, Sister Marcella will be there, at the gates of Hell, to greet me.

[lapisllong]

If something is both well written and speaks to you personally, there is no acceptable limit to the words you want to read on it. More more! You hunger for the words! It is a credit to the artistry, skill, and restraint of the writer that they provide you the just right amount to satisfy the STORY and to leave it in your head & heart forever.

If a story is poorly written or does not speak to you, it will always feel like too many words, whether it is a microfiction or a novel.

The screenshotted tags read like someone who had "classics" crammed down their throats dry and with endless worksheets and/or never overcame some hurdles that make reading onerous and difficult. I say this as the voracious reader who had bad experiences with required reading AND as the mother of a dyslexic & ADHD daughter.

For years, I was baffled by her aversion to reading until a reading exercise was heard by dyslexic friend who nailed it immediately. She wasn't READING; she was masking her difficulty with clever tricks. If a word started & ended with the right letters and nothing in the middle threw off the "picture" of the word she had previously been taught, she assumed it was the same word. The problem was a lot of words start & end the same and don't stand out in the middle, so the "pictures" looked similar. Also, when reading out loud, there was zero comprehension or content processing happening. She was just skimming along as fast as possible, calling out the "pictures" she saw.

We got her some help and her grades went up, but it was a chore she really didn't enjoy. It wasn't until the Twilight books that she really began to appreciate reading and found it worth the effort it required. I was so thrilled that I read them all just to be able to talk to her about them.

My best friend also has dyslexia and wildly shitty eyesight and jokingly (I think) calls books "useless paper" because reading is a beating for him.

someone put this screenshot in my notes and i wasn't gonna put the op on blast but i cannot stop thinking about it. this is up there as one of the funniest doubling downs i've ever seen. "it's called craft. it's called storytelling." is going to enter my meme vernacular and no one is going to have any idea what i'm talking about. the count of monte cristo shows a clear lack of craft in its wordcount. if only ernest hemingway's editor had killed more of his darlings while he wrote for whom the bell tolls. readers and editors alike are always complaining about how fucking long to kill a mockingbird is.

[isanyonetoknow]

a funny story is that ive known ive needed glasses since middle school but i still went 3-4 years without bringing it up and just faked decent eyesight on purpose. the story is that when i was in middle school, i was selected to do a random eye test (pulled out of class for it) and i was terrified cause i was like. they're gonna find me out. they're gonna know that i can't see great. they're gonna tell my parents.

and nothing came of it. i was returned to class and literally never heard back from those people. i caved and asked for classes in freshman year, high school cause i was concerned my grades could drop

[albedostartarus]

You know what’s funny? All this stupid fucking. and I’m not even growing, my knowledge about photography and layout design is the exact fucking same as last semester. Fashion studio, all that work? Nothing. K came into this semester with the exact same amount of sewing knowledge as me—- started studio 2 weeks late— picked the most difficult pattern and learned to sew it ON THE FLY as she made the dress. I did. Nothing. She’s come out someone with a knowledge of sewing and patterns and all that I want to learn and I did. Nothing. You know why I didn’t pick the stupid fucking sewing project? Because I was boo boo fucking scared, oh no what if I’m unable to sew! Oh no! Boo fucking hoo she went out and did it and all I did was tell her that she had the choice to not do it whenever she encountered AND eventually cleared an obstacle in her process.

I’m not only a stupid fucking person with no technical skill or ability I’m also a horrible fucking person. R got her first internship after the first fucking semester after being accepted to a design program at one of the best universities in the world with a full scholarship while she had a fraction of the resources and experience that I did. S was accepted to bits Pilani and chose not to go bc of the fees, K was accepted to RISD and didn’t go hc of the fees and has nearly a twice as large scholarship to parsons. Z has had way more problems in life than I have, like actual problems not just "oh no! my computers slow!" and she's way better than me, had experience working with design and art before I ever started work on my stupid fucking portfolio that I took a gap year for. It took me a WHOLE GAP YEAR TO MAKE A MEDIOCRE PORTFOLIO RHAT GOT ME A MEDIOCRE SCHOLARSJIP INTO A SCHOOL I DIDNT EVEN HAVE ON MY TOP FUCKING THREE.

Last semester I was the only one who didn’t finish the time class final and I chose to not go to critique and pretended I didn’t wake up bc I didn’t want to face my class knowing that I took up a large project knowing damn well it was a challenge and confidently told the prof I could pull it off then failed due to my own shortcomings.

My grades in 10th were mediocre my grades in 12th were bad and I wasn’t even good enough in the prelimsries to get into CS and was only let it after submitting a special request following the final results which only met the intake by a THIN amount

my skin is full of acne scars and blackheads because I never took care of it my teeth cost my dad several Lakhs because I wasn’t even able to wear a fucking retainer regularly and I STILL don’t and I STILL can’t do the bare minimum of brushing properly and my tooth look like actual shit.

My feet look like shit because I never took care of them my toe nails are chipped and disgusting and there’s the remnants of an untreated blood clot in one of them and ugly patches of hair everywhere

My eyesight fucking sucks because surprise surprise! I didn’t fucking take care of it and cost my family money

I was fat as hell and lately my solution to that has been actively starving myself which in the past has also SIRORISE SIRPRISE cost my family money because I keep having to get blood tests done and get supplements

I can’t talk to people and didn’t have a single friend until 6th and after that still couldn’t talk to anyone except them, I made friends during the pandemic and you know what!!! I’m still FUCKING AWKWARD AROUND THEM!!!’ I CANT TALK TO THE PRIPLE I TRUST THE MOST !!!!! WHATS THE FUCKING POINT!!!!!!

I have ugly legs ugly face ugly nails ugly waist ugly ass ugly everything, my skins getting worse because I fucked up my sleeping schedule as a teenager

I don’t have a CV a resume a portfolio and haven’t applied to a single job in my entire life. I’m pathetic and can’t even do the most basic things in life and all I’ve done for the past 5-7 years I’d be mediocre and waste my family’s money. Im pathetic. I’m stupid. Im ugly. I’m incapable of even keeping my room SOMEWHAT clean let alone keeping myself looking attractive. And now I’m here in college wasting more of my parents’ money while continuing to be mediocre and stupid.

I deserve to die and everyone in my life deserves so much better than me. I don’t know how many of my friends talk and hang out with me out of obligation and bc it’s like I’m almost forcing them and how many even actyally want to and if they don’t I can’t even blame them because I wouldn’t hang out with me either! I’m everything I hate and more and I keep pretending otherwise in hopes that the people I love wouldn’t leave me.

[jasyred]

Ruminate

When I was in grade one, I had a couple of friends I hung out with. We had the same route back home, so we bumped into each other daily. In classes we sat separately, barely mingling with each other until it was time to return home. We weren't close, but my young self liked to call them friends, as I adored them equally.

There was a girl who I called my best friend. She was very important to me. Short curly hair, chubby cheeks and chubby figure, academically smart. We both sat together, ate together, and our friendship wasn't limited to just our school gates. I talked about her lovingly, and she did too, or so, I don't really remember. She was quiet while I was the talkative one. She mattered to me, she was my first best friend after all. Maybe this is why when I had to change schools, I cried the most. I was scared in my new school, my new classmates. They were extra loud, extra notorious, and for someone like me who would easily get intimidated, they were scary to me.

However my day two in class brightened up more than usual, because call it fate or whatever, my best friend joined the same school and ended up in the same class as me. I remember freezing in surprise thinking I'm hallucinating or that girl is just some doppelgänger, or my eyesight is just bad. I quietly went after her before anyone else tried to befriend her and tapped on her shoulder. She mouthed an 'oh' and smiled. I heaved a sigh of relief and gushed about how happy I am to see her and what not. She was a girl with no to minimum reactions, or that's what I convinced myself to believe. Now that I look back, she wasn't really interested.

I sticked with her all times, happily and helped her with everything, even when sometimes, she didn't ask for it. I didn't mind. I didn't wanted my best friend to feel alone, or lost. We befriended other new classmates who came in our class, and eventually became close. However, she always felt distant, and I didn't like it. I wondered if I made a mistake. Soon the days came when she switched seats and sat away from us, I asked her to come back, to which she rudely replied that we disturbed her, and she'd prefer sitting alone. The boys were upset, but they knew I was more hurt. I walked up to her seat and asked if she would atleast let me sit, she didn't bother looking at me and asked me to leave. That was my first friendship breakup, and no matter how much I chased after her, she got farther and farther away. So I made peace with just being able to see her everyday, and the only closeness I felt was by keeping my notebook on top of hers during submissions, or class rankings after exams where we were always a step ahead or behind of each other.

The boys always sticked to me and they somehow made me forget the loneliness of being without my best friend, but could never fill the gap she created. Girl friendships are just different.

When she switched schools again, I cried the hardest, even though I was long forgotten by her. I had her number and picture, and tear up everytime I saw her and wondered what I did wrong. I asked my mother if I was at fault and told her everything I thought about her and how she meant to me. For three months or more, I couldn't stop tearing up, would get sick often because of how much I thought about her, and isolated myself from others. For a child of grade three, it felt like the world was ending and that I'll never have a best friend again.

Time went by, and soon she became a painful memory. Her memory made me vary of befriending other people. But I hated being alone, and above that I hated loneliness. I drifted apart from the boys too, no hard feelings though. We had our fun time and parted ways because of our different streams. Somewhere in grade five, I was seated next to a another quiet, but extremely kind girl. She was pale, slightly skinny and had long hair. She was so kind it baffled me, always sweet to others, and always calm, assuring, gentle. She was honest. I once pranked her and immediately felt bad when she cried, to me she felt too good for the world. I personally think I wasn't good to her, probably because of my heartbreak from my first best friend, no matter how hard she tried to break my walls, I wouldn't let her in. She didn't complain, and even her eyes, there was a look that felt so loving and gentle. She would make me feel awkward because of the amount of patience she had for me, and I would get furious, because she helped so many people that most of them took advantage of her.

Time and people don't wait forever, and eventually, because of some issues with her mother's health, she had to move to different city. I think that was the time, I regretted not letting her in sooner. I was scared, and disappointed when she left, I made a feeble attempt to stop her, but she just gave me her usual smile and said she had to go. I took her number and promised to stay in touch with her. That, was for a while, she probably got busy, and eventually people forget.

Some years later I stumbled on her social media, she now did art, and looked really happy, with her girlfriend.

The same grade, after weeks of sitting alone, a girl approached me. She was known for her athletic figure, tall, tanned skin. She radiated a lot of masculine energy, a type I had never befriended before. I allowed her to sit, still vary and cautious, but she caught my attention with humor. She was louder than me, funny, outgoing, and at the same time, kind and cared about me. Eventually we became close and I called her my best friend too, and so did she. She had a habit of walking in front of me, and would sometimes hold my hand when it got too crowded. From her walk to the way she talked, it felt masculine and often she would being complain about being stuck in a feminine body. I liked it. It was different. She would protect me from people who would say something bad, backed me always, comforted me when I cried. She rarely cried, but once she did, it was heartbreaking to see. Our friendship lasted longer than I expected. Boys and their tendency to hit on girls, never changed, so during an event when one of them did, she stood in front of me and asked them to shut up. Her tall frame scared most of the guys, and it was funny to see. However, this doesn't mean she never helped me out with my crushes. She accompanied me everytime , I wanted to look at particular someone, and gave me an ear everytime I wanted to rant. She never understood the crush factor, but never judged me for it.

But all of it again ended, once our streams were changed again. Grade seven, I tried to meet her during lunches, and we thought we could make it work, but we couldn't. And eventually, we faded. She wasn't a painful memory. Just someone who drifted apart. I liked my time with her, and felt happy for her getting along with others. The idea of losing a friend was always disappointing, and the pain, was now numbing.

I didn't attend the crucial months of grade eight, because I was sick with chicken pox. Hence the first day of my school gave me anxiety. And I met a girl, who had a major surgery, and that day was her first too. Shared experiences led us to same desks, same course to cover and what not. She wasn't my best friend, but she called me one. We were close, but not too close, and she tried her best, so I let her in. We fought sometimes and she would come to me saying she needs me with an apology, and I would let it slide. It was only after I left the school again, and went to a different city, I realized, she didn't need me. Later I confirmed, how glad she was that I didn't contact her again and that she doesn't have to deal with me anymore. I felt hurt and used, after knowing the lengths I went for her just so she could settle in class.

Grade nine and tenth were horrible, in a different city away from home, mental trauma, bullying and abuse. The idea of friendships were out of the window, but I survived there still, because of one girl. She was my junior, we had similar troubles, and so we confided in each other. Could it be trauma bonding? I am not quite sure. All I know is that because we had each other's back, we survived those hellish years, and didn't unalive ourselves. She still remains my close friend and we catch up on each other from time to time.

The idea of girl best friend, was still out of the window. I hated it, because it brought me nothing but pain, and somewhere deep down, no matter how much I wanted girlhood, it felt like I didn't deserve it.

I don't know why I chose to write or think about my girl friendships, from as long as I can remember. Is it the pain? The memories? What is it, I don't really know. Or perhaps I just wanted to see the transition from of past girl friendships to present, because of this one particular woman, she seemed to have set a whole different level to it.

-to be continued.

[loudlittleecho]

HA.

Elementary age. Uncle took me to a cool star seeing event. (Don’t know how he learned about it, but we drove like an hour out of town to a field)

Honestly don’t remember what special space event it was, but-

When I went to use one of the telescopes to see, I told them I couldn’t see anything of the special event.

My uncle jokingly handed me his glasses to use with the telescope.

I SAW THE STARS.

They weren’t blurry blobs.

He was… concerned.

Rest of the night went well.

(The adults jokingly laughed at me when I pronounced Uranus. As ‘Your-Anus’. I didn’t know why that was wrong, but my uncle told me to call it ‘Yer-nus’ after that).

Get dropped off at home. Uncle calls mom in the morning to voice his concerns about my eyesight. Mom says that I was playing.

She GETS ON TO ME for faking.

—

School year starts. Fifth grade.

The math teacher has math practice problems around the board on the walls positioned near the ceiling. They’re laminated, average paper size.

I’m bad at math, and often get them wrong. (Also shy/compliant child and don’t talk up). Watch a new kid stand up and get closer to the wall to see one of the practice questions. The teacher doesn’t correct the student, so I begin doing the same.

Teacher sends me to the nurse for an eye check.

Nurse contacts mom that I should go to the eye doctor.

MOM IS PISSED.

Tells me I’ve embarrassed her. Tells me to not lie.

I tell her I DO have a hard time in math.

She schedules an eye doctor appt.

While we’re driving up there, she is smug and tells me something along the lines of: “the doctor will know when you’re lying. If I find out you’ve been lying you’re going to be in big trouble. Doctors appointments are expensive and you will have wasted a lot of money.”

(I was terrified. I didn’t mean to lie, I followed everything the nurse had asked me to do.)

I do the eye tests with the doctor.

Doctor says I need glasses.

Mom has :shocked Pikachu face:

…

When my glasses come in and I pick them up,

THE WORLD.

The world is so crisp.

Specific and separated.

As we drove home I STARED at all the trees.

The leaves on trees were all separate pieces! They weren’t just one big piece that separated once they fell.

. . .

Mom never apologized.