feel free to write me and tell me how inaccurate this all is

Books with well-written, canonically autistic characters

If you’re autistic, you’re probably tired of the only representation you see being a four-year-old little brother, or mysterious eccentric savant. I know I am, and that’s why I’ve decided to compile this list of three-dimensional autistic people in books. This was originally intended to be a masterpost, but there aren’t really enough for a masterpost, so feel free to add on if you’d like!

On the Edge of Gone- Corinne Duyvis

     Book Description- January 29, 2035. That’s the day the comet is scheduled to hit—the big one.

 Denise and her mother and sister, Iris, have been assigned to a temporary shelter near their hometown of Amsterdam to wait out the blast, but Iris is nowhere to be found, and at the rate Denise’s addicted mother is going, they’ll never reach the shelter in time.Then a last-minute encounter leads them to something better than a temporary shelter: a generation ship that’s scheduled to leave Earth behind and colonize new worlds after the comet hits.

 But each passenger must have a practical skill to contribute. Denise is autistic and fears that she’ll never be allowed to stay. Can she obtain a spot before the ship takes flight? What about her mother and sister?

When the future of the human race is at stake, whose lives matter most?

     My Review- I really, really, love this book. I’ve recommended it to everyone I know. Denise is Black, making this the first book I’ve found, and possibly the only book so far, to have a Black autistic character. Her autism is never seen as something that makes her lesser, and it’s a part of her she firmly refuses to apologize for, and even something that helps her out a few times. She’s also unquestionably a hero- putting her lives at risk to save others, and defying authority to do so. Her sister is trans, and it’s addressed very respectfully- she’s her own person, and an extraordinary one at that. It’s not a huge deal, and you never even find out her deadname, which is super nice. As an added bonus, the author herself is autistic! I would rip out my own heart for a sequel. 

In the Absence of Light- Adrienne Wilder

 Book Description-  For years Grant Kessler has smuggled goods from one end of the world to the next. When business turns in a direction Grant isn’t willing to follow he decides to retire and by all appearances he settles down in a nowhere town called Durstrand. But his real plan is to wait a few years and let the FBI lose interest, then move on to the distant coastal life he’s always dreamed of.

Severely autistic, Morgan cannot look people in the eye, tell left from right, and has uncontrolled tics. Yet he’s beaten every obstacle life has thrown his way. And when Grant Kessler moves into town Morgan isn’t a bit shy in letting the man know how much he wants him.

While the attraction is mutual, Grant pushes Morgan away. Like the rest of the world he can’t see past Morgan’s odd behaviors.

Then Morgan shows Grant how light lets you see but it also leaves you blind. And once Grant opens his eyes, he loses his heart to the beautiful enigma of a man who changes the course of his life.

 My Review- This book was really refreshing. I can’t put into words how much it means to me to have an autistic character, especially a high-support one, written as a love interest. The book is told from Grant’s point of view, not Morgan’s, and he holds some really ableist viewpoints earlier on, but Morgan doesn’t hesitate to put him (or anyone else) in their places. I loved his snark and how he plays off people’s assumptions to put them in their places. Warnings for graphic descriptions of past abuse, and ableism from the characters and some unintentional ableist language (i.e. “severely autistic”) from the author.

Anything But Typical- Nora Baskin

 Book Description- Jason Blake is an autistic 12-year-old living in a neurotypical world. Most days it’s just a matter of time before something goes wrong. But Jason finds a glimmer of understanding when he comes across PhoenixBird, who posts stories to the same online site as he does.

Jason can be himself when he writes and he thinks that PhoneixBird-her name is Rebecca-could be his first real friend. But as desperate as Jason is to met her, he’s terrified that if they do meet, Rebecca will only see his autism and not who Jason really is.

My Review- I was a little wary going in, expecting it to be an inaccurate and dismal portrayal of autism, but I was pleasantly surprised! Jason is well-written and really resonated with me- I’m not sure if the author herself is autistic, but she definitely did her homework. It’s nice to see an autistic character portrayed as creative, and the book also addresses issues with ‘cure’ mentality and pressure put on autistic people to act more socially acceptable.

snapshot » kth ; m

» request: nope

» genre: fluff, smut

» word count: 2.8k+

» author’s note: i really wanted to write and also try something new with my scenario formatting so here we are ?? anyways, let’s have this photo journalist au and cry about it :’) i also tried to include a lot of details and make it more lengthy than usual, so i hope it sounds okay??? nonetheless, i hope you lovelies enjoy~

» warnings: oral (male & female receiving), praise kink (kind of), 

**also, sorry if some of my photography knowledge is inaccurate; i tried to research as much as possible to make it accurate. even if some of the info is wrong, it probably won’t take away from the fic. and i’m sorry that the ending is kind of sucky, i really didn’t know where to go with it :( i hope you all enjoy anyway.

[nsfw under the cut]

You heave a dry sigh as you stare at the out-of-focus, too-bright photos laying in front of you. You gather them all up from your desk and shove them into your bag, embarrassed that you’re the only one falling behind in the photography class. In the front of the class, your professor drones on and on about using your free time on the weekends to practice printing in the dark room. If only you could teach properly, the voice in your head complains, maybe I’d have some decent prints. You zone out into your thoughts as he begins to show off some of his own prints he created, ranting on and on about how easy the techniques are.

You are stirred from your thoughts when someone slides into the seat next to you, nudging your arm. “I saw your prints,” the deep voice contains a twinge of amusement, and you let out a low groan. Taehyung chuckles lowly from beside you, the air around you suddenly increasing in temperature from the warmth radiating from his body. 

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anonymous asked:

I want to read up on fairy tales, what would you recommend?

Well, first of all, just read a lot of them. And–this is crucial–read folklore from other traditions, stuff that isn’t typically called fairy tales, to give yourself a good understanding on the gut level of how fairy tales are unspecial (they’re just a particular slice of world folklore; when you get down to it it’s all the same messy preoccupations filtered through different cultural conventions, reference points, etc) and how they are special (i.e. the cultural-historical specificity of the particular stories that have ended up in this category). 

But I suspect this is not what you are really asking. So:

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bts react ෴ their s/o has anxiety/panic disorder

anon asked: Can you do a bts reaction to their s/o having anxiety and/or panic disorder? Thank you!

this is a bit of a tough request for me haha ! i tried my best to write what i could, but me doing research for stuff like this won’t do the actual experience any justice so i’m sorry if it is extremely inaccurate. i did what i could (:

(+ the gifs i used probs dont even fit the reaction but o well. creds 2 owners)

⁂ seokjin: this boy would be scared out of his mind when he found you on the kitchen floor with your hands clutching at your chest. seokjin didn’t have any idea about what was going on, but your hands were trembling and you were sweating profusely even though he knew you didn’t do much today. you never told him that you had a panic disorder so he had to call an ambulance to ensure your safety since he wasn’t all that clear when it came to calming procedures. seokjin’s mind was scrambled as he rode in the ambulance with you to the hospital, his hand holding onto yours tightly as one of the people in the vehicle tried to get your attention and get you to take in deep breaths just like how he was doing it.

Originally posted by seokjins-wings

⁂ namjoon: i think namjoon would be one of those people who were ready for situations like this. he most likely searched up “ways to treat anxiety/panic disorder” on the internet just in case he was out in public and saw someone having one of those. he was extremely flustered when he saw you experiencing one though and quickly, but gently sat you down on the couch in the living room, his hands holding yours tightly as he instructed you to follow his slow intakes and outtakes of air. his thumbs rubbed circles against the back of your hands as you focused on your boyfriend’s slow inhales and even longer exhales, the harsh thumping of your heart slowing down until you felt a bit better.

Originally posted by yoonseok

⁂ yoongi: he wasn’t built for situations like this. on the inside he was screaming at himself, telling him to do something so that your episode would stop. he didn’t know what to do and he nearly shut down before reminding himself that to calm himself down, he should count to twenty as he took calming breaths. you had noticed your boyfriend was calming himself down and with your eyes wide and your hands clutching at your chest, followed his steady breaths, your pupils shaking as you tried to focus on yoongi. he looked at you when your breathing got a bit quieter and the expression on his face contorted into something like sadness, his arms gently tugging you into a hug as he rubbed your back, his free hand cradling the back of your head, “i’m so sorry. i was completely useless.”

Originally posted by tahyns

⁂ hoseok: extremely worried. alarms would be going off in his head as he saw how quickly sweat had gathered on your forehead while doing nothing, your pupils noticeably going out of focus as your breath shortened. hoseok would be freaked out himself, his hands pulling you close to him as he tried to get you to focus on his face. letting you grip onto his hands to stop your own from trembling, hoseok’s eyes would be shaking; terrified of what was going on. “slow down, you’re breathing too fast,” he’d whisper as his hands squeezed tightly onto your own, “just follow my breathing, okay? in… then out.” his voice was kind and encouraging as he watched you with that worried expression still on his face. as you followed his instructions as calmly as you could, his face lit up, a smile making its was onto his visage. “you’re doing great, okay? just a few more times…”

Originally posted by junghoshikie

⁂ taehyung: i’m not sure on how he would react if this happened to him, honestly. for some reason, i don’t see his reaction as big as the others, but it’s probably because i view him as more of an aloof/eccentric guy when it comes to writing about him. if i were to interpret his reaction, i think he’d try to calm you down with his low, but soothing voice as he counted to ten then twenty with you. just like namjoon and hoseok, he would be holding your hands in his larger ones, his gaze stuck on you. “let’s count to thirty this time, okay?” he’d say as he let you take the lead with counting. “that’s good. now breathe slower. you’re doing great.” his voice had a very encouraging tone to it and so you did as told, eventually calming down.

Originally posted by sweaterpawsjimin

⁂ jimin: “you okay? what should i do?” jimin would ask, the second question directed to himself as he saw your trembling, fear induced body on the couch. seeing you clutch at your chest; jimin thought that you were having a heart attack or stroke at first. little whimpers were falling out of your mouth as he rushed to you and called for ambulance all the while trying to calm you down. he wasn’t sure what was going on, but wanted to be safe rather than sorry when he called 911 in the middle of the night. rubbing your back, he would breathe with you as you both waited for the ambulance to come and get you. petting your hair, jimin would try not to hold you too close just in case you started to struggle breathing again. once the ambulance arrived, he let them carry you into the ambulance with him following inside so he could keep an eye on you as well.

Originally posted by ciutae

⁂ jungkook: i either feel like jungkook would be clueless like yoongi or prepared like namjoon. if he was clueless like yoongi, i think he would be just like jimin and seokjin by calling the ambulance to take care of you and to evaluate your health just to make sure there wasn’t anything too bad going on with you. if he was prepared, he would no doubt be just as calm as the leader of the group. he knows he shouldn’t hold you too close or else your breathing may shorten again and he doesn’t want that because that’s dangerous of course. after experiencing such an episode with you, he would do more research on what to do when someone has a panic disorder/attack so that if you go through another one, he’ll be there knowing what to do. he would be quite nervous and scared to go through that whole thing again, but he knows that you has to be there for you so that nothing goes wrong. he wants to do his best when it comes to taking care of you and making sure you’re safe.

Originally posted by sugutie

One Day We’ll Be Free

Request: “Well I was wondering if you could do one where he finds your old slave marks/scars and how he reacts to them? And your story? Because you earned your position in the rebellion and came literally from the bottom of the pecking order. How does he react? Is he shocked and like lightly touches all you tattoos and marks. Bonus if you make the reader strong and hardened. Im in love with caring cassian”

Pairing: Cassian Andor x Reader

Word Count: 748 (so short omg I’m sorry)

Warnings: mentions of rape and abuse bc u were a v badly treated slave


“What’s this?” Cassian implored softly, tracing a line with his finger over the marking on your back. An ugly, scarred tattoo ran along your spine. Circles and lines corresponding to the vile clan that had owned you. “Are these-?”

“Yes. The markings of a worthless slave.” You recalled the days foggily, now a distant memory. Your new life seemed so far away from where you had been, how hopeless life had seemed, that it was almost like you were living in a different reality.

“(Y/n), how… how did you get to be here?” He asked, hands rubbing soothingly along the messy ink work. “Is this why you never tell me of your past?”

“Yes.” You grumbled. “If you really must know, ask.”

Cassian pondered for a moment, looking upon you sorrowfully.

“And you can spare the pity. It was a long time ago.”

“I’m sorry I just- this is all very sobering to me.” He cleared his throat. “Now I know why you’re so tough. The things you must’ve had to endure…”

“Yes, well, the work we do is just peachy compared to what the clan forced me to do.”

“I don’t want to bring up a painful past for you (Y/n).” He tutted. “You’re here now, that’s all that matters.”

“Yes, but how I got here is just important. It was painful, but it mattered. I wouldn’t be as strong as I am now without the things I faced. The things I… did.”

You shifted, a cold chill settling in your spine.

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If an “unbound” spirit approaches you.

I’ve received a message asking me to elaborate on what to do if you are approached by an unbound spirit!  I’ve been meaning to make this post, and I’m excited to share this information.  This is all information from what I have read from others, and my own personal experience.  Please note, this information is in regards only to spirits or creatures from another realm of existence, such as dragons, etc.  I have very little experience with animal or people spirits.  Full (very long) post under the read more!

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sansa stark: the wildling

notes: this was no request, but it was awfully gratifying to write a new piece to get over my writer’s block. it’s my first game of thrones one shot, and also the first time I write a girlxgirl one shot, so I hope it’s okay xxx

p.s. english is not my native language so if it is inaccurate dialogue-wise with the context of the books/series, i’m sorry J

You waited as Jon Snow talked to his sister Sansa Stark. You were waiting outside her chambers with Tormund Giantsbane. She has just arrived with Brienne of Tarth and Podrick Payne. You had seen her reunion with Jon Snow, after so long apart. You didn’t know what happened or what was going to happen next, but you expected to know soon.

“What do you think they’re talking about?”

“Nothing of our concern.” He was teasing you, and you rolled your eyes, but said nothing. He always thought you were too curious and mouthy for your own good. You were a young spearwife eager to fight, and in his own words, ‘equally brave and reckless’, although he was one to talk. After Mance’s death and forming an allegiance with the Stark bastard, you had stayed by his side all the time. He had known all along that you were a loyal and trustworthy warrior, but that last act had been what made you his sort of second hand.

The door suddenly opened and Jon Snow came out of the room, closing the door behind, brow furrowed and lips pursed. “She escaped from Ramsay Bolton. She was forced to wed him.” He didn’t give much more information, which made sense to you. Having certain knowledge about the House Bolton, you could only start to imagine what Sansa Stark had gone through. “Y/N, you will stay here and guard her room. We will gather later in the day and discuss our next move.” You nodded and waved them goodbye while they walked away. You stood in front of her room, back to the door. You guessed Brienne of Tarth would have liked to be doing this herself, but after the long trip she must be resting on her own room, so that left you as one of the few women warriors available for guarding job.

It was already getting late, and Sansa Stark hadn’t left her room yet. You put your ear against the door. You could hear her moving around, so she was okay, but she hadn’t got out for suppper, as she was supposed to do. You knocked her door.

“Lady Sansa? Your brother requires you.” Your tone was dubitative. You really didn’t know how you were supposed to address her. Jon had always been Jon. You called him ‘Your grace’ if it was necessary, but you didn’t really know the protocol. Suddenly, the door opened and Sansa was there. She was wearing dark clothing that seemed quite warming, appropriate for the weather. Her eyes were slightly puffy, like she had been crying and had tried to cover it. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’ll be. I was just… letting my feelings go for the first time in a while.” She took a deep breath. “However, I shouldn’t be telling you this. I wouldn’t wish of bothering you. I apologise.”

You shrugged your shoulders and smiled nicely at her. “Don’t worry about it. Tormund says I have a nice looking face. Makes people want to spill their secrets.” You winked at her and she blushed.

“He’s right.” You raised your eyebrows, and she blushed a little bit more. “About looking trustworthy. You do. Not the other.”

“Does that mean you think I’m ugly?”

“No!” She answered fast, slightly rising her voice, thus making a couple of people passing by look. “You do look… nice.” You could see how embarrassed she was, and you could do nothing but laugh. However you stopped when she looked sternly at you. You decided to stop teasing her. For a while.

“Well. Lady Sansa, will you be attending supper?”

“I am not.” She shook her head. “Tell my brother I’m not feeling okay. I’ll have one of the maids bring me some food. I’ll stay here.” You nodded your head and gave a look over her shoulder. You weren’t surprised to see a bunch of books spread over her bed.

“What are you reading?”

She looked back to the books and then back at you. “They’re old stories, about princes and princesses and big castles…” Her voice lost strength while she finished with a sigh. You nodded you head. She seemed like the kind of girl who might have liked those stories.

“Don’t you have a book about… wars or something?” You asked. “Milady.” You added swiftly. She scoffed, and walked into her room. You stayed on the threshold, not sure if you were actually allowed to come in. She gave you a brief nod and you followed her. She was going through a couple of books, but she didn’t seem to have one that might interest you.

“I didn’t know the Free Folk could read.” She commented casually, not rising her eyes from the book covers.

“Mostly don’t. I’ve been learning while I stayed here.” She nodded and picked up a book, but when you were to grab it she removed her hand, making you quirk an eyebrow in question.

“We could make a deal. You can borrow the book and I help you with your reading, as long as you teach me how to fight.” She looked unsure and blushed, but she kept her head high. You were completely surprised. She didn’t look like somebody who might be interested in fighting, not even in the slightest.

“Why would you want to learn how to fight, Lady Sansa? You don’t need it. Not only that, you don’t like to fight.”

She huffed at your words. “You met me today. I don’t even know your name.”

You smirked. “But I know yours, Sansa Stark of Winterfell. I’ve heard about you while I’ve been in here. That you’d rather dance, read or sing. The little fighter was Arya, right?”

She seemed taken aback by your words, and looked at you untrustworthily. “How do you know all of that? You’re just a wildling.”

You shrugged your shoulders nonchalantly. “I listen” was your short answer. None of you knew how to continue, so you just stayed quiet for a few minutes. “So… why do you want to learn how to fight? Do you want to spend some time with me?” You said on a teasing manner, trying to get on her good side, but much to your surprise –and delight– she terribly blushed and started to randomly organise her books, trying to hide her red cheeks from you. “So it’s that! You should have just told me, my dear.”

“Don’t talk to me like that! I’m a princess, and you are one of the Free Folk.” You rolled your eyes but stayed quiet at her stern words. You knew when you shouldn’t push you luck. You turned around and walked towards the door, feeling like it was definitely your time to leave. But before leaving, you turned to her.

“Would you still teach me how to read?” She seemed surprised, but after a few seconds passed she nodded her head, and smiled lightly at you. “Thank you, milady. By the way, my name is Y/N.” You smiled one last name and walked down the hall. You had made a turn when you heard the light walking of fast feet behind you. You turned around and saw Sansa, holding her dress so she wouldn’t trip running towards you. On the other hand she held a book. She stopped in front of you and extended her hand to hand it over to you. You took it with curiosity. You didn’t read the title, although you could see dragons on the cover.

“We’ll start tomorrow, with that one.” She said quietly. You nodded. And this time you waited until she left back to her room, exchanging shy smiles first. When she was out of sight, you smiled to yourself. The next few weeks were going to be interesting.

Wanna Dance With The Devil? // Biadore - Eligh

A/N Hello, my names Eligh I’ve done quite a bit of reading but no writing and I had an idea. So since it tis the season have a little bit of a college Halloween party with some Biadore with a side of Witney, it’s quite short (And very possibly quite shit) pls enjoy regardless. Have a happy and safe Halloween and drink lots of water if your drinking (Nobody likes hangovers, nobody.)

Also please excuse my grammar/punctuation they’ve never been by strong suit.

tw - Drinking, name calling (slut) but just playful/teasing not actually malicious, almost smut i guess?

Summary - Adore drags Courtney to a Halloween party and Adore spends the whole evening trying to find a devil with brown eyes.

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Unlearning the myth of American innocence
The long read: When she was 30, Suzy Hansen left the US for Istanbul – and began to realise that Americans will never understand their own country until they see it as the rest of the world does
By Suzy Hansen

By the end of my first year abroad, I read US newspapers differently. I could see how alienating they were to foreigners, the way articles spoke always from a position of American power, treating foreign countries as if they were America’s misbehaving children. I listened to my compatriots with critical ears: the way our discussion of foreign policy had become infused since September 11 with these officious, official words, bureaucratic corporate military language: collateral damage, imminent threat, freedom, freedom, freedom.

Even so, I was conscious that if I had long ago succumbed to the pathology of American nationalism, I wouldn’t know it – even if I understood the history of injustice in America, even if I was furious about the invasion of Iraq. I was a white American. I still had this fundamental faith in my country in a way that suddenly, in comparison to the Turks, made me feel immature and naive.

I came to notice that a community of activists and intellectuals in Turkey – the liberal ones – were indeed questioning what “Turkishness” meant in new ways. Many of them had been brainwashed in their schools about their own history; about Atatürk, Turkey’s first president; about the supposed evil of the Armenians and the Kurds and the Arabs; about the fragility of their borders and the rapaciousness of all outsiders; and about the historic and eternal goodness of the Turkish republic.

“It is different in the United States,” I once said, not entirely realising what I was saying until the words came out. I had never been called upon to explain this. “We are told it is the greatest country on earth. The thing is, we will never reconsider that narrative the way you are doing just now, because to us, that isn’t propaganda, that is truth. And to us, that isn’t nationalism, it’s patriotism. And the thing is, we will never question any of it because at the same time, all we are being told is how free-thinking we are, that we are free. So we don’t know there is anything wrong in believing our country is the greatest on earth. The whole thing sort of convinces you that a collective consciousness in the world came to that very conclusion.”

“Wow,” a friend once replied. “How strange. That is a very quiet kind of fascism, isn’t it?”

It was a quiet kind of fascism that would mean I would always see Turkey as beneath the country I came from, and also that would mean I believed my uniquely benevolent country to have uniquely benevolent intentions towards the peoples of the world.

During that night of conspiracy theories, Emre had alleged, as foreigners often did, that I was a spy. The information that I was collecting as a journalist, Emre said, was really being used for something else. As an American emissary in the wider world, writing about foreigners, governments, economies partaking in some larger system and scheme of things, I was an agent somehow. Emre lived in the American world as a foreigner, as someone less powerful, as someone for whom one newspaper article could mean war, or one misplaced opinion could mean an intervention by the International Monetary Fund. My attitude, my prejudice, my lack of generosity could be entirely false, inaccurate or damaging, but would be taken for truth by the newspapers and magazines I wrote for, thus shaping perceptions of Turkey for ever.

Years later, an American journalist told me he loved working for a major newspaper because the White House read it, because he could “influence policy”. Emre had told me how likely it was I would screw this up. He was saying to me: first, spy, do no harm.

most of the article is boring but the last little bit really tells it like it is

advice for high school freshmen

I see a lot of advice posts for college freshmen, so here’s one for people starting high school. (Feel free to add stuff.)

  • BUY. EXTRA. PENS. AND. PENCILS. You may think 30 pencils and 10 pens is plenty. To that, I say, “Ha!”
  • SparkNotes is your new best friend, especially if you’re not good at English. However, teachers CAN tell if you didn’t read the book, so at least skim it.
  • You may not have anyone to eat lunch with at first. That’s alright! Try to find someone you have a class with, preferably someone that looks as terrified as you.
  • If you ride the schoolbus – a book and/or an iPod will be your savior, especially if there are a lot of annoying fuckboys on the bus. Trust me.
  • If you’re 14/15, and there’s a 17/18 year old hitting on you, something’s very wrong. Be cautious, and stick to people your own age.
  • People will find a reason to tease you no matter what you do, so fuck ‘em. You may as well do what makes you happy.
  • If you do something bad and get caught, just own up to it and apologize. The punishment will probably be a lot lighter.
  • If you’re like me, you’ll probably write stuff down in your planner, and then forget to check your planner. I recommend writing stuff down on your arm, or writing it down on a piece of paper and leaving said piece of paper in a place you know you’ll look later – i.e., shut inside a book or your wallet.
  • Girls: if he reduces you to your body or how many people you have (or haven’t) slept with, he’s not worth your time. 
  • Boys: don’t do that. And call out your friends for doing it. Change starts with you!
  • If you want to have sex, that’s your choice, but please, PLEASE be safe and be informed. Make sure you’re educated on safe sex and birth control.
  • If you DON’T want to have sex, that’s okay! You’re not less mature. If you’re not ready (or are just not interested in sex at all), that’s fine. You do you.
  • DO. NOT. TAKE. NUDES. That shit is illegal. Wait ‘til you’re 18, people!
  • Be polite to your teachers. They have enough shit to deal with. And besides, making friends with them means they’ll help you out, and be much easier to approach for help.
  • After you get your core classes, you’ll have some electives. Pick your classes based on what interests you, not where your friends are going. You may make new friends in the class, and even if you don’t, you can still have fun studying something you think is cool.
  • The sex ed is going to suck and likely be inaccurate. I’m sorry.
  • Google is your friend.
  • Eat breakfast every day if you can possibly swing it. 
  • Clubs and extracurricular activities are a lot of fun, and great for college applications, but don’t overwork yourself or get burned out. Clubs are supposed to be fun!
  • Please don’t tease people. Be kind. 
  • There probably won’t be a Regina George-like head of the school. Some people may be mean, but most of them are kids with their own issues. 
  • With that in mind, your crush is human, too. They’re probably just as scared to talk to people as you are.
  • Dances are fun for a lot of people, but they’re not everyone’s bag. If you don’t like them, that’s okay!
  • At this point in your life, you may realize (or may have already started to realize) that you’re not straight or cis. YOU ARE NORMAL, VALID, AND BEAUTIFUL no matter what anyone else says. If your school has a gay/straight alliance, maybe check that out, or reach out to other LGBT+ alliances in your area. If all else fails, the internet. You are not alone. You are never alone.
  • Shower and use deodorant. Trust me.
  • No one is inherently superior to anyone else because of their interests, clothes, intelligence, grades, or background. Don’t be a douchebag.
  • If you’re like me, a gifted child now evolving into an average teen and young adult, PLEASE take the steps to preserving your mental health that I didn’t. Talk to your parents or a teacher you trust if you feel like you’re doing too much. Remember that your grades don’t define you, and one failed test won’t be the end of the world. Don’t reduces yourself to an essay or a standardized test. Please, spare yourself the nervous breakdown.
  • Getting your heart broken is going to blow, but it happens to almost everyone. 
  • These likely WON’T be the best four years of your life, but that doesn’t mean you can’t make them great.
  • And, if nothing else, I can pretty much guarantee that this will suck less than middle school.

virgoduh  asked:

I'm in my last year of undergrad and I feel like everything has gone to shit. The past year and a half have been awful, i have depression, anxiety and im almost positive i have ADHD too. I feel like such a piece of shit because I keep asking for the extensions on projects and exams, and I'm afraid I'm gonna be this way forever. Sorry this is a lot but do you have any advice on how to take the first step in digging myself out of this hole ive created?

Okay, so it seems like you came in via this post. That’s pretty much my philosophy here. I don’t know if you’re gonna “be this way forever” or not–I know I will probably be the way I am (depressed, anxious, with ADHD) forever, but that isn’t necessarily the same as being a trash disaster on academic probation forever.

I’ll be honest, I kind of feel like after a year and a half, you’re kind of an expert on what you can do with two hands and a shovel. You’ve been digging yourself out as fast as you can, and it’s been a real struggle. I think it’s time for you to get actual help, as in, other people. Reaching out to me was a good first step. I can help you decide where to go from here.   

Keep it simple and take it slow. If you don’t know where to find any of this stuff, feel free to private message me your school’s website; I have a minor knack for reading organizational structures.

For the next week, pick ONE OR TWO of the following options. Even if they’re all good ideas, keep your goals manageable. And then, of those one or two, pick one or two SMALL ACTIONS you can do to pursue them, like looking up a number in your student handbook or making an appointment. If you do more, that’s great, but the siren song of our people is, “I’m gonna accomplish so much!” 

Without further ado: Some Options For Help

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So I forgot to upload yesterday’s QuiObi week thing so let me do that now before work since today’s thing isn’t done(I didn’t write for today since I didn’t know what to write about so I did a picset instead). I’ll put it on AO3 later but for @quiobiweek here’s my Sunday piece on Monday.


Qui-Gon woke exactly thirteen days after the fight on Naboo. Obi-Wan sat, vigilant and stubborn, at his Master’s bedside the entire time since being returned to Coruscant and the Temple. Qui-Gon’s eyelids fluttered, wakefulness coming slowly. Obi-Wan could feel his master in his mind again, more than his basic life signs, which meant he had to keep his excitement at bay so as to not startle him.

Qui-Gon groaned in confusion as his eyes opened blearily, taking in his surroundings. Obi-Wan tried to keep the tears at bay and failed as he gently held Qui-Gon’s hand in one of his, the other holding onto the edge of the bed.

“Hello, Master.” Obi-Wan whispered. “Welcome back.”

Qui-Gon turned his head, wheezing weakly behind the oxygen mask he wore. “Obi-Wan…”

The response was little more than a puff of breath, but Obi-Wan felt it was better than anything else he could hear that day. The Healers had said that Qui-Gon’s breathing would be affected due to the proximity of the wound to his lungs, but that he would heal with time.


“We’re in the Halls of Healing, Master, in the Temple on Coruscant. We were brought here from Naboo.” Obi-Wan explained. “Due to the…nature of our injuries, the Nabooian doctors thought it best we return here.”

“Injuries?” That seemed to wake Qui-Gon further, motioning to sit up until Obi-Wan let go of his hand to press it on his master’s shoulder.

“Don’t sit up.” Obi-Wan admonished gently. “I…I’m fine.”

“Why are you…still here, then…?” Qui-Gon replied, the twitch of an eyebrow sending familiar comfort through Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan shrugged and gripped the bed harder. Proper Jedi posture started to take its toll on him. “I wanted to stay with you.”

“You…you saved me…”

Qui-Gon’s weak smile matched Obi-Wan’s own watery one.

“I did, Master.” He held Qui-Gon’s hand again with his free one. “I wasn’t going to let you go where I couldn’t follow.”

Qui-Gon very gingerly shifted in his bed and Obi-Wan leaned over, hugging his master tightly to him. The irony was that Obi-Wan felt like he should have died in that chamber, had even expected it with what he had tried to do. Healing was never his strong suit but in the flurry of the moment, he’d had to try. Qui-Gon lived and would recover. That was all that mattered to him anymore.

He had nothing else.

The explanation had been given to him the day they had returned from Naboo. It had been mostly jargon, something about neural damage accidentally transferred during the failed healing process. He had tried to take the pain away, had tried to end Qui-Gon’s suffering quickly, a simple task, but the complex spinal injuries handled by someone so unskilled meant that he’d somehow transferred the pain and nervous system injuries to himself by taking the pain away into himself. Where the wound had been, t

His nights were spent awake, staving off panic as visions of Maul, arachnoid and menacing, scuttled around the room as he lay prone, unable to run.


When Qui-Gon did learn of the cost of his life, it wasn’t of his Padawan’s volition.

It was when he’d woken in late morning, the therapy to his lungs and midsection painful enough to surpass the painkillers in his system. The Healers only used high doses for special cases, instead relying on a Jedi’s pain tolerance and ability to suppress to kick in. Still, the whimpering he heard wasn’t coming from his own mouth, which meant…


His voice wasn’t yet able to go up to its normal volume, so it came out as a hoarse whisper. The whimpering continued not far away, though not in the direction of the other bed. Qui-Gon had only ever seen Obi-Wan by his bedside or in his own bed, asleep. He knew Obi-Wan’s vitals and health couldn’t have been as poor as his, remembering the fight blearily. Why was he still in the Halls? Even if he wanted to stay, Obi-Wan would have been sent away at the end of visiting hours. The whimpers escalated into whines and Qui-Gon, still hazy and languid with painkillers in his system, couldn’t move to get up. He heard faint buzzing, that of people talking in hushed voices, before another buzzing of an electrical sort, followed by another whine. He turned his head instead, where his eyes widened and he felt the grogginess dissipate.

Obi-Wan was surrounded by Healers, two connected to his mind and two moving his legs. All four made small comments and notes, Qui-Gon listening in keenly.

“There’s still no response from his legs.” One Healer noted.

“Increase…the voltage.”

“But Obi-Wan…”

“Do it.”

Qui-Gon watched silently as a Healer checked the little nodes on Obi-Wan’s skin before pressing a a button on a small machine. Obi-Wan yelped loudly in response, trying to squirm away weakly. Qui-Gon wasn’t sure the movement was his own.

His legs stayed still, however.

One of the Healers, Obi-Wan’s good friend, clearly looked uncomfortable with the experimentation.

“He feels the pain, that’s a good sign.” She said.

“But the neural responses aren’t there.” Another, Healer Che, countered. “He’s not moving his legs.”

“…higher voltages may work to stimulate the nerves.” A blonde Nabooian reminded the group reluctantly as she detached her hands from Obi-Wan’s head. “I read somewhere that prolonged exposure to high levels of electricity can cause muscle and nerve responses, albeit randomly.”


Obi-Wan’s voice was weak, looking at the Mon Cala with red-rimmed eyes. Qui-Gon could tell they were from exhaustion rather than tears, as he’d seen the look on Obi-Wan’s face before, but that didn’t help the stone that settled in his stomach at the notion that he had been affected by the battle like he had been.

“We’ve been doing this for days…” He continued. “I don’t know that I can do this anymore. Nothing is changing…”

“Until we find an answer, Obi-Wan, we’re going to try. If you want us to stop, tell us.” Bant frowned. “We can’t do anything more if you tell us to stop.”

“What will happen if I do?”

“You’ll be kept here on observation for a few days, and then…released to yours and Qui-Gon’s quarters.”

“After that?”

The urgency in Obi-Wan’s voice rose, implying something Qui-Gon was unaware of. Bant simply shrugged and shook her head.

“I don’t know. The Council will take control from there when it comes to your status.”

“…are you or anyone sure that any of these tests and treatments will work?”

Bant shook her head, frowning. “No, Obi. We’re not.”

Obi-Wan turned to stare at the ceiling for several minutes in thought. Qui-Gon was increasingly confused, wanting to speak up but finding he had a lump in his throat. The Force told him to listen and he would.

“…then we can stop.” Obi-Wan spoke quietly. “I don’t think there’s any more we can do.”

“Healer Che, he’s revoking consent.” Bant pulled up hidden railings on the bed, locking Obi-Wan’s bed in place. “Bring the chair over for if he needs it.”

As the group bustled about, packing up the machine and making sure Obi-Wan was settled, Qui-Gon felt lost. What was going on? Obi-Wan seemed healthy enough. How could he not have mobility in his legs?

Another dosage of painkillers administered meant he couldn’t ask, his tongue thick in his mouth and just as clumsy. Qui-Gon fell back asleep, but vowed to ask later.


Obi-Wan cursed for the third time under his breath as he tucked himself back into his pants and started the process of transferring back to his chair. The hoverchair he used was not very well suited for long-term use, nor for complex maneuvering from surface to surface. He’d been allowed to look at catalogs of assistive devices, like hoverchairs or possibly braces. He’d have to modify the braces with neural links, but he’d have increased mobility that way. He could still be a Jedi if he could run, jump, and walk. The Force could help him for difficult things.

When Qui-Gon was asleep, Obi-Wan tended to simply crawl to what he wanted or needed instead so he never had to do so in front of his master and keep up his façade. Still, crawling on the bathroom floor disgusted him, so he always used his chair regardless of the inefficacy. The fall to the floor brought footsteps this time that told him that Qui-Gon had heard his swearing and, having been allowed to leave his bed due to the bacta therapy working wonders on his lungs, would see him so prone at any moment.

Obi-Wan looked at the tile floor in shame and embarrassment as Qui-Gon appeared in the doorway. At least he was able to tuck himself back into his pants before Qui-Gon arrived in the doorway, but he felt disgusting all the same.

“Obi-Wan, why didn’t you tell me?” Qui-Gon leaned against the door frame as Obi-Wan climbed back into his chair, obviously ignoring him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You’re alive. That’s all that matters to me.”

Obi-Wan’s voice was dull as he piloted the chair out of the bathroom, pushing Qui-Gon aside in the process. He had been staring out the window of their shared private room before this, taking his spot against the windowsill to prop himself up on his forearms, hoping his upper body strength would hold. Ignoring how his arms shook under his weight this way, Obi-Wan stared out at the city below. Qui-Gon followed behind, albeit carefully.

“Obi-Wan…what happened in that chamber?” Qui-Gon asked carefully. “The Healers said something about…improper healing. You know you can’t heal yourself very well, let alone someone else.”

Obi-Wan stared at the lights outside. “I can’t. I didn’t do it right, but you ended up just fine.”

“And you?”

Obi-Wan let out a breath, clutching the windowsill harder.

“Something about thoracic and lumbar vertebral nerve damage caused by the Force nullifying the neural pathways in the spots yours were affected, which is just a fancy way of saying…”

“…that you can’t walk anymore.”

The silence was damning. Qui-Gon’s heart tore into pieces at how vulnerable Obi-Wan’s posture seemed, trembling against the windowsill.

“Qui-Gon, I tried so hard, you were dying in my arms, I didn’t know what to do! I had to close the wound and I tried my best but…”

It was a shameful thing, really, as he tried to thump the windowsill with a fist, too used to being able to stand. All it did was make him lose his balance with a yelp as he fell to the floor in a shaking heap.

Qui-Gon approached slowly to make sure Obi-Wan was safe and unharmed, noting that the shaking was accompanied by tears he knew his Padawan rarely, if ever shed. He could feel his chest tighten, though it was more to do with the lump in his throat than his lungs. Obi-Wan had somehow taken his injuries and brought them into himself. In the process, he saved his life at the cost of his own legs. Even if accidental, it was still immeasurably kind. Some would say heroic.

Settling down next to Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon pulled his poor Padawan into his arms.

“Obi-Wan…” He whispered, running his hands over that soft, spiky hair. “Obi-Wan, I’m here now. You’re here, too, that’s all that matters…”

“Not all of me!” Obi-Wan shouted, the wobble in his voice apparent even if his eyes were fixed to the floor.

Qui-Gon didn’t know what to say. How could anyone? He’d been given his life and autonomy back at the cost of his Padawan’s. There were tears falling to the tile in a steady stream, as well as stifled sobs, that broke his heart. Normally, Obi-Wan was the pragmatist of the two of them, the one that held everything together when he was too emotional or dismissive to care. He knew he was Obi-Wan’s emotional support, yet the man rarely ever took it once he became an adult, preferring to retreat back into his mind. Now, sprawled on the floor without control of his legs, Obi-Wan looked little more than the young teenager he’d comforted during long nights of nightmares.

“I’m tired, Master.”

Obi-Wan’s voice was barely audible and shook as much as his thin frame did.

“Do you want help to bed?”

Qui-Gon winced when he realized what he said. Obi-Wan was sure to pitch a fit, which was why he was surprised when Obi-Wan nodded silently, never raising his eyes from the floor.

“Please.” He mumbled.

Qui-Gon carefully lifted Obi-Wan up into his arms, ignoring how his body protested at the action. Shuffling over to Obi-Wan’s bed, he settled him down and tucked him in.


The word was a whisper, but Qui-Gon knew the significance. While they weren’t strictly in a romantic relationship, neither were against the idea. The Code kept them from truly bonding, but their training bond had mutated into one close to that of a soul bond, which meant that aside from a verbal recognition of their agreement, they were partners in every sense.

“We’ll work through this, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon said as he retrieved the chair, placing it by the bed. “I’m not going to leave you, I promise.”

Qui-Gon carefully climbed into Obi-Wan’s bed, helping him shift over to make room. The Healers would have a conniption when they were found this way, but he didn’t care at all. He could tell Obi-Wan felt afraid to be so helpless and it was obvious his Padawan struggled to cope. He went through torture to try and find a solution to a problem that could be worked around with patience.

Obi-Wan wanted desperately to walk again.

Pressing a kiss to Obi-Wan’s forehead, Qui-Gon smiled as his lips brushed the skin.

“I love you so much, Obi-Wan.” He whispered as he petted Obi-Wan’s hair. “Thank you…you don’t know how much you mean to me.”

“Master…” Obi-Wan buried his face in Qui-Gon’s tunic as he was hugged tighter than he had been before.

They laid there, comforting one another in the ways they knew how, with gentle affectionate touches or whispered words, until sleep took them into a shared nightmare. It had plagued them both, though they knew it wasn’t real, and they tried to stay awake together for as long as possible, until the red of the rising sun started to peek over the horizon and into their room. The red pervaded their dreams along with the darkness, manifesting into a terrifying Zabrak visage that shone blood red out of a dark, dank cave. Laughter pierced the screams that alternated from the beast that muttered endlessly while pacing on his spindly arachnid legs. All over the walls were scribbles in blood, all of them saying one word, the one that woke them into twin states of unease.


The Emails.

Not a single one of these was written by me Every email was written by  🅱 who wishes to remain known as only 🅱 .

🅱 has been an amazing help getting the project into gear, and has honestly contributed more than I have at this point in time. Round of applause for 🅱  everyone!

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peter pan imagine / frozen

as soon as i saw the season finale, i knew i had to write this! it’s mainly based off of the movie, and will probably be inaccurate once season 4 comes out, but we don’t know what the writers will throw at us! thank you all for the support <3 feel free to put in requests in my ask box!

anyways, enjoy!


Peter wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. His warmth fills you will comfort and protection, and his hand reaches yours, clenching softly. As you admire the beach of Neverland, he passionately lands a kiss on your lips, holding you tightly.

When it began to grow dark, both of you start to head back to camp. Stars cover the sky in lights. Nighttime in Neverland has been one of your favorite views since you came. A rustle in the bushes interrupts the conversation you’re having with Peter, and a girl appears from the shadows. Her bright blue eyes and white hair beam at you, and she wears only one glove, her back hunched over, as if she’s scared. “Please.. Stay back, I don’t want to hurt you” she warns, her voice shaking. “Who are you? How did you get here?” Peter questions, as you grab on to his arm. “I-I don’t know, there was this bean and—“ a wave of ice hits the ground from her gloveless hand, bouncing up, and before you can process what’s going on, it aims straight into your chest. You feel ice cold, and start to fall, but support yourself afterwards. Peter places his arm around your back to lift you up, and you see the girl run away in fear. Peter’s too busy comforting you to pay attention to her. “(Y/N)! Are you okay?” he asks, concerned. You stand up and feel fine. “Yeah, I’m okay.” You tell him. “Your hair..” he gently touches a part of your hair, as you look down, and see part of it has turned pure white. “Peter, I feel fine.” You smile, slightly grabbing his hand and putting it down. “Promise?” he sounds concerned, and brushes his hand against your cheek. “Promise.” You respond.

You continue to walk, still far away from camp.  Cold immediately fills your entire body, and you lose your balance. Peter catches you in his arms, as you catch glimpses of more hair turning white. Your hands grow frosty, and you feel limp and faint. You feel Peter’s bounces as he runs towards camp, yelling words at you, but they come out as blurs. After a minute, you can finally hear Peter saying “Stay with me, (Y/N)” with worry in his voice. Another wave of cold hits you, causing you to shiver and snuggle into his chest for warmth. “You’re freezing!” Peter squeezes you harder to warm you.

He finally reaches the Lost Boy camp, and the boys run to him to help you. “Get her to a warm place” Peter calmly demands to Felix, handing you to him. “Rufio, grab a blanket” Felix yells at one of the Lost Boys, holding you in his arms. He wraps the blanket around you, and places you next to the burning fire. Peter runs off to search for the girl.

/ Pan’s Point of View /

I go through the island; she couldn’t have run far. After only a couple minutes of searching, I find her. “Who are you?” I ask. She turns around and gasps, “My name’s Elsa.” I take a step towards her, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to” she mutters. “What did you do!?” I yell at her. “I froze her heart. I’m sorry” she tells me, “Only an act of true love can help her.”

An act of true love.. true love’s kiss. I waste no time and sprint back to camp. When I get there, (Y/N)’s hair is completely white, and she’s starting to freeze. I quickly grab her into my arms and kiss her. I feel warmth coming to her hands as she grabs my cheeks to deepen our kiss. She wraps her arms around my neck and I put my hands on her waist. “I love you” she whispers.

I love you, too.


request an imagine here

Notre Dame des Paris thoughts: a rant

So, full disclosure: not only have I seen the Disney movie, but at the age of seven I had an Esmerelda duvet cover. It was purple and gold and had Djali on the pillowcase. It was like Pierre Gringoire’s dream duvet.

So from the outset I was like “Hugo, come at me bro. LET’S RUIN MY CHILDHOOD TOGETHER!”

I was not disappointed.

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The Brace Effect

For those of you who dont know, there is a new show called “Scream Queen”. As I tried to understand each character and the plot of the show, there was one element that I could not move past. 

This new TV show falls victim to the same mistake that many shows and movies have previously made. The show follows the all to familiar stereotype which I like to call the “Brace effect”. In the show, a girl is stuck wearing a brace for her scoliosis. And as every media likes to portray girls in braces, she is the ugly one, the poor dresser and the wannabe. And then suddenly, someone pays a little attention to the girl with scoliosis and gives her a “much needed” makeover. As the newly transformed girl enters the room filled with her peers, she is finally seen as the beautiful, smart, amazing girl she is, of course, she had to lose the brace first. It is the “Brace Effect” which hits me hard. As someone who wore a brace for scoliosis, it is offensive, rude, and unimaginable that in todays society, we are still quick to judge people who may be different or need a medical device. I am tried of being portrayed as ugly and only when I no longer need my brace am I beautiful, that only when I am brace free do I deserve respect. I am frustrated of letting the media tell me and society that scoliosis is an ugly disease. 
Lea Michele’s character is one completely based off of false information given by the media. Not only is her brace completely inaccurate, her depiction is offensive and dehumanizing. I cannot blame Michele for playing such a role, as she is purely reading off a piece of paper. But I do blame Ryan Murphy, the creator of the show, for failing to do research, to speak to those in the community, and for simply casting a blind eye on the feelings of those who actually have scoliosis and actually have to wear a brace. 

I am tired of being victim to the brace effect and I no longer should be. It is time as a community that we stand up to movies and tv shows who do not care how they paint our stories to society. I am tired of feeling like my brace makes me ugly because it doesn’t. My brace makes me strong. It makes me special. If you are tired of seeing scoliosis as something negative in media, stand with me. Write producers and writers. Tell the cast about our own stories. Dont stand by, stand up. 

The brace effect can be seen in movies and tv shows such as:
Romy and Michele’s High School Reunion
Two and a Half Men 
House Bunny
Scream Queen

anonymous asked:

Hi~~~~ I was wondering if u can write a uminico based on this vid abt mimori reading a love letter to sora on hanayo-and-rice's blog



(Please watch this video first before reading the fic)

“SHAMELESS! I WON’T DO IT!” Umi shouts in horror.

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