aw man i love the concept of taako being very into white suburban culture. like honestly he was born to be a forty three year old wine mom. takes the mini van to get a five dollar manicure and a seven dollar latte….. does the shopping and uses twenty six coupons at checkout and yells at the teen cashier…….. he gets escorted home by a cop because he tried to steal a two hundred dollar bag at the mall and when his husband asks him why bc he wouldve just bought it for him taako just sighs and replies “i just want some…. excitement in my life i guess” so the two them buy a bunch of kinky books and go sky diving.

anonymous asked:

Ohh but Jataro was born on the 29th of a leap year... so do we celebrate the 28th, or March 1st?

Really? Well when did you usually celebrate your birthday, Jataro-kun?

…I didn’t celebrate it. My mom said it was a really good thing that she only had to be reminded of that day once every four years.

That’s not nice ! We always celebrated it with you !

Y-You are right, I’m sorry !

We did on the 28th, that was Daimon-kun decision though.

Well he can’t have the right number but he should at least celebrate it on the right month ! Right Shingetsu-kun, you agree?

Well if we were to truly celebrate it on the day he turns one year older then we would have to make some calculs to determine the right day but I guess your solution is good enough.

Almost a year before we had started high school, I had been at her house, the both of us eating breakfast and playing music way too loud.  Emma’s older sister had come downstairs with the phone.  We’d turned down the music, and my dad had been on the other end, waiting to tell me in a broken voice that my mom had died in a car accident.


Well then.

I guess that prompted a week of crying herself to sleep.

See, with that context, the line gets a lot less stupidly immature and more like what I discussed regarding skilled trolls. As a former best friend, Emma knows exactly where to prod.

Emma’s sister had given me a ride to my place, and I bawled the entire way there.  I remember Emma crying too, out of sympathy, maybe.  It could have been the fact that she thought my mom was the coolest adult in the world.  Or perhaps it was because we really were best friends and she had no idea how to help me.

Once upon a time, when Emma was still a decent human bean…

I didn’t want to think about the month that had followed, but fragments came to mind without my asking.  I could remember overhearing my dad berating my mother’s body, because she’d been texting while driving, and she was the only one to blame.

…is this the incident Danny was narrating about? He got angry at her and since then he hadn’t seen her because she was already dead.


At one point, I barely ate for five straight days, because my dad was such a wreck that I wasn’t on his radar. I’d eventually turned to Emma for help, asking to eat at her place for a few days.  I think Emma’s mom figured things out, and gave my dad a talking to, because he started pulling things together.  We’d established our routine, so we wouldn’t fall apart as a family again.

It all ties together!

It was a month after my mom had died that Emma and I had found ourselves sitting on the bridge of a kid’s play structure in the park, our rear ends cold from the damp wood, sipping coffee we’d bought from the Donut Hole.

ADD tangent of the day: In the Steven Universe episode Shirt Club, Buck Dewey attempts to order off-menu at the Big Donut, only to be told (by employees and several signs) that they only sell donuts. But in other season 1 episodes, like Gem GlowLion 3: Straight to Video, Joking Victim and Future Vision, we’ve seen that they do sell other wares, such as ice cream, lunches packed by Sadie’s mom, and yes, coffee.

Krixwell Liveblogs, for all your “Steven Universe plot hole talk in the middle of a grieving process flashback” needs!


From Volume 11 Omake

Midoriya Inko (41 years old)

  • Birthday: July 4
  • Height: 160 cm
  • Likes: Izuku

Her husband is working abroad alone.

She brought up Izuku alone through mutual agreement. (correction)

She’s not very brave and has a shy personality.

Because of worry and guilt burdening her regarding Izuku, she became fat.

Bakugou Masaru (42 years old) (dad)
Bakugou Mitsuki (38 years old) (mom)


  • Birthday: March 15
  • Height: 177 cm
  • Likes: Classical Music


  • Birthday: December 1
  • Height: 170cm
  • Likes: Volleyball

Mom’s Quirk is “Glycerin”. Gives off a moisturizing effect, giving beautiful skin. Youthful.

Dad’s Quirk is “Oxidizing Sweat”. Produces acid from his palms that explodes. Unlike Ashido’s (Mina) that gives out a huge amount of liquids, this Quirk is sweat only. The explosions are made by clapping (added info) or rubbing both of his palms together.

There was also a time when his interest in becoming a Hero is not as strong as entering the design industry, so he chose that path. Met Mitsuki at work where he was fiercely approached by her first.

Jirou Kyoutoku (40 years old) (dad)
Jirou Mika (36 years old) (mom)


  • Birthday: January 16
  • Height: 171 cm
  • Likes: Rock


  • Birthday: February 16
  • Height: 159 cm
  • Likes: Punk

Ear tab jack” is the Mom’s Quirk. The “Jirou” surname is also from her. Taking the female’s surname for married couples in this universe is not uncommon.

The Dad, a musical composer, instantly fell in love with the Mom’s musical talents and so they got married.

Because the both of them had lived a life like that, they hope that a fulfilling life also comes to their daughter Kyouka.

Daughter, you can do it.

Edit: Thanks for the corrections, @lovemeteorstrike

Edit#2: Added Jirou family and removed reblog.

anonymous asked:

I've seen you say a couple times that you don't see or that you're disabled. Do you mind talking about it? I ask because I am an aspiring writer and it is really hard for me. I wanted to know how you managed or what it was like?

I don’t mind talking about it. It’s something that made me who I am.

When I was about 12, my health sort of started to eat itself. I suddenly had a ton of allergies, and there were days I couldn’t get out of bed. I got sick all the time. In freshman year of high school, I suddenly couldn’t see. For a long time a thing had been going on in my eyes, but I guess I didn’t think it was abnormal until it made it impossible for me to see. Basically this hole was kind of growing in my eyes, but it was more like a rainbow.

When I started having trouble with colors and detail vision, my mom freaked out a bit, because at the time, I was an award winning artist who had ideas of going to college for art. Then I started tripping over things, hitting my head, having trouble with depth perception. Then I got sick, and I mean sick.

I spent about 23 hours a day in bed. I had almost constant migraines. I had pain in my entire body. My skin turned yellow. I went to every kind of doctor you can think of and was tested for everything there is. One day, I had about 12 vials of blood drawn. No one knew what was wrong. The eyes weren’t that big a deal at first, because it seemed like I might have something really serious. The first couple of eye doctors I went to kind of looked at me and said “Oh it’s nothing big.” I actually had one guy tell me that my brain was just shutting off my eyes because I wasn’t using them properly. Yeah.

Then finally, my mom took me to a friend of our family who happened to be an eye surgeon. She did a free exam. I’ll never forget it because it was the first time anyone believed me. I’d been told by doctor after doctor that there was nothing wrong with me. I’d been referred to therapists, told I needed depression meds, told I was just going through a phase or needed attention. Then this doctor put on her head gear, looked into my eyes…took off the head gear…got new head gear…looked into my eyes…took off the headgear…got hand held tools…looked into my eyes…and then stared at me with her mouth hanging open.

“I can’t see the back of your eye,” she said. And suddenly the world simultaneously healed itself and flipped upside-fucking-down for me.

Then it was all about my eyes, the one symptom we could see happening. The one that was the most dangerous. But by then it was too late.

What happened is pretty simple: I apparently have some weird recessive DNA. It triggers certain bizarre immune issues at puberty. My immune system decided to attack my body. The eyes are a delicately balanced system. They show symptoms first. My immune system attacked them with a vengeance. They swelled up like balloons. Normal eye pressure is about 14-17. Mine was at a 22 at its best. It put a tremendous amount of pressure on my Retina, specifically my macula, cutting off blood flow like when you sit on your foot. You know those little shadowy things that float across your eyes? They’re called protein floaters. My eyes had produced so many of those that the doctor could not see through them. It was a fog.

They had to find a way to map my eye, to track the damage. Cue the eye exam from hell. I have always been, even before my autoimmune disorder, deathly allergic to melon. Any kind of melon. But now I was allergic to all sorts of shit, fruits vegetables, all kinds of crap. My dad is allergic to contrast dyes. So when the retinologist suggested this dye-based eye exam that is kind of like a CAT scan, my mom said “no”. See, they inject you with this dye and then they flash this weird light in your eyes. It causes the dye to glow, and then they can see the things through the fog. My mom told them I was too sensitive to stuff for that to be safe. The doc assured her they’d put a butterfly in my arm, meaning the vein would be kept open, and a syringe of benedryl was set on the counter. They’d never had anyone react, and they needed the pictures or there was nowhere to go from there.

So they put this dye into me, and it was like I’d been injected with fire, but there was no way around it, and to me, I knew they only had about 90 seconds to get the images they needed. So I sucked it up. finally the burning began to spread. Suddenly my back felt like I was being stabbed, and I suddenly couldn’t speak. I tapped my hands on my mom, then began sneezing spontaneously. My mom lifted my shirt, and I had quarter-sized hives. The nurse said “Stop sneezing on the camera”. Yeah.

My mom went ballistic. The doctor flew up the stairs and gave me the emergency meds. I slid into a dissociation state and nearly out of my chair. They had to prop me against the camera for the next couple minutes and reinject the dye. No other way, you see.

They did this test every few months for a few years.

But then there was treatment. Not much they could do, except try to get the swelling under control. Only way to do that was corticosteroid injections in the eye. Yup. A needle in the eye. No, they don’t knock you out. They numb the surface of the eye with the same numbing drops they give you for the exams and then they come at you with a needle, tell you to look down and to hold still. And you fucking do.

I was 15 when that started.

I went to experimental clinics, labs, and joined studies. I dropped out of those. Why? It’s pretty simple. The first day I came to the exams, I was kept waiting for over two hours. I was taken into a room. I was left there. No information, no talking. Suddenly a man came in followed by a group of people, all in lab coats. He started moving me around like I was a doll and talking like, “The patient presents with…the patient this, the patient that…”

I shoved him back and said, “The patient’s name is Kristina, and she is 16.”

He finished his exam, and when he left, after the students had gone, he took two Q-tips, dipped them in that pink shit your dentist uses to swab your gums before an injection, and SHOVED them under my eyelids with a cocky smirk.

The patient will never be an snotty little bitch again, I guess.

So yeah. Fuck those guys. They gave me two injections in one day, which no one had ever done before, because it was almost impossible to function with two pimple-like bubbles on your eyeballs.

Still my health was bad. Then all of a sudden, when my mom had given up, It just wasn’t anymore. Suddenly, I was fine, and all that was left were the eyes. I went back to school, except now I was blind.

In a few months, I’d lost about 80% of my perfect vision. I was photophobic. I got horrible and constant headaches. I walked with a cane. And not a single fucking teacher believed me, except my civics teacher, who had gone blind at a young age due to some other weird eye disorder, and my physics teacher who was deaf. I had teachers send me to the office for wearing my sunglasses (with a note on file). I had teachers get on my case about having an audio recorder and CD player for my books. I had teachers call me names, make fun of me, make me leave class to photocopy their notes larger, so that I missed the lecture the notes were on. I had teachers take my medications which had to be in my possession because of their time-sensitive nature and constant administration and hide them in their desks as punishment for asking questions or demanding help. I had classmates pick on me, but luckily, I was well-liked, and I was an officer in the ROTC. I even excelled there in spite of my vision, because my Captain believed in my leadership skills.

I always tell this story because I think it is funny. We had this special boot camp we got to go to if we were in the upper ranks of the ROTC. If you joined the military after high school (which I could never do) you got a higher paygrade for having gone through it. Almost like taking a couple JC classes in the military. It was grueling and all physical fitness, obstacle courses, PT, classes, guard duty…fucking blah. Our unit was allowed six participants. I sort of figured that it wasn’t really fair for me to go, even with my high rank (a company XO). To my complete fucking shock, my Captain recommended me to go, cutting out a classmate (and ex) of mine who was higher in rank. The boy went ape-shit. He went on and on about how unfair it was. He even went to the school board. My Captain made his reasons clear; he told them that the academy isn’t about military sponsorship. It’s about skills and quality. He didn’t care if I had a disability. In his eyes I had more innate ability than anyone there because I had worked so hard just to be where I was. The boy was angry. I told my Captain I appreciated the gesture, but honestly, we ought to make it fair. I told him that we should train to meet the PT standards, and that if this kid could make his, but i couldn’t make mine, he should go. I made mine. He didn’t. He complained about that too. At the last minute, we were told one extra person could come because another school had lost one. So he came anyway. The whole time he bitched about me being there. When I got there, the real military officers gave me shit like you wouldn’t believe, because they weren’t used to dealing with disabilities or recognizing that they can’t discriminate against high schoolers by law. The commander of the unit tried to dress me down in front of everybody for wearing sunglasses. I was pretty pleased with myself for telling him off but still sounding respectful. He kept saying “Take off my glasses”. I told him they weren’t his. They were mine, by law, and that if he had a problem with that, he could consult my attorney, the DOJ, and the doctor who prescribed them. He tried to fuck with me. I didn’t say anything except to ask him if he wanted me to have a migraine, because that’s what taking the glasses off means. He was so confused by me he walked away and called my Captain over. There were words. After that, he came up to me once or twice, almost like a test, to ask me if I needed him to slow down or if I was getting around alright. He wasn’t being nice. He was egging me in a condescending tone and with very bullying language. He’s a drill instructor, and you know what, that’s his job. I told him I was fine. But I made a decision: I wasn’t just going to make the female PT marks. I was going to test out of this fucking place at the male PT marks. And I fucking did. That boy…had an asthma attack on the track (I had asthma too, but I worked my ass off while he coasted on his “boyness”) and failed. At the certificate ceremony, the commander came up to me and said I had really impressed him, and that it was a shame I couldn’t enter the Navy. I thanked him, but what I wanted to say was, “Go fuck yourself and take the NAVY with you”. I ended up the Battalion XO Senior year. This would have given me a guaranteed spot in Westpoint if I could have taken it. My Captain cried when he told me he was sorry he had to give it to one of our Company XO’s. I told him that it was best for everyone, because I am not the type of person to enjoy taking orders. I had learned that about myself.

He laughed.

Around Junior year I got people to pay attention. My doctors got the DOJ and the Social Security people involved. A woman came to my school and enforced compliance in a tone of voice I’d never heard anyone but my mother use. She threatened to rain brimstone down on them if they didn’t give me what I needed, and things changed.

My parents wanted me to take a full scholarship to a local school, but I wanted to get away. So I did. I wanted to travel abroad, so i did. And when I was 19, they perfected one of the surgeries they had been working on the entire time I’d been struggling with this.

See, the injections had brought and kept the swelling down, but that meant that the fog was still there (since ocular fluid doesn’t replace), and the structures in the eye had been stretched all to shit, and were laying in my eye like melted plastic wrap. The old surgery was like a blind man hacking with a machete, but the new surgery used fluorescent dyes to track movement. Dyes that wouldn’t kill me. The old surgery had a 50-50 shot at complete loss of vision and made you lay on your face for three weeks. The new was fool proof and took 45 minutes. So, I got one eye done. They swapped out all the fluid and replaced it with saline. They peeled the distorted membrane off the macula. They stitched up my eyeball and gave me a sick metal eye patch. Looked like a fucking space pirate. It was rad.

But the blind spot is still there. The cataracts caused by the steroids are still there. The scars are there.

A few years later I had the other one done too.

My college was great. It took a lot of work getting all my reading done, about 500 pages minimum, per week, done via audio. I used to spend hours at the pool table in our residence hall, listening to my books and practicing. I got pret damn good too, at pool. It was difficult taking notes or working with a note taker. It was scary traveling by myself. It was hard to get people to understand there wasn’t anything WRONG with me. Just that my eyes don’t work even though it seems like I’m normal and fine, and like they should. People always think to be legally blind you have to be completely blind, and they think you’re not going to be able to defend yourself. I’ve been targeted by pickpockets. I’ve been followed by scary dudes. I’ve been treated like shit, laughed at, and accused by full grown adults of faking to get privileges, all because I can look at the place where their head should be and smile at the blank spot there. All because I can walk down a flight of stairs with a few neat tricks I know that have nothing to do with a cane.

But shit…you probably didn’t mean to ask for my life story. I’m going to get back to the point. My writing. What has it done for that? Like how can you be a writer if you can’t fucking see? Technology. It’s been amazing. I can use a computer same as anyone. The Kindle has been a fucking revolution for me because for the first time in a decade and a half I could read without pain and suffering. Just…all the things it does have made life so much easier than it used to be. It got me out of bad relationships with people who used my disability as a control. It gave me a little bit of confidence back. It helped me know I could handle myself.

And really, I think my vision loss had a lot to do with my writing. In some ways it gives me different perspective, sure, but it’s more than that. I was undeclared when I entered college. I didn’t know what I wanted to do. I thought about history or sociology. My mom had a degree in that and she was an English teacher. I wanted art history, but what the fuck was the point in that? Couldn’t see a damn thing. And then I had a class in poetry, and shit…That made sense. I’d always loved language and writing. Always been okay at it. Dorte stuff but never thought about doing it for a living. But then it was like yeah…yeah I’m gonna fucking do that. Just like when I decided to meet the male PT standards.

If it is in you. If you love it. If it defines you and possesses you, it does not matter how fucked up you are. You will find a way. You don’t have a choice. You are that thing. And you’ll adapt. You just have to let yourself. You have to keep pushing. You have to learn how to handle frustration. you have to train yourself into stamina. You just keep going. I’m nowhere near as successful as I want to be. I’m still going. I hope I get even better. I hope I can say things that make truth more obvious, or that help people put words to things they have always wanted to say.

I don’t need my eyes to be a fucking firestorm. That’s just me. Eyes don’t mean shit.

So keep going. Keep doing whatever you need to. Do it better and better. Bend yourself around it. People who see you struggle will think they’re lucky, but you and I know the truth: they’re not even close to the kind of strong you are. Not even a little bit.

A Story for you

So, every year, my dad tricks me into wrapping my own gifts. Usually, I’m able to catch on part way through, but this year he upped his game. He upped it good.

I didn’t blink when he kept coming back into the room “remembering” old gifts that he forgot to bring in.

I thought it was odd when he brought a large box and said “It’s a new straw doormat for mom”. Like ok, I guess she’d like a new one.

Christmas eve arrives. As a tradition each person opens one gift. He hands me a very large box. A very large box that I wrapped.

“OH, I see, dad. a straw mat. I’m glad I didn’t look in the box!”

I open it.

Another wrapped box. One that I wrapped.

I open it.

Another wrapped box.

And another.

And another.

Until I had realized that not only had I fallen for the Multiple Nested Boxes trick, but I had wrapped each of them myself.

The tiny black box in the middle was my gift. Well played, dad. Well played.

  • Should've Known Better
  • Sufjan Stevens

I’m light as a feather
I’m bright as the Oregon breeze

reviews for the latest Hanimorphs* book, by a guest writer

“explain yourselves, cheritz”

“the ghosts of past, present, and future haunting my dreams”

“seeing jumin’s hairline in the after ending feels like catching a glimpse of married life with him 25 years from now. it feels like what jumin’s mom must have felt like waking up every morning to the decrepit, bloated, and soulless face of jumin’s dad, which, i assume, is why she left him”

*pun credit to @eeveebite!


OTH meme - [7/8] friendships: Haley and Quinn.
“I went to the beach house to tell you that…I’m pregnant. And I want you to be the godmother, because it’s been everything having you near me this past year. They say you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone. And I guess I didn’t know how much I missed you till you were in my life every day. How much I needed you. Come home soon, Quinny. And if you see mom, you tell her to send you right back here to me…because we have invitations to make and stories to write. Just me and my beautiful swan of a sister.”

Yesterday my mom, my 5 year old nephew and i were hanging out, and my mom kept constantly using female pronouns and calling me by my birth-name. 

finally my nephew interrupted her to say, 

“He wants to be called Ben. He’s a boy now. You can’t call him a girl if he’s a boy.” 

and right after that, she started using my pronouns and name correctly. i guess it kind of hits you hard when a 5 year old child calls you out, cause anytime i’d try to correct her she’d keep making the excuse, “It’s hard, I’m trying.” 

i am so proud of my nephew, i shit you not.

Something Broken

Peter Parker x Reader

Sequel to Something Odd and Something Obvious, Followed by Something Mended

Originally posted by lauraharrier

Warnings: angst I guess (??)

You didn’t speak to Peter throughout the rest of the school year. 

You switched seats in every class you had with him and always skipped lunch. At least then you could pretend this was all by your doing. At least the you could pretend that it was your choice not to see him. 

Though that didn’t do much to put your mind at ease. 

When summer came, you spent most of your time with Netflix and your mom. 

“Sweetie,” your mother said one evening, knocking on your door. “Come in,” you replied, pausing your show. 

“Hey, hun, I got called into the office tonight. Some emergency thing,” she said with a smile. “Is that okay?”

“Of course, mama,” you replied, sitting up and hugging her. “Are you okay?” she further asked.

“I’m fine,” you replied with a shrug. She sighed but didn’t press. “Alright. I’ll be back later.” She kissed your forehead. 

“Love you.”

“I love you too, [Y/n].”

You had fallen asleep an hour later, tangled in your quilts and pillows. 

You dreamt of a world where Peter was yours, where earthquakes didn’t strike New York every other day. 

A pounding on your door made startled you from your sleep. 

You sat still for a moment, unsure if you really heard it. Sure enough, it came again. 

You quickly jump from your bed, your feet grazing the cold, hardwood floor as you run into the living room. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” you exclaim to whoever was there. You undo the chain and lock, opening wide the door. 

“What’s going on?” you ask slowly. 

“[Y/n]? [Y/n] [L/n}?” one of the police officers standing at your door asks. 

You stared. “Y-yes?”

“Your mother is in the hospital.”

The police took you there immediately. Your shock prevented you from crying or screaming or much of anything besides gnaw profusely on the inside of your cheek. 

“Y-yes, I’m here for my mother,” you stutter out to the receptionist. 

“Is this [Y/n]?” a woman asked. You turn and nod. She gives you a small, sympathetic smile. “Hi. I’m one of your mother’s doctors, my name is Christine Palmer.”

“I-it’s nice to meet you,” you say, though it’s really not that nice at all given the circumstances. 

“I got her,” Christine assures the officers, leading you away towards a quiet waiting space. 

“What happened?” you demand. 

“There was an accident at her office. A fire. She slipped and hit her head. She’s undergoing surgery right now for shards of glass found her lung.”

Your eyes widened. “Her lung?” you nearly shouted. “How the fu-”

 “Miss [L/n],” Christine said soothingly. “I understand this may come as…as a huge shock. But you must understand that we are doing everything we can.”

You swallowed a lump in your throat. “What else?”

Christine looked uneasy and hesitated before continuing. “There may have been some brain damage. We have our best doctor in there with her right now for both procedures, one Stephen Strange. And if all goes well, then the least we have to worry about is her going into a coma.”

“And if it doesn’t go well?”

Christine ran her tongue over her lip, eyes not meeting yours. “She could not make it out of the surgery or become brain dead.”

You excused yourself, thanking Doctor Palmer for everything. After that, you ] locked yourself in a bathroom stall and cried for hours on end. 

Eventually, news of your mother came. “At this point,” Doctor Strange told you, “it’s going to be a waiting game.” 

You nodded, biting on your thumbnail. “T-thank you,” you managed to whisper to him. 

On that point, you left, returning to the number of officers that stayed with you. You were not allowed to return to your home since you were only sixteen. Without any relatives in New York, you were forced to stay with the only emergency contact your mother had listed. 

May Parker. 

Was it utterly insane that despite everything that was going on, you were terribly nervous too see Peter? 

It made you feel shallow, really, knowing that your mother was in the hospital and you were still concerned with your ex-friend. 

It was only five (5) in the morning when you were dropped off at May’s. She obviously knew what had happened and hugged you tightly once she saw you. 

The police and May stayed behind to speak, catching May up on the current situation. 

It left you to wander aimlessly around the apartment. 

“Hey,” a soft voice muttered. 

You turned around, finding the one person you couldn’t stand to see. “Are you okay?” Peter asked. You ran your tongue over your lips. “What do you think?” 

Peter bit his lip. “[Y/n]…I am so-”

“Don’t,” you interjected. “Just don’t. I am really not in the mood for this, Peter.” You grabbed your duffle bag and walked off towards the guest bedroom. 

Tags: @hamilton-imaginebuddies
@nifflertrash@rapunzxl @newtts-scamander@indaybella99@hannanorman07@princeofsassgard@petroviana

What I am Amazed By

Last year, I told my mom my Gender Identity and Sexual Orientation. I hadn’t been too hesitant about it, because she is the most accepting person I know.

All I said was, ‘Mom, I’m GenderFluid and Pansexual.’

Her reaction gets me to this day.

“I don’t know what the first word means, but I’m guessing the second means you like all the sexes?”(The prefix Pans mean ‘all’.)

Essentially, she was correct, and I went on to explain it to her. And she went, ‘okay’.

So I then explained to her how when I was younger, I hadn’t always felt like a girl. But that I couldn’t say anything because of my father or the church, who all insisted that we are one way and if people thought differently than what God had planned for them, they were going to hell. So I kept my observations and feelings to myself.

I would always cry over my body. I hated it. I wanted to be a boy more than a girl. And then I got older and it began to change. I didn’t mind my body as much, but I also wanted to have a different body at times. I felt like a boy sometimes, and a girl other times. And as I grew older, I would not feel like anything, and sometimes like everything. It was harder to place. I eventually referred to it as, ‘Meh’ because I didn’t know what it was.

And then I came across ‘transgender’ and ‘non-binary’, which lead me to ‘GenderFluid’.

It explained so much. That me flattening my breasts with an ace bandage and several, tight sports bras, and dressing in a man’s three-piece suit wasn’t really a game like some people insisted it was. ‘Cause it never felt like a game. I went outside like that and I loved it when people didn’t think I was a girl. I didn’t want to be a girl when I did that. I was a boy and damn it all I even had a different name! ’Henry’.

And my mom finally understood why I did things like that all the time and why I would prefer men’s clothing to women’s. And why I wasn’t offended when people assumed I was a boy.

She accepted it. ‘Okay.’

And I was relieved!

And then she goes, ‘I’ve never felt like a girl.’

And suddenly my mom is explaining to me how she never felt like a female despite how her body was formed. How she resented her body and wished she had been born male because ‘it would make more sense’. Instead she was ‘stuck like this’. She said she preferred being male to being female.

My mom has experienced Gender Dysphoria for 40+ years and until last year, had never known there was a term for it. 

Adding on to that, she then says, “I don’t like sex and I don’t feel the need for it. Is there a term for that?”

So basically, my mom is awesome. And she supports me(thank God!). And she found out some interesting things about herself that day, and I can only hope that as time passes, more parents will react like this and get involved in a positive way.

Instead of shooting down my words, she wanted information. She got involved. A she understands me a lot better now.

Parents would get on with their kids easier, if they just stopped and listened.

It was prom night. Without a date I was stuck at home playing video games in my room. Mom was downstairs with my older brother. He had graduated 6 years ago but he was taking a girl in my class. I went to get a drink but stopped at the top of the stairs and eavesdropped on my mom and brother.

Mom was looking over some papers with my brother, adding up all the expenses like the suit, the limo, the tickets.

“I can’t believe you can afford all this son. When you went to your own prom I had to drive you aha! Do you remember? I guess your job pays well eh. Too bad you’re spoiling it all on some high school girl.”

“Young girls are easy lays.” He replied with a smile.

“Jason!” She sounded stern but her face was hiding a smile. “You’ve got a dirty mind. Oh man and a dirty jacket too, look at this lint. Here let me clean this off.”

“Oh my lord! Baby look at your body! I knew you were in shape but I had no idea, you look fantastic!”

“Thanks mom, you’re not too bad yourself.”

“Oh stop it. You should take your little brother to the gym with you sometimes. He just sits around playing video games all day. He’s never even had a girl over before.” Her eyes lingered on Jasons body as she turned to grab the lint roller.

“It’s over here somewhere… baby… why are you staring at me like tha- oh god Jason what are you doing?”

My brother moved in front of her, pants around his ankles, and pushed her back on to her feet and pulled her head down to his massive, veiny cock.

“Jason wh- mmMMf, urrrrgglm…” She was silenced by his bulging cock being forced into her mouth.

“Shut the fuck up and suck my cock mom.”

“That’s a good bitch.”

She was groaning unhappily, fearfully. But slowly, the groans turned to moans… 

Finally Jason threw her on the bench and ripped her legging open with his bare hands.

“Oh fuck yes look at that sweet pussy. You got a real fat ass mom…”

“Baby please stop! You can still stop!”

“No… I have no interest in stopping.”

His heavy cock slid into her cunt like a warm knife in butter. She failed miserably in her attempt to hide her pleasure.

“I own this pussy mom- day or night if I want it, I’m gonna take it. Any fucking questions?”

“No -UHN, MMFF- baby-MMMF-” He spanked her ass hard.

“No, SIR.” Her body was convulsing in pleasure and she struggled to speak.


“Good job mum…. Go on and work that cock…”

“You like your baby boys fat dick mommy?”

“Mmmf… yes sir!”

“Are you gonna be my personal little fuck toy?”

“Oh GOD YES! Yes Sir!!!”

“Then get on your knees and let me paint your face like a proper whore.”

“Oh yeah, fuck yeah mom. I’m gonna blow my load all over your face.No- keep the glasses on.”

It wasn’t until he had covered our mothers face in his hot load that she thought to ask.

“Wait… is your brother still home?”

one day, when i was in fourth grade, they separated the girls from the boys, and all the girls had to watch a video about menstruation (which, incidentally, was so blatantly sponsored by one specific brand of menstrual products that it overshadowed absolutely everything else about the experience. moms counseling their daughters on their periods like ‘don’t worry honey, you can use kotex extra thin regular-length pads and it’ll still have the same great absorption–’ even ten-year-old me was like ‘wow guys, some subtlety here? this is insulting’)

anyway, point being: to this day, i do not know what the boys were taught.

it can’t be easy to talk to preteens about puberty (or in our case, to plop down a bunch of preteens in front of a screen and aggressively buzz market sanitary napkins at them), so i guess i can see the argument for keeping the genders separate

(or keeping the people who will probably have first-hand experience with menstruation separate from those who won’t, if we’re acknowledging trans kids and nonbinary kids, which late-nineties rural illinois certainly did not)

but in retrospect, is it a little messed up that we never got to know what the other group learned? i mean, probably it’s symptomatic of much larger problems re: american public school sex ed. maybe they were worried 10-year-olds couldn’t handle this knowledge, or that parents would be scandalized at the thought of their kids seeing medical drawings of testes or ovums or whatever. maybe they just didn’t think it would be relevant.

but nearly 50% of the population is gonna menstruate at some point, probably many times over multiple decades. it feels like everyone should have some basic understanding, regardless of whether or not they’ve got a womb. certainly it’s more relevant to day-to-day life on this planet than memorizing all 50 state capitols. so why the secrecy? what did they think they were protecting us from?

more importantly: what branded products were they secretly pressuring the other fifty percent of my classmates to buy? deodorant? shaving gel? skateboards? I WILL NEVER EVER KNOW.

“So I used to work in a cafe/store, and myself and everyone I worked with will all agree its haunted. Honestly there are so many stories I’m not even sure where to start, so I guess I’ll just try and start at the beginning. I worked here with my mom and years back when it was a restaurant she worked there too. One night after close, she’s sitting with a coworker and the owner at the bar and all of a sudden all the glasses hanging above start to shake slightly. All three of them notice but just aren’t even sure what to say, so they brush it off. A lot of the customers would complain about strange things in the bathrooms and the staff would feel very uncomfortable in the basement and the washrooms as well. My mom would tell me these things but at the time I was a kid so I assumed she was just trying to freak me out. Fast forward ten years and the restaurant is sold to new owners who convert it into a Christmas store/cafe (my mom continued to work for the new owners as well) and it became my first real job as a teenager.

The first thing I’d say I noticed was the basement. Its pretty old and we store all the overclock down there so its a bit of a crowded mess. But whenever I went down, especially if I was closing alone at night, I would feel really uneasy, like I was being watched. It was the same in the washrooms if not worse.

A few months into my working there, my mom comes home one night and tells me I wont believe what happened. 

She was in the kitchen doing nighttime inventory after close, while two other employees were helping her out. She stepped around the corner to grab something and heard a loud crash in the kitchen where she just was. Thinking its one of our coworkers, she calls “what are you idiots doing” and walks back around the corner only to find everything she had on the counter has been pushed onto the floor and no one is in there. My mom isn’t one to get freaked out so she still thinks it could have been them playing a joke, until she finds them working in a far corner of the basement. WAY too far away to have been messing with her.

Now tons of other little things have happened, stuff falling off walls, taps and lights turned on at night only to be discovered in the morning, decorations moved around, a little Santa sleigh that went in circles that was turned to “fly” backwards every night for a month. But thankfully only one really big thing ever happened to me.

I was working the late shift in the cafe and it was just me and one other girl in the store. We had just locked the doors for the night and she was in another section counting the register (the main floor of the store is essentially split into three rooms, the cafe in the middle with the kitchen behind it). I was just starting to clean up and I glanced up just in time to see what i can only describe as a blonde haired little boy racing across the cafe from one section of the store to another. But the only two people in the store that I knew of were my coworker and I. I looked around, but no one else was there. Needless to say I was a little spooked…

The most terrifying thing to happen however was to my mom. Most of these occurrences were harmless, so all us employees learned to not get too upset when something happened. But this was different. My mom showed up early one morning to start baking for the cafe. As far as she knew she wanted alone in the store. 

There are three phones on the main floor (one in each section ) and one in the basement, and all of a sudden the cafe phone starts to ring. But its an internal ring, which means one of the other phones in the store is calling that phone, it can only come from inside. The display shows the basement is calling the cafe, so my mom assumes it’s the owner working in the basement, she must have heard my mom come in to start baking. My mom picks up and says hello, so sure its the owner she even says her name. But that’s not who answers. A mans voice says hello. My mom is immediately freaked the fuck out since all of our staff is female. She asks who it is and gives this slow, creep laugh and says “sorry. Wrong number” and hangs up. My mom was too scared to check the basement so she sat by the phone till everyone else got there an hour later.”

By: @cherryxpeach

I didn’t think he’d manage to get a girlfriend (Peter Parker x Reader)

Request: Can you do one with 41 and 28 where Tom Peter x female reader are having dinner with all the avengers (and it’s her first time meeting them) and they ask her personal/really mom and dad questions and he just keeps teasing her?? You can change it up if you want.

‘How long have you been friends for?’ Natasha asked, looking directly at you. You were extremely nervous -it was your first time meeting The Avengers, and Peter was just smirking next to you.
‘Uh, for, like, 7 or 8 years, I guess’ you mutter. ‘We didn’t really get along at first -Peter was super shy and I thought he was just rude’ you said, with a small smile. You could hear Peter snickering beside you, but you tried to let that pass.
‘And for how long have you known he is Spiderman? He told us he didn’t want to tell you’ Wanda said, a small frown on her forehead.
‘Well, I kind of always supposed, but I didn’t want to say anything in case I sounded stupid. But one day, Peter came to my window at 3am dressed up as Spiderman, and he used the silly excuse that he ‘needed somewhere to go and he had seen a pretty girl who looked like she would know how to heal wounds’ and, even if he tried to keep his voice low, you could tell it was him. That was around two months ago, I think’ you said, laughing a little. This makes everyone on the team laugh, and you see Peter turning red.
‘Are you dating? I never thought Spiderling would manage to get a girlfriend’ Tony asked, making Peter furrow. You suddenly felt his hand on your thigh, and you tensed up, trying not to look tense.
‘Uh, yes. We have been for four months. I had to ask him out, if I’m being honest. He definitely tried, but he was a mess and I ended asking him on a date. He didn’t show up and I almost killed him, but then he showed up at my window at 1am and made a stupid excuse that I definitely did not believe, but I let it slip for that one time’ you said laughing. You knew what Peter was trying to do, moving his hand up and down your thigh. You took his hand, trying to stop him, but he just let go of it and continued. You looked at him with a deadly look, but he just smirked at you. ‘Don’t you dare’ you whispered to him. He just kept smirking and moving his hand, even upper your thigh, making you feel something you did not want to feel at a dinner with The Avengers.
When you thought everybody was talking and not paying attention to you, you just looked at Peter, and taking his hand, you whispered, ‘stop making me horny’. Suddenly everyone turned silent and looked directly at you, and you felt your face getting red, as well as Peter’s.
‘Oh, so I guess I do not have to ask if you have already done anything’ Tony asked, which made all The Avengers laugh out loud, and you couldn’t help but smack Peter, who was even redder than you.
When the evening was finally over and he was leaving you at your doorstep, he smirked again.
‘I would say I’m sorry, but I’m actually not’ he said, taking your hand.
‘Well, I’m not the one that’s gonna be teased for God knows how long’ you whispered softly, laughing. You saw him turning red again, and kissed him, which turned into a make out session. ‘I’m gonna call you Spiderling forever, just so you know’ you said as you pulled apart to breathe. He just laughed and kissed you again, his arms around your waist.
‘See you tomorrow at school, [Y/N]’ he said, and in a moment, he was gone, swinging around the streets of Queens.


You didn’t want us. That’s not true. I remember when Mom first walked through the door with the two of you. You ran right over to me and you leapt into my arms. You bonded with me instantly, and it made me a little uncomfortable. Oh, so you just didn’t want me? No. It made me uncomfortable because my own mother was never very affectionate with me. Grandma? She softened up over the years, but she just wasn’t nurturing in that way.  And when I looked at you, I saw me as that little girl who yearned for her mom to hold her and comfort her. And I guess it scared me a little, and it made me sad. And then one night, you had a bad dream. You woke up crying, and I came into this room and I held you and my heart broke right open. I felt so much love for you and so much compassion. And I realized, in that moment that this sweet, sweet little girl was sent to me. She was sent to me to heal my little girl inside.

Dinner Guests

Group: GOT7

Member: Jaebum

Word Count: 3024

Genre: Smut/Slight angst

You and Jaebum are childhood friends, reunited after 9 years of being apart. When true feelings are confessed, one thing leads to another, and dinner takes an unexpected turn.

(A/N: Y/BF/N = Your best friend’s name)

Keep reading

[PJO Secret Santa 2016] ¤ @pjosecretsanta2016 // for @leokoat


  • some years later, someone (Leo) figures out how to mass produce non-monster-attracting smartphones
  • demigods are finally able to enjoy Technology™ without restraint
  • the Underworld has surprisingly good service
    • (it’s Thanatos’ doing. He needs good reception for his tablet.)
  • one day Nico receives a video call
  • it’s his mother
  • the first person he tells is Hazel
  • and he wants to introduce her to his mom
  • “This is my sister Hazel”
  • Maria smiles
  • she knows about Hazel
  • she knows her story and she knows that she’s looking after her son
  • and what else does she need to love her like a second daughter of her own?
  • “Then I guess you can call me mother if you wish so, Hazel”
  • Nico cries
  • Hazel cries
  • I cry