Warnings: angst adjacent, smut, dirty talk, LOTS of language
Word Count: 2.7k
A/N: I was looking through some REALLY old requests and I came across an idea from @jennalyncarrigan1230 from who knows how long ago. She pitched an idea that I have twisted and LOVE the outcome. I doubt she even remembers sending the ask, but her initial idea sparked this smutty goodness. This took on a life of its own. I haven’t wrote Dean smut or ANY smut in quite some time. This is officially DIRTY. Or at least by my standards it is. Hope you enjoy. ;)Italics & Bold indicate reader’s thoughts. This has very little plot. Just the poor reader thinking her secret dirty thoughts about Dean only to have them be not so secret anymore.
Request: Hello! So glad your requests are open again! I’d like to request a deanxreader where they get in a big fight and she goes to a bar to blow off steam and a group of guys start harassing her when she’s pretty drunk and she gets nervous and texts dean. He comes to the rescue, beating up some of them and takes her home?
Could I request a feel good sanvers & supercorp fic after this weekend... Lena and Kara's night in is cancelled after a thunderstorm knocks out their power so they join Alex and Maggie who didn't have much planned, but the four still have a fun night without Netflix and such.
She doesn’t like thunderstorms.
They make her cringe and they make her shudder, because they’re not just the quick flashes of light and jolting slams of sound everyone else around her hears.
To her, they’re ongoing and oncoming, because she hears thunder from farther away than the others do, and the anticipation of the huge booms she feels brewing make it almost worse than just suddenly jumping in surprise and brief fear.
Alex knows just how to hold her, just how to soothe her, just how to calm her from her overstimulation, from her memories of nightmares of her entire planet exploding.
But tonight, Kara is alone in her apartment with Lena, and Alex texts to say she’s on her way to get her, but Kara texts her back, no, no, wait.
Because their power just went out, and – even if it’s terrifying to go out into the storm – she’d rather go to Alex’s.
Lena doesn’t complain that they’re venturing out into an awful thunderstorm so they can go to her girlfriend’s big sister’s apartment because her girlfriend is scared and their power is out.
Lena just smiles and kisses Kara softly and holds her close and she calls Joe, her driver, to see if he could possibly pick them up.
She smiles even broader when he tells her that he’s already on his way, because he loves Ms. Danvers, too, and he knows that she needs to be with her big sister during storms.
Kara thanks him with a shaky hug and a ramble about what astrophysicists think storms are like on Jupiter, and Lena thanks him with a knowing smile and a thousand dollar bonus and a weekend for him and his husband in the most lavish hotel in Coast City.
Alex is waiting downstairs when Joe drops them off, wrapped up in Maggie’s NCPD windbreaker. She darts out to the curb the moment she sees Joe’s car through the nearly solid sheet of rain, and she doesn’t care how drenched she’s getting as she opens the door for her sister, waving at Joe to stay inside.
“I got you,” she assures Kara as Lena passes her out to Alex, all three of them sprinting inside, Alex’s strong arms shielding Kara from her own trembling at the flashes of lightening, the slams of thunder, the rush of torrential rain.
Kara doesn’t speak as Alex and Lena usher her up the stairs and into the hallway leading into Alex and Maggie’s apartment. She’s too busy shaking off the shivers, trying to block out the storm.
Maggie opens the door before any of them even touch the handle.
Her smile is warm and the three fluffy towels in her arms are even warmer.
She wraps Kara up first.
“Welcome home, Little Danvers,” she leans up to kiss her soaking forehead.
Lena’s next, and then the woman she’s going to marry.
The woman who gave her this beautiful family.
The three of them laugh as Alex opts to shake her hair out instead of towel drying it.
“Now all of us are wet,” she declares victoriously as Maggie wipes rain droplets off her face.
“That’s what ze said,” Lena murmurs as she dries Kara’s face and Kara dries Lena’s shoulders.
“I have fresh sets of clothes for all of you running in the dryer,” Maggie tells them just as the kettle starts to whistle. “And – “
“Hot chocolate?!” Kara squeals, momentarily distracted from the storm outside.
Maggie beams. “You got it, Kid Danvers.”
Kara throws herself into Maggie’s arms, and Alex and Lena laugh hysterically as Maggie sighs and Kara backs up and apologizes profusely.
“I didn’t mean to get you wet, I’m sorry – “
Maggie just laughs and cuts her off. “I tossed a fresh shirt in the dryer for me, too – figured one of you would get me wet.”
“Hey!” Alex blushes as Maggie winks at her, as Lena laughs into Kara’s shoulder.
“Saved by the kettle,” Maggie giggles, squirms out of Alex’s reaching grasp, and jogging lightly into the kitchen to start their hot chocolate. Lena holds Kara while Alex grabs their clothes from the dryer, and she relishes being able to change in front of her sister again – she’d stopped when she joined the DEO in secret, to hide the bruises and scars.
Now, Kara knows each one. Not in the same way that Maggie does, but well nonetheless. Lovingly. Tenderly.
Maggie bites her lip slightly as Alex strips out of her wet clothes, and just when Lena is about to tease her about keeping her eyes in her pockets, Kara slips out of her soaked shirt, and Lena has to swallow her words.
“Hey sis,” Alex says as she tugs on one of Maggie’s old, oversized college hoodies. “Story Night?”
Kara squeals while Lena arches an eyebrow and Maggie tilts her head.
“Mmhmm. Kara was especially fascinated with Earth languages when she first got here, so when she noticed that in English, stormy and story were almost the same word, we turned some thunderstorms into Story Nights.”
Kara chortles to herself. “Because Stormy Night, but without the m, get it?”
“Yes, dear,” Lena kisses the back of her neck, and Kara settles back into her arms, onto the couch, with a soft sigh.
Alex puts extra cinnamon and whipped cream in Kara’s hot chocolate as she and Maggie bring steaming mugs to Kara and Lena.
“So, what kinds of stories do we tell on Story Night?” Maggie wants to know, curling her feet underneath her as she snuggles into Alex’s lap. Alex immediately starts running her fingers through Maggie’s hair, like an instinct. Like it’s what her fingers were made to do. Because it is.
“Anything we want. Only rule is, they can’t be scary, and they have to have happy endings.”
Lena holds Kara’s hand as she weaves a tale of medieval knights and the heroic women who saved them; Alex plays with Maggie’s hair as she tells them about a hopelessly nerdy teenager who found her love in the girl next store; Maggie sits up and pulls Alex into her lap as she paints a picture of an older otter teaching a younger otter how to swim upstream; and Kara?
Kara takes them all to Krypton, to the depths of space and aboard automated interstellar vessels with organic hulls and edible walls.
None of them, entwined in each other’s bodies and each other’s stories, notice when the thunderstorm finally gives way to peaceful stillness, because none of them, entwined in each other, are anywhere close to scared.
(This is my last story for a little while, I promise)
[Refresher: I work at a small, north Alabama pet store chain. We allow pets in our store, granted they’re well behaved and on a leash/in arms/in a cart or carrier]
Accidents happen. Pee Happens. We know this, and if a pet has an accident, most people (if they realize it) will let us know, and we’ll clean it up. If it takes place at the back of the store where paper towels are readily available and plainly visible, some people will go ahead and clean it up themselves. That’s fine, just throw away the used paper towels in the waste bin provided and it’s all cool.
That said, if your pet has an accident in a pet store, please don’t panic and roll the nearest supplies cart haphazardly over the pee puddle to hide it.All it does is draw attention to the fact that something isn’t right in the area, and once discovered, gives all employees something to laugh about for the rest of the day.
Summary: Peter knocks on Y/N’s window late at night hurt.
Word Count: 1.7k (I guess I just really like 7 haha)
Warnings: None, I think, but I don’t exactly consider it fluff.
AN: I used a different writings technique, I’m using “I” instead of “You” so idk, tell me which one you like the most.
It was around 2 a.m. when a tap on your window disturbed your deep sleep. You sat on your bed adjusting your sight to see the person behind the window. Turns out it was Peter, standing on the balcony with his Spider-Man suit on and mask in hand. I couldn’t see clearly, one, because of the dim light and two, because I had just woke up.
I opened the window and he got in quietly, oddly quiet, so I walked to the lamp on my nightstand and turned it on. I spinned on my heels to face Peter and I was shocked.
He looked terrible, with cuts bleeding on his face and purplish bruises forming on the end of his jaw bone. I walked closer to him so I could get a better look of him. I touched carefully his cheek were the biggest cut was, just as my finger got in contact with the cut on his skin, he flinched and grabbed my wrist with his hand.
“Peter, what in the world happened to you?!” I whispered shouted because my parents were asleep. Once I said that, he let go of my wrist. His cuts looked painful and they needed help.
“There was a robbery downtown, they were two guys, I had only seen one of them, so when I was fighting, the other one appeared with a knife.” He scratched the back of his neck looking at me with a sorry look.
“Peter, you need help, really soon, the cuts look dangerous. I think you should go to the hospital.” I said worried, the cuts were bleeding.
“I can’t go to the hospital Y/N, they will ask a lot of questions,” He had a concerned look, I knew how important it was for him to keep his identity as a secret “I can’t go to May either, she will get a heart attack when she sees me.”
“Are you saying that you want me to clean your cuts?” I was scared because I had never been on a situation like this before and I didn’t knew anything about medical care.
“Could you, please?” He begged in pain, I hope I don’t screw him more than he already is. He convinced me with begging eyes, but I wasn’t so sure of it, but if I could help him in any way, then I’ll try my best.
We both went to the restroom where the first aid kit was, behind the mirror. I took it out of the little mirror door and closed it carefully so it didn’t make a sound. I glanced at Peter and he was already sitting on top of the toilet, with his head thrown back in an act of tiredness. I started taking out the basic things, alcohol, cotton balls, bandages, pain reliever pomade.
He turned his head and looked towards me, I thought that I had to clean the blood that was already dry in his face, so that’s what I did. I grabbed a towel laying on the holder and lightly damped it. I started to lightly dab it around the cuts, where there was blood until his silky skin was visible.
His eyes were monitoring my face, I tried not to notice it too much because I would grow nervous, and that’s the last thing I want now.
I finished cleaning his face and neck and placed the now slightly red, towel on the sink with the water running, tinting the white sink with a crimson color.
We were both silent, kind of an awkward silence, but neither of us decided to break it, we were tired to start a talk, plus, we weren’t the only ones on the apartment.
I grabbed a cotton ball from its bag and poured alcohol on it. Peter had a worried look on his face, and watched my every move. I came closer and his eyes drifted from me to the cotton ball.
“This will hurt a bit,” I told Peter. He took a deep breath. I dragged the cotton ball to the cut he had on the right side of his cheek, it was a little deep, but not enough to get stitches, about an inch long, going diagonally ending on his hairline. He hitched to the contact of the alcohol, and when he did I retracted my hand in reflex.
“It’s okay Y/N, I can handle it.” He looked up through his lashes because of the height difference, since I was standing and he was seated.
So I took another breath and continued dabbing the cotton ball with along the smaller cuts on his face. He hitched every now and then, even though I was scared, I still found his faces extremely adorable.
I rubbed some pomade along my fingers to warm it up for it to be easier to apply, I moved my fingers gently a long the cuts and the, now turning greenish-blue, bruise on the left side of his jaw, his eyelids slowly flickering from my sudden movement, relieve shown on his factions, then I started putting band aids on his cuts so they wouldn’t get infected later on.
I placed all the things inside the first aid kit, closed it and place it inside the mirror in front of the sink, I grabbed the towel that I used earlier and drained all the water that it had consumed until it was the same color before I had dabbed it on his face, then placing it in the shower holder so it could get dry, I felt his eyes on me the whole time.
I turned around and stood inside his legs, I touched his face and moved it with my index finger so I could get a complete view of how his face looked.
I moved my hands from his face to his shoulders, gave a little squeeze and rested them there, “I think that’s better,” he looked up to me and nodded lightly with his eyes closed. I motioned him to get out of the restroom before I turned the lights off.
We walked in total silence to get to my room, when we got there, he glanced at the clock, it marked 2:43, he grabbed me by the wrist to turn me around.
“Yes?” I said confused by the sudden movement, a hand in his chest and the other one being held by Peter.
“I have to leave, it’s getting late, I have to get there before May notices,” he whispered, letting a few seconds without saying anything between every idea, now the rolls were different, he towered on me lightly and I had to look up.
“Or you could stay here, it’s not like you have never done it before,” I looked up to him waiting for his answer, so I continued, “You have spare clothes here, you can change clothes and stay the night here.” I ran my hands nervously over his shoulders, picking at the black outlines of his suit, now feeling mousy to see him in the eye.
“Why do you want me to stay?” He said trying to find my gaze, my eyes went wide open, mouth slightly agape, I hadn’t expected him to ask that, but I soon recovered and thought about my reply.
“Well, other than the fact that it’s almost three a.m. right now, and you’d be swinging around half of the city, it’s quite dangerous,” I fidgeted with the fabric on his suit, running my finger in repetitive circles, somewhat embarrassed, not meeting his eyes.
“Oh, so you’re saying that you’re worried about me?” I could feel his smirk even if I wasn’t watching him, was he laughing at me?
“Well, of course Peter, plus, if you see something wrong while at it, you are capable of stopping by and see what’s off., and all the work that I just did, would just go to waste.” I don’t know why but I really wanted him to stay, “you can go early in the morning, before May wakes up,” he had a smile plastered on his face, it was charming, but it made me laugh internally because he looked funny with all the bandaids and glowy skin due to the pomade.
“You’ve convinced me, lets go,” I shyly smiled at him. We got inside my room and started looking in the darkness, for the pair of clothes that he had left the previous time he had crashed in, until he turned the lamp in the night stand on.
And then I hear a sizzle coming behind me, like a button had just been clicked, so I turn around and see Peter with his suit no longer fitted to his skin. I couldn’t help but stare at his body after he wiggled his arms to get it out and proceeding to hit the floor.
I continued looking for his clothes before he noticed I had been staring. I kept looking until a pair of black sweats and a grey shirt appeared in sight. So I took them out of the pile and went to give them to Peter.
I turned around and saw him sitting on the duvet with his back arched in an tired manner laying in only his boxers. I cleared my throat to make him notice me, “here, you can change in the restroom, if you want to,” but I hadn’t even finished my sentence and he turned around, already putting his sweats on, “or here…” I mumbled under my breath.
Once he had put his shirt on, I got inside the bed. He turned the lamp off and I felt the bed dip from the weight beside me, I was almost drifting asleep for the second time tonight, when I felt an arm hugging me, right in the middle of my stomach, he pulled me close until his chest and my back were touching, “good night Y/N,” he whispered in my ear, his arms holding me loosely and melting me with his warmth, “night Peter.”
And as easy as that I fell into a deep, peaceful sleep. I woke up to what I felt a few hours later, I glanced with tired eyes at the clock that read 7:15 in the morning, with Peters’ body long gone…
I hope you like it, this has honestly been on my mind since like forever and it’s just somewhat a fantasy because I just think the plot is really cute, send feedback and ask for a request if you want, thank you for reading!! ♥️
1/4 Hi, i read your post about Even being hypomanic and i need your opinion about this beucase you actually know about this disorder from your own experience. When I see Evak I can't stop thinking about it. I know that hypomania doesn't make you fall in love with someone but at the same time, if Even had been hypomanic (since like episode 4 imo) I can't stop this feeling that everythig he did (their first kiss or first sex) was driven by his hypomania and not by his feelings for Isak.
I’m glad you’re asking me about this. I have bipolar (type II) and, although I’m not an authority figure on the topic (everyone’s experience with bipolar is different), I’ll try my best to explain my thoughts and interpretations of Even and his feelings for Isak in and outside of his hypo/manic episode. I know there are other SKAM fans who have bipolar too and I hope they’ll feel free to chime in if they have anything to add to my answer.
Okay so I was at the beach earlier and there was a family sat on a towel next to us, and all of a sudden these two little girls came running over looking super excited about something and they were like “GUESS WHAT?!” and the little boy on the towel said “DID YOU FIND A LIZARD?!” and the older one of the girls said “NO, but we found two gay people!!” and she was so amazed I was dying trying not to laugh at this like 11 y/o girl making me feel like a fuckin cryptid on my towel right next to them
For whatever reason all the power went out in my neighborhood yesterday morning and this little idea poofed in my head!
It was a bright and sunny Saturday, the day of the week you and Newt always had work off. It had become a weekly tradition for you both to always take a morning stroll around the bustling London area on rare days when the Sun was smiling upon everyone instead of being shut out by towering pillars of gray clouds.
Your hand was loosely holding Newt’s as you admired the beautiful scenery. So much, that you didn’t seem to notice the dark clouds blanketing the sky until it was too late.
You felt something wet hit your shoulder, and looked up. “Uh… Newt? Is it supposed to rain today?”
Newt looked up as well. “I’m not sure, but we should probably get back to the flat before we’re a soggy mess.”
As if Newt jinxed everybody outside that day, it began to pour.
“Bloody Hell!” You exclaimed. “Well, we’d better hurry up!”
Neither you or Newt had an actual umbrella on you, and you weren’t going to use your wands, for fear a muggle might notice. You ducked under any awning you could, but you and your clothes were still extremely soaked.
Finally, you reached the door to your flat. You unlocked the door and you both stepped inside, closing the door behind you. Out of pure habit, Newt wiped his feet on the doormat. You giggled.
He looked at you oddly. “What is it?” He then followed your gaze and looked at the puddles of dripping water forming on the hardwood floor from the water dripping from his sopping blue coat. “Oh…”
You chuckled. “Yeah, love, wiping some mud off your shoes isn’t going to help the mess we’re making just by standing at the front door.”
You took out your wand and shot a spell at the fireplace, causing orange flames to erupt and crackle from the logs.
You went straight into mother hen mode. “Love, you’re shivering, and I don’t want either of us to catch a cold. Go take off all your clothes, towel off, and put on something new. Then hang your wet clothes in front of the fireplace. I’ll do the same and then make us some nice hot tea, okay?”
Newt nodded and went off to do exactly as you’d instructed. You followed suit, and then busied yourself in the kitchen making two cups of tea.
When you came back, tea in hand, you found Newt sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace bundled under a huge pile of fluffy and soft blankets. (I know what you’re thinking… how could someone already so soft become even more soft?)
“Is there room for one more?”
Newt tilted his head up to see you standing there. He grinned. “Of course, my love,” he replied cheekily as he scooted over to make room for you.
You climbed under the warm blankets and handed Newt one of the teacups.
“You’re an angel, Y/N,” he said as he sipped his tea and cuddled up to you.
“Oh trust me, I know,” you said slyly as you stroked Newt’s curly-but-now-damp hair and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, then moved a bit to capture your lips with his.
“Your kisses are always the best,” Newt said as you pulled away.
the other day my manager told me i couldnt call the rags we use to clean the tables “rags” because it would remind customers of the phrase “on the rag”. we must use the word “towels” instead, lest we unintentionally remind some all-powerful customer of their deep hatred for the fact that some people have periods and sometimes use this outdated term to refer to said natural menstrual cycles
Title: a little solace and peace Pairings: Place (Pidge x Lance) Summary: Pidge knows what it’s like to lose most of what you call yours and find yourself flung into space to fight a war she might not win. It’s not the time to want things that are silly and wish for things that won’t happen. But Lance knows that she deserves it.
a little solace and peace
Pidge cut her hair for Matt.
Sweeping her hair into the trash can, stealing Matt’s old frames, and becoming Pidge Gunderson was a manifesto to herself — a single-minded promise to bring her family back to her no matter the distraction, no matter the cost to her, no matter how long it took. If she ever lost sight of that promise, all she ever needed to do was look in the mirror, squint her eyes, let the edges of her reflection blur and soften, and wait until she saw Matt staring back at her, telling her not to give up.
So perhaps, on the outside looking in, it does seem rather ridiculous for her to be tearing her room apart, looking for a knife or some scissors to take to her hair after looking in the mirror that morning and seeing Katie — Katie who was letting her hair grow out too long, Katie who needed to remember Matt, Katie who made a promise — but this is all she has of him anymore. A worn photograph and his blurred face staring back at her in the reflection of her paladin helmet.
When she finds nothing, Pidge heads to Lance’s room because if there’s anyone who cares more about what stares back at them in the mirror every morning, it’s him.
He’s wiping off the last bits of his facemask with a towel when she opens the door, and he barely has time to ruffle her hair and spit out a dorky greeting before the words are flying out of her mouth, “I need to borrow a pair of scissors.”
Lance blinks at the volume and speed of her words, but looks back into his room — covered in facial products, old Altean lounge clothes he’s repurposed into robes and pajamas, gifts inhabitants from other planets have given him over the past year — and says, “I’m pretty sure I have some around here somewhere. Why, what do you need them for?”
Pidge swallows. “I just need them. Just for five minutes.”
Lance merely shrugs — it’s not the first time Pidge has asked her teammates for weird things to aid in whatever pet project is keeping her distracted that day — and invites her in, letting her sit on his unmade bed while he rummages around his drawers and produces a small pair of scissors that don’t look very sharp but will probably do the job just fine.
“You think this is easy?! You know me, you know I don’t want to hurt anyone.” “I wasn’t lying about what I said. There’s something about her/him. I haven’t felt this way in a long time.” “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.” “I promise. If it ever comes to that, I won’t let him take you alive.” “I thought I smelled cocky…” “Isn’t it time we kissed and made up?” “What’s this all about? I’m not complaining but…” “I just thought we could take the next step.” “It was all in the past! Ancient history. Right now, I’m here with you.” “I don’t have anyone who cares about me.”
“Oh my God! Is this blood?!”
“Look, I volunteered in a hospital and I know what real blood smells like.” “Have you joined a cult again?” “Believe me, this wasn’t an easy decision. But you crossed a line!” “The fear of loneliness has always been your Achilles’ heel.” “You don’t do well losing those you love, do you?” “Show some respect for the dead.” “Well, you look like you could use a drink…and a towel.” “We are your family now.” “All these years of training and you’re just going to call it off?” “I can’t…I can’t live without him/her.” “Oh there you are! And there he is, my baby.” “You have a target on your back.” “Which body part? You know, don’t answer that!” “Honey, there’s still so much you don’t know.” “You really don’t get it, do you? You didn’t risk anything for me, you did it for you.” “What? Are you seriously doing this right now? Right now?!” “You experimented on me?” “Look, I am who I am. You are who you are. All the magic in the world can’t change that, so let’s just try to make the best of it.” “Okay, I’ve actually never told anyone about this.” “That wasn’t your fault.”
I used to work at the Why MCA at the front desk, it was pretty fun and I loved my boss and coworkers. However, there was this one old bitch who came in about three times a week and I was always sent to deal with her because everyone else hated her, and I was the only one who hadn’t completely flipped out at her. First of all, she always wanted us to provide her a towel when she went swimming- legally we’re not even supposed to hand them out! But I always just gave her one and she’d accuse me of giving her a crappy one and demand a better one (even though I wasn’t supposed to be giving her a towel in the first place!). One day she came in and kept on scanning her card and it wasn’t working, so I asked her what her card number was. She handed me the card, and it was a Wal-Store card! I told her it was the wrong card, and she told me I should be able to sign her in anyways. She then threatened to go to my boss for “trying to keep her from signing in”. I finally just signed her in using her name. Fuck her.
Those four words are all that came to your head any time that Chuck would bring up the supernatural books that were written about yours and the boys lives. They had your mistakes in there, all the times you had let people down, embarrassing things you had done, your death, the boys deaths, all your sexual encounters. They just had everything documented about your life and you hated it.
So when Chuck had asked you all to attend the supernatural book convention because he believed there was some kind of monster there, you were quick to deny his request. The boys, however, thought maybe it would be useful to just check it out.
My world is like a kaleidoscope, I want to tell them Soft pastels bleed into a setting resembling a Monet painting, while a single thread of focus holds my attention A book, a particularly rhythmic piece of music, the bliss of a soft pair of pants It sounds silly, to say it out loud, but my world is not the same as your world Or maybe we just experience it through different lenses
I won’t lie, it isn’t all beautiful The sound of someone using a paper towel grinds on my ears like the shriek of monkeys If you say something to me in the wrong tone of voice, I have to try and convince myself you aren’t angry
People tell me I look nice with my hair up, but what they don’t know is that wearing it down makes my neck feel as though a million pine needles are rubbing against my skin I couldn’t wear jeans until I was in middle school, because their fabric felt like sandpaper on my skin When I went to primary school in England, my mother had to order special shirts for my uniforms because if someone tried to put a polo on me, I would cry and scream because the collar felt like someone was strangling me
There used to be a commercial about recognizing the signs of a stroke, with Sharon Stone in it She wore all white makeup, and the lighting would menacingly flicker in, and she’d talk in a deep, monotone voice And every time I saw that commercial, up until I was 12 or 13 and they stopped airing it, I would instantly feel my blood go cold and my skin go clammy My heart would start beating really fast, and since I didn’t know what was happening to me, all I could do was scream until someone else ran in to mute the commercial It was involuntary, I have no idea what it was about that commercial, but I remember it vividly I remember being ashamed, embarrassed, that I could not control myself That part never went away
I want to tell them that I am an artist When I was little, I mean, like two years old, I used to memorize the names of all the Crayola colors in the box And when I went to pre k, and everyone else was learning red, green, blue I knew magenta, burnt sienna, turquoise, sky blue, royal blue, violet, periwinkle, lime I said these colors like they were the gospel because to me they were something beautiful, and I loved all of them
I couldn’t hold a pencil until I was in third or fourth grade, and I had to get special permission to type my assignments My hand didn’t have the fine motor skills necessary for writing, which meant it didn’t have the motor skills necessary for coloring or drawing neat little pictures
But everyday, I’d bring my parents piles of artwork, piles of colored pictures, all outside of the lines, all scribbled glory and unabashed youth Kids used to make fun of me, and I spent so much time crying out near the cubbies because I couldn’t color like they did, or write my name like they did Then they made fun of me for crying, but I kept drawing
Today I’ve won county, state, and regional contests, when I was a freshmen my art made it to a national contest through 4H And still, sometimes my hand will drop a pencil, or fling a utensil out in front of my desk for no reason And everyone will look at me, but I don’t cry anymore Never in front of them again
I want to tell them that I love science When I was very young, I mean, 4 years old, my mom pulled up videos of amoebas on our home computer I thought those were the greatest, funniest things in the world, the way they ate up the other organisms and absorbed them into their own mass I used to look up different types of bacteria, strep and staph and their different strains, I looked up genetic diseases and the rarest medical conditions My favorite show was House M.D. as a fourth grader
When asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I said a neurologist, than I said neuro-genetics, and now I say biochemistry and genetics I used to be ashamed and scared of my interests, and nobody ever wanted to talk to me about CRISPR or gene therapy or cloning, and now these things are assets to me I’ve been lucky enough to know what I wanted to do since I was six, and I think how many people get to know what their passions are before they even know how to write
I want to tell them about my family My sister, the nonconformist who loves to read and despises fractions with a passion Whose wit is sharp enough to slice steel, whose stubbornness and perseverance earned her the affectionate nickname “little buffalo” My little sister with perfect pitch, who plays two instruments and isn’t even in middle school yet My sister who has the best stories but can’t spell to save her life, who is the most creative mind in school but is confined to fill-in-the-blank standardized tests that confuse her My sister, who people keep reminding me “isn’t like me,” they see me the say “prodigy” And they see her and they think “unfocused, doesn’t apply herself, isn’t academically gifted but has a great personality,” which is to say they only value creativity when it’s measureable, profitable
My mother, who knows what I am going through and sees too much of herself in me for this to be an accident Who grew up dissecting animals on the farm because she loved anatomy, who couldn’t follow social conventions, who never had the opportunities I do now My mother who grew up in a time where people like my sister and I weren’t accommodated but beaten, whispered about, stared at in the middle of small town gatherings My mother who lost friendships with other parents who took personal offense to me as a child, who raised me with no knowledge on what Autism Spectrum actually meant My mother who has grown so much, who sees her own childhood and experiences finally explained in me and through the information now available
My father, who is so quiet and also the entire comforting roar of ocean waves He is an artist like me, but also a builder, a thinker, an innovator A master of blending in, and still I recognize an air of familiarity In the exhilarated discussion of the Everglades and tropical fish, and in the brutal scrutiny in his carpentry I hesitate letting him in on school projects because even though I know that with him it will be absolutely perfect, he will spend an hour trying to get the paper on the poster board straight My father, the kitchen’s beat boxer and repeater of words, the artist and builder and crafter, who loves my sister and I and understands as closely as anyone will ever get
I want to tell them that I, that we, people like me, are not accidents We’re not just mistakes in genetic code, or a series of environmental factors, or puzzles waiting to be solved If they really want to get to know us, they can just ask us Our lives aren’t always easy, we suffer sometimes, I know I’ve suffered sometimes Sometimes we can be tedious, our needs may be difficult to pinpoint, our behavior may shock you or horrify you or scare you or bewilder you But then, at this point I ask, doesn’t everyone have moments like this We are all burdens, we are all gifts, we are all worthy of living as we are
I want to tell them that I don’t want to be fixed, because there is nothing to be fixed Maybe I’d like to not bang my head against a wall when I’m stressed, or not be too uncomfortable to be hugged, or not scratch and pick at my skin when I’m anxious, or not be unable to talk sometimes, or not feel like my brain is stuffed with cotton during verbal conversations Maybe I’d like to be able to write like other people, to be able to copy down pictures and graphs in my physics and math classes with ease like they do, to be able to read numbers like they do, to be able to go to parties and malls and social gatherings without feeling like I’m floating away like they do
But I think of all the things I’d potentially be giving up if they would have their “cure” My drawings, maybe I’d still be an artist, but I never would have had the determination, the passion I do now because I would have known what it was like to color inside the lines, my art would not be the same Maybe I’d still like science, but I would never have spent hours researching the human brain and psychology and genetics, I would never have known the joy and amusement I felt when my mother showed toddler-me the amoebas
Maybe my sister would still be a musician, but she would not have the focus to listen to the same song over and over, the ability to recognize when a note is flat or sharp or just right without looking at sheet music She’d never have the compassion and open-mindedness she has now because she knows what it’s like to truly function differently from everyone else and be ridiculed for it
Maybe we wouldn’t have our problems anymore, but we also wouldn’t be us anymore Our experiences would be taken from us in the name of our own good, our passion exchanged in the name of normalcy
They can argue with me all they want, tell me I don’t know what I’m talking about, call me a liar, dare to call me “high-functioning” But they will never know what it’s like at all, they’ll never see the world as a kaleidoscope
And that’s okay, but what I really want to tell them, is that they don’t have to be afraid I want to tell them that their children are going to be okay, and they are too I know it’s hard, I know it’s confusing, but they will get through this and their kids are not broken, they too will persevere
I want to tell them that vaccines did not cause this, we have always been here I want to tell them that people don’t grow out of this, there are plenty of adults on the spectrum, and that’s okay
I want to tell them that trying to make their kid “normal” only teaches them to be ashamed, and only teaches them to hide their true nature, which only causes more problems I want to tell them that even if there was a cure, they’d be altering the entirety of a person’s mind, their interests, behavior, personality, potential experiences, and I don’t think that that is a choice anyone should get to make
I want to tell them that they’ll never entirely understand, no one can entirely understand another person’s brain anyway and it would be foolish to try and generalize anyways I want to tell them that’s okay We just experience things from different lenses
Preheat oven to 375°F/190˚C Chop the head of cauliflower into small pieces. Pulse in a food processor until cauliflower is finer than rice. Place in a bowl and add salt, to taste. Microwave for 4 minutes. Drain the cauliflower using a kitchen towel and squeeze out all the excess water. After draining add the cauliflower into a bowl and mix in the eggs, lime juice, dried oregano, paprika, and chili powder. Mix together and add pepper to taste. Roll out 6 balls of the mixture and then press onto a baking sheet. Bake for 10 minutes, flip and then bake for another 10 minutes, or until edges are crispy. After cooling, fill with your desired fillings and enjoy!“ By @goodful