#i scored well on the portfolio grading by the way!

[idrawgaystffs]

Oh yeah I remembered I can post whatever I want on here!

This is something I made last year for art class, it’s uh colored charcoal on cardboard, very smudgy medium with a limited color pallet

It’s of my study’s collection corner and desk, a right mess as it remains. Still fun though

#my art stff #traditional art #charcoal #cardboard #my art #they said I couldn’t post about any of the art online since we were submitting them to judges but now that that’s done! I can share this #just some personal art #second try using the stuff back then and oof my first time was just this but worse in color composition I just didn’t like the vibes #also I stained it with oil when i set my headphones down to take a break #sighh #even now I’m careful to keep my greasy headphones away from my art and use hand moisturizer if it’s a long session #well at least that was the last push to restart #sometimes you just gotta throw away your art #i scored well on the portfolio grading by the way!

[gayerthanevertbh]

mystery of love.

your teacher has an affair with you, until it grows so much deeper than just doing it for the grades. but sometimes, nothing lasts forever. or does it?

pairings | teacher!natasha x young!fem!reader

warnings | 18+ MINORS DNI! teacher/student relationship, taking reader’s virginity, innocent!naive!reader, fingerfucking, oral sex (r receiving), strap-on used, oral on strap-on (n receiving), sex on the couch, sex in the classroom, pet names, praise kink, and heavy angst. 

notes | while i was listening to “mystery of love” i decided to write a short fic. this took hours, but i hope you guys like it! get ready though because... it’s going to get rough.

word count | 7k

navigation.

“It looks like you’re failing Ms. Romanoff’s class.”

I lifted an eyebrow at my principal’s stern and solemn voice, telling me that I was failing Ms. Romanoff’s class when, in fact, I was an ace in that subject. But I can say that Russian is my weakest subject, but I hardly fail at anything. I was aiming for a scholarship, I’m very well gifted–I do sound like I’m bragging, but it’s true.

“How could that be?” I asked. “I don’t know how I’m failing a class like Ms. Romanoff’s–”

“She has a note that you failed her two quizzes and the exam you took today,” she responded, looking up and down at me with a questionable look that made me feel queasy. “All your subjects are 90%, your Russian class is… 70%.”

What?

Could this be a misunderstanding? Has someone raided through my exams and decided: I’m going to make the top student in this school fail, nothing, I just decided to and removed my original score into a fake one. They were clearly doing a fantastic job to convince Ms. Romanoff into thinking I did fail. Unless, oh unless, I’m failing. Maybe I’m not so good at that subject, after all. And what did I do to deserve this malicious act? Perhaps I’m being too vague and noble, perhaps I’m also probably being a bitch as I find that world too vulgar for my own liking. Either way, maybe I’m thinking way too much on this because I have a slight infatuation with my teacher or maybe I find her too intimidating that could easily scare me off the roof.

“I don’t want to inform your parents about this,” please, don’t. They’d be screeching my name and say how I’m deliberating this family. “Just go to her class right now and talk about it, maybe she’ll give you another exam. And then, you could get your scholarship.”

“But Russian isn’t even my major subject.”

“It could be added to your portfolio soon,” she sighs, pressing two of her fingers on her nose bridge to keep the blood flow going. “Ms. Romanoff says you’re her favorite student, she wouldn’t want you to fail her class.”

I nodded and stood up from my chair, walking out of the office with an exhausted look on my face, looking haunted as usual. It was only four o'clock in the afternoon, perhaps I have more time to have a few conversations with Ms. Romanoff about my failing Russian class. Again, I wasn’t the best, but I admit that I can pass at anything. Apparently not, I find myself a failure for that.

When I knocked on the door to push myself in, I saw her grading papers with her coat on the ramp of her chair, her blouse was a bit open and I could see her pale chest that was almost looking like it was panting. She lifts her head and gives me a tight smile, meaningless to say she was disappointed in me. Usually, she would always greet me with a simple good morning or have a nice day today, Y/N and when I didn’t receive any of that–I realize that I may have screwed things up.

“Ms. Romanoff, is there something I need to do?”

“Yes,” she leans on her chair and hikes up her leg, the pleated pants of hers are being crumpled painfully. She motioned her hand to the empty seat and I quickly sat on it, not making her wait. “You do know why you’re here, yes?”

I nodded, biting my inner cheek with a nervous feeling–it’s like prickling against my skin.

“Good,” her voice was huskier than before, not like it’s always been husky, it’s just huskier now. She clears her throat and shows me my exam paper, with a hiss look on her face–as if feeling bad for me. “See that? You’ve failed my class.”

“I understand.” do I, really?

“Do you, sunshine?”

With the sudden nickname, I felt my bottoms squirming a little. Was that intentional? Or it may have just slipped out of her mouth casually? Or maybe, she was flirting with me? Oh, horrendous, why would you think such a thing like that? With all the rumors about a student having an affair with their teacher, it couldn’t be possibly right to assume that way. I gave her a winced face and looked down on my paper, sixty out of one hundred fifteen. God, I was, in fact, failing her class.

“Now I do understand,” I murmured, looking at her eyes with an apologetic look on my face. “I...I’m sorry about this, Ms. Romanoff–I probably didn’t understand a few of your lessons. I was just afraid to say something and I can admit that it was my fault. I don’t–”

“Calm down, sweetheart,” she interrupts me with a deep chuckle as she waves her hand to calm me down. With that pet name, I wouldn’t. If you could call me like that again, I think I’d faint. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s not like you’re always failing in my class, hm?”

“Yes.”

“Good girl,” she says quietly, almost as if she’s saying it in secret, and leans closer to her table that I could see the color of her bra: black, it’s probably her favorite color. “Listen, you’re one of the best students in my class. I can hardly blame you for failing this, knowing that it’s quite hard for your age.”

“I’m eighteen–”

“Maturity then,” she says. “I understand if this lesson was your weakness, but I cannot allow this score to be your passing grade. I’m sure there are plenty of ways to ace my test, right dorogoya?”

That new nickname felt so artificial, I could hardly believe she was calling me that. I knew what it meant, of course, I did. She was calling me darling with that hazy, glazed, Russian gaze that I always find myself being so–immersed if that’s the right term. She looks at me too deeply, almost as if she’s looking at her first love and I know that’s not me. I was far off her age, I looked too young to be her–

Why am I thinking like this?

“R-Right.”

“You’re stuttering,” she says, sounding almost like she’s fond of it. “What are you feeling right now, kotenok?”

“I don’t think this is appropriate.”

“What is?” she furrows her eyebrows with a sly smirk, stop doing wonders to my stomach. She stands up and grabs a chair, placing it next to mine so she could sit on it. Now, we are close. I could see her chest much more, it was close to mine. “We’re just talking about your grades, Y/N.”

“Why are you calling me those nicknames?” I asked curiously. I was, in fact, curious myself. Why was she calling me those undying pet names that would make me dream about it when I go to sleep, how her hands are on my biceps as she leans in to kiss me. No, you can’t think like that.

“Why not?”

“I’m your student,” I said, affirming that word. Student. “And you’re my teacher. Don’t you think it’s way pass over civilization to be called someone… dorogoya?”

“And what if I call you that again?” she says, already taunting me. I felt her breath trickling against my lower lip but we weren’t close yet–at least not to my liking. “You could always say you’re uncomfortable, you could always speak loudly about it. Because you’re entitled to your own opinion, you have the right to say what you want to say it’s because you’re human.”

“Are you giving me a lesson?”

“Am I?”

I need her away far as possible so that I could be able to breathe, to take in everything she is saying. If she’s close, too close, I know myself that I’d let her do whatever she wanted to do with me. She’s mature enough to know that doing something so scandalous as this, would harm her career as well as my school. My parents would never approve of something like this. But I needed her close to me because I know she’s the only person I’d run to if I was in any trouble, and she showed me less in five minutes that I could trust her by that fucking voice that is making my cunt pump with juices. Could she tell? Would she touch me? Would her lips stain all over my lips as well as my skin? Touch me, Ms. Romanoff. You know how badly you want to touch me.

“I know what you want.” I stated, breathing hard. Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me!

She tilts her head, looking confused when she knows what she’s doing. Her face is closer now, we were inches apart.

“I want to kiss you.”

“Then kiss me,” I whimpered quietly, squeezing my legs together. “Kiss me.”

“You’re so innocent, aren’t you? So naive,” she leans so much closer that our lips are meters apart and I wanted her so bad to just close our lips together. I want her to breathe me in, to touch my cheek, and just let her tongue do its work. “I love it.”

“Ms. Romanoff…”

“Kotenok,” she whispers dangerously close to me, placing her hand on my right cheek–slightly squeezing it as if denying that I was real to her. “You don’t know how much I’ve wanted this to happen.”

“Is that why you deliberately failed me? So you could still have this opportunity?”

“Perhaps,” she hums out, her hand now going down to my neck. She felt warm. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

She leans over and kisses me lightly on the lips. It took me some time to process that this was happening to me, that I was having my first kiss with my teacher who I think about constantly, who I want to see whenever I go to my school with my skirt that she likes; I know what she likes. I felt naked as if I was born with nudity. She pulls away with the taste of my lips on hers, and asked: “Did you like that?” I nodded, trying to catch her lips because I wanted her so much, but she gives a tad chuckle and pulls me closer with her other hand on my hip.

“Kiss me again,” I asked politely and quietly. “Please, kiss me again.”

“You’re pretty when you beg.”

I bit my lower lip when her hands cupped my face, slowly leaning in, and pecked my lips twice. Then, once I was desperate enough, she gave me a small smirk and we began to kiss passionately. It was all tongue, all gnarly but felt amazing on my behalf. My hands didn’t know what else to do with them, so I decided to put them in her hair and I clung to it. My mouth was starting to hurt from the kiss, she was giving me a make-out session and I think of it as two human beings being passionate with each other. Not just some professor and a student scandal, just us beings.

“You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever laid eyes on,” she murmurs, still kissing my lips with her two fingers holding my chin up. “If you want to pass my test, you have to let me eat your tiny pussy.”

My legs squeezed shut once again when she gave me the offer to pass a test. That is, she is eating me out. I’ve seen them on porn sites, sometimes in movies too. And I always find it very attractive, especially when an older woman goes down on you with her hazed look on her face that screams: I’m eating the best fruit in the world, and no one can stop me. I wanted to tell her and say that I wasn’t experiencing myself, that I’m a virgin. Oh god, it makes my stomach hurt whenever I think about the word virgin. She might even have to stop what we’re doing since I have no experience, who knows? Should I tell her? Go on, tell her.

“I’m a virgin.”

She pauses for a second and looks down at me with her eyebrows scrunched a little, this is it. She’s going to let go of me and kick me out of the classroom and tells me to never speak about this again–as if nothing happened. I’m scared and nervous for that to happen, it can’t happen. We’re already here, I wanted her badly enough for her to slip her tongue inside of me.

“I understand,” Ms. Romanoff responded with a small grin, slowly bringing both of her hands to my waist to pull me much closer to her. “Do you have… a boyfriend? Girlfriend?”

“N…No.”

She smiles and kisses my lips, pulling away with a wet substance lingering on my lower lip. “Good. Wouldn’t have to break a poor boy’s heart.”

I love how she touches me without even thinking about it, the way her body wouldn’t flinch when her skin made contact with mine. It’s like she’s been preparing herself to be in this position, to take me, as if I was born to be hers. And perhaps, I was in fact, born to be really hers. Although we do dream, don’t we? We all hope and manifest for someone in our life to swoop us in, take care of us, and love us as we wanted. And somehow, maybe, she could be that person despite our age difference. And while we kissed more passionately, I felt her hands under my shirt. She pulled away from my mouth and then began to pepper the wet kisses on my jaw, I could tell she was restraining a moan to herself at how warm I was to her.

“You’re so beautiful,” she says; hazed. She touches me again, but this time her hands are now cupping my bra. “And your boobies are perfect, would you take this shirt off for me, princess?”

“What if someone could see?”

“No one would,” she reassures, looking at me intently, almost as if she’s asking me to give in. Give in, dorogoya. I’ll make you pass your grade. “It’s just us, I promise, malyshka.”

Malyshka, little girl. It slips out of her tongue so easily that I could barely catch it, her voice sounded so deep and quiet to the point that you could never understand what she was trying to say. But her hands, her lips, were everywhere like spreading fire. When her other hand slipped under my skirt, I knew what she was looking for. Although I didn’t know how to propose to it, should I say it aloud? Adjoin our hands together once more?

“Can I touch you there?” her voice sounded like a plea with a murmur, and I couldn’t care less. I wanted her to ravish me until I was a bare fruit.

“Y-Yes.”

She grins and gives me a searing kiss while her hand inches closer to my white cotton panties. I never pulled away, and neither did she. We kept kissing and kissing until I was moaning in her mouth like I’m in heat. I don’t ever want you to stop kissing me, Ms. Romanoff. I want your hands all over my body, to my ribs, and to my neck. Take me, take me, take me, take me.

“Can I remove your skirt?”

You don’t even have to ask.

She kneels in between my legs and kisses my chest, her tongue lapping on my cleavage. My other hand was threaded through the back of her silk hair as my head was thrown back with such pleasure that she was giving me. If she goes further, I cannot be the same again. If she fucks me on this chair, going to this classroom would never be the same again. It would fill my head with naughty images of us fucking, of her fucking me. She opens her eyes and watches as I try to arch my hips to get more of that addictive feeling.

“You like that?” she taunts, her breath hovering over my lips.

I nodded furiously, moaning with a higher tone. “Uh-huh.”

“Really?” she asked again, with more teasing. If she would speak to me like this again, I don’t think I could ever function. Her thumb swiped across my covered folds as I jolted my hips back up with the friction that had caused. “Oh, you like that. Do you want me to lick your pussy?”

Say pussy again, say it. You’re turning me on so much, Ms. Romanoff.

“Yes!” I squealed, shutting my eyes tight. It’s getting all too much, especially if she keeps flicking my covered clit with her thumb. “I-I want you–so much…”

“Calm down darling,” Ms. Romanoff whispers sweetly, chuckling to herself at how desperate and needy I was. You can’t blame me, though. You’re too close. She brings my thighs closer until her mouth is on top of my panties, almost in awe when she sees a little ribbon on the cloth. “You’re a good girl, right baby?”

“I try,” I responded, looking down and watching as she pulled down my panties, her eyes glimmering with my swollen clit, begging for it to be touched. “I-I’ll be good for you!”

“I know baby,” she whispers again and kisses my pelvis, trailing her lips down until her mouth was breathing into my folds. “You’re so pretty, pretty, pretty baby…”

Ms. Romanoff’s tongue swiped across my folds, moaning deeply to herself about how delicious I tasted. She even whispers it like a prayer, you fucking taste so good, so pure. And while she was going down on me, I wondered why she wanted to do this. Why would she, in a world, pick a girl like me? Did she have an interest in me for a long time? Impossible, she could never even look at me as much as I look at her. There were glances, but they were brief, and never meant anything. So why on earth was she going down on me?

“M-Ms. Romanoff?”

“Mmph?” she doesn’t pull away from my vagina but opened her eyes, furrowing to look at me. I gulped when her tongue was still lapping on my folds, the tip of it sometimes poking on my virgin hole. If you push that inside of me, I promise you I’d die.

“Why are you doing this?”

She pulls away with a smack of her lips and kisses my clit, responding quietly as if it’s a secret.

“I like you.”

“When?”

“Ever since I’ve become your teacher,” she says, chuckling. “When you flash your legs to me, or even with your hair that is tied up or even sprawled all over your shoulders, I get wet. Sometimes, I think about you when I fuck other women–wondering what you would taste like, thinking about you falling apart beneath me. Does it excite you when you have no idea what I’ll do to your pretty body?”

Yes, yes it does frankly excite me. So do it then, what are you waiting for?

I could never begin to fathom how much she attracts me, how she would touch my shoulder whenever I’d ask for help. Sometimes, I’d do it on purpose to catch her attention. Was I ever a bad person to think about her making love to me in a janitor’s closet? Or even in this classroom, where it’s happening, have I become this bad? I’ve become this unabashed reckless girl who I need to be touched.

“You do turn me on,” I say, somehow reassuring. She smiles, not a flirtatious smile, but a genuine smile. She could see my blushed cheeks, now I’m just ruining the sex. “I’m sorry, you could keep licking me now.”

“It will hurt once I push my fingers inside of you,” she warns while peppering more kisses onto my clit, her tongue flicking its bud. It’s sensitive, which makes my head roll back again. “That’s it, whine for me baby, tell me that no one else would fuck you like this.”

“No one will,” I responded, chanting even. “No one, I promise Ms. Romanoff, I don’t care if it would hurt–I want you to fuck me, now.”

“Easy there, dorogoy,” she brings herself up again and kisses my lips. I could taste myself and I moan because of it. It turns me severely on to think about when she could only fuck me and no other girls would fall apart except me. Except for me. “You’re my pretty little girl, I love you. I love everything about you, baby. I love these tits of yours, those eyes of yours, and your body. I want to get to know my baby, I want to love you.”

When I felt two of her fingers slip inside of me, all I could remember was my face twitching as my breath trembled. It felt irritating, especially on the inside of my walls when she didn’t stop pushing. She asked, “Are you okay? Do you want me to stop?” and she wasn’t some asshole who would keep going, she kept asking for assurance if I was okay. I whimpered with a tiny voice, nodding relentlessly when I felt her fingers curling up.

“Oh god…”

“It’s okay,” she murmurs, smiling faintly. “It feels good, doesn’t it? Do you want me to keep pushing further?”

Push me in, let me feel the tip of your fingers that would rattle my skin, come closer. I need to breathe in you, please let me be your muse.

“Please.”

“I got you, my little girl.”

Her face nuzzled against my neck as her free arm wrapped around my torso. I could feel her panting, and I noticed I was too. We were both in so much heat that my eyes have gone blurry from the feeling of her fingers pumping inside of me. I could almost feel like passing out if that would ever happen. She moans deeply when I start to clench around her thick fingers, wondering to herself if her strap-on would ever fit inside of me. The thought turns her on, especially when an image of me lying on her bed with my legs spread wide open–needing to be fucked. She would slip her dick in no time and fuck out of my mercy, grabbing on my breast and telling me how beautiful I am.

“I bet no one else could make you fall apart, none other than me,” she says; smugly. She pumps into me hard, you could see my breasts bouncing because of it, the chair squeaks under me as she does so. “You’re so beautiful when you’re like this, all submissive and needy. Such a desperate young girl, my good girl.”

When I came around her fingers, all I could remember was her head buried into my shoulder blade as we moan in synchronization. She had her eyes shut tightly, having an orgasm in her panties at how much I was clenching her fingers. She loves it, she lives for it. And her lips wouldn’t stop kissing my skin, whispering endless: you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen when, myself, I try to believe that.

Since after that day, we started a relationship that no one else can relate to.

A few months later, we were staying in her trailer. For some reason, she gives off these vibes to Derek Shepherd. He’s a rich guy that lives inside a trailer, in the middle of a big land. She’s that type of person, Natasha is exactly like Derek. At first, when I saw the trailer, I was giggling loudly. She turned around and quirked, “Something wrong with my house?”

“Have you ever watched this show Grey’s Anatomy?”

She shook her head as she understood what I was trying to say, and began to remove her coat and place it on a hanger that was on the door. She responded, “You’re cute, you know that?”

“You’ve said that plenty of times today.”

“That’s because it’s true, my kotenok,” she turns around and swiftly brings me to her bedroom, pulling me to her mattress until my head was laying on her chest. She hums quietly, like a lullaby, and trails her fingers up and down on my naked arm. We stared at each other for a bit, admiring the presence until I asked about something in a quiet voice.

“Nat?”

“What is it, little girl?”

I hesitated for a bit, should I ask about that? Would it be too condescending of me? The thought of it could not stop rattling in my brain, to the point it was starting to hurt. They say in all relationships, there’s this word called trust. Lying to your individual would break that trust, and I need to trust Natasha. Because, knowing how innocent I can be, I also don’t want to be hurt by an older woman who could possibly manipulate me. But she never did, she was very open-minded with everything as well. So I could ask this, right?

“Are you married?”

She tensed a bit, almost thinking of another option to take away from this conversation. But she looked at me, solemnly but with anxiety. Her hand places on my cheek and squeezes it with care as if she’s apologizing to me. Could this be true? Is she married? Tell me lies instead, Natasha. Because if you tell me now, I don’t think I could bear it. I would rip my heart out and give it to you instead, do whatever you want with it.

“I’m going through a divorce.”

I’m going to be sick. My face says so, and she could see it very clearly. I felt nauseous, the thought of being a homewrecker scares me. Heck, she has never told me her age! She could be in her forties for Christ’s sake, why do I even care? It was sex at first, right? To only pass a grade. And now, I find myself falling in love with her.

This can’t be real.

“Oh god.”

“Sunshine…”

“I think I have to go,” I murmured and stood up quickly, not caring if I left my jacket on the ramp of her chair in her bedroom. I needed to stay away from her before it was all too late before I could let her in me. I needed to run away, never search for her again, and hope for the best. But her arms were linked around my body as she pulled me to her chest, her chin resting on my shoulders. “Ms. Romanoff–”

“I don’t love my wife, okay? I don’t. We don’t live together anymore,” she reasons, an evident crack of her voice in her throat–my heart aches. “I love you. You’re all I could think about, you know that. My wife doesn’t mean anything in our relationship, we are getting a divorce.”

“I can’t let myself be a homewrecker, Natasha.”

“You aren’t,” she responded, I could tell that she was about to cry. I was slipping away in just a minute. “Please don’t go, you have to stay. Please, look at me. You know how much I love you.”

“I don’t even know how old you are,” I say with a turn, my eyes glistening with tears, how badly she wanted to kiss my eyes. She shakes her head and cups my cheeks, slightly pulling me in until my head was on her chest, her hands on the back of my waist as she swayed me slowly, like a dance. “I-I don’t know anything about you…”

“All you know now is this, here,” she says with a point, kissing my head. “If I tell you how old I am, you’d slip away.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“It seems like you were going to leave me the minute I told you I’m still married.”

“It’s because you are in fact married,” I sniffed on her shirt, feeling more vulnerable than I was when I got up from her bed. “What if your wife knows about us? What could happen?”

“You know I’ll protect you, you know that.”

“But what if you can’t?” I asked, not trying to sound a prude but it was a mere question. She hugs me tighter, bringing her lips back to my head. “What if… you can’t?”

“You’re my little sunshine,” she says like a dream, smiling down at me with tears shedding from her eyes. I nodded on her chest, wrapping my arms around her muscular body. She felt nice. “I will always protect you.”

“Tell me how old you are before I could give myself to you.”

Her body stills and this was life and death for Natasha, I could make myself dust away once she confesses. If she lies, it would make no sense. Because she knows I’m smart, how tactical I can be. There was no point in running now, everything had to be laid out; it had to be done, or else when she woke up, none of this existed.

“I’m forty, baby.”

She’s two decades older than me.

She could be my mother at this point.

Did I care? No, not really. At least she was open and honest about it, she wouldn’t hide anything from me. And if she did, sooner or later I’d find out. I know I will, again, be tactical like that. Instead of being upset–which I’m not–I hugged her tighter as well as she did, whimpering under my head as she whispers: “I thought I’d lose you.”

“You could never lose me,” I responded quietly, kissing her chest and her little arrow necklace. “I’m your girl, remember?”

“You’re my girl,” she repeats faintly, looking down at me with loving eyes as if she’s in her teenage years again. “My little girl.”

I was now kneeling on the floor with my mouth wrapped around her thick strap-on, her eyes intently looking at every movement I make. Even the sounds that I made fell into Natasha’s ears, finding it really beautiful. Her hands gripped the back of my hair, pushing me further to her cock. The sight makes her squirm, the sweatiness on my temple gets her hips driving up to my mouth until you can hear me gagging loudly in the middle of her trailer. She gasps for air, her eyes shut tight when the dildo inside of her would hit her spot, it’s almost like she could feel your mouth wrapping around her dick; she was in heaven.

“Go deeper,” she softly demands with a heaving chest. “Get that cock ready for your pussy, Mommy is going to take care of you.”

Once her cock was coated with the spit of my saliva, I was on her couch while she jerks herself off, admiring the way the tip of her cock hits on my clit repeatedly. It makes her insane, oblivious, and very aroused by the sight. She looks back up at me and asked with a croaked voice: “Do you love me? Do you live in me?”

How could she ask such a question like that when she knows that I do love her? That I do live for her?

“I love you.” it almost sounded so faint, so quiet that you could barely hear me. But she heard those three words very clearly, it made her fall apart. Her thrusts became more violent and more passionate, and my nails were scratching her tattooed back with my head thrown back at the edge of the couch. Hers were buried into the crook of my neck, moaning and grunting each time she forced a thrust. I could assume that we’re making love, or maybe this is just some fuck. But it’s more than just a fuck or getting good grades, it’s just two individuals falling in love with each other.

“My dorogoya,” Natasha says with a hushed whisper, almost sounding like she’s telling you a secret. My hips were meeting hers while the couch was creaking from our sex, the air thickening between us. I could feel the sweat on her back and saw how focused she was in order to just come. “I’m gonna cum soon… you have to cum with me. I-I love you too, I love you more.”

Both of you came but she was the first one who initiated it first. She bites into my neck, her back hunching as she twitches above me, I could feel her nipples poking on my chest. I clenched around her dick and came twice, my lips reaching for hers as I tried to find comfort. I could remember saying, please don’t stop loving me, I could never stop loving you.

She said the same, and we both held on to each other.

This has to be the worst thing that is about to happen in my life, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

Neither Natasha can.

I got accepted to Italy, where I could learn more about the historic architecture in Sicily. I didn’t mean to apply, I just kind of “wanted” to, somehow test my intelligence. And a few weeks later, I got accepted. I was only supposed to go to Standford University so that I could be closer to Natasha, but this only made it worse. Why did I have to apply to a university where I’m a thousand miles away from her? What could go wrong? Absolutely everything, she would hate me for it. I knew she would, she’d be heartbroken.

I didn’t get accepted to Stanford.

That was the worst part, I only got to choose one school. And to my hopes and dreams, to my future, Sicily would be the best choice. Sicily is my only hope. If I want a better life, a better future, Sicily is there. My relationship with Natasha was probably temporary, she still hasn't divorced her wife. Somehow, I think she’s lying to my face. She tries to convince me that she will, in fact, get divorced when nothing even happens. I wait for a: I’m finally a free woman and I get to marry you! But that’s such a dream other than being realistic. We all hope and dream sometimes.

When I showed her the acceptance letter; her face fell, just as well as her heart.

“Nat?” I placed my hand on her lap and tried to catch a glance at her, but she never looked back at me. She just stared at the wall for the longest time, which makes my blood cold.

“Natty, say something please.”

“You’re leaving me.”

The way she said it with such a broken voice but nonchalant makes me even want to stay longer, that I don’t have to do college so that I get to be with her. And maybe, just maybe, that would be the plan. I get to be with her other than meeting stupid people who could never see me the way she does. By the time I held her hand, she looked at me with a loud sob as she wrapped her arm around me, kissing the side of my head.

“I love you,” she says, my heart breaking more. She wipes the tears from her eyes and kisses my lips; it feels like a goodbye. “You should do it, go chase your dreams because you still have more time.”

“What do you mean?”

Natasha shakes her head as I don’t understand what she’s saying, but by heart I do. Clearly, I do. I just don’t accept what she’s telling me to do, I can’t do it. I shake my head just as well as she does, and I’ve gone furious. Why is she pushing me away? Why isn’t she fighting for me? Slap me, choke me, tell me that I don’t have to go so that I get to be with you. Go on, do what you want. I want you to hurt me, do it. Please?

“You have to go,” She repeats under her breath and kisses my lips, this time it was longer. I held onto her with my hand cupping her cheeks hard, kissing her much deeper. I don’t know if I could forget her lips, her hands, and her scent. I felt vulnerable, anxious, and eager to stay with her. Just stay, I thought. But I couldn’t, knowing how much I’ll regret it once I do. “I love you, remember that. One day when you get back, I’ll marry you. We’ll have a farmhouse in Ohio and stay there forever, okay? No one will ever understand how much I love you, no one.”

“I love you too, Nat.”

I hate you, Natasha. I hate you to my guts, to my loins, and to my chest. I envy you, I envy you for pushing me away. This is all your fault, you’re going to make me forget you. You know that; you know that well enough.

For the next few weeks, I never saw her again. I decided to lose contact with her so everything–well at least for the both of us–would be a lot easier. She would never have to see me again, think about me again, and reminisce about the times we had again. It’s better to leave her heartbroken than to remember what we shared, how we made love every time I see her, and how much we both cared whenever we would be alone. And now that it’s gone, all I have to do is move on.

Hey, it’s Y/N! Leave me a message if you’re not able to contact me, thanks!

“Y/N? It’s Tasha,” I took a deep breath and played with my fingers instead of saying what I have to say. I know she won’t be able to get this, possibly never, but it’s better to say something than nothing. It’s been approximately two years since the last time I saw her, the last time I touched her face and kissed her lips. And with those two years, I’ve talked to my wife. Perhaps I felt guilty when I slept with her again, when she was the only person I could run to because she was no longer with me. Perhaps I am an asshole for sleeping with someone who I wanted to have a divorce with, and that’s the reason why I’m calling the young girl to let her know that I will never have a divorce, to let her know that I’m trapped.

I love my wife deeply, I do. But with Y/N, it’s a whole different scenario. It’s not because my wife isn’t there when I fell in love with her, it’s because of how she can be so pure with me that nothing else matters other than us, other than our love. And now that she’s gone, there’s no reassurance that she’ll be back. She’s probably out there dreaming, meeting a girl who’s for her age, being happier with her than she was with me.

“I just want to tell you that I’m getting married again,” I say with a regretful whisper, I felt so quiet. I gripped the telephone and let out a small tear, knowing how everything will be over once I say these things that needs to be said. “Yeah, I’m marrying Wanda again. And I know you’ll call me a traitor for this, perhaps I am. But just know that if you were here–” Breathe. “If you were here, you know I’d wait for you. But you left me with no call, with no last goodbye. You left, and I waited for you. And after a year of waiting, I realized how I’m going to feel after a while.”

Say something, please Y/N. Say something.

Were my words coming out of nowhere? Or did it have a purpose? Was I hurting her? I think I was, more than she did to me. I licked my lips twice and played my thumb against the wooden table, trying to hold a sob.

The die is cast.

“Remember that lullaby I made for you?” I asked, smiling to myself with tears flowing down from my eyes freely, wiping them away with a puffed face. Please call me again once you hear this, please tell me how much you still love me. “That lullaby will always be for you, it will never be for Wanda. I love you, okay? I love you so much more, I love you more than her. I loved you until my last breath, I loved you until I could kill myself and die alone. I’d rather be with you than Wanda, you know that. But you’re not here, baby. You left me without a goodbye.”

I knew this feeling wasn’t going to last long and that I’d be with Wanda again, working on our relationship whilst still being married to her. And that my stupidity that thought of marrying her again was like a frozen time, I don’t know how to explain it. But I think I’m lying to myself, I think I’ll love Y/N until my last breath. I know that myself, I just keep denying it.

Come back to me, pretty baby. Come back, be with me.

“Anyway,” I let out a shaky breath and smiled once more, this time it felt too surreal. “I’m proud of you, okay? I’m proud of what you’re about to achieve. I know you’ll be the best history teacher out there. Good luck, my love. I wish I could come and see you, I wish I could kiss you. I love you.”

YA lyublyu vas.

The truth is that Y/N never received that voicemail. She only received it when Natasha had a baby with Wanda and they were living off on a farm together, just as she thought they would do. But in reality, it was never her.

It will never be her.

And perhaps this was on her behalf, for leaving Natasha without saying anything. If she would just kiss her goodbye or even tell her, they would never depart. Maybe they can still work it out. But this was mostly her fault, she knows that it’s all her fault. She regrets going to the airport, instead of being with Natasha. She also regrets meeting her for the first time, which was bound to never happen, yet it still did. Maybe it was only “Right person, wrong timing” and she hardly believes in that. Maybe this was in another reality where they don’t happen, and in some other universe that they do.

She’s now thirty years old with a husband, alone in a trailer. She never achieved her dreams, she was taken advantage of her money and her power by men who were severely manipulative. If she heard that voicemail sooner, she would’ve come back home into Natasha’s arms. But if she calls her now, she’ll ruin that stupid marriage.

Nothing lasts forever, most certainly to a person who you think would be the one for you.

how are we all feeling? what are your thoughts on this one?

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha angst #natasha romanoff fanfic #black widow x reader #black widow x you #a's oneshots!

[deusvervewrites]

Idea for the Entrance, namely how one would fail them. The written exam is easy to explain since the one has to reach a minimum grade to be accepted for the different courses at UA(Heroics has a lower score than the either courses but still requires that one passes it). There’s also the situation where the written is not accepted because of proof of cheating (this probably has happened a lot). Those planning to go only into Gen Ed probably need the highest scores on the written exam because they don’t need to do the practical.

For the practical portion, I can see that the Support and Management courses needing a profile of their past experiences, and in the event that they have little to none, then they would need to show that they can build or do basic speech checks.

On the Practical Heroics Exams, there’s the obvious, get enough points for be accepted in the top 36 for the spots in 1-A and 1-B. To actually fail this part, I think one would intentionally seek to hurt and harm other students, which probably makes it easier on UA to reject them on the basis that “there’s a lot more potential students” without directly saying that they hurt others on purpose. The other way to fail is to become unconscious because they didn’t conditioned themselves for the exam(and alot of freshmen student conditions themselves before joining a sport for high school). It’s one thing to become unconscious if a robot knocks you out(someone else may had cause it or it’s the zero pointer), it’s another to become unconscious due to extreme exhaustion and fainting within 5 minutes. I think UA would reject these students becomes heroics would have intensive physical training required and that’s time wasted to get someone’s conditioning up.

For example, Bakugo canonically trained for the Entrance and it shows well that he got the top score in only Villain Points( he did avoid intentionally hurting others and there isn’t a lack of Rescue Point penalty). What if he didn’t physically train for the Entrance and only focused on his Quirk. He may have a powerful blast but if he become unconscious due to exhaustion at the 5 minute, is it worth it to accept him or would be spot go to waste?

We have no reason to believe the Hero Course Written Exam is easier than the general education written exam, and we know Midoriya fainted post-exam, so they may be lenient on that requirement, but otherwise the idea of the portfolio and the physical aspect of hte practical exam makes sense

#asks #meta

[venkysburogu]

Passing Through an Online Jungle

There was a lot delusions in my mind in choosing the open elective for 7th semester of my bachelor’s degree. Multiple options were presented before me and I had zero knowledge on any of those. Even to choose any of the course, there should be a preliminary knowledge on that domain, right? which I was lacking heavily. So then comes the other studentical ways of choosing open electives like, seniors review on the course, course handling faculty’s approachability and last but not the least: grade scoring capability of ourselves in that course. So, by performing design of experiments using these parameters I finally got landed in a page called Digital Marketing for Engineers. From the title itself this course seemed very unique and to be more precise, Contradictory. I was like how in the world would digital marketing be meant for engineers and that too for my specialization of production engineering. Here I would like to thank my course handling faculty Mr. Vigneswaran C for completely change my perspective on not only digital marketing but the basic definition of marketing itself. In a world where marketing in seen as a phishing and scam activity, he made me understand what an ethical marketing looks like. And a personal note, I never thought that my professor would be so approachable and empathetical towards me in my previous three years of engineering phase.

Let’s start of with the basic definition of marketing that it is not a unethical phishing activity instead it is understanding the customers need and satisfying their needs by adding value to them as well as to our product or service. And this marketing took a great leap when it got exposed to various digital tools. Digital marketing overtook the conventional way of marketing:

Print

Broadcast

Direct mail

Tele marketing

Digital marketing for proving to be a way of making people aware and hold their attention towards the product or services in a faster and accurate way. It had numerous advantages like having a very wider reach, reaching the people in a very controlled and targeted way so that we can convert them into our potential customers easily, it also had to use very less manual work force and proved to be highly cost-efficient, real-time customer interaction and user analytics was made possible through digital marketing. Seriously, this course completely changed my perception on how I see a firm’s portfolio in many aspects. I got to realize that every minute feature and detail of a website is linked to human’s behavioral and cognitive aspects.

In between the classes we had many crazy sounding questions by our professor like: “why have you woken up today.” Although it might seem that there can be multiple answers to this question, it always ends up to be an improper answer. Then, discussion on my microniches made me understand that even focusing on microniches can be a potential lead for starting a business out of it. My professor have always iterated the fact that always “Try to be producers, and not only consumers”, this mindset  makes a continuous engaging factor to the students in this course of Digital Marketing for Engineers.

Now lets have a dive in various strategies that used in the domain of digital marketing considering a situation where you are trying to sell your product which is - Japanese comics, Manga.

Search Engine Optimization (SEO)

Online, search engines like Google are the big deal. When people are looking for something – let's say, a comic book - they type it into Google's search bar. Now, Google's job is to show them the best possible book shop based on what they typed. That's where your colorful signs (SEO) come in handy. With SEO, you're making your website and content super-friendly to Google. You're using specific words and phrases (keywords) that people might use to find books and comics like yours. You're also making sure your website loads quickly, is easy to navigate, and has cool stuff that keeps people hanging around.

Search Engine Marketing (SEM)

Search Engine Marketing (SEM) is like setting up a virtual billboard to grab people's attention. You want to make sure that when someone types in a search like "cool manga for sale" or "rare Japanese comics," they see your bill board right at the top of the results.

This can be achieved by two main tactics:

Paid Search Ads: These are like the big banners you see at the top of the convention hall. You bid on certain keywords related to manga, like "rare manga" or "Japanese comics for sale." If someone types in those keywords, website pops up right at the top, and you pay a little bit each time someone clicks on your website to check out your manga collection.

Organic Search: This is like setting up a shop that's super attractive and has a reputation for having the best manga around. You optimize your website by using those keywords naturally in your content, creating great descriptions of your comics, and maybe even getting other manga fans to talk about your shop.

Social Media Marketing

Social media marketing is like using your favorite social media platforms, such as Instagram, Twitter, or TikTok, to show off your manga collection, talk about your favorite characters, and recommend awesome series to your friends and followers. For example, you could post pictures of your manga collection, make short videos where you talk about your top 5 manga picks, and even share funny memes related to manga. As you keep doing this, more people who also love manga will start following you and engaging with your posts. Over time, you might become known as a go-to person for manga recommendations.

So, in conclusion digital marketing has made its entrance in reaching out to customers literally from any domain. Usage of different kinds of plugins make our website more and more interactive as well as act as an added advantage to know and understand our customers. Digital marketing is evolving day by day with ethical and advanced usage of world wide web.

#DMFE #MARKETING #digital marketing #manga #anime

[baldwinpappas2]

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[danglovely]

Regrading Taskmaster: S05E06 Spoony Neeson.

*Score changes noted in parenthesis.

Prize Task: The Best Thing You've Made Yourself

I made it to encourage my children to eat the cheaper meats.

As far as "homemade" items go, a custom tee-shirt is fairly underwhelming, as it merely requires you sending a photo into a business. Nish gave it a The Magnificent Seven theme which improves it a bit. Mark's runs into a similar problem with his custom puzzle, but it's better because it's a ridiculous size (4000 pieces) and he did his best to put it together himself (which he wasn't able to, because it's 4000 pieces).

Aisling made a vegetarian sausage roll that actually impressed Greg. Upon first viewing, I'd probably rank this low. However, this prize task inspired me to try making it myself and I did not hate it. Sally is somehow going to come out of this with one point because she put flowers on a toilet plunger and nothing else.

I want to rank Bob's low, because he repurposes this prize task later. This is the first time he shows it off though and his Sausage Delivery Unit is so stupidly fun to watch that I just have to give him five.

Aisling: 4 (0) Bob: 5 (0) Mark: 3 (+2) Nish: 2 (-1) Sally: 1 (-1)

VT 01: Balance Alex.

I thought the Bandana Guy was going to get extremely hurt.

Rather than mess with the scale, I think the best strategy would be to estimate how much Alex's weight compares to your own, then balance yourself and add or subtract from it. I also wonder if there was something around that matched Alex's weight exactly (though they probably would have revealed that).

Alex is 196 pounds (he says 14 stone, though Sally's video later lists him at 182), so the grading could be simple if no one tries to think outside the box. Aisling did and it was a total failure (and even if it wasn't, I would've questioned whether Alex was being "balanced"). Bob did try to move the scale, but he put so little weight on it that it didn't matter.

I'm not giving credit for "technique," as Greg does. It results in a rare, but earned, Nish win.

Aisling: 1 (-2) Bob: 3 (-1) Mark: 2 (+1) Nish: 5 (0) Sally: 4 (0)

VT 02: With this camera strapped to your head, record the most incredible footage.

You're not a bad guy, Nish.

"Incredible" is an interesting win condition here, because I would say none of them actually achieve it. We have a lot of "interesting" and "clever," but no "incredible."

Let's get the easy out of the way first: Nish filled random numbers in a sudoku and Greg gives him a talking to. One point. Mark's footage includes a clever little twist, but he is just watching a YouTube video whereas the other three actually make something original.

For the creatives, I think it goes Sally 5, Bob 4, Aisling 3. Sally's footage executes a clear concept very well. Bob actually uses camera angles to put together an interesting (and surreal) little piece. Aisling puts together a story, but she is just running around playing pretend with a spoon.

Aisling: 3 (-1) Bob: 4 (0) Mark: 2 (-2) Nish: 1 (0) Sally: 5 (0)

Solo Task: Have your photo taken with this golden pineapple and other esteemed company. Best portfolio of pineapple photos wins.

I think for several reasons we should have a round of applause for Aisling's mom.

Aisling absolutely fucks this. She pawns it off on her mom because she didn't realize it was a solo task. I kind of want to dock her points for it. Five points for Helen, though.

Aisling: 0

VT 03: Using this flame, light the candle in the caravan. Fastest wins.

You bubbly fuck!

Also Mark can't say any of the letters in the word "taskmaster," which he didn't realize is really easy to get around by not saying anything. A nicer task would grade them based on how close to the caravan they get with their flame . . . and that's what Greg does. Alas, the win condition is "fastest," meaning if you didn't complete the task, you get zero.

Bob is the only one who ends up lighting the candle in the caravan. As such, Bob is the only one who gets points.

Aisling: 0 (-1) Bob: 5 (0) Mark: 0 (-4) Nish: 0 (-2) Sally: 0 (-3)

Live Task: Make yourself monotone. Most monotone after 100 seconds, wins.

Ankles? Fuck that.

Alex specifies it's shoulders-down and white doesn't count. He calls their fronts basically equal and bases the decision on the backs. I actually don't think the fronts are equal and that does affect things a bit.

It doesn't matter for Aisling, who did the best on both sides. I don't actually think Nish did worse than Bob or Mark on his back, but he was far worse on his front. Sally was more successful on her back than Bob or Mark, so she comes second. Bob and Mark tie originally, but Mark is missing a large spot on his right shoulder so Bob should prevail.

Aisling: 5 (0) Bob: 3 (0) Mark: 2 (-1) Nish: 1 (0) Sally: 4 (0)

Final

Greg asked the audience to originally give Sally the win. Bob wins outright now.

Aisling: 13 Bob: 20 Mark: 9 Nish: 9 Sally: 14

#taskmaster #tm regrade #aisling bea #bob mortimer #mark watson #nish kumar #sally phillips

[collegeowl1]

Building a Strong Engineering Portfolio for College Admission

The world of engineering is highly competitive, and gaining admission to esteemed B.Tech colleges demands more than just good grades. A well-crafted engineering portfolio can be your ticket to success.

Why a Strong Engineering Portfolio Matters

Admission committees seek students who stand out not only academically but also through their extracurricular pursuits and leadership abilities. Your portfolio is a visual representation of your journey, showcasing your skills and dedication.

Showcasing Your Academic Achievements

High School Scores and Transcripts

Your academic track record is the foundation of your portfolio. Compile your high school scores, transcripts, and any standardized test results to display your consistency and dedication to academics.

Relevant Coursework and Projects

Highlight relevant coursework and projects that demonstrate your passion for engineering. Whether it's a physics research project or a robotics competition, showcasing your hands-on experience is crucial.

Academic Awards and Honors

List any academic awards, scholarships, or honors you've received. These accolades validate your commitment to excellence.

Highlighting Extracurricular Activities

Engineering Clubs and Competitions

Membership in engineering clubs or participation in competitions like Science Olympiad can showcase your practical skills and passion for engineering beyond the classroom.

Personal Projects and Innovations

Detail personal projects or innovations you've undertaken. Whether it's building a solar-powered car or developing a mobile app, these projects illustrate your creativity and problem-solving abilities.

Internships and Workshops

Summarize any internships or workshops you've attended. Practical experiences outside of school provide valuable insights and industry exposure.

Demonstrating Leadership Skills

Positions of Responsibility

Highlight leadership roles you've held in clubs, organizations, or school activities. Leadership demonstrates your ability to coordinate and manage teams effectively.

Community Service Initiatives

Involvement in community service or outreach programs reflects your social consciousness and desire to make a positive impact.

Crafting a Stellar Personal Statement

Your personal statement is your chance to narrate your engineering journey. Be genuine and articulate about your motivations, goals, and what sets you apart.

Acquiring Strong Letters of Recommendation

Solid letters of recommendation can vouch for your character and abilities. Approach teachers, mentors, or supervisors who can speak to your strengths.

Emphasizing Technical Skills

Programming Languages

List programming languages you're proficient in. A strong technical skill set is highly valued in engineering programs.

Software Proficiency

Highlight your familiarity with relevant engineering software and tools. This demonstrates your readiness for college-level coursework.

Building a Digital Portfolio

Online Presence and Professional Profiles

Create a strong online presence on platforms like LinkedIn. A professional online profile enhances your credibility.

Showcasing Your Work Online

Consider creating a personal website or blog to exhibit your projects, write-ups, and accomplishments. A digital portfolio offers a dynamic way to present your work.

Tailoring Your Portfolio for B.Tech Lateral Entry

If you're aiming for B.Tech lateral entry, emphasize your prior academic and practical engineering experience. Showcase how your background aligns with the program's requirements.

Conclusion

Building a strong engineering portfolio requires time and effort, but it's an investment in your future. By curating a comprehensive collection of your achievements, experiences, and skills, you'll be well-prepared to impress admission committees and secure your spot in a top B.Tech college.

FAQs

Q1: What if I don't have a lot of extracurricular activities?

A1: Quality matters more than quantity. Highlight activities that align with your passion for engineering.

Q2: How long should my personal statement be?

A2: Aim for a concise and impactful statement, around 500 to 700 words.

Q3: Can I include non-engineering-related experiences?

A3: Yes, especially if they showcase transferable skills like leadership or teamwork.

Q4: How many letters of recommendation should I submit?

A4: Typically, two to three well-crafted letters are more valuable than several generic ones.

Q5: Can I update my portfolio after submission?

A5: Some colleges may allow updates, but it's best to ensure your initial submission is strong.

#Direct Admission in Btech #Direct Btech Admission 2023 #Direct Admission in MSIT #Direct Admission in BVP #Direct Admission in BBA #BBA Colleges Direct Admission #BBA Direct Second Year Admission #B Tech Lateral Entry Direct Admission #Direct Admission in JIIT #.

[mi4011dilumwarakagoda]

Exercise: Biography about yourself

(Third Attempt)

THE BOY WHO DREW 

          “When you’re a designer, you’re basically a god in the world of your own making,” he said. 

    I was about to make my way through the 9th floor of a campus building called AOD. There I found myself an interesting subject, working on a laptop at a class. Hello, there: I’m Ivan Stone and I was in a building campus called AOD, to write an article about the future designers of a little-known island named Sri Lanka. “Damn it!” He spoke. There I was surprised that he didn’t curse in his mother tongue. That day I might have met a designer who had a whole different perspective about design. 

“Hello, there, young champ,” I started as I approached him. He looked back at me, surprised and clearly had the impression that he didn’t know what do to. “Uh, Hi,” he waved. I looked at his laptop, and I wasn’t surprised to see the software Krita opened and a character moving his head slightly. He looked like as if he hit a brick wall. When I asked about the character, he said, “Oh, just working on an animation here. I’m still figuring out on how to do the spacing and timing.” He clearly knew what his errors were and was trying his best to solve them. 

This future animator’s name was Dilum Warakagoda. Born on the 4th of January of the year 2006, he was such a young lad to join the AOD. There we sat together, since it was only me and him in the class. We got to talk, and I had my questions answered. Clearly, the boy knew design and English very well. The young animator was from a faraway town called Yakkala. His mother worked at the Central Bank and his father was a former Brigadier in the Sri Lankan Army. He went to a school called Nalanda College that was in Colombo. He had only done O Level exams and he was in AOD. He started drawing ever since he was little, but according to him he was only drawing Dinosaurs. He started drawing humans when he was in 7th grade and improved since then.  

What was more interesting about him was his world creation and character design. He had several characters and was eager to show all of them to me. He already had a book filled with ideas for the world he was about to create. He worked on his drawing skills after the O Levels, during the age of Corona Virus, sitting at his home drawing human figures in different poses. Not long after that, did he learned how to use Photoshop. With that only he managed to make a four-legged creature walk. He finished the foundation course of AOD with perfect scores and managed to go through the Portfolio with no assignment incomplete. Apparently, the lad knows how to plan out his given time.  

“How did you come to be in AOD?” I asked. He smiled and said, “I was drawing a lot of sketches back at home. A designer my sister brought home saw my work and said that I should do Motion Graphics. Until then I never knew that I could do animation. That’s because people here on this little island don’t really care about such things. I’ve got the idea that I could bring my characters to life.” 

“Why did you join AOD? Why did you wanted to become an animator?” I asked and I’ve got the answer, “I had many Idols in my life. At first, I wanted to be a writer just like Rick Riordan or Adam Blade. Before that I wanted to become an Archeologist like Alan Grant from Jurassic Park. But now, I want to make a world, a whole universe through animation just like Stan Lee did. He brought his artwork to life through great story telling. That is why I’m here: To be a great storyteller and bring my characters to life. I can make my own studio or at best join Ubisoft. I have always loved their games: Their Assassin’s Creed Franchise is my favorite. I have always had an interest in history...”  

[sandeep005]

How to Get Selected as a TGT Teacher?

How to get selected as a TGT teacher is the most important thing for all the aspirants. There are a lot of questions which are asked by the students who are preparing for TGT exams.

If you are looking for TGT teacher job then you must have already read the previous blogs on this blog. I have already given some tips to get selected as a TGT teacher.

But still, there are some questions which are asked by the students. Here I will tell you how to get selected as a TGT teacher.

1. Get good scores in your 12th standard

If you want to get selected as a TGT teacher then you should have good scores in your 12th standard. If you are getting good grades then you will be able to get selected as a TGT teacher.

2. Write your resume well

You should write your resume well. You should have the experience of teaching in schools and colleges.

3. Mention your teaching experience

Mention your teaching experience in your resume.

4. Prepare a portfolio

Your portfolio will be your main strength. Make a portfolio and attach it with your resume.

5. Mention your hobbies

If you are interested in doing some creative work then mention it in your resume. You should also mention the places where you did your hobby.

6. Join the professional association

If you are interested in becoming a TGT teacher then you should join the professional association.

7. Be a member of the board of education

Be a member of the board of education.

8. Attend the interview

Don’t skip the interview. The interview will be the best way to judge the candidates.

Conclusion:

These are the steps which will help you to get selected as a TGT teacher. You can follow them to get selected as a TGT teacher.

#TGT teacher

[edustan]

How can I increase my chances of studying abroad?

Introduction When we start thinking of studying abroad, equally strenuous questions arise – where should I apply? How should I apply? In which country to go? Where will the money come from? All of these questions are valid and should be asked before you start the process of studying abroad. Getting into a foreign institution is not a walk-in park but it is also not climbing a mountain, it is just a very steep walk towards your goals.

Good news is you will always have a chance to be an international student. You don’t have to have flawless grades to study abroad. Even to avail certain scholarships your grades in the home country might not matter that much but other skills come to your rescue, like essay writing and communication skills.

You can still get into your dream university even if you don’t have the required grades. Most overseas universities focus on your college application as a whole rather than only making decisions based on your academic scores.

Increase your chances, follow these guidelines:

1. Learn a new language and Practice English Being multilingual has numerous advantages and benefits. In Canada if you know the French language certain colleges quote tuition which is nearly as equal to that of domestic students. You can also work as a translator part-time, which is a very high paying job. This will augment your funds for your education.

Also, make sure to practice your English because universities will require that you give some English language tests – the most widely accepted are IELTS and TOEFL. They are not difficult tests and you have a good chance to score good marks.

2. Thorough university research Before deciding on universities, do thorough research about the university and the place where the university is located. Research about climate, academic term, admission requirements – both academic and language, placement information, etc. Find out some common topics or specific requirements that you can put in your SOP (statement of purpose) to increase your chance of getting admission into your dream university.

3. Well written SOP and LOR It is crucial to write a good SOP (Statement of purpose) as stated above. Also, it can be the deciding factor in your college admission. So, it is advised to never make any common mistakes in SOP because it can cost you your admission into college. SOP should clearly define your goals, strengths, portfolio (if available), weakness, and whatever you seem relevant. An SOP is like a high-level overview of your profile that validates your claim and makes your position stronger to get admitted into the university.

LOR (Letter of Recommendation) is also very important and increases the weightage of your application. If LOR is written by a renowned person then it would increase the chances of you getting admitted into your dream college.

4. Extra co-curricular activities Foreign universities look at candidates as a whole and it becomes necessary that you have some extra achievements to show the university that you are not adept in your academics but also pursue other activities.

It makes a positive impact on the university officials about your personality if you clearly define that your personality is made up of experiences through such kinds of activities, like working in NGOs, school societies, etc.

Conclusion It is extremely important to develop your application in such a way that it gives the university your complete picture. It is not meant that marks will determine your candidature and selection to a dream university.

#increasechancesofstudyabroad #increasechancesofhighereducation #increasechancesofinternationaleducation #increaseyourchancesofstudyingabroad

[heybeybey]

Of Bank Robberies and Math Lessons

@petra-realsnk shared on the Rivetra Writers discord a badass cottagecore outfit with a rifle for Petra and for some reason it reminded me of this fic idea I've had for sometime.

So here, have this drabble of Robinhood-type Criminal Petra x Elementary Math Teacher Levi because I want Levi in glasses and badass Petra Ral.

Also also, if you're curious why I chose math, there was one scene in the Junior High anime where Levi scored a high grade in the subject. Big brain, big dick. Just Petra's type

Word count: 1,369

Summary: She comes in and out of his life, but with how she's making a difference, he finds that he didn't really mind.

"You're here." He almost drops the math book in his hand when he sees a flash of ginger hair in the alleyway.

"Missed me, sir?" Petra teases, pulling on his cravat to lead him a bit further into the alley and away from from the prying eyes of school kids.

Levi shivers at that, huffing as he pushes the bridge of his glasses up to see her clearly. He takes in her white corset top, flowing dark red skirt and leather boots. She has a brown hooded cape on and he notices that the rifle gun on her side might be the reason for that. He notes how her outfit absolutely just screams Petra—feminine and dainty but still a spark that's waiting to burn.

He missed her, and he doesn't wait to lean down to capture her lips in a desperate kiss, an arm encircling her petite waist to pull her closer. It's been two weeks since he'd last seen her and he's taking every moment he can get to compensate for that.

"Tea?" she asks breathlessly and with a stupid smile on her face. He'd already dismissed his students and Levi was planning to grade papers back in his apartment, but he knows he can't deny her when they rarely even see each other.

He shrugs. "Why not."

- -

"So... how are your students?" He doesn't look up from his task as he answers Petra, content to just work while he basks in the presence of his girlfriend. They're currently in one of his favorite tea shops, with him grading papers and her sipping on her tea under her hood.

"Stupid as ever. There's this kid who I've been tutoring one-on-one for weeks now and he still keeps failing," he rants. "All he talks about are the titans outside the walls. I don't get paid enough for this bullshit."

"You should relax more, Levi." She reaches out, suddenly grabbing the glasses from the bridge of his nose while he was in the middle of encircling a student's final score. He gives out a "tch" in annoyance, moving to take the glasses back from her but just sighs when he sees that she's wearing it just to tease him. Petra looks so adorable cheekily smiling in his glasses that he almost allows her to have it for a little longer.

"I would but if you're surrounded by imbeciles, it's hard not to pop a vein."

"Cut them some slack, Levi. They're 10 years old."

"I was already forced into child labor when I was 11 years old, just so you know." He quips. Petra just rolls her eyes at that.

"Maybe if you loosen up a little, they wouldn't be so scared to actually ask you things they don't understand," Petra scolds lightly.

- -

They were lying naked on his bed, bodies covered in freshly-laundered sheets and breaths panting as they bask in their afterglow, when she drops the bomb.

"I wanted to say goodbye, Levi."

He's no stranger to this, to Petra popping in and out of his life. To be frank, he wasn't even that bothered. He does miss her whenever she'd disappear for weeks on end. Sometimes he'd start to worry if she was still even alive, only for her to pop back in, cheerfully greeting him with a "Hi Levi!" and peppering kisses all over his face.

Well-intentioned she and her group may be, Levi's pretty sure he's fucked up in the head for being smitten over a criminal the first time she robbed the bank while he was making a personal deposit.

Looking back, she may have been as smitten as he was. It turns out she popped up outside of the school he's teaching in two days after to introduce herself.

"The fuck are you doing here?" He eyes her suspiciously. Levi scans his surroundings, trying to find something that he can use against her in case she tries anything. He can't risk his students' safety.

"Wow, you're more paranoid now than when I placed a gun on your head and demanded you to put your hands up back in the bank." she replies, amused.

"Hmm. Well, as long as you don't miss our anniversary-"

"I meant for real." Levi's throat closes up at her words before he can even find the guts to say anything. "We'll be in Mitras tomorrow and we're taking on a big mission."

Petra looks away before continuing. "If we're successful, the money we'll be able to get is insane. Enough to feed all the kids in the Underground for at least a few months."

"I don't get it. You've been doing this for years. What makes this one different?"

"It's a heavily guarded bank in the capital, Levi. We heard that the establishment's been thriving on dirty money." She shrugs. "Thought we'd give it back to the people, as usual."

"Are you seriously going to die on me? You?"

Petra's musical laughter rings through the room.

"No, dummy. If I died, how will we give it to those that need it the most?" she said, but her voice takes on a morose tone. "But we heard the owners have a high position close to the crown. I'll be in hiding until who knows when. Most of our contacts who've dealt with them before disappeared after just a week or two."

Petra fully turns to him, eyes soft. "I just... I don't want you to get mixed up in anything."

Levi bitterly looks away from her sad amber eyes. "So you're just going to leave me. In case you don't remember Petra, I can protect myself."

She cups his cheek at that, running a thumb from the corner of his eye to his cheekbone.

"I know that," she says. "But you must also know that I'd protect you whenever and however I could. Doing this is the only way I can guarantee your safety."

He suppose he should've seen this coming. What did he expect? For him to come home from work and find Petra sitting around back in this apartment as his housewife? The military police would find her in a heartbeat if she stayed in one place for so long. And with a portfolio of bank robberies and noble hostages under her belt, he doubts she'd get less than a decade behind bars, even if she'd never committed anything as serious as murder.

A part of him wanted to come with her. It's not like he didn't have experience. He'd been in and out of juvy for most of his teenage years, but he also knows that he wouldn't make Petra happy that way.

As illegal as their methods may be, Petra and her group are actually making a difference. Significantly more than the government who promises that "they're for the people". He'd heard stories of how she'd help expose corrupt official, then funnelling the man's dirty money to a dying hospital in a village within Wall Rose instead. He'd heard small family businesses getting another chance because wads of cash just showed up on their doorstep, giving them enough capital to start anew. And those are just a few in the three years that they've been doing this.

He decides to savour this moment with her instead, taking in her amber orbs staring up in content at him. He tugs on a ginger strand of hair and runs it lovingly down his two fingers. Even if he tries to convince her, Petra was made for greater (albeit a tad bit fucked up) things.

"I.." He gulps, trying to find the courage to finally say those words because this may be his last chance. Levi sees her giving him a soft look, her hand running up his bare back to pull him closer.

Petra understands, beating him to it. "I love you too, Levi."

#I'm sorryyyyy I promise I'll get the angsty Rivetra 9k oneshot + Oceans to Part update out soon #😭 #rivetra #petra ral #levi ackerman #rivapeto #levi x petra #petra x levi #it's 4 am and i feel so alive

[kakashiswilloffire]

STEAM, not STEM

ao3

word count: 1.6k

kabuto x sai, college au, enemies to lovers ish, same age au

this is my first server collab with @konoblog-simps! the prompt was college au for august, and you can see the rest of the multifandom fics and artwork here!

***

As a biochemistry major focused on pharmaceuticals with a five year plan included finishing this undergrad degree, moving across the country for a masters in organic chemistry, then likely moving again for a doctorate in organic, along with four internships along the way, so that he could become a renowned creator of antianxiety medications, he was pretty confident in his knowledge. There was nothing a chemistry professor could ask that he couldn’t answer. Calculus came to him as a breeze. His psychology courses presented absolutely no challenge to him. Statistics, courses in professionalism and building his portfolio, and meetings with potential employers never caused him to break a sweat.

This fucking art class might kill him, though.

He had resented for years that humanities courses were required in science degree paths. It was his junior year and he had fought with his advisor for the past four semesters before finally giving in and agreeing to take a class on charcoal sketching. There was no way he would be caught dead in the hugely popular pottery class taught by the blond professor with tattoos of mouths on the back of his hands. Nor would he voluntarily take any basic introductory course in drawing or painting.

That was how he found himself in an advanced charcoal techniques course, prepared to blow through a handful of drawings and easily earn high marks.

However, in a class size of eight, he was drawing attention for the wrong reasons.

To start, the others all seemed to know each other from previous courses, which immediately made him the outsider. To make matters worse, the professor greatly preferred their work to his own. A part of him couldn’t blame the man who insisted he be called Tenzo rather than by any title or honorific. His drawings were definitely in a different style to the rest of the class, and it was a style that didn’t seem to be changing or improving as the weeks passed.

It wouldn’t be so frustrating if it wasn’t the first thing he had ever tried that was proving to be a struggle. As if that wasn’t enough to deal with, the asshole in the front row seemed to take to charcoal like breathing.

On the first day, when Tenzo had gone over the syllabus, he had also made them all introduce themselves and play a get to know you game. They all pretended that it wasn’t for Kabuto’s benefit. Fu and Torune had begun, making a point of making physical contact with each other the whole time they spoke, though he had never seen Torune take off his gloves. The had tuned most of the others out as they spoke, noting Shin seemed decent enough, though he’d prefer if the man stopped coughing for more than a moment. What grated him to no end was the final person to speak.

Sai.

He spoke with a fake smile plastered across his face, eyes closed and voice dripping with confidence. He listed his credentials off without any thought, and it infuriated him that the list of accomplishments and certifications rivaled the length of his own. Sai listed his specialty in art as black and white realism, and his preferred medium as painting, though he was looking forward to learning more about charcoal. From there, he had turned to Kabuto with that same overly-relaxed smile and offered:

“Your turn, flash cards.”

The familiarity rubbed him the wrong way and he had been irritated with him ever since. What made it worse was that Sai was actually really good in the course. He hadn’t been lying about his skill in realism—anything he rendered looked like it was about to run off the page. He seemed to prefer birds, in all species, but every individual feather breathed and flowed and he never got the black dust accidentally smudged on his paper. In fact, he never got the dust anywhere. Kabuto always left the class covered in black smears on his skin, clothing, and bag, and there would always be some hidden patch of charcoal that he never found until he showered that night.

It infuriated him to no end that this shallow jerk who modelled his personality around whoever he was with was also, genuinely, so much better than him at this class that he desperately needed to pass.

Midterm grades had come back the other day and a vein had nearly popped out of his forehead when he saw the disastrously low score. Tenzo had noted that he saw improvement between this and where Kabuto had began the class, but it was still not on level with the rest of the class and where he would need to be in preparation for the next level pastels course. Apparently, it didn’t matter that he wouldn’t be taking the next level course. If he didn’t pass this course with a reasonably high grade, his scholarship sponsor, Orochimaru, would be furious. Risking the scholarship not being renewed meant risking the entire five year plan, and for that—

He’d have to suck it up.

“Hey, Sai?” he asked, forcing himself to keep his tone level. Admitting weakness was not his strength and he had no intention of making this a habit.

The crop top wearer glanced up from the hyper-realistic sheet of mice that he was effortlessly rendering. “Ah, Kabuto,” he said, the same smile from before falling across his face. “Lovely weather we’re having, isn’t it?”

He gritted his teeth, then forced his jaw to relax. “The rain we’ve had all week? Sure, Sai.” He pulled up a stool, settling in to the easel next to him. “I wanted to ask you a question.”

Sai nodded, not pausing his movement as he gave life to a mouse’s tail. “My answer is yes.”

Kabuto blinked. Was asking for help really this simple? “You’re willing to tutor me for the final?”

That caused Sai to hesitate, tilting his head slightly to the side. After a beat, he replied “I suppose I could do that. You appear to be capable of learning how to improve your questionable techniques.”

Ignoring the dig, he pressed on. “I would appreciate that. Tenzo said that my linework is improving but my shading is still not where it needs to be. Something about being more mindful of my light sources.”

“I agree with his analysis,” Sai said, continuing on his sketch. “Your grasp of line weight is abysmal, which is a step up from your initial attempt, which was horrific. Your shading on our last assignment, the brickwork, was essentially nonexistent. All of your pieces so far have had at least four light sources that have no apparent source. It’s clear from your work that you have no regard for art and no passion for creation at all.”

He delivered the critique without halting a single graceful stroke on his canvas. There was no malice in his tone, and he said the words almost pleasantly, despite the cutting content.

“I am willing to teach you more technique and skill so that Tenzo is able to assign you a passing grade in this course. However, I do not believe you are capable of being an artist or creating anything of value in the world as you currently are.”

Kabuto froze. He had only meant to ask for a few tips, not to be dragged for all he was worth in this godforsaken art course. How dare this arrogant prick think he was incapable of creation?

He gripped his charcoal stick so tightly in his fist that it crumbled. “Listen, inky. Just because I’m focused in science doesn’t mean I can’t create anything meaningful. My goal is to be a pharmaceutical chemist, to create medications to change people’s lives. Just because I can’t draw some fucking—I don’t know, a fucking rat or a bowl of fruit or whatever, doesn’t make you better than me. So fuck off with that.”

Sai smirked, his eyes closing in his familiar pattern. “I never implied anything about our worth relative to each other. But I do think that it’s cute that you’re concerned about appearing to be less than me. That will create an excellent motivation for self-improvement for both of us in our relationship.”

The light caught Kabuto’s glasses, a white reflection flashing across the lenses. “We don’t have a relationship.”

Finally, Sai put his rectangle of charcoal down on the easel and sat up. “Do we not? What was the intent of your original question to me?”

Kabuto spluttered. “What do you mean? I came up and asked if you’d help me with the final and you said yes, then you were an ass.”

It was now Sai’s turn to blink. “You said that you had a question for me. I replied that my answer was yes. As a result, we are now boyfriends.” He wiped his fingers on a handkerchief hanging on the corner of his easel. “Was your question you intended to ask me not if I would be interested in a romantic relationship with you?”

He flushed a deep red. Sai was attractive, that was undeniable, but that was not how this encounter was meant to go. Romance was not in the five year plan. “I—”

“Just do it,” sighed Tenzo, sitting at his desk with his head in his hands. “For the love of God, both of you, stop staring at each other and bickering and just go out, would you?”

Sai smiled, the classic closed-eye smile that looked more genuine each time he did it. “Thank you, Tenzo.”

Kabuto was confused, but in order to learn the skills he needed to pass this class, he’d need to go along with the game. Without another word, he reached out and took Sai’s hand. Might as well give it a shot, right?

#kabuto x sai #sai x kabuto #kabuto fanfic #kabuto yakushi #konoha simps server collab

[sierrageportfolio]

TASK 3 - Reflective Teacher meets Digital Competence

Where do you see potential space for improvement?

I think I could make communication with my students more efficient and transparent. I usually send them emails or make a group message on the class page in managebac. However, many of my students neglect their email inbox and some complain about having a flood of managebac messages each day. I’d like to figure out if there’s a better way to communicate with my students all at once, perhaps a method like Teams, where it’s like a group text message minus the lack of privacy and mediation of group discussions. I would also like to expand on collaborative and more interactive digital activities in class, as many of my students are gamers and would likely pick up digital tools quickly.

Lastly, I would like to enhance pedagogy in my lessons as well as pay closer attention to holistically addressing my students’ individual problems and needs.

How could you imagine improving your digital practice within teaching?

I could see myself improving on the use of digital tools for film-making, editing, and sound, as I often include films as a task for both of my subjects. I could also see myself learning more about digital worksheets and activities that would engage my students more during a lesson. I could also see myself improving on how I keep track of student grades and how I secure both the data of myself and my students. I also wish to include more opportunities for the students to become more digitally competent, e.g. making powerpoints with voice recording, creating digital art, and using programs like onenote to keep track of their work portfolios.

Can you imagine fostering your involvement inside your workstream?

Yes. I can definitely imagine this. My school is relatively small, so whenever one of us comes back from a training or develops a new skill/competence, we are encouraged to lead a staff meeting or a formal presentation sharing our findings with the rest of the team. As a newer and somewhat more digitally competent member of staff, I would be very happy to get more involved in fostering digital competence across my workstream.

What is your aim for this module?  

I would like to learn more about digital learning tools that will enrichen my teaching practice and empower my students. I also wish to develop more digital competencies that will make my teaching role more efficient and effective. I want to be more equipped to find solutions to day to day technological problems and improve my learning environment. 

**My score was 58, so an Expert. This was better than I expected!

[faefictions]

Lonely People | Ch 3

Pairing: Harrison Osterfield x Reader

Word Count: 3,360

Playlist and previous chapters can be found on my Master List (link in bio)

Wednesday morning, y/n groggily pulled herself out of bed. She still hadn’t replied to Harrison’s text from the morning before. 

She had felt bad about inviting him and Tom, just to have the shit show with Jace unfold. Her apology was sincere, but the morning after, she felt weird about continuing the conversation after he had said that they still had a great time. 

She pulled on a warm sweater and a pair of black jeans before rushing through a simple hair and makeup routine in her bathroom. By the time she was out the door, she had 15 minutes to get to class. Her walk was 10 minutes on a good day, but that morning wasn’t too nice to her. 

She was already 1 minute late by the time she passed the coffee shop she always stopped at. She figured since she was already late, she might as well stop. 

She walked into class 8 minutes late, her professor looked up from his spot in the front of the classroom. 

“Well look who decided to show up,” he called, the smile on his face anything but sincere. 

“Better late than never,” her expression mirrored his as she made her way to her seat, where Harrison was already settled. 

Her professor made his way over to her seat as well, gazing down at her as she pulled her laptop from her bag. 

“I thought we agreed the tardiness was going to end.”

“This will be the last time.”

“Somehow I don’t believe you. And quick tip, next time consider skipping the coffee. Might shave a few minutes off of your commute.”

She scoffed at him as he walked away. 

“Sorry I’m late,” she said to Harrison, not looking at his amused face while she pulled up the app she used to sketch. 

“That little interaction was worth the wait.”

They spent the next 15 minutes discussing style. They both decided to go for some more daring looks, hoping it would score them some extra points on the final grade. 

Halfway through the hour, they all packed up their stuff and made their way to the theatre building. The room they used to store costumes was huge. The walls were lined with endless racks stacked upon each other, all filled with hundreds of garments. The middle of the room was filled with circle racks, all containing various types of clothing. 

Y/n dragged Harrison over to a rack filled with jackets that looked straight out of the closet from a pimp in the 70’s. Harrison’s initial reaction wasn’t too excited, but as she searched, he was pleased with the few she plucked from the rail. 

“How do you feel about a royal purple?”

“I look good in everything,” he bragged sarcastically. 

“Oh do you now?”

“Sure do.”

“Would you like to test that theory?”

She started to back up towards a rack full of cloth that appeared to be colored like various animal skins. She didn’t break eye contact as she got closer, reaching for one of the garments. 

“I could make the ugliest thing in here look amazing.” 

She closed the distance between her hand and the item, pulling if off the rack and holding it out to him. Upon closer inspection, he found that it was a cow costume, udder and all. The only missing piece was a head. 

“I’ll be back,” he called. He disappeared through the door, going into one of the dressing rooms kept off the side of the black box that the theatre department occasionally held events in. 

Y/n continued to look for pieces she liked. She knew the assignment was fashion, and her portfolio had to be bigger and better than any other students. That meant she had to get out of her comfort zone and present more than one kind of outfit. She chose some interesting t shirts, sweaters, and pants, hoping Harrison would return soon to help her with her decisions. 

As she was going to search for some pairs of shoes, she saw the cow print out of the corner of her eyes. She met Harrison’s gaze, and the second she took in his appearance fully, she burst out laughing. He approached her, keeping a smug look on his face. 

She reigned in her laughter as he approached her, holding his hands out to present his full appearance to her. 

“You look ‘udder’-ly amazing.”

“I told you, I can make it all look good.”

He winked at her, sending a small blush across her cheeks. But she sent that flustered feeling away as quickly as it came to her. 

“So I found some other items, but I wanted to know what you thought. Want to go try them on?”

She followed him to the dressing room this time, waiting right outside the door while he tried on the full outfits she had laid out for him. 

They had narrowed it down to 3 definite outfits, but she was hoping for five.

They went back in to search for some more clothes, but y/n was getting increasingly frustrated with the quality of the clothes. 

"We're really scraping the bottom of the barrel now," she groaned as she pulled another button up shirt from the rack. It was brown with a darker brown pattern on it. It almost resembled the inverse of a Louis Vuitton bag, it was just 15 times uglier. 

"You just have no taste," she heard a teasing voice from the other side of the rack. She rolled her eyes before she stood on her tip-toes to see over the clothes. "Put a sock in it, Robin," she spat at the boy as he showed a rude, sarcastic smile.  

Y/n grabbed the clothes she had gathered and made her way back to the dressing room with heavy feet. 

"What was that all about?" Harrison asked, trailing behind her. 

"That's just Robin, the bane of my existence," she huffed, shoving the clothes into Harrison's hands so he could try them on. 

"He had some pretty nice outfits chosen."

"Are you trying to say he has better taste than me?" y/n asked, half offended, half chuckling. 

"No, just saying, it would be a shame if they somehow ended up in our pile."

"I'm not sneaky enough to steal them," she laughed, but he just winked at her in response. He handed her the pile of clothes and quietly made his way back into the costume room. Y/n kept her distance, but watched intently as Harrison made his way towards Robin. He pretended to look on the same rack until Robin ended up setting his pile of clothes on a chair. Y/n almost couldn't contain her laughter as she watched Harrison not so stealthily grab one of the sweaters and trip over his own two feet as he ran back to her. Luckily he didn't fall and didn't catch Robin's attention, but it was still funnier than the sight of him in the cow costume. 

At the end of the hour, they had found a full 5 outfits. 

Harrison sure had the cockiness of a model, fully convinced he could make anything look good. But his sense of humor and willingness to sabotage her competition were traits that y/n could get behind. 

They returned to the class room to get the rest of their belongings. Y/n was about to head home, her arms full of their clothing items, when Harrison stopped her. 

“Are you busy right now?”

“Well, I’d like to set these down, but besides that, no.”

“Would you want to sketch out some more ideas with me? Get ahead of everyone else?”

She took a second to think about it, but the idea of being ahead of Robin was too tempting, so she nodded her head. 

Harrison took half of the clothes from her arms and began to walk. 

They decided to drop all of the clothes off at her apartment and work in her living room. Sierra and Jace were both in classes and y/n figured it was easier to just stay there to work. 

When they got inside, she took all the clothes from his arms and took them to her room, telling him to make himself at home on one of their couches while she took the clothing and hung them all in her closet, hoping to prevent any wrinkling.

She retuned to the living room with her laptop. Harrison was eyeing the decor in the room as she opened her computer to show him some of her ideas. 

She had collected a plethora of inspiration, some saved on boards on pinterest and others saved into a folder on her computer. As they went through different possibilities, she crudely sketched out any ideas that came up between them.

Y/n found herself surprised by how much she enjoyed Harrison’s input. She wasn’t exactly used to working on projects with other people, but that had never been a problem. She usually preferred to work alone, and the stuff she could come up with was amazing. But Harrison’s input was extremely helpful to polish her ideas. 

A few hours and hundreds of pictures later, Jace and Sierra came into the apartment together. Y/n and Harrison were laughing about the picture she had pulled up. She was trying to convince him that the ridiculous pose was a must have for the portfolio, Harrison didn’t seem to agree. They were both still laughing about it when the door opened, halting the laughter coming from y/n. 

“What’s going on here?” Sierra asked, amused at the sight of her best friend on the couch with her new boyfriend’s best friend. 

“We’re working on a project,” y/n stated quickly, shooting both her roommates a knowing look. She knew what they were both going to assume about her being alone with a boy in their apartment, but she wanted to shut that down the second it came to their minds. 

“Sureeeee,” Sierra trailed off as she disappeared into her room, making y/n roll her eyes and chuckle in annoyance. 

Jace disappeared into his room without a word, and y/n hoped that would be the end of their interruptions, but Sierra came back out and asked for opinions on her outfits every few minutes, wanting to look good for her date with Tom. 

As they were trying to focus after Sierra had interrupted them for the fourth time, y/n and Harrison both jumped when loud music started playing from behind Jace’s closed door. 

“Well, so much for working,” she grumbled, pushing the laptop mostly closed. 

Sierra walked out of her bedroom one more time in a stunning red dress, not too fancy, but still beautiful. 

“That’s the one,” y/n said to her, smiling at her friends appearance. 

“I hope you know this headache is on you,” Sierra replied annoyed, gesturing to Jace’s bedroom door on the other side of the apartment. 

“Si…”

“I’m not going to say any more. Just fix it before his ear drums rupture. Please.”

Y/n just nodded her head, trying to avoid Harrison’s gaze. 

Sierra disappeared into her bedroom again, starting to do her hair and makeup. Her plans with Tom were hours away, but the girl could spend days trying to get her appearance just right. 

“So… I know you told me not to worry about it the other night, but seriously, what is going on with you and Jace?”

Y/n let out a frustrated groan, collapsing back into the couch. 

“If you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to, but I mean, you’ve got me so curious.”

“It’s dumb, really, he’s just mad about something that happened a few months ago. It’s a long story, but we just started talking again recently, thanks to Sierra’s meddling, but somehow it’s my job to make everything better, even though he was the one who got us into this mess, and I’m sorry, I’m rambling.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“But I will talk to him about it eventually. And I am really so sorry that you have to witness all of this.”

“It’s fine,” he reassured her nonchalantly. She breathed a sigh of relief as he grabbed her computer to pick up on the last picture they had left off on. She had successfully danced her way around the full story, something she was getting too good at. 

After another hour of looking at pictures, Harrison mentioned that he had another class to get to. 

“You should have told me sooner, I could have made you something to eat before you left. “

“What are you, my grandmother?”

“Growing boys need to eat,” she joked back in a croaky old voice. 

They both laughed as he grabbed his bag and headed for the door.

She didn’t really want him to go. He was good company, something that was hard for her to find. She was excited to be working with him on this project, glad that they were becoming better friends. 

Once Harrison left, y/n headed into Sierra’s bathroom to keep her company while she curled her hair. 

“So…”

“Don’t, Si.”

“I have to. Are you guys a thing?”

“No, we are not a thing. Why do you have to ask that every time a boy does so much as breathe in my direction?”

“That’s not why I’m asking. I saw you laughing when we came in. I… Well I don’t think I have ever seen you smile like that.”

“What do you mean? Of course you have. I smile all the time.”

“Yeah, but not like that. Well, I guess, when you won that contest in the first month we were hanging out you were just as happy. What was that for again?”

“It was just a photo contest.”

“Well, yeah, when you got the framed picture and the $100 check, I had never seen you that happy. And I haven’t seen you act like that since. So, as much as I love Jace, I am officially switching sides. I’m shipping you and Harrison. And you can’t do anything to change my mind.” 

Sierra was picked up by Tom around 5:30. She had probably asked y/n 100 times if she looked ok, each time getting a “You look just as amazing as you did five minutes ago.”

After Sierra left, y/n decided that it was time to try to talk to Jace, mostly so Sierra would stop bringing it up. 

She knocked on his door, but the music playing inside was too loud. She tried again, louder this time, but he still didn’t answer. She couldn’t tell if he was ignoring her on purpose or not, but she opened the door anyway. 

She was met with the sight of Jace lying down on his back in bed, eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling. One of his hands rested on his chest, the other hung off the side of the bed. He didn’t notice as she entered slowly. She made her way over the record player on his desk and turned the volume dial, bringing the level down so she could speak. 

Jace looked up at her as the music faded, but looked back up at the ceiling once he saw who it was.

“I was wrong,” she said reluctantly, avoiding eye contact with him. 

“About what?” he sighed.

“I shouldn’t have asked you not to talk about it.”

“No, it’s fine, we don’t…”

“No, Jace, I… We can’t keep doing this. So say what you need to say. Yell at me, scream if you have to, but we need to get it all out so we don’t keep going between ok and you hating me.”

“I never hated you,” he stated sadly, sitting up to look at her. 

“You don’t have to lie for my sake, Jace. I fucked up and I hurt you, it’s ok to hate me.”

“Peach…” he trailed off, not knowing how to react to her. He had seen her at some of her lowest points, but through it all he knew her as strong and relentless. But looking at her now, she seemed weak, and it hurt to look at. 

 He scooted over and patted the space next to him on the bed. She didn’t hesitate before taking it. They sat in silence for a moment, neither one knowing what else needed to be said.

“I could never hate you.”

“Jace, I’m not dumb. The way you look at me now, it’s like I’m the last person you would ever want to be around. And I mean, I get why. I just can’t keep going in circles.”

“Y/n, I don’t hate you. I just…”

“Just what, Jace?”

“I feel the exact same way that I did 2 months ago. But that’s my problem, not yours.”

She felt terrible. Here they were again, him telling her how he felt, and her unable to reciprocate. Sure she loved him, and she wanted to love him in the way he loved her. But she just couldn’t and it made her feel so incredibly guilty. But she refused to make the same mistake she did last time. 

“I’m sorry, Jace.”

“What would you have to be sorry about?”

“I didn’t exactly react in the best way.”

“You can say that again.”

She smiled and softly hit his shoulder. 

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I just panicked.”

“I don’t get why. You could have just said you didn’t like me back. I understand that. I was kind of expecting it.”

“I know, I should have.” 

“So why didn’t you?”

She stared down at the carpet for a minute, trying to come up with the proper response. Deep down she knew why she did what she did. But that wasn’t something she could talk about now. Not yet.

“You know what, actually just forget about it. I ordered some take out, should get here soon. I got you your favorite, so let’s just…”

“Jace…”

“If you don’t want to talk about it, don’t do it for my sake. I’ll suck it up.”

He couldn’t bear looking at her anymore. He had only seen her in such an emotional state when he would find her after she had nightmares. She always looked so distraught and it broke his heart every single time. He couldn’t sit there and be the reason for his pain. 

So he walked out of the room, leaving her sitting on his bed staring after him. 

The music was still faintly playing from his speakers, so y/n made her way over to shut it off before she slowly followed him out. She watched him quietly make his way over to the couch, but before he could sit down, she rushed over and wrapped him up in a tight hug. 

He was startled at first, hesitating to return the embrace. But he turned in her arms so he was able to wrap his around her. He knew that was her way of simultaneously apologizing and thanking him. Apologizing for being such a mess, but thanking him for doing his best to deal with her. 

And that was all he could ask for from her in that moment. It was what he has hoped for when he had initially confessed to her. So he was content with it now. 

The silence continued for the rest of the night. When their take-out came, they ate right next to each other, the only noise in the apartment was the movie playing in front of them. It was the most quality alone time they had spent since the incident, and they were just happy that the silence was no longer heavy. It was no longer filled with guilt or regret, it was just a silence. 

Sierra came home late to see y/n fast asleep on Jace’s shoulder, who was sitting on the couch watching a documentary through droopy eyelids. 

“I see you two are getting along for once,” she whispered, catching Jace’s attention. 

“Shut up.”

“Did you two finally talk about it?”

“Sure.”

“That doesn’t give me confidence that I’m not going to have to deal with this same shit in a week.”

“We’re fine now, Si. How was your date?”

“Amazing,” she smiled. 

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[adhdtoomanycommas]

ADHD, Gifted Programs, and Accidental Accommodations

So one big thing has been on my mind pretty consistently since I got diagnosed last year at the age of 30—why did it take so long to figure this out?  At no point in my K-12 education or my 4 year bachelor’s degree schooling did any teacher or counselor question or suggest I may have ADHD, despite the fact that I check nearly every single box on every diagnostic criteria (both inattentive and hyperactive!)

One obvious reason is sexism.  Pretty early in my reading on the subject, I learned that ADHD is dramatically under-diagnosed in girls and women. Partly this is because of different presentations, but a lot of it is just that the stereotype people have in their heads of what an ADHD kid looks like is always a boy.  

But the other big reason, and the one I want to talk about today, is the fact that one of the few ADHD diagnostic boxes that I didn’t check was “bad grades.”  So really, the question is, why weren’t my grades bad?

That’s not to say I was especially good at school work. My backpacks, desks, and binders were always a complete mess, and I NEVER did the homework.  I would do the big projects (at the last possible second, of course) but daily homework just straight up didn’t happen.   If there was time left at the end of class I would sometimes quickly do the homework for the next day, and occasionally jot down some approximation of it in the minute or two before class started, but when I was actually at home, I never touched it.

But here’s the thing with ADHD brains:  We can focus on things with no problem, as long as we find them interesting.  And I’ve always read quickly enough that doing the reading for class was usually interesting. And for the most part, the class content itself usually seemed interesting enough.    But probably most importantly, I consider tests interesting. There’s always been enough of a challenge racing-the-clock game-like aspect to them to me that I would stay engaged on the tests, and even if didn’t completely know the material, I was good at using logic to get a pretty good guess (like using all those tricks they teach for standardized tests—narrowing down the options on a multiple choice question, looking for answers in the other questions, etc.)

So even in the classes where turning in the daily homework counted for part of the grade (math and language classes mostly) I was usually able to scrape a B with only the occasional C thrown in,  and everything else was A’s.  

But part of my saving grace was the “gifted” classes.  I was very lucky that, despite not knowing about her own (probable) ADHD,  my mom knew enough about how she worked as a student to know that me (and my brother) really needed to be engaged and challenged in order to thrive.  Because of this, she advocated for us hard—she insisted we be allowed in my elementary school’s “gifted” program in kindergarten (based on our test scores of course)  even though the “gifted” program officially wasn’t even available until first grade.  And when we moved to a different state, she advocated for us again and got us included even though the “gifted” class was “full.”   She knew that nothing would make us fail faster than being bored in class, so she made sure that there was at least one day a week when we would be challenged and actually get to engage with material we found interesting.  

Aside,  despite how essential they were for me to thrive in school,  the entire concept of “gifted” programs and “gifted” kids is problematic as hell.  Half of the screening is basically just looking for class signifiers and seeing whose parents had enough free time to give them a head start (or whose parents have the time to advocate for their kids the way my mom did for me).  Not to mention there’s likely a massive racial bias. So in all this discussion of why I did ok despite my ADHD, it’s important to note that there’s a lot of privilege at play here determining who gets access to these types of programs.  

This is also why I keep putting “gifted” in quotes--  I don’t think there is anything inherent about academic ability. Also, academic ability, reading ability, testing aptitude, etc. are definitely not indicative of intelligence. Plus the entire concept of the measurability of intelligence is based on eugenics ideas, so clearly one should take the whole thing with a huge grain of salt.

Nowadays the term all the parenting blogs like to use for kids like me, with ADHD (or dyslexia, or autism, or whatever else) who also test well enough to be flagged as “gifted,”  is “Twice Exceptional”  which is a term that makes me immediately want to punch whoever uses it. Seriously,  it makes me gag.  Like, it doubles down on the “special” euphemism and seems entirely designed to make parents feel better about their kid without any consideration to how the kid feels.  No kid wants to be singled out, especially one who’s already probably pretty socially isolated (which I could digress about but that’ll be another essay for another day), and being Twice singled out certainly doesn’t help anything.  

But ultimately the teaching in the “gifted” class itself wound up being really good accommodations for ADHD. I wouldn’t have been a bit surprised if they were better than the accommodations in the separate classes actually intended for kids with ADHD and other learning issues, though since I wasn’t diagnosed as I kid I can’t actually speak to that as I don’t have any experience there.  But in the gifted classes, firstly, we were given more specific subjects as opposed to the overviews we got in regular classes.  And it’s way easier to be engaged on specific subjects like ice age mammals, or the wreck of the Titanic, than it is to be engaged with a broad list of dates or categories.  We did logic problems that were presented as games, but that were indirectly teaching us the basics for higher level math. In 6th grade, we did research projects and got to pick our own subjects completely, so we could write about whatever we were hyperfixating on at the moment (mine was on medieval warfare as depicted in the Bayeux tapestry).   And if we happened to get excited and blurt out an interesting fact vaguely related to whatever was being discussed, that was likely encouraged instead of reprimanded like it would be in the normal classroom. This continued into high school, as honors and AP level classes tended to be a lot more discussion based rather than the top-down approach at other levels, as well as affording more opportunity to choose one’s own subjects.

The story you’ll hear from (or about) a lot of ADHD kids (especially undiagnosed) flagged as “gifted” is of hitting a wall at some point, academically speaking.  That did happen to me briefly, in middle school. We started being assigned a lot more long-term projects, and there was a bit of a learning curve while I figured out how to put things off Until the last minute and not Past the last minute.  But thanks to some patient teachers who believed in me (which I might not have had outside of honors classes), I managed to pull out of it and improve my grades (with the exception of the only report-card F of my entire academic career, from a sadistic gym teacher who seemed to think that enough berating would cure asthma).

Even more stories I’ve read and heard from people who were diagnosed with ADHD as an adult say they hit that wall academically when they started college—the first time they were really self-guided in their studies.  But again, there, I was saved by an honors program.  In this case,  it was the Honors Tutorial College,  a truly strange program at Ohio University.  I was tracked into HTC by one particular professor who very much wanted HTC to expand into the art program and decided that because I had both strong test scores and a strong art portfolio (and probably, lets be real, because I was the daughter of one of the other professors) that I was the perfect person to be the first student in the new program.

OU’s website describes HTC as “flexible curriculum and one-on-one tutorials with renowned faculty that allow your curiosity to take the lead in your education.” It’s rigorous, but comes with a lot of perks, like waiving certain gen-ed classes,  being able to take classes without first taking the required prerequisites,  and designing one’s own independent study classes individually with instructors.  And those perks are (as far as I know entirely accidentally) the perfect accommodations for an ADHD student (and probably pretty good for Autistic ones as well, based on some of my peers in the program).

A lot of the gen-ed classes I waived were ones I probably would have been bored in and thusly not done well.  Being able to skip pre-reqs meant that, for instance, for my English requirements I was able to take far more interesting classes like Shakespeare’s Comedies,  YA Lit,  and Playwriting instead of English 101, 102 etc.  If I wanted to learn about something in particular, I had help finding a professor willing to help me in an independent study/tutorial class.  Being the pilot of the program meant I was able to shape it so that I could get an art degree without ever having to choose one medium (which as far as I know is still an option for anyone pursuing an HTC Studio Art degree).  And at the end of the program, when we were required to complete a massive thesis project and paper (at basically graduate level), not only could I choose my subject to meet my hyperfixations, but I had individual help from a professor keeping me on task on the less-fun parts at every step of the way.  

HTC students are required to keep their GPAs above a high threshold. At one point one of my grades (in Latin class) was low enough to hurt my average, and I was called into HTC headquarters for a check-in meeting.  I was asked why my grade had fallen, and I explained that the class wasn’t that interesting (at that level it was mostly grammar) but that it was getting better as we were moving up into translating more actual historical material. That explanation was entirely accepted.  Imagine if “it’s not interesting enough” was considered a valid excuse for grades slipping for everyone, how much less stressful school would be for ADHD kids!

So ultimately it’s pretty much been having the luck and privilege to get myself flagged for “gifted” classes that kept my grades up throughout my school years.  Accidental accommodations have continued into my adult life as well. At my most recent office job, for instance (which I lost due to covid layoffs), I had a pretty hands-off boss who just didn’t care if I doodled, got up to stretch my legs every once in a while, and listened to audiobooks at my desk all day as long as the work got done.  

I didn’t need a diagnosis to get these accommodations, because they were given freely, which meant I was able to succeed even without knowing about my own ADHD.  If I had been diagnosed, and had had to ask for accommodations, I wonder if I would have done as well as bias against people with ADHD means people wouldn’t have expected as much from me.  

So if you’ve made it this far, I’ll ask for the same for others that I got for myself.  If you are a teacher (or a manager in an office setting),  I strongly encourage you to consider how to make your classroom, office, etc. more accessible in general, without someone having to disclose a diagnosis or be singled out for accommodations.  The biggest easiest one you can do is to allow (or even encourage) doodling in lecture settings. Even for neurotypicals,  there have been plenty of studies proving people retain information better when doodling, so everyone should know by now that someone doodling doesn’t mean they’re not listening.   If at all possible, encourage discussion and contribution.  Give everyone breaks to stretch and move around.  And give as much freedom as possible on what to learn about.  You might be surprised what people are capable of when these reasonable steps are taken to give everyone room to thrive.  

That’s all for now,  hopefully you got something out of this unwieldy ramble.   I’d be curious to hear if you’ve run into any accidental accommodations in your life and how they’ve helped.  Until next time!

#actuallyadhd #Actually ADHD #adhd #gifted kids #former gifted kid

[judefan836-blog]

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