actually-this-is-the-story-of-my-life

LOST LANCE FICS / (UPDATED MEMES)

Okay so I’ve given it a lot of thought and realized that I most likely won’t write a lost lance fic myself BUT I have decided to let people write for Lost Lance AU

BUT Please: 

  • ASK ME FIRST (I’ll say yes I just wanna know) 
  • credit me

  • explain that it is only BASED ON the Lost Lance au and is not like ‘offical tm.’ lmao

  • and send me a link because I WANNA READ/SHARE IT !!!!
This au is very special to me. But I’ve been feeling a lot of unnecessary pressure and If i don’t write for this au i’d love it if someone wanted too not only for me but for everyone who craves a lost lance fic
ALSO I want to actually work on this other story that i’ve been neglecting for like two months which is called “Heaven is a place on earth” over on my ao3 which you should read if you’re about that angsty au life lmfao (sorry that’s cringey but I gotta get that plug lol)

My plans for the next few weeks (on this blog) is to work on commissions then finish the human healing pod animatic & finally focus on the lost lance au (and a bit on the fallen angel au^^ which is what i’m calling that ^^^

I appreciate all of you this is really extra and Love ya as always, keep it spicy

i’m actually legit crying rn LMFAO……..

i think i talk a lot about how important pixelberry was to my high school years, especially since high school years are some of the most formative years of your life imo

high school story & hollywood u defs were the brunt of that. silly mobile games that mean the world to me because of their fantastic stories and characters. i was always really drawn to the characters because i saw a lot of myself in them and i feel like i was growing up right alongside them. it’s funny i guess that hwu is ending just as i finish my freshman year of college.

besides that, i grew making friends within the PB fandom. i think i’ve developed a lot as both an artist and a person and i can owe a lot of that to my time here. i really owe a lot to pixelberry, not just to their hardwork, but because these games really saved me when i was at the darkest points of my life. the stories, sure, but also the friends i’ve made. i could not ask for a more welcoming and kind group of people to call my friends.

HWU ending is. super bittersweet for me. i understand what the circumstances might be (and i also accept never really being able to understand) and i understand that all good things must come to an end. HWU was fun! the fandom was fun, even when we had our downs, i always felt more resilient and happier talking to you guys!

and of course, it’s not like PB fandom is just straight up dying; i’m really glad to see new people joining the fandom for choices, and i’m glad PB is doing amazing things with choices, too.

i’ll probably draw something for HWU later this week as a final farewell, haha.

tl;dr: thanks hwu. it was a wild ride but it was one of my favorites.

of course u can always catch me thinking about chriley and deanae s-so

*Full Version* Auston Matthews #1 - Gold Medal, Baby!

So, I’ve been getting a whole bunch of requests for the full version of the Auston Matthews x Canadian National Diver story. So here it is! I actually love this story but be warned: it is 2.5 k words so…. 

(I may have been feeling emotional about my last gymnastics competition and this was the result whoops)

I’m putting it under a cut because it is a MONSTER 

Keep reading

RIP Club Penguin

Okay, so since it is the day Club Penguin is shutting down, I figured I would share a few stories from there that I remember the most. We all remember the arrival of the dojo and cardjitsu, the blowing up of the original hq, the arrival of Herbert, the changes in art style, the new puffles and everything. But these stories came from my youth and mostly real life, so they are very close to my heart.

So, I first joined when I was 6 or so under the user name of Pinkiannah(I think that is how I spelled it) and I was obsessed. My bro and I would play it everyday after school or on the weekend. We actually fought over whose turn it was to play.
I remember keeping my penguin pink constantly to fit my username and I remember my favorite puffle being a pink one that I creatively named “Pufflannah” I adored her and had her walk with me everywhere. But, one day, Pufflannah ran away. I was devastated to say the least, I screamed and cried about how she was gone. So, to make me feel better, my brother helped me collect enough coins to adopt a new one who I named in honor of her. I then went on to get fricken 10 puffles over the next few years as more and more came out. I remember getting another pink one named icing to go with sprinkles (a blue one), an orange one I named Jake (when I was obsessed with AT), a brown one I named Brownie Brain(I still love that little guy, the brown ones are my favorites next to the yellow ones), and a rainbow one named Skittles.

Another story involves my older brother( @all-stargamer99 ) who also had his own account (I have another story involving him after this), he bought the Club Penguin merchandise like the original puffle plushes and even a cardjitsu deck, but his favorites by far were the plushes. He named them after his original puffles on his account and made little scrapbooks out of pictures he took (I may scan them just because they are actually super adorable).
But one day, being the silly 8 year old he was at the time, decided that his blue puffle was in need of a hair cut. So he cut the puffles hair and started crying once he realized his mistake. To make him feel better, I gave my pink puffle plush a hair cut too, so that his wouldn’t feel alone. Tbh, I think we still have those plushes, I will have to find them when I wake up.

My second to last story once again surrounds my brother and his obsession with Club Penguin. At this time I was slowly out of it and went on to Pixie Hollow(which is now closed and that sucks, the games on there were awesome!) and other online games. But, my brother also was obsessed with this Playstation 1 Spiderman game. So, at the age of 10 (likely a little older, I vaguely remember) he decided to make a Club Penguin super hero named “Puffle Man” who basically could shapeshift into any kind of puffle and use their abilities to stop these super villains he based off of marvel bad guys! He made a fun little comic series about the guy based around the plot of that Spiderman game I was talking about! The character was actually… really well made for a kid his age! I loved reading the comic since he involved these symbiote/bear things into his story to make a black suit arc as well! I think at one point we tried to make a spin-off into the future to follow the guy’s kid? But we only made one and a half issues.

Tying that last story into my final one, I was inspired to make a comic of my own! It was called Bat-puffle(a puffle that was basically Batman but he could turn into a bat) fighting this evil Penguin villain I creatively called “The Penguin” it was only a page or two long and it was crappy. However, my brother loved it! Around this time, we had been shown the wacky adventures of Baman Piderman and decided to make our own version with Puffleman and Bat-puffle! We made a thick book of comics based out the cartoons that were out at the time, and we planned to follow through with the rest, but after a while we just stopped due to interest in other things.

I have so many fun memories with my older brother because of this game, and I honestly hope that the Club Penguin Island app that Disney is making fares well and is a good way to continue from where its predecessor had ended its run. RIP Club Penguin, thanks for so many years of fun and amazement.

anonymous asked:

I just wanted to say thank you. Your stories constantly make my day. You're one of the most talented writers I've ever been blessed enough to find and I'm constantly so thankful to have found you. Every update notification I get makes me so happy I can't even begin to explain it. I drop everything as soon as I get it so I can read. Thank you for continuing to share your talent with us. Thank you for continuing to give me a little safe zone to escape to. Believe it or not you've changed my life.

Wow, thank you. I am at a genuine loss for words. Truly, I will never be able to express how much a message like this means to me. I’m so thankful to have had this show to write about for years now (I can’t believe it’s been that long!) and to have such wonderful people like you who actually look forward to reading the stories I produce. You guys have made such a huge and positive impact on my life that I never could have expected. My writing has always provided a safe zone for me as well, but in the past, I never would have fathomed sharing it, let alone having people who want to read it, and I’m just so privileged to expand my safe zone to share with you. :)

Again, from the depths of my heart, thank you. 

Mako’s a survivor stuck in the city, finding it incredibly difficult to leave on his own due to the sheer density of zombies clogging the streets and buildings.

Jamie’s a “mutated” zombie that actually managed to maintain his humanity and thinking, but still suffered the physical body morphing effects of the virus. He’s been on his own trying to survive from both humans and zombies, since both want nothing to do with him.

The two meet after Jamie saves Mako’s life from a horde, and then team up as partners to try and get the hell out of the city. At first they’re extremely wary of one another, worried about when one will turn on the other, but as time goes on and trust between the two firmly becomes cemented, they grow closer to one another, becoming each others last rays of hope in the hell they live in.

anonymous asked:

I have an odd and very specific problem... I was writing a fanfic for voltron and I realized that I want to write the plot of my fanfic into an original story since it's completely mine but with obviously voltron characters... do I continue the fanfic or cancel it so that I can write it out for my original?

As odd and specific as your problem may feel, I can promise you this is a burning indigestion that lives inside many writers, my dear. 

The original idea for my Citrus Witches, actually came from a Merlin fanfic I wrote back when Geoffrey of Monmouth was still alive.  It ended up veering far and wide from the original plot, only about 15% of it comes from that original fic I wrote, but the fact remains, it’s still there.  I also took an entire scene from a Free! fic I wrote for this story.  

If you feel a real connection with this story, and you want to see it take on it’s own life outside of an existing show, and become your own thing, I would definitely encourage you to do that.  I think fic is a really great place to fine tune your writing and to spark new ideas, it’s up to you to decide what you want to do with that.  

Day 2: Forgetful

lmao totally almost forgot to write this. ayyy what up, i DIDNT forget okay. But this is actually a problem I’ve been dealing with lately, especially today. 

I felt like I was constantly forgetting to do something today, but i couldn’t figure out what. There was this looming apprehension and I could not, for the life of me, figure out what the fuck my brain was freaking out over this time. 

Otherwise, while my day was stressful, I feel pretty good! I’ve been watching some Thomas Sanders and dealing with some personal things, and I overall feel alright! 

And while there is some…discourse on my dash, it’s been quite a quiet evening. 

Story of the Day: Got to see a kid projectile vomit in my English class today. Poor kid, IT WENT EVERYWHERE. 

I don’t have anything super inspirational to say, so just keep your head up and listen to some upbeat songs if you need a pep in your step!

Marching off the stage with a proud look!,

June

Liar

(The following poem is one I wrote, and it actually won a local contest!)

(For Vortex, my everlasting muse and friend)


Nothing left to hide

(Nothing to hide)

Everything is simple as it can be

(Simple)(Be, be)

What are you looking at me for?

(For, for)

I’ve done nothing wrong!

(Today, at least)

I’m just a truth teller

(Lie spreader)

Teller of the truth,

(Lie spreader)

Walking paradox,

(A paradox comes to life)

Soft sorrow, no morrow

Endless life, no strife

(A paradox brought to life)

There’s no story left to be told

(Lie spreader)

No memories to hold

(Lie spreader)

Trust me, I’m not that bold

(Lie spreader)

I don’t care about you

(Please don’t go)

Scram, will you?

(Let me love you)

We just have no connection

(I’m wired to your heartbeat)

Walk away!

(Stay, stay)

Leave!

(Never escape my arms)

I’m just a truth teller

(Lie spreader)

Teller of the truth,

(Lie spreader)

Walking paradox,

(A paradox comes to life)

And there you go…

(Go, go, go)

I’ll easily forget you

(I’ll miss you every day of my life)

Truth teller

(Liar)

  • Me, an intellectual: I should really stop obsessing over fictional people that don't actually exist outside the scope of my tv and book pages and I should focus on reality and getting my life together.
  • Also me: No you shouldn't
  • Me: Tru, you right

Oh, he’s no stranger, we’ve met before, once upon a dream.

goodbye, forever, i literally can’t believe this happened,,,,

Headcanon that Viktor and Yuuri do not really fare very well during fights.

They do fight like most couples do. It does not matter what they fought about; there are just those days when the timing is not right, and their reactions are not proportional to what they are arguing about. Sometimes it is Viktor who is not in the mood and it just so happened that that it is an off-day for Yuuri, too. Sometimes it is Yuuri who points something out, a minor thing like dog food running out or dishes left in the sink, but it had been a long day for Viktor and he had not yet told Yuuri that he got an earful from Yakov earlier that day over one thing or another.

So they fight. Tempers flare and sometimes it is petty. They both dislike yelling, but then there are also those days, and sometimes they say things they do not mean. One person’s eyes sting first and that usually puts a stop to things – but then, the damage has been done. Sometimes they apologize immediately, but there are also days when they just part ways. Yuuri tends to leave first more often than not, locking himself in the bedroom or the bathroom or wherever there are four walls and a closed door that would keep him away from Viktor.

There are those days, albeit few and far in between (which is good because they truly are the worst of days), when they would fight so badly that night would find them with one in the bedroom and the other on the couch. It is usually Yuuri who refuses to join Viktor in bed; he doesn’t like touching Viktor when they are in a fight.

What they never really managed, though, is to spend an entire night apart. Always, be it at midnight or as late as 4 am, Viktor would come out of the bedroom, blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

“Yuuri,” he would say, voice low so as not to startle Yuuri awake, should he already be asleep. (Yuuri never is, on nights like that.)

Sometimes Yuuri would turn to him; sometimes he would not. Either way, Viktor would pad quietly across their moonlit living room and usually find Yuuri curled up in a bundle under his own blanket, awake and miserable. He does not say anything, his Yuuri, but then Viktor knows him well enough not to expect it. So instead, he would just kneel down at the front end of the couch, move slowly so as to let Yuuri stop him any time in case he was still angry with Viktor. Yuuri never is and neither does he ever stop Viktor, and if anything his eyes would sparkle in the moonlight, sad and expectant, and it is how Viktor knows: Yuuri is sorry, too.

Viktor would open his arms and Yuuri would fall into them, his relief obvious in the way he sharply inhales like one breaking the surface after nearly drowning. The hug is never gentle, always nearly crushing Viktor’s neck by how tightly he clings to him, but Viktor never minds. He only also breathes in deeply and shakily, holding Yuuri just as tightly, before wrapping the blanket he brought around the both of them. If he had his way, he would pull the blanket over Yuuri’s head and just hold him to his chest, reclaim him for himself and hide him completely from the world. His, his, his - never to leave him, never, never not his, not even when the fights are so bad that Viktor could feel his heart break over again whenever he remembers them.

He makes do with wrapping the blanket around them as tightly as he can manage. Yuuri never complains, so Viktor wonders if it comforts Yuuri, too. They fall asleep like that, locked still in their tight embrace after many kisses and whispered apologies, limbs tangled beneath the blanket that would surely be too warm and stifling when they wake mid-morning. It is not always the most comfortable thing, waking up that way, but they never really got rid of making up like this – not when, at least in the evenings, lying together like that feels absolutely perfect, and is everything that they needed.

GUYS THIS WAS WORTH 80% OF MY FINAL EXAM GRADE FOR OPERATIONS MANAGEMENT AND I GOT AN A

4

It seemed fitting to pull out my old Fanders Army shirt after @thatsthat24 ‘s latest vlog (so fitting to the point whee the moment I got out of class I was running to my car to grab my selfie stick and taking these pictures on the field like a weirdo). And I’ve decided to open up about my own struggles with my body image.


I’ve been overweight for a good portion of my life. I’m still learning how to love my body for what it is. There had been days where I full on broke down because I hated what I saw in the mirror. I’d cry at least twice a week alone in my room because I didn’t think I was beautiful or could ever actually be loved. I was hardly ever content with the way my face looked or my hair length/style. Admittedly, there were some pretty dark thoughts because of these views, but that’s a different story.

It’s been a process, but it’s getting easier to accept myself for who I am. I take a lot of selfies (some would joke I take too many) to force myself to really look at my face and find features that I like (like my eyes look good with this color shirt or that smile looks cute in this photo, etc). I have fun changing my hair color every few months (right now I’m in the Nymphadora Tonks stage of my hair adventure), I do my makeup a different color scheme each day so I can feel like I’m some sort of new painting everyday. I’ve been taking more photos that include my stomach, even though that’s where the majority of my body fat is. I now have three tattoos, two of which are reminders to myself that no matter what my brain tries to tell me: it’s worth it to love myself and to enjoy the life I have, and that the only sharp objects that should ever touch my skin are the ones used to make permanent works of art. 

There’s still some bad days, don’t get me wrong. But I’ve come to realize that the people I choose to surround myself with love me for who I am, and that’s what truly matters. 

So thank you, Thomas, for speaking out about a very important topic, and for constantly bringing a smile to my face even when I’m at my lowest.

 Stay Amazing,

💙 Sam

so like, i know this is tacky, and i hate to be that person, but can we also remember that One Day at a Time is Cuban? People don’t talk enough about that immigration episode. Elena being gay is so amazing and seeing queer latinx is incredible and so fucking needed. She has blessed us all. But let me tell you, the cuban story being spoken about doesn’t happen and that’s why misinformation about C.astro has spread and why after his death a lot of non-cubans were in my inbox not understanding the situation and shocked at how little they and the world actually knew. That episode was real. Everyone in my life has a story like that. That’s a lot of Miami’s story and it made me so damn emotional and happy to know that so many non-cubans were gonna get a chance to hear us represented. So can we not erase that too? ❤️

I don’t have enough energy or motivation to actually sit and flesh this story out, but its been stuck in my head for ages and like… just imagine Kara deciding to shed her identity as Kara Danvers in order to focus on being Supergirl (because of an accident, or she was too busy with personal life to make it in time to save someone, etc), and Lena Luthor investigates because “what the hell is with all these inconsistencies on her death? first an allergy, then a car crash, and now she’s been lost at sea? wtf is going on??”

But srsly, just imagine:

  • “What do you mean you want to kill yourself?” Alex asks, face twisted in bewilderment. “Jesus!” she exclaims, burying her face in her hands. “They don’t make Prozac strong enough for Kryptonian metabolisms!” And it takes awhile, but Kara is eventually able to calm her down (and has to steal her phone mid-way to keep her from calling their mom on her) and explain that she doesn’t actually want to kill herself, just the Kara Danvers side of her so that she can be Supergirl full time.
  • It takes a long time to convince Alex of her plan, and even longer to get J’onn’s approval, but a week later Kara Danvers no longer exists and Supergirl has full reign of crime-fighting in National City.
  • A few days later, Lena Luthor is browsing through the daily paper and is struck dumb by one of the names in the obituaries. “Kara Danvers, 25, cause of death: peanut allergy.” It suddenly makes sense why she hasn’t heard from the bubbly reporter in well over a week, but she’s also extremely confused because she swears she’s seen Kara devour a super-sized bag of trail mix and then ask for a PB&J to wash it all down.
  • (Ofc, Alex is positively pissed. “A peanut allergy?” she cries, throwing the paper down atop her sister’s new desk at the DEO. “What?” Kara asks, innocently. “Statistically, peanut allergies are the highest-…” “SAVE IT.”)
  • Lena rushes over to CatCo, demanding to speak with Kara’s former boss because it can’t possibly be true. Kara can’t really be dead. When she finally confronts the balding Carr, all he offers is a shrug and, “I dunno, I heard she fell off a cliff or something.” And Lena is just, “.. or something?? How does one fall off a cliff or something!?
  • She forces her way into James’s office, interrupting a meeting with one of his editors, but a single glare is all it takes to clear the room. “I’m sorry,” James apologizes, avoiding eye contact. “She went to visit her family in Midvale, and was hit by a drunk driver.”
  • Now Lena is confused, angry, and a little bit hurt. All she’s getting is the run-around, nothing adds up, and all she wants to know is if her friend is alive. She returns to her office, cancels all her meetings and work for the day, and drowns her sorrow in a bottle of scotch or two.
  • Later that night, she’s sprawled across the couch, nursing a headache and a full pitcher of water when she spots Supergirl fly by. Suddenly, she’s up and out the door of her balcony, because surely, if anyone were to know what had happened to Kara, it would be Supergirl! They were close, apparently, so why not?
  • Kara, who is leisurely patrolling the neighborhood, screeches to a halt mid-flight as a black stiletto flies past her. She turns just in time to watch as a half-drunk Lena Luthor stumbles, stripping off her second shoe before flinging it once more in her direction.
  • Baffled by the flying footwear, she gently goads Lena back into her office, nodding patiently along as the Luthor babbles so quickly, not even she can keep up. Eventually, she’s able to piece enough of it together, and her face goes red with shame. She knew she’d forgotten something!
  • Lena watches as Supergirl turns bashful, nothing like the strong, confident woman she’d come to admire. She isn’t sure if its the alcohol, but something feels strangely familiar with the way she fidgets, and though her vision has doubled, it’s like seeing Kara Danvers and Supergirl standing side-by-side.
  • Then it hits her, and Lena wants to cry. She interrupts Supergirl, who is in the middle of a tragic tale about Kara drowning at sea, and asks her to close her eyes. Kara, as expected, is confused, but chalks it up to the strange request of a drunk woman and obliges. Lena grabs her reading glasses off the desk and slips them onto Supergirl, and the resemblance is so uncanny, her suspicions can’t be anything but true.
  • The next thing Kara knows, she’s being smacked across the head with a flower vase. And then a book. And really, anything else a furious Lena Luthor can get her hands on. It doesn’t hurt. She hardly feels it. But the tears brimming in Lena’s eyes… well, those are downright painful, and she lets the woman vent her frustrations as she yells, and scolds, and screams about how she thought she’d lost the only person she cared for in National City - perhaps in all the world.
  • Eventually, she stops being angry, and all she can do is fling herself into Kara’s arms and squeeze her with all the strength she has. Kara holds her, letting her cry, apologizing profusely between her every hiccup and sob.
  • “I wanted to tell you,” she promises, “Really, I did. You’re one of my best friends, and I care about you too much to put that burden on you. Not when you’re already a big enough target for your name, and I just.. I’m just not strong enough…” “To protect me?” “No, to lose you..” And Lena half-sobs, half-laughs, “And you think I am?” “Lena,s you’re the strongest person I know.”
  • Then Kara explains how she wanted to devote her full time to being Supergirl because the world needs her more, and Lena tells her, “you can’t save everyone, and you need to live a balanced life. that means Kara Danvers AND Supergirl, together.” Because Kara is totally whipped, she lets Lena convince her to rethink her decision, and makes up a story for Kara Danvers to come back.
  • Ofc, she can’t go back to CatCo though, because that’d be really weird with everyone thinking she was dead (they had a memorial!). Lena takes her on at L-Corp as a PR agent, where she can keep a better eye on her and make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid like this ever again

For many decades, my father used to walk across town to do his food shopping on Second Avenue. He often shopped at a Gristede’s around the corner from Miss Hepburn’s town house on East 49th Street.

One day he suddenly came face to face with Miss Hepburn, who was also picking up groceries. He acknowledged her with a nod, and she responded in kind. He began thinking of her as a neighbor.

In 1983, my senior year at Bryn Mawr, Miss Hepburn’s alma mater, I was frustrated and was doing poorly, and at Christmas break, I decided to quit. I had the romantic notion of running away to Scotland to write screenplays. My father was frantic. My mother had died two years before, leaving him with all the responsibility for his headstrong daughter.

He knew that Miss Hepburn had gone through her own struggles at Bryn Mawr, so he wrote her a letter asking her to intervene. “She’s a great admirer of yours, and perhaps she’ll listen to you,” he wrote. On the way to the grocery store, he dropped the letter in her mail slot.

At 7:30 the next morning, the phone woke me up. I answered it and heard that famous voice, crackling with command. “Is this the young woman who wants to quit Bryn Mawr?” I said it was. “What a damn stupid thing to do!” she snapped. She went on to give me a lively lecture, the gist of which was that I had to finish my studies and get my degree, and after that I could do what I wanted to do. There was no arguing with her imperiousness. Then she said she wanted to meet us for tea.

The day of our appointment was gray and wintry. Walking the long blocks to Turtle Bay, my father and I didn’t speak much. It felt as if we were about to meet the Queen.

Miss Hepburn greeted us warmly. With casual hauteur, she provided us with tea and some of her famous brownies. Though she was in her 70’s, she had a youthful look, enhanced by her girlish clothes: a turtleneck, a black cardigan and shabby khaki-green pants.

We talked about many things, including Bryn Mawr. She said that she was miserable there and still had nightmares about it, but she was glad she went. At the end of the afternoon she told me, in a rather grim tone, “You’re smart.” It was a compliment, but also an admonition not to be foolish in the future.

My father was invited to visit her a few times after that. Once, he had heard that she was recovering from a serious car accident, and he stopped by to drop off a package of homemade brownies and a get-well note. To his surprise, he was ushered in and invited into her boudoir, where she greeted him in her nightgown. She sampled his brownies.

“Too much flour!” she declared. She then rattled off her own recipe, which he hastily wrote down. “And don’t overbake them! They should be moist, not cakey!”

I’ll always be grateful to Miss Hepburn for making me stick it out at Bryn Mawr and for giving me these rules to live by: 1. Never quit. 2. Be yourself. 3. Don’t put too much flour in your brownies.