Sooo, I never thought I would ever make this kind of post but here we are. I still can’t believe it. This is the story of how my biggest dream, meeting Taylor Swift got true. I met her at the Secret Sessions for her Album reputation in London. I am not going to talk about the event in general. It’s called the “secret” sessions. But what I am going to talk about is how I personally met Taylor. So I walked through the door of the room she was in and when she saw me she shined so bright and came up to me saying “heeeeeeey!!” and then we hugged so thight. Like it was not one of these “polite” hugs, we almost ran into each others arms. And when she hugged me she said something that sounded like “Marleen”, my name. But I am not really sure if she really said it. I don’t know if she said but but from her face when she saw me I knew she recognized me somehow. She looked at me and my sister and said “you guys are so pretty!” and I said “thank you so much!” She hugged my sistser chatted a little bit with her (kinda about reputation so I will not tell you what they chatted about) and she gave her an high five. She turned to me then and I said “I totally know what I am going to listen to the next few months!” and she was like “YEEAH” making these really cute dance moves and then I awkwardly made them too and said I already see myself driving my care like *making car driving + singing* moves. She asked us “So what is your favorite song?” and we were like “uhhmmmm, I don’t ehevn know they’re all so good maybe *insert song name on november 10th here*” and she got really happy about that. Then we took your picture and I just hugged her and she leaned her head to mine and, as you see on the picture, I literally felt and saw her curls falling down on my face. After we took the picture I looked her into the eyes again and said “I love you so much” and she made this really lovely and cute face and was like “ohhhhh” and then we hugged again really warm and tight. The moment I hugged her everything on this world that ever hurt me was gone. Everything was perfect the way it was. When we left, I was almost out of the room, I turned around and said “… and SEE YOU ON TUMBLR” and she was like “YEAH! with a bright smile in her face.”I still can’t believe my biggest dream finally got true. Taylor is so kind and caring to everyone.
@taylorswift : Thank you so much for inviting me! This has been the best day of my life and I will never forget it in my whole life. I have been on your side since 2008, when I was 12 years old. I have been to your concerts in oberhausen, berlin and cologne, and supported you through every phase of our lifes. I see you as my best friend. You have always been by my side, you might know that from the past few years since you’ve been following me on tumblr but way before that I loved you as much as I do now.I promise, I will tell my kids and grandkids about you and how you inspired me to be the person I am. I will forever stay on your side and defend you, no matter what. I will always keep that day you wanted to meet me too in my mind. Thank you for making me and so many other people so happy. I feel special because of you!
@taylornation thank you so much for everything!! You guys were so nice and planning this event must have been a lot of work. You truly did a great job!!!
Hey there! I have a Miraculous Ladybug/HTTYD ask! What type of situation do you think it would take for Hiccup and the gang to get akumatized, and what would their akumatized forms be/look like?
Okay okay okay okay this is REALLY a cool question. But I’ve also… *flinch* …been holding onto this ask forever because I wanted to go overboard… do in-depth explanations for how each characters’ main insecurities would manifest in their akumatized form, maybe even draw some quick sketches of their costumes.
However. I keep drawing blanks! I can’t think of anything cool. TML has a very specific way in which akumatized characters’ powers uniquely spin from their troubles. I can talk about character troubles but can’t think of how that’d turn into an akumatized form. Apparently I lack that same creativity.
So let’s throw it to the crowd! What do you guys would manifest in this awesome crossover?
Matthias did not deserve to die, and I will be forever bitter about this. It hurts even more because I want Nina to be able to find happiness again and Idk if she's has in canon and that just breaks my heart...
idk why i’ve been getting so many asks about matthias lately it’s making me sad. @ my followers: why do u keep doing this 2 me
not to get all theological or anything but i been thinking lately and like….i’d like to believe that jahanam…hell…punishment…whatever u wanna call it, is not eternal. like tbh neither do i want heaven to be eternal. maybe for a time. but forever? no thanks. now everything returning to God and being like…how it was before it all began. nothing yet everything…sounds like a good ending to me
“Let the hate go.” he said. “Let it all—go. The burdens that you’ve been keeping inside your heart. The darkness that surrounds it. Please do not keep that baggage with you forever. I know, it’s the hardest thing to do, but how will you be able to know if it’s worth it, if you wouldn’t even want to give it a try? This time, listen to your heart carefully. Close your eyes and let it flow. Let the feelings run through. Darling please remember, that we aren’t living in the past. You aren’t in the same position as you were ten years ago. This is the present. This is what you should be thinking of .” he held her hand tightly and said, “I am not him. And he was not me. And just because I am asking you to forgive him, that doesn’t mean that I am also asking you to forget everything he did. I am just asking you not to let him ruin everything we have right now. Because I love you. And I can never afford to lose you. Please darling, not you”.
Okay so thought I’d let you tumblr guys know some stuff/warnings about Storm Ophelia
It’s due to hit Monday 16th (aka tomorrow). Apparently Kerry will face it around 6am.
There is a red weather warning for Galway, Mayo, Clare, Cork and Kerry, Limerick, Waterford and Wexford.
The rest of the country has an Orange weather warning but that can probably change so be aware
There is a high chance of power cuts so remember to get lots of bottled water, torches, candles etc.
Charge your phone to 100% and if there are power outages DO NOT use your phone in case you need it for an emergency. Read a book instead or something.
In case of floods protect all important documents and stuff. Put all valuable items in high presses.
Stock up on food too (Last time we had a storm this bad we forgot to buy food for the house and it was awful)
For people who have anxiety about the storm remember that this is only temporary weather and do whatever you can to keep yourself calm. Whether that is reading, drawing or keeping yourself busy by cleaning the house. The storm won’t last forever and I promise you’ll be safe.
Check whether or not your school/work has been cancelled to avoid any unnecessary travel
Okay that’s all I can think of at the moment but if anyone wants to add anything to the list feel free to write away. Stay safe Xx
Alternate title: self-indulgent writing exercise. Bear with me.
Allura’s hands are beautiful, with her soft skin and long fingers, clean nails that almost seem to glint in the light like clear chips of glass. At a glance her hands could be described as delicate, but it would be a mistake to do so. Allura is stronger than she looks, and has a difficult time letting go of things once she’s gotten a solid grip. Her movements are quick and fluid, fingers gliding across datapads and control screens, cradling galaxies like water before flinging the simulations out to hang in the open air. She molds her palms to the arch to the control podiums like they were meant to fit there and feels the ship hum to life around her. It was her mother who taught her to do this, brushing Allura’s hair back from her face, pinching at her cheeks to chase away her nervous pout. It’s more like a suggestion than an order, mother said, and Allura did not see the wisdom in that for many years, not until the blue lion’s cockpit lit up around her, a voiceless song echoing inside her head as Allura’s fingers tightened around the controls.
Lance talks with his hands almost as much as he does with his mouth. He makes slicing motions and zipping-up gestures, air-quotes and explosions with the flick of his fingers –boom! He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket when he’s upset, and his fingers tingle with a pins and needle sensation when he’s excited (though no one really seems to believe that when he tells them). Lance takes care of his skin, rubbing lotion between his palms every night, working it into his knuckles and the backs of his hands and up his wrists. His older sister turned him on to painting his nails when he was nine, making a gimmie motion for Lance’s hand and setting to work as she waited for her toes to dry. She was six years older than him and they didn’t always get along, so Lance sat still and held his breath as she worked, afraid she would change her mind and stop if he said anything. The polish was simple but pretty, a metallic blue that almost matched his eyes and seemed to sparkle beneath the surface of the water when Lance swam.
Pidge’s left index finger is a little crooked, tilting off just slightly towards her thumb. She broke it when she was seven, and remembers the aftermath of crying into her father’s shoulder as he carried her to the car, but not the incident itself. Her palms sweat when she’s nervous, when she’s angry and when she’s glad. She used to sneak up on Matt and swipe her clammy hands over his cheek or the back of his neck, laughing as he shrieked with disgust. Pidge’s hands aren’t always quick enough to keep up with her mind, and sometimes she can’t type what she wants or tinker how she’d like. Her brain is ten steps ahead of her body and it frustrates her, having to slow down to give her fingers the chance to catch up. There are freckles on the backs of her hands, faint until she steps outside and sun encourages them to bloom in full. Once, Pidge used a marker to connect each point, hoping to discover a pattern like the fibonacci spirals that can be found in plants, and felt almost betrayed when there was none.
There are scars on Keith’s knuckles, little white flecks where his skin has split open and bled. He’s broken a finger, too, fractured something at his first group home when another boy snuck into his room and tried to steal his bag. Keith was still half asleep when he punched him in the face, knuckles cracking against the sharp cut of his cheekbone. He gasped at the pain that burst across his hand and up his wrist, shocked to discover he was so fragile. His hands are cold, always, and his mother knitted him a pair of wool mittens the winter before she left, bright yellow and attached by a string. Keith doesn’t have them anymore. He threw them away in a fit of anger and has never stopped regretting it. He studies his hands sometimes, squinting down at his dull nails, turning over his palms to examine the pigment of his skin. There’s no family waiting for him back on Earth, but maybe there’s still something for him to find out among the stars. He worries he’ll be too unfamiliar, that they won’t recognize him.
Hunk’s hands are large and dry and warm. They shake when he’s afraid but hold steady when he sets them to work, confident with a chef’s knife, precise with the nitty-gritty of mechanics. The tips of his fingers are squared-shaped and the skin there is thick from been shocked and sliced and burned. Hunk was always taught to accept these small pains as lessons, though he still grumbles and hisses when they happen. He trusts his hands, likes to take his time with unfamiliar things and turn them over between his fingers, examining the give and flexibility of the item, its weight and texture. Hunk learned almost everything he knows about engines from his grandfather, but doesn’t want his hands to look like his did –permanently marked by dirt and oil, worked so deep into the skin that no amount of washing could take it out. He combats this with harsh soaps and scrub brushes, and it dries out his knuckles and makes them rough to the touch. Even so, his hands aren’t unpleasant, and are good at holding things like screwdrivers and whisks, baby birds that have fallen from the nest and cold, shaking fingers.
Shiro tries not to focus on his hands. It unsettles him, that he can’t remember everything they’ve done. He knows his hands have helped people and he knows his hands have hurt them, but he can’t decide how to weigh those actions against each other. His metal hand is cold and heavy. It clicks when he curls his fingers and rotates his wrist, a reminder that the entirety of his body is not his own, that a piece of himself is foreign and inorganic and given to him without his say. He keeps his hands clean, almost obsessively, dragging the corner of thin cloth along every seam of his prosthetic, scrubbing at his skin until it’s flushed pink and raw. There’s a filth there he can’t see and can’t find a way to get rid of. When he was younger he liked to trace out copies of star-maps with his fingers gripped tight around a chewed pencil, each stroke meticulous and reverent. Shiro thinks of this when his missing hand begins to ache, when his prosthetic hums and activates with a dark flash of light. He’s unsure if the memory makes him feel happy or sad.