i am such a pretty girl

To my sisters, Ashley, Sasha, Lucy and Troian, we did it, we managed to stay close through seven years of high school and that will always be what I am most proud of. Emily, Hanna, Alison, Aria and Spencer have now gone where all beloved characters go when people stop writing for them. The End. No more insert shots of A texts needed, no more coverage of Emily in the brew, and no more wide shots of the girls walking through the town. I’d like to think that somewhere in an alternate Rosewood universe that these 5 women will always remain a constant in each others lives, just as I hope we all do in our own reality. The good, the bad, the beautiful and the ugly, we were always there for each other and I feel so incredibly lucky to know you all and I know I will never forget what we had these last seven years. It was rare and special and perfect and I will miss you all madly.
—  Shay Mitchell

Still trying my best to get out there and see people, but it’s still pretty hard for me because of the dysphoria and general depression.
Here I thought the hormones would help with my dysphoria, but while somethings do get better I am being silly and just put more focus on the things that stay the same. I knew it wouldn’t be over until it’s all done, but I at least hoped that it would get easier until then damnit.

anonymous asked:

After waverly (or was it gooverly, I am confused about that) kissed nicole in the school and Nicole said not while I'm in uniform, not in public, at first I thought the 'in public' was odd cause they did kiss during that party last season, and Nicole doesn't seem like the girl who wouldn't kiss in public, but then I realised she meant that they can kiss while in uniform when not in public, and I think that's funny cause she had to specify that kissing while working is a-ok when not in public

lmao yeaaaah…

she looks pretty okay with kissing at work

anonymous asked:

Could I pretty please get a sad, lonely Prompto who thinks his love will never see him as more than a sunny friend be consoled by said girl who places kisses on all his freckles? Love youuuuu!!! (also love his cute freckies <3)

HELLO LOVELY ANON. I am so sorry it takes me a while to get to these prompts, I hope you can forgive me, and I hope this is what you were looking for! PURE FLUFF AHEAD. Tagging some babes that may enjoy. @insomniascure @cupnoodle-queen @blindbae @themissimmortal @itshaejinju @misssarahdoll @the-lucian-archives @noxfreyas @saphscribes @louisvuittontrashbags @fieryfantasy

Prompto’s very soul blossoms under your whimsical light, truths―pleasant, unpleasant and everything between―bared on blooming petals. There are some days when he wants to curl in on himself, to let the laundry pile up and the light evade him, but then you stride in with your vim and vigor and you coax him from his loneliness, from his self-loathing and feelings of inadequacy. With gentleness and sweetness and an attentive eye, you tend to your sunflower like a devoted gardener. With hands clasped and a bounce in your step, Prompto is sucked back into the sea of you and away from the shores of his sadness. And like a sunflower, filled with the warmth of his sun’s love, he only looks at you.

 As is in the sun’s nature, your gaze spreads far and your love with it. Your love is so pure, and so plentiful that sometimes Prompto feels himself wilting when your light falls on another. He feels defective, faulty in his search for the happiness that always seems to ebb and flow, fickle as the tide. When will she look at me like that, he wonders as you search for frogs with Noctis in the swamps of Duscae. A toothy grin splays on your lips and the apples of your cheeks look ripe with happiness. It’s childlike, the way you hold the wriggling frog above your head and stomp through the mire to Noctis, a look of triumph enveloping your features. Prompto sits at the dock and watches ripples form in the water with the lazy sway of the stick he holds. With his hand curled and pressed against his cheek, his cat-like lips purse and he sighs. From a distance, you watch Prompto look more and more deflated and feel compelled to step in.

“Be right back,” you quickly murmur to Noctis as you trudge through the waters and back to the mud.

“Suit yourself,” Noctis scoffs and continues his search. “By the time you get back there’ll be none left for the taking.”

You approach Prompto on the dock, muddy and sopping wet, but he doesn’t shy away from you when you take a seat beside him. “Hey, sunshine, why the long face? Feelin’ overcast?”

You’re surprised when his lips don’t even twinge into a smile at your goofy pun. 

“I’m sorry―it was a good pun, promise. I am just…” he sighs, mind racing with all the different ways he could say everything without saying anything.

“Prom, you know you can tell me anything. I feel like ever since this trip started you’ve been acting funny.” Gently, you coax him, and your hand comfortably rests atop his, like a leaf falling to ground.

“There are just some things that are best left unsaid,” his voice is almost a whisper, his gaze is far-off and always parallel to yours. You feel your heart pumping faster in your chest, like your body knows something you haven’t caught wind of.

“If it was better left unsaid then it wouldn’t be tearing you apart from the inside out. Nothing that painful is worth bearing alone. Consider me a confessional.” Slowly, you turn on your bum and press your back against his. You hear him sigh and hope that it’s one of relief. For a moment, there’s silence, and you listen to the frogs croaking and the rustling of the branches above your head.

“Have you ever…had feelings for someone who never…looked at you that way?”

“Of course,” came your honest reply, and you leaned on the palms of your hands, head falling to Prompto’s shoulder.

“Like, everyone around you has all these outstanding qualities and you’re just…you. You don’t feel special; you don’t feel like there is anything that endears anyone to you. You’re just you, a nobody clinging to somebodys.”

“Objection,” you interject, and Prompto freezes, as if he’s forgotten he’d been talking to someone.

“You’re the most substantial person I’ve ever met. Prompto, you’ve lived through so many hardships and still there’s this light in you, this drive on dark days that propels you forward. You’re worthy of so much more than you’ll allow yourself,” your words are strong and sure as they leave your lips and Prompto is shaken by them, heart fluttering in his chest. He goes to lean against his palm and his hand meets yours, a petal fallen.

He clenches his eyes shut, pained by his indecision, and he lets his thoughts ferment. You twirl in front of him, sure hands falling to his shoulders and his eyes fly open. Like a rose, he’s flushed by your proximity and every inch of him screams to shy away. Slowly, as if gauging his response, you lean closer to him and he swears he’s never felt his heart pump so fast. His lips part, eyes wide as your lips descend on his cheeks. “Every freckle is something to love about you,” you murmur as your lips drag across his cheek to the next site. “Your sense of humor.” Another kiss. “Your courage in times where you could succumb to your fear.” Slowly, you bring yourself closer to his lips and his are quivering, anticipating. “The way you look at me and give me butterflies.” And your words give him butterflies.

You stop, so close to his lips that he can feel your breath fan against them. So close, that he can map the ripples of color in your eyes. So close, he could let himself fall into you like the ocean and be swallowed whole. When you plant your lips on his, soft, slow, languid, he feels alive―no, human. For the first time, he feels like the heart pumping inside of him is real. He feels real.

I have something to confess to you girls...

Last night, I was feeling alone. I was fed up with solitude. So, I went out of my comfort zone. At quarter to 1 am, I joined a geek dating site. It allows people loving video games and comics to chat or meet IRL.

So, I thought: “Yeah sounds pretty cool. I can meet guys who love the same things I love.” Okay fine. So, I created my profile, took a nice selfie and there we go.

In one night, I’ve received 14 messages. For the introvert I am, it’s a damn lot.

I received kind messages, dubious messages… I started some conversations with nice guys all above board. I received king compliments, I had funny and friendly small talks, everything was fine. Despite all these interactions which emptied me emotionally and I’m currently recharging as I’m writing this to you.

Then, a guy’s profile held my attention. We exchanged messages and we have quite a lot in common so far. But then, as I was attending my business, I looked at my desktop background. Guess who’s there? Jacob Frye, of course.

You may find it ridiculous, but as I know we’re all in the same boat about this man here, and as I trust you deeply girls, I’m gonna tell you how I really feel.

I felt seized by panic. “What the hell am I doing? Am I betraying him? I still love this man, despite he’s fictional. Don’t I love him anymore?” Yes, as ridiculous it seems to be, I felt guilty.

I pounced on my PS4 and launched Syndicate, I put my headphones on and played music that makes me think about him.

I felt instant relief because I was recharging from socializing of course, but also because I was back into something I know again. I like coming back into your den, surrounded by familiar things and feelings.

When I finally calmed down, I asked myself “Why am I acting like this?” (a question I ask myself way too often). I’ve made some researches which confirmed what I was thinking.


Real relationships, especially with guys fucking scares me. As far as I can remember, I’ve always been in love with fictional characters.

At the end of middle school, I wanted to stop that. And at this moment, I started to date a boy of my class.

As some of you may know, this relationship ended really bad for me. I feel into depression for a year after that. When I got through it, I naturally came back to fictional fantasies.

Because, I think I’m not gonna surprise you, fiction is comfortable. A fictional character can act, talk and think the way you want. If you need them, you can make them appear and make them comfort you, then make them disappear if you just want to be alone.

A fictional character will never deceive you, betray you nor hurt you. I you need them, they’ll always be by your side, they will never let you down. And that’s comfortable.

Contrary to real world, which can lead you to darkness…

And I’m so afraid. I don’t want to live that anymore. I’m happy the way I live now. I don’t want to be hurt anymore. I don’t want to be betrayed or abandoned. Jacob Frye will never leave me, unless my mind let him go naturally.

And if I had not met him, I would not have met you girls, you precious sisterhood ❤ @swiggle-muffin @llljacobfrye4lifelll @idiotgangleader @thepandadrawer @thank-god-its-fryeday @emouel

I am not ready to leave all of that, I’m not ready to let go of our precious gang leader, loveable dork… Will I be ready one day?

Thank you for reading me <3

ID #54497

Name: Zoë
Age: 17
Country: Germany

hello everyone

I’m a girl, interested in arts, literature and music and i would love to get to know people from all over the world with preferably the same interests lol
I am in 11th grade right now and finishing school next year with the German equivalent to A-levels (hopefully). even though I am pretty introverted, I love organizing stuff for my school and getting to know people from the whole school: I’ve been a part of the student council for a whole year now and worked in several bigger projects such as Parties for the smaller children and renovation of certain school rooms.
My interests include: Books (mostly classics and Harry Potter, I am currently rereading Anna Karenina), TV-Series (I LOVE skam, riverdale, friends, stranger things and stuff like that), arts (especially dutch: vermeer, van gogh, rembrandt) and music (alt-J might be my favorite band of all time, the front bottoms, sorority noise, vampire weekend, modern baseball).

Preferences: 16-20, any gender, please don’t waste my time with racist, sexist or any other discriminating views of some sort. anyone else is welcome :)

Hey I found this self-portrait from like, eons ago, saved in my drafts and it’s like 130 am so here you go.

My name is Sneks and I’m a pan girl who doesn’t take care of her hair but always has eyeliner on and last halloween I was drunk and someone tore out my nose ring by accident and I love Pickles the drummer heyoo.

i was tagged by @otasucc​, @yurisucc​ and @kanekkis​ !!! <3333

Rules: you have to tag 15 people at the end of this challenge. no

5 things you’ll find in my bag:

  • lip balm
  • phone
  • ipad (we have them in lieu of school books lmao)
  • like 4973 pens, probably
  • like 10 empty notebooks, probably

5 things you’ll find in my bedroom:

  • framed les mis poster
  • empty glasses
  • video games
  • messy drawers
  • like 4 stuffed toys

5 things I’ve always wanted to do:

  • learn french and spanish (maybe japanese to fulfill my weeaboo dreams)
  • write a novel that wont flop
  • perm my hair (which i cant do but i can dream)
  • see hamilton live
  • learn how to use makeup bc honestly wtf @ pretty girls

5 things that make me feel happy:

  • meeting up w/ friends!
  • unnecessarily expensive stationery
  • my pupper
  • eating an entire meal at like 2 am
  • waking up at early mornings

5 things I’m currently into:

  • captive prince :^)
  • nail polish
  • watching cooking videos but not actually cooking??
  • writing
  • dark colored clothing

5 things on my to-do list:

  • watch boku no hero academia bc peer pressure
  • be a Responsible Student come next year
  • save up for a nintendo switch
  • continue my novel draft
  • sleep

not gonna tag anyone but if u wanna do it just say i tagged u!! <3

anonymous asked:

Are you watching the last season of Orphan Black? I think it's been really good so far. Though I have to say I'm worried about who they're going to kill off before the end. I need a happy ending or I'm going to be so upset

I AM yes - its more or less the only thing I’m watching actually! I realize at this point that I’m not even watching for the plot: I’m there to watch all these characters interact in really pretty much any iteration. I guess I wasn’t thinking about who they’d kill or not but I’m not been particularly worried about it I guess because–hm, how to put? Its a bit like it was for me going to an all girls school, which was, like, the bullies were women and the nerds were women and the jocks and the delinquents and the artists etc etc. So like, some clones some might die but others will triumph and, like, they’re all of them, win or lose, dead or alive, big damn heroes, and that feels like enough?

mevima  asked:

What children's books would you recommend for an adult who'd like to collect some wonderful examples to share with future relatives? I saw that "I am a Princess" (Star Wars) book the other day and now I want more like it!

Hmmm. There are so many good ones. Like, what age range? The Paper Bag Princess, Frog and Toad, for really young kids Mo Willems and Sandra Boynton and Dr. Seuss are pretty unbeatable. There are a ton of amazing picture book biographies to inspire and broaden. Uh…A Mighty Girl’s book section is fantastic, just Google it… For slightly older, the whole Let’s Read And Find Out science series, and just… honestly you probably have no idea the sheer volume of amazing work for children is out there, on everything ranging from rewrites of Goldilocks to picture book nonfiction about itinerant farm workers. It’s overwhelming.

Listen I’m bi as Heck and as much as I love girls, I also love boys? Boys are amazing and pure and liking boys is a wonderful feeling? I never see a lot of posts talking about cute boys so

Some Boy Aesthetics™ I’m in love with include:

Their tired grins? Have you seen a cute boy grin when he’s tired? Life Changing

Sleeves rolled up to forearms is all good and Well but also when they have Sweater Paws in their hoodies or jumpers? Makes the tallest of them seem so smol? I’m lov?

When they run their hand through their hair and it sticks up in places and it looks So Good

Collar Bones

Soft pudgy stomachs they absolutely make me melt

When ya boy gets flustered A++ Bonus points if he giggles Boys giggling is Everything

i talked to him on a wednesday. he sighed on my bed. i was skyping my sister, who was trying to teach me how to knit. i told him i needed to go to bed early, i had a test in the morning. he said he had things to discuss and i’m a patient person so i listened.

this is, i learn, how our “friendship” works. hours of my life become his sanctuary. he texts me constantly. his problems fill up every space in my planner. often he demands my attention rather than asking. i feel bad, because i’m the type to feel bad, so i listen. i offer advice that goes ignored, i sit in contemplative silence even though i should be studying, i nod my head and support him. 

he doesn’t notice i start drinking wine as soon as he shows up. a few times i make the mistake of trying to bring my own problems up. they are always overshadowed by his own, or else i am given an odd supply of uncomfortable comments. “i don’t feel good lately” is met with “a girl as pretty as you isn’t supposed to feel sad.” i say “i don’t like my writing recently” and he spends forty seconds saying i’m beautiful and intelligent and a perfect girlfriend before saying “unlike me, i’m awful” and before i know it, i’m comforting him again. we don’t have real conversations. once, as an experiment, i spend two hours completely silent, just to see if he’ll notice. he doesn’t. 

once he bursts into my room while i’m scheduling my week. he’s taken aback by how much i’m doing. “you look so busy!” he says, “where’s all the time you’re planning on spending with me?” he doesn’t ask about any of my other activities. he knows nothing about my life except that i’m good at listening. i feel myself under a rolling pin. he flattens me out to use me. he punishes me if i don’t give him attention - all i hear is how he is useless without me, how he’s barely holding on, how he doesn’t know what he’d do if one day i was gone. he doesn’t know my middle name. he misses my birthday.

it’s wednesday again. i’ve been drinking. he took some of my wine without asking. he lounges on my couch with his arm casually around me. my actual friends know i don’t like touching. i asked him to move but he just laughed and said “you’re so funny.” he’s too heavy for me to move physically so i just let him lay there, complaining. i stare into space, thinking about the news i got that day. about how my life has changed.

he looks up to me. “can i ask you a personal question?”  

i don’t say “that would be a first,” because my mother raised me to respond politely. i tell him go ahead, as always, i’m listening.

“why do girls like you date jerks?” he asks me.

i stare at him, uncomprehending. he is a runaway train, his mouth still moving. “I just mean,” he says, “you’re all always going after the worst guys like you don’t even see people like me. like i’m always being friend-zoned, even you did it, and you’re one of the only people who is nice to me. but girls like you never say yes to boys like me.”

i don’t know what he’s saying. i’m dating a girl, and he would know that, if he knew anything about me; a clever and talented girl who means everything to me. 

he sighs and sits back when i’m not immediate in responding. “this,” he says, “is what i mean.” looks up with puppy dog eyes at me, “i mean could you ever date someone as awful as me? am i just a friend? am i doomed to be nothing more than the friend to pretty girls?”

we aren’t friends. we aren’t friends. we aren’t friends. 

he moves the topic before i can reply, back to his problems. i text my girlfriend, “men are animals” and she sends me back a poem about how much she loves me. he tries to kiss me when he leaves, and when i duck out of it, i later get sixteen texts on how scared i am of sex. his facebook posts are all about how women don’t know how to find the right men. how we’re blind to the good things. how we don’t see fate when it’s happening. 

he says, “i wrote you something.”

it’s a poem about him.

agirlcalledfrost  asked:


so my school had this thing called “senior skip day,” except that senior skip day didn’t exist and every year the administration sent out emails in the spring that were like DON’T FUCKIN SKIP CLASS OR YOU WILL RECEIVE RESTRICTION (restriction was like, my boarding school’s equivalent of detention where instead of staying after school you had to go to bed early and help stuff envelopes advertising the summer program until your hands were BLOODIED AND CRIPPLED BY CARPAL TUNNEL) and every year the seniors were like YOLO THEY CAN’T PUNISH ALL OF US!!!!!

  • spoiler alert: yes they can? THEY ALWAYS CAN.
  • 200 years of american high school and teenagers still think that there is a cap limit on kids in detention and that you can leave after 15 minutes if the teacher doesn’t show up.

anyway, my senior year, we all got together and nattered at each other until some brave soldier (i feel like it was my friend paula but WHO KNOWS) was like “OK SENIOR SKIP DAY IS THIS THURSDAY!!!! NOBODY GO TO CLASS OR UR A SCAB.”

  • she didn’t say scab because she’s not from the 1920s and we aren’t newsies, though this story would be way more interesting if we were
  • what she said was “YOLO THEY CAN’T PUNISH ALL OF US!!!!!”
  • except not yolo because it was 2009 and drake hadn’t been invented yet except as a dear sweet boy in a wheelchair.

we also used this email system to communicate with one another that has very deeply informed the way i understand email and which probably makes it very frustrating to be my friend and receive emails that have subject lines like “URGENT” and then just 42 links to the same florida georgia line youtube video.

  • I’M NOT ASHAMED, but in that way where like i kind of AM ashamed so i’m really aggressively NOT ashamed? 

so the day of reckoning rolls around and my alarm goes off at 8 (class started at 8:05 but i liked to PLAY WITH FIRE when it came to being late; my mom actually asked the school to stop emailing her when i was a sophomore because i was late so often that their rote “Mrs. Ofgeography we are emailing you to say—” was CLOGGING UP HER INBOX and she was like “i GET IT MY CHILD IS THE MOST BORING MISCREANT OF ALL TIME.”) and i looked at my roommate elle and she looked at me and went, “you going?”

“hell no,” i said. “YOLO. they can’t punish all of us.”

elle, who was far prettier and far cooler than i was with the notable exception of her obsession with tswift’s “love story” and her tendency to look at the endangered species list and cry sometimes during study hall, quickly bizounced across the street to this shopping center thing where all the cool kids smoked in secret where huge trucks dropped off clothes for the Dress Barn. i think there were also tennis courts nearby. more importantly there was this chinese food delivery place and a lil restaurant that made HELLA BAGELS.

  • HELLA.

off goes elle! meanwhile i’m like, “yessssss i’m gonna use senior skip day to watch 14 hours of tv shows and eat frozen peanut butter bars that i stole from the dining hall! I’M GONNA LIVE LIKE I’M 23 ALONE IN CHICAGO ON A WEEKEND WHEN MY ONLY PLAN IS TAKEOUT AND CUDDLING WITH THE FAUX-SNOW-LEOPARD BLANKET I WILL ONE DAY SURELY OWN.” 

of course, during this time the administration was continuing to send out emails that reminded us with increasing urgency that senior skip day was NOT A THING and that we were ALL GETTING RESTRICTION if we didn’t get our STUPID ASSES TO CLASS, GODDAMNIT, WE ARE NOT RUNNING A CIRCUS HERE. 

but i was like! yolo, motherfuckers!!! i already got into college, YOU CAN’T TOUCH ME.

at some point during the day elle and our friend ginna came back to the room with takeout from the chinese delivery place and we sat on our floor eating it and probably watching veronica mars or looking at the endangered species list and crying.

all of a sudden, elle said, “guys shut up, guys shut up, GUYS SHUT UP,” and ginna and i were like, “WHAT we have a LOT to SAY about FRIED FUCKING DUMPLINGS, ELLE,“ and elle said, "did you hear that?”

“hear what?”


‘that’ was the sound of one of our dorm moms, mrs. f, knocking on doors and saying things like, “IF YOU DON’T GET YOUR BUTTS TO CLASS IN 5 MINUTES YOU’RE ON CATEGORY 4 RESTRICTION FOREVER.” elle quickly scampered up our raised beds to hide in the corner, where a tiny human like elle could actually hide from view; i leapt immediately into what we called a closet but was basically a cubby with a flap that was DEFINITELY not meant for a 5'8” individual with knobby as hell knees.

our door, which was never locked because we both hated the effort of typing in the lock code, opened. mrs. f said, “mollyhall?”

i held my breath. 

  • i should add here that i seemed to be operating on like a scooby-doo level of logic where basically i thought that she was somehow NOT ALLOWED to investigate?
  • like, if she can’t see me, there is NO POSSIBLE WAY that she could prove i’m in here, right?
  • she’ll just poke her head in and be like oH GOSH NO KIDS HERE and leave!!

you can see the flaw in my logic.

mrs. f sighed. “mollyhall, i know you’re in here, i literally heard your voice ten seconds ago.”

  • there’s no WAY she guesses i’m in the closet!!!

“mollyhall, i know you’re in the closet.”



there was a creak. mrs. f stopped. it wasn’t actually a “creak,” so much as this like, prolonged groan? like it’s the sound an elephant would make if it sat on a really large accordion.

i poked my head out of the closet. mrs. f looked at me. elle sat up.

i said, “where’s ginna?”


“um,” said elle, “she’s in the—”


ginna yes.

i really wish i could describe the sound the ceiling made when it collapsed. it sounded a lot like the way losing your breath feels. i sort of remember ginna falling in like, really slow motion, like i could see the expression on her face. i didn’t really think about how i would describe this in words. ginna’s face said:

  • oh no.
  • what have i done?
  • this was a mistake. 
  • i regret a series of decisions that i have made.
  • is there a way out of this?
  • are those oreos under mollyhall’s pillow?
  • why are there oreos under mollyhall’s pillow?
  • mollyhall, you HAVE a food cupboard, what good is a food cupboard if you don’t—
  • oh, crap.

she belly flopped onto the floor. i mean, the girl bounced. and then she just laid there. mrs. f looked at her. elle looked at her. i looked at her, still mostly in the closet. we were all going to get category 4 restriction forever.

ginna said, “hi, mrs. f. i feel like i should explain.”

Gal Pals @ prom sharing a Friendship Dance