i blame ally


harry getting a lap dance from chilli at a tlc concert (x)

+ bonus:

Facebook. Twitter. Instagram. Snapchat. The social technology we have today has made the world smaller—more compact in the way that we handle our relationships with other people. We get instant updates, can share funny cat videos, and communicate in a manner we weren’t able to before. Except, there’s a catch—and there’s always a catch when it comes to social media.

Or, alternatively, the tried-and-true tale of how I met a boy at a bar, how we added each other on social media, and the emotional / mental games (read: chaos) that ensued.

- STUCK ON YOU, a mini-fic au coming to 1dff / tumblr this fall (based off of this post) by @harryfreestyling

The Ugly Duckling

an: So this happened. You can blame the lovely, horrible swans-and-scoundrels entirely for this, as she kept me up watching The DUFF until 2 in the morning after making me desperate to watch it with her liveblogging. 10/10 do recommend it, if only for the way Robbie Amell looks at a love interest when he realizes he’s in love at the end of a movie. This is definitely a different style than I usually write, but I hope you guys all enjoy it anyway.

Chapter One: Didn’t Know Who I Was Supposed to Be

Senior year is coming to a close, fellow students, and here are a few things you should know: None of this matters. Whatever you think your lives will be like, two years from now, ten years from now - the things you did in high school are not going to matter, the people you knew, the parties you went to, the dances you bought new dresses and spent money on your hair and your tan and your nails for? None of it will matter. 

So here’s my thought - why not just blow those things off? Get rid of your useless acquaintances. Stop paying for blowouts for one night in the gym for a dance chaperoned by a bunch of miserable teachers. Forget about the mean girls, and spend your time doing things you actually like doing. 

But hey, what do I know, right? I’m not the most popular, I’m not the smartest, I don’t have dreams of becoming a reality star or desperate desires to get into Harvard. Why would you listen to what I have to say anyway?

This article sucks, Mr. Humbert, please don’t make me write it.

Once upon a time, in a mythical land called Storybrooke, a young girl finally found a family. 

Hi. That’s me, Emma Swan. I’m what you’d call damaged, if you were so inclined to call me anything. I guess that’s what happens when you spend thirteen years carted from home to home in a broken foster system that doesn’t give a shit about any of the kids they’re supposed to be taking care of. You hit a certain point and you start realizing most people are shitty and you can’t rely on anyone but yourself.

Only maybe there are a few people in my life I don’t mind, so much. Like Ingrid, the woman who finally stuck around long enough to make it feel like maybe I could have a family, and who continues to stick around even when I’m an asshole about it. Or my two best friends, Elsa and Mary Margaret - we’ll get to them later.

There are a few other things you should probably know, too. 

High school is a joke. It’s a cesspool of desperate teenagers in need of constant recognition and more supervision than they’re given, full of angst and depression and about a million and two too many nasty things to say about each other. The biggest lesson you learn is survival of the fittest - and no I’m not talking theory, here, I’m talking about cold, hard evolution. Kill or be killed. 

Not that we actually murder each other on the daily. We just destroy each others spirits. And you’d think it was for shits and giggles, but to a bunch of hormonal teenagers this crap actually feels vital to our survival.

Keep reading