so here u go friends


all my friends are stressed up to their eyeballs right now, and as it’s exam season hell in the UK, i made a ““helpful”” powerpoint about it. ft. shitty clipart. on a calming pink background b/c it’s pretty and i like it
Enjoy my friends, i hope this helps :)

how to study as a busy student

i personally go through this a lot because i have to balance saturday band, honor band, auditions, performances, history club, national history day with school and nonexistant friends. so here u go, friend!! this is my advice to keep up with your (busy) studying!! ha see what i did there im so funny

1. have a planning system. this is a no-brainer. but honestly you’re going to need something to help you keep track of all your deadlines AND your afterschool activities. it doesn’t have to be expensive or fancy; heck it can even be on your phone. but make sure you’re keeping track of everything.

2. use all the time you can to do your homework. if you’re really behind or you have a lot of homework and not enough time to do it at home, do your homework when you can during school. this does NOT mean trying to set the world record for fastest writer while your teacher is collecting the homework. this means on the bus, waiting for your food/the bus/your friends, those down periods during and between classes, during sports practice, and even during lunch. however do NOT make a habit of this!! i get that its a lot, but please still try to have a life!!!

3. set aside a day a week to solely catch up on school work, and another day just to relax. i usually have saturday as my school work day and sunday as my day to relax and prepare for the week. this may seem contradictory, seeing as you may have sports practice or rehearsal on saturday or something. but think of it this way: you’re already going to be working your butt off that day. you might as well keep that flow going and get all your school work together and catch up on any missing assignments. you can also use that sunday off as your motivation to work hard because youre being rewarded with a completely free day.

4. do your homework on friday. please. just do it. this kind of follows the same concept as above: you have school that day anyways, so keep working your hardest. now, if you have no friends like me, this’ll be easy. but if you have plans on fridays (which you should, seriously, go out), stop working 1-2 hours before you have to go somewhere. you can continue any work you havent completed on your catch-up day.

5. drop one or two things. this sounds really painful!!! but being in a lot of extracurriculars and having a nice application/resume is not as nice as your mental health. not being able to balance too many things at once will stress you out and make you sick. like, i used to be in drama club and i also had piano class on wednesdays. once i got older, i realized that these things looked nice on my honor society application, but i didnt have time for what really mattered. (plus i didn’t rly like them anyways.) if you can work your way around it, fine. but otherwise, keep the things close to your heart and drop what you absolutely don’t have time for.

6. if worst comes to worst, talk to your teachers. they will understand, if you’re struggling to be a well-rounded student and keep up your grades at the same time. this doesn’t mean lie or use your teachers as an easy way out. but rather, if everything becomes too overwhelming, talk to someone.

i really hope that helped @ the original anon who asked me this question! sorry this was so late! i’m quite the busy student myself hahaha

the best parts of the foxhole court (feat. me crying)

- i’m not saying love at first sight exists but… the first time they meet andrew almost breaks neil’s ribs <3333

“Andrew smiled down at Neil and tapped two fingers to his temple in salute. “Better luck next time.” this is… gay

- ““I’m not good enough to play on the same court as a champion.” “True, but irrelevant.” a new voice said.” Okay i know we have all acknowledged that kevin day is the queen of being extra but like…. nothing will ever top this

- “Where the court is, Kevin is.” “I didn’t think the court is what Kevin was staying for [talking about Andrew]” #gay

- “You have a nice car for someone who thinks he’s poor,” “That’s why we’re poor.”

- Andrew pretending to be Aaron when he picked Neil up from the airport

- “”I did.” Neil said. He tapped two fingers to his temple, copying Andrew’s mocking salute from their first meeting. “Better luck next time.” you know what this is? gay. 

- “Keys meant Neil had explicit permission to be here and do what he liked. They meant he belonged.” Neil has a key kink

Keep reading

today at work i wasn’t looking where i was going and almost wheeled a bin into a guy sitting on a chair. while apologizing i almost ran into a wall then somehow managed to dodge a line of pot plants. 10 minutes later, the guy found me and gave me a coffee coupon with his name and number scribbled on it then fled. so yeh if u like someone, just pretend to almost kill them with a bin on wheels.


full on nostalgia bomb and the amazing writing of @defectivevorta dragged me straight back into lazytown and this time i got into the lore.

so i had to make a few comics based on my absolute favorite scenes from @defectivevorta ‘s fic into the light (mostly from ch. 5 with all the good worst wingman/best big bro, Íþróttaálfurinn)

Breathe with me.

Fluffy Darkstache, can be read as both platonic and romantic.

TW: Disassociation, hallucinations, panic attacks, and mental illness in general. Please read with caution!


Wilford hated blood.

It would be easier if people didn’t bleed whenever they got injured or, say, shot a few times. After all, a body is basically a puppet, some hollow shell that any spirit can use or steal. But puppets don’t bleed, so why do humans? It’s ridiculous and messy.

For a long time, Wilford believed that blood never came out of anything. Walls, floors, pants, shirts, and even hands – they’d be permanently stained red, sometimes fading to a bitter pink.

He was always annoyed that everyone pretended not to see it. Even Dark, when Wilford brought it up, said, “Blood doesn’t stick around forever, Wil.”

But Wilford knew better. It did stick around forever, because Wilford still saw it sometimes. In those rare moments of being alone, or after waking from a nightmare, he’d look down and see it on his hands.

Palms covered in bright red, still warm and wet.

By the sixth or seventh time it happened, he tried washing it off. Wilford stood by the sink for hours, repeatedly scrubbing his hands, using enough soap and water to fill a bathtub. But it did nothing.

The soap couldn’t block out the smell of blood that seemed to fill the air. And the water slipped off his skin like he was made of rubber. He clawed at his flesh, attempting to strip the skin off, because maybe it was just rubber. If he couldn’t get the blood off, he’d throw the bloody pieces away and grow a new skin for his shell of a body. He could do that.

Dark stopped him before he could.

His friend rarely showed concern for others, but with Wilford, it was clear on his face. Wilford saw it after Dark turned him around, brows furrowed and lips drawn tight with worry.

“Wilford, what are you doing?” His hands gripped Wilford’s shoulders gently, like he was a piece of glass not meant to be broken.

But Wilford was already broken and couldn’t pick up the pieces. 

He barely heard Dark’s question over the sound of his own frantic thoughts. “It won’t come out,” he babbled. “It’s still there, but it shouldn’t be, it should come out and it won’t, I need to tear it off –”

“No,” Dark interrupted, voice gentle like his grasp. “Tearing it off won’t help. Where is it?”

Wilford held his palms up, waiting to see Dark’s surprise. There was so much blood, it was practically dripping off his skin. Dark had to have seen it, had to have smelled it in the air.

But Dark remained calm, as if the situation was completely normal. He reached around Wilford to turn off the sink. Without the sound of water running, Wilford panicked, worried that he’d be trapped with the voices in his head and nothing to drown them out.

He opened his mouth, about to demand Dark turn it back on, but stopped. Dark had taken his hands, his red palms, and covered them with his own. 

It was still there, the blood was still there and he could feel it, but Wilford couldn’t see it. Not over Dark’s gray skin.

They stayed like that for a moment, Dark linking their fingers to keep Wilford from pulling away. Wilford could feel their skin mold together, the blood like an adhesive. He started losing feeling in his palms. His fingers. His entire body was getting numb and the panic returned.

“Sit down with me,” Dark commanded. His calm voice stood out among the shrieking in Wilford’s mind. He tried listening, tried focusing all his attention on that voice and nothing else.

“Sit down, Wil,” Dark said again. How could Wilford sit down when he couldn’t feel his legs? He didn’t know how. He was paralyzed, trapped in one spot. Maybe he was sinking into the ground or becoming part of it.

But Dark was insistent, tugging Wilford’s hands down. And, still linked together, Wilford followed, legs bending without thinking about it. He felt the ground, but couldn’t really register it. Was he on the floor? Everything seemed both closer and farther away.

Except Dark, who was sitting right across from him. Some distant part of Wilford realized they were within kissing distance. He could feel breath on his lips. He felt a cool forehead press against his own. And he heard a low, soft voice say, “Breathe with me.”

Sit down with me, Wilford remembered the voice say. And then he sat down. No, they sat down, him and Dark. If Wilford could do that with Dark, he was sure he could breathe too. 

If Dark was there, he could breathe.

Dark took slow breaths; his chest expanded with each long intake of air that escaped through his nose when he exhaled, drawing it out as much as possible. Wilford tried doing the same. He felt his lungs fill with air, trying to ignore the smell of blood, and release in a shaky exhale. It wasn’t for as long as Dark, but Wilford didn’t think he had that much air to breathe out.

He didn’t have much air at all. It felt like it was draining out of the room, leaving a bitter emptiness that stung his nostrils and made his mouth dry. But he felt something tighten around his hands, just for a moment, enough to drag Wilford back to the present.

“Focus,” the voice reminded him. He tried focusing again.

Inhale, exhale. It was so difficult to breathe. But after a while, it became easier. Wilford got caught up in the repetition of it, tuning out the voices to focus on matching his breaths with Dark.

Inhale, exhale.

Inhale, exhale.

Wilford had no idea how much time had passed. His eyes had eventually closed on their own and he started to slouch. The hands holding his own were cold, a pleasant feeling against the heat surging through his body.

Reality slowly came back to Wilford. He was here, next to the sink, sitting with Dark. Holding hands with Dark. He wasn’t alone; he was with Dark. That thought comforted him more than anything.

“Open your eyes, Wil,” Dark said. His voice was close and when Wilford opened his eyes, he saw his friend looking at him. The concern was still there, but less than before. “Can you speak?”

Wilford considered the question. He felt like he could talk without getting panicked now. The voices had died down and he could feel his body again, separate from the floor. He was here with Dark. “Yes.”

Dark gave his hands a tiny squeeze. “Good. I’m going to let go now, okay?”

Wilford frowned. “But what if it’s still there?”

“It was never there to begin with, Wil,” Dark corrected him. “Just because you see something doesn’t mean it’s true.”

Memories flashed in his mind – a body falling, a corpse standing, a face changing. It was too fast to make them all out.

Of course, Wilford thought. His eyes were playing tricks on him. They couldn’t be trusted, but Dark could. He could believe in Dark.

And so, after a moment, Wilford nodded and stopped gripping Dark’s hand. When their hands separated, Wilford was expecting to see it again, bright red and fresh.

But there was nothing. He didn’t see it, smell it, or feel it. It was gone, like the entire debacle had never happened and it was all just a fever dream. Dark had even implied that Wilford only imagined seeing it – was he just imagining Dark here too?

“No, I’m actually here,” Dark answered. Wilford realized he must’ve asked the question out loud. “And so are you. But that thing you saw, that was never there. You only thought it was.”

His words weren’t demeaning, but Wilford still felt ridiculous. And frustrated. Of course it wasn’t real! It was all just some sick joke his mind played on him. And he fell for it. 

“This is bullshit,” he huffed. “How can I tell what’s real and what isn’t?”

Dark shrugged, unable to answer his question. “If you’re in doubt, you can always ask me,” he offered. 

It wasn’t the best solution, but it was something. And it reassured Wilford that Dark wasn’t going anywhere without him – if he did, Wilford wouldn’t be able to ask him.

And Dark had just said – well, implied – that he’d always be around to ask.

Wilford grinned at that, comforted by knowing that he’d never be alone. Dark would be there and he could believe in Dark.

That’s all he needed.

Now Wilford knows that blood doesn’t stain permanently. He knows that it can be washed off walls and floors, bleached out of clothes, and scrubbed off skin. He knows that, like Dark said, blood doesn’t stick around forever.

Wilford knows that, but a part of his mind doesn’t. That part of him still clung onto the memories, fabricating images of bright red covering his hands. And it looked real, it felt so real that there were still times Wilford thought it had to be, it had to be on him, there’s no way he was imagining it.

But then he’d remember – he’d remember to breathe. To close his eyes and focus on his chest moving, his lungs expanding and compressing, the soft voice in his mind that could be heard over the screaming and wails of people he’d forgotten long ago.

Breathe with me.

anonymous asked:

I love pain how about 11 with BakuDeku?

11: the one where soulmates share extreme physical sensation — if one gets hurt, the other gets hurt, and etc.

The day Katsuki finds out Deku is his soulmate is the same day he gives up on soulmates as a stupid, shitty, idiotic idea. Because fuck the idea that the person most compatible with him in the world is Deku, who cries a lot, who tries to help Katsuki, and who – to top it all off – is fucking Quirkless.

He’s so mad about the whole thing he pushes Deku down the front steps of the school, and then the teacher scolds him and his mom is called and everyone makes it into a bigger deal than it should rightfully be – why did you do that, you should apologize – and he’d rather bite off his damn tongue than say I realized Deku’s my fucking soulmate. 

He goes home in a bad mood and his mom yells at him and then ignores him as usual, and his dad is fucking useless as usual, and Katsuki shuts himself away in his room and broods. 

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anonymous asked:

Idk if you've been asked this before, but what are your thoughts of Bensavi?