pussyisprey  asked:


@moonsca Oh my god please can you do a part 3 to that Alex drabble? The one with 10 and 20? Like they were so good and I’ve gotten so worked up, I also LOVED the characterization and all the emotion in them. I hope this isn’t pushy or anything, but I just really loved it and hope for more! 

*slams fists on the table* MORE ALEX SUMMERS ANGST (please)  

plus a couple others asking for a third part & also @frostgreyandpryde might be interested in reading this

Hiya, can you please make a #17 and #22 with Alex Summers? Thank you

Alex Summers + Things you said that I wish you hadn’t + Things you said when it was over

This is part three of a series of drabbles. You can read the original drabble here and part two here

A/N: Bonus points if you listen to The Sea Is a Good Place to Think of the Future by Los Campesinos! while reading

Alex deploys tomorrow morning. You really wish you hadn’t been keeping track, but it’s barely twelve hours till he leaves, and the date for his departure is burned irrevocably into your brain. You don’t expect to see him before he goes, and honestly, given the state of the war he’s going off to fight, you’re not sure if you’ll see him afterwards either. He’s been staying at the mansion since he left. You haven’t tried to see him. The two of you haven’t actually broken up, but when you left the bedroom the morning after your fight, he was gone. There had been a note on the table reading ‘I’m sorry’, and it felt like a pretty permanent ending to you. You’re slowly trying to put yourself back together. Some days it feels like you’ve done a pretty good job, but as you lie sprawled across your cold, lonely bed, you don’t feel like you’ve mended at all, and you feel a million miles away from yourself, like Alex took some integral part of you with him when he left.

The phone rings. You stare listlessly at the ceiling and let it ring out. It rings again. You let it go to voicemail. It doesn’t ring again. You close your eyes and think about getting up, but the idea feels like too much for you. The silence in your apartment feels like deep water; dark, cold and oppressive. You don’t care. You don’t care about much at all anymore. The phone rings again, shattering the silence, and managing to spark enough irritation in you to compel you rise from your prone position on the bed and pick up the phone. You’re about to start an incredibly condescending speech about how it’s rude to call a person after a certain time of night, when the person on the other end of the line starts to speak and you feel like the floor has dropped out from under your feet.

“(Y/N)?” Alex’s voice is low and rough, as if it hasn’t been used in a while.

“Alex” You say, and you sound numb and exhausted, even to your own ears. He lets out a long breath, and it comes through the phone as a rush of static.

“I wasn’t sure you were gonna pick up.” He says quietly, and you don’t respond, don’t trust yourself to respond without crying. “I uh, I fly out tomorrow. I guess I just wanted to hear your voice again. In case I-”

“Stop.” The word comes out in a whisper. “Please don’t. This isn’t fair. Do you have any idea how much you leaving hurt me?” Your voice catches on the last word, and you can’t stop the tears making their way down your face, but that doesn’t matter because you don’t want him to keep talking. You don’t want to hear about how he’s going to war or how he is or how he’s sorry. You’re utterly wrecked from the first time he walked out, and this time he’s going to an entirely different country to fight a goddamn war and even though you don’t know where your relationship stands, you’re terrified for him. You don’t want to think about him, but that’s impossible when you can hear him over the phone and picture him so clearly he might as well be in the same room as you. You desperately want him to hang up, and you’re petrified that he will. You hear him sigh heavily, and in your mind you can see him scrubbing a hand tiredly across his face.

“I’m sorry.” He says finally. “I know I hurt you. I was angry and confused and afraid. That’s not an excuse for what I did, and I know this is unfair of me, but I,” There’s another long silence, and you brace yourself for whatever is coming next as he tries to put whatever he’s feeling into words. “I miss you and I’m sorry that I’m such a fuck up and I’m so sorry I hurt you, but I’m scared and I feel so damn helpless, and I called because you’re the only person who could ever talk me down when I felt like this.” You can hear his throat tighten as his voice catches, and it’s still unfair and it’s still painful, but you miss him too. “I just want to be able to come back to you when this is over. If I come back.” He finishes, and the words are pained and anxious and you can feel the harsh, tense lines of his shoulders radiating down the phone line.

“Alex,” You sigh, tears welling in your eyes. “You can’t-We can’t just go back to how we were. That’s not how it works. I love you, but you’re about to leave for months, and you might die there, and I don’t think I can handle this right now.” You say, reaching up to brush away an errant tear sliding down your cheek.

“It’s okay.” He sounds resigned and so forlornly understanding that your heart clenches in your chest. “I know I’m leaving again, and you’re right. I don’t deserve a second chance with you. I just wanted to talk to you one last time. Clear the air, or something. I really do hope you’re happy. Maybe you’ll find someone better for you than I was” He says, voice low and dejected, and you take a deep shuddering breath, trying futilely to stop the tears falling fast and thick from your eyes.

“I don’t want someone better for me. I want you.” The whisper slips out without you meaning it to, and you hear a sharp intake of breath from Alex. “I’ll always want you, I just don’t know where to go from here because you’re leaving tomorrow morning, and I’m so fucking scared for you. Just-” You squeeze your eyes shut, taking a shaky breath. “Just come back alive and we can figure it out from there. Together. Okay?” You say. There’s a long pause, and when Alex finally says something, the sheer gratitude and emotion in his tone makes your chest tighten.

“I promise.”

My “this is why I do this” was a very calm and collected kid. He was by far the most hard-working kid I had in any of my classes, but particularly in his class. He was always the last one finished with any assignment, because he always made sure to show his work and then double check and triple check, and if he wasn’t sure about something he’d try it again, over and over until the bell rang. He wasn’t a perfectionist, he just really wanted to show me what he could do. Unfortunately, he often missed the mark – by a lot. But I refused to give up on him, I was infinitely patient with him, and I always gave him my full attention if he desired it (which may have been a little unfair to the others, but they weren’t trying nearly as hard, so…). Then, we got to the last test before the midterm. Like usual, he was the last one to turn it in, right at the bell. I decided that as a treat, on Monday everyone that got a 100 would get a candy bar. So I went home to grade the tests, and this kid had gotten a 96! Sure, technically it wasn’t a 100, but for this kid it was like a 130%. So when I went to buy the candy bars for the 100’s, I made sure to grab one for him too. The day I handed out the tests and the candy bars, I asked him to stay after class so I could personally congratulate him and give him his reward (I didn’t want the other kids to question why he was getting something too). The look on his face when he saw how proud i was of him still brings tears to my eyes (including right now). Then when I offered him his candy bar, he refused – he told me he hadn’t earned it. He didn’t want a reward unless he earned it like everybody else. Not only was he respectful and hard-working, he was also incredibly modest.

To this day, whenever I have a bad day and I’m thinking “Why am I doing this,” I think about this specific student and I am reminded. I am doing this for him. I am doing this for those who truly want to be great, those who need somebody that will believe in them and push them to achieve greatness, those who want nothing more than for somebody to celebrate their greatness with them.

So I had my first "fan" interaction today...

As most of you know I’m taking scriptwriting in school right now and I’ve gotten pretty close to my teacher (she was one of the few who I told about the trip) and I had her class today and something amazing happened. It started like any other class, we were reviewing our scripts and critiquing each other’s etc. then we took our mid-class break. The teacher approached me and said another girl in her other scriptwriting class was writing a “girl-power” script and somehow PLL was brought up. Apparently she was a huge fan and when my teacher told her I was the one who solved it she started fangirling. Hard. The teacher said it was a star struck moment and the girl really wanted to meet me. I just sat there completely stunned… Why would she act like this for my sake? I’m just another fan… I never truly got the scale of what I had accomplished until now. Holy shit. I don’t know if she reads my blog, but if you’re out there- I 100% want to meet you and give you the biggest hug you’ve ever received in your life.

anonymous asked:

So when I was a senior in high school, PLL was in its first season. I was in a creative writing class, and for our final, we had to write a five page fiction story and read them to the class. One girl literally copied the PLL story line, (popular girl is killed, her friends start receiving texts, it's from the creepy cop) and the characters names were Lucy, Ashley, Troian, Sasha, Shay, and Bryce. Needless to say she failed lmao.


@ittybittyzimmermanncommittee asked me a couple things from this

Bitty (what happened the last time you had a crush?): like, an actual, legitimate, stars-in-your-eyes crush? Well, I proofread some of his poetry for the creative writing class we were both in… and nothing else. I’m a total wuss when it comes to squishy feelings. 

Dex (what’s an issue you’d fight someone over?): …everything. I’d square up against a giant if he was being unnecessarily mean to someone. I’ve had a conversation about Frankenstein almost come to blows because the other dude was making generalizations about the monster as a potential human. come at me scrublord I’m ripped

anonymous asked:

I’m a single parent and you work at my kids daycare and you’re really good with them and they keep telling me to invite you over to dinner w/ Charles Xavier please?

Charles Xavier + this prompt list

Elizabeth Xavier is possibly the most energetic child you’ve ever taken care of. She’s incredibly sweet and remarkably intelligent, and she had almost permanently attached herself to you after you had brought her a couple of easy chapter books to try and read once it became clear she was bored with the picture books in the small book shelf. Your co-workers were all too happy to pass her off to you, insisting that she was ‘a problem child’, though you never saw evidence of that.

You shepherd her off to her father at the end of the day, the latest book you brought her tucked safely under her arm. As Charles comes into view, she dashes towards him waving the book excitedly as you follow behind her

“Daddy, Daddy look what (Y/N) gave me! Look!” Lizzie exclaims, shoving the book at him. He crouches down beside her to examine it, being sure to demonstrate proper enthusiasm for her newest treasure.

“Wow, sweetheart. This looks great. Have you said a proper thank you to (Y/N)?” He asks, rising from his crouch and ruffling his daughters’ hair affectionately. She nods quickly, beaming up at you.

“I gave her a big hug and said thank you and then we played in the sand box and went on the swings and tomorrow I wanna read it with her!” She says cheerfully, and you chuckle at her eagerness.

“Uh, actually sweetie, tomorrow is a Saturday. It’s the weekend, remember? We can read your book together on Monday, though.” You correct her gently, and she pouts in distress.

“But I wanna read it with you tomorrow.” She insists, turning to Charles. “Daddy can (Y/N) come over? Please, please, please? I wanna play with her and read with her you can talk to her about how she’s pretty and in-ter-est-ing” Lizzie sounds out the last word, nodding in satisfaction when she finishes it, oblivious to the way you and Charles were both blushing furiously.

“I uh-Lizzie please don’t-well uh-Sorry about her.” He stammers out, visibly flustered. “She’s just-” He gestures helplessly and you smile reassuringly at him.

“It’s fine. She’s just really excited about her new book, I guess. But if Lizzie would like to have me round to play with her some time, I’d be more than willing to help out. You seem like you’ve got a lot on your plate, so if you’d like me to occupy her for a while, then I’m absolutely happy to help.” You say, and Charles relaxes, giving you an adorably relieved look.

“I will definitely take you up on that sometime.”

Everything You Need To Know About MLA Format

General Format:

  • 8.5 x 11 inch paper
  • Double spaced
  • Times New Roman font
  • 12 pt font
  • Only one space after each period
  • 1 inch margins on all sides
  • Indent the first line of each paragraph by half an inch
  • Use a header that includes your last name and page number in the top right hand corner

The First Page:

  • In the upper left hand corner:
    • Your Name
    • Your Instructor’s Name
    • The Class Title
    • The Date (Day Month Year)
  • The title of your paper should be one double-space down and should not be bolded, italicized, or underlined
  • The beginning of your paper should start one double-space down from the title with the first line indented by half an inch

What to Italicize and Quote:

  • Book titles are italicized
  • Play titles are italicized
  • Poem titles have quotation marks
  • Article titles have quotation marks
  • Chapter titles have quotation marks

In-Text Citations:

  • When you know the author’s last name
    • (Last Name Page Number) or
    • (Last Name Paragraph or Line Number)
  • When you don’t know the author’s last name
    • (Book Title Page Number)
    • (Article Title Page Number)
    • Remember to italicize the book titles and put the article titles in quotation marks

Works Cited Page:

  • Begin your Works Cited page on a separate page at the end of your research paper. It should have the same one inch margins and header as the rest of your paper
  • Label the page “Works Cited” (do not italicize or put in quotations) on the top of the page and center it
  • Double space all citations but do not skip spaces between entries
  • Indent the second line of a citation by half an inch
  • List sources in alphabetical order
  • If the source has more than one author, the first given name appears in last name, first name format and the following authors appear in last name, first name format separated by commas. The last author’s name should be preceded by an “and”

Citing Print Sources:

Book or Poem:

Last Name, First Name. Title of Book or Poem. City of Publication: Publisher, Year of Publication. Print.

Magazine or Newspaper Article:

Last Name, First Name. “Title of Article.” Title of Periodical Day Month Year: pages. Print.

Journal Article:

Last Name, First Name. “Title of Article.” Title of Journal Volume.Issue (Year): pages. Print.

Citing Web Sources:

Whole Website:

Name of Site. Sponsor or Publisher, date of resource creation. Web. Date of access. 

Web Page or Web Article:

Last Name, First Name. “Title of Article.” Name of Site. Sponsor of Publisher, date of resource creation. Web. Date of access.

Online Journal Article:

Last Name, First Name. “Title of Article.” Title of Journal Volume.Issue (Year): pages. Web. Date of access. 

Note: Don’t forget to indent the second line in the citation. I did not indent the examples because the indents on tumblr mobile and tumblr desktop differ starkly and I figured this was probably the less confusing way to write the information needed for a citation (trust me)

Unknown Information in Citations:

  • If the author is unknown, begin citation with the title
  • If the publisher is unknown, write “n.p.” in its place (no quotation marks)
  • If the publishing date is unknown, write “n.d.” in its place (no quotation marks)

I hope this guide is as useful for me as it it for you!

Boring CP headcanons
  1. Bitty never shames people over not eating or serving fresh home-cooked food. As an American Studies major an increasing amount of his courseload is the study of why Americans eat the way they do, which means he knows all about the second shift, the two-income trap, food deserts, America’s totally out-of-whack corn and sugar lobbies and the rise of processed food.  He knows that the people most likely to eat pre-processed food and to totally lack a feeling of connection with the food they eat are poor and working-class, while an active investment in the food you eat is largely a privilege of the rich.

    He also knows that the boys he plays and lives with are likely learning domestic skills for the very first time, and sometimes it’s a even just a big new thing for them to think, “People will want to eat at this study break–I’ll bring chips and soda.”  On the other hand, the more domestic and emotional labour the straight boys he knows learn, the better for their future female partners.  So he’s never going to discourage someone taking baby steps into the domestic realm.  He’ll do what he can to help them move further, but hey, if Dex brought Twinkies from Murder Stop-n-Shop, then thank you, sugar! He sure appreciates how thoughtful that was!
  2. Shitty’s first name is something unexceptionable though perhaps douchey, like Brad.  He hates it because it’s his father’s name–he’s a Jr, if not a III or IV.  His mother’s maiden name was Shitowitz, and although she was glad to get rid of it at the time now that she’s divorced she sometimes dithers about going back to it.  So Shitty’s “Shitty” grandparents officially look Very Scandalized when his friends mess up and call him “Shitty” instead of “Knight” when they’re around, but they’re secretly kind of pleased.
Why do I love myself?

Because I didn’t think I was ugly until the fourth grade,
When Chase Duncan called me fat on the playground.
Because when all my friends wore two pieces,
I waded in the shallow end in a soggy tshirt.
Because in the sixth grade I made a pact with my best friend to skip breakfast.
And lunch.
And dinner.
Because I was sick of crying in dressing rooms,
Squeezing my body into clothes that would not fit.
Because boys who kissed me in the dark,
Wouldn’t even walk me to class.
Because I avoided striped like the plague,
And was taught that bright colors were
Because I never hated myself more,
Than when I was hunched over a toilet,
Trying to throw up every awful thing inside me,
Trying to purge out the
The sadness.
Because these were the things I thought I had to do,
I was supposed to do,
To make me beautiful,
But there is nothing beautiful about the smell of vomit
And the everlasting taste of self loathing.
Because recovery is not a smooth,
paved road,
With signs and directions,
But a rocky Mountain,
With shaky stones,
That must be climbed.
Because girls start to hate themselves,
Before they even know themselves.
Because magazines will preach acceptance on
Page ten,
And diet tips on
Page twelve.
Because when I say I am fat,
I’m told I’m beautiful instead,
And I don’t understand why I cannot be both.
Because I tore my body down,
When I should have been building my foundations.
Because I am growing,
And I am learning,
And I am accepting.
Because I deserve it.

You can be whatever you want to be
Just don’t be that
Or that
Or that

We’ll love you no matter what
But gays are going to hell

You can do anything you dream
As long as it pays

Our generation is entitled
As we work 3 jobs
Just to have a dream

We’re selfish and narcissistic
As we fight for change

We’re lazy and soft
As we fight wars in our own minds

We want everything free
As we pay more than ever before

We’re too sensitive
As we watch each other die

Our hearts ache
With every new headline

Love wins
But does it?

We’re all equal
But are we?


So I have quite the obnoxious writing prompt for an essay due in… about 18 hours.

  1. Unusual events that have occured which have a common thread

  2. Unusually lucky moments and a point about them

  3. Unlucky episodes and a point about them

  4. Psychic (v,v) episodes or dreams that you would like to make a point about

  5. Describe interesting moments in your life that you believe were “one of a kind”

​From my experience, any “psychic” experiece that I’ve had I can easily explain in a number of different ways. If there has been a “lucky” or “unlucky” moment in my life I view it as causal. “Lucky”, to me, means that opprotunity is meeting with preperation and then success follows. I don’t feel that any moment in my life is really “one of a kind” simply because every moment is unique and just like every other moment at the same time.

EDIT: I’ve decided to write on this Here’s some brainstorming I did:


  1. Being thrown into christian private schools because my parents simply didn’t know what to do with me.

  2. Getting a three day suspension for simply having a swiss army knife in my backpack at school.

  3. Getting kicked out of a christian private school for assosciating with someone who had a serious problem even though I was doing what I could to help and subsequently being blamed for some of those faults.

underlaying point is that, even given a horrible situation and feelign trapped, things can eventually solve themselves… even if it isn’t in a painless way.

anonymous asked:

Hey can you do #10 and #20 with Alex please? Thank you!!!

Alex Summers + Things you said that made me feel like shit + Things you said that I wasn’t meant to hear

Edit: read part two here

As you re-enter the apartment, toeing off your shoes, you hear Alex speaking in a low voice to someone on the phone. You drop your bag lightly on the couch before turning towards the bedroom where Alex is, the door slightly ajar. You’re about to push it open and enter, when you register what he’s saying and it makes you freeze up.

“It’s like-I mean, I deploy in a few months, but I just,” he exhales sharply “I just need space. Is there something I could do at the mansion for a while? Anything?” There’s a pause as whoever is on the other line answers. Alex’s back is to the door as you peer cautiously through the small opening, so you can’t see his face, but his shoulders are tense and hunched, and he shakes his head as he starts speaking again.

“I’m just tired.” He lets out a pained sigh. “God, just trying to reign everything in, keep it all under control all the damn time is fucking exhausting, y’know? I just need to get away from her for a little while.” He says, and the words are like shards of ice sliding down your spine. There’s a hum of muffled static as the other line asks him something, and as much as the idea of hearing more of this conversation terrifies you, you can’t tear yourself away. “No. No I haven’t said anything to (Y/N). How could I? She’s not-she’s not a mutant. She’s normal.” The word is utterly venomous as it falls from his lips and you’re rooted to the spot, a harsh wave of hurt and betrayal rushing over you as he continues. “I can’t talk to her about shit like this. She wouldn’t understand.” His tone is almost dismissive, and somehow that hurts most of all, hitting you like a knife to the chest, finally sending you tiptoeing silently away from the door, tears sliding down your face.

Shoes - Part 2

The sun was hot in the clear sky and burned against Hisashi Midoriya’s shoulders, but the open air was welcome. After all, it was the first time in twelve years he had been truly free to enjoy it. Surreal was the only way to describe walking down the old streets. The neighborhood had changed so much. New stores, new parks, a parking lot where there had been an old grocery. No familiar faces. Not yet.

Those faces he did see, he caught their looks of alarm. Hisashi couldn’t blame them. It was the insignia on his bag. Jakku Penitentiary, a prison for criminals - “villains” they were called more frequently - imprisoned for violent crimes committed with the use of volatile quirks. Hisashi slung the bag a bit higher, avoiding the gaze of a young mother as she moved to the far side of the sidewalk and ushered her child to her other side as she passed.

Two more blocks.

Hisashi unconsciously slowed, his hand finding the lump in his pocket where he kept the photos Inko sent him over the years. The windows into his son’s life. Too few, he thought, always too few. Twelve years was a long time, too long. A lifetime.   

One more block.

Keep reading

5 Things About Worldbuilding: Don't be a Puny God

Read on for:

* 5 important Worldbuilding tips for writers

* Chuck Palahniuk’s endorsement of me

* examples of my crappiest writing (yes, you’re allowed to laugh)

* how to get an 8000-word critique from a multi-published author