sneezerodent-blog - Tumblr blog

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y'all want young gavin vines?

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Merry Christmas to me ❤

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There’s an abundance of bad things happening right now, and it’s hard not to be sucked into that black hole of sadness, so let’s have a puppy party shall we.

Because, let’s face it, dogs never grow up.

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I'm so ready for Halloween

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reminder to:

straighten your back

go pee goddAMN IT STOP HOLDING IT

go take your meds if you need to

drink some water

go get a snack if you havent eaten in a while

maybe wander around the house/stretch a little if you’ve been sat at the computer a while (artists especially: sTRETCH THOSE WRISTS)

reply to that text/message from earlier you’d forgotten about

maybe send a nice lil message to someone having a bad day?

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steps to be cute:

you are already cute!

yes, you reading this!

it would be nice to remind others they are too!

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My mom has done something incredible.

I want to tell you guys a story.

A few years ago, I came out to my mom the morning after my senior prom. She was surprised, then quiet, then asked what my real orientation was. I said, “I have no idea, but I like this one girl.” She was a little confused, but she kissed me and said, “As long as she makes you happy.” For the next few weeks, she asked a lot of questions: when did I realize? What was my new girlfriend’s orientation? What was the word for this or that? I WAS happy, right?

Fast forward about two years. My mom sits me down and tells me that she needs my help with her next book. She’s been writing middle-grade girls’ books (like, 9-14 range) since I was eight, and she says she has an idea that she really, really wants to get right. It follows the plot of Romeo and Juliet, she says, and the main character is a twelve-year-old girl realizing she has a crush on another girl when they put on the play for English class.

Fast forward another year to now. STAR-CROSSED is about to come out, and it is absolutely amazing.

My mom has poured her heart and soul into making sure this is a positive thing for kids to read. I’ve been reading and editing and helping with this book since its first draft and I’ve been, metaphorically and sometimes literally bouncing up and down on my heels, waiting to be able to tell people about it. It’s beyond sweet, and there’s a ton of Shakespeare and humor and goofy preteen drama and twelve-year-old girls flirting and Star Wars jokes and a glossary of Shakespearean insults in the back (yes, really), and it’s just so fun and positive and smart and I want to show it to every kid I know.

This book is for LGBT kids, written by a mom who has asked questions and done her research and tried as hard as she possibly could to make her own queer kid feel safe and loved and valid, and it REALLY shows. Mattie (the cutie on the left) and Gemma (the cutie on the right) are given space to learn about themselves, and ultimately they don’t have to figure themselves out right away or come out to everyone at once or choose a label. They’re kids. It’s okay to still be figuring things out. It’s okay. 

Fun facts: 

My mom said from the beginning she wanted both girls on the cover to make it clear what the book was about; then when they got the final artwork and Mattie’s hair was short, my mom wrote back and asked the artist to do the hair over to make it as obvious as possible that Mattie is a girl. 

When a few people started buzzing about Mattie being the youngest bisexual protagonist they’ve seen, she went back and changed passages to confirm that Mattie likes boys and girls. 

When I asked for a happier and less ambiguous ending scene, she set Mattie and Gemma up on a frigging date. 

It comes out on March 14, 2017. Please join me in GETTING HYPE FOR STAR-CROSSED <3

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hey if ur reading this and ur in a bad spot mentally or anything i hope u feel better soon and have a good day

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today is fanfiction writer’s appreciation day, and I thought about what I wanted to do for today, but I decided that the best thing I could is this.

here’s for the writers that didn’t receive any asks today

here’s for the writers that didn’t make any appreciation list

here’s for the writers that weren’t mentioned anywhere

here’s for the writers that aren’t popular

here’s for the writers whose fics are never rec’ed

here’s for the writers whose fics have a low kudo/commenting rate

here’s for the writers that don’t get reblogs/likes

here’s for the writers that abandon their work half way because they think it sucks (spoiler: it does not)

here’s for the writers that were bashed for whatever they wrote

here’s for the writers that feel like giving up 

here’s for the writers that feel anxious when they post a fic

here’s for the writers that struggle to write

here’s for the writers that never publish anything

here’s for all writers. No matter who they are, what fandom, what ship: you guys are amazing and you make fandom a better place. 

Keep writing.

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reblog if you're gay, not gay, slightly gay, or if you just want to launch donald trump into a dying star

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anyone please ask your crush out like this

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i envy people who have dreams with clear rational plots like “i was on my favourite tv show for a day” my dreams are like i’m in a diner and i’m pregnant. i leave the diner and i’m in a forest watching the pregnant woman who is no longer me. she turns around and now we’re in a jeep and she’s my dad. we’re listening to music which is somehow numbers. he asks if i remember the time we went to pakistan and i say yeah because i do. i wake up and remember i’ve never been to pakistan in my life.

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Reblog if you support squishy bellies, have a squishy belly, or have the desire to summon satan

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How I say ' I love you ' to my friends:

"I'm drawing you something."

"How're you feeling?"

"Are you alright?"

"Anything I can do to at least make you feel better?"

"I'll stay up with you as long as I can, OK?"

"Please eat something."

"Go to sleep, it's late, please."

"You're a dork."

"You're a nerd."

"I love you."

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Reblog this every time you see it. It could save a life.

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A traveler stops to rest in a small village at the edge of a forest. All through the night, he hears rustling outside the inn, and the sound of mysterious creatures creeping among the trees.

The next morning, he asks the innkeeper about what he heard. The other man nods sagely. “Ah yes, the wood is dark and mysterious. The village has many stories, but to find the truth, you’ll have to ask the trees themselves.”

So the curious traveler packs some bread from the inn with his belongings and starts off into the forest. The ground slopes down, down, and the underbrush thins out but the canopy gets denser. The darkness is soothing like deep water. Here, there is no rustling–just a heavy silence.

The traveler spends the first night nestled in the roots of an enormous oak tree, and when he awakes, an acorn has sprouted into a robust sapling where it fell on his coat. His second night he spends in a ring of mushrooms that weave his dreams with light and song. His third night he crawls into a hollow log that smells sweet with decay and smoky with the memory of a long-ago fire.

The forest is strange and unnatural, but it does not seem threatening. The traveler speaks to the trees every day as he walks but they do not answer. Still, he knows that they listen. His path is laden with sweet fruit and herbs, for he runs out of bread quicker than he would like.

Finally, on his fourth day of walking, the traveler comes to a stump in the center of a large clearing. The earth around the stump is obscured by layer upon layer of dry, dead leaves, and the boughs overhead form a continuous ceiling. A hatchet sits embedded in the stump. As he approaches, the traveler sees the letters of a hundred languages engraved in winding script around the handle of the hatchet.

“What is this place?” the traveler asks, half to himself.

A soft voice emanates from the hatchet. “You seek the secrets of the wood, and here they lie. Ask what you will.”

So the traveler asks his questions. The hatchet weaves a story of enchantment and legacy, of the people who once lived among the trees and the people who now live alongside them, of the slow, even breathing of the forest and everything within it.

At the end of the hatchet’s tale, the traveler speaks up once more. “I was told that the trees themselves would tell me their story. Who are you, and why are you the one who holds these secrets?”

The hatchet chirps a little laugh. “As for why, that is too long a story for even me to tell. But who am I? I am the lore axe, and I speak for the trees.”

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with all that’s going on in charlotsville, please do me a favour

reblog this to let your jewish brothers, sisters, and nb siblings know that you’re a safe blog where they can message you if they need to talk