Samantha-GirlScout

The dynamic between core staff, volunteer staff, and the community can at times be pure quality dArama. It's worth noting that for years I've worked pretty hard to remain neutral on community politics. Today, I'm going to shatter that concept. Needless to say, I am extremely politically aware of the inner workings of the deviantART community. I read *a lot* of journals, comments, forums, chat rooms. I have fake accounts. I spy. But I don't spend my time talking politics, instead I focus internally at deviantART designing technologies and implementing understandings with core staff to address the issues I see pop up. It's time to take a mo

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom or The Phantom of the Opera. Danny Phantom is the property of Butch Hartman, and The Phantom of the Opera is property of… Well, several people actually. A note from the Author: Well, as most of my avid fans know, I actually planned to write a story based on The Phantom of the Opera movie with the Danny Phantom characters. However, during Flash class the other day, I had a far more better idea, and so, The Point of No Return was born! I've been listening to The Phantom of the Opera soundtrack all morning too, so hopefully this'll be good. Title: The Point of No Return Summary: Casper High planned on sh

Love is patient Bombings love is kind Murders It does not envy Threats it does not boast Signs that read “God hates fags” it is not proud What are we doing? It is not rude This isn't what he told us it is not self-seeking He told us to love it is not easily angered To love our fellow man it keeps no record of wrongs No matter who they are Love does not delight in evil No matter what they've done but rejoices with the truth But after all the prayer It always protects After all the study always trusts We still can't remember always hopes The Greatest commandment always perseveres. That Jesus left us Lov

As Sam walked barefoot through the barely lit locker room reeking of sweat and cheap perfume, all she could do was roll her eyes at the gossiping teenage girls and mutter to herself, "I hate this. I hate this a lot." It wasn't the P.E. part she despised—unlike most of the drama queens in her class, who ran each lap ridiculously slowly and complained of side-aches after a minute or so of slow jogging—P.E. was damn easy. She could outrun almost anyone in either the guys or girls P.E. classes (after freshman year, conservative parents were concerned about the shameless flirting and folding of the gym shorts until the school agreed to spilt them