Hello everypony! I am a fairly new fanfiction writer, so I hope to not only improve my writing skills, but to (hopefully) over time create stories that can reach out to others. I really am a huge shipper, heheh, so you might see this "obsession" in my future stories! Though, I do have other obsessions too. Like any teen, I am a music freak. My friend and I even consider ourselves "ZEDDHEADS". I tell you, I am open to most genres of music, but I am particularly fond of Dance, Dubstep, Electronic... The works. I know this is a brony site, but if you want to fangirl with me over artists that fall under these categories of music, I am more than happy to. I guess this might explain why Vinyl/DJ PON3 is my favorite pony. I actually hope to in the future even attempt making music, related to the genres I already mentioned. My friend got this really amazing program recently, and I am super excited to work with it.

Questions? Want to just talk? PM me! Also, you can tough base with me by gmail :
hannahthepenguin2001@gmail.com
t0xix011@gmail.com
I check both frequently, so I hope to make very great friends! AS TECHNICOLOR PONIES SAY, "FRIENDSHIP IS MAGIC" (and so is Vinyl barfing rainbows)

AND ONE LAST THING! I just want to share my favorite music artists, if anybody's curious. HERE THEY ARE:
-ZEDD (duh)
-Skrillex (also, DUH)
-Deadmau5
-Hardwell
-Kaskade

AND UM... YEAH! Thats really it, bye fellow pegasisters/bronys/fangirls/whatever you wanna call yourself!

(I fangirled when I saw this picture, ITS A FREAKING ZEDD PONY!!!)

For my master.... NO I AM NOT AT ALL A HUGE TWISTED PHYCO FANGIRL SHIPPER AHAHHA WHY WOULD YOU THINK THAT GUYS?!

Well I guess Skrillex is a bit uncomfortable... Guess he had to break out the whistle. DAYUM IF ZEDD WAS HUGGING ME I WOULD PROBABLY FAINT AND DIE FROM FANGIL-NESS!!!

Touch it: it won't shrink like an eyeball,
This egg-shaped bailiwick, clear as a tear.
Here's yesterday, last year ---
Palm-spear and lily distinct as flora in the vast
Windless threadwork of a tapestry.

Flick the glass with your fingernail:
It will ping like a Chinese chime in the slightest air stir
Though nobody in there looks up or bothers to answer.
The inhabitants are light as cork,
Every one of them permanently busy.

At their feet, the sea waves bow in single file.
Never trespassing in bad temper:
Stalling in midair,
Short-reined, pawing like paradeground horses.
Overhead, the clouds sit tasseled and fancy

As Victorian cushions. This family
Of valentine faces might please a collector:
They ring true, like good china.

Elsewhere the landscape is more frank.
The light falls without letup, blindingly.

A woman is dragging her shadow in a circle
About a bald hospital saucer.
It resembles the moon, or a sheet of blank paper
And appears to have suffered a sort of private blitzkrieg.
She lives quietly

With no attachments, like a foetus in a bottle,
The obsolete house, the sea, flattened to a picture
She has one too many dimensions to enter.
Grief and anger, exorcised,
Leave her alone now.

The future is a grey seagull
Tattling in its cat-voice of departure.
Age and terror, like nurses, attend her,
And a drowned man, complaining of the great cold,
Crawls up out of the sea.

Sylvia Plath