its a bad week to be a seal

ANYWAY another day i was thinking of an overwatch apartment complex au where they all live in the same building and communicate solely through messages posted on a public bulletin board in the lobby???

like theres like a games room and a gym and all sorts of shit a nice apartment would have and imagine stuff posted on the board being like

  • a message quickly scribbled on ripped lined paper, “OKAY WHO BEAT ALL MY HIGHSCORES LAST NIGHT? FIGHT ME.” along with a bad doodle of an angry dragon holding a sword.
  • underneath, added in pink gel gen, “lol git gud noob”
  • next week, theres a new note in pink gel pen, loopy writing, on cute bunny stationary and decorated with stickers, “Hey fucker who has the highest DDR score, come fucking fight me IRL!! ILL HAVE YOU KNOW [insert navy seal copypasta here]” Added underneath, in messy writing, “HAHA GIT GUD”, and in green pen, “yo chill its just a game lol? I can help ya out with DDR if u want?”
  • GOD OKAY THERES ALSO WEEKLY COMPLAINTS POSTED ABOUT ‘NOISE LEVELS’. all written in a neat script
  • “There are still constant noises of firecrackers being set off in a room near me. May I remind you that firecrackers are prohibited and if I find out who you are, you will regret it. Please stop this nonsense immediately. Thank you.”
  • “Does no one in this building have the common decency to not disturb their neighbors? I’ve had to put up with the sound of firecrackers, ape-like howling, chainsaws at 9am, what sounded like a rave with children screaming, and now, the last straw, COUNTRY MUSIC. What have I done in a previous life to deserve this treatment? Did I kill my own brother? Why can’t people just be QUIET.” 
  • a notice from “Angela’s Clinic”, located on the first floor of the building, detailing the schedule and hours of service for tenants who need medical care.
  • taped underneath, written on fancy Amari Law Inc. stationary (COMPLETE WITH CONTACT INFO LOL), a message saying “Girl, did it hurt when you fell from heaven? ;)”
  • advertisements for winston + torbjorns repair/comptech sevices and the advert is so ugly and written in like times new roman and has clip art everywhere
  • another ad deliberately covering part of winston+torb’s ad that is 10x prettier and clearly well designed with modern simplistic font for symmetra’s tech services
  • lost and found notice on snowflake stationary mentioning a gym bag being left behind in the gym change room and they should contact room xxxx to pick it up
Namjoon - Dimples

sentence summary: Creating a novel’s plot is the same as creating your own life story, all of it happens in a cafe you spend way too much time in. 

word count: 3,295

Originally posted by kimnamboobs

The small café bustles with energy. Enough to light up a whole bakery or two. Waiters busily bring orders, refill drinks, and on occasion, chat with a customer when time permits. The waiters and customers just so happen to be your muses too. The more you learn about them, the better characters they become.

Scanning the crowd, you fix on a regular. A young nervous teen boy with chubby cheeks. In his hand is a cup of his favorite cappuccino, you have yet to figure out the flavor. You watch him tense up at each person passing by, he sinks deeper and deeper into the booth cushion. Fingers fly through the journal as you find a clean page, in the section that’s conveniently titled ‘tensed teens’. A number six stains the page, he was the sixth one you’ve seen since first finding the tucked away café.

‘Chubby Cheeks is looking around more than usual today. Perhaps he is waiting for someone, or hiding like normal. His knuckles are white from holding the cup too tightly.’

The door opens, another young teen barges in. He scans the crowd, eyes frantic till he stops on Chubby Cheeks. Your hands begin scribble down words that won’t be readable later.

‘The new boy, Baby Face, walks over to Chubby Cheeks, who looks up, relief spreading across his face. The two exchange words before Baby Face sinks down beside Chubby Cheeks, eloping him in a hug and kissing him on the top of the head.’

You pause a moment, a satisfied smile crossing your lips.

‘Crazy stalker me thinks Chubby Cheeks is in love. Baby Face is head over heels for him.’

Keep reading

of-tomadashis-and-clintashas  asked:

Could you maybe do Clintasha with “i found your box of letters underneath my bed last night and because i’m a nosy motherfucker i decided to read them and it turns out they were all addressed to me and the last one was dated the day you moved out and i’m not quite sure why i thought this would be a good idea but here i am, standing on your doorstep, wondering why the fuck we’re not together anymore” AU because they are both nosy and I'm a sucker for angst and ur writing is amazing

this one started off okay and then it was a downhill spiral from the first glass of wine so pls don’t expect too much

The sudden noise of the doorbell startles Natasha and she jumps slightly from her position in bed, the mug of tea perched precariously against her leg tumbling onto the floor, spilling the lukewarm liquid all over the carpet. “Shit,” she murmurs to herself, grabbing her wallet off of the dresser.

She tips the delivery girl hurriedly with a muttered, “Have a nice night” before depositing the pizza on the counter and tearing a handful of paper towel off the roll to deal with the spill on her bedroom floor.

A shadowy corner under the bed catches her eye as Natasha’s mopping up the tea with the paper towel and she reaches underneath, pulling out a beat-up cardboard shoe box that she doesn’t remember seeing before. Curious, she lifts the lid, revealing a mess of sealed envelopes, each bearing a date. The topmost envelope is dated three weeks ago yesterday. Her stomach plummets as she recalls the events of January 17th.

She shuts the lid on the box, vowing to recycle it and its contents tomorrow morning, but her eyes keep being drawn back to it, to its simplicity, to the mystery it contains. Knowing full well that it’s a bad idea, Natasha opens the box once more, choosing an envelope at random and tearing it open. The paper feels heavy in her hands, as if the weight of the words it carries is too much for her to bear. The handwriting is instantly familiar in a way that makes her chest ache with something akin to longing, but she refuses to call it that, refuses to acknowledge that she wants what she told herself she can never have.

Nat, it reads. You’re sleeping right now. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I could watch you sleep forever. Not, like, in a creepy way. I just never get tired of looking at you.Tears prick at her eyes, blurring the rest of the words on the page. She should stop, Natasha thinks. She should burn the letters and pretend she never found them, do her best to erase the words she just read from her memory and move on.

Instead, she reaches into the box again, pulling out envelope after envelope, unable to stop.

I took you to my parents’ graves today. I wish you could have met them. Mom would have loved you. Today was the 12th anniversary of their death and I never told you, but I felt like you knew. I wish you would tell me about your parents. I want to meet them, wherever they are. Even if they’re just a headstone like mine.

I can’t believe you challenged Tony to a drinking game and won. I didn’t know it was possible for me to love you more than I already did, but I do.

I moved in today. Well, officially moved in. I know I’ve been living out of that one drawer in your closet for months now, but it was time to make it official. I love that we have something we’re allowed to call ours. I love you, Natasha, more than you’ll ever know.

I know something’s wrong. I wish you would talk to me, Nat. I want to be able to help you. I know you’re trying to hide your scars but I can see them. I can feel them. They hurt me as badly as they hurt you.Don’t push me away. Please. Please, Nat, stop pushing me away.

Hands trembling, Natasha reaches into the box once more, lifting out the January 17th envelope. She slides it open slowly, carefully, scared of the words she might find on the page.

You came home from the doctor’s crying. I tried to ask you what was wrong and you pushed me away, screamed at me to get out and leave you alone. I’m standing here with my bags at my feet and I know this is a mistake but I can’t help the way you feel. For whatever I’ve done, Nat, I’m so sorry. I can only hope you’ll be able to forgive me someday. In the time being, if you ever need me, you’ll know where to find me. I love you Natasha, more than I know how to say. Nothing you do will ever change that. Yours, always, Clint.

Tears blurring her vision, Natasha shoves the letters back into the shoebox angrily, furious that he still has the power to make her feel this way. Before she knows what she’s doing she’s pulling on her jacket and shoving her feet into boots, headed out the door with the box of letters in her hand.

She’s on his doorstep before she can really process what she’s doing, hand poised to knock, when all of a sudden it hits her that she can’t show up at his door after everything she said to him, after the way that he left. But it’s too late. Just as she lowers her hand and decides to walk away and leave this all behind her, the door swings open.

“Natasha?”

“Sorry,” she murmurs, clutching the box of letters to her chest. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ll…I’ll just…”

Clint reaches out towards her as she turns to leave, his hand closing around her wrist. “Natasha, wait.”

She turns uncertainly, the weight of his words heavy in her arms. “I shouldn’t have read these,” she says quietly, thrusting the box towards him. “I’m sorry.”

Clint makes no move to take the box, instead bringing a hand to her shoulder tentatively, his grip becoming firmer as she makes no move to shake him off. “I left them for you, Natasha. I wanted you to read them.”

She shakes her head slowly, confusion etched into the lines of her face. “I don’t understand. Clint…why?”

“Because I’m still in love with you Natasha!” An edge of frustration creeps into her voice as he takes a step closer to her, the box of letters the only remaining barrier between her body and his. “And you can try to avoid me, you can try to push me away, but I’m always going to be here.”

She looks down at the box in her hands to avoid his eyes, uncertain.

 “Clint…I…”

“Just tell me what you want,” he says gently.

“I think…” she pauses, shifting back and forth on her feet. “I think I want to start over.”

Clint’s lips crash to hers in an instant as he murmurs, “Then what are you waiting for?”

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Shark Week!!!!!! (This is last year’s commercial I know….but it’s so damn excellent I can’t help myself!)