why don’t we talk more about snapchat in yoi. like we all know victor and yuuri send each other lurks of the other when they’re just chilling on the couch together and have an unbreakable 1 yr strong streak.
yurio’s stories are always weirdly crazy and make everyone outside of team russia (who are almost always in them when it’s not just videos of his cat) wonder what the hell he does when he’s not ice skating.
chris is always taking artsy looking pics of like, his curtains and victor just sends back a pic of his forehead or makkachin.
phichit is a WHORE for filters and has a streak with literally everyone.
i purchased telltale’s the wolf among us a few days ago (bc honestly it was time and i also didn’t think things through) so i have been playing that (if i have been playing anything at all) and i think i’ll finish it before i’ll buy the laundry stuff pack which probably means that i won’t update the haddock legacy for a few days!
I had the sudden urge to doodle the angriest, DIY-iest Jay of them all– the one who apparently doesn’t own a sewing kit and says really lame things like “You get points for effort. No you don’t. You get dead.”
prompt: ‘You give me a different fake name every time you come into the coffee shop and I just want to know your real name bc you’re cute but here I am scrawling “batman” onto your stupid cappuccino’ for anonymous
word count: 3751
Bellamy loves his stupid coffee shop. He loves the way it smells, he loves the way it feels—warm, without forcing it—and he loves his obnoxious coworkers, even if Miller is perpetually snarky and Raven is perpetually smarter than him and smug about it.
He does not, as it were, love it when his cute, blonde regular comes in and keeps refraining from using her real name.
Or, rather, he likes that she comes in. Less that he doesn’t know her name.
He knows it’s never her real name, too, because it’s not like she just uses different, generic names each time. Instead he gets told, on a nearly daily basis, to scrawl the name of a different fictional character on a paper cup. She had a Harry Potter streak last week, names ranging from the golden trio to more obscure characters whose names he doesn’t know how to spell. (Ask him how he feels about Xenophilius.)
The first time she came in, it was Aerith which, he supposes, could be her name, except he wagers the chance of finding someone whose parents named their child after a Final Fantasy character is pretty slim this early into the twenty-first century. As it is, he’s just kind of embarrassingly psyched to find someone who’s into his favorite video game franchise.
He scrawls the name on her cup, without comment—because somehow he thinks that makes him seem cool? He can hear Octavia’s disappointed sigh already—and catches her slight look of surprise at his lack of response. She pays with cash, as he’ll come to realize is her norm, and moves down the counter to wait for her drink.
Hi! As it is Hermione's birthday during the romione shipweek, do you think you could write something about one of her birthday's? Maybe the year she is back at school, with Ron sneaking up to visit her? Or just anything really, I'm sure it will be lovely :)
I don’t know about lovely, bit it is birthday flavoured, so I hope that’s okay :). AO3
If she added up all the birthday
cards and gift she’d received for birthdays one through eighteen, she wouldn’t
come close to the total number of cards she’s received today for her
nineteenth. She stares at the mailbag she’d dragged up to the Common Room,
knowing that the only one she wanted was inside there, somewhere, buried
beneath all the ones from total strangers. It was a very strange sensation.
“Perils of being a celebrity,
huh?” Ginny said, appearing suddenly and moving an enormous stack off the
armchair so she could take a seat.
“Harry didn’t receive this many
cards for his birthday! He didn’t get any
from people who weren’t close friends or family. Why have I got so many?” she asked, throwing up her hands after opening
another which contained best wishes from all at the Society for the Protection
of Unicorns. At least this one was educational—she hadn’t known there was such
a society until just now.
“He did, but they mostly went to
the Ministry because no one knew he was staying with us. Everyone knows your
current address is Hogwarts, so they’re writing to you. Like I say, perils of
being a celebrity. Oh! What’s this?” Before Hermione could stop her, she’d
pulled a card out that was stuffed behind the cushion of the chair. When she
opened it, a fanfare went off at such volume that Hermione was almost sure she
felt the windows of Gryffindor Tower shake. Ginny merely raised an eyebrow,
closed the card, and sat on it. “Makes my card look kind of boring, huh?”
“Yours is more special than any
of these,” Hermione said truthfully. “And more memorable, too. I’ll be washing
glitter out of my bedsheets until at least Christmas.”
Warnings: light swearing, usage of “Daddy” (nonsexual)
Written by: Admin V
“Ah, that’s my good girl!”
You chewed happily on the piece of meat that Baekhyun had fed you, smiling. It was dinner time—one of your most favorite times to spend with the love of your life. The day was over. It was time to rest.
Propping your elbows onto the dining table, you swallowed, then frowned. Baekhyun sat across from you, his white t-shirt hanging off of his frame.
“Is something bothering you, baby?” he asked. He set his chopsticks down, looked up at you. Cocked his head to the side, those brown eyes so deep and caring, the way that they always were.
You licked your lips, tasting the leftover spice from the beef. “Daddy, do you not like the food I made for you? Is it bad?”
“What, no! Of course not, baby,” he immediately soothed, shocked that you would ever ask him that. Reaching across the table, he smoothed a flyaway from your hair. “Daddy would never do such a thing.”
1) I am 6'3" and that means you need a bigger bed. You won’t fit on mine because I don’t fit on mine.
2) I don’t like love songs, and The Notebook is bullshit.
3) My self esteem is a helium balloon that’s been in the hospital room of my dying convictions for a few days too long.
4) My tinder profile has taught me that pretty girls don’t think I’m pretty but they’ll drink until they compliment me anyways.
5) My waistline waxes and wanes as the taxes of my self disdain start to materialize on a body and mind strained by compulsion and expulsion of meals and the only real friends I have.
6) The hollowed out cheeks from the three pack a week streaks is something that scares me, so I don’t smoke anymore. I don’t smoke any less, either.
7) I haven’t taken my meds in eleven months because the lightning of amphetamines seems like such an extreme just for me to seem normal to you. I’m not normal. And no you can’t buy them.
8) I never learned from my mother or from the embrace of any lover how to paint with all the colors of my own self doubt. A low self esteem collar of sorts for any art that was any thing but gray. So to this day I write about my exes, my vexes, and the Venn diagram that they then form together.
9) There are gonna be days where I want to die. There are gonna be days where I cry and give in to my impulses. There are gonna be days where I fly away from my responsibilities and you. There are gonna be days where the winding ways and haphazard haze of my mind grind away at yours.
I have no track record of relationship success, I’m an awkward, broken mess. These days I’m all chewed lips, scars, and stress, and I’ll probably never get over you.
10) I tend to say too much.