frankoceanfanclub:

first of all, fireflies by owl city is a banger

bestpal:

imblakeandyourenot:

bestpal:

my pussy > the Beatles

Anyone who thinks this way has never listened to The Beatles.

Sike bitch u never tasted this pussy

pluronmyface:

Where can I consume this greatness

Schiff shack but we can’t go there anymore

pluronmyface:

Where can I consume this greatness

Schiff shack but we can’t go there anymore

5sos preference: he finds out that you're an egg

  • Luke: "You know what I love about you?" It was dinnertime and you and Luke were eating in silence after a day spent arguing. They were petty arguments about not much at all, but still fights that really got under your skin. "What, Luke?" you asked bitingly, sure that he was being sarcastic, talking about love when only an hour earlier he let burst that sometimes, he really hated you. "You're an egg-cellent cook," he answered, his narrow eyes boring into you. You stuttered for a moment, unsure if you were hearing him wrong, or if he really did pronounce that word that way. "Um, thanks," you mumbled, looking back down at your plate, away from his eyes--were they mocking you? "Of course. And you know what else?" He leaned back in his chair. "You're body. You have the perfect, roundest, figure--" "Luke, stop," you interrupted, uncomfortable with the way he was looking at you, as if he could see right inside you and hated what he saw. "No, really, I'm being honest, Yolkina. You're name, too, I love your name, what is it, Eggslandic?" You stood up from your chair at that moment with such force and speed that Luke's eyes snapped open in a brief moment of fear, but that quickly passed. The look that replaced the fear was one of such disgust, such loathing, that you couldn't manage to let out a single word. "You're nothing but an egg, Yolkina, I've known it all along." He stood up as well and walked away, and you couldn't even wait for him to leave the room before you collapsed into your chair, tears falling down your smooth face. He knew, he said. He knew your deepest, darkest secret all along.
  • Michael: "Happy Easter, baby," Michael muttered against your back as you awoke to a sunny morning. "Oh, shit," you replied, stretching and sitting up, not ready to face your least favorite day of the year. Michael rolled onto his back, his arms crossed under his head. "I really don't understand why you hate Easter," he said, chuckling. You didn't say anything for a moment, just sat in bed remembering all of the Easters of your childhood. There was the one of 99 that took your father, drowned in a glass of toxic pink water, or the one only two years later that claimed the life of your sister, hidden, abandoned, and forgotten in the thick brush of a hedge. You felt sick to your stomach, and knowing that you couldn't tell Michael the truth made you feel even worse. Suddenly, the pain of those far off memories struck you hard, and your body became wracked with sobs. "Woah, woah, what's wrong?" Michael asked, the sight of your tears shocking him out of his early morning sleepiness. He wrapped his arms around you and you cried into his chest for what felt like hours. Finally, eyes dry and heart rate slowed back to normal, you felt exhausted. You had to tell him the truth, you couldn't continue on with this depressing secret alone. "Michael, I'm an egg," you said, gazing up into his eyes. He stared back down at you, silent and unreadable. You couldn't take his quiet and your body tensed up, still in his arms, and you began backing away. "No, no," he said, holding you even tighter. "I understand, really, it all makes so much sense now. Your fear of Easter, your fear of hot tubs, I get it. But don't worry," he said, his eyes gentle as he held onto you. "I'll keep you safe."
  • Calum: Now that the band was picking up fame, gaining fans, followers, and features in tabloids, Calum seemed a little different. He was obsessed with his image, always embarrassed when you wore your comfortable yet shapeless mumus or when you refused to go tanning even though you were white as a ghost. Everything that made you you, all of the features of being an egg, good and bad, seemed to disappoint him, and even more, you could tell that he was frustrated because he had no idea that you were fragile and pale and hairless because you were an egg, and not just because you were stubborn. One night you came into the bedroom only to find him sitting up, outraged, nose in a magazine. "What's wrong, Calum?" you asked, unused to seeing him so affected by an article. He shoved the magazine away, looking panicked. "Oh, uh, no, nothing," he mumbled. "Cal-" you began, but you couldn't even let out his entire name before he cut you off. "That magazine said you're an egg," he blurted out. Now it was your turn to look shocked, but just like Calum, you couldn't hide the truth. "I am, Cal," you said softly. "No, no, Eggslizabeth, you can't be!" He backed away from you, getting out of bed. "Please don't go Calum, I'm sorry but it's the truth, it's who i am!" You were on the verge of tears as you watched your boyfriend back out of the room, a look of disgust on his face. "I-I can't, I have to go," he said, and that was that, Calum left you all alone.
  • Ashton: The morning was bright, the sun radiated down upon the gathered as a cruel reminder that even though one life was lost, the world keeps turning. For Ashton, it was a needless reminder that he had to wake up each and every day after this, alone and ashamed, and function as everyone else must. He kept his eyes lowered to the grass as the pastor rambled on and on about how kind and beautiful a spirit you were, how you were everyones friend, an amazing student, daughter, and wife. It was only when the pastor asked for friends and family to speak that Ashton finally looked up. He stood and made his way to the podium. "Hello," he began, voice stronger than he thought possible. "I'm Ashton, Yolklanda's husband. I, um--she was everything. Everything to me, my whole entire world. Landi meant more to me than I could ever explain. And she died years before her time. It was my--it was my fault, that she died," he said, and the audience let out a low sigh. A cry rang out from the front row, Yolklanda's mother. "She told me she didn't want to leave Alaska, she told me that she hated the idea of living in the heat of Australia, but I insisted. And Yolklanda, being the perfect wife she was, followed me all the way there. I was so, so stupid. How could a man not know that his wife was an egg? I ask myself every single day, why did I let her die, why was I so slow in installing an air conditioner? Yolklanda rotted to death, and it was all because of me." At that, Ashton began to cry as well, slumped over the podium. The sun shined on.

That pigeon post changed my life bc that literally described my life

  • me whenever i see a pigeon: nice