“Raena Worley was a better performer on floor in level 10, than she is now in NCAA.. her routine from the Nastia Liukin Cup is way more expressive than her routine now”
I do. I freakin’ do.
Is it just me that was okay in a second then overthinking and breathing in and out like a freaking dog ‘cause I can’t open a jar of jam
i’m curious, does anyone else use writing as a way to vent and deal with feelings and stuff?
cos i do, and i’m wondering if other people do or is it just me? sometimes when i get home from school i’m just pissed off for some reason so i sit down and write something, anything, and put everything that i’m feeling into some shitty and mad poem, or a small scene, or most often a future scene for my wip (which is honestly how most of the angst scenes i write come into being). idk i just feel like channeling my feelings directly into my work helps me to get rid of it, and also makes the writing feel more real to me. i find it an easier way to deal with stuff then having to talk to people, because most times i don’t even know why i’m feeling that way but i just need to get it out. it gives me another perspective on those feelings, and helps me work through it. so. there you go.
(not-so-fun fact: this is also why most of my one-shots are depressingly sad or angsty/mad 🙃)
“tatiana nabieva’s wedgie pick is the best corner choreography i’ve ever seen”
How do I live on without being
or a problem
I don’t want to be fixed
But i want help
I need it
I need something for the pain to
Remember when you used to say you hated me but still deep throated me and let me bust on your belly after we fucked when I was in town? funny how you in love with me now.. baby I’m magic.
“Hora de Cerrar” (Time to Close). Raul Martinetto
“i need therapy for my laurent obsession”
By NIGHT I found no stars;
By day I saw no sun-
Nor Helios nor Mars
The secret lamp I trimmed,
The incandescent torch
Whose facets, never dimmed,
Can never scorch.
Whole galaxies went blind.
I, in my stiff-necked pride,
Fed there the Moloch Mind,
Jessica Nelson North 1891-1988
Graphic - Agnieszka Nienartowicz (B.1991)
Summary: It is no secret that France absolutely loves roses. Although many have chalked up the reason for this love was because the rose was a symbol of love and romance, nobody knows the true reason. After what seems to be another failed attempt at wooing England, said nation finds out the true reason behind France’s love for the flower.
Today was going to be the day France convinced England to go on a date with him. For the past century or so, the French nation had been showing up to meetings and his crush’s door with a bouquet of red roses and proclaimed his love for him. Every time, England shut him down or ignored him, but today was going to be different because today, he was going to prove his love for the Englishman.
As per usual he had a bouquet of bright red roses tied together by a lovely white ribbon. As he waited outside the meeting hall, he inspected the roses, ensuring each one was lively and bright, just like his Angleterre.
“What the hell are you still doing here frog?” a familiar voice asked. France looked up to meet two bright green eyes, shining like emeralds under the light of the street lamps.
“Good evening Angleterre,” he cooed. England simply rolled his eyes, eventually bringing his attention to the flowers
“I told you before, no!”
“I didn’t even say anything.”
England shook his head and began heading back home, just wanting to go to bed and not think about France for one damn minute. But that man would stop at nothing and England knew it, so it was no surprise that France followed him.
“Do you know why I love roses so much?” France asked.
England froze in his tracks, his heartbeat picking up at the words.
France only continued, dropping his gaze to the bouquet of roses in his hand, “it’s funny that the country of France doesn’t love irises instead. I never could bring myself to love them more than red roses. They are truly beautiful as well as fierce. They may have spikes and if you’re not careful, they’ll hurt you, but they are still so wonderful. Much like the nation that holds them as his national flower.” Ever so slowly, England turned around to face the Frenchman, earning a smile from him. “The reason I love roses so much is that they remind me of you mon amour.” A light blush began to spread across his cheeks as he went on, “I know it’s cheesy, but it’s true. I love you so much Angleterre. I know we fight all the time and we have done terrible things to each other, but that doesn’t change the way I feel about you."
England felt his own cheeks go warm at France’s words. His mind screamed at him to ignore these antics and just walk away as always. After all, France was France. He flirted with everyone, smelled like cheese, and was a thorn in the Englishman’s side for as long as he could remember. At the same time, France was always there for him and had this weird way of comforting him in his own annoying way for as long as he could remember. "One date,” France stated, now inches away from England, “then we’ll see where we stand.” England’s face went redder as he noticed how close France was.He thought it over, trying not to look at France’s stupid face with his shining blue eyes and sweet smile. “Fine,” England finally responded, snatching the bouquet from France and turning to head back home. France was left behind in awe. He had actually done it! He held in a squeal as he began planning the perfect date for his Angleterre. “I’ll text you the details,” he called, before turning in the opposite direction to return to his hotel.
Cas: You changed me, Dean. I love you.
I’m genuinely terrified of people that wear ahegao hoodies in public. They clearly fear no man or god and I’m scared to find out what they’re capable of with not an ounce of shame like that.
[Dimitri is very sexy, actually. I like it when people draw him as such]