primadonna girl

i keep setting my kitchen stove on fire and you’re the long suffering firefighter on call au

my dog won’t stop barking at your cat in the waiting room at the vets au

you got stood up on a date at the coffee shop i work in here let me get you a drink on the house au

the walls are really thin and i can hear everything you’re saying could you please shut the fuck up new neighbour au

you jog shirtless past my house every morning au

you live across the hall and hide in my apartment when you want to avoid your one night stands au

we’re the only single people at this wedding table lets get drunk and bitch about everyone au

we’re both desperately trying to buy something for our relatives in the airport shops because we forgot to when we were on holiday maybe we could help each other out au

you’re in the hospital bed next to me and we fight over what to watch on the shared tv au

we’re on the same ‘travel-across-a-continent’ holiday plan why don’t we just stick together for the whole trip au

foreign exchange student au

my mum knows your mum and they’re trying to set us up but all i can remember of you is that time you stuck gum in my hair when we were seven so i automatically don’t like you au

send me ”#” for cell phone headcanons about our muses including:

what your muse’s name is in mine’s phone: primadonna girl [crown emoji here]

what your muse’s picture is in mine’s phone: 

what your muse’s ringtone is in mine’s phone: primadonna (OBVIOUSLY)

  For a day expected to be filled with such agonizing sadness, it was implacably sunny in New York. Three hundred guests mourned the death softly, only the quiet weeping of those closest to the male was audible.

  There were people there who knew him personally, but mostly people who didn’t. This bothered India. What had they done to deserve an invitation to an event so intimate? It certainly didn’t seem beneath these individuals to exploit a funeral. After all, some of the most successful socialites in the entire city had arrived to pay their respects. If you were looking to make contacts in the upper class world, this was the opportunity of a lifetime.

  The exact details of what happened to the man had been drowned out by rumors and speculation. It was almost amusing how quick people were to twist the truth. However, unlike the ludicrous stories being whispered among the crowd, the truth was simple. A heart attack.

  The funeral service went by as a blur. Somehow India managed to reveal not even a hint of emotion throughout the entire ceremony. Instead she ignored all condolences, muted the eulogies and tried desperately to simply accept the circumstances and move on.

  With damp eyes, each griever solemnly tiptoed towards the elegantly crafted coffin. He was dressed in black. His favorite suit. Beside him lay a scrapbook, filled to the brim with happy memories. The redhead wondered how many of those included her.

  As the service finally concluded, the pallbearers carried the coffin into the sunlight. Soon after, everyone else followed, leaving only India in the church. Finally, a single tear rolled down her perfectly painted face. The look in her exhausted eyes was enough to break anyone’s heart.