how does your hair even work

4 times barry asked julian for help and the one time he didn’t

Or, Barry has a stupid crush on Julian and doesn’t know how to say it.


i don’t even have an excuse for this


i.

Barry Allen walks in the lab with a face Julian knows too well. His hands are on his head, his hair looks messy as if he touched it too many times and he sighs before closing the door behind him. He’s stressed.

“I need your help,” Barry starts.

He knew it. Julian doesn’t stop working, reading the files because unlike Barry he does his job at investigating what happens with the metahumans, but nods to let Barry know he’s paying attention. Barry sighs.

“Are you even listening to me?”

“I just nodded, Mr. Allen. Wasn’t that enough?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever — listen, would you say a road trip is the best way to bond with family? Like… is it better to do that or go bowling?”

That makes Julian look up to Barry, who looks a hundred percent sincere. Julian’s eyebrows shoot up, and as he carefully closes his folder, he says, “Those are two very different options.”

“Yeah, well, I tried dinner and it didn’t really work out,” Barry says, and he looks very tired. Maybe this family business is tiring him out. Not that he cares.

“I don’t think bowling is a good idea. They could kill each other with the bowling ball.”

“Are you serious?” Barry asks with disbelief, but for a second, it looks like the idea hits him and he nods. “So, a road trip?”

“Depends on where you’re going.”

Barry groans. “But is it a good idea?”

“I don’t know, Allen — do you think this is a good idea?”

“Not sure. That’s why I’m asking you, but it seems that I shouldn’t have.”

Julian sighs.

“Just take them to a calm place so you can all chat. Make sure the road trip it’s not too long or it gets awkward.”

Barry’s smile lights up his entire face. He looks ready to shake his hand, but instead he rubs them together and giggles a bit. He’s a child. “Thank you!”

Julian shrugs, opening his folder again.

Barry is still standing there.

“What are you waiting for? Do you need anything else?” asks Julian, quirking his eyebrow.

“Uh, no, yeah — I’m going.”

He closes the door on his way out and Julian gets back to work. That was weird.

ii.

“Hey, Julian—”

It’s not like he’s in a bad mood. He’s not. He’s just in a bad mood for Barry Allen. The sun is shining and it’s awfully hot, his clothes are not really for being outside—they’re always a bit too warm to wear outside. He had just wanted to come out, take his samples and go away back to the lab to resolve the case.

Of course, Barry Allen has to say something.

“What is it?” he asks. Barry frowns.

“Don’t need to act like that, Jesus.”

“Get to the point, Allen.”

“I was just wondering—”

Here we go again.

“—would you keep a secret from someone if it’s for their good?”

Okay, that was unexpected.

Julian turns around to look at Barry, frowning. Was he serious?

“Why are you questioning my morals?”

Barry shrugs, “It’s — it’s just a question, really. Nothing else.”

He’s up to do something, but the thing is, Julian can’t figure out if it’s good or bad. Bloody Barry Allen, so hard to read.

“If it’s to protect them, then yes, I would.” Julian stops for a second, eyeing Barry up and down. He seems uncomfortable.

“W-what are you looking at?”

“Just wondering why the sudden deep question. Didn’t think you had a deep side.”

“I hate you.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Julian is not looking at him anymore, but he can almost see Barry rolling his eyes. He’s so predictable, it’s funny.

A few seconds pass while Barry is quiet, observing the samples they got until he speaks up again. “I know this might sound weird…”

“What is it now, Allen?”

Now he sees Barry rolling his eyes.

“Just wanted to thank you for your help with the family thing the other day.”

“Oh.” Did Barry Allen just thank him? He pretends to not be shocked, but it’s weird to hear him say thank you with such a sincere tone. “You’re welcome.”

That got awkward too quick. Julian gathers his stuff and leaves, Barry following him behind.

iii.

“Spit it out,” Julian says the moment Barry walks in rubbing his hands together. He has a pattern so easy to follow, Julian knows he’s about to ask something.

Barry looks surprised, but quickly composes himself. “We were assigned for a case and we need to go to the museum. Undercover mission or something. We’re looking for metahuman activity there.”

Julian waits for the part where he asks something incredibly weird.

“Do you want to be my partner?” Barry asks. Julian doesn’t have a moment to react,  because Barry follows it with, “I know that sounded weird but listen, it’ll be easier if we just go together and come back so we can study—or you can—study any sample if we get metahuman activity—”

“Are you done?”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s get going then.”

iv.

Detective West joins them, alongside Cisco and Caitlin. They’re all dispersed across the building; Julian is stuck with Barry while Joe is making small chat with a tour guide.

“So why the museum?”

“Metahumans are greedy,” Barry replies, “they’re always trying to steal something. Cisco and Caitlin said there might be something going on here so we’re on a watch for them.”

Julian is about to speak again, he’s about to ask if they know who they’re looking for when Barry suddenly lunges forward, grabs him by his arm and links it with his own.

A young woman passes in front of them with a smile. “Is there anything you’re interested in seeing?”

Just when Julian is about to force himself out of Barry’s grip, Barry tightens it, so Julian gives up trying to escape it. He sees as Barry puts up a big smile, so Julian puts up his best fake smile.

Barry is really warm.

“No, my boyfriend and I — we’re just browsing around. He’s from London and this is his first time visiting the museum so I’m showing him my favorite expositions.”

The woman nods. “Have a lovely night, then. Welcome to Central City, sir.”

“Thank you,” Julian says, a bit confused.

The moment she leaves, Barry turns around and says, “Don’t be mad. I promise I was about to ask you if you were willing to put up an act with me but I forgot.”

Julian sighs, too defeated to even fight. “Why the boyfriend act?”

“We can’t tell them we’re from the CCPD. It might cause us some trouble. Are you mad? Not that I care, but it’s easier to work with you when you’re not grumpy.”

“I’m not. Also, I’m from Epsom, not London.”

“Got it.”

Barry finally releases the grip he has on his arm, and Julian wonders if he’s actually missing his warmth.

v.

Barry looks like he wants to ask him something. Julian has been ready for whatever stupid question Barry has because apparently he asking Julian things has become a thing now, but at the last second he backs off.

He’s gathering his stuff at the lab when Barry comes in, even though he had left an hour ago. Julian doesn’t even have a chance to ask him what he’s doing there when Barry blurts out, “Do you want to get a coffee with me?”

What.

What.

“What?” Julian finally asks out loud, dumbfounded.

“Do you want to get a coffee with me? At Jitters? I pay,” Barry looks at him with a tentative smile, which is new, because they don’t smile at each other too often.

“…Are you serious?”

“I am. You can say no—”

“Yes.”

“—wait, really?”

“Why not?” Julian shrugs, “You’re paying. I don’t have much to lose.”

The way Barry lights up is, dare he say it, cute. “That’s — that’s great! Uh, we’re going now?”

“Sure.”

“Are you actually serious about this?”

“I am, Barry.”

Barry looks shocked that he actually called him by his name and not his last name.

“Okay, okay, cool — let’s get going then.”

There’s still a lot that Julian doesn’t know about Barry. There are still things he doesn’t trust about him.

But coffee with a cute guy didn’t sound that bad.

Major fucking PSA

Kin genders are bullshit. It’s like people using “gloomgender”, “stargender”, and yes, even musicgender. Hobbies =/= gender. Interests =/= gender. It’s like me saying that I’m nonbinary, and because my hair is red, that makes me “redgender”. That isn’t how this works.
Just because you like cats or your kin type is a cat, doesn’t make you catgender/felisgender
Sure, your kin type may be something that wouldn’t have a gender, say a plant, or something like that, and you may not feel either male or female. But that does not make you plantgender.

This is something I shouldn’t even have to say.
And don’t tell me I’m invalidating nonbinary people. I’m agender myself and I understand what it feels like for people to invalidate my identity and any dysphoria I have because “you cant have dysphoria if you’re nb” (yes, someone has told me this).
However I feel like the nonbinary community has gone a bit too far as well (but that deserves it’s own post altogether)

I’m not invalidating things that exist. I’m bringing the truth about things that don’t exist. Kinda like the Loch Ness Monster except transtrenders aren’t elusive creatures, they’re kids who seem to think that me and other adult people will take them seriously because they say they’re trans but seem perfectly comfortable with what they are assigned at birth.

Dear Stranger Things fandom:

Someone needs to write me 20k words of Steve awkwardly trying to be generally less of a giant douchebag while friend-wooing Jonathan (for Nancy) and Jonathan awkwardly trying to accept this wooing because he did kind of save their lives and he and Nancy are friends now, and it’s okay to have more than one friend, even though, wow, he’s never even really had one before? And it should be weird because he totally has the hots for Steve’s girlfriend, and Steve knows it, and Nancy knows it, and Jonathan knows that they both know it, but it’s somehow not … weird? It works? Even though Jonathan goes home and jerks off more than he usually does (which is a lot, because he is 17) and maybe he’s not always thinking about Nancy when he does, but maybe this is just how it is when your friend has really nice hair and strong hands… And eventually they both realize that maybe there’s no “friend” qualifier in the wooing and Nancy screams internally “FINALLY!”

And then threesome.

WRONG ADDRESSEE [PART 7]

WARNINGS: smut scene ahead

12 and a half months without him, 387 days spent trying to build yourself up from the ashes, 9.288 hours fighting to move on, to forget, to push him out of your head and heart. All in vain.

The moment he smiles at you all your work crumbles down and you realize how deep your feelings run, how hopelessly in love you are with him; how impossible it is for you to truly forget him. He’s the essence of your life, he’s the blood that pumps inside your veins, he’s the beat to your heart, he’s the perfect half of your soul and it does not matter how much you want to deny it or to run away from it: you can’t change it.

You can’t even look away from him: his perfectly styled hair, his evidently thrilled eyes, his smiling lips, the slightly nervousness palpable in his posture as he tries to keep the conversation going, fighting against your deep silence. You, on the other end, are at a loss for words. What could you possibly say when you were so sure you had left him behind you and yet all it took him was a tiny little second inside your life to turn it all around, to bring you back to square one and erase all of your beliefs, all of your hard work?

You want to run, to hide in the furthest corner of the earth and just remain there until there’s not a single trace of him inside of you anymore. You don’t want him to have this power over you, over your all life. Because tonight, in this very moment, if he’d ask you to stay, you would. Oh God, you would.

You haven’t really said anything, leaving him unsure on what to do, yet he still keeps trying, he talks about the past year with the boys, the places he has been, the things he did, and he’s so passionate about all of this you can’t help the smile that eventually finds a place on your lips.

You had said ‘one drink’ and that’s it. But after that one there was another, and another, and another. Soon enough everything else disappear and you find back the chemistry you always had with him. Talking becomes easy again; in a matter of minutes you’re laughing together, reminiscing together all the up and downs of your friendship, all the crazy and stupid moments you lived together. You don’t know how much you drank, you started to lose count when your mind started to feel dizzy and your thoughts foggy and nonsensical. But you don’t care. Not if he’s there: the sun in your universe, shining so bright it’s impossible not to notice him when he blinds everything else, whitening all there is to see that it’s not him.

You’re drawn to him just like a magnet and when you once tried to pull back now you couldn’t even put up a fight anymore: you were falling, fast, gravitating inside his orbit with no intention of pulling away. You’re lost and the alcohol running in your blood doesn’t help your cause in the slightest.

You don’t recall leaving the bar, you don’t recall your walk back to your place, you don’t even recall him joking about you two getting drunk like two inexperienced teenagers would have. All you remember is the moment the door closes behind you and you find yourself attacking his lips, the passion burning inside your stomach, the need to feel your body pressed against his so intoxicating you lose all your inhibitions, all rational thoughts.

The way he touches you, pulls you closer, moaning inside the heated kiss as his tongue encircles yours has you begging for more, all that he can possibly give to you: you want it.

The dress falls off from your figure and he stops touching you, kissing you, just to look at your body, his expression one of complete awe, almost as if this was the very first time he got to see you like this: half naked, waiting for him to claim you as his one and only.

When his lips attack your neck, the passion radiating from his body so intense it makes your head spin, you find yourself granting him more access, sighing as you close your eyes, surrendering all of you to him.

Your hands get lost inside his hair, pulling closer, closer, until you can’t tell the boundaries of your bodies anymore. You wish you could stay like this forever: attached to him, not sure of where you end and he begins, not even caring about being two different bodies, two different entities. You just want all of him, for you, egoistically so, but you don’t care, not when he seems to share your same feelings, not when he presses himself against you so hard you can feel him breathe against your chest, his arousal brushing against yours, his lips firmly attached to your own into a breathtaking kiss.

His tongue ran on your neck, your breasts, your belly, the fabric of your underwear, sending shivers up and down your spine, eliciting moans from your mouth with every little attention he gives you.

You don’t remember the moment you fell on the sheets, you don’t remember the moment he got undressed as well, you can’t pinpoint anything except the pleasure and the love that vibrates in every fiber of your being calling for his name over and over again.

You don’t know if it’s the alcohol talking but it feels like your skin is going to catch on fire, like your bones are going to melt under his touch, like your very core is going to implode if he keeps loving you like this, kissing you like this, owning you like this.

The moment he enters inside of you, successfully erasing any distance that was left between your bodies, you completely lose yourself. You forget your name, your past with him, all the pain and the hurt: everything erased by the perfect moment of him, claiming you as his once more.

You can feel the love in his eyes and in the way his lips seek for yours. Hell, you can feel it in the way he pushes inside of you, never failing to hit that special place he knows will get you up on cloud nine. He knows you, everything about you, including your body. It doesn’t take him long for you to start begging, moan and scream for him to give you more. More. More. And then, you come undone under his touch.

Originally posted by couplenotes

complete series:  [part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7]  [part 8] [part 9] [part 10] [part 11]     


This is probably full of typos and such because it is not edited, at all. As always I wait for the last moment of the entire day to write things down and then I don’t have the practical time to actually read it all and make sure things make sense and all, LMAO. I’m just going with the flow, hoping the autocorrector played its part in this XD
Good Night/ Good Day, lovelies ♥

Monday mugshot. Navyy is of at work, her mom just took the kiddos for the day and I’m here waiting on a phone interview in just a few minutes. Got a long list of things I want to get working on today, so coffee. Supposed to be super hot/humid/gross today. Not looking forward to the walk to and from my hair appointment at noon, but with any luck it will make me look/feel so good I won’t even think about the heat. How does your Monday look?

“Wanker” Minho imagine

((I promised a Minho imagine to someone yesterday so here y’all go, I hope it’s not too crappy))

Warnings: I’m gonna go with none bc i wouldn't really call it nsfw

A/N: For those who don’t know wanker is a British slang word meaning ‘a downer//a loser’ but is considered as more offensive. In fact it’s not too much of a big deal when you call someone like that unless they’re too stuck up on their ego//self-respect. I mean it depends on person how much of an offensive word they’d find it.
“to wank” means to masturbate so basically a wanker is someone who wanks.

“Okay now one more time, you are here because??” you ask, canonically gliding your knife up and down the potato to clean it.

“Because I enjoy watching potatoes being cleaned isn’t that obvious?” Minho tries to joke, running a hand through his hair habitually.

Sometimes you’d catch yourself thinking about his hair. Like isn’t it weird that even though you all pretty much spend your days in dirt and mud, working your asses off, it still looks like he’s secretly taking hairdressing lessons. Plus to everything he has to run and sweat throughout the whole time basically. How the shuck does he manage to keep his hair looking so freaking…

“Hello? Earth to y/n?” you suddenly realize he’s waving his both hands right in front of your eyes to bring you back to reality.

“What?”

“We were kind of discussing potatoes until you started staring at me. Again” he chuckles in satisfaction and you roll your eyes.

“I know Alby asked you to look after me and that, my friend, is shucking ridiculous” you raise your hand to point at him and continue. “What happened yesterday was an accident. I’m not mad at Gally, I know he didn’t mean to kiss me and I definitely know he didn’t mean to force it so I’m totally okay with everything”

“You’re okay with that?? Well you wouldn’t be, if I didn’t give him a nice fist sandwich right under his chin on time” he notes with sly overtones of severity in his voice.

You sigh out at how truthful his words were and mumble “I know” not even meaning to pronounce it out loud.

You were actually thanking heavens that Minho always somehow ends up being in the right place on the right time.

Gally has been trying to hit on you since the day one, although you’re really off with him sometimes. He probably just got tired of being rejected and decided to rely on good old physical strength.

He grabbed you by the neck and pinned you against the tree. You still remember his profoundly gross touch on your neck and tears gliding down your cheeks as suddenly someone hits Gally and sets you free.

You run away and never say thank you to Minho.

“Anyway. I don’t need your protection so you’re free to do whatever, birdie” you say snapping out of memories.

“Great, does ‘whatever’ involve cleaning some potatoes cause I’m not allowed out of this shucking kitchen until you walk out with me”.

“Are you my personal bodyguard now?” you arch and eyebrow at him.

“I prefer the term publicly attending friend… who needs to stay next to you for a few days wherever you go so the others would know they can’t mess with you anymore” a goofy smile creeps on his face as he scratches back again, wrinkling his nose. “So how do I help?”

“Stop talking. That would be great for the beginning”

“Stahp tOlking that would be grEet” he says in a silly voice imitating your accent.

“I don’t talk like that” you say, feeling a wave of slight anger running through your spine.

You hate it when Gladers mock you because of the weird way you pronounce words. You don’t know where did that accent come from but it’s different from the way everyone else talks over here.

“I dOn’t tOlk like thaaat” he does the thing again.

You don’t even realize how you slam the knife and the potato against the table pretty hard and lean on the wooden surface with your hands.

“I. Don’t. Talk. Like. That” you hiss, emphasizing each word separately.

“Oh wow relax little girl” he laughs watching you gradually getting more and more pissed. The bastard enjoys playing with your nerves, he always has.

“Minho I swear if you one more time call me…” you suddenly stop your speech taking your hands off of the table. “You know what?” you speak up again, this time with a completely calm and chill intonation “I’m not gonna let you manipulate me again. Nope. You’re just a big baby and I’m not playing your games”.

You smile in satisfaction at your own words and go back to pick up the potatoes again.

“Sure you little thing, you’re too cool for me” he laughs harder, leaning his head back. “I’ll deal with that somehow, don’t worry”

That’s it. Who the hell does he think he is?!

“You little wanker” you mutter, putting your hands on your both sides in sign of annoyance and furrow your eyebrows. 

“What did you say?” he suddenly asks interrupting his intense laughter with his face getting stonily serious.

“I said that you’re a little tiny wee wanker and I hate you” you say smirking in victory. Looks like you’ve found the strings to pull.

You see him stand up and approach you in a really aggressive kind of way. You take a few steps back unwillingly, realizing that you probably crossed the line.

His hand violently grabs your wrist and slams it against the wall of the kitchen, making you lean on the wood with the whole of your body so you’d avoid feeling pain.

His face is now a few inches away from yours, you can literally feel his breath on the tip of your nose.

“Say that again.” He demands with a stern voice and now you know for sure you shucked up really bad. You shouldn’t have called him a wanker.

You’ve never seen him like this, not with you. He could have been a bit harsh with other boys, but he’s always been gentle with you. Despite the fact that he never misses the chance to amuse himself by teasing or mocking you. 

You gulp and the sound comes out louder than you expected but you just can’t bring yourself to saying anything.

“Not that brave now, are ya?” he smirks grabbing your other hand and pinning it against the wall as well so now he had you fully trapped in his grapple, blocking your way forward with his own body almost fully leaned on yours.

Shivers run along your spine as you catch yourself on the thought that you’re slightly frightened. You know he wouldn’t hurt you but this pose he held you trapped in is too dangerous.

“I… I’m sorry” you say turning your head to the left and stupidly resting your eyes on the sink so you wouldn’t have to look at him when his face is this close. And besides you feel really uncomfortable with his breath hitting your face repeatedly.

But, of course, you screw up again. Now that you’re looking to the left, his breath is felt on the sensitive skin of your neck. Your legs start to tremble as you need friction badly to get rid of the ticklish feeling you get inside of your thighs from his touch but he keeps pressuring. 

“Say it, y/n. I’m not gonna let you go until you say it to my face” he places both your wrists above your head to hold them with one hand and uses the other one to make you look at him.

“I said that you’re a big baby, now let me go” you close your eyes as you feel him thrust you against the wall in rage. Each single part of the front of his body is now squeezed against yours and you feel your flustered organism now persistently demanding for any kind of satisfaction. You blush as you realize you’re aroused as hell.

“That’s not what you said, is it?” his voice sounds cracked and there’s zero hints on jokes in his intonation. By the sound of things he is being dead serious with the whole situation.

“I didn’t mean what I said, Minho, now let me go! You’re supposed to protect me after all and shall i say you’re doing pretty crappy so far!” you yell, getting annoyed of this pose you’re stuck in.

It’s really intimate and kind of intimidating and you hate the fact that you can’t do anything about it cause each of this boy’s guns ((as in arm muscles)) are bigger than your head.

“Oh you didn’t mean it” he says suddenly easing his grapple. “Well that changes everything” he lets go of your hands and smiles. “Have a nice day. I shall just probably leave”.

He turns around on his heels easily walking away with that effortless walk that’s inherent only in him.

“Minho wait!” you say, keeping back the moan of sexual frustration and rubbing your wrists as they felt numb from his touch.

He glances at you, raising one eyebrow.

“I’m sorry okay I literally didn’t mean it. It’s just you can be such a big baby sometimes and that’s really annoying.” 

“Well you, y/n, you can be extremely rude and sometimes too stuck up. Your stubbornness drives people crazy and your accent is shit as well as the assurance that you can say whatever you want to everyone and get away with it.” He crosses his arms on his chest and looks at you waiting for the reaction.

It feels like someone just punched you, you take a few steps back and desperately fight the tear trying to escape your eye cause you know if you let this one teardrop glide down your cheek, you’ll just break down in tears. And you simply can’t have that happen in front of Minho.

“No” his face suddenly changes and he walks towards you.

You quickly step away, not letting him touch you.

“No, no no no, I didn’t, I didn’t mean that” he speaks but you just ask him to leave with one hand movement.

“I meant none of that I swear” his arms reach out for your waist as he pulls you into a hug. “Look at me. Look at me please” his hand, second time within five minutes, reaches out for your chin as he makes you look up to him.

“I’m sorry” he says as soon as your eyes meet.

The deep, sincere regret is too readable in those dark brown eyes.

The ticklish feeling returns and you know your legs are too sloppy to hold your weight right now, but luckily he doesn’t let you out of his embrace. The urge to do something really really stupid takes over you. You abruptly stand on your tiptoes and attach your lips in a soft kiss.

An instant wave of relief flushes all along your body but you hesitate and pull back when he doesn’t kiss you back. You take a deep breath and say “I’m sorry too”.

For a few moments you’re just stuck in this awkward position, hugging each other with your faces in a dangerous distance. You can tell Minho is surprised or maybe even shocked.

“Oh shuck it” he finally says as you feel his hands reach down for your thighs and lift you up, slamming your back against the same darn wall with a cold airflow forming around the sudden movement.

Pure, complete satisfaction fills your veins when you finally feel him kiss you and you can’t help but wrap your hands around his neck to deepen the touch.

You gasp when his tongue forces its way into your mouth as he takes the dominance immediately. You were pretty sure you haven’t actually experienced a French kiss ever in your life before the Glade, there’s no way you’d forget this sensation running through your whole body.

However your kiss is broken apart for air and you try to say something but his tongue now reaches out for the skin of your neck and your breath hitches in ecstasy. He leaves a wet track from your neck up to your ear, stopping at some points to suck on.

His hands squeeze your thighs harder as you moan quietly when you suddenly hear the door squeak-open.

You try to control the moans escaping your mouth cause Minho doesn’t seem to care that someone just came in.

“Get out” he hisses at the visitor as he thrusts you against the wall, making you close your eyes and lean your head back in pleasure whilst he’s working on your neck.

“Ahem.” A theatrical cough was enough to know who’s in the room. You’d know that voice among of thousand other noises.

“Shuck” Minho spits out quickly letting go of you and turning around.

You find half a dozen of red marks on your skin as his head moves away from your neck and you blush at the sight.

“Alby I can explain” the runner says quickly raising his hand up in defense.

“I should have seen this coming when I asked you to look after her” the leader, surprisingly, smirks.

Silence. Minho, of course, has no idea what to say.

“Okay listen kids, do whatever the hell your perverted minds want, just don’t go too far and I hope you know what I mean by saying too far cause we don’t freaking need no newborn little shanks in this shuck place and for god’s sake…” Alby does a pause before finishing his phrase. “Not in the kitchen. Ew” he shakes his head with a sly smile and walks out as you look up to Minho.

“Erm… I kinda love you since forever” he spats out scratching the back of his head and adds “just thought it’s about time I’d say that now”

  • Find more of my writings here 
3

The key to being your true self, is to love an appreciate yourself. Here’s a little thing or two I learned about being alive on this planet. We are all different, whether it’s looks or mindsets. But we all differ. Sure , there’s people we are compatible with on different levels like friends and lovers. But here will always be people who dislike you. There are people who will stop at nothing to make you feel down. And in today’s age, it’s even easier with social media. But this shit needs to STOP. what is it that you don’t see, you are BEAUTIFUL. you are UNIQUE. you have something that I guarantee no one else on this earth has. You are a small, but vital part of the earth and how it works. LOVE you body. Your curves. Your privates. Your hair! Your nose. The weird thing your laugh does. Embrace it. Because I promise, letting yourself believe there’s something wrong with you, or that you are lacking beauty, is not true. At all. There will be people who tell you that you aren’t “pretty”. Society will give you guidelines. But if you look in the mirror and you find all the reasons to love yourself, you will be happy. And that’s what is important in life. So today I felt pretty and today I felt happy. Take a picture of yourself when you’re truly happy so you can see the glow in your eyes. You can look back on that and remember how good it felt.
Just LOVE YOURSELF.

New Dad!Michael

new dad michael would include:

________________________

-him crying when he hears his precious girl cry for the first time

-him being emotional when she grabs his t-shirts

-”how the fuck does a diaper work?”

-:language michael.”

-acoustic sessions with the little one

-finding him sleeping with your daughter in the rocking chair

-”no mikey, she’s a month old. she doesn’t even have enough hair to dye.”

-him dyeing his hair bright pink for his baby girl

-giving you backrubs when your on bedrest after delivery 

-watching her suck on a pick and laughing

-”she’ll be the best god damned guitarist, besides me of course”

-”this shit’s disgusting, no wonder you don’t want to eat it. i wouldn’t either.”

-dressing her up in baby band shirts

-custom ordering a 5sos onesie for her

-posting a pic on twitter of her with the caption: “#1 fan reppin some custom merch ;)”

-blowing raspberries on her belly :)))))

-you taking her to shows and making sure she has headphones to protect her delicate ears

-”i’d like to dedicate this song to two of my favorite girls in the entire world, my wife, and my daughter. i love you both so much”

-”what in the actual fuck are you doing?” he says with an amused tone as he watches her wriggle around

-”laNGUAGE MICHAEL”

wanksclifford i never do this but maybe give a lil feedback since ur one of the gods of writing michael clifford :)

calum ashton luke

There are two type of people in TG

It’s crazy how Arima works for V and CCG and his hair turns white from all the stress that possible comes with it.

And then you have Furuta over here working for CCG, Aogiri, V, (and possible the clowns) with a head full of black hair, flawless skin, and not a care in the world.

Hi. My name’s Ruby, and I run the blog shinydeino, but you already know that. I’m going to get serious for a minute or so, and I apologize in advance for clogging up your dash.

That freckled kid up there is me. I have something called trichotillomania, but it is usually shortened to trich. Trich is a disorder that causes a person to compulsively pull out their hair. It can be from any part of the body; eyelashes, eyebrows, scalp, underarms, legs, and more.

Trich is very difficult. People like me will often get noticeable bald spots where their hair is supposed to be. This usually attracts attention, and unfortunately, it tends to be negative. It isn’t easy, and even well-meaning comments can hurt.

You can’t “just stop” trich because of how it works. After you pluck, your brain does feel a bit of a release. This release “helps” with both overstimulation and under-stimulation. It becomes a vicious cycle of short term relief, intense guilt, and a need to get rid of the guilt.

From all of my years on tumblr, I don’t think I remember a single post about trich hitting my dashboard. I’ve only seen a news story about it very recently. Trich is just cast aside as an ordinary habit because of how weird it is.

And it’s not like I want to pluck, either. It’s an awful feeling. It hurts sometimes. I get callouses on my fingers a lot. It’s hard to talk about, and it seems only my therapist and my mother understand sometimes.

I have a favor to ask all of you. Please, do something to spread awareness. I know I’m not alone, but sometimes I sure feel alone, and others do too. It doesn’t matter what. I mean, you read this thing. That’s a pretty huge step.

I want to recover, and it will get better soon. But I think I need to be brave and allow myself to be heard.