things that fuck me up on pretty much a daily basis: the little shuffle-y toe taps he does when he’s sitting on stage, the way his hands engulf whatever’s lucky enough to be in them, how intently he focuses on people like they’re confiding the secret to the perfect scone- yes marge, tell me more about this buttermilk you’re so fond of-, that one pic of him looking like he just finished bringing the cows in from pasture, his annoyingly adorable way of touching his lips when he talks, golf pants dick, and the fact that he still feels the need to grasp onto that last modicum of modesty by keeping two buttons fastened on tops that cost more than my cat’s small intestine operation
… You’d open the photo album on your phone and have 127 new pictures waiting to be weeded through. Every damn one a selfie of the blonde one.
… The golf channel would always be on. Even in the dead of night.
… You’d wake up at 3:30 in morning to the sound of the guitar and when you’d stumble down to the living room to give him a piece of your mind he’d grin, sit you down on the sofa and play you the new riff he’d thought up when he got up to go to the bathroom.
… He’d try all kinds of new recipes on you. And if you didn’t like whatever that night’s concoction was he’d just shrug and scrape the contents of your plate onto his own.
… While you were in the shower he’d come in without knocking to shave or brush his teeth, all the while making conversation. He’d be completely oblivious to the fact that you’d finished washing up 5 minutes ago and were waiting for him to leave so you could get dressed.
… You’d be able to take all his bro tanks to sleep in. He wouldn’t even mind just as long as he got them back at some point.
… After being gone for weeks he’d come back and sleep. Constantly. He’d be in the same position on the couch when you got home from classes as when you left. You’d climb on top of him and he’d wake up long enough to give you a kiss and pull the blanket over both of you, then he’d conk out again.
… He’d bust a gut if you tripped or dropped a plate. Of course he’d help you up, but his first instinct would be laughter. You wouldn’t hold it against him.
… You’d get him into Game of Thrones and he’d call you with gleeful updates while on the road.
… His protective streak wouldn’t run deep, but if you got buffeted by the paps while the two of you were out he’d sling an arm around you and fire insults over his shoulder until they were out of hearing range.
… When you were alone he’d let you call him stupid nicknames like Hazlan and Old Man Curly and Mr. Mouflon. But if you let one slip in public he’d call you ‘Loose Lips’ from that point on, and you’d never live it down.
… At events he’d make faces and whisper dirty jokes to catch you off guard and make you squirm. And then, after he’d tortured you enough, he’d do something unbelievably inappropriate
to remind you that these things aren’t such a big deal and to have fun.
… You’d never run out of hair ties.
… If you fell asleep on the couch waiting up for him, he’d squeeze in next to you when he got home, draping you over his body and playing with your hair until he dozed off.
… He’d chase you around with the spray bottle meant for the cat. You’d chase after him with a sewing kit and buttons.
… Whenever your legs were freshly shaved he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off you. (He is most definitely, 100%, without a doubt a leg guy.)
… Your first time meeting the other boys he’d let them have free reign for a while- Louis relentlessly teasing, seeing how far he could push you, Liam throwing inane questions at you, Niall losing his shit at the slightest hint of a joke- but eventually he’d step in to ensure your head wouldn’t explode from the effort of not panic-yelling.
… You’d get to sing cheesy duets with him, the worse the better. (On the setlist: Light My Candle- Rent, You Are Woman, I Am Man- Funny Girl, Breaking Free- High School Musical.) Harry, of course, would completely throw himself into the song every time, and on the rare occasions you’d do the same he’d get über excited and just
… If you were sitting at the table reading or studying he’d come up with excuses to walk by, making it a point to tug your ponytail, or blow lightly on the back of your neck to get you shivering.
… Every once in a while you’d be able to cajole him into singing Marvin Gaye’s Let’s Get it On. His efforts would be highly rewarded.
okey dokey, so a couple of days ago i promised myself to post on no shame day.
i’m not sure what i wanted to write tho.
so, as you all probably know i’m klaudia & i’m 15.
what most of you might not know is that i’m a wheelchair user. i never post pictures of my whole body (i’m pretty sure that my 30stm m&g picture is the only one like this that i’ve ever posted).
in real life, people constantly make assumptions of me because of my disability before even talking to me. when people talk to me, they treat me differently, like i’m uninteresting, someone easily hurt (emotionally and physically, both are untrue), childlike. and this, lemme tell ya, is the last thing disabled people want.
that’s why i refuse to post pictures of my full self on the internet - so people can get to know me before they learn about my disability.
i’m still learning how to accept, be proud of and embrace myself, but at least i’m on my way! :)
the first picture is me with jared leto & tomo milicevic of 30 seconds to mars (too bad shannon wasn’t here), my favorite band, on june 22nd 2014 (i swear my make up and hair games are better now!)
the second picture is me dual skiing circa february 2015, this year winter break. i’d advice you to look dual ski up, some people are really badass with this!