telling him otherwise

Cuddly!Draco

  • Draco is a massive snugglebug
  • Harry first finds out, when he befriends him after giving back his wand
  • Draco always sits just a hair closer than others
  • He often puts his hand on Harry’s forearm, when he’s speaking
  • To show harry stuff, he always takes his hand, tugging him to where he wants him
  • It gets even more obvious when hey get a flat together, after leaving Hogwarts
  • Movie marathons are accompanied by Draco’s feet in Harry’s lap
  • (not gonna lie, Harry starts massaging his feet about the second time Draco puts his feet in his lap, further encouraging this behaviour)
  • Harry often ends up with Draco’s head on his shoulder after a long day of work at St Mungos
  • They’re also hugging A LOT
  • Hermione and Ron always feel like they’re in a double date, when they go out with them
  • Harry ends up being an Auror, even though he starts hating it pretty fast
  • Draco also hates it because it means Harry comes home injured way too often for his liking
  • One time, a really bad curse hits Harry and he’s not stable for two days
  • Draco takes time off work and stays in the hospital the whole time, clinging to Hermione when she comes to visit
  • Harry wakes up and the first thing he sees is Hermione consoling a crying Draco
  • He clears his throat and Draco immediately turns to him, gripping his hand so hard it hurts
  • Harry tries to console him as good as he can because he can’t stand to see Draco cry
  • When he’s released from the hospital, Draco makes them a fancy dinner and afterwards they cuddle in the couch
  • Draco is the one to bring up their relationship
  • He says something along the lines that he can’t lose Harry and that he realised he had to tell him about his feelings otherwise he’d probably never tell him
  • Harry reacts by kissing Draco senseless and telling him he has an offer for DADA professor
  • As boyfriends, they’re almost never apart
  • If you find them in the same room, they’re definitely touching in some way
  • Hands on the small of the back
  • Holding hands
  • Arm around waist
  • Thighs pressed together
  • Draco also plays with Harry’s fingers, when he’s nervous
  • Harry can’t grade papers in the same room as Draco because he would be sitting on his lap
  • They don’t need a heater in their bedroom because Harry is always warm and Draco plasters himself to his side every night
  • Just Draco being cuddly and soft with Harry

But where is the light coming from? I do not know. Why are the sparkles there? I also want to know.

Man, I haven’t done fanart for WTNV in forever. Glad I went back into it.

ANYWAY, Cecil Heckin’ Palmer as A1, as asked by @lessonsinsilence

audreycritter  asked:

I'm on mobile, and I don't know if this is where you usually take prompts, but I'll request Tim and Bruce. Bonus points if it includes the line, "One of us is going to have to sleep eventually."

This is officially my favourite thing I have ever written. Thank you so much for the prompt :D

They’re at a stalemate, have been for days now. All because Bruce had dared to suggest Tim stop drinking coffee and get some sleep. A reasonable suggestion, Alfred had assured him, since Tim is, after all, only fourteen years old and much too dependant on caffeine to keep him going than anyone should be. Unfortunately, Tim hadn’t seen it that way.

No. Tim had slowly lowered his newly-filled coffee cup from his lips and stared at him until Bruce had shifted uncomfortably. Then he had smiled sweetly and asked mildly, “Are you going to take your own advice?”

And that’s where Bruce went wrong, Alfred was quick to point out six hours later when he came down to invite them up for breakfast. Because he should have just said yes, poured his own coffee down the sink and gone to catch a few hours sleep between his thousand-thread-count sheets. But he didn’t. Because Bruce is a grown adult dammit. And more than that; Bruce is the goddamn Batman. He couldn’t just give in to the sass of a teenager, even if that teenager is a sleep-deprived, more-caffeine-than-blood Robin. 

His second mistake had been saying something of that effect to Tim, who had rolled his eyes and taken another gulp of coffee before stating that he wouldn’t stop drinking coffee, nor would he sleep, until Bruce did so as well.

So here they are.

Three days later.

And Bruce is beginning to regret his entire life.

(“Nothing new there,” the painfully Jason-like voice in his head snorts.

Bruce reminds himself hallucinations are normal after forty-eight to seventy-two hours with no sleep.)

“One of us is going to have to sleep eventually,” Bruce sighs. He runs a hand through his hair, looking sidelong at Tim’s equally mussed locks.

Tim takes a pointed sip of his lukewarm coffee. “I vote you.“ 

From somewhere in the depths of the Cave, Alfred sighs and mutters something about stubborn fools. Followed a moment later by a louder rumination about good role models. Bruce chooses to chalk that one up to auditory hallucinations; Alfred generally prefers to give useful yet sarcastic advice to his face.

"Don’t you have school?” he wonders in Tim’s direction, sure the boy had vanished form the cave for several hours each day but not entirely sure that’s where he’d gone. “Don’t your teachers ever question why you look so exhausted?”

The teen glances up from the case files he’s poring over to give Bruce a flat stare - he wears the expression so often Bruce is beginning to think it’s just his resting face. (You know, if he ever rested.) “Yes. And I tell them it’s because the hours I should be spent sleeping are spent running across Gotham’s rooftops in tights,” he deadpans.

Bruce blinks.

Tim blinks.

Alfred sighs. Bruce knows it’s definitely real this time because he’s suddenly standing behind them with a tray “More coffee, sirs?” he offers drily. “Or have you seen sense yet?”

Tim takes a mug and sniffs it warily, nose crinkling in disgust before he hastily sets it back on the tray. “That isn’t coffee, Alfred, it’s decaf.” He sounds so outraged that Bruce laughs. It may or may not be a touch hysterical.

“I’ll have you know, Master Timothy, that you’ve been drinking decaf for the last two days.”

“Hah!” Bruce points a mocking finger at his young partner. “Alfred wins.”

“I wasn’t aware I was even playing,” Alfred comments over Tim’s indignant, “You’ve been drinking it too!”

That makes Bruce pause, his sleep-deprived mind working over the facts of the Case of the Decaf Coffee. He frowns into his near-empty mug as realisation washes over him. “We both lost,” he tells the unfaithful liquid. It ripples ambiguously.

“I’ll just get a blanket then,” Alfred is saying, “Perhaps a pillow as well…”

And when Bruce looks up, blinking sluggishly, several minutes have passed and Tim is fast asleep, as though the very suggestion that his bloodstream had no caffeine in it was enough to knock him out, head cushioned on his folded arms, an errant sticky note stuck to his ear. Bruce reaches out to poke him just to be sure he isn’t foxing, but his hand doesn’t quite make it, flopping onto the table and brushing Tim’s fingers with his own. Then his eyes slide shut and he too is asleep.

(They find out several hours later - at a more reasonable hour of the morning - that not only did Alfred win, he cheated. The last mugs of coffee were laced with a mild sedative. Bruce can’t even bring himself to be more than a little irritated because at least Tim finally slept.)

Please Forgive Me, Lance

Blue hated this so much. She’d wanted to go back on it ever since the first second she stopped letting Lance in. He looked like he’d cry. That made her want to cry, too.

But that had nothing on right now. It was in the middle of the night, two or three am in Earth time- Lance’s time.

He walked up carefully to her, looking her in the eye for two seconds at most, “Hey, Blue…. Look, I know you don’t want me, but I need to know. Please tell me why you gave me up.”

She’d wanted to. She’d wanted to reach out to her boy, to say, But I do want you. And it’s killing me that I can’t let you come back to me right now. And it’s killing me that it’s hurting you. But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

He continues, “Please, Blue… I want to know why you gave me up. I need to know why I’m not worthy of you. Am I even worthy of Voltron anymore?” His voice cracked, forcing the lion’s heart to follow suit. You are more than worthy. If anything I am unworthy of you. I didn’t want to, Lance, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.

He’d whispered, “Why can’t I ever be good enough? Why am I always just a fill-in? Why can’t I ever be more than just an extra wheel?!” Blue hated this with every fiber of her being. She didn’t want to push him out. But she had to, for Voltron. Fight now, all she wanted to do was tell the world Fuck Voltron.

He’d dropped to his knees now, shoulders shaking. Little splash noises hit the ground. Blue felt her hypothetical stomach drop the second she’d realized what they were. Tears.

But God, how it hurt her when he sobbed, “Why did you even bring me here?! If you were just going to… to ditch me like that, why did you bring me here at all?!”

I’m sorry, Lance, I’m so sorry. I want you to pilot me, but you can’t. Not right now. I love you so much, but I can’t.

He’d sobbed, “I’m not even meant to be on this team! I want to go home, where I’m wanted!”My baby, you are wanted, I’m so, so sorry I can’t tell you and none of us want you to leave. You’re meant to be here, Lance. Please know that.

A whispered voice of, “Lance?” The former Red Paladin had walked over, Lance frantically wiping his eyes. He’d realized it was too late, just letting tears fall.

Lance whispered, “Keith. I just… why doesn’t Blue love me anymore?!” He latched onto the other’s neck, sobbing. I love you so so much Lance, my baby, my raindrop. She felt bad using that nickname. She felt she didn’t deserve it with how she was forced to treat Lance.

Keith had whispered back, “I don’t know, Lance… I’m sorry. I’m sure she has a reason.” Keith had glared up at her. He loved Lance a great deal, she could tell that by his normally fiery and passionate gaze becoming a cold and unforgiving glare.

After Keith had gotten Lance back to his room, probably to sleep, he’d returned. He had the same stony and cold look in his eyes. He was angry that she’d hurt him. Angry at her. She was angry at herself, too.

He told her, “You hurt him. A lot. I don’t understand why you aren’t fixing it. He’s doubting his place on the team because of you.” I know, and I hate it. I can do nothing.

Keith continued, “I don’t know what came over you, but freezing him out like that has made him so insecure. He doesn’t even think he deserves to be called a Paladin. All because you couldn’t spare two fucking sentences to tell him otherwise.” I wanted to. Go, how I wanted to.

She wasn’t angry at him. In all honesty, under all the sadness and guilt plaguing her, she was glad Lance had him.

“I just don’t get it. He was so devoted to you. I mentioned you once outside his door, and he made sure to tell me that you two were very happy together and that you were his lion only. He loved you-still does-and you don’t even care enough to tell him he’s important?!”

“Why don’t you get it, Blue?! I know how it feels to be abandoned like that. It kills you. It makes you feel like you don’t deserve the ground you walk on, the air you breath. It makes you feel so alone, even if you’re in a room packed with people. You’re hurting him so much, Blue. Do you even care enough to fix it?”

She did care. So, so much. She’d be killed for her Paladin without thinking twice. He was her baby. She loved him with everything.

“He thinks you hate him. I know that isn’t totally true. Because if it were, you wouldn’t deserve to be a lion. I try to tell him he’s important and wanted and loved, but he doesn’t listen. He thinks that just cause we’re dating I’m lying to make him feel better. He talks so highly of you.”

I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve him. I’m horrible and awful and I shouldn’t have ever agreed to Black’s plan. I’m going to strangle her. He doesn’t deserve something like me.

He’d finished off with, “You’d think that after all that’s happened, you’d know that mistakes of this scale last a lifetime, and do irreversible damage.” After, he stormed out, leaving her to her thoughts. She was pushing the other lions out at all costs right now.

I hate this so much, and I’ll make it up to you as soon as I can. As soon as Shiro comes back, you’ll come back to me, and I’ll tell you everything.

She felt awful. She hurt her baby. Made him feel like he doesn’t belong. Made him think she hated him.

I’m so incredibly sorry, Lance. I can’t… I can’t let our connections come back, or I won’t be able to take it away again. I just hope Red will comfort you. Please don’t hate me, Lance. Please remember all the times I’ve told you how great you are.

I hate this so much, and I’ll make it up to you as soon as I can. As soon as Shiro comes back, you'lll come back to me, and I’ll tell you everything. Every single word about how great you are. Maybe then you’ll know why I did this. Please don’t hate me.

Please forgive me, Lance.

Je T’aime, Mon Cher Eddie

For @time-for-tozier who came up with this idea, I hope you like it!!

Eddie watched as the clock’s minute hand moved towards the number 12, making a ticking noise as it wet round. He was so fixated that he jumped when the bell rang, the cue for people around him to pack up and leave the room.

He slammed his yellow note book shut and shoved it, and his pencil, into his backpack, before running out of the classroom to meet up with the other losers.

He sprinted down the hallways, bumping into several people and nearly tripping twice, before he reached the door. He swung the door open and walked to the bike rack around the side of the school.

“Hey Eddie,” Ben called to him as he walked over.

“Hey guys,” Eddie took in the positions of his friends. Mike was sat on the ground, fiddling with his bike, it kept breaking. Ben was sat on a bench about a meter away from the bike rack, a book resting open on his lap. Beverly was sitting on her bike seat, hands already gripping the handlebars as if she was in a hurry to go. Bill and Stan were stood next to each other, however, Eddie noticed, much too close to be considered normal. And Richie, well, he was being his usual self. He was hung upside down on one the metal bannister of a nearby stair case, dark hair brushing the ground.

“Eds! You finally arrived!” Richie near shouted bouncing his way back over to the group. “Can we go now?”

The losers collectively rolled their eyes and grabbed their bikes, climbing on and cycling towards the woods.

Their was a field there that they had claimed as their new hangout. It was completely secluded and surrounded by trees. In the spring, the ground was covered in daisies, Richie loved it, and prided himself on making “the best daisy chains in Derry”. In the Summer and Autumn, the grass was green and soft. And in the Winter, the Loser’s decided to just hand out at each other’s houses instead, with the careful avoidance of the Tozier, Marsh and Kaspbrak residences.

They were all laying on the grass. Beverly had her head resting on Ben’s lap as he sat cross legged playing with her hair. Stan and Bill were laying shoulder to shoulder, Mike was spread out like a starfish, and Richie was resting his head on Eddie’s stomach.

They were peaceful.

“Richie, I couldn’t help but to notice that you were in my French class this morning.” Bev spoke up, breaking the silence.

She knew there had to be a reason behind his sudden appearance in the class. She knew that she took it so that one day, when she was old enough, she could move to France and never look back. She knew that Stan’s parents wanted him to focus more on his religion. She knew that Ben was already fluent in the language and didn’t need to take a class. She knew that Bill found it too hard because of his stutter. She knew that Mike and Eddie simply didn’t want to take the subject, seeing no reason for it.

So what was Richie’s reason?

“You take French?” Eddie chuckled, sitting up. “Since when?”

“Well, obviously since this morning dipshit. I already know how to say some stuff. Such as,” Richie cleared his throat. “Ta mère aime ça dans le cul.”

Bev’s head shot up. “Beep Beep Richie.”

“W-what did he say?” Bill asked.

“Do you really want me to tell you?” Bev whined. The rest of the group, bar Richie and Ben, nodded. She sighed. “He said “your mother likes it up the ass.”

Groans of “Richie”, and “really?” We passed around as Richie smirked.

“Hey Rich? Do you know anything that’s not rude?” Eddie asked.

“Umm yeah,” Richie replied. “Eddie, tu as de beaux yeux.” (You have beautiful eyes)

“What does that mean?”

“Ahh, my dear Eddie Spaghetti, that is a secret.”

“Don’t call me that. Bev? Can you tell me what he said?” Eddie asked Beverly, who was staring at Richie with a strange look on her face. She stared for a few more moments before turning to Eddie.

“Sorry Eddie, I don’t know what he said.”

————

The next morning Richie bounced into school with too much energy for 7am on a Tuesday.

“Good morning, mes petits choux.” He smiled, leaning his chin on Eddie’s head.

“Richie, if I may ask, why did you just call us ‘your little cabbages’?” Ben questioned.

“I did it because I felt like it.” Just then the bell rang for class.

“Um, Richie? Can I talk you you for a sec? In private?” Beverly asked. Richie nodded, he loved the girl like family, they both dealt with similar issues in their home lives. “Do you like Eddie? You know, as in like him?”

Richie blushed. “No, where did you get that idea?”

“You’re always hugging him, you never stop staring at him, and yesterday you told him, in French, that he had beautiful eyes.”

“You said you didn’t understand what I said!”

“Well I lied, I guessed that you didn’t really want me to tell him, otherwise you would have simply said it in English.” She sighed. “Richie, what’s the real reason you started taking French class? You know I’m not going to judge you.”

Richie sighed. “I’ve been dealing with so much at home and then I come to school and he,” Richie leant back against the wall. “He makes me feel safe, and, I dunno, loved I guess? I just wanted a way to tell him how I feel and explain what’s happening at home. But it was way too painful to say it all in English, so I thought it’d be easier to tell him in another language.”

“Oh, Richie.” Beverly wrapped him in a hug. “That’s so sweet.” Richie gave her a half smile, and they began walking to their first class, which happened to be French.

———-

Eddie was just dozing off when he hears the taps at his window. At first he was scared that it was a leper, or a murderer, but he was assured it wasn’t when someone spoke up from behind the glass and curtains.

“Eddie? You awake?” Eddie pushed he covers off and got out of bed, he walked over to the window and opened the curtains.

The person at his window was Richie.

“C-can I come in?” Eddie could see the tears making their way steadily down Richie’s cheeks. He pushed the window open as quietly as he could and Richie clambered in.

“Rich, are you okay? What happened?” Instead of the answer Eddie knew he wasn’t going to get, Richie clutched him in a hug, openly sobbing.

Eddie guided Richie over to his bed and lates him down so that Richie’s head was resting above his heart. He never got answers, but he knew how to calm his best friend down. He liked listening to Eddie’s heartbeat, to confirm he wasn’t alone, and he like it when Eddie ran his fingers through his hair.

That’s exactly what Eddie was doing when Richie stopped crying and mumbled something.

“I’m sorry? I didn’t catch that.”

“Je t'aime. S’il te plaît, ne me quitte jamais.” (I love you. Please never leave me.)

Richie fell asleep soon after that, Eddie had no idea what the sleeping boy had said to him.

Over the next few months, Richie refused to stop talking in French whilst around Eddie. Beverly noticed he would constantly be blushing whenever Richie spoke the foreign words, in a thick accent. All of the Losers agreed that it was The only good impression Richie Tozier had ever done. During these months, Bev had to put up with Richie’s constant pining for Eddie.

She would always catch him calling Eddie a ‘magnifique petit tournesol’ (gorgeous little sunflower) or telling Eddie that he ‘avait l'air si mignon dans ce pull’ (looked so cute in that sweater’. He even said ‘Mon Amour.’ (My love) a few times

She was fed up of it. She knew without a doubt that Eddie had the same feelings towards Richie. So, during their 5th period geography class, Bev gave Richie a stern talking to.

“You need to tell him.”

“What?”

“Eddie! You need to tell him how you feel! I’m like 99% sure he reciprocates your feelings.”

“Yes Bev, but what about the 1% hmm?” Beverly rolled her eyes, they spent the rest of the lesson in silence.

A few weeks passed and Richie and Eddie found themselves alone at Loser’s Meadow, as the gang had dubbed it, watching the sun set.

“Eddie, I’m about to ramble in French and you just need to listen, you don’t need to understand.”

Eddie furrowed his brow. “Oh, okay.” He secretly loved it when Richie spoke French, however, he’d never admit it.

“Vous ne comprenez pas un mot que je dis en ce moment, et honnêtement? Je pense que c'est une bonne chose.

(You don’t understand a word im saying right now, and honestly? I think thats a good thing.)

J'avais besoin d'un moyen de pouvoir te dire ce que je ressens sans que tu me détestes.

(I needed a way to be able to tell you how i feel without you hating me.)

Parce que je sais que tu ne m'aimes pas en retour. Qui pourrait m'aimer de retour? Je suis un morceau de merde sans valeur.

(Because I know you don’t love me back. Who could love me back? I’m a worthless piece of shit.)

Vous voyez, vous n'avez absolument aucune idée de ce que je dis. En ce moment, tes joues sont d'un rouge vif avec combien tu rougis, et ton sourire n'a jamais été aussi beau.

(See, you have absolutely no idea what I’m saying. Right now, your cheeks are bright red with how much you’re blushing, and your smile has never been more beautiful.)

Tant que je continue à sourire et à parler, ce regard restera sur votre visage. Je ne veux jamais que tu arrêtes de sourire.

(As long as I keep smiling and talking, that look will stay on your face. I never want you to stop smiling.)

Ok, maintenant pour la vraie merde.

(Okay, now for the real shit.)

Eddie Kaspbrak, je t'aime depuis que nous avons neuf ans. Vous avez toujours été mon refuge, pour les nuits où il n'est pas sûr de rentrer à la maison, ou j'en ai fini avec le monde.

(Eddie Kaspbrak, I have loved you since we were 9 years old. You have always been my safe haven, for nights when it isn’t safe to go home, or I’m just done with the world.)

Vous êtes la seule personne à qui je fais confiance. Sauf ça. C'est la seule chose que vous ne saurez jamais, parce que je sais que vous ne ressentirez jamais la même chose.

(You are the one person I trust everything to. Except this. This is the one thing that you’ll never know, because I know you’ll never feel the same.)

Je t'aime Eddie Kaspbrak, je t'aime.

(I love you Eddie Kaspbrak, I love you.)”

Eddie giggled. “What the hell did you just say?”

“Oh, um, just a very detailed description of your mom’s vagina. I can retell it in English if you’d like?”

“Beep beep Richie.” Eddie said whilst laughing, as Richie sat admiring him, a wistful expression on his face.

A few days later saw Richie climbing into Eddie’s window at 3am with a bust lip and a black eye and tears streaming down his cheeks.

Without having to ask, Eddie pulled him into his bed and wrapped his arms around the crying boy. Richie wouldn’t stop muttering something in French until he fell asleep.

“Je t'aime.” Eddie made himself a promise that he’d look those words up as soon as the library was open tomorrow.

As soon as Richie left the next morning, Eddie pulled on a Red sweatshirt, one of Richie’s that he’d left behind years ago, and some shorts. He ran out of the house, making sure to kiss his mother goodbye before he left, and raced to the library.

He walked in and asked the receptionist to point him towards the ‘languages’ section.

He grabbed himself the first French dictionary he could find and flipped straight to the ‘T’ chapter, he already knew that ‘Je’ mean ‘I’.

Eddie gasped when he read the meaning. He dropped the book, causing a loud thud, and ran straight for the exit. He clambered back onto his bike and sped down the streets. He knew where Richie would be. The out of use highway bridge. He would always go there on a Saturday to smoke, listen to The Smiths and get away from his Parents.

Eddie threw his bike down as soon as he arrived, taking a puff from his asthma inhaler. “Richie?” He called out.

“Eddie?” He looked up to see Richie sat on the bridge’s ledge, feet swinging backwards and forwards. Eddie began to run up the hill towards the dark haired boy, whilst said boy stumbled down towards him. They met halfway.

“Eds, what are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be babysitting your mother or something.”

“Je t'aime aussi.” Eddie stated, not even bothering to tell Richie off for calling him Eds.

“What?” Richie looked unsure of what he’d just heard.

“Je t’aime aussi.” Eddie took a breath. “I love you too.”

Richie wasted no time in pulling Eddie in by his waist, connecting their lips. Eddie fisted his hands in the collar of Richie’s shirt. They pulled away a few moments later, in need of air, and rested their foreheads together.

This felt right. This felt like home.

Why are You like this?

Hi friends! 

Plot: Y/N feels overwhelmed and doesn’t know how to let her Harry know.

I combined my own idea with a request about H hearing Y/N admit something over the phone. 

Hint before reading: Take a moment and think of that one thing that’s overwhelming you right in this moment, the one thing that makes your stomach feel sick and the one thing that keeps you up at night. Okay now you can read it.

Pic isn’t mine but I like to think that it is.

“Are you sure everything’s alright?” 

My throat dried when I allowed my eyes to meet with his sparkling green orbs and the pure worry in them made it difficult not to tear up. With a deep breath I forced myself to smile. 

“Everything is fine, Harry,” I promised him, my tone just sweet enough for it to cover up the lie, “It was a long day.”

“Again?” Harry inquired quietly. 

“Again.” I tried to laugh but got up to walk to the kitchen when I failed.

Ever since the beginning of this week there had been a heavy and uncomfortable feeling settled at the bottom of my stomach making me feel so sick at times I believed I would vomit. 
But I couldn’t let it show. 

“Do you want some tea?” I called towards him.

“Sure, yeah. Thanks, beautiful.”

With trembling fingers I reached for the kettle and I closed my eyes in hopes of calming down enough to keep my distraught emotions a secret. And what better than a hot cup of tea?
There was nothing I loved more than spending time with Harry and if I could I would have him near me at all times. I felt myself long for him when he was gone, fantasized about being in his presence when I wasn’t and when I had him I felt at peace. Momentarily. Harry made me feel warm and without knowing it he’d become the only person who managed to decorate my face with an honest smile. We hadn’t been dating for long, only a couple of months, and it was true that we were happy. Never before had I felt this close to another person, never before did I trust somebody with my whole heart and no one had ever understood me the way that Harry did.
Harry was my everything. 
And still I couldn’t find it in me to trust him with my worried mind. 

It wasn’t that I thought Harry wouldn’t be kind. I knew if I were to tell him that I couldn’t find any peace and that not even the nights provided me with rest, he would try all he could to be supportive. 
What held me back from confiding in him was how utterly ridiculous I felt. Harry had so much going on in his life, he was under constant pressure and given even more from all sides and all at once and still he never uttered as much as one word in complaint. 
Me? I felt like crying when dealing with what was so minor compared to other people’s problems. 
How could I possibly admit this without making a fool of myself?

“Y/N?” I heard Harry’s voice call for me. 

My breath hitched and I quickly finished both of our teas. “Coming!”

Hearing my friend’s voice over the speaker of my phone relaxed me. At least a little. Kat hadn’t had the time to talk properly in a while due to her job taking up a lot of space in her life and selfishly it felt good to hear that I wasn’t the only person who wasn’t having the best week. 

“So anyway,” Kat spoke, “Things took a turn to the better when the guy I told you about showed up again. I think he recovered form the flu or something.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

She chuckled. “I bet your day gets better the moment you have Harry around to comfort you.” 

“Well,” I sighed, “Having him around does bring me joy.” 

When my voice quivered I knew I messed up.

Kat cleared her throat. “What’s the matter? Does he not understand or what?”

“I’m sure he would,” I muttered. 

“Meaning?”

I didn’t reply. Kat laughed breathlessly. 

“You seriously didn’t tell him? Y/N, he’s your boyfriend! And if I receive text after text about how shitty everything is going for you then something really must be up.”

A lump formed in my throat and I let out a small whine. “I don’t know how to talk to him about this thought.”

“Why not?”

I shrugged even though she couldn’t see. “Harry has so much going on in his life. Never does he get a break not even on his days off. How could I burden him with my stupid and silly problems when his mind is full of much more important things?”

“Because he’s your boyfriend!” Kat repeated. 

“Is that your answer to everything?”

“In a relationship it’s about being there for each other,” Kat lectured, ignoring my words, “You support him constantly. It’s time you let him do the same for you.”

My head snapped up at the noise of my front door opening and then falling shut. 

“Y/N? You home, baby?” My heart fluttered at his voice.

“That’s Harry,” I quickly informed Kat, “I got to go.”

With fast steps I walked further into the bedroom and away from where I could hear Harry moving closer towards me.

“Of course,” Kat said and I could hear the smile in her voice, “Just remember. You have to be honest with Harry and tell him how you feel. Otherwise you’re being unfair to him.”

“I know,” I agreed lowly, “I know you’re right.”

Harry’s knuckles lightly knocked onto the wooden door and I turned around to look at him with a smile growing on my face. He looked insanely good. His hair was tousled from the clod wind I knew was tormenting outside, his upper body adorned a thick jumper and his legs were forced into much too tight jeans which to my benefit left little to the imagination. 

“Hey,” I breathed.

“Hi.” His voice was quiet and I shuddered when the smile on his face didn’t reach his beautiful eyes. 

I walked over to him and reached for his arm. “I’m just going to finish this call really quickly, okay? Then I’m all yours.”

“S’okay,” Harry said and shrugged off my touch, “I just came over to return the shirt you left at my place the other day. M’actually bit busy so I’m just going to head out again.”

My heart sank. “I thought you would stay tonight?” 

Harry nodded towards the phone in my palm. “You should’t let your friend wait, Y/N. Wouldn’t want you to be unfair to anybody, right?” 

And with that he turned around, out of my reach and towards the exit. The shirt he’d brought me was carelessly thrown onto the mattress and I watched him leave with tears already burning my eyes. What the hell had just happened?

“Y/N? You still there?” 

Kat’s voice ripped me back from my thoughts and I quickly told her that I was fine and needed to go. Then I hung up. 
Great. Now not even my relationship was something I could find comfort in. There was no point in running after him as I new Harry moved fast and since he’d arrived by car I was sure he must be long gone. With my palms ice cold, my legs weak and my stomach in knots I sat down on the bed I’d thought I would be spending the night with Harry on, feeling the most uncomfortable and unhappy and in in general at a low I hadn’t reached before.
There was no way I could hold back the tears from burning my cheeks and soon I was a sobbing mess, laying alone on the cold fabric of my bed.

From Harry, 7:20pm.
I’m sorry I left like that, love. How about I come back over and we spend the night together like we planned? x

From Harry, 7:22pm. 
Don’t ignore me now. I know I was being harsh. A bit of a dick actually and I wanna make up for that. Please let me, baby. xx

From Harry, 7:23pm. 
I heard your conversation with Kat. 

With puffy eyes I stared at the three messages. I breathed in shakily and shook my head before picking up the device to reply. There was no way I could face him when I was like this. I felt ashamed enough as it is and couldn’t bear the thought of letting my boyfriend see me in this weakened state.

From Y/N, 7:30pm.
It’s okay, Harry, no worries. I’m a bit tired though. Don’t think that hanging out tonight is a good idea. I’m sorry. x

From Y/N, 7:33pm.
If you want we could meet up tomorrow?

Teardrops smeared the screen and I brushed them off quickly in order to read Harry’s reply. My heart sank even further upon reading it.

From Harry, 7:34pm.
If that’s what you want.

It was what I’d wanted. Still, my chest crumbled and the room filled once more with desperate and loud cries as I let it sink in that I’d successfully driven Harry away. A shaking palm clasped over my mouth as I attempted to somehow quieten the noises of my breakdown as I didn’t want to alarm my neighbours. 
What was I supposed to do? What was I to tell him tomorrow? That was if he even wanted to see me.
My eyes were sore, my throat dry and slowly but surely everything began to hurt. Really ache. 

My entire body froze and I forced myself to calm down long enough to make sure I hadn’t heard wrong. No. There was once again the distinct sound of somebody knocking on my front door. Oh god please no. I scrambled to my feet with hurried movements and came to a tumbling stand. With harsh movements I brushed the tears from my smeared cheeks. 

“Y/N.” It was quiet but I heard and my heart began to pound heavily in my chest. What was he doing here?

“Harry?” I asked, my voice small and trembling weakly. 

I sniffled noisily and tried to steady my breath. 

“Course it’s me, love,” Harry hummed, his voice gentle, “Mind opening the door for me? Letting me in, sweetheart?”

“Harry, I really don’t think-”

“I hear it, baby,” he spoke softly, “You’re crying.” His voice sounded so sad, so empty of the anger it held earlier. 

The pet names spoken with so much affection, the gentleness in his words and tone… I couldn’t fight any longer. 
With uncertain fingers I unlocked my front door and before I could turn the handle I had Harry’s arms wrapped around my waist as he forced his way into my apartment. 
Breathing in his scent as I nestled my face into the warm space between his shoulder and his neck, one of my hands wound itself into his short curls while the other clasped the back of his neck. Harry’s arms tightened around my body, bringing me impossibly close to his chest as he pushed the both of us further inside. I didn’t see but I heard him shut the door with his foot. 

“Harry,” I whimpered, trying desperately to step away from him, worried that the endless stream of tears would mess up his jumper. 

“No.” Harry’s embrace was tight. He ignored my protest and instead hoisted me up higher so that he could carry me to the couch in my small living room. 

I was full on sobbing by this point, my desperation only increasing when he let go of me after making me sit on the couch. My arms were taken into his hands and I turned my head away when he crouched down. 

“Y/N, look at me.”

I shook my head, a whimper escaping my parted lips. Harry’s hands moved gently, his fingers drew circles onto my skin. Normally the gesture was enough to calm me down but not today. I felt utterly embarrassed and I knew that Harry slowly began to realize too that this wasn’t just a small and simple break down. 
This was me, crumbling after having suffered under too much pressure for too long. This was me truly breaking down and falling apart right in front of his eyes.
I gasped upon feeling him press his face into my open palms. 

“My sweet girl,” Harry breathed into my hands, “Tell me if there is something that I can do for you, you hear?”

“There- there’s no-nothing, Harry.” I swallowed shakily and stared at the back of his head. 

Slowly he looked up at me, green eyes wide, kind and patient. His warm hands clasped mine and my breath hitched when his heart shaped lips pressed a loving kiss to them. 

“That’s okay, too,” he reassured, “In that case I will just do what I think you need right now, yeah? And if you want something different you tell me.” 

He waited for me to nod, a small smile gracing his lips. Harry got to his feet quickly and immediately I was scooped back into his arms and brought to his chest. I hiccuped and Harry chuckled. 
His body settled onto the couch and I gasped when he placed my own body right on top of his, my back pressed to his chest. His face settled into my neck and I shuddered upon feeling his warm breath. One of Harry’s arms wrapped around my middle while he gently touched my forehead with his other hand, making me rest my head on his shoulder. 
I sighed and turned so I could nudge his neck with my nose. Next a blanket was pulled over my form, making sure that I was warm. 

“Harry,” I whispered into his skin. 

He intertwined our legs together before kissing my cheek. 

“No more crying,” he said lowly, chest rumbling against my back, “It breaks my heart to see you like this. Which doesn’t mean that I want you to ever keep it from me again when you feel this way.”

The terrible knot at the bottom of my stomach loosened and the longer I breathed him in the more I could feel my heart relax. My breathing slowed, the tears slowly ceased from falling. My own arms wrapped around his and our hands found each other. 

“I’m sorry,” I apologized against his skin.

He shook his head and squeezed me. “No, no, my love. S’not what I want. You don’t have to apologize for anything. All I want is that you trust me. That you know that I’m here. Always.”

“I want to see you.” 

Careful not to hurt him I turned to lay on my stomach, my body pressed tightly against his chest and I leaned up to press a kiss to his soft skin of his chin. 
Harry groaned lowly at the sensation. 

“You’re my girlfriend,” Harry murmured, his hands rubbing up and down my back, “You can lean on me. Confide in me. Don’t want hear that you’re unwell and hiding it.”

I hummed.

“Are you comfortable?” I wondered quietly, referring to his position.

“Very,” he assured me with a nod, cheekily grabbing my bum and giving it a squeeze. 

I swatted his chest with a laugh and he removed his hands and settled them onto my hips instead. I found it hard to believe that having my body sprawled out on top of his was in any way comfortable but in this moment I knew there was nothing other than being in his arms that would heal my tormented mind.

“S’embarrassing though,” I admitted quietly, my unsure eyes finding his. 

“S’not,” he argued, “S’part of being in a relationship. I’m yours, you’re mine and we’re both there for each other.”

I liked how natural his words sounded. How much sense they made.

“But,” I began, “what I’m dealing with is so stupid and you-”

“And I’m never too busy to take care of you just like I trust in you always being there when I really need you. And nothing that makes you cry is stupid to me.”

Harry smiled kindly and I could feel myself doing the same. Gently I reached up to cup his cheek and a tiny gasp escaped my mouth before his lips found mine in a loving kiss. Instantly I melted into him. 
His hands held me close, my own scratched his cheek while the other held onto his hair and for the first time all week I felt like I could truly breath. Harry’s presence took over all of my senses as I cuddled myself even more into his embrace. We continued to kiss until my lungs burned and this time when I teared up it was because my heart couldn’t hold the amount of happiness. 

“Why are you like this?” I whispered, staring at my handsome boyfriend with wonder in my eyes. 

He smiled and pressed another kiss to my temple. “Because you’re important to me. I need you to know that, love.”

“I do. Thank you so much, Harry. And I care about you, too. So much.”

Another kiss followed to my lips before Harry drew back to rub his nose against mine in a heartbreakingly sweet gesture. 

Hope you liked this! Wrote it in one go so apologizes for any mistakes. Also, if any of you are dealing with something shitty at the moment I have my fingers crossed for you and know you’ll be alright. x

The rest of my writing: 
Masterlist

3

You’re such a good kid, Mugaro! I bet that’s why Azazel always had you around.

anonymous asked:

You know what would be kinda cool? If Eren is infiltrating Marley and is successful, afterward Mikasa jokingly flicks his hair and tells him to cut it otherwise it might get stuck in the 3D-MG. LOL sorry this is a dumb headcanon but I had the need to share

I’d give my life to see something light-hearted like this going on between those two tbh

this is my @aftgexchange gift for @sirandking i’m not sure if this is quite what u were hoping for n it’s messy but idk i kinda like it 

tw for mentions of alcohol as a coping mechanism, as well as super brief blink-and-you-miss-it mentions of riko, drugs and self-harm

ao3 link


“That sweater is new,” Kevin comments as he seats himself in the beanbag next to Andrew’s, passing over a mug of coffee as he does so. It’s a small, meaningless comment - the kind of small talk they both collectively despise - but it’s something, and since the death of Riko, Kevin’s found that there are not really any other threads connecting the two of them. Silence has panned out between them for weeks. He tells himself he’s irritated by it because it’s bad for the team’s dynamics - a rapport with your teammates is essential for a successful team. He won’t admit that Andrew is probably the closest thing to a friend Kevin has around here, except for maybe Neil.

He doesn’t expect his comment to be dignified with a response; he knows Andrew well enough to know to expect perhaps a nod of acknowledgement, or a stony look his way, questioning and judging his observation. Nevertheless, the silence makes him ever-so-slightly self-conscious, so as his eyes catch the way the sleeves fall over Andrew’s hands, he tacks on a lousy “–and too big for you.”

Andrew Minyard has always been best at defying expectations.

“It’s not mine,” he responds coolly, devoid of emotion or even acknowledgment, eyes still trained on the contents of his mug as he mutters, as though talking to no one.

It’s an easy enough admittance, casual and shameless, yet it still manages to leave Kevin embarrassingly taken aback. He knows, realistically, that he probably has the best insight into the relationship between Andrew and Neil than any other outsider, however he’s still never quite got it. The logical part of his brain tells him it shouldn’t work - two people both so shattered and fiery, like shards of broken glass, in such close proximity can only end in further shattering, as far as he’s aware. And flames. It’s concerning, something with so much power, with so many sparks - just one wrong move could become a savage wildfire that burns his team down to nothing more than ashes. It’s risky and dangerous and stupid and he hates it, is terrified of it, but this admittance that comes so easily changes something in him.

Because something about the idea of Andrew Minyard curled into a beanbag with a cup of coffee and his boyfriend ’s (and isn’t that in itself another unexpected and ever-so-slightly strange thing to wrap his head around) sweater on feels less like untamed sparks and more like a candle light. And that’s much more soothing than terrifying, even if it is still a little strange to him.  

Perhaps trying to understand this would be a good idea, he concludes. So he asks “When did all this start for you anyway?” waving a hand conspiratorially to punctuate the question. And this time he’s almost convinced he’ll be ignored, or delivered a vague, meaningless answer as a result of the unspecific question, but the furrow of Andrew’s brow as he lifts his gaze up to Kevin’s tells him otherwise. It’s a strange, uncharted territory.

“February.”

“You liked him before then,” Kevin suddenly finds himself accusing before he can stop himself, still processing this new information, whilst considering every sign he could remember, the most poignant being the way Andrew did things for nobody but Neil. Could only have his arm twisted by Neil. Had always drifted towards Neil, had never raised a knife to Neil, had always been straight with admittances to Neil; Neil, Neil, Neil was the exception to every rule of the Andrew Minyard handbook, the one Kevin had studied meticulously and still never found a loophole in. He finds himself itching to know more.

“I hate him.” Andrew deadpans, a reflex at this point, and if Kevin was anyone else, he’d have furrowed his brow, wrinkled up his nose, frowned and found himself reprimanding Andrew, but he’s not anyone else, so he smirks instead, because he thinks he’s finally starting to understand how Andrew works, and this kind of understanding is as scintillating as it is spine-chilling, like watching a horror film, driving past a car crash or finding a spider in your room - the kind of fear that keeps you captivated, unable to tear your eyes away from it even when you know it’s awful, and you shouldn’t, and if this is what Andrew feels around Neil, no wonder he hates him. Andrew has never enjoyed feeling, as far as Kevin knows, and something so intense and contradictory, something that can’t be calculated and analysed can only be devastating.

The words “I know,” feel foreign and awkward on his tongue, his body tense as they slip out and it all multiplies when Andrew’s blank stare shifts from the mug he warms his hands on to Kevin’s face. “Why him?” he eggs on, trying to coax something out of Andrew, whether it be more answers and information, something to help him understand, or just a reaction, something to put the world back in order and dissolve the itchy curiosity and mere residue of fear that has settled on his skin.

Andrew ignores it entirely. “You’ve reached your daily quota of questions you can ask me for free.” He pauses, as though considering something for a moment, before finally deciding against whatever it is and dismissing Kevin with a curt “You can go now.”

Kevin goes.


The next time Kevin sees Andrew, it’s because he’s paused the exy game on his laptop and emerged from his room for the first time in hours after smelling something divine. He is greeted with the sight of an unholy amount of Indian food scattered across the table, and isn’t sure whether he wants to kiss Andrew (if he was not in a relationship, if Andrew was not in a relationship, if either of them were in any way attracted to each other and if he had a death wish - none of which are even remotely true) or kill him, because really , this is not how future professional athletes should eat, but he can hear Jean’s voice in his head telling him to relax, to loosen the tight leash of control he has over his life in order for total success, thus he reluctantly picks up the spare fork left on the side and a tub of something orange, before sitting on the other end of

the sofa to Andrew.

“Nicky and Aaron will be here soon,” Andrew states at the exact same time that Kevin asks “Where’s Neil?”, changing his course of action to start Kevin down instead.

There’s a handful of new mottled bruises adorning his face from who knows where, and a nasty looking cut beneath his eye that he’s certain Aaron will fuss over later, much to Andrew’s dismay, and for a moment he considers asking if he’s okay,  before swiftly realising what a stupid idea that is and dismissing it completely as Andrew opens his mouth again.

“I’m not his keeper.”

“I know.” Again. Andrew sighs.

“Did I or did I not tell you that you have asked as many free questions as you are permitted to today?” This time, as Andrew snaps, Kevin hears it.

“Free?” he asks around a mouthful of rice, swallowing hastily before he continues. “So if I give you something, I can ask more?”

It’s a rhetorical question, but Andrew grants him a small nod anyway. “Neil and I have - had - a thing.” Kevin agonisingly anticipates his next words as Andrew scoops up another mouthful of food. Static silence stretches out between them until he swallows again. “Truth for truth. For everything you ask me, I ask you something.”

“Deal.”

“It’s my turn.” His gaze shoots skywards, face contorting in mock-thought. “Why are you so interested?”

“In?”

He rolls his eyes. “Do I have to spell it out?” is punctuated with a sigh. “Me and Neil.”

“I don’t understand it,” is all Kevin replies, because, really, he’s not all too sure.

“Understand what?”

“Any of it. It’s a lot to process.” Andrew nods as Kevin finishes, despite the answer being indisputably lame.

“It’s your turn.”

“Why him?” falls out of Kevin’s mouth again like a reflex. He watches as Andrew’s blank expression twitches and his eyes shut for a second in something akin to stoicism.

“He’s interesting.” Kevin knows how much that means from a perpetually bored man.

“He’s kind of messed up,” he replies hesitantly, though there’s really no “kind of,” - there’s not doubt that Neil’s messed up - and he isn’t sure whether his words are a challenge or a disagreement.

There’s something almost wistful in Andrew’s eyes. “Exactly.”

Kevin gets that, too. The reason things have always worked with Thea, even when others told him, told both of them , that they shouldn’t, is because she always got it. She knew what it was like to be a Raven, she knew the complicated relationship he had with Riko and the Moriyamas, she never judged, never told him his reactions were gratuitous or invalid, she just understood .

Understanding, true understanding, is unparalleled in rarity, and perhaps the most coveted trait of all.

“Why alcohol?” interrupts Kevin from his thoughts, and it takes him a moment longer than it should to process that it’s Andrew’s turn again.

“What?” Kevin asks, wrinkling up his face.

“You could have any coping mechanism you wanted: drugs, self-harm, running yourself to the bone, food addiction, therapy, adult colouring books…” he lists off, his eyes infinitesimally lighter than usual, and Kevin resists the urge to roll his eyes, because of course the only person who can amuse Andrew Minyard is Andrew Minyard. “Why alcohol?” he repeats.

“It’s the only thing that can make me forget.”

“There are drugs that could do that much easier,” Andrew replies, but there are lines in his forehead as he tacks on “probably.”

“After Seth and Aaron,” Kevin responds cautiously, “and you – cracker dust is the worst I swore I’d ever do. And that–” he pauses again, mind casting him back to nights at Eden, panic attacks in toilet stalls and the burn in his throat that leaves his brain null and void of all things Evermore. “–It’s not enough on its own.”

“It’s weak. And unhealthy.”

“I know.” He replies, and there’s something cold and cumbersome building up at the pit of his stomach as the topic is stretched out like an elastic band, millimetres away from snapping or closing back in on itself, so he tries his hardest not to trip over words as they stumble out of his mouth. “It’s my turn again. How does it work - you and him - after everything? Your past. How do you–”

“No.” Andrew cuts him off, fists clenching tighter around the cutlery in his hands. “You don’t get to ask that. Something else.”

Kevin doesn’t say sorry, but his face does, even if there’s something about pulling a reaction out of Andrew that sets his nerves on fire. “What are you scared of?”

Andrew blinks at him once, empty composure regained. “Heights.”

Kevin’s face wrinkles up. How can a man who has spent so long mocking Kevin for his fears of the Moriyamas, of the Ravens, of death , be afraid of something so trivial, something that is a fear of death, in a way, in itself. “I thought you said you weren’t afraid of death.”

“I’m not.” Andrew replies, a hint of a sneer on his face as he adds “And I hate that word.”

“Afraid?” Kevin asks, shrugging when Andrew nods. “If you’re not afraid of death, what is it about heights that you’re scared of?”

“Falling.” Andrew replies hollowly, and Kevin’s about to ask more, about to ask about how he can go to a rooftop so often with Neil - does Neil know? - when the conversation is interrupted by the sound of a key in the lock, and the two boys shift around just in time to watch a drenched Neil, looking like he’s just taken a fully-clothed shower, stumble through the door, flanked by Dan and Allison, both also varying levels of waterlogged.

As the girls immediately make their way over to the excess of food lying on the table, eyes wide and begging Andrew and Kevin to let them have some, Neil slides effortlessly into the space between them and turns to Andrew, who tentatively reaches out towards him and ruffles a hand through his hair, watching as Neil slides his soiled jacket off and finally wiping his now wet hand on Neil’s shirt to dry it.

The sides of Neil’s mouth twitch and Kevin battles with the urge to turn away, to leave.

“There’s enough food there to feed a small army,” Neil mutters, low enough that the words were really meant only for Andrew, and softer than Kevin’s ever heard. It’s more than slightly disconcerting.

“You’re a small army,” Andrew retorts, only Neil must be hearing something else completely in that, because next thing he knows, Neil’s turned around to face the girls who are still fawning over the makeshift banquet.

“Invite the rest of the team and you can help yourselves,” he states, watching with eyes showing something reminiscent of fondness as Allison immediately pulls her phone out and Dan digs through their drawers for extra cutlery.

Neil turns back to Andrew, the ghost of a smile hanging from his mouth fading after a second, face wrinkling up.

“Isn’t that sweater mine?”

Kevin’s mind may say “Disgusting,” but he can feel the sides of his mouth quirk upwards as he finds Andrew’s face encrusted with crumbs of fear like he’s tumbling, freefalling, into an abyss.

  • reaper: akande please for the love of GOD can we not do this right now? it's five in the morning
  • doomfist, having talon go through various cheesy teambuilding exercises immediately after punching his way out of a reinforced prison cell: Only Through Conflict Do We Evolve.

I’m kinda busy atm bb so I’m just gonna do some basic facts about these geeks :’))))

Originally posted by helloday6

•   Day6 is really different bc they dont’ promote like a normal kpop group, they kinda want their music to speak for itself instead of appearing on many variety shows 

•   they did lose a member back in early 2016 but we don’t talk about how weird day6 sounds when there’s only 5 :))))

anyways here’s some useless facts about the members:


Jae aka chicken little is the oldest member

Originally posted by jaechicken

•   he’s more fluent in English than he is in Korean, bc he’s lived in South America and California for most of his life 

•   he is such a MEME but you already probably knew that if you checked out his twitter lmao

•   cannot and will not speak unless he’s spilling the tea or roasting someone, literally no in between

•   one of the main hosts of After School Club and he’s the reason I watch every episode tbfh 


Sungjin is the second youngest and he’s the leader aka their dad Bob


Originally posted by br1ankang

•   his Busan accent is the most adorable thing in the world, you can esp hear it when he yells at the kids aw

•   hella nice and just wants to be left alone 

•   listen he’s the best and most skilled dancer out of them all, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise 

•   without him the group would honestly be a mess, like he’s such a great leader and I mean that from the bottom of my heart I fkin love him


Brian aka young k (??? it’s just brian)

Originally posted by henrylau-mugunghwa

•   writes pretty much all of their songs, along w/ the help of the other members 

•   mostly depressing songs tho…….brian bb who broke your heart, I just wanna talk to them

•   omfg tho when you see him holding and playing his guitar, I guarantee you’ll pass out bc you can see how passionate he really is about music 

•   really fluent in English as well bc he’s lived in Canada for like 5 years (I believe he still attends Uni there??)


Wonpil aka shut up, my pink sweater is beautiful and you’re irrelevant 

Originally posted by mancrushallweek

•   the softest and cutest boy ever, don’t listen to jae

•   aegyo king, loves to annoy and embarrass the other members w/ his cute ass aegyo every time they’re on a show 

•   jae loves to expose him, one time even made fun of Wonpil’s beautiful (tacky ummm) sweater bc it looked weird on him

•   his voice honestly doesn’t match his face man, like it’s so deep and hypnotizing yikes i’m in love 


Dowoon aka day6′s baby maknae 

Originally posted by sixdaywithyou

•   Brian is legit his mom, like he encourages this boy so much 

•   he’s their drummer but currently is taking vocal lessons and !!!!!! his voice is so nice and I love this baby

•   SUPER quiet and doesn’t like talking a lot bc he gets embarrassed easily, esp by his hyungs 

•   close w/ got7′s maknaes 


but awww babe I hope you’ll have lots of fun seeing them!!! their shows are always lit <333