tlc show

  • Thorne: So what's the plan? We just go in there and just- POW, POW, POW and free the prisoners?
  • Kai: What was that?
  • Thorne: Laser guns.
  • Iko: No Thorne, I think you mean PEWH, PEWH, PEWH....PEWH
  • Thorne: That sounds like fireworks.
  • Cress: Technically, they're more like - ba-choo, ba-choo, ba-choo!
  • Cinder: Okay, enough with the bad sound effects.
  • Everyone:
  • Cinder: Besides, it's more like BLAM, BLAM, BLAM
Easy

REQUEST: Hi! Can you do one where Harry is upset about his family or anxiety or something and you ask him to let you in? Something fluffy? Thanks!



You’d never seen Harry get angry before.

You’d been dating for about three months now and you’d never heard him raise his voice. Even though he was just about to start promo season for his new single and was about to announce his upcoming album and tour, the man never doubted himself. You could tell that he absolutely loved his work, because he never showed even a flicker of resentment towards any aspect of it—he had the patience of a saint, where you would have lost it by now if you were in his shoes.

But there was a first time for everything.

You were driving over to his flat for an quiet evening together. You’d barely seen one another that entire week prior because of his hectic schedule, and you were looking forward to finally getting him alone. You couldn’t lie, you’d been feeling a tad bit neglected and it had been starting to get to you. You knew that when you agreed to date a rock star boyfriend it wouldn’t come without it’s downsides, but you were starting to feel like you weren’t a priority anymore. Which is why when he called and suggested an evening together, you felt over the moon.

You walked into the apartment without knocking—you’d stopped doing that during the second month—and shrugged off your sweater while you slipped off your shoes.

“Harry!” You called out into his home, walking into the kitchen to set down the bottle of wine that you’d picked up. The two of you had planned to make sangria that night along with dinner—you set your purse down on the counter and exhaled a soft huff at his absence before deciding to go find him.

The first room you checked in was his office, where he spent most of his time lately while he was home. Surely enough, there he was—he was leaning forward onto the desk with his elbows, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. You could see the rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed, and you were almost afraid to interrupt his silence. Your first instinct was to get annoyed that he was doing work when you were supposed to meet up, but you wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.

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