I don’t think ya’ll are ready for all my Draco feels but here we go!

• Why I like them: Draco is my favorite character possibly of all time. Obviously this doesn’t really make sense to most people because he was considered a pretentious twat, but I have literally dissected every single one of his actions and the character is just so perfect to me. I liked Draco off the bat because he was overly confident. Yes, he was a bit arrogant, but honestly, who isn’t at some points? He is the example that people like that on the outside are hurting on the inside the majority of the time. He is that popular douche bag that everybody hates who is secretly hating himself. I really love how Draco developed as a character and as he grew, we got to see more and more of his insecurities. I like him because he just felt real to me. The way he acted, the choices he made- they weren’t unrealistic. I also like him because he is proof that there is sometimes more than one right choice. While most people think he made all the wrong choices or didn’t have a choice at all- well I disagree with both of these assessments. I think he did make a choice and he chose family in the end, even when he knew deep down that they were on the wrong side. He made the choice to wimp out, not kill Dumbledore, not reveal Harry. I don’t see this as wimping out. Wimping out would have been doing exactly what the Dark Lord had asked him to do for his own life. But no- he rebelled in his own little ways and people take that away from him all the time. I like him because of the choices he made and I like him because he isn’t some hero. He has flaws and insecurities- don’t we all? I like him because he is real.

• Why I don’t: It’s really hard for me to pick out things I don’t like about Draco because of how much I love his character, but he has flaws. I wish he was less of a douche bag most of the time because, honestly, if I went to Hogwarts we probably wouldn’t have been friends. I probably would have told him his place. And I just feel like there is somebody underneath who is hurting and I don’t like the way he covers it up- but I believe that was taught from childhood and that’s a whole different story. So I don’t like when he’s arrogant or trying to impress the people around him opposed to the broken side of him that I just want to fix.

• Favorite episode/scene: The astronomy tower scene. 

• Favorite line: Going for the quote from the Half Blood Prince movie: “I have to do this. I have to kill you. Or he’s gunna kill me…”

• Favorite outfit: JFC the suit though in the end of Half Blood Prince god unf.

• OTP: Drarry. I think everybody knows my feels about this, but just to recap: I think they come from two sides of the same coin. I think they are the perfect balance to each other. I think they are the only two who can really understand where each other are coming from because they both were forced to make choices and both suffered and in the end I think they can save each other.

• Non-romantic OTP: After reading too much fic, I like the idea of him and Ginny being friends, but I like his relationship with Pansy and Blaise.

• Headcanon: After the war, Draco tries to redeem himself in some way to save his family’s name. He really tries to make amends and works his way from the bottom up. 

• Unpopular opinion: I think it was crucial that Harry did not shake his hand that first day.

• A wish for them: To gain his dignity back by working his way up to the top without any use of his name. Maybe even in the damn muggle world. That would be sweet!

• An oh-god-please-don’t-ever-happen for them: For him to go back to putting up that wall he built so well. For him to really break because he refuses to let people in and refuses to stop being arrogant to cover up his issues.

• 5 words to best describe them: Real, Insecure, Broken, Loyal, and Fundamental

• My nickname for them: My lover, my life, my shawty, my wife husband

“Wait! Doctor!” John shouted after the man in the bow tie, his fist clenching and unclenching. Angry? No. But definitely more than a bit upset.

A sigh escaped the Doctor as he stopped, very tentatively, and turned back to look at John one last time.

“Be reasonable, Doctor. Please. We need you here. He needs you,” John pleaded.

But the Doctor just smirked and shook his head, brown hair waving in front of his eyes.

“John, it has been great. But all the adventures I had with Sherlock, and you of course, in your dreams…they’ll still be there,” he let out a breathy laugh before continuing, his voice cracking just slightly.

“The Doctor, Holmes, and Watson. It will all be a story in your head. It’s okay though, John. We’re all just stories in the end anyway.”

And with that, the Doctor tipped his head and with a sad smile, turned and got into his blue box- the bluest of the blues.

Just as the box was blinking away, Sherlock ran into the room, the name of the Doctor hanging in the air but never said.

The Doctor- it was just a story in his head- the very best.

benedictcumberfuck:

For John Watson, every day is a struggle. It’s as if everywhere he goes he sees him. Not even sleep, nor dreams, nor reality provides an escape- it’s all the same. That brown curly hair, those defined cheek bones, and those sharp and scrutinizing eyes are everywhere he looks, and yet nowhere at all.

He was convinced he was going mad at first, making second or third glances before realizing that he wasn’t there. “Sherlock Holmes is dead,” he would repeat in his mind. But nothing, not even the repetition of the phrase that gutted him every time he uttered it could convince him otherwise. Of course he had seen him jump- the image played over in his mind with in time with every beat of his heart. It was a constant reminder. And yet some nagging sensation in the pit of his being wouldn’t let him believe it, and the result was even more painful.

Today, John Watson heads to a coffee shop two blocks away from Baker Street. He sits alone at a table with an aesthetically unappealing table cloth and orders. Just as the waitress is walking away that’s when he sees him. Tall, brown curly hair, and a long coat with the collar pulled up. His heart instantly skips a beat while his breath hitches in the back of his throat. No, it couldn’t be him. But it is. It is undeniably him. He rubs his eyes to make sure, convinced that this head- this back of this head- is the head of Sherlock Holmes.

But when he turns, it is not Sherlock at all. It was never Sherlock.

The knife that has been permanently lodged in his gut ever since the fall turns again, slicing into him and forcing a painful cough. Without this sensation, he just feels dead inside. He barely sleeps and the only thing he thinks about is Sherlock. Some nights are harder than others. Those nights when he is angry because he was so fucking lonely and had finally found a companion only to have him ripped away. The result of those feelings is ten times worth. Horrible guilt surges through him, eating away at him as he replays those last moments and the last words he said. Sometimes he convinces himself he could have stopped it. Other times he wishes he had never met Sherlock at all. But in the end, what hurts the most, is the words he never said. Three little words that hung in the air as Sherlock threw the phone away and took those fatal steps forward.

He sighs, looking down at his coffee intently and stirring it while he attempts, with no luck, to place his thoughts on something else. Anything else.

He closes his eyes and shakes his head, looking up only when the bell from the door grabs his attention.

There, walking into the cafe, is a man with sharp features, a tall stature, piercing eyes, and that brown curly hair that falls all over the place. They make eye contact. John Watson, convinced that he is hallucinating once more, sets down his spoon and exits out the back door hurriedly and looking slightly angered.

The man who entered quickly turns on his heels out of the coffee shop, running against the wind toward the back exit. Sherlock Holmes is determined not to let John Watson get away again without saying those three little words that are still there, on the tip of Sherlock’s tongue.

(Source: kingruffalo, via horanisms)

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