but i didn't feel like writing

Hm. Maybe I can’t fathom why policing stupid shit like fandom ships and fictional characters sexualities (that really AREN’T canon unless stated in a series itself, so it’s still HEADCANON regardless of what you say, dude) because outside of tumblr and my hobbies with fan art and writing, I have a life. And I also don’t feel a need to tell people what they can and can’t do or like when it’s not my business.

Maybe if you actually got off of tumblr and went outside and made some friends (which might be impossible for someone who has a personality like yours), you’d find that letting people have m/f ships is pretty okay, and that a canon male character being shipped with a female oc character got popular and it’s not a big fucking deal because it’s not actually hurting anyone.

You getting pissed off over fictional characters isn’t gay rights activism you fucking joke. You’re honestly really funny.

3

Usernames and anonymous words are still people with lives, a house, hobbies, passions, problems, dreams, all that behind the screen. Never forget that.


I’m always doubting about doing these types of posts, but I thought maybe I could speak up every once in a while lmao. I apologize if I don’t word my thoughts correctly. What I’m trying to say is, I know it’s sometimes hard not to snap at inconsiderate/angering questions and sentences coming from young people who probably didn’t think about looking for answers or connecting their brain together. I know some of us can find works or reactions from young people “cringy” or “overdone”. I know it’s infuriating to see kids reposting, tracing or recoloring art because they still don’t know how important it is to respect the artists: the thing is, I believe we all had these parts inside of us when we were younger, too. We had things we liked that we find insufferable now, we had a younger self we’d like to punch in the face. There are things we regret. But thinking back at it, although unfortunate events in my life had made my childhood a personally hard time to go through and I expressed myself through childish actions, I’m glad I did go through these steps. It made me grow into who I am today: a person who’s willing to keep growing. I’m thankful I went through many experiences that now put me in the position to guide young people who perhaps need that guidance, one way or another. Let’s be firm, but compassionate. Don’t sugarcoat kids either, you’re allowed and SHOULD speak up when you feel like you’re suffocating. But always take a step back, and try to think for both sides. These “cringy” kids maybe ARE future mature creating geniuses!
We are tomorrow’s inspirations, models, and constructors!

Let’s be nice and understanding to youth and distance ourselves from online problems so we can focus on making it better instead. :)

au where Vicchan is still alive and when Victor is staying in Hasetsu the Katsuki family starts calling him “human Vicchan” (100% inspired by this tweet)

Victor secretly loves it because he loves this nickname and this family and this sense of familiarity (even though he pretends to be offended)

Mari: “has Vicchan eaten yet?” Yuuri: “yeah I fed him an hour ago” Mari: “no I mean human Vicchan”

Yuuri: “I’m taking Vicchan on a walk” Hiroko: “take human Vicchan with you”

It gets to the point that onsen guests only know Victor Nikiforov, five time world champion and figure skating living legend, as human Vicchan at Yu-topia Katsuki

Victor starts introducing himself “hi this is Vicchan and I’m human Vicchan”

Imagine: making Tom relax on his birthday

To say Tom was a bit on edge would have been an understatement. With the recent GQ article talking about his previous girlfriend, and more rumors about how long the two of you would last or when you’d break up, he desperately needed a ‘lazy day’. So, you took it into your own hands, and made sure Thomas had nothing planned on his birthday until the night, when he could celebrate with family and friends.

The two of you had been long time friends, and after Thomas recovered from Taylor, you surprised each other by realizing you had buried shared emotions. You avoided the media as a couple, but the important people in your lives knew, and thanks to them, Tom Hiddleston got to have a relaxing birthday.

Said actor was currently in bed, boxers only, well past his normal waking time. His eyes eased open to the soft golden glow coming through the windows, and when he saw your heavenly smile at his side, he knew being 36 was going to be enjoyable.

“Good morning, love… What time is it?” He asked groggily, as he shifted to wrap his arms around your loosely clothed torso. You had taken to wearing Marvel pajamas as a joke with him, and currently, you just had undergarments and his Thor shirt, which was certainly oversized for you.

“9:26am.” You responded, after glancing at the clock. You heard Tom take in a sharp breath as his eyes widened, but you wrapped your arms around his neck and held him close, interrupting his worried thoughts. “Thomas, today is your birthday. You have earned a break, so don’t worry… That’s my job.” You joked lightly, running your fingers through his soft hair, letting your nails massage his scalp. He hummed contentedly at the feeling, letting his eyes close.

“Wh-What about-” he began, but soon felt your soft lips against his, prompting him to react in kind. His hands drifted to your waist and hair, but before he could lose himself in your embrace, you pulled back and smiled sweetly.

“Tom, it’s fine. Everything will be okay.” You reassured, before shifting so you straddled his waist and looked down at him, planting your hands to the sides of his head. “You deserve the world, but today, rest should do the trick. I’ll make some tea, pop in a movie or find a nice record, and we can while the day away doing whatever you want… except working.” You explained, your voice low and silky. Tom stared up at you with wonder in his eyes, as he let out a string of soft chuckles and reached his hands up to brush back your curtain of hair.

“What did I do to deserve you?” He asked, his voice wistful and loving. You chuckled lightly and leaned down, pressing your soft mouth to his in slow kisses. After a few seconds, you parted, but remained a breath away.

“You didn’t have to do anything… Now, any ideas for the day, birthday boy?” You asked with a growing grin. Thomas knew you were determined to give him a relaxing day, so he happily accepted that gift. However, he did have some plans of his own for you.

“Oh, darling… this is going to be the busiest day off we’ve ever had.”

  • rick riordan: *working to include LGBT+ characters in children books, educates himself on important issues and continues to add more diverse characters, starts a program to have POC tell and publish stories of different culture's mythology, fights to involve kids with learning disabilities in reading, tries his best to respect his fans and improve himself*
  • y'all: is reyna gay??
  • rick: i didn't explicitly write her to be gay, and i feel making her a lesbian after jason broke her heart would be encouraging a damaging stereotype, but you can interpret her however you want!!
  • y'all, crytyping: ohh my godd....he's sO meanie and homopphobic i ddont like it..ffuck him i h ate himm

anonymous asked:

Hey correct me if I'm wrong bc it's been literal years since reading the PJO books, but didn't Grover fall asleep for like a year before the titan war? And if so, then WHY did no-one write a fic about him and Percy bonding over losing an entire year of their lives? AND their mental bond? And what is Grover even doing these days as Lord of the Wild? I just need more Grover in my life tbh.

he did! everyone was wondering where he was and he was asleep in a tree 

………..what a good question

  • as soon as the titan war is over and percy and annabeth have sorted their feelings out, grover and percy sit out in the strawberry fields and grover makes percy tell him everything
    • “grover you really don’t need to know how many hours of video games i played” 
      “yes i do” 
  • they find that grover is still garbage at panflute, without the monsters percy’s life is relatively boring, and that they really don’t just sit and talk enough 
  • grover also does a serious interrogation about sally and paul 
  • it ends with percy bringing grover back to see sally and she hugs him hard and then proceeds to try to feed him like two dozen batches of cookies
  • grover offers to sever the mental bond a few more times but every time he does, percy pretends not to hear
  • they get a lot better at controlling it because percy still stays away from as much technology as possible
    • sometimes percy will send weird and random thoughts to grover in the middle of class and grover is just like “dude wtf pay attention” 
    • percy once tried to use it to cheat on a test and was like “hey grover ask annabeth something” and annabeth showed up at the apartment to yell at percy and then offer studying tips/advice and a study buddy if he ever needed one
    • things get like super weird when it’s two am and neither of them can sleep and they just send back strange and sometimes deeply philosophical thoughts
      • they wake up the next morning like “all i remember is peanut butter and napoleon what happened” 
    • after tartarus, grover checks in on percy all the time. to make sure he’s eating and sleeping and taking care of himself. and to ask if he’s ok, because percy doesn’t lie as well over the mental bond
  • grover has a lot of duties as lord of the wild that percy doesn’t always understand but he always listens to grover rant about
    • he’ll latch onto the little things he knows and make commentary on that and grover is like “thank you for understanding” 
  • percy once asks grover if being lord of the wild makes him a god or what and grover just lays down on the ground for a little while because thinking about being considered a god stresses him out 
    • percy lays down with him and starts talking about the new book his mom is working on 
  • most of grover’s duties have to do with protecting animals and the environment, so percy helps him set up time with rachel so he can reach out to the mortal world as well
    • percy sits with them and tries to pay attention but sometimes he falls asleep and sometimes he doodles with whatever rachel hands him 
  • it takes a while, but eventually percy knows a lot about what grover does!!! and he’s really proud of his best friend!!!
  • one time, grover is going on and on about this problem he’s having and struggling with, and percy offers up a really informed and good suggestion and grover just stares at him for a moment and was like “how did you remember that?” 
    • percy shrugs and says “i pay attention?” 
    • grover hugs him and almost starts crying and percy is so confused
les amis as things my writing teacher has said
  • Enjolras: For this prompt, don't write about cis men. Don't do it.
  • Courfeyac: We should have a walk like a t-rex day where everyone in the school walks like a t-rex.
  • Combeferre: The computer science class is exploiting me.
  • Jehan: Adverbs are very pretty much not your friends. See what I did there?
  • Grantaire: Does anyone else think life is just one sick joke? I feel like God is punishing me.
  • Joly: I went to Stanford for psychology and was an overachiever. Now look at me.
  • Bahorel: D-A-D-D-Y is here. See? I didn't say it that time because you guys yell at me.
  • Feuilly: If I won a million dollars I would reform the school so they could pay teachers more.
  • Bossuet: Hey guys? You need to stop talking.
  • bonus:
  • Eponine: I thought you were my bae but you're just a weirdo.
  • Marius: Our printer can't do anything right. I feel like it's a metaphor for me and ultimately this class.
  • Cosette: Who was writing about the angels? This is good. Oh it's a ten grader.
  • Muischetta: Guys are weak and easily manipulated. Take care of them. They're children. Poor things.
  • Montparnasse: *shouts loudly as he exits the school building in front of a group of children* MOTHERFUCKER!

A thing I like is when a character has spent all day blaming themselves for getting sick/not feeling well, and maybe other people have blamed them or become annoyed with them for it, too, and finally the character comes home and maybe someone is inconvenienced by their illness or irritated by something they’ve done and it’s just the Last Straw and they say in a small, hoarse voice: “It’s not my fault…”

If the US makes drama about Coco I’m gonna kick some asses because it’s been out in Mexico for a week and we all love it and cried our eyes off.

Go, enjoy the art, love our culture, learn the songs and cry.

It’s truly a masterpiece, I can’t express how much I loved that movie and how it makes me feel to see my country represented like that, in such an accurate way and so beautifully. Thank you, Pixar.

A Good Brother

Since he was a little boy, Charles Weasley saw Voldemort as his personal boggeyman. Even if  he’d never met the man in person, little Charlie was terrified of that person who’s name shouldn’t be said that made his parents sad and angry. He would ask every night for his  parents to check under his bed if he wasn’t there. The idea of a mass murderer hiding in his son’s room always started an ugly laughter in Arthur Weasley’s throat. But every night, he complied and assured Charlie he was safe and had nothing to fear. It was a lie of course. They both knew it.


Charlie knew he was right to be scared when he was eight and he saw his mother cry for the first time. He entered the kitchen one morning and saw her curled on her chair, a piece of parchement resting on the table. Charlie sneaked in to try and read the paper. His first fear was that something happened to one of his brothers. Because that was what his dad and mum often talked about when they thought Bill and Charlie were asleep. The words were small and complicated, but Charlie could decypher two names, Fabian and Gideon. His parents hated lying to their children, so they told them that their uncles were fighting You-Know-Who and died.  They didn’t say they were killed, but Charlie kind of understood that. He wasn’t sure what death really was just yet, but Bill told him it meant he would never see his uncles again. When he saw the twin caskets, a couple days later and watched them disappear in the ground, Charlie cried. He didn’t make a noise, because no one was talking, and you’re not supposed to be loud if everyone else is quiet. He simply gripped Bill’s hand and followed him around. For years, Charlie would dream of twin caskets in which his siblings were resting.


At school, Charlie was gentle and popular enough that people didn’t make fun of him if he ever got surprised crying because he was missing his brothers and sister. They would simply go look  for Bill, and later Percy, and either would comfort him and help him write letters home. Charlie was terribly bad with words and never knew how to get his thoughts across. In return for his letters, he would get drawings and pictures. He kept them preciously in his bedside table.

When he was thirteen, Charlie kissed a girl. She was pretty and smelled nice but even he didn’t feel much. There was no butterfly or firework in his belly like he’d been told he’d feel. At sixteen, Charlie kissed a boy, and though it was nice enough too, it wasn’t special enough to have him wanting to do it often. He’d learned about dragons the previous year though, during a class of Care About Magical Creatures. That lit his eyes up and made him daydream far more than any kisses could.


Charlie left Hogwarts the summer before Ron entered it. He left home in August, and headed to Romania to study dragons. He’d already read every book from the Library and was ready to meet people who’d understand his passion. Charlie made friends, and was teased for chosing a hermit life  in forests with giant lizards over becoming a Quidditch star. He didn’t mind, because at the end of the day, he got to see dragon eggs and share hot cocoa with his colleagues. The highlight of his year was still when his parents and sister came to visit. He also managed to get Bill to drop by. They got drunk and Bill listened to him cry about how much he missed all of their siblings. Charlie kept the drawings and photographs in a tiny box in his trunk. When spring came around and he received Ron’s letter asking him to smuggle a baby dragon, all his friends exploded in laughter and were ready to go before he even finished his explanations. They already knew Charlie would do anything for his siblings.


Charlie wasn’t there when Ron got hurt saving the world at the end of his first year. He came back for summer and bought Ron as many candies as he could eat. Sometimes, being a good brother is in discreet celebrations.

Charlie wasn’t there when his baby sister got possessed and left for dead in a mythical chamber. When summer came and Ginny left school, paler and more silenced than ever, Charlie kept a vigilant  eye on her. He didn’t go back to Romania for months. And when Arthur won the Daily Prophet Grand Prise Galleon Draw, Charlie was the one to suggest they should all go visit Bill. Sometimes, being a good brother is knowing your presence and a change of scenary are the best medicine.

Charlie was there when the Death Eaters attacked supporters celebrating a victory - or drinking the bitter taste of loss away. He went to fight alongside the Ministry to protect his siblings and everyone who needed it. He also stayed the rest of the summer in the Burrow. Sometimes, being a good brother is making sure your siblings and their friends have an open ear if they need to talk their fears away.

Charlie wasn’t there when Harry, his adopted but estranged sibling, watched Voldemort come back from the dead. From Charlie’s childhood nightmares. He learned about it in one of Ginny’s letters and got his worst burns when her words resonnated in his head as he was tending a dragon. In his head, Ginny had that same terrified voice as when she was twelve and asking him if Tom would come back. Charlie felt like he’d been lying to her for years, telling her she was safe and had nothing to fear. That Tom would never come back. Sometimes, being a good brother is forgetting how life doesn’t always follow your hopes.

Charlie wasn’t there when his father got attacked by an evil snake. Charlie wasn’t there when Dumbledore’s tiny army raided the Ministry. He came back to see the greying hair on his father’s head and the scars on Ron’s arms. Ron laughed it off. Charlie cried it out. Sometimes, being a good brother is shading tears other people won’t cry.

Charlie lived in Romania. He loved it, loved the people, the country, and above all his job. But when Charlie came back to Bill’s comatose and broken face, he considered never leaving again. Bill had always been his best friend, his safety in the chaos that was their family. Charlie hugged Fleur and helped her chose her wedding dress. He was Bill’s best man and joked, more than once, that Bill was actually the best man he knew. The three of them got drunk at a pub a few miles from the Burrow and he recalled every embarassing moment of Bill’s childhood. Sometimes, being a good brother is making your sibling blush and hit you in the face as their fiancée is bending in laughter and coughing beer out of her nose.


Charlie wasn’t there when Fred died.

Charlie was there to see his mother cry and his brothers collapse.

Charlie was there to see Ginny stand, tall and proud and clutching Harry’s hand so she wouldn’t get lost.

Sometimes, being a good brother is knowing that there are days when you can’t be the good brother.



Charlie was there when Victoire was born.

Charlie was there to see Bill cry and his siblings scream.

Charlie was there to hold the tiny baby and let her grip his finger.


Charlie was there when Ginny wrote that she was pregnant and wanted to see him. Everytime.

Charlie was there when Fred II asked to learn how to fly and neither George nor Angelina had the heart to teach him.

Charlie was there when Lucy got in another fight with her parents and needed a place to let her anger out. He was also there to bring her back home and make sure she’d apologize to Percy.

Charlie was there when Hugo felt inadequate and lonely in their giant family.

Charlie was there to talk about kissing boys and girls, about how sometimes people liked it and sometimes they just didn’t care.

Charlie was there to give pets as presents, as siblings and in-laws pretended they didn’t know about it.

Charlie was there every step of the way in his nieces and nefews’ lifes.

He quickly needed a larger box to gather all the drawings and pictures he kept receiving. (Hermione gave him an enchanted one)

Sometimes, being a good brother is being a good uncle.

Our friends asked about you.
Saying your name didn’t hurt like it used to.
I told them I haven’t heard from you,
And for months now that’s the truth.

This is the longest we’ve been apart.
Almost a year now but it feels like it’s been longer.
I still feel the cracks in my heart,
But every day without you I grow stronger.

—  K.N.B.
I'll Always Write Back [Connor Murphy x Reader]

Title: I’ll Always Write Back

Pairing: Connor Murphy x Reader

Fandom: Dear Evan Hansen

Requested: by the lovely @the-murphy-family

Summary: Connor and the reader are friends online, but then find out they’re neighbors too. The reader is homeschooled, so she has no way of hearing the rumors about him. They become best buds and hang out with each other everyday and eventually fall in love

A/N: This was waaaayyy longer than I wanted it to be, so my apologizes in advance. Thanks again to @the-murphy-family for such a fantastic prompt, I’m sorry I rushed the exposition so much. I had so much fun writing this! (If you aren’t already following their blog, I highly suggest it).

Warnings: Connor’s potty mouth | First person reader | Fighting Murphy siblings

It was almost bedtime by the time I’d messaged him. I hadn’t planned on it, by any means. We talked after I’d finished my lessons for the day–he’d skipped school, I saw, which I always thought was off considering his mother was home.

I’d changed into my pajamas–just an oversized t-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts–and had begun to tuck myself into bed when I saw him.

He’d left his blind open tonight, and through the window screen I could see him silhouetted perfectly, all the lights in his room blazing. It was nearing 9:30, so I wasn’t too shocked to find he was still awake. The houses were so close together on this side of town and, from the second story window, there was nothing but a four yard distance between our windows–and a drop nearly twice that length.

He was sitting on the edge of his bed, staring straight ahead, giving me a view of his profile, the sharp angle of his jaw, the thin slope of his nose, and the hard jut of his adam’s apple.

 What startled me enough to give pause was the fact he was unnervingly still, unblinking, staring at something I couldn’t see. He wasn’t working on homework or painting his nails or playing that silly candy crush game on his phone. He was just staring.

Too far away for me to make out his expression, I instead rolled over onto my bed, clicking the lights back on and pulling out my phone, opening up the Chat app we used on the daily.

To: Connor
From: Me

What’s up, buttercup?

I wished I could see him–there were certainly nights we sat by the window and messaged back and forth, but starting out that way would mean he knew I saw him lost in whatever pensive state he’d been in, which more often than not would mean he’d be less than willing to talk. In my lap, my phone buzzed to life.

From: Connor
To: Me

Isn’t past your bedtime or something? 

I snorted, starting my own reply before:

From: Connor
To: Me

Are you having trouble sleeping again?

Swallowing thickly, I immediately replied:

To: Connor
From: Me

No, I’m fine. Just bored, checking to see if you were too :)

I tried to wait, give Connor a moment to compose whatever turmoil he’d been sitting in before I asked how he felt, otherwise I’d get a swift ‘okay’ and the conversation would take a dive bomb south at ridiculous speeds.

From: Connor
To: Me

If it’s nudes you’re looking for, sorry to disappoint, but I’m not in the mood tonight, kiddo

I choked, lunging forward in the bed to muffle my embarrassing squawk into my fist. Thank goodness my bed was out of sight of the window, or I’d have to watch Connor chortling at my less than appropriate reaction to his less than appropriate joke.

Connor and I had only been talking for about two months now, after I’d moved out here five months ago. Well, we’d been talking for nearly the entirety of the five months, but I’d only realized it was Connor not all that long ago.

To: Connor
From: Me

Oh no, whatever will I do without seeing your sculpted, rock-hard abs??? ;)

From: Connor
To: Me

Shut up, jerk off

I cackled into my fist, careful to not wake my siblings that slept in the next room over. It had taken a large amount of time to get used to Connor’s rather blunt personality, to put it pleasantly.  He’d always been candid, of course, ever since the first contact I’d had with him on the Chat app (“You swear you aren’t a pedophile, right? Or my dad? That’d be weird as fuck.”) and it had been thrilling to be with someone so open and ready to talk about things. The way he felt. The things he thought. The fact he was afraid.

We didn’t exchange photos for a long time–and I’d never seen Connor outside the house, other than the on and off times he’d flit across his bedroom window like a haunt, never knew his name–but the second his photo flashed on my screen, I knew. Even in the photo he hadn’t been smiling, the same stoic countenance he always wore.

He’d recognized my photo immediately, and had been less than thrilled. It took convincing–a lot of me showing up at the fence between our yards, very nauseous, promising it hadn’t been a mean joke–but he came around.

From: Connor
To: Me

You sure you’re good? You’re quiet

I smiled softly at my phone screen. It was a rare night when Connor had enough energy to be so concerned about others–it wasn’t his fault, I knew, he was just in a bad spot right now. The fact he could consider my feelings for more than a few moments felt remarkable, flattering. But, most importantly, it meant he was doing okay.

To: Connor
From: Me

I’m fine, pls don’t worry :)

To: Connor
From: Me

Are YOU okay?

From: Connor
To: Me

I’m fine, chill out

I rolled my eyes, unsurprised. Deflect and distract, his usually strategy.

From: Connor
To: Me

Can’t see you rn


From: Connor
To: Me

Come to the window

I sat up quickly, going over to shut out the light to blur my image to him. Combing my messy hair with my fingers, I tugged on my oversized shirt so that it covered my mostly exposed legs before throwing open the window and leaning out.

Connor, across the way, had already thrown his window open and was halfway leaning out, his face scrunched in confusion. He tapped something out on his phone, pausing every so often to tuck back the dark locks falling into his face. His other arm was braced on the window ledge, the sleeve of his hoodie pushed up to expose his bare forearms to moonlight, glowing a soft snow hue in the dark. My phone buzzed as he glanced back up at me with an open expression.

From: Connor
To: Me

Turn on the light, dumbass, I can barely see you

I smiled up at him, putting my phone aside to shake my head ‘no’. He frowned, slumping down a little more against the window, his chest pressed to the ledge, before holding his arms up in a 'why not?’ and flipping me the bird.

I typed out a quick response to let him know that my parents thought I was asleep. I watched him read the text, watched his eyebrows furrowed over his deep-set slate eyes, saw him frown, heard him swear under his breath. I bit back a chuckle as he carded his hand through his hair in frustration several times.

I vaguely wondered why this made so little sense–most of our conversation up to this point had been centric of me, but Connor was visibly frustrated (not that he wasn’t frequently) and earlier he’d seemed much to absent to not be upset about something. My phone buzzed to life, casting a blue glow across my face, and I saw Connor’s face stretch in recognition, pleased to make out my expression in the dark.

From: Connor
To: Me

Meet me in the pool house

My heart jackhammered in my chest at the thought of it–sneaking out. He was crazy, he had to be. He knew my parents would murder me for being up this late, let alone sneaking out, and worst of all, meeting a boy.
Not just a boy. Connor.

I felt him watching me from across the divide, at the edge of my vision and could make out where he leaned against the window, propped up on his elbows and head in his hands, hair hanging in his face. Glancing up, meeting his stony gaze, I nodded.

It was immediate, earning a reaction from him. Biting back my chuckle, he scrambled up from where he kneeled against the window ledge, his whole face smiling as he ran from his window without looking back. He was already standing in his backyard, waving wildly before I’d even departed from the window.

I decided against redressing or doing my hair–Connor was waiting and the quicker I got out there the quicker I got back without alerting my parents to my absence. Besides, it was probably too dark in the pool shed for Connor to make out my bare face and frizzy hair anyway, let alone the hair on my legs and the stretch marks on my thighs. As if Connor had the nerve to look to begin with, I snorted.

Sneaking out was surprisingly easy, and Connor had left the gate cracked just enough for me to slip in between. The door to the pool shed–just a small building, hardly smaller than my bedroom, at the edge of the yard–was slightly ajar, and I saw quick movements coming from inside.

Once in the doorway, clicking the door shut behind myself, I heard a sharp intake of breath behind me.

“Connor?” I called, spinning in the dark so that my back rested against the door, ready to exit if necessary. My eyes searched the dark frantically–in vain. There was a small window, vaguely fogged from years of neglect that allowed a slim moon beam to shine in on a small pile of towels and blankets, a little bean bag chair. Connor had told me not too long ago he and Zoe hadn’t played in here for years, which meant it held secrets long forgotten by either of the Murphy children. I felt honored to be inside it.

“Hey,” he breathed, and though I could see him, I recognized his soft voice just to the right side of me, breathy and soft. It’s too dark to make him out, and I noticed he’s careful not to touch me, but I can feel his breath against my ear, warm despite the fact it’s chilly for a June night. I felt goosebumps pimpling along my legs, making the hair stand up on end. I silently thanked the universe for giving me the gift of darkness to veil myself in.

“Feels like it might rain,” I sighed, turning toward the sound of him, the warmth. My bare arms brushed something–maybe cotton, maybe not–but it pulled back immediately away from me, accompanied by a quick intake of breath.

“Christ, don’t talk about the weather,” Connor hissed into the dark, a hard thunk resonating through the shed where he must have leaned his head against the wall, a bit too forcefully. How very Connor of him. “That’s the kind of shit my dad says in the car when he acts like he’s uncomfortable to be near me for more than ten minutes at a time.”

“Sorry,” I muttered, leaning away, and turning to gingerly pick my way across the shed–it was getting late now and I was already beginning to get tired. Connor may be able to stay up until the early morning hours, but I definitely couldn’t be trusted to be awake at eleven.

“Fuck, don’t be sorry, I just meant–shit,” he growled, and I heard another sharp pang against the steel inside of the shed–he’d hit something with his fist, if the metallic clink of what I assumed to be his ring against the sheet metal was any indication.

I stumbled my way to the beanbag chair, collapsing, and letting myself sink into. It smelled a little like chlorine and sun-in hair dye, but it was soft and warm, almost the size of a double bed. I wiggled upright, squinting again to see Connor in the dark now that I took up the only patch of moonlight in the building.

“You aren’t feeling alright, are you?” I asked softly, resting my cheek against the faux suede of the chair, struggling to keep my eyes open. There was a pause.

“That’s not why I asked you over,” he sighed in his tennor, stomping across the room, picking his way, until he flopped down beside me, displacing the insides of the chair and nearly rolling me out of it.

He reached forward with another soft swear, grabbing my shoulder blades to yank me back onto the bean bag bed, rolling me close so that I wouldn’t fall again. I laughed, unsure what was so funny–maybe it was the fact I’d nearly catapulted out of the chair due to all five pounds of Connor “Ribcage” Murphy, or the current situation, my face pressed against the soft cotton of his hoodie, his heartbeat steady and strong against my cheek. I didn’t move away.

To my surprise, Connor didn’t move away either, just kept both arms wrapped around me, hands firmly in place of my scapula as if scared to dip any lower. I felt the dip of his chin against my temple, felt his lips against my scalp.

“Aren’t you freezing?” He whispered, rubbing quick circles between my shoulder blades.

“Quit dodging my question, Con,” I hissed, beginning to pull away before Connor tightened his grip–surprisingly strong for a boy with such lithe wrists.

“But you are cold,” he muttered, slipping one hand down from my shoulder to my bare arms, rubbing in quick patterns there, attempting to make some sort of friction between us.

God, my parents would kill me if they saw me now.

I want to he clear I wasn’t under any pretenses–this wasn’t, er, Connor hadn’t called me out here so that we could, well–

“I’m fine, Connor,” I promised, taking advantage of the moment to fold my arms against him, trapping them between the heat of our bodies, letting my cheek rest idly against his chest. Connor didn’t like me, I knew, but in the dark shed…well, it was easy to pretend.

It was always easy to pretend to be someone else with Connor.

“You wanna talk about what’s going on with you right now?” I said with a false bravado, thumping his chest lightly with my fist. “You can’t hide anything from me, Connor Murphy. I know you too well.”

“You don’t know anything, dumbass,” he grumbled half-heartedly, and I felt him lean forward to press his face into my hair. “You don’t know shit.”

“So you’re lying to me?” I baited with a smile, tapping his chest, feeling his frustrated sigh and rewarding him with a light laugh. “I didn’t think so. I’m here for you, you know.”

“I know,” he growled, sighing heavily, taking one hand off my back to push his hair away, before letting me go entirely to roll onto his back. His thin fingers covered his face, the black fingernails scratching frustratedly against his pale face. “I just–I don’t, I don’t know how to–shit.”

I leaned forward to tap his chest again, letting him know I was here. “Just talk it out. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

He shocked me by reaching forward with one hand, knotting his fingers with my own and letting them linger against his chest. I was grateful he couldn’t make out my expression from his position, grateful for the fact he couldn’t feel my face flush. I’d never been this close with a boy in my life, and Connor knew that. He wasn’t being fair, and I was sure he knew that too.

Unless he didn’t. Connor had a bad habit of selling himself short. I bit back the urge to press a kiss to his bony knuckles.

“I know,” he whispered, voice suddenly hoarse. He was worse than I thought. “Um, it’s harder now? I guess. I trust you–I mean, I always trusted you. It’s um, it’s harder because the anonymity is gone, I guess? I’m worried now that you know who I am–what I am–you’re gonna get bored of me?”

I didn’t laugh this time. His voice was thick and rapid as if he couldn’t hold back the word vomit, like he’d been holding it back for a while. My own throat felt thick, and I couldn’t contain the guilty feeling in my stomach. I rolled forward, wrapping my arms around his thin waist, feeling his hip bone press against mine sharply. I was careful not to look at his face–it’d shut him down for sure.

“Connor…I need you just as much as you need me, you know that right?” I whispered, trying too hard not to let him hear the panic in my voice.

“I know,” he rasped shallowly, sounding oddly wet. He was crying, I realized stupidly. My heart constricted in my chest, my stomach dropping. He was in pain and I had barely noticed. This was all my fault.

“And even if I didn’t need to vent, if I didn’t need your support, I’d still talk to you because I like you, Connor. You’re my friend. You’re a good person,” I whispered.

“Shut up.”

“You are,” I continued. “You’re a great person and you’re always looking after me, even when you’re hurt. I’m so sorry you’re hurting, Connor, I’m so sorry I didn’t notice–”

“I’m not hurting! Shut up!”

“Shhhh,” I hushed, sitting up to remind him to be quiet. “You’re parents are gonna–”

His face was red. His nose and lips were swollen, wet, and his cheeks, flecked with silver freckles glowing lightly in the moonlight beam he laid in, and there were tear tracks running from the corners of his eyes.

“Connor,” I cried softly, reaching up to wipe his cheek. “Please–”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he sobbed wetly, hands folding up to cover his face. “Just fucking get out, okay? This was a mistake.”

“Hey, hey,” I soothed frantically, reaching up to pet his hair, hoping that it might make him unfold himself. “I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s wrong. I’m gonna help, Connor, whatever you need. I want to help you, please.”

“I’m not your responsibility, kid, okay? You can leave. Stop looking at me, Christ.”

“No,” I sighed. “Look, if you don’t wanna talk, that’s okay. That’s okay. Just, let me stay, okay? I’m not judging you, I’m not gonna leave, I promise. I’m here for you. Let me be your friend.”

He shook underneath me, holding in sharp sobs. I wondered how long it’s been since he let himself fall apart like this, let himself have some kind of catharsis, let himself feel, period.

This relapse was good. It was under control. I was here. I had him.

“Okay,” he whispered finally, reaching up to tangle his hands in my hair. “Christ, just–don’t tell anyone, okay? Don’t laugh.”

“I won’t,” I promised. “I’m not. I’m here, okay? You don’t have to talk.”

“Okay. Okay…thanks.”

I might have imagined it, as I lowered my head back to his chest, might have imagined in between the soft presses of his fingers as they moved in and out of my, might have imagined, just briefly, the feeling of his lips pressed against my hair.

———-

The next morning was awkward. My parents and siblings showed no knowledge of the fact I’d snuck out to see Connor last night–it wasn’t as if they weren’t aware we were friends, to my parents chagrin and the Murphys’ delight, but I didn’t need them to think we were involved in some sort of torrid tryst, especially one we weren’t even having.

I left a few hours after Connor had slowly ceased his wet and much needed lament and his breathing had turned into a soft snore. I untangled myself from his arms, and leaned back for awhile to watch him sleep, tried to ignore how angelic he looked, red faced and weepy with silver freckles glowing mutely in the patch of moonbeam.

I’d sent him a quick text to let him know I wanted to return before my parents woke up, let him know I’d be by the next day. Told him to  message me if he wanted to talk again.

Now I was waiting for my mother to finish grading my papers for the day so I could to see Connor, who didn’t have school today thanks to some silly teacher institute, lucky loser. The American school system was a joke, to be quite honest.

“You’re jumpy,” my mother noted, scribbling something in the margins of my paper without looking up at me.

“I was gonna ask if I could go over to the Murphy’s? I haven’t talked to Zoe in a long time,” I asked sheepishly, scratching at my arm.

“And Connor, hmm?” My mother hummed thoughtfully, giving a smirk to my workbook.

“Connor’s cool,” I said honestly, nonetheless feeling a guilty lump rise in my throat.

“He’s a good boy,” she mused. “He always helps me with groceries if he’s outside.”

“Which is never,” muttered one of the younger kids, earning a kick under the table from me. My mom just smiled softly.

“Go ahead, honey. Call if you’re going to be longer than an hour.”

I thanked her, nearly sprinting out the door, my twin braids slapping against my back as I skipped between the yards. Zoe was at the door before I knocked, leading me into the kitchen, announcing me loudly in a way that would’ve earned a talking to at my house.

Cynthia appeared in the doorway, looking radiant, albeit a bit tired. Her face smiled brightly at me.

“Honey! It’s so good to see you, it’s been so long since you’ve stayed for dinner–Larry, tell Connor she’s here!–Zoe’s missed you, you should stay the night, right Zoe?–Larry, call Connor–Would that be alright with your parents? Stay for dinner then stay the night? I can run out and rent some movies and snag a pizza–Larry!

Zoe just rolled her eyes, yanking me down the steps past her mother and into the basement. Her grip on my arm was vice like, almost painful and definitely excessive. Her pretty red hair blew up in my face, making the already dark room even harder to see through the haze of her auburn locks. She practically shoved me onto the couch, following me by slamming down beside me.

“Zoe–”

“I saw you last night.”

My pulse hammered in my throat, and I felt all the blood rush swiftly to my face, making me dizzy.

“What?”

“I saw you. I told Mom. I don’t think Dad–”

“What do you mean?” I gasped, throwing my hands between us. Zoe blinked rapidly.

“You and Connor. In the shed. Last night. Christ, it was only ten, you could’ve been sneaky about it–”

“Zoe, we didn’t do anything,” I pleaded. God, if the Murphys knew, they’d tell my parents–

“You don’t really expect me to believe that, do you?” She sighed, pushing her hair back out of her eyes. “Whatever, okay? You don’t have to tell me, I don’t give a shit as long as you aren’t pregnant. Just–because you’re my friend, I want you to know some things. Are you gonna listen?”

I thought better than to argue with Zoe, so I nodded shyly.

“Look, I know you and Connor are friends. That’s fine, whatever. But you don’t see Connor at school. You don’t see Connor here, not really. Not what he’s like when you aren’t here.”

I felt my heart constrict. She was going to try to convince me to stop talking to Connor.

“He’s mean. You don’t think it’s weird you’re his only friend? He’s a bully. He’s lazy. He’s violent, Christ–he’s my brother, I love him. But you shouldn’t…you shouldn’t take him seriously, okay? One day his temper is gonna flip and you’re gonna be in his way.”

I blinked, stunned that Zoe would say something so slanderous about her own brother.

“I don’t understand,” I said softly, staring across at her. It was no wonder Connor was so upset, why he had to reach out to strangers on the Internet to vent. His own home was a war zone.

Zoe sighed heavily. “You aren’t at school. You don’t hear the rumors. You don’t see the things he does. If you wanna be friends, fine, but…be careful. I wouldn’t let him anywhere near your heart.”

I didn’t argue with Zoe–I thought better of it. So I just nodded.

“Thanks for, um. Thanks for the warning,” I said with a thick voice, struggling to maintain sincerity.

“You’re welcome,” she sighed. “Mom thinks you’re dating. She’s over the moon. It’s disgusting.”

“I thought you thought we were dating,” I pried, raising an eyebrow. Zoe rolled her eyes, hitting me with a deadpan expression.

“As if Connor could ever get someone like you. As if Connor could even feel something remotely close to love–I’m half convinced his chest is an icebox,” she laughed dryly.

“Talking about me, are we?”

We both spun, wide eyed to see Connor on the stairs, arms folded.

“No, go ahead, I’ll wait. I love hearing stories about myself. Tell me again Zoe about how I’m in love with her?” He hissed, making my face burn red in shame. I felt awful for letting Zoe talk about him that way–worse because Connor made it painful clear he didn’t reciprocate any feelings I might’ve had for him.

Wait. I didn’t have feelings. Connor was a friend. A good friend. A friend who needs me and who doesn’t deserve to be taken advantage of, not until he’s okay. Not ever.

“Never said that,” Zoe said with a smirk, rising from the couch gracefully. “But keep digging your grave, it’s fun to watch.”

“Fuck you,” he growled.

“Fuck you,” she grinned. “I’d love to watch your train wreck love admission, Titanic is on, and at least that story has a happy ending.”

Connor kept a white knuckled grip on the banister as she passed, as if holding in an urge to push her. He kept his blazing eyes downcast, and noted his pale cheeks were burning red.

“What’d she tell you?” He whispered once the door slammed.

“Nothing true,” I promised, leaning forward on the couch to make room for him, patting the seat beside me. “Nothing that changed my mind.”

His head snapped up, and I watched his expression go from rage to disbelief to awe before he descended the stairs, shaking. He stopped before the couch, as if scared to come near me, staring down in awe.

“What did my mom say to you?”

I shook my head. “Not much. She asked if I could spend the night. Only if you want me to, though.”

He laughed, but the smile didn’t quite reach his face. “Only if I want you to, Christ, where did I find you?”

“The Internet,” I reminded, earning another laugh.

“Of course I want you to,” he sighed, finally coming to sit beside me. “Of course I want–”

He cut himself off, surprising me, before slinging an arm around my shoulder. I stiffened, but eventually melted against him, reminding myself that it was just Connor.

“You wanna watch a movie? I hear they’re playing Titanic or something.”


——

It’s two am when I wake up, taking a quick mental assessment of where I am. There’s a soft blue glow burning my eyes, shining over what appears to be a nest of blankets piled roughly on the floor.

The Murphy’s basement, I realized with a jolt, I’m just at the Murphy’s.

I’m in a pair of Connor’s pajamas–Zoe’s clothes don’t quite fit me right–an oversized black shirt and a pair of sweats Cynthia brought down in a laundry hamper. My braids have long since come loose, the desperate curls tangling wildly around my head.

Beside me, Zoe is snoring, almost comically, every so often a nostril whistles in time to the soft sound of Dexter’s Lab playing on the tv.

There’s a hand, dangling just above my head. The pale fingers were curved artistically, the nails too short as if they’ve been bitten recently and the black nail polish chipped hopelessly. It’s attached to an arm, long and thin, almost angular, and up farther is a shoulder, bare, pressed against a red coffee stained couch.

Connor.

“You’re awake,” he whispered in a conspiratory voice, but when I sat up to make contact, there’s no sly smirk. He’s frowning. “You are having trouble sleeping.”

I shook my head. “Stop worrying about me, Connor.”

“No,” he rasped, sitting up on the couch. I avoided looking too long at his bare chest, but regardless indulged nonetheless.

“You haven’t been sleeping,” I noted, coming to sit by him on the couch. He immediately opened the blanket, giving me room to slide in beside him, before throwing it around both of us so we could settle back against the couch. His bare skin was warm, and I let him take both my hands between his, letting him rub my hands between his in an attempt at some warmth.

“Been thinking too much,” he sighed softly. “Don’t worry about it.”

I swallowed, beginning to feel the effects of sleeplessness and helplessness melt together in a fatal concoction.

“I can’t help if you don’t let me, Connor,” I reminded him, pressing closer. “Let me help. What are you thinking about?”

He leaned away, as if I’d burned him, dropping my hands into his lap and looking away, the thin muscle of his cheeks hollowing as he clenched his jaw. “Can’t say.”

“Connor,” I pleaded. “Please let me help. I want to. I’m begging.”

“No,” he growled. I felt tears beginning to build, to my own horror, behind my eyes.

“Connor, can you just–”

You.”

It was an explosion. We both froze, turning in horror to glance at Zoe, waiting to breathe until we heard the soft whistle of her nose again. I turned slowly, terrified back to Connor. His eyes were wide, and if I didn’t have my fingers wrapped around his knee, I swore he might try to run.

“Me?” I asked softly, careful not to wake Zoe. Connor pursed his lips, his jaw twitching nervously.

“Fuck, yes, you, just–shit, I didn’t wanna say that–”

I leaned away, watching Connor’s face contort farther.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered heatedly. “I’m sorry if I did something wrong. You want me to go, right? I’m really sorry, Connor–”

“What?” He nearly yelled. “You think–fuck.”

His head ducked, to my great surprise, against my shoulder, pressing his face into the crook of my neck and, of all things, began to laugh.

“Connor–”

“You think–Christ, it’s like you aren’t even real. You think I’m mad at you?”

He pulled away, his face no longer red or swollen, just smiling softly at me, almost awe struck, and staring intently with his slate eyes.

“I…I’m not sure?” I whispered, but not feeling at all nervous when Connor snaked his hands gently up my arms again.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered suddenly, shocking me. “And you have no idea that you’re perfect. Christ.”

I frowned. “Connor. I don’t…I don’t think I understand.”

But he was still looking at me–eyes scanning slowly over my face, landing suddenlyhalf-lidded on my lips, and it suddenly all clicked into place. Why Zoe would warn me. Why Cynthia acted the way she did. Why Connor was so scared in the first place.

I remember Zoe saying how over the moon Mrs. Murphy was at the idea of Connor and I dating–because that meant Connor would have me. It meant Connor would be happy.

It meant I would have Connor.

It was like a sudden dam had broken open inside me, filling me with more revelations as Connor’s hands lifted to cup the back of my head, his eyes soft, scared, and asking as they met mine. I let a quick exhale before I surged forward, slamming out mouths together much too forcefully, and not at all enjoyably.

I laughed–much too loud–but Connor kept back to the task at hand, his eyes closed in concentration, swallowing my outburst and folding me against his (very, very bare) chest and kissing me deeper, slower. It was painfully obvious he didn’t know what he was doing, but so much about the kiss was still tender and important, warming me from my core outward until I was scratching to wind my arms around him, getting him as close to me as I possibly could, kissing back to make sure he knew how much I wanted this. How much I wanted him.

How much I needed him. Anything he needed, I’d give him. Now and forever and–

“If you two are gonna fuck, can you do it in the bathroom or something? I’m trying to sleep.”

Connor and I pulled apart–causing me to stumble backwards against the arm of the couch gracelessly and staring at Zoe as she rolled over with her back to us.

I dared a peek back at Connor, whose lips were pink and wet despite their dry skin splitting with the force of his wide, wide smile.  His eyes were glowing brightly, almost burning as he raked them over me. The flannel blanket was pooled behind his back where it had been wrapped around us, and he just simply opened his arms again, inviting me back. His pale chest–pock marked with freckles, clusters on his ribs–was striped with pink lines from where my fingers had raked in a desperate attempt to give him validation.

I crawled forward, pressing my face against his neck in a hazy attempt to bring my breathing back to a normal speed.

“You okay?” I asked, running my fingertips over his shoulders, fighting the urge to word vomit an unholy collection of questions about who and what we were. Connor Murphy, post kiss. Connor Murphy, still life, smiling with wet, swollen, bloody lips. Connor Murphy standing at the edge of happiness, jumps over the ledge.

He nodded against me, fighting with his own dark curls where they made an attempt to cloud my cheeks in an adoring way. Cute, I decided.

“Okay? I’m,” he sighed, laughing and wrapping his arms around me to squeeze tightly. “I’m…you have no idea.”

“Better than nudes?” I teased. He snorted, embarrassed.

“I’m positive. Although–”

I hit him.

“Okay, kidding! Jeez…” he pulled away, cupping my face lightly, pushing the hair back out of my eyes like I was a child. It felt fantastic, he was right, as I searched through the galaxies in his eyes, his pale skin illuminated by the hazy blue glow of the television. It felt so far past amazing, being held like I was the only person he knew how to see. He cleared his throat, and I saw his eyes were brimming with an emotion I couldn’t name.

“You, uh,” he laughed nervously under his breath. “You have to know I love you.”

It was a startling blow, knocking all the air out of me and forced a bubbling laugh to fly out of my lungs. Connor’s smile wavered slightly, so I popped up to press a soft kiss to the cleft of his chin.

“I know,” I sighed, giddy with the realization it was true. “I know. And you know I trust you more than anyone. You know I love you.”

It was like watching him crack open, the way all the uncertainty was cleared from his face, a wave of joy and triumph.

“You love me?” He asked so softly, so awestruck, I felt my heart shake in my chest. I’d barely started to nod before he surged forward to kiss me again, small and chaste pecks across my face and neck, the bridge of my nose, my temples.

He was okay. We were okay. We were going to be just fine.

  • Rumple: So, now that Gideon's a baby again and I did the right thing... makeup/makeout session?
  • Belle: Hell no.
  • Rumple: Wait, what?
  • Belle: You did ONE good thing, that doesn't excuse the hell you put me through or what you were planning to do to him. Every time you make it seem like you've changed, it always ends up coming back to bite me in the ass, and until I get good, solid proof that this is permanent, Gideon and I are moving into Snow's apartment, since the Charmings are getting a farm.

sunagakurepuppetbrigade  asked:

19 for Klance please :)

“The paint’s supposed to go where?” Keith asked incredulously. 

Lance gave an evil grin, tossing the balloon in his hand into the air and catching it smoothly. “On your face, Mullet. And mine. And Hunk’s and Pidge’s and Shiro’s. Now are you done asking questions?”

Keith peered around the barricade he and Lance were hidden behind, looking over to where Pidge, Hunk, and Shiro were clustered together whispering. “I…one more. Why is it just the two of us against the three of them?”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Cause Coran and Allura are lame. But it’s fine; we make a good team together. Now are you ready to kick their collective asses?”

Keith let a smile slide across his face, glancing back at Lance and shaking his head ever so slightly. “Why not?”

“You take charge, I’ll flank?”

“As per the usual.”

They fist bumped, and then Lance whooped loudly and jumped into the air, chucking the blue balloon in his hand with no warning. It splattered across Shiro’s chest and the room went dead silent, everyone staring at the smattering of azure paint. 

“Oh it is ON!” Pidge shrieked. 

Within seconds, balloons of the Voltron colors were flying back and forth across the room, red mixing with yellow and making orange and blue with red and green with yellow. It was an all out rainbow, and frankly it was glorious, if Lance had anything to say about it. 

It all changed, however, when Keith took a direct hit to the face and was flung backwards to the floor. Lance gasped and dropped to his knees next to him, the balloons still flying over his head. 

“Keith!” he yelped a little dramatically. “No! How could this happen?”

“You didn’t cover me,” Keith snorted, wiping some of the green paint off his face cause of course Pidge would go for a head shot. 

Lance flung a hand over his eyes. “Oh, you’re right! I’m the worst! And now you’re gonna DIE!”

Keith laughed and pushed himself upwards, shaking his head to get some of the excess paint out. “Lance, I’m fine. Now can we shoot back please? I’d like to murder Pidge, if that’s cool with you.”

Lance grinned cheekily and reached behind him, grabbing a red balloon and handing it over. Paint flecked his cheeks and nose and mouth, stretching as he smiled, and Keith took the balloon with a smirk. “She’s gonna eat it,” he declared. 

“Oh she better.”

Pidge never had a chance. 

Six Sentence Sunday- 7/16/17

“Molly, I need you to know that I honestly do love you,” Sherlock suddenly blurted out at Bart’s lab.

After a moment of stunned silence, Molly nodded while casually replying, “it’s ok, Sherlock, I know.”

“No no, you don’t understand,” he continued, a bit more desperate and aggitated now. “I love love you, as in wanting to be with you in every way two people can be together. I want to hold you and kiss you and do an innumerable list of other intimate things with you, make you feel wanted as well as needed, act like an idiot at times just to make you happy, see you every night before I fall asleep while comforted with the knowledge that you’ll be there when I wake up, because it’s only you who have finally made me understand how a romantic relationship truly could complete me as a human being!”

Molly’s lips spread in a slow smile as his little speech drew to a close, and she very calmly and simply repeated, “Sherlock…I know.”

anonymous asked:

fitzsimmons + 10 if you're up for it? :)

things you said that made me feel like shit’ – okay, I know this is super cheating, but I just couldn’t bear to have Jemma or Fitz say something like this especially with current canon haha. So it’s a different kind of heartache!

—–

“I hate you!” James screams, his face scrunched up in the devastating combination of impotent fury and heartbreak that only the very young can manage. “I hate you and I wish I’d never been born!”

Every cell in Fitz’s body seems to still; synapses refuse to fire in his brain. Is this parenthood? he wonders. He hadn’t known letting a piece of your own heart free into the world would mean there was the possibility of it returning ashamed and angry and wishing for annihilation as some nuclear option solution.

“I think you should go to your room now,” Fitz says, voice even and unflinching. “Just go to your room and stay there until you’ve calmed down.”

James turns and runs, stomping so loudly that dirty dishes rattle in the sink. He slams his bedroom door shut and Fitz winces at the echoing sound.

Fitz presses his fingers against the bridge of his nose, feeling slightly dizzy at how quickly the situation had spun out of control. He replays his own words in his head and can’t see where he might have avoided the escalation. But of course he’s missing something. What other explanation could there be?

He walks to James’s bedroom door and knocks softly. When there’s no response he rests his forehead against the wood and closes his eyes.

“I just want you to know that I love you, James,” he says. “Nothing will change that, okay?”

“Go away!” James yells, and so Fitz does. What else is there to do when your own son hates you? What more can possibly be said?

++

When Jemma arrives from a late shift in the lab, the usually-cheery house is eerily silent and dark.

“Fitz?” she calls. “James?” She’s not worried, per se, but living the sort of life she’s lived has given her an edge. Sometimes, she still sees monsters lurking in the corners.

She finds Fitz first, sitting at the kitchen table with his head resting against his arms. She can sense sorrow thick as molasses pooling from him.

“Fitz?” she asks again, more softly this time. She sits down next to him and rests a hand on his shoulder, which finally causes him to look up. She can tell he’s been crying and her immediate reaction is to worry about their son.

“He’s fine,” Fitz says, as if reading her thoughts. He jerks his head over his shoulder, in the vague direction of their son’s bedroom. “We got into an…argument.”

“Oh, Fitz,” Jemma says in sympathy. James was normally the sweetest, most well-behaved boy, tender enough to melt your heart, but in the past year he’d decided yelling was the best way to air his frustrations.

“I’m absolute shite at this,” Fitz whispers, burying his head into his arms again. “I have no idea what to say to him.”

“You are not! It’s just a phase…I hope.” She realizes at the same time that Fitz scoffs that she probably hadn’t been very reassuring.

“He said,” and here Fitz lowers his voice even more, as if what James has said is some demon that can be brought forth by simply uttering its name, “he said he hated me and that he wished he’d never been born. That’s…Jemma, he’s eight and his biggest regret is that he exists.”

Jemma’s heart clenches tightly and she chokes on the inhale. Talk of regrets is, all these years later, still a delicate balancing act in their household. She rests her head against his arm, gripping his elbow with her hand. “Fitz, that’s not his biggest regret. He was just throwing a tantrum. He said the same thing to me the other week.”

At this, Fitz looks up, his normally bright eyes dulled with pain but questioning nonetheless. “He said that to you? You didn’t mention it.”

Jemma scrunches up her face, realizing suddenly that she hadn’t. “Of course I was going to,” she shrugs. “But then your mum came to pick him up and he was happy as ever when he came back. And we were in the middle of that big project. It just slipped my mind.”

“It slipped your mind?” Fitz repeats incredulously, as if he can’t imagine how something so awfully momentous could have fallen into the background of their lives.

Jemma smiles, running her hands lightly through his overgrown curls. “One of the boys at school was yelling at his mum the other day. I think they’re all feeding off each other a bit. Anyway, honestly, I don’t think it’s a huge deal. Children say these things. Didn’t you ever say something like that to your mum when you were a kid?”

But even as she says it, even as Fitz’s eyes widen at her question, she knows he never did. Fitz and his mum had been each other’s only allies. It had been the two of them—against his father, against a world they wanted to believe was beautiful despite its cruelty, despite how horribly it had let them down. No, Fitz would never have told his mother he hated her, would never have even thought it.

Jemma wraps her arms around her husband, as if she can shield him from everything. From bullets, from evil organizations infiltrating their lives, from an eight-year-old’s careless words.

“I love you,” she says, peppering kisses along his face. “I love you and James loves you and you are an excellent father. We’ll talk to him together, okay?”

Fitz melts into her, nodding carefully. Jemma sighs. Marriage and parenthood were her two favorite things she’d ever experienced in a lifetime of amazing experiences, but how was she to know letting pieces of your heart reside in other people could amplify your own sorrow?

Jemma places a kiss against his forehead, breathing in the scent of home, knowing her heart had never completely been her own anyway.

++

Fitz jerks awake, not entirely certain where he is, when he realizes his son is standing at his bedside.

“Daddy?” he whispers, voice thick with tears, and Fitz sits up in concern.

“What is it, James? Are you okay?” Next to him, Jemma hasn’t even stirred.

James shakes his head at the question and throws himself into Fitz’s arms, crying wretchedly into his chest. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I didn’t mean it. I don’t know why I said it. I love you, I promise.”

Fitz draws his legs up so that James is cocooned in his arms and rocks him gently, like he’d done when he was young. James usually fidgets out of his grasp if he feels he’s in any way being treated like a baby, but now he relaxes into Fitz’s embrace, nearly boneless with relief.

“I love you, too, James,” Fitz says against the top of his son’s head. His soft hair reminds Fitz of when he’d been just a baby, of cupping his perfect head in his hands and being terrified and enamored beyond belief.

“You’re my best friend,” James says quietly, and Fitz loses the battle with his own tears at the admission.

“It’s okay,” Fitz reassures him. “It’s going to be okay.” They sit this way for a while, Fitz gently stroking his son’s hair, before he realizes that James is about to fall asleep in his arms.

“How about I take you back to bed?” he asks, but James grips Fitz’s waist tighter and shakes his head.

“Okay,” Fitz says, pretending to think carefully. “How about you stay in here tonight, and tomorrow we make Mummy pancakes so she doesn’t get cross with us?”

James nods and allows Fitz to carefully lift him from his arms and place him in between his parents. Fitz shifts to his side so he’s facing James and kisses his cheek. “Let’s just go to sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Jemma moves in her sleep suddenly and James widens his eyes, putting a finger to his lips to shush his father. Fitz nods in agreement and they both hold their breath. A moment passes, and then another, and then Jemma turns until she’s curled up protectively against James, still sound asleep.

James grins over at Fitz and then snuggles closer to him. They’re both asleep within minutes.

Not Your Fault

Requested: Can you do one where y/n finds out that she can’t get pregnant ?

Your name: submit What is this?

~~~

It’s your fault. That’s what you found out today. You went to the doctor because you and your husband Shawn have been trying to get pregnant for a few months, and you both thought it would be a good idea to see if there was a reason why or if anything was wrong. You know that sometimes it just takes a while to get pregnant, so since it had only been a few months of trying, you weren’t too worried.

But the doctor ran tests on both you and Shawn, and the test results just came back today. It turns out that Shawn is perfectly fine and capable of getting you pregnant, but the problem is that you can’t get pregnant, something about being infertile. You barely heard much of what the doctor said in that office. All you heard was that it was your fault, and that’s all you needed to hear to spend the rest of the meeting just trying to keep yourself from falling apart. The doctor was telling you about other options, about things you could do instead. Shawn’s hand was securely in yours the entire meeting, his thumb comfortingly running along the back of your hand, but it didn’t make you feel much better.

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Ko-fi cup doodle of some paper cranes that looked way better before I decided to experiment with shading.

This one is dedicated to the anonymous person that bought me a bunch of coffees last week and didn’t leave a note. If you see this, anonymous person, know that your enabling of my caffeine addiction is eternally appreciated!