when words aren't enough

anonymous asked:

Troyson : J (when words aren't enough)

warnings: mild dysphoria, period mention, food mention, vague reference to Epikegster 2014 

It doesn’t happen often. Kent’s always prided himself on being comfortable in his own skin…nowadays at least. It’s been years since he had top surgery and he’s Mexican so he didn’t have to wait for the T to work as much as he just noticed one day he was harrier and his voice was the right amount of deeper (like a man and not a pre-pubescent asshole). 

So on the rare occasion that his body decides to fuck with him (because why not) it sends him in a bit of loop. Suddenly, it’s not like he’s the Stanley Cup winning captain of one of the best team’s in the manliest sport possible. He’s just…not wrong but uncomfortable with how fucking abject he feels. 

He doesn’t like talking about it, first of all because he isn’t out to the whole team. Even when they have a kick ass trans woman as their coach, he’s not sure that’s something he’ll ever do. No one who doesn’t already know is entitled to that information, not one.

Instead of talking it out with someone, he sits and stews as he waits for his fucking ibuprofen to kick in, and thinks about hiding under a rock for a while. He makes quesadillas for dinner because easy comfort food is the only thing he can stomach right now. 

Jeff finds Kent curled in a ball on the couch after he comes back from a pickup game of basketball. He’s sweaty and Kent wants to chirp him for how gross his hair looks. But his smiles falters. 

Because he remembers vaguely seeing someone he wanted with someone smaller than Kent–kinder and more petite. It fucks with his mind because the last thing he wants is to be any less masculine than he currently is. But what if that’s exactly what Jack wanted. Someone pleasant and easy to blend in with all the other SOAPs. 

Kent doesn’t want to be anyone but him. It just reminds him that he’ll never be enough.  

As if he can hear Kent’s thoughts, Jeff grumbles. He trudges up the stairs. Kent can hear him rooting around up there, but he doesn’t both to complain about Jeff fucking up their bathroom. 

He comes back ten minutes later in pjs with a hot pack, a quilt Trish gave them last year for Christmas, and When Harry Met Sally on DVD.  Which is how Kent ends up with Jeff falling asleep on him half way through the movie. The hot water bottle between them presses hard into Kent, making him feel physically less shitty and emotionally more grounded. 

Jeff snores a little, snuffling and moving further into the crook of Kent’s neck. Kent smiles at him fondly. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to talk about it much when Jeff wakes up and starts asking questions. But that’s ok, they’ll figure it out one way or another. 

His eyelids get heavy as he watches Billy Crystal talk in a funny accent. Before he falls asleep, a thought occurs to Kent. 

Jack was never my Harry, you were. 

send me characters and I’ll write you a minific!

castielscamander  asked:

also, headcanon that finn begins to speak Gaelic when he's making love because the words just aren't perfect enough in english to say to you

Ok, ok, ok….first off. Accents do things to me. I just….UGH!!!! Finn’s accent first off is MY FAVORITE. I could listen to him talk FOR DAYS.

But first off, making love? That’s a whole other level and then added in gaelic and him praising me with adoration? Done. Dead. Deceased. BURIED ALIVE.

I’m feeling this…HERE WE GO

The sheets were like clouds hugging you in its heavenly embrace. It wasn’t like the embrace your body was intertwined with the love of your life. There was a speech Finn had only spoke to your a few times. Anytime that he did was during this act. This act of pure love that not only made your heart race but filling your core with agonizing lust.

“You are the sun…” You began, staring up into the blue pools of blissful ocean encompassed in the eyes of your beloved.

“agus is mise na réaltaí…“ Finn smiled. His hand cupped firmly over your cheek.

“Your beauty is unsurpassed…” You couldn’t help the welling of tears spilling emotion.

“Feicim uait ó fhéin an ghlóir…” His lips brush over yours, eyes intense with unwavering devotion.

“You power my universe and I power your heart” His thrusts are slow, languid, tantalizing. The words spiking your lust. There was a love here for the ages, but the lust you felt was strictly for one another. Your souls bound together for eternity.

fauxfires  asked:

Hawke, Anders, Justice: j: "When words aren't enough".

The flight from Kirkwall is eerily silent, scattered conversations in low voices and soon trailing off, and Hawke wishes Varric would complain about being dragged into the outdoors, or the slope of the mountain path, or the cave they finally decide to stop in for the night, what little night is left. They split into groups to check for spiders or other potential rude awakenings, and though Hawke’s about ready to fall over, Anders shows no sign of flagging, striking out down a passage alone. Hawke has to scramble to keep up.

Anders pulls a wisp out of the air to light the path, and the wavering light is comfortingly familiar. Late nights sitting up reading under that light, the quiet thrill of finally feeling free to use magic openly in his own home; magic as something small and casual. Harmless.

The wisp widens its circle to include Hawke, dancing in front of his eyes, and he waves it out of the way, sends it veering wildly across the dead end cavern. No sign of anything more threatening than some glowing lichen.

And Anders finally turns to look at him as the wisp clumsily makes its way back to its summoner, and under that faint light he’s pale and fragile and all Hawke can think is, You thought you were going to die. All this time, you thought you were going to die, and I didn’t know.

Keep reading

obbsessedturtle  asked:

J. When words aren't enough. Any part of the love square :)

Thanks to my friend Ana, @obbsessedturtle​ for the prompt. :) 

Send me characters and a letter and I’ll write you a mini-fic!

Adrien/Marinette, K, drabble 

Adrien shut the door of his locker with a resounding slam. Plagg poked out of his shirt collar and jokingly hissed, “Did you want the entire school to hear that?”

“Sorry, Plagg, I’m just distracted today,” the blond muttered, zipping up his coat. The kwami took note of Adrien’s downturned eyes and softened his voice to a concerned whisper. Adrien somberly pet his kwami and nudged him back into hiding. The school day was finally over and all he wanted to do was go home to sulk alone.

“H-hey Adrien,” came a soft voice from behind him. Adrien turned to come face-to-face with Marinette. As always when she interacted with him, she seemed slightly on-edge and nervous. Adrien managed a small smile despite his mood. Marinette was a hard person to sulk around. 

Marinette pulled a small box from behind her back. “I noticed you seemed a little down this morning. I brought these for you from home during our lunch hour.” Adrien peeked inside the box to find 12 colorful macarons. She took a quick breath, as if to steady herself and tell herself that she was capable of continuing a coherent conversation. She relaxed a little, and continued, “Maybe it’s just because my family owns a patisserie, but I rely on desserts to help me get through rough days. I hope these help.”

Adrien’s cheeks turned the slightest bit pink at the gesture. Marinette was the only one so far to notice his dour mood. He placed a hand on her shoulder and pulled her in for a quick hug. After they pulled away, he noticed Marinette’s bright red cheeks, and suddenly felt a bit awkward himself.

“Sorry if the hug was too much. It’s just that this was really cool of you.” He swept his hand through his hair and looked like his old self for the first time all day.

“N-no, it was fine. I like hugs! I’m glad you’re happy with the macarons.” Marinette stammered. Adrien looked down at the box of cookies and the slightest hint of his Chat-like charm was visible on his face. 

“I don’t really feel like going home right now. Want to sit down somewhere and help me eat these macarons?”

Marinette froze for a moment before she reminded herself to use her perfectly functional vocal cords. Words, Marinette, words. You know how to speak. She nodded. 

“Sure, Adrien, that sounds great.” She found her voice again and shot him a vibrant grin. “We can hang out at my place for a bit if you want. We’ll have access to plenty more pastries where those macarons came from!”

Adrien took the liberty of taking Marinette’s textbooks from her hands, smirking in his head at the blush he was able to elicit from her. 

“Sounds perfect. Lead the way, Mari.”

Marinette made him sit in the bakery for a few minutes while she claimed to be straightening up her room. Of course, Tikki teased her relentlessly about how “straightening up” simply consisted of hiding all of her posters of Adrien. When they finally made it to Marinette’s bedroom, they hung out on opposite ends of her bed and paged through her sketchbook. They came across a design she made of a Chat Noir onesie. Adrien promised to model it for her if she ever made one. After a few hours, Sabine DuPain-Cheng knocked on the door.

“I just wanted to let you two know that dinner’s almost ready.” She then turned to Adrien with a warm smile. “You are more than welcome to stay if you would like to.”

“I would love to, of course, only if Marinette’s okay with me staying.” He teased with a grin. 

Marinette rolled her eyes with a small smile and a hint of pink at her cheeks.

“Of course I want you to stay. We’ll be down in five minutes, Maman!” She turned back to Adrien after Sabine retreated back down the stairs. “You certainly seem to be in a better mood,” she commented. 

Adrien closed his eyes for a moment in reflection. It was the anniversary of Élodie Agreste’s disappearance, and Adrien’s father refused to talk to him about anything concerning his mother. Not only was Adrien especially hurting today over his mother being gone, but his father’s habit of pretending Élodie never existed was making this day much harder.

“Adrien, are you okay?” He snapped out of his reverie. Adrien didn’t feel ready to share any of this with Marinette, but his heart felt lighter anyway for having spent the afternoon with her. For lack of words to explain this to her, Adrien simply pulled Marinette in for a hug. This one lingered longer than the first, and he was glad when he felt Marinette relax into it this time. 

“Thanks Marinette. You really turned my day around.”

Thanks so much for the prompt. This is my first time writing for these characters, so if anything is OOC or awkwardly written, I apologize in advance! 

klance-mcclain  asked:

McKirk with J please! You're incredible for doing these <3

Ah! Thank you so much! I’m sorry this took me so long. I kept getting distracted by other things and couldn’t justify writing until today. Enjoy!

Usually Leonard is good with words. He’s never been shy about speaking his mind, whether good or bad, and his southern upbringing has given him a thousand and one metaphors for any occasion.

Or, almost any occasion.

There’s no one quite so skilled at leaving Leonard at a loss for words as James Tiberius Kirk. The man can be infuriating, a true reckless idiot. At those times, Leonard knows exactly what to say, exactly how to convey his anger and frustration at always having to patch Jim up after he’s, once again, jumped before looking for a place to land.

It’s when Jim does something truly unexpected, like now, that Leonard’s rendered speechless.

“Bones?” Jim asks softly, uncertainty in his voice. “Is it okay? You know, if you don’t like it we can always-”

Leonard lets out a soft growl and turns toward Jim, reaching for him. He tangles his fingers in the hair at the back of Jim’s head and pulls him forward for a hard kiss. Their lips crash together, and Leonard’s heart pounds in his chest. He tries to pour all his overwhelming feelings into the pressure of his lips against Jim’s, into the slide of their lips and the hot breath that fans over Jim’s lips when Leonard has to pull back for a panting breath.

Closing his eyes, he presses his forehead against Jim’s, collecting himself. “It’s perfect,” he whispers, and opens his eyes to meet Jim’s with a smile. “More than perfect. It’s…Jim…”

Leonard sighs in exasperation and settles for kissing Jim again instead of flapping his lips like an idiot when words clearly weren’t enough.


I finally get my long train trip home but I don’t find my mind wandering as it usually does. For the last few days I have been sitting in front of a blank word document typing and deleting, typing and deleting until I forgot what it was that I wanted to get across.

My failure to put these feelings into words or rather my lack of feelings is steadily taking over my thought processes until all I want to do is sit down and write it all out: the fact that I am not missing a friendship that I once held so dear, and the fact that my home is no longer where my heart is, to write out the fact that every day I see myself changing to suit my surroundings and it scares me. Perhaps my failure to articulate these feelings is due to my lack of understanding and insight on these subjects, perhaps they surprise and shock me as much as they do anybody else.

Perhaps this is just a phase. Perhaps I can’t bring myself to worry about these things because despite it all I know God is on my side and he is carrying all these cares for me.

Perhaps this is something all the little birdies go through when they finally leave the nest. Perhaps my disinterest in this subject is causing my words to come out jumbled.

Perhaps this post came out exactly the way I intended all those other posts to be, depicting my whirlwind of emotions or perhaps my life just isn’t supposed to be made sense of.

But sometimes I like writing things out so that I can understand them better, so that in the future I can look back and realise that there was a reason I am right where I am in life, that this is where I stand and why.

I did this for me and I realised that if I want to post nonsensical jumble like the fluff above then I can. I lost the purpose of this a long time ago but I am pretty sure I just found it; this is about me not you or the fact that you don’t like the way in which I put my feelings into words. You have the option of reading this but I don’t have the option of feeling it.