BB8: Finn Is Naked.

i’m still baffled by the producers’ decision to hire an actress who is white, pro-trump, anti gun control, AND CAN’T EVEN SPEAK SPANISH to play the character of Olivia: a Spanish-speaking Latina whose parents were deported and is the victim of gun violence. My mind really just cannot process this.

He didn’t intend to say it.

He’d been toying with it the last couple of weeks, rolling it around silently in his mouth, just trying it out.

(He’d whispered it out loud, just once, in the mirror.)

(Maybe twice.)

It was too soon to say it. Mary had only been dead for six months. He and Rosie were only sleeping at Baker Street once or twice a week. He was maybe two months into what would probably be a lifetime of therapy to cope with his anger issues and his betrayal issues and his trust issues and his sexuality issues and fuck, he had a long way to go.

It was too late to say it. He’d let so many chances go by. Even now, after everything–after Moriarty and the Fall; after Mary and Magnussen and the tarmac; after Smith and the morgue and Eurus and the hug–he still didn’t know what to do. Because despite “it’s always you, John Watson” and “the man you have saved” and “that’s why he stays”, John was afraid. He was afraid that he wasn’t the man Sherlock saw. He was afraid he never had been, and even more afraid that he never would be.

So he wasn’t going to say it. Not yet. Not till things were a little more…settled. He’d told Ella as much not thirty minutes before, and had felt certain about the decision the whole way home in the cab.

A low rumble of laughter drifted down the stairs as he closed the front door behind him, followed by his daughter’s shrill shriek of joy. He took the stairs slowly, wrapped up in the sound of their voices, so comfortable together. So…right. (Not yet. Not yet. Soon.) He opened the door to the flat and froze, his field of vision narrowing to the two people standing in front of the fireplace.

Sherlock was wearing slim black trousers (finally filling them out again after months of John and Mrs. Hudson trying to feed him up) and the deep sapphire shirt that had narrowly edged out John’s old purple favorite to currently hold the number one spot on the mental list of favorite Sherlock clothes he would never admit to having. He had Rosie propped on one hip before the mirror and his other hand held her favorite stuffed bee, which he was currently flying about both of their heads while making a buzzing sound low in his throat. Every once in awhile the bee would “land” on Rosie’s flower-printed pajamas. Rosie would fling her arms out in an ineffectual attempt to catch the bee, the bee would “fly away,” and the laughter would follow.

They were the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

John watched a few more rounds of this, his heart expanding every time, before Rosie spotted him in the mirror. “Da!” She burst out, flailing one arm in his direction. Sherlock looked up, surprised, and their eyes met in the mirror.

“Not often I catch you by surprise,” John managed as they turned to face him. Sherlock’s cheeks flushed, and he waggled the bee.

“Bees, John. Very…diverting.”

“Bee!” Rosie yelled, and Sherlock handed it to her. She held the bee in both arms and dropped her head on Sherlock’s shoulder.

“Very good enunciation, Watson,” Sherlock said, and his now empty hand automatically came up to slide gently over the back of her head. “You’re becoming an excellent apiculturist.”

“I love you.”

John felt his own mouth drop open as he saw Sherlock’s do the same. He watched Sherlock look to Rosie, and then back to John, as if tracking the path of his gaze. John felt an unexpected calm begin to settle over him now that the words were out, so he stepped a little closer and tried it again.

“I love you, Sherlock.” He took a deep breath. “I have loved you so long I hardly remember a time when I didn’t, and I have been waiting to tell you. For years!” His voice broke on the last word, and he cleared his throat. He would get this out. “And now I have been waiting, again, trying to figure out if I can be the person you want me to be. The person you seem to think I am. But…I am, already, aren’t I? You’ve always seen exactly who I was, and loved me anyway.” He felt a grin begin to spread across his face. “Sherlock. You love me.”

Sherlock, who had been silent and staring through his entire speech, nodded. His beautiful eyes were bright and his hands held John’s daughter with unwavering strength and care, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet, and deep, and sure. “Yes, John. I love you.”

It wasn’t too soon.

It wasn’t too late.

It was what it was, and what it was was good.

And now.

And always.

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spiderman rather take pictures of himself as spiderman for the newspaper. how good are you with selfies?

bonus+

hey guys so i've just rewatched IT chapters 1 and 2 for like the 1000th time and i'm craving for some reddie content, can anyone recommend your favorite fanfics or even comics? it can be one-shots or not it doesn't matter I just rly miss my boys 😭

spidychelle social media au: peter parker [michelle jones]

John and Sherlock making each other smile and laugh ♥

MJ (walks into room): Sorry I'm late, I was.. doing stuff

Peter (enters the room, noticeably disheveled): SHE PUSHED ME DOWN THE FUCKING STAIRS

Goals :,)

#She did all that in heels #Legend!

i’ve been staring at this gif of the rock rolling his eyes for like 5 minutes

it’s such a perfect eyeroll. like it’s not sloppy or anything. his eyes make a perfect half rotation followed by a quick look of ‘whatever’ in one smooth motion.

and the look directed at the camera right after.

so much sarcasm. so much sassiness. 10/10.

this is my aesthetic.

Mj X Peter (Insp: @/ lastgayjedi on twitter)