#'three sentences' welp

[appreciatingtokrev]

hello elys my love how are you on this fine day

hello taku my love :3

my day instantly got 7 times better bc of your ask <33 but apart from thinking too much abt a specific traumatic thing that i experienced three years ago i’m doing great. those three hours of sketching for my k polycule piece were really meditative bc i was so insanely hyperfixated on drawing there was no room for thoughts in my mind lol

also i’m skipping school today bc i panicked bc my teacher didn’t give me details on a group project me and some classmates should’ve presented today but i woke up so early that i was done panicking before 7am so i see it as a win. (it’s nearly 4pm for me rn)

also also i might send you stuff abt the k polycule (kazutora x kokonoi x kakucho) sometime bc i am brainrotting way too much abt them but i’m not sure if there’s enough hcs for me to talk about bc most of the brainrot is rotating them inside my brain like a microwave and not in a productive way so

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

request!!: peter parker who has a huge crush on reader and one day r just accidently friendzones themself without even realising that they did? (i hope that makes sense?) then after that u can take it anywhere u want to honestly!! ly <333

ily anon, you answered my pleas. also you know that tt prank where couples kiss and then say “thanks brother” or “love you sis”… couldn’t help but add it for some comedy.

mcu!peter parker x fem!reader

masterlist

you need to learn when to shut your mouth. tripping your foot into your mouth has gotten you into too many situations before, but this one is absolutely the worst one. you might as well be taken to the grave already.

your just a girl. sometimes you say your crush is “like a brother to you” when getting hounded by mr. delmar. it’s a panic move, mouth speaking before mind catches up. and it landed you in the dog house when you saw the way peter’s face dropped at the implication. but you thought he was smart enough to know that wasn’t true, you were touchy and teasing with him. you wouldn’t do that with a sibling, you’re not one of those people.

“mj, i’m a fucking idiot.” groaning into your pillow, trying to suffocate yourself.

she gave an exasperated sigh that you knew was followed by an eye roll. “yes you are, but you don’t need parker.” you heard the flip of a page.

you whined in your throat, “but i want parker!” acting like a tantrum kid. even adding a kick to your feet, your bed springs creaking.

mj groaned, “then clear the air! it’s not that hard!” over your peter parker drama.

you rolled from your stomach to your back, arms flipping to your sides as you stared up at your white ceiling. “but what if-“ your sentence was cut short by a knock at your window.

“say his name and he appears.”

peeking at the tips of your toes you saw peter squatting on your terrace, a hesitant smile with an awkward wave. welp, now’s a good time to clear the air.

crawling off your bed you pushed the window up and were greeted by a cool breeze. bits of peter’s baby curls swaying with the touch, a angelic glow surrounding him. you feel yourself melt just at the sight of him.

“h- hey peter, whatcha-“ “can we talk? alone?”

your eyes zeroed in on mj who was blantanly staring at the two of you, book of no interest at the moment. “oh, i’m fine over here.”

“mj…” “fine. fine. i’ll see you both at school.” packing up and leaving your home with a wiggle of her brows.

“so what did-“ “do you really think of my as a brother?”

you couldn’t help a small chuckle, “kinda funny how you’ve interrupted me three times, but uh, no. i- i don’t see you as a brother, that thought feels gross. mr. delmar was making me anxious.” looking to your fingers as you drummed them along your windowsill.

“oh thank god.” peter declared while cupping his hands on your cheeks to bring your head up. both of you smiling brightly at each other

two months later

“so what do i do?” “just sit there and look pretty.”

a shy smile at peter’s lovely words. he finished setting up his camera and pressed record, you just stared at his side profile.

“you wanna get to her, well you gotta go through me.” and peter turned to kiss you on the lips. a shiny haze covered your eyes then- “love you sis.”

“peter!”



[zwolfgames]

Yandere!various!That Time I Got Reincarnated As A Slime x gn!cat!reader

Requested: JosephCruz118

(Warnings: Forced marrige, neko reader, reincarnation.)

(3rd person POV)

Welp, there it went. The end of your life.

Just like that.

A strange way to begin, but thats what happens in the tragidy that is your life.

You were graduating, finally, after years of being a student, you could walk out of this building and live.

Well... Your classmates would. But you just so happned to get the short end of the stick.

You were simply walking down a hall, when some... pshycothic man pushed you out of the open window.

Sending you pummeling down three stories.

The last things you heard were some disgusting cracks and screams... just screams.

Embracing the sudden coldness of the world, you felt life leaving you.

'Wish I'd have landed on my feet for once in my damm life... Maybe feel loved for once...' Your last toughts echo trough your head, a thumping pain in your cracked skull.

And then it all just fades. 

Thats it, the end of Y/N L/N.

Missed by many, but never got far in life.

--------

A fresh breath of air enters your lungs.

You shock awake, laying on a warm grassy field. The green blades carresing your skin as the wind moves them. 

The sun shines brilliantly above you, almost blinding you as you flutter your (e/c) eyes open.

'What in the fuck-knuckles is this bright nonsense?' You squeeze your eyes shut once more and groan in displeasure. This was not what you wanted to see in death.

You once again open your eyes, feeling a bit light sensetive at the moment. But you hold your hand to your forehead, blocking out the suns harsh rays.

After a moment of adjusting to the new lighting, you take your hand away and look around.

Big grass field... Surrounded by forest. Huh, what a strange afterlife.

You take another breath of fresh air, crisp... crisp air. No pollution noticable.

'Yea... Now hold up a minute.' You talk to yourself in your head, standing up and looking at your hands. No blood, no rocks or dirt.

Yea, somethings wrong here.

Especially that elongated feeling in your tailbone. Weird.... thats new-

Oh my god its a tail!?

You screech in confusion and grab the fuzzy thing. Slender but long, standing to make sure you keep balance. No no no! The afterlife turned you into a cat(girl/boy/YN)! A damm furry!

Some birds hiding in the grass fly away at your noise, some almost touching the top of your head.

If you had a tail then... oh no..

Your hands quickly reach for your head. And yep, two cat ears. Actually, biologically, on your head. You even felt them twitch in your hands.

After cringing for a good two minutes you calmed down and just accepted fate. It could have been worse, you could have been a worm.

So... what to do now? You couldn't just stay on this random grass field for the rest of your afterlife...

Or maybe thats what you've been sentenced to, grassfield duty.

Were they expecting you to chomp grass like a cow? Who knows... Where are the instructions? You would like to read them.

But no instructions came... reminds you of school projects...

You sigh and begin walking... towards... well, forwards. Where does this go? Into that forest? Yes.

But what else were you supposed to do. Wait around like a dumbass. No thanks.

So there you went, walking trough the thick grass towards the even thicker forest.

Birds greeted you with chirps as you entered the foliage. Forest greens filled your vision as you stepped trough a bush. Getting little unnoticable cuts on your exposed legs.

But.. It was peacefull. Birds, insects. The noises of nature really made this place feel real. was this even the afterlife?

A vision maybe?

Or... were you reborn?

How silly would that be-

"Watch out!" Some loud shrill voice alerts you of a quickly incoming troll or something on a.. on a wolf.

You jump aside and the wolf rider passes you.

He brings the wolf to a stop and hops off, walking back towards you. Ah, not a troll, this looks like a goblin, if you can trust those movies you've seen.

"Hey?" You wave awkardly. The shorter goblin smiles brightly with his two tusk like teeth.

"Hey! I haven't seen you before! Are you an adventurer?" The goblin asks exitdely. 

"Not.. really. i'm a bit lost. Where is this?" You ask, it feels as if your voice has barely seen use. As if its all new. As if this body is new.

Maybe it is.

"You don't know where you are? Well, you're in the Jura forest right now. I'm from Rimuru City, I can take you there, maybe you'll be able to orient from there?" The little goblin offers you with a friendly smile.

You nod, not that cautious as you should have been were this your old life. YOLO, am i right?

The goblin helps you onto his giant wolf and you hold on, like asked. The big canine speeds off trough the forest and you feel alive for once, wind in your face, cutting against your face like sharp yet harmless blades.

After a bit of running around on the wolf, you reach a nice looking medival village, lots of fantasy looking monsters running around, building things and working.

Well damm... This looks better managed then soceity.

The goblin that lead you here looks behind him to check up on you, to see if youre still on the wolf before enetering the crowd and bringing you somewhere.

He brings you all the way to what seems to be the towns centre. Gesturing for you to hop off here.

You hesitantly nod, awkardly smiling at the goblin as a form of thanks.

Welp, now you were in a random city, full of magical looking monsters and whatnot.

You hear the magical residents go about their day, smells of foods, contruction and just random things fill your weirdly sensetive nose.

Just as you were about to enter the building in front of you, as it looked like a town hall, you felt a squishy thing bump against your leg.

You look down, eyes widening at this small, light blue slime. Tapping your leg for attention.

"Uh... Can I help you?" You ask it in confusion, not reallu expecting it to react.

"Yes! You're new, aren't you? I'm Rimuru! Welcome to my city!" The blue slime speaks. It speaks!

"I.. yes? My name's Y/N." You awkardly repsond to the talking slime- Rimuru. What wonders does this world have in store for you?

"Great! I'll show you around!" Rimuru speaks in an exited manner... but he doesn't have a mouth... Telepathy, maybe?

Whatever. That day, Rimuru showed you around his city full of fantasy folk. Introducing you to all kinds of people, some of his trusted compagnions and whatnot.

But thats... how you ended up like this...

----------------

"Y/N. You can't go. Whats wrong with the village? We can give you everything!" Benimaru protests as he catches the arm holding your bag. The tall kijin holds onto you desparatly.

After three months of living in this village, you got to know pretty much everyone. And let's just say, they really like 'the cute demi-cat'.

Wich is why, when you planned to finally go explore some more of this weird world. You got met with a lot of complaints.

They've already set up guards by the city exits, you've been monitored for the past two days and now Benimaru was here to personally stop you.

"Let go, I just want to explore." You sigh, done with this weird protection you're receiving.

"No can do orders from the boss... that I absoluty agree with. You aren't ready for the rest of this world." The kijin repeats those lame words. He's grinning like always, just happy to be able to hold you.

Your ears flatten on your head and he 'awws'. How agitating.

"Come on, just stay and let me pet you!" The red kijin coees and sets you back down in your house. A babyproofed house.

Wich was annoying as hell! You didn't even get a knife sharp enough to cut the crust off your bread!

Benimaru takes the liberty of ruffling your hair. He's what you'd call... a big brother. Only diffrence, is that this one doesn't let you do stupid things.

But he wasn't the worst.... You'd say Rimuru was the most peacefull.. But Shuna was determined to get you to marry her.... And Gabiru had the idea that you were his bestest friend ever.

Wich is a reason to why you weren't allowed to leave. The people in the city got too attached to you. Maybe they found you friendly? 

But whatever the reason, you wanted out. They didn't let you do anything dangerous! Wich sounds stupid but you wnated to go explore too!

As if sensing your toughts, Benimaru grabbed yoy into a bear hug, his form engulfs you, you're barely visible. He loves it like this.

"Let go." You demand, voice muffled by his sleeves.

"No." He smiles down at you, nuzzeling his head into your hair.

You huff in annoyance. All this attention was nice... for a week. But it's as if they never, ever got bored of you.

It seemed impossible in your head. No-one takes intrest in you for this long.

Yet these fantasy people did. And it was weird. Like they had it all planned out.

Wich they did, but you didn't know of the plan. Wich Rimuru vowed to keep that way. He knew of the dangers of the world, and you weren't ready.

Better off with him and his friends.

You get snapped out of your toughts by the door of your house opening, speak of the devil. Rimuru. In his human form, today.

"Y/N! I see you've changed your mind yes?" He smiles at you, the... well... you still didn't figure out his gender... but since he said he used to be a man.. in his past life.. you just rolled with that because They/them takes longer to write.

"No, I'm just.... being blocked, at the moment." You speak from between Benimaru's arms as he doens't plan to let go any time soon.

"Well thats a shame. Don't you like it here?" Rimuru asks with a pout. Golden eyes looking straight at you.

"I do, i just want to see more." You asnwer what you always do. But ofcourse he just shakes his head.

"You're not going to." Rimuru answers back, a dark tone to his voice for the first time since you met him.

You try to protest but Benimaru clasps a hand over your mouth to stop it.

You lick his hand but he doesnt relent. Rimuru chuckles at your annoyed expression.

"Don't try. Y/N, if you don't stay willingly... You'd make a lot of my friends sad." Rimuru speaks in a belitteling tone. walking up to you and petting your head dismissivly.

You let out muffled sounds of protests, squirming against Benimarus limbs as hes holding you down.

"Fine then, we'll lock your house down from now on. Is this what you wanted?" Rimuru snarkily tilted his head. You didn't recognise him like this. He's always been so friendly. But now, with those scary dulled eyes on the cutesy face... he's just offputting.

You made your protests known by a harsh glare. But he just smiled. You were really getting pissed off! You were an adult for god sake! No matter these cat features! This was dehumanizing!

Rimuru left, taking Benimaru with him. You heard the lock click into place. The windows had never been able to open... so..

But what they didn't know, was that you were a great lockpicker. Being bored in middle school was bound to pay off at some point!

So when it got dark out, and all these annoyances went to bed. You took that little metal hairclip and got to work. These fantasy people didn't know how to make complicated locks. So it wasn't that hard.

And bam, door open, Y/N free!

So you just sneak out of your house, taking some food with you, along with the non cutesy clothes they've provided you with.

Atleast being half cat gave you great stealth. No-one would hear you.

So you left Rimuru city. Into Jura forest and just... Wherever you wanted to go.

Ofcourse, you had been thankfull for their hospitality for a while, You mean, modern soceity would have let you rot on the streets. But still, locking someone in a house? Crazy.

The leaves crunched under your feet and you were getting paranoid that you'd leave a trail for them to find.

You sped up your pace, hoping to find somewhere else to hide. A cave maybe? A difrent city?

But no, you ended up meeting monsters. Lots of them. They chased you down, tired you out. You felt like real prey for once.

You hid in a tree and stared at these savage beasts as they kept patrolling under the tree. You couldn't get out. Trapped once again. But not as comfrotable.

But not for long. As morning broke out, the warm rays hitting your cold face after a night out in the tree, you heard sniffing.

And it wasn't from the monsters.

Before you knew it, they were all torn to shred by Ranga, Rimuru's wolf compagnion. Shit! He tracked you down!

Rimuru was on his back, in slime form. He devoured the tree you were in and turned human just to catch you in a ridiculously tight grip.

He seemed mad, stressed. Not a word was exchanged as he set you on Ranga and rode back to the city. Harsh grip around your waist.

"Y/N. You. Don't. Get. To. Leave." Rimuru whispered to you as you arrived back at the village.

You expected him to throw you back into your house but he too kyou to his living quarters instead. 

Tugging you along to one of the many rooms. Opening a wooden door, the overpowered slime set you on the soft bed and clicked some magic restraints to your wrists.

"This is your own fault. Ok?" Rimuru spoke darkly.

"You'll marry Shuna and Souei. You'll stay put and let us ake care of you. You hear me? This world is dangerous, and you weren't granted powers like I was." Rimuru explains with a serious face. He wanted you to marry two kijins!? Two?! Whatn to tie you to this place?

"I'm not getting married-" You started but he shut your mouth.

"You are. They keep whining about it and why not? You deserve some love, don't you think so?" He grins. You were genuinly scared of the slime at this point. This sounded way too creepy.

"You wouldn't want Gabiru to miss his best friend, would you? Or Benimaru to miss his adorable little sibling? Don't you get how dear yo uare to everyone?" Rimuru carresses you cheek softly. What kind of manipulation is this bitch pulling on you?

But you were afraid of talking back. This boy could pulvorize you ten times over.

So you reluctantly nod. Maybe... Maybe you could get used to living here? Its not like they hurt you...

Rimuru immeadiatly turned bubbly and cute again as you nod. Smiling brightly and patting your head before he leaves again.

The door clicks to a locked state and you slowly pann your gaze over to your cuffed wrists. They glow in the sunlight coming from the thick looking window.

'What the hell just happned?' You deadpann at the floor, needing a moment to register what just got decided for you.

You'd be stuck with these crazy sicko's forever!

A nightmare, really, being taken care off and loved. ew, who would like that-

Wait a minute.

Now hold up.

Well it may have been nice if you liked being stuck in a room. But nu uh. You were an adventurous cat!

The universe granted you a second life and you weren't going to waste it in the position of a docile house husband/wife!

But... You never got your adventure. Married off to two Kijin. 

Intertwined with all these people you had grown to know.

If only they had liked you... a normal amount.

Then you could have lived a seconds life.

This could barely be called that.

This was.... The life of a doll. It had to be. Put on display and loved by all, owned by all.

Thats what you'd always be.

A cute cat, to be cuddled and coddled.

Nothing else...

_____☆_____

I think I went braindead while writing this twice.

Sorry for the late-ness! School has been killing me, last year isn't a damm joke.

I hope this was readable!

Have a nice day/night!

_____☆_____

Words: 2712

[yougavemeyourheartyouknow]

Love me or hate me, both are in my favor (Miguel O’Hara x Fem! Reader [HS Academic Rivals AU])

Y’all ready for Miguel to finally kiss (Y/N)’s ass??!?!?!? Not proofread enjoy lol, I had a lot of fun writing this. I tried to be a bit artsy near the end it it’s too cringe I’ll probably delete it and redo it lmao.

Cursing, Miguel finally getting his shit together, lol he’s ooc but it’s okayyy lol

(Y/N)- Your name, (L/N)-Last name, (N/N)-Nickname.

Word count: 2.1k

Series Masterlist Series Playlist

Chapter 12: What a wicked thing to say, you never felt this way

—

You hated to admit it, but you kind of missed throwing away those stupid little apology notes from Miguel. Oddly enough, they had stopped appearing on your desk the day after your last little “date” with Spider-Man. Though you doubt there was any correlation, you couldn’t help but wonder why all of a sudden he would stop after what was about two or three weeks of nothing but notes after notes of apologies.

“He probably realized that you aren’t going to forgive him and decided to finally give up.” Mj’s voice sounded through your phone speaker, lying next to you as you laid on your stomach on top of your bed. Checking over your new manicure you had just received that morning, before letting out a huff as you dramatically dropped your head down on the mattress.

“Can we stop bringing him up? I don’t need reminders of his existence, not like I didn’t have enough reminders before…” You grumbled, you're sure if she was there with you she’d roll her eyes at your theatrics.

“I feel like we talk too much about you two.” She teased, the end of her sentence trailing off in a chuckle.

“Yeah because now that you're dating Peter, I can’t tease you about how you act like a nervous wreck around him anymore.” You shot back, picking your head back up and raising your brow, your smirk evident in your tone.

“Don’t be bitter that I got a boyfriend before (N/N), I’m sure spidey will ask you soon enough.” Your cheeks flared as your best friend tease, despite you starting it first you couldn’t help but feel yourself becoming a bit more shy at the mention of Spider-Man. You know not to take it to heart though as you let out a small laugh.

“Hey aren’t you supposed to be getting ready for that date right now.” You point out, having remembered that she mentioned to you during your last class together that Peter was planning on taking her to some movie after his photography club.

“Oh shit- you’re right! I got to go, I’ll text you later!”

“Okay bye have fu-aaaand she hung up, welp.” You drop your head on your bed once more after grabbing your pillow to place underneath you. Deciding taking a nap would be better than spending the next few hours doing something else, too tired from school to even attempt to watch a movie or tv show, let alone read or do homework. A sigh escapes through your nose, closing your eyes as you snuggle against the pillow, waiting to succumb to your own exhaustion. The white noise of your air conditioner running in the background lulling you to sleep.

—

“Maybe this is too on the nose…” Miguel mumbled to himself as he glanced down to the wrapped item in his hands, trying to compose himself as he stands in front of your dorm room, gathering the courage to knock.

It was almost embarrassing, that he was going to grovel at your doorstep in order to get you to even look at him again. He was already bruising his ego enough with the countless apology notes that you didn’t even bother to glance at for longer than a second before tossing them, let alone read. Still despite his… complicated feelings towards you, he’d rather you bruise his ego then anyone else.

His eyes came back to stare at your room number that was etched into your door, before nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

You were a smart girl, a very smart girl. Miguel knew that. So he knew he was potentially playing with fire with his apology gift, he knew more than anyone else how your brain worked, he knew that you could take one glance at it and all the pieces would fall in place. He just hoped that for one, he would wave away any suspicions that you might come up with. Worst case scenario you outright declare him as Spider-Man, but then what? You weren’t one to tell secrets, you weren’t money or fame hungry so you weren’t going to go off and tell the media for a check.

Miguel shook his head, trying to shake away all the possibilities that were now coming to the forefront of his mind. Close his eyes to take in deep breath before opening to them once again to stare at your door.

‘If I keep thinking about it, I’ll end up walking away, just knock damnit.’

Finally, with a sharp exhale through his nostrils, he brings up his enclosed fist to tap lightly on your door. The edge of lips pulling downward after not getting any confirmation that you heard his knocking. After another louder knock, his ears finally picking up the faintest of annoyed groans, making his tensed shoulders slip down just a few centimeters.

Miguel thanked whatever dumb constructor decided to not give the ancient dorm building doors peepholes, because if they did, he knew you wouldn’t have opened the door for him. That’s why he stuck his foot out to act as a stopper, preventing you from closing it in his face once you realized who had decided to interrupt your short lived nap.

What a relief to be able to see your face up close with the mask on to counsel his. Despite the fact that your fake polite smile quickly melted away from your face once you realized who was at your doorstep, leaving a scowl to come and take its place. Miguel barely had time to open his mouth before your frame was once again covered by the wooden door, his school assigned leather shoes certainly getting scuffed from it hitting the side of them. Not even wincing as you attempted to push his foot out with resting your weight against the door.

“(L/N), Come on. It’s been weeks, you can’t keep ignoring me. Just… I-I know I fucked up okay? You were trying to be civil with me and I… Look I’m sorry okay? I’m sorry.” His free hand came up and pushed against the door lightly, not enough to knock you off your balance or anything but enough to peak his head through the door to meet your glare once more. “You know more than anyone else that I don’t do serious apologies. Just hear me out. You’ve-You’ve already got me begging here (L/N), to just be in the same room with you so I can admit I’m an asshole. You don’t have to forgive me, just hear me out! Please-“

He was able to squeeze himself through the crack of the door, closing it before him and leaning against it as he attempted to catch his breath from his babbling, chest raising up and down rapidly as his pleading eyes turned a bit more intense, you took a step back and crossed your arms over your chest, letting out an irritated huff as you kept your eyes on him.

“Get out O’Hara-“

“I’m tired of you ignoring me, what do you want me to do, huh!? You and I are too intertwined into each other’s lives for you to ignore me forever. You know that-“

“Unfortunately.” You grumbled under your breath, rolling your eyes a bit. Miguel, now standing up straight, took a step towards you, a hand flying to his chest as usually narrowed and bored eyes suddenly turned wild and frantic almost like a confused puppy.

“I-“ he paused, letting out a huff, before lowering his voice down to just above a whisper. “I’m not going to leave until you listen to me please just-“ He stutters, taking another pause as his eyes flutter shut tightly, you haven’t even noticed that his eyes were turning glossy and red until he opened them again, had you ever seen Miguel cry before? Well if you hadn’t, this might be a first for you both. “Please (Y/N).”

The use of the first name between you both was rare, you had been in more near death situations then you’ve heard your first name uttered from Miguel’s lips. So hearing it with such… desperation… it made your heart jump up to your throat. Your eyes never leaving his as he took another step towards you and… oh my god… is he kneeling?

“Please I-“ He choked out, the wetness that was threatening to spill out from the corner of his eye finally came down, his hands reached out to yours in desperation, you were too much in shock to think about pulling them away as you blinked down at him almost stupidly. “I can't… take it anymore. I feel like I’m going mad.”

He was being completely truthful with that statement too. He was jealous of his super powered alter ego from getting more attention from you then he was just as himself.

You finally pull yourself back into the current moment, clearing your throat as you shake yourself to help gather your words, neither of you noticing during the whole ordeal that Miguel’s apology gift had landed a few feet away from the door. Tugging at his hands as a signal to get up and off the floor. “O-okay, okay fine. Just-get up Miguel, Jesus…”

You wanted to keep holding onto this grudge of yours, but how could you when you had brought a man who is twice your size and four times your ego down to his knees? Reducing him to nothing more than a crying begging mess. Simple answer, you couldn’t. Whether it’s simple petty or if you felt like you were truly ready to hear him out, it honestly didn’t matter to you anymore. It’s clear from his breakdown that he had suffered enough.

He let out the biggest sigh of relief, sniffing a bit as he finally brought himself back up from your floor. A large hand of his coming up to wipe away a few lingering tears of frustration once he was up on his feet again. A silence fell over you both as you gave him a few seconds to collect himself properly before he could start explaining himself. Finally, with a clearing of his throat, bloodshot eyes met yours.

“Look, I know that… we haven’t been anything more than tolerant of each other… but I should have never,” his hands went to find yours again, grasping tightly as if he was afraid that you’d disappear in front of him. “Ever. Said that stuff to you. It was… too much even for us, if I could take it back, I would. I have no idea what snapped in my mind to say such vile things to you, it was wrong, it was stupid-so stupid-and I regret it. Regret it more than anything I’ve ever done in my life. You don’t have to forgive me, I don’t expect you to. Hell, say the word and I’ll walk out of here and I’ll disappear from your life forever. “

You have honestly never felt so speechless before. Miguel has never made you feel so speechless before.

“But god do I want you to forgive, to take those words back. I'll do anything, and when I tell you that I’ll do anything, I mean anything.”

You couldn’t help the breathless chuckle that escaped your throat, uneasiness bubbling up in your lower gult, despite laughing being your first reaction, you could tell he was all but joking. Your tongue stuck out to lick your suddenly dry lips.

“I can tell you’re being quite… erm, serious, so,” you pause, inhaling the tense air in hopes it’ll help calm your nerves, “I accept your apology.” Miguel took a deep breath to keep himself from turning into a babbling mess again, he could feel that heavy pressure on his chest filling up, he could finally breathe agai-“but I don’t forgive you.” He could feel his airways clog back up, he felt like he was blue screening as his ears heard the words but his mind didn’t want to accept it. He wants to do nothing more than to grovel at your feet again for you to take those words back.

But he couldn’t, it made him a little happier to know that there is something he can build off of, still as he finally was able to drag himself out from your room after putting on the facade of countenance , he felt the need to release all his pent up emotions out. He wanted to cry till his tear ducts stopped working, sob till his throat felt raw. But he couldn’t get himself to do it, his body simply wouldn’t let him, refusing to undo all of his years hiding his emotions more than he’s already done in your room, you're the only one who could make him feel again. What was that book his class started reading last week?

He felt like he had no mouth, and he had to scream.

—

Taglist: @famouscattale @strawberryjuice9 @loser-alert @maomaimao @franceseca-the-1st @mcmiracles @mangoslushcrush @queerponcho @yournextbimbogf @tinybirdhideout @oharasfilipinawife @mxltifxnd0m @homewreckingwreck @dumb-gemini @cowboylikeevie @thedevax @codenameredkrystalmatrix @reader-1290 @laysmt (to be added click here)

[house-of-streams-and-dreams]

My Thoughts on: Absolute Superman #1

Spoiler free thoughts: It was great! I was surprised by how much I fell in love with Lara and Jor, and the overall feel of Krypton. Like Absolute Batman and Absolute Wonder Woman, this is a book that clearly has something to say about the way Superman can be reinvented to address and face important 21st Century issues. I originally that that the Peacekeeper soldiers were clones of some sort but they’re actually independent soldiers like the Stormtroopers of Star Wars, and I find that detail to interesting. Rafa Sandoval and Ulises Arreola do a phenomenal job on the art. Imo, this is the best looking book of the three Absolute books so far. It has a cinematic thickness to it, I don’t know how else to put it. The only negative I can think of is that we don’t get a full sense of who Kal is by the end of the issue, something I think Absolute Batman #1 and Absolute Wonder Woman #1 did very effectively. Overall, like the other Absolute books, I think this was a great starting point to a promising new take on Superman. My spoilery thoughts are below!

This a Krypton that feels like a darker reflection on current day Earth and I love it! There’s something a out this splash page that strikes a balance between dystopian and familiar. Even the sentence “The planet Krypton was ruled by its cities” doesn’t feel as threatening as I think it could be. It’s like saying America is ruled by its cities, it’s not an untrue statement. What particular catches my eye is how red this world is. Is it a reflection of the planet’s rage? Or the Kryptonian’s hubris?

The establishment of Lara and Jor as characters really works for me. They’re responsible and kind adults who recognize the system collapsing around them and are doing the best they can to help those around them. One moment that really sold me on this couple is this moment when Lara says “Don’t you wanna get your money’s worth?” The irony isn’t lost on me that people of today take water as a resource for granted. Lara recognizes that she must take advantage of all the joy she can find in her life because her world is dangerously close to the tipping point of environmental collapse, and does so in a manner that shows a hint of rebelliousness.

Easily my favorite moment in the book is this double page spread that contextualizes Kal’s background and iconic symbol as that of the working class. It’s a big middle finger to those loser who say “Superman isn’t political”. Welp, this Superman sure as hell is, and he’s better for it.

This is something I was not expecting in a superhero book, an explicit depiction of capitalist greed resulting in the violent death of working class people and the planet itself. It’s about dark subject matter yet the art is absolutely beautiful. It gives me hope to see what the rest of this series will tackle.

Finally, a proper introduction to the Superman himself. Honestly, I’m kinda shocked that this moment is treated with such humbleness. Compared to Absolute Batman and Absolute Wonder Woman, Kal doesn’t initially get a big entrance or action moment. Instead, he’s shown to be just another body that moves among the people. He talks quietly and isn’t eager for any attention. I’m very interested to see more of his personality.

[judasiscariotsfemalehysteria]

I watched Judas (2004) and welp

So erm this was supposed to just be a couple sentences but ended up becoming a full-blown rant, please bare with me

WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD AND BRIEF MENTIONS OF SUICIDE ⚠️

So basically it all started when Judas saw Jesus going bonkers in the temple and got really horny-

Then he decided to invite Him back to his place for some grapes (malewife mode activated)

Afterwards Caiaphas and co. abduct Judas (this happens a total of three times) and attempt to blackmail him

Caiaphas calls Judas ‘son’

Judas ignores Caiaphas and runs away with Jesus. They start play-fighting and end up wrestling on the ground

Jesus says “I want you to spend eternity with me“

Unfortunately the harmony is short-lived. Judas sees Jesus hugging Matthew and gets jealous

Pilate, Herod and Caiaphas regularly get together for tea and crumpets

Here Judas is basically the stand-in for Simon Zealots. We learned that his father died in an attempt to stir up a Jewish insurrection. Flower!child Jesus asks Judas why he’s staying despite their contradicting beliefs and he replies: “I’m drawn to you like a thirsty horse to a riverbed” 😳

Babygirl 🌸

Supportive mama Iscariot tells her son he should invite his new boyfriend over for Passover, then promptly dies

OMG THE KISS

Judas really just smushed their faces together 🥴

The cinematic choices here are really cool, Jesus is almost always surrounded by light Star Wars hologram lookin ass whereas Judas is consumed by shadow the edgelord

After turning Jesus in Judas instantly regrets it, and tries to get the apostles together to rescue Him. It doesn’t work (obviously) so he screams and cries his way through the trial before going to hang himself

His last thought is of Jesus asking him to join the Eternal Kingdom 🥺

JESUS AND JUDAS’ DEATHS PARALLEL EACHOTHER

The disciples take Judas down because they know it’s what Jesus would have wanted, praying for him as the screen fades to black

The end 🥲

Conclusion

Judas has the vibes of an early 2000s made-for-tv movie (which it is) so I got what I came for. Definitely a fun ride if you like JCS and want to see attractive people acting out a biblically-inaccurate rendition of The Passion in the style of Gladiator (2000) or Troy (2004). The language used is modern, everyone speaks in American or English accents. Pilate even uses the term ‘rabble-rousing’ Overall I give Judas 18 silver pieces out of 30, for being corny and anachronistic but homoerotic enough to satiate all the freaks out there like me

To think this all could have been prevented if Judas just took his iron pills

Bonus quotes:

“Don’t leave me, I thought I was special to you!”

-Judas

“I wish you could love yourself the way I love you.”

-Jesus

P.S. I’ve seen Jonathan Scarfe referred to as ‘the whinier Glenndas’ so please proceed with caution if you do plan on giving it a watch! Here’s the link:

[wrenreid]

Just Acting

18+ story

Chapter Twenty-Three

"Honey, I'm homeee."

"You don't live here."

"Way to kill my vibe, Y/n," Matthew says, shutting your front door.

You smile, standing up to kiss him before going to the kitchen.

"Welp, I don't know what to do with my life now."

Criminal Minds season 16 was officially wrapped as of last night.

"Hang out with me," you smile, turning to face him.

"Well duh."

These past few weeks with Matthew have been a dream- strange, but lovely. You still tease each other of course, but it's filled with humor rather than laced with venom as before.

He's fun and exciting, he takes you out on dates on whim, he's so much more affectionate that you'd thought. You can't stay mad at him for long, the dimples on his sweet face just melt away your frustration. The past month has been perfect. You're happier than ever.

"I think wrapping calls for celebratory sex, don't you?"

You turn back around to face him, expressing a shocked look on your face.

"That's highly inappropriate of you, Gubler."

"Ah last name," he says, wrapping his arms around your hips. "But I'll ignore it for a kiss."

You roll your eyes playfully and press your lips to his. It's slow and gentle until it's not. You end up with your back against the wall, his face above yours, lips pulling and sucking on each other's.

The two of you haven't slept together much since you started dating. He wanted to show you that he's not just it in for the physical stuff.

One day on set, in between scenes, his lips grazed your ear as he whispered, "I found ropes in the storage room. If you want to sneak away." You'd known you couldn't right then, and the feeling of his breath on your skin sent a wave of goosebumps down your body. You stayed quiet, looking forward, forcing your body to calm down.

When you'd finally gotten the chance, you pulled him by the hand, dragging him into the supply closet.

He chuckled softly and opened his mouth to say something.

"Shut up," you said, pressing your lips to his roughly.

Now, his lips roam your body as you lie on the couch. Your hands tangle into his hair, tugging at the curls. A moan leaves your mouth, and you bite your lip to quiet yourself as his tongue flicks against you. You pull his hair at the sensation that consumes your body.

_____

"Hello?... this Y/n," you answer your phone, slipping into your bedroom so you don't wake Matthew up. "Wait really? Oh my gosh!... yes.... yes.... thank you!.... wait what?... London? I thought it was in San Francisco!... I see.... I'll get back to you by the weekend, yes.... thanks." You hang up the call, sitting on your bed with your head hung down.

"Hey, darling," Matthew says, walking into your room. He's wearing his jeans again. "I was thinking we could go out for dinner tonight? There's this new sushi place I want to try- are you alright?"

You look up at him. "Yeah, I'm great. Sushi? Sounds lovely."

"Great," he smiles, dimples prominent against his cheeks. "I will pick you up at 8, I have an errand to run with Steve today."

Steve is Paget's husband, Matthew's friend.  You nod. "Okay," you shoot him a smile.

"I will see you later, beautiful." Matthew kisses your head then heads back into your living room to finish getting dressed. You here the door close shortly after.

London? Holy shit.

You didn't tell Matthew at dinner the other day, and you haven't told him now. The deadline for your answer is tonight. In simple terms, you're freaking the fuck out.

How do you even bring up the subject? Hey, Matthew, I'm leaving the country in a few weeks. Sorry! Doesn't seem fitting. So drinks it is.

He'll be walking through your door in about twenty minutes, and you're trying to muster up a sentence. But how can you tell your boyfriend what's going on when you don't entirely know what's going on? You're not even sure you're going to go.

You sigh, getting the wine out of the cooler and placing it on the table. You made dinner, well tried to make dinner, but it seems edible enough.

You change shirts, seeing that you got spaghetti sauce on the one you were in. You're now wearing a red tank with a grey cardigan, that you stole from Matthew without him knowing, and black leggings that you've had on since this morning.

Maybe a part of you is on edge because you're not sure what would happen if you did choose to leave, you think. And maybe it's because no one knows if you'll get picked up for another season.

As you walk back out of your room, Matthew walks in the door with a smile plastered on his adorable face. "Smells good. Burned, but good."

You laugh softly, worry and sadness laced into it. "Yeah, I forgot to set the timer for 30 instead of 40. Sorry."

"Burned or not, I'm sure it'll be great."

You flash him a smile before sitting down at your dining area table. You put some of the lasagna on a plate for him, then for you, and pour yourselves some wine.

"Ooh she‘a fancy," Matthew says with a chuckle.

"You're a dork."

"Maybe, but you like it," he winks at you.

"Eh," you say and he acts offended.

The two of you eat dinner, mostly in a comfortable silence.

"It's horrible isn't it?"

"No!" Matthew says, grabbing your hand. "I'm definitely a better cook than you, but it is not bad."

You roll your eyes playfully. "I knew I should've suckered you into cooking."

He smiles, taking a drink from his glass. You can't help but return the gesture, his smile is contagious, dimples, bright teeth, honey eyes squinting slightly.

"So," you breathe, "I need to talk to you about something."

"Okay. I'm all ears."

"A few months ago I auditioned for this movie. I didn't really think I'd ever get the part, so I almost forgot about it. Until I got a callback right before we wrapped. And I found out that the part is mine..."

"Y/n, that's amazing!" Matthew smiles, squeezing your hand.

"If I want it."

"Why wouldn't you?"

"It shoots in London. I'd have to leave in three weeks," your expression gets even sadder as you watch his face fall.

"Oh," he says, furrowing his eyebrows softly.

"But I don't think I'm going to take it."

"Y/n-"

"I don't want to leave you. I mean, we just got to a happy point with each other. What if leaving for four months changes that?"

"Y/n, you need to take this job. It's an amazing opportunity, and I can tell you want to do it,” Matthew says.

"But-"

"We'll be fine. I'm not going to stop loving you because you're 5 thousand miles away."

Loving. He said the L word.

You avert your gaze from the table to his eyes. "You love me?" You almost say it in a whisper.

"Of course I do."

Your lips perk up at the corners. "But what if-"

"If you want this role, you should have it. Nothing should stop you from doing what you love."

It's your turn to furrow your eyebrows now. You sigh. "I'll call them and tell them I'm ready for the full script then."

Matthew smiles. "Great. I'm really happy for you."

You hug him, sitting in his lap. "Thank you."

"For the record, I better get calls every damn day while you're gone."

You laugh softly. "Oh don't doubt for a second I won't bug you from another country."

_____

You're sitting on your couch, reading the script when Matthew walks into your apartment.

"You still never learned to knock, huh babe?"

He laughs, plopping onto the couch beside you. "Nope."

You smile, eyes still scanning the words on the pages before you.

"One week before you leave me forever."

"You're so dramatic, Gube."

"I know," he says as sweetly as he can. "I'm going to miss you."

You toss the script on the coffee table. "Nope. None of that. No sappy pre-goodbyes yet. One normal week before we actually have to say goodbye, okay?"

Matthew nods. "Okay. So we can't have hot goodbye sex?"

"Matthew!" Your eyes widen as you smile toward him. "Okay fine, we can have hot goodbye sex. In a week."

"Damn, that's cold."

This movie is anticipated to be a big hit. Your character, Carter, is a 28 year old med student, studying abroad for the semester. She meets this girl and they become instant friends, until they become more. It's supposed to be an adventurous and sweet film.

_____

The dreaded goodbye is approaching quicker than you'd appreciate. Of course, you're excited about this part, excited to see London for the first time, and excited to be getting more successful, but it stings at your chest to know you have to leave your friends, your family, and Matthew behind for a while. It's not like he can come with you either. He might miss a job opportunity and he has a few book signings coming up.

You wish you stretch out the week, but it decides to blow past you like a nascar driver.

Tomorrow. You leave tomorrow.

tags: @pauline5525mgg @theintimatewriter @lilibet261 @greysviolets @jazzymariexoxoc @one-sweet-gubler @thatsonezesty13 @necromaniackat @awhoreforspencerreid @sebs-oxygen @scarredelirium @bts-sugaplum @awesomeness1679 @preciousbabypeter @yazzyu @cynbx @r3idsp3ncer @1010lizz @tiredbut-here @skulzombiw @lena-1895 @eevee0722 @danis-stuff-is-here @kylakins88 @daydreamingqueen1 @regulus-black-223048 @virginmusicloverr36 @inlovewithcharmers @f-me-reid @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @lovejules888 @marimorena06 <3

[good-oldfashioned-lover]

Tell me why my brain made me abandon 15 (FIFTEEN) of my wips [three of which are multichapter] and turn a blind eye to them and write a literal 1600 word oneshot on Jegulus?

I literally haven't written anything properly in the past month. Just like a sentence or two every three days for the sake of it. And then BAM

Welp. Here ya go! My very fist Jeggy <3

[lustandrot]

Leaving this here.

Though the two had spent just about three months shy of twenty years together, unfortunately, there were still times in which Frollo had trouble understanding the boy completely. He had taught him everything, from how to read and write, to how to speak, and eventually, they had developed some kind of sign language that they often used once the boy had fallen mostly deaf due to his time up in the tower with the bells.

He taught the boy how to dress himself …clean himself….and even though they were still working on some things, he had taught him in the way of manners and self control. He had also instructed him in the ways of the Lord, and throughout the boy's two decades worth of life, the Archdeacon considered there to be much more work that still needed to be done - and he would fix him. One problem at a time … and it would start with snuffing that gypsy witch completely out from Quasimodo's brain if it was the last thing that he accomplished.

Noticing quietly the way the hunchback clasped his fingers together in a form of a reminder to not be greedy or hasty while contemplating to reach out for the fruit that had been offered between the Archdeacon's fingertips, the man only offered up a small nod of approval, considering the other hadn't tried to snatch it. Observing Quasimodo now, he noticed as the boy opened up his hands and offered out his open palms, displaying that he was obviously willing to accept the offered treat with nothing but self control and gratitude.

"Very good, my boy. That wasn't so hard, now… was it?" he asked in the form of slight praise, now gently placing the blueberry into the open palms of the hunchback's hands, which had been his nonverbal way of giving the other permission to eat it if he wanted to.

"Quasimodo, listen to me," he addressed the boy on the floor more seriously now, making sure to look him in the eyes, knowing it was by far the easiest way to connect with him.

It forced the bell ringer to focus on his face and on his lips to read them. Though Frollo had taught Quasimodo a form of sign language from the time he was fourteen years old after having lost most of his hearing, it wasn't a form of communication that the man often bothered to use, finding it too mundane and complicated to get full sentences and instructions out when all he needed to do was make the boy hear him - whether it was by sound or reading lips.

"Quasimodo, that…… girl …. that gypsy girl, has she been back up here… to see you?" he asked quite bluntly, his piercing gaze never once showing a single sign of leaving the one who sat in front of him -- below him.

"You know I had to have her removed from the Cathedral last week… and it was for our own good. Don't you?" he went on to explain to the other, his tone, now a bit louder, but he still spoke with a sense of compassion, not intending to scare the boy if he didn't have to.

It was always such a true delicate balance of compassion and intimidation when it came to getting information out of Quasimodo and that, the Archdeacon had grown quite accustomed to over the years, whether he particularly enjoyed it or not.

"If … she were to come back, my boy, you do know that she would be committing a crime, don't you? I would have no choice in the matter of what would happen to her if she were caught…. so for her safety and ours, …. tell me, boy ….. has she been here?" he asked one more time, his ice-piercing stare only growing more into a subtle glare now as he dared the boy to hesitate with an answer.

//ooc; Welp. Poor Quasimodo? He knows who he is, anyway. I won't apologize. Pft.

[frodothefair]

An Unexected Inspiration: Frodothefair writes Éothiriel!

Welp, it's happened! My Rohan ladies, @konartiste and @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras have finally rubbed off on me, and along with my three Frodo projects, I now want to write some Éothiriel! Now, I don't know when it'll happen, but here goes the plot bunny that I came up with last night as I was falling asleep. (Content warning for those who read on: suicide attempt).

My Lothíriel, of course, will be very different from @konartiste's, to some extent by design because I want her to be decidedly mine. The great thing about Lothíriel is that she is, in fact, such a blank slate. 

To begin with, my Lothíriel is a bit high-strung, reserved, at times irritable, and prone to melancholy -- perhaps like her aunt, Finduilas. She is also really angry deep inside, but in the quiet, conceal-don't-feel way of Elsa in Frozen. (Why is she like this? Well, nature aside, she lost her mother early, and her family, courtiers and caregivers are superficially supportive, but full of microagressions and don't really understand her). She enjoys playing the harp and walking along the beach in Dol Amroth, collecting items that wash up and making them into art -- all the while followed by a gaggle of cortiers a few feet behind, because that is the royal protocol. 

Physically, also, it's an odd thing -- she keeps insinuating herself into my mind as a sort of female Elijah Wood-in-Frodo's-wig. Now, stay with me, I think this is not incompatible with what we know about Dol Amrotheans. Gondoeans and Dol Amrotheans have dark fair more often than fair hair -- check. Her hair is long, dark and curly. The uncommonly large blue eyes can easily be made into uncommonly large sea-gray eyes, per canon. The noble, classical features? Check and check, great for royalty. The only thing that doesn't fit is the height, as people of Dunedain heritage are taller than other Men, but let's add a few inches to Elijah Wood's 5'6, and we can get 5'9. On a woman, this is not short at all. I'm that tall, and more often than not, I am the tallest woman in the room where I live. Finally, she's slightly built and has modest but noticeable curves, and her body type is overall perfect for getting picked up and riding in the front of somebody's saddle ;).

Ok, so. Let's take it away with the story. Lothíriel is betrothed to Éomer King when she is in Minas Tirith for Aragorn's coronation. Éomer sees her from afar and meets her briefly, likes her, he and Imrahil are good friends, and it's a politically advantageous match. 

It is high honor to be marrying a King, but Lothíriel understandably has difficulty with this -- she never expected to have a love match, and always expected to marry for Dol Amroth, but she always assumed this would mean marrying another Gondorean dignitary, as opposed to someone who lives as far away and is part of a culture as different as Rohan's.

Still, she tries. She starts learning the language and the culture, she spends time with Éomer before he takes his leave back to Rohan. But an unexpected thing happens. She starts having panic attacks -- which, if you don't know what they are, can make you feel like you're dying. She can barely speak a full sentence around Éomer. She goes to see the healers, who check her over and let her know that there's nothing physically wrong with her, and since they're not that up on psychiatry in that world, they prescribe her the equivalent of valerian for panic episodes (which makes her feel tired, and so is impractical to use unless it's time for bed), ascribe what's going on to "pre-wedding jitters" and send her on her way. Her family, too, chalks it up to simple nerves, is focused on the advantageous nature of the match, and reassure her that she will soon get over it, as Éomer is a man of excellent reputation who is quite attracted to her. A few particularly benighted people even ascribe what's going on to her being smitten with Éomer, but overall, nobody is particularly concerned, and they pack her off to Rohan when it's time. (Éomer, for his part, does not realize there is a problem during their brief courtship because he is 1) dazzled by the enormous sea-gray eyes, lol and 2) everyone repeatedly tells him that "she is just shy.")

On arrival to Rohan, everything is terrible. Lothíriel is appalled by what she sees as squalor and hopelessly rustic culture, and she reluctantly agrees with Saruman's alleged statement that Meduseld is little more than a "thatched barn where brigands drink in the filth and their brats roll around on the floor with the dogs." Éomer is kind and tries his best to be patient, but she cannot bear to have him touch her, so their marriage goes unconsummated. She continues to struggle with panic and can barely perform her royal duties. 

One day — and this is where the fic will start, with much of the above told in flashbacks — she is forced to leave a dinner with dignitaries early, and is in her room screaming and crying. A lady in waiting checks on her, and Lothíriel asks her to draw a bath and leave her alone. By this point, Lothíriel is desperate. She cannot envision getting used to Rohan, and she cannot think of a way to go back. She knows running away would be futile — she is a royal with no practical survival skills, and would be caught, bringing dishonor on everyone involved. There is no one she can trust — due to the customs of the age, she had to leave all her Don Amrothean retinue behind. Her family, she knows, would not be sympathetic.

Feeling trapped, Lothíriel decides to take her own life. Her plan is to drink all of her valerian and fall asleep and drown in the tub. This she does, but fortunately does not drown — the next thing she knows, the door to her chambers is being busted down and a number of people are standing over her, trying to bring her to her senses. Éomer is there as well, and he pushes through the crowd and is gutted and has a breakdown nearly as bad as when he discovered Eowyn on the battlefield.

Lothíriel, of course, at this point is still fairly insensate and tells him to leave her alone, and because she’s a bit disinhibited under the influence of the herb, she confesses that she wishes she could die and that she is sorry, but does not think she can do it — meaning be the queen of Rohan. After this, she passes out again.

The next time she comes to, she is in Rohan’s equivalent of the Houses of Healing. Éomer comes to visit her, and they have a heart to heart talk. He tells her that she does not wish to cause her pain, and if it’s really that much of a struggle, they can work on arranging a civil end to the marriage, perhaps an annulment because they have not consummated their relationship yet, and he would bear the blame for all that has happened. He tells her he wants her to be happy, even if it is not with him, and he is willing to give up not only the political alliance, but a life with the woman he is in love with, because love that is one-sided is no love at all. (Granted, my Éomer’s a bit more emotionally intelligent than @konartiste’s, but that’s ok, isn’t it? He can still have a vicious temper when it comes to certain issues, but he makes an effort to be patient with the people he loves, particularly after he invalidated Eowyn, leading to her joining the war effort anyway and nearly getting killed. Also, after he loses much of his family in the War of the Ring, he gets a reality check and realizes it’s important to cherish the relationships that you have.)

For a minute, Lothíriel considers his proposal, but then…

She takes a good look at the attractive, golden-haired man in front of her. She thinks about his kindness and willingness to sacrifice for her. No one in her life to date — which is rather sad — has seen her in quite the same way. She also thinks about how home is not actually all that appealing, and even despite Éomer’s best efforts, she would be returning to Dol Amroth in disgrace. 

She tells him that she does not want to go — she wants to stay, and get to know him, and to perhaps get better. The two of them embrace, briefly, and he promises to visit her again.

In the weeks and months that follow, Lothíriel and Éomer live semi-separate lives (they do not share their chambers, for instance), but they continues to spend time together. Lothíriel is relieved from some of her royal duties. Éomer finds ways to introduce her to Rohan in a gentle way: they visit the horses and they go riding, and she learns how to be a better horsewoman. (Horse therapy is actually pretty amazing for anxiety.) They listen to bards singing together, and she gains an appreciation for Rohan’s oral traditions. They travel farther afield and she meets the people and gets to know the flora and fauna of Rohan. She gains an appreciation for the wide open plains, and how they resemble the sea. She starts collecting things she finds in her trips out with Éomer, just like she had done on the shores of Dol Amroth. In time, Éomer opens up to her about his struggles as a new king, and she comforts him, which leads them to move forward physically with their relationship. 

The story ends with Lothíriel’s three brothers visiting her in Rohan a year later. Lothíriel is expecting a child, and her irritabile and reserved nature is nowhere to be seen. She is a warm hostess, a clearly loving wife, and has a deep love for her new land. Elphir, Erchirion and Amrothos wonder what magic Éomer has worked upon her.

So, what do you think? Would you like to see this written someday? Let me know, and have an excellent day.

[suzukiblu]

Ko-fi thank-you sentences, unexpected ER trip edition

Welp life keeps happening to me lately and I dislocated my knee yesterday (IN MY SLEEP, SOMEHOW, I DON'T EVEN KNOW haha wtf), had to call an ambulance about it at three AM, and am now the unproud owner of a shiny new pair of crutches and also some shiny new impending medical bills. Also, I had to reschedule a job I was gonna do because of it, so now I will be getting paid a couple weeks late for that on top of everything else.

So! Doing another round of Ko-fi thank-you sentences, for anyone who's interested! ❤️ For every dollar you donate to my Ko-fi, I'll write you a sentence in whatever WIP of mine you'd like!

Win-win situation, I figure, financial assistance/something to do while I'm stuck on the couch in a straight brace for me, and words for everyone else!

( 🌟 insert gratuitous Starlight Brigade gifs to catch people's eyes and make with the pretty for us all~ 🌟 )

[symphonyofsilence]

The level of sheer incompetence the Valar show every time a dire situation occurs is infuriating!

Like...do I even need to say anything about how they handled the Míriel/Finwë/Indis situation?! By putting pressure on the DEAD PERSON who had lost both her will to live and her physical strength, to just get up and go back to producing more children for her whiny, entitled husband already?! And interrupting her recovery process every next second? And then! Instead of inventing divorce or "death doing the couple apart" or anything made Míriel stay dead forever (& never get to see her son again as far as they knew) so Finwë could remarry. And their hot offer for Míriel was "last chance. come back or your husband will marry this lady he already has in mind."

And then! They let Melkor free unsupervised and let the shit he spread among the Noldor reach the point that Fëanor drew a sword on Fingolfin, and then! When Melkor had filled Fëanor's head with how the Valar wanted his silmarils, not only did they without considering any other option at the first sign of crisis very untactfully asked for all three of his silmarils (to break them), but Tulkas straight up told him that he can't deny them cause the silmarils are actually Yavanna's and not Fëanor's.

And then! They not only did absolutely nothing to de-escalate the situation when the Noldor rebelled, and after that when they got into a fight with the Teleri, but they made the situation worse by making threats and banishing the house of Fëanor & cursing them all & whoever who followed them. So of course when there was no way back for the Fëanorians they'd try even harder to gather everyone behind them so they wouldn't have to fight Satan alone & of course, they'd oppose the Valar even worse now, and of course, they'd say "welp... we're doomed anyway. No matter what we do from this point on. Might as well do our worst."

The Valar are like 10-year-old children in charge of 5-year-old children. The moment the 5-year-olds throw a tantrum, the 10-year-olds throw an even worse tantrum.

Fëanor had already told the Noldor that the Valar were jealous tyrants, and they just confirmed it with every step they took after the rebellion.

And then they just left the Noldor and the poor race of men & dwarves who had done nothing wrong alone with Melkor in Middle-earth. The poor sailors who tried to get to Valinor to beg for help all drowned! Except for Earendil who had a Silmaril with him...but no, the Valar didn't want the Silmarils HOW DARE FEANOR PRESUME!

And they wouldn't even let the children of the Noldor who were not even born at the time of the rebellion set foot in Valinor. Even Earendil had to pay a price for stepping into Valinor. So Valar believed in collective accountability. So going by that logic, Melkor was a Vala. MELKOR WAS MANWE'S BROTHER! And everything that happened in Middle-earth, and even before that, Everything that happened to Fëanor & the house of Finwë that kickstarted the rebellion was Melkor's fault. Then why were the Valar not taking responsibility for the family member THEY antagonized & THEY couldn't control & THEY left unsupervised?

(and then they offered pardon to Sauron and Melkor, but Feanor got sentenced to staying in the halls of Mandos forever.)

Maedhros didn't burn the ships but still, he was the one who took responsibility for his family's actions and apologized and paid the ransom, and abdicated for it. Fingolfin had lost a son & a daughter-in-law & lots of followers for Fëanor's stunt with the ships but he still forgave the Fëanorians. Here we have a bunch of hot-headed, traumatized, grieving +3000-year-olds acting more mature & responsible & competent & gracious than gods who have been around forever.

And then! The fucking Numenor thing! They caged those poor people on an island, put boundaries on how far they could travel so they wouldn't get tempted when they saw the immortal lands and when the Numenorians rioted they had the guts to send representatives to convince them that actually, being mortal is very good. It's a gift. All the while still not letting them in the immortal lands. And when their mismanagement resulted in the Numenorians finally rioting, Manwe asked Eru for help & Eru... you know... did a genocide & changed the whole world's structure. (He was so quick to answer Manwe's prayer and demolish anyone who criticized him that makes one wonder where was he when Melkor was eating everyone?)

They just HAND situations to Melkor & Sauron. Honestly, Sauron & Melkor would have been idiots not to use these perfect situations handed to them on a silver platter.

I don't think the Valar's hearts are in a wrong place but they're so fucking incompetent! They look like some dysfunctional rich brats with no experience who have to manage their negligent father's company after he's fucked off.

[staceymcgillicuddy]

15!!

Welp, this one got me all in my feelings, Nonnie! Thank you! I hope you like it! (For the requestors of #s 10 and 6, I'm getting to them asap!)

“Doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a piece of paper.” 

Eddie shrugs off compliments as quickly as he does a shirt. Chrissy hates it, which is saying something, considering she’s not exactly prone to accepting kind words from other people. 

But Eddie… it’s not even like he demurs, or smiles and waves it off politely. No, Eddie picks apart. Second guesses. Turns any kindness into a joke at his own expense. 

It is sometimes very tiring to love someone who hasn’t learned to love themselves. Again, Chrissy gets the irony, but she’s working on it. She sees (saw) Miss Kelly three times a week, and she’s starting community college in the fall, and she eats without throwing up, most days. She’s been looking into apartments near campus and trying to convince Eddie to move in with her, and she tries, tries, tries so hard to believe him when he tells her that she’s pretty and he loves her and he thinks the way she squawks when she laughs too hard is endearing. 

Eddie, though, is stuck in time. In a cycle of self-deprecation where, sure, he has discovered himself and his niche interests, and he has the kids and his friends and the band and Wayne and Chrissy. But none of that changes the fact that, beneath the hair and the rings and the scary skull t-shirts, Eddie doesn’t think he’s worthy of praise. Thinks he’s still that kid with the deadbeat dad and the crazy mom. The kid who comes to school with clothes smelling of mildew because his mother left them damp in the laundromat for hours on end while she and Eddie went on an ‘adventure’, which is what he calls it when he talks about her at all. The kid who missed two weeks of second grade when his father yanked him out and took him on a road trip across the midwest to do a favor for some buddies who Chrissy’s pretty sure were loan sharks. Al needed Eddie as a decoy; apparently, it worked. 

Eddie’s the kid who figured himself out late. Who hates himself more than any bully ever could. Who piles on the affectations of his personal popular culture to cover the fundamental insecurities of his belief system beneath. 

He doesn’t believe he’s smart.

He doesn’t believe he’s handsome.

He doesn’t believe he’s worthy.

That last one is the kicker because it’s not just about Chrissy. Not just about the love he’s willing to accept from her, or Wayne, or the kids who worship the ground he walks on. No, that one’s about worthiness to… to be. To live. To stake his claim in a world beyond the safe misery of high school and decide who he'll be outside the confines of what he’s always claimed is a prison. 

Stuck around two extra years, though, and that’s the thing. 

Chrissy rolls over. Digs her pointy chin into Eddie’s bare sternum and looks at him with eye-crossing determination. “It’s not, though. It’s more than that.” 

“Maybe if I’d gotten it two—” 

“It’s a diploma. You earned it. And that means a lot.” 

Three Sentence Prompts

[myemuisemo]

There is so much characterization tucked into "The Statement of the Case" in the 2nd of Letters from Watson about The Sign of the Four. To marshal my thoughts at all, let's go by character, starting with my cinnamon roll Dr. Watson, then turning to Holmes and to Mary Morstan.

Watson

Watson's close observation of Miss Morstan demonstrates that he's capable of making deductions from observation. He deduces from the simplicity of her attire that she has limited means, and he has a good deal to say about how the character promised by her features and manner.

In an experience of women which extends over many nations and three separate continents, I have never looked upon a face which gave a clearer promise of a refined and sensitive nature.

This is a tiny bit amusing because all of Miss Morstan's actions suggest she has the orderly soul of someone who would have been an accountant in an era more supportive of women's careers. This woman keeps receipts. She may be nervous about bringing her concerns to the Great Detective, but she's not the slightest bit delicate.

Watson seems a bit pricked in the ego by Holmes' extensive knowledge of cigar ash, as he's touting his experience with women. That would be a monograph, indeed, something sold discreetly, in a corner of the bookshop behind a curtain. I'm going to guess that the third continent, after Europe and Asia, is Africa, both because the British did a good deal of colonial meddling there and because it makes Holmes suggestion of The Martyrdom of Man so much more apposite.

Holmes

The Martyrdom of Man turns out to be a progressive best seller about world history. Author Winwood Reade's perspective is to show the importance of Africa in the development of the world. This is entirely at odds with Victorian self-confidence about the white European and American missions of colonialism. Holmes is implying, deliberately or not, that Watson knows less about at least two continents than he thinks he does.

Reade's prose feels comparatively modern -- it has the sprightly feel of early 20th century writing rather than the long, turgid sentences of the 19th century. I've been distracted by reading bits of it, as while it's not how an historian would handle its topics today, it's an interesting read.

A side note on Winwood Reade is that he was open about being an atheist, so his book is also at odds with the popular idea of Divine Providence smiling about the endeavors of the British Empire. Contemporary audiences would surely have drawn some conclusions about Holmes' religious and political leanings.

The book recommendation is preceded by Holmes establishing that he's not a sentimentalist:

He smiled gently. “It is of the first importance,” he said, “not to allow your judgment to be biased by personal qualities. A client is to me a mere unit,—a factor in a problem. The emotional qualities are antagonistic to clear reasoning. I assure you that the most winning woman I ever knew was hanged for poisoning three little children for their insurance-money, and the most repellant man of my acquaintance is a philanthropist who has spent nearly a quarter of a million upon the London poor.”

My first reaction was "welp, he really is ace, isn't he?" On reflection, I think that reaction is both right and wrong. On the side of "right," there is no way that Holmes, as written, is a neurotypical allosexual heterosexual. Asexuality is not the only possible category for him, but it's a solid contender.

On the side of "wrong," what he's arguing for from "I assure you" on is simply not to judge a book by its cover. We're used to that as a moral. We're also accustomed to believing that "body language" and such can give clues to the person within. Heck, Holmes was just on about handwriting analysis. So there's a messy little tension here between two views that were common then as now: "outer aspects reveal the person's true nature" and "don't judge a book by its cover."

Mary Morstan

I like Mary Morstan a good deal, not least because she keeps receipts.

This image from the New York Public Library gives a sense of Mary's plain beige walking suit, though the feathers are far too big.

My first reaction to Mary Morstan's backstory was to check the publication date of Frances Hodgson Burnett's A Little Princess, because how many little girls were being left in boarding schools by their UK Army officer fathers who were serving in India?

Quite a few, it seems. It was standard practice to send children back to the UK to boarding school "for their health." That last euphemism raised my "what in the racist colonial claptrap" hackles, but there was a legit health concern -- malaria. Malaria is potentially deadly for anyone and worse for children, since a child who survived might have ruined health and intellectual development for life. It was not until 1897 that surgeon Ronald Ross established that malaria was transmitted by mosquitos. Miss Morstan was a child in India in the 1860s; she really would have been sent away for her own safety.

Meanwhile, although A Little Princess was published in 1905, it was expanded from a short story published in 1887. a few years before The Sign of the Four was written. That doesn't mean there's a connection: stories about a common situation and the fears arising from it are going to have similarities.

Miss Morstan's lack of English relatives did have me wondering if her mother was Indian, especially as her complexion lacks "beauty" (isn't translucently pale). Since she's blonde and light-eyed, presumably we're to assume that both parents were English or Scottish. (The genetics of eye color inheritance weren't established at all until 1907, but people obviously had folk beliefs about how much children looked like their parents, and in what ways, before that. Using today's knowledge, it seems possible that her mother had one English parent and one Indian parent, but who knows?).

At twenty-seven, she is "on the shelf" -- past the ordinary age of courtship and marriage. Her job as either a companion or a governess implies she brings no financial assets to a marriage beyond those mysterious pearls. Watson's musings that twenty-seven is "a sweet age" establishes both that he's head-over-heels for Miss Morstan and that he's enough a man of the world to prefer a woman "a little sobered by experience" to a blushing debutante.

So do the mysterious pearls mean we're going down a path superficially similar to Wilkie Collins' The Moonstone (1868), where a heroine inherits a mysterious gem from a British Army office relative? Rachel Verinder's uncle was a horrible person who came by his gem in the worst way; but Mary Morstan's father was a guard at a prison for political prisoners, which doesn't bode well for his connections. Mary has far too much good sense than to wear her pearls, though.

I do want my cinnamon roll Dr. Watson to get the girl.

[lizhly-writes]

for WIP Wednesday, transmigrated as the female lead's villain fiance?

welp. this is a lot longer than three sentences, but you caught me at a good time ahahaha

Zhao Yuhang gave him a look.

They’d had multiple variations of this conversation before, and never more than when they were in college. Most of those were sparked by Chen Lihua, and how, in Zhao Yuhang’s words, Yang Haoran hated her with a seething passion for no apparent reason at all.

That was incorrect. Yang Haoran didn’t hate Chen Lihua. Hate was a strong word --- it required a far greater depth of effort and feeling than he could muster. Mild distaste would be more accurate.

Of course, even if he did hate Chen Lihua with a seething passion, that wasn’t even what Zhao Yuhang took issue with. One of Zhao Yuhang’s best talents was how extraordinarily good he was at making friends, which meant he made quite a lot of them, all with widely varying personalities and interests. Zhao Yuhang understood that people with widely varying personalities and interests sometimes just didn’t get along.

The issue was less that Yang Haoran didn’t like Chen Lihua, and more that Zhao Yuhang couldn’t figure out why Yang Haoran didn’t like her.

Yang Haoran could sort of understand it. Chen Lihua was, for the most part, fairly agreeable and inoffensive. There had been incredibly unsavory rumors and drama about her that might make other people take pause, but this was true of many other of Zhao Yuhang’s friends that Yang Haoran had no problem with. He was perfectly capable of making pleasant small talk with people that were objectively more annoying, irritating, morally repugnant, etc.

So, if Yang Haoran could manage with literally everybody else, then what was so wrong with Chen Lihua?

Zhao Yuhang had asked for a reason. Yang Haoran hadn’t been able to give him one.

...Well, he had actually implied that Chen Lihua was an unlucky star destined to ruin all of their lives, but Zhao Yuhang hadn’t taken that one seriously.

[webbo0]

*Cowboy voice* “I Ain’t Quitting You”

Holland March x Jackson Healy

AO3 link

Length: 2,183 words

Summary:

"In my psychology class, we talked about something called an Oral Fixation; Freud made it up. Maybe you just need to have something else to like, chew on and stuff." "Sweetheart, we’ve talked about this —" "Oh my god, Dad, just get some gum or whatever!" AKA 7 things Holland March tries to help him quit drinking, plus the 1 time Jackson Healy helps him out. AKA Holland does NOT have an oral fixation, Thank you very much

Content/Warning: Idiot to lovers, Oral Fixation, Kissing, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Smoking, Sobriety, Quitting Smoking, Post-Canon, chosen family, 5+1 Things, technically it's 7 + 1 things, slight angst, Mature Content, implied/referenced sexuality

Authors Note: This is actually the first fic I ever published back in September '23, but I never posted it to Tumblr, so here ya go!

Original Notes:

Welp. I finally did it. Almost a decade in fandoms and it was Ryan fucking Gosling that made me cave and finally write fanfiction. Shoutout to the Goosecord for the motivation/encouragement to write this and for the feedback, especially @sandpapersnowman for helping me format this for AO3!! Y'all are the best!!

Anyways enjoy!!

***

"March, we gotta talk."

Holland jerks up and immediately regrets it when his head pounds and everything tilts about 270° too far to the left. He groans and falls off the bed. Bed? He doesn’t remember getting there. Or undressing, apparently, because looking down, he quickly realizes he’s wearing nothing but some embarrassingly old boxers. And Healy’s standing above him. Holland scrambles back into bed and covers himself in a blanket.

"Stop pretending I haven’t seen you half-naked before. You’re acting like a Victorian duchess."

"A man must preserve his — hrrk — dignity," Holland retorts back in a bad British accent, having to pause and suppress a wave of nausea halfway through his sentence.

Healy scoffs

"Dignity, my ass! Holly found you passed out on the diving board. You could’ve gotten hurt! Again!"

Holland feels suddenly defensive. "And why do you care? What are you, my fairy drunk-mother?" Not your best comeback there, March, he thinks.

"You’re my business partner; I have a vested interest in having an income, so forgive me if I want my co-detective alive to work with me. You need to stop drinking."

Holland rolls his eyes. "I’ve got it under control, Healy. I’m a big boy, y’know?" God, he wishes he could take a nap right now.

"March, I’m serious; you’re going to do permanent damage to your liver. Plus," Healy hesitates as if he’s trying to figure out a way to finish his sentence without sounding like an asshole, "it’s not fair to Holly. You’re the only family she’s got left; you have to be there for her. She’s a teenager now and needs someone to guide her through adolescent idiocy. You’re her dad, you owe it to her."

That wakes him up. He’s always pushed down the guilt he has over his behavior, but when Healy lays it all out in front of him like that? He knows he’s deluded himself for years into thinking Holly wouldn’t notice, but she’s not a kid anymore. And the thought of her as an impressionable teenager following in his footsteps makes him nauseous for a whole different reason.

He sighs.

"Alright, alright, cut my balls off, why don’tcha? But fine, I get it."

"Thank you," Healy looks relieved.

"I can’t just quit cold chicken, though, withdrawals can be dead—"

"Turkey"

"Hm?" "The phrase is cold turkey."

"No, I’m pretty sure it's chicken."

"Why would it be — never mind. And yeah, it would be pretty dangerous to just stop altogether. What if we cut it down to one drink a day?"

"One? No way, pal, three a day minimum."

"Three?! There is something seriously wrong with you, March."

"Hey!"

An hour of negotiations later, they settle on a begrudged compromise.

That was a month ago, and Holland was regretting ever saying yes to the whole stupid plan. To substitute for the flask he always took a swig from whenever he needed to calm his nerves, he kept an extra pack of cigarettes, so he was smoking twice as much as usual. And Holly isn't a fan of his new habit. It’s a Monday morning, and Holland sits at the table, sipping his coffee, while Holly gets ready for school. Healy had stopped by to drop off some paperwork for their latest case, and now, for some inexplicable reason, is making them all pancakes. He bites back a comment about him making a great housewife and instead turns to Holly, arms out for a hug. She had a big test today and has insisted on the Mandatory Good Luck Hug before tests since kindergarten. She makes a face at him.

"Ugh, Dad, you smell gross!"

Tchk. Teenagers. "Holly, it’s rude to say that to someone’s face."

"It's true, March, you smell like an ashtray had sex with another ashtray," Healy comments from his place in front of the stove, not even turning around.

"Yeah, and then their house burned down." Holly adds, "You do know those will kill you one day, right?"

"Pfft, no way! Doctors used to give these to you! My own father had a prescription for a pack a day!"

Healy turns around. "Didn't he die of lung cancer?"

"Yeah, why?"

Healy pinches the bridge of his nose. He looks like he has a headache brewing.

Holly waltzes into the kitchen and steals a pancake from the ever-growing stack.

"In my psychology class, we talked about something called an Oral Fixation; Freud made it up. Maybe you just need to have something else to like, chew on and stuff."

"Sweetheart, we’ve talked about this —"

"Oh my God, Dad, just get some gum or whatever!"

She still leans in for a half hug while wrinkling her nose, because tradition is tradition. As she walks to the bus stop, Holland considers her words. Was he obsessed with things in his mouth? He took a sip of coffee before anyone could notice his face flushing a lovely shade of magenta.

The first thing he tries is Holly’s initial suggestion: gum. He gets a shit ton of flavors to try to find one he won’t get tired of. He settles on Bubblicious watermelon wave. The idea is largely effective, and Holland's smoking is cut down to what Holly decides is a "normal amount."

Unfortunately, Holland has the manners of a barn animal, so after only nine days of chewing with his mouth open non-stop, Healy is about to strangle him.

"March, buddy, I’m glad this is helping with your ‘mouth thing’," he starts. Holland opens his mouth to protest before Healy quickly cuts him off to finish. "But we have to figure something else out before I make the ‘arm incident’ look like a harmless prank."

Holland shuts up. No problem, he’ll find something else. He was getting tired of the gum sticking to his teeth anyway.

Holland’s next plan; a toothpick. More similar in shape to a cigarette and they last much longer. Bonus points: Holly thinks he looks “far out”. This plan lasts about 3 seconds before he gets a splinter in his gums. Toothpick is out.

Plan C is to just chew on the end of his pen as he works. Holland thinks it makes him look distinguished. Healy’s just kinda grossed out. Everything is fine until he finds a break in their case, jumps up in excitement, and promptly inhales the pen cap. Healy has to use the damn Heimlich maneuver on him, frantically grabbing him and squeezing harder than Holland thinks is necessary. But what does he know? And, wow, he definitely isn’t thinking about how Healy's strong arms feel around him.

When Healy silently hands him a teething ring meant for fussy toddlers, Holland almost punches him (attempted sobriety has him more on edge than usual). But hearing Holly’s muffled hysterics around the corner instantly dissolves his irritation. Something about Jackson and Holly working together just makes his heart flutter.

And sometimes, when he’s sure no one is looking, he’ll hold up the ring on a chain around his neck to his mouth. Softly, not biting or chewing, just letting it rest between his lips. And no matter what Jackson softly asks him one night, tears are not falling down his face. Those are the nights he really regrets cutting down on his drinking.

It’s when he starts keeping a lollipop in his mouth most of the day he notices Healy acting… Different. When Holland’s doing his work, going over papers and poring over phone books, he lets himself loosen up. Often he’ll tap his pen in random patterns, or jiggle his leg up and down (which drives Healy crazy), or more recently, he’ll hold his lollipop between his fingers like a cigarette and slowly lick circles around it. It’s a mindless behavior that helps him concentrate, but for some reason, Healy doesn’t like it. March can tell. He notices Healy glance at him and then darts his eyes down as if it weirds him out just to witness it. It hurts; Healy knows how much Holland is trying to be better, why would he judge him for how he’s coping? He tries to brush it off, wondering why it bothers him so much; he should be used to people not getting him by now.

They’re sitting next to each other on the couch in Holland’s living room, working on their latest case. It’s late at night and Holly is sleeping at a friend’s house for a birthday party. Holland is losing himself in the details of this case (who kidnaps a pet snake??) when he senses Healy’s attention on his mouth, which he currently occupies with a new blue raspberry lollipop.

After the fifth time Holland catches Healy staring at his mouth he snaps.

“I know I’m a fuck-up and everything but can you at least try to hide how much you —"

He’s cut off when something covers his lips. Oh. When Healy covers his lips. With his mouth. Oh. Holland’s brain takes about three seconds to catch up with what’s happening. Jackson’s kissing him. Holy shit.

Holy shit.

Jackson must’ve taken his frozen state as rejection because he quickly pulls back. Holland almost whines from the loss of contact.

“Fuck. Fuck! I shouldn’t have done that, I’m so sorry, Holland,” Jackson runs a hand through his hair, clearly panicking, “You’ve just been such a goddamn tease with the fuckin’, whatever it is you’re doing with those lollipops and I couldn’t hel—”

This time he’s cut off from finishing his sentence by Holland grabbing his face and kissing him so hard he’s distantly worried about breaking Jackson’s nose. Holland’s hands rest on the side of Jackson’s face and cup the back of his neck, bracing himself in a desperate attempt to hide how much he’s shaking. Jackson’s lips are firm and his 3-day-old stubble is rough against his skin; one of his hands automatically threads into Holland’s hair, and the other hovers over his side before settling on his hips. He squeezes and the feeling goes straight to Holland’s dick. He lets out a wet groan into Jackson’s mouth who responds with a deep rumble.

“Fuck, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” Jackson growls, pulling away from Holland to let him catch his breath.

“Tell me,” is all that Holland responds, dipping his head and latching his mouth to Jackson’s neck, drawing out a strangled gasp.

“Since the day you fell asleep on my shoulder during that stakeout, and grabbed onto me like a fucked-up koala. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you,” Jackson is visibly struggling to keep his composure as Holland's fingers move to the buttons on Jackson's shirt, frantically undoing them and pushing his hands under the cheap cotton. Holland moves his mouth down his neck, biting and sucking and doing things with his tongue that must be good because Jackson is making sounds that frankly should be illegal.

“Maybe Holly’s right, you really have a fixation on —”

Jackson yelps before he can finish his thought because Holland bites down hard into the soft skin of Jackson’s shoulder.

“Please don't mention my daughter while I’m giving you hickeys, it’s weird,” Holland mumbles while sucking what is sure to be a large dark splotch into Jackson’s collarbone.

“What I’m saying,” Jackson starts, as he grabs Holland's hair and jerks his head up to look him in the eyes, pupil’s blown. Holland would’ve whined from the loss of contact if he wasn’t moaning from Jackson’s hand tugging against his scalp.

“What I’m saying, is that maybe you just need to be doing something useful for once with that pretty little mouth besides drinking and talking non-stop.”

“And smoking, can’t forget all the smo—” Jackson shuts him up by shoving the thumb of the hand not tangled in his hair into Holland’s mouth, pressing down on his tongue. He moans around his hand in a way he knows must sound obscene. Jackson curses as Holland simultaneously starts sucking his fingers like it’s his job and fumbling with the buckle on Jackson’s jeans.

“God, you are something special, Holland,” he murmurs softly, and Jackson says his name with such reverence that if Holland doesn’t get the other man’s pants off immediately, he might explode.

He drops to his knees between Jackson’s thick thighs, because if everyone and their mother were so insistent he has this ‘mouth fixation’ or whatever, he might as well blow their expectations out of the water.

Heh, blow. Good one March.

He stares at the crotch of Jackson’s jeans, already starting to drool.

___

After that night, Holland sticks with the lollipops (now sugar-free, because his dentist nearly had a conniption when he last went in for a cleaning). No longer worried about Healy’s judgment, he loosens up and allows himself to fidget weirdly in peace. And if he and Jackson are alone on the nights when needs a little help with his mouth thing (because fine, yes, he might have a little fixation. Sue him), and he’s having a particularly hard time not turning to his vices? Well, that’s between him, his gag reflex, and Freud.

***

Hope y'all enjoyed!!! You get bonus points if you find all the other Ryan Gosling movie references Again, this is the first full fic I've written so any and all feedback is welcomed!