Everyone knows the line “Rose Tyler, I -” and the unfinished “I love you.” And then the meltdown afterwards. But I just wanted to point something out…
At the end of the Battle of the Five Armies, we’re looking at Thorin’s death with Bilbo at his side. And he makes his very beautiful speech…
“Go back to your armchair and your books…”
And at the very end. When Thorin is a breath away from death, Bilbo says “Thorin, I -” and Bilbo does not finish what he has to say, choking on sobs that fall down upon an unresponsive shell of a person. I just wanted to point out the similarities.
“Rose Tyler, I- love you.”
“Thorin, I -”
So was Bilbo going to say I love you? Or have I gone too far with this? Has this even been done before?
Harry has been stood outside his bakery trying to shift his last tray of brownies for almost an hour now and it's the height of summer, it's hot and he really just wants to go home. Across the road from him has been sat a handsome young man reading a book on a bench which never happens any more and Harry is sure he can sell £30 worth of brownies to the cute stranger if he smiles enough, right?
[this one is so cute, thank you!!]
The air is so thick it’s suffocating, and honestly, Harry just wants to go home.
He’s been jangling this tray of brownies around for as long as he can fucking remember, people on the street are so far unresponsive and uncooperative, and well.
Let’s just say his arms are hurting.
Across the street from him, the man on the bench is reading. Still reading, with that cute little look on his face, almost like he’s been placed there by some higher power.
A saviour for Harry if he ever saw one.
Biting back his better judgement, he gathers up his courage, and marches towards the man on the bench.
“Hi.” He says, and his tone must be laced with bitterness, because the man looks up and– well– grins.
“Would you like to buy a brownie?”
“Uh,” The man looks at the brownie. “No thanks. Sorry, mate.”
“Me neither.” Harry announces, and falls down onto the bench. “But if I told you that half of the proceeds of these brownies go to charity, what would you say then?”
The man laughs, sharply. “Depends which charity.”
“Now we’re talking.” Harry turns to face him, face alight with excitement. “Okay. So. There’s like this parallel universe, right? With parallel people. And out there, right now, there are thousands of bakery boys, just like me, trying to sell brownies, to guys like you. The problem is, the government is telling NASA to hide this parallel universe from everyone, even the people in it. So the people in it don’t think they’re real, and the brownie boy doesn’t sell any brownies.”
The man is beaming now, widely. “Uhuh.”
“So. Basically. What we do is.” Harry places the brownie tray down on his lap, gesturing. “We take the money we make and we use the time machine we have in our basement to transport it to the people in this parallel universe.”
“Oh.” The man’s eyebrows lift. “I see.”
“Yeah. And with the money that bakery boy gains some confidence, maybe enough to leave his job and pursue that degree in astrophysics he’s always desired. Which then allows him to prove his government wrong, which then helps him save the universe.”
“Ohhhh. Right.” The man bites his lip. “So it’s for a good cause.”
“Yes.” Harry nods. “Definitely.”
The man turns around to face Harry, brushing his fringe out of the way. “There’s two things I don’t get, though.”
“Where do the other half of the proceeds go?”
“Oh, that’s easy.” Harry huffs. “We have to pay people to keep this machine a secret from our government.”
“Right. Yes.” The man nods. “Of course.”
“What’s your second thing?”
The man smiles, tilting his head. “Don’t mind me saying but– you don’t look like an astrophysicist in the making to me.”
Harry gasps, affronted. “I am offended!”
The man just laughs. "Here. I’ll make it up to you.”
He reaches for his wallet, and Harry lets out his first relieved sigh of the day.
“For that parallel universe.” The man says, planting a ten pound note in Harry’s hand. “And, for you.”
“You should know we don’t accept cheques.” Harry wrinkles his nose, picking up the piece of paper also included.
“Didn’t say it was a cheque.” The man says. He winks, rises, and takes a few brownies from the tray.
“Hey!” Harry frowns, as the man walks away. “I didn’t get your name!”
“Yes you did!” The man calls back, and then, he’s gone.
Harry’s frown doesn’t lift until, examining the piece of paper, he sees two lines scribbled– firstly, the man’s number, and then–
Here’s something I snuck between some bigger projects (which are keeping me from being too active - sorry if I’ve been unresponsive! Let me make up for it with… well, art, lol.) This was another sketch that evolved into a rough animation. The magical crown idea wouldn’t leave my head and I couldn’t resist giving it a shot… Pretty pleased with how it turned out! And ya, I have a thing for Merlin being so fiercely loyal that he comes across a bit dark and possessive… Arthur likes it too! ;)
(My Art Tag) *Please don’t repost(?) or use elsewhere without my permission, and don’t delete my captions, thanks.
There is a connotation of Virgo and sexual unresponsiveness. And this makes many a Virgo shudder. Because Virgo is an acutely sensual sign. They are earth in silk with a glistening Mercury mind, so this is where thought becomes bound in material, making the body alert, responsive, and carnal. Sex is not distasteful but grounding and imminent. Subtle sterility can make the Virgo seem distant or non romantic. Of course they beguile with whisked mercurial messages, charm with the intellect, and retain the obscure mystique that relationships disturb their routine. And the lure of romance and sensual letter writing with fingers on skin dilutes and pure, earthly experience dilutes strict discipline and sheer logic. So Virgo can go mad in love, tapped into it’s duality Pisces who is the dreamer of all love dreams and spin in concrete waves of paralyzed idealism, serving into romance but suffering. Virgos have a high desire for physical contact and intimacy, a fine attachment with anything natural. Maybe with Virgo, the only place where purity can be found is in the filing cabinet.
Request: “Hey, can you do and imagine for nr.1 with reader x Newt, please.” “Make me.”
Warning: Very slight smut | TMR | Word Count: 1,859 (Hope you like this, this was a pretty quick but fun write so I really hope you enjoy it too!)
The Glade felt like it was on fire. You shifted uncomfortably in your tank top, fanning yourself every few minutes in between your work. The sun was glaring angrily down today, bringing the Gladers into a slow, lazy lull by noon.
“Y/N!” You heard a hoarse voice call you from a distance. You already knew it was Newt, your closest and oldest friend in the Glade, so you didn’t bother to turn around. You were feeling much too tired.
“Y/N!” He called again, this time with a twinge of annoyance at your lack of response. You sighed heavily before turning and squinting unresponsively in his direction. He rolled his eyes, walking towards you steadily, before stopping right in front of you. “Y/N, what are you doing? It’s past noon, Fry needs the meat to start cooking. You’ve been workin’ on that shuckin’ animal for hours now.” He furrowed his brows in seriousness, though his ruffled sandy blond hair and soft brown eyes made it hard to take him seriously.
You sighed and looked at him carefully. “I’m on it, I’m on it… It’s just so shucking hot, Newt. I can barely focus.”
Newt eyed the sweat beading on the side of your face and the hair clinging to your forehead stubbornly. “Alright, love, finish what you’re working on and then go take a shower. That ought to cool you down.”
You huffed and began slicing up the last bits of meat, hurrying to get them to Frypan.
As soon as you stepped into the cold shower, you shuddered with relief, half shaking from the freezing sensation, and half relieved to finally feel clean again. You didn’t worry about being the only girl in the Glade, because you had, more than once, proved yourself capable of taking care of anyone who dared try anything with you. Sure it had landed you in the Slammer once or twice, but that was a small price to pay for being able to take a shower in peace. No one had ever bothered you when you were in there except…
“Y/N,” that same voice called out. You groaned. You had never been so annoyed to hear Newt in your entire time in the Glade.
“What now?” You yell angrily over your shower. “Can’t I just have one moment of peace today, Newt, at least in the shower?”
Newt paused to stand in front of the showers on the other side of the barrier, not facing your direction. “Fry said he asked you to slaughter two animals, but he’s short on meat for the bonfire tonight. Any idea why?”
You grumbled and turned off the shower, accepting you weren’t going to ever be able to properly finish it anytime soon. You grabbed the towel to your side and wrapped it around you before padding your way out to face Newt, glaring angrily. Newt awkwardly looked in your direction, trying not to glance below at your body, even though you two were usually comfortable with each other, being best friends.
“No, Newt, I have no idea why –” You stopped short as it hit you. You remembered that in your anticipation to take a shower you had forgotten the second chicken… “Shuck.” You muttered only, biting your lip.
Newt raised an eyebrow. “Something the matter, Y/N?”
You roughly pushed past him, colliding shoulders with his. “Nothing’s the matter, Newt,” you snapped. “Go away.”
“Y/N,” Newt warned slowly, lowering his voice slightly, though it became raspier than ever because he was so parched. The heat was clearly getting to him, too. “Y/N, come back here.”
You continued walking.
“Y/N, don’t you dare walk away from me!” Newt shouted at you, though you were already halfway to the Homesteads now.
You shrugged simply and waved sassily back. “Watch me, Newt!” You called back out to him.
As quick as a whip, Newt ran up to you, grabbing your arm and swinging you around to face him. “Y/N, I am your second in command, you will do as I say,” he ordered you roughly.
You made a face and pulled yourself out of his grasp. “Make me,” you challenged, sticking your tongue out at him, and before Newt could even react, you turned and started running in the opposite direction. You clung to your towel desperately, regretting not putting on clothes immediately. You swore to yourself, but refused to look back to see if Newt was gaining ground on you; he undoubtedly was: even with his limp, you were encumbered by the towel, forced to run slower. As his unmistakable footsteps began grow louder behind you, you flung yourself into your hut and shut the door, though you knew that couldn’t keep him out for long.
Newt pounded on the door in a split second. “Y/N! Don’t make me barge in there. I will drag you out of there myself if that’s what it takes to get you to finish your work.”
You smiled to yourself, suddenly overcome with a desire to embarrass Newt. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” you called out warningly in a sing-song voice. “My towel fell off, and I’m trying to get dressed…”
Newt immediately withdrew from the door, but was resilient. “I’m not falling for that, Y/N! I’m coming in there in one minute, and you better be dressed.”
You pouted, creeping closer to the door to taunt Newt. “But that’s not nearly enough time, Newt,” you whined. “But you already know that, don’t you?” You smiled wickedly.
Though you couldn’t see Newt flush, you could hear him falter. “Y/N, d-don’t be ridiculous - I know what you’re trying to do. I don’t care. If you’re not dressed, it’s your own shuckin’ fault.”
You shrugged, slipping out of the towel and leisurely started putting on your clothes. “Alright, but don’t be surprised if you see me n –”
The door to the hut burst open, but you were wearing only your underwear and a large t-shirt, that was barely reaching a couple inches into your thighs. You smiled victoriously, pleased to see Newt’s red face, clearly more embarrassed now than in the showers. It didn’t help Newt and you had always felt attracted to each other, even started falling for each other as you grew closer in friendship, but neither of you acted upon it because Alby forbid it. Now, seeing Newt’s eyes reluctantly trailing over your half-exposed body, it made you want to forget there were any rules in place.
Newt clenched his jaw and crossed his arms. “Go ahead,” he said in a hardened tone, trying to mask his obvious reaction at seeing you half-naked. “Get dressed.”
You raised an eyebrow incredulously. “Seriously?”
Newt gazed at you stonily, and only gestured for you to proceed getting dressed. You scoffed. You threw your jeans at him and flopped down onto your bed, sticking your tongue out again at him. You had pushed your luck too far. Newt closed the distance between the two of you in a flash, and climbed over you on your bed, pinning you down against the sheets. He glared at you with darkened eyes. “Do you think that I’m joking, Y/N?”
You panted slightly underneath him, unable to help but think this was the first time Newt had ever gotten on your bed. You had been on his plenty of times, but he had never been on yours. This was different. “Not anymore,” you replied breathlessly, afraid of what he would do next.
Newt nodded. “Good that. Now be a good girl and do as I say,” he growled at you roughly.
You smiled mischievously up at him, fully aware that he was still hovering over you, his face just inches from yours. If you just leaned up… “And what if I don’t?” you asked teasingly.
“I’ll punish you,” Newt said tonelessly.
You lifted yourself up slightly, meeting Thomas’s cheek with yours, your lips brushing against the side of his face as you moved to whisper playfully in his ear. “I’d like to see you try,” you threatened, your lips pressed against his skin hotly.
Newt jerked back surprisedly, before his eyes filled with a new look of… lust. The wild, crazed desire finally unleashed within him, Newt grabbed you by the shoulder roughly and pushed you down against the bed, smashing his lips against yours. He kept you pinned down as he delved deeper into the kiss, your lips opening and parting to meet his. He pressed his tongue against your mouth, pulling away before giving you two hot kisses with tongue, each time exploring deeper and deeper. You gasped in order to catch your breath, taken aback by the suddenness and rushed manner of Newt’s kisses. He didn’t even give you a chance to catch your breath before lowering himself down on you again, pressing his lips to yours with a deep hunger you didn’t know he had in him.
You flicked his tongue with your own, moaning at his every touch. The blonde, instantly turned on by the sounds your moans, cupped your cheek, pulling you even closer to him, and you trailed your fingers up to tangle them within his disheveled hair. You smiled at his eagerness, and as your mouth twisted in victory you pulled away teasingly. Newt tried to lean down to kiss you but you merely turned your face slyly, laughing. Newt groaned in frustration and looked at you inquisitively, panting heavily. You watched him as his eyes followed you as you scooted back to the top of the bed. “It’s so easy to get you, Newt,” you giggled.
Newt raised his eyebrows in arrogant surprise. “Oh yeah? Sure about that, love?” He slowly crept forward and suddenly lunged to tackle you against the soft sheets, and though you laughed and tried to wriggle your way out of his grasp, Newt’s strong arms forced you against his hard chest.
You gasped for breath in between pouts and cried, “That’s no fair, Newt!” Newt smirked and flipped you over, releasing you playfully against the bed, running his hands up the side of your body until he reached your arms, which he moved up by your head and pinned your hands under his. He laced his long, rough fingers through yours and raked his teeth down the side of your neck, causing you to drop your head back against the sheets. You arched your back, surrendering yourself, as he lowered his wet kisses down your neck.
He paused, watching your eyelashes flutter and small, gasping breaths escape your lips. Seeing you crumble under his touch made him smirk, swelling his heart with pride that only he got to see you this way. “All’s fair in love and war, Y/N,” Newt whispered in your ear and pecked it with a small kiss after.
You smile and take his cheek into your hands, turning it to face his sweet caramel eyes towards you. “Well, if this is what a little war with you brings, I’m not complaining,” you winked and pulled Newt down to kiss him again.
Aries: Impulsive, blind with rage, and fail to get worked up about their normal habits. They become oppositional, but with less enthusiasm. Taurus: Become isolated, may binge-eat or become lethargic. They have a sense of “me against the world,” lack patience, and are easy to enrage. Gemini: Overthink, become silent, and seem to be “elsewhere.” They’re fairly intolerable to sadness and dissociate from their feelings. Cancer: Emotional, needy, and cry after insignificant events. They’re prone to stomach aches and have feelings of separation from everyone around them. Leo: Display their stress, but become wound up like they’re on the brink of a nervous breakdown. They’re short-tempered and needy, and are prone to turning themselves into a martyr. Virgo: Have heightened compulsions, become unresponsive in conversations, and become blunt and oppositional. Libra: Have feelings of instability and moodiness, with a reduced urge to socialize. Often feel hopeless, but try to stay happy and composed. Scorpio: Become hostile, isolated, and have violent mood swings. They exhibit intense melancholy with paranoia, and their own thoughts become scary to them. Sagittarius: Feel lethargic and sometimes use substances to escape. They become more serious and tense, less tolerant, and are plagued with feelings of worry when thinking about the future. Capricorn: Become unmotivated, hopeless, and start to overthink. They seem hyper vigilant, forcing themselves to “go through the motions,” but nothing really impresses them. Aquarius: Become uneasy and silent. They isolate themselves and detach, even though they attempt to appear happy. Pisces: Have obsessive thinking, and remember every bad event that’s happened to them. They become anxious, isolated, and tend to “feel everything.”
This beautiful fox was brought in to us recently after being found flat and unresponsive. She was rushed in to see our vets and was immediately placed on a drip with all of our fingers crossed for her recovery. Amazingly, she started to rally, and after several days of rest and round the clock care she was feeling much better! With a final sign off from a delighted vet team, she was taken back to her home and is now free once again
Sherlock is bent double, crouched over the body of the killer’s most recent victim. It’s a lady, late forties, dressed sloppily, grease stained clothes littered with patchwork and holes from a hard life. Bruises and swelling around the carteriod artery make it obvious that she died from oxygen deprivation, strangulation. What was peculiar was the set of lacerations across her back, from the back of her neck to the back of her pelvis, blood seeping through the material of the shirt to stain the white fabric red.
Sherlock has his magnifying glass out, peering fiercely at the abundance of unidentifiable spots dotting her shirt.
“Sherlock.” John’s found a letter, luxurious envelope, embossed with an official looking insignia.
“Sherlock!” Brows furrowed, Sherlock continues to study the stains, probably cataloging the origins and compositions of the blemishes across her shirt.
“Sherlock!” Sherlock remains unresponsive, still taking in the scene in front of him.
Huffing in annoyance, John heads over, already used to this side of Sherlock. Deathly focused on the task at hand, tuning out any outside input he considers a distraction. A smile lifts the edges of John’s lips, exasperation written in the creases of John’s brow, as John leans down to speak to Sherlock.
“Hey Sherlock I found-”
John is met with silence, and straightens up again, sighing. Sherlock was brilliant, but why did he always have to be so difficult.
Standing with hands resting on his hips, John’s lips curled with mischief, shuffling closer, only to poke one finger sharply below Sherlock’s ribs.
What John didn’t expect, was such a visceral reaction from Sherlock.
Sherlock yelped, head whipping around to fix a glare at John’s laughing figure. Sherlock had dropped his magnifying glass onto the floor, expensive glass now useless due to the multitude of lines stretching across the instrument.
“S-Sherlock,” John choked out, still chuckling to himself, “are you ticklish?”
Sherlock stood stiffly, only pausing to pocket the ruined magnifying glass, a faint blush stark against pale cheeks. Sherlock’s eyes flickered over to rest on John’s shaking figure, muscles taut as Sherlock wrapped his Belstaff tighter around himself, walking swiftly away and towards the main road.
John hurried along, hands stuffed deep into his pockets, a soft smile playing across his features.
Nestled in the warmth of the taxi and speeding across London back to Baker Street, John let his eyes roam over Sherlock’s lean figure. Sherlock, who had always been cold, untouchable, and had walls so high John would never be able to see over them, was ticklish.
It was an entirely new thing to accept, but personally, John thought it was adorable.
“Sherlock”, John was almost at his wits end, this was the fifth bullet Sherlock had put into their fridge.
Sherlock whirled around, heading back into the living room, before dropping heavily onto the sofa, staring sullenly ahead.
“Come on Sherlock, we need that fridge, you of all people should know that,” John fumed, fists clenching sporadically.
“Bloody hell even you use that fridge!” John stopped in front of Sherlock, glaring down at the impassive detective.
“I was bored John.” Sherlock states, emotionless, still staring straight ahead, unmoving.
“Bored are you?” John bites out, blue eyes hard and unflinching, before memories of a yelping Sherlock invades his mind.
John lets his features melt into a blank slate, hoping to mask the sense of childish anticipation building in his gut.
As John leans down, inching into Sherlock’s personal space, suspicion makes itself evident in Sherlock’s verdigris eyes, tracking John’s every movement. Sherlock thinks for a moment, teeth worrying a pleasingly full lower lip, before his eyes widened, flickering up to meet the warm blues of John’s eyes. John can tell the moment Sherlock realises what he’s about to do, nothing escapes Sherlock, not really, but this time, Sherlock is a second too late to stop John from launching himself at Sherlock, bowling him over with his fingers relentlessly attacking Sherlock’s sides.
An unwilling yelp escapes Sherlock, before a series of maniacal giggles bubble out of Sherlock’s throat, accompanied by the frantic twisting of Sherlock’s body, writhing in a valiant attempt to rid himself of John’s hold. As of now, an ear splitting grin has covered John’s features, elation welling up deep inside his gut from the laughing, relaxed image of Sherlock before his eyes.
Soon, Sherlock is tired out, lying loose limbed and pliant across the length of the sofa, head lolling back to accentuate the curve of a pale throat. John is seated across of him, nursing a cup of tea, both men still panting from the exhilaration that they felt not even minutes ago.
Sherlock’s head swivels around to pierce John with his gaze, eyes somehow still cold and passive, but imperceptibly warmer than before.
“That was mean.”
Silence hangs in the living room for a few moments, before John bursts out laughing, the happy, joyous sound ringing loudly in the previously silent room.
“I was mean? Sherlock, you put five bullets into the fridge!” John lets his eyes wander, and they rest on his cup of tea, steaming on the coffee table for a fraction of a second, before snapping back up to Sherlock’s horizontal figure on the sofa.
“What did I say? I was bored John.”
“Go get that parcel by the door Sherlock,” John calls, ignoring Sherlock’s dramatised groan.
“John,” Sherlock’s voice travels over from the doorway, suspiciously thick, “did you get me a-”
“Yeah I did,” John revels in the quiet surprise and muted happiness flickering on Sherlock’s face, “figured since I caused you to break yours the last time that I should get you a new one.”
Sherlock bounds towards his room, coming out with a few sheafs of paper and jumping onto the sofa, causing the tea on the table to shake precariously as he leans back against the armrest of the sofa.
John sighs exasperatedly, but his hands are gentle when he gets up to smooth back the sweat matted curls off Sherlock’s forehead.
Sherlock is just about dead on his feet.
“That’s enough.” John cuts Lestrade off, herding a stumbling Sherlock towards the main road with gentle hands and soothing whispers. Lestrade protests weakly, saying something about having to take their statements and witness accounts and-
“We’ll do it tomorrow.”
Sherlock is John’s first priority. Always has been.
John’s insides feel generically warm and mushy as he takes in the sight of a mussed, vulnerable Sherlock. Throwing out an arm to flag a taxi, John slips his other arm around Sherlock’s waist, pulling the lean detective snug into his side, sliding him into the taxi with surprising tenderness.
Sherlock slumps into the seats, verdigris eyes glazed with exhaustion, eyelids fluttering lightly as a fine-boned hand comes up to grasp at John’s sleeve. John’s heart clenches achingly at the sight of a worn-out Sherlock, clutching feebly at John’s jacket, and as John climbs into the taxi, Sherlock tugs at John’s sleeve, pulling John close.
A sound of discomfort escapes Sherlock, as he attempts to curl his entire body into John’s shoulder, head butting placidly against the underside of John’s chin. John smiles, eyes warm and mouth soft, as he wraps an arm around Sherlock, palm coming to rest at the nape of his neck, fingers sorting through the curls he finds there.
Sherlock mumbles something unintelligible, jostling them both in an attempt to coil himself closer to the source of warmth. John is surprised by how protective he feels of this brash, coarse detective in this very moment, wishing for nothing more than to stay in this moment forever as he leans down to press his cheek against Sherlock’s riot of curls as his fingers stroke his love into the skin behind Sherlock’s ear.
Too soon, the ride to Baker Street is over and Sherlock is definitely fully asleep on John’s shoulder, snoring gently and hands clenching erratically in John’s jacket.
“Sherlock,” John shakes the flaked out detective, stifling a snort at the dismal sound that Sherlock makes, a cross between a dissatisfied grunt and a wet snuffle, “we’re here.”
Sherlock gives no indication that John’s even said anything, so John flashes an apologetic look at the cabbie, before leaning down and hissing sharply at Sherlock to wake up!
Sherlock moans under his breath, long limbs taking the chance to curl more firmly around John. In a moment of distraught motion, John pokes Sherlock in the ribs, trying to wake him up.
Sherlock jolts awake, the top of his head colliding painfully with the soft underside of John’s jaw as he straightens up, fumbling with his scarf as he almost trips over the sidewalk in his haste to exit the taxi.
John climbs out after him, catching ahold of the end of Sherlock’s jacket, and tugging Sherlock around so that they stand face to face in front of 221B Baker Street.
John looks up to see the quiet curiosity reflecting in Sherlock’s eyes and chuckles to himself before lacing his hands behind Sherlock’s neck, pulling the startled detective down so he can smile straight at him, before placing a chaste kiss on the corner of Sherlock’s mouth, meeting Sherlock’s gaze with the ever present question of is this okay?
Coupled with a decisive nod, Sherlock swoops down to capture John’s mouth with his own, tracing the seam of his mouth with infinitesimal care, suckling softly on John’s lower lip as John arches into Sherlock, pressing upwards in an attempt to feel more of the soft, wet heat when Sherlock breaks away, panting slightly, a smile curving his features.
Dropping one last, quick kiss on John’s lips, Sherlock pulls away, unlocking the door to 221B.
Sherlock turns back, running an appraising eye over John’s still flushed cheeks, rumpled jacket, and mussed hair, grinning as he holds out a hand for John to take.
What if Teru pulls a Helga Pataki? I’m talking about head-over-heels Teru
planting one on Mob during the heat of
the moment. Like after a big boss battle leaving Mob totally unresponsive
on the floor, everyone’s crowding around him very worried. But then Mob
breathes and slowly sits up. An overjoyed,
emotional Teru (who was legit crying btw) pushes his way first, goes down on
his knees and hugs Mob first. Then he kisses him straight on the
lips. Happy and overwhelmed. Drawing back, Teru eyes shine as he says special words. Mob just stares. Teru painfully realises what he’s done. Mob turns red red red. And
Teru just prays for death cuz he’s kinda let the cat out of the bag
Hey y'all ever thought about how weird SNORING is? Like imagine an alien ship where a human just goes “hey I need to do the sleep thing that we were talking about now” and the alien is like ok the human is going to be quiet and unresponsive for a while now and sudenly
and the alien panics and wakes the human up and he’s just like hahah yeah my husband hates it when I roar in my sleep
Me, knowing fully well they won't kill him:
that's it they're gonna succumb they're gonna do the bury your gays trope alec is going to die we will never see him again I can't believe I let myself get betrayed they're gonna kill him I'm