Nana

ʬʬ﹒What's it like to hold the hand of someone you love? interlinked﹒🌷﹒⟡﹒

[sn00pism]

🎧ྀི "When you pretend, anything can happen!" ⋆˚🐾˖°

Nana. Twenty-three. She/Her. Professional Procrastinator. @170702-snpy is my personal blog.

I probably won't write anything that doesn't cater to me delusions, soooo...

We'll see!

૮ • ﻌ - ა

Masterlist

© SN00PISM 2025 ー please don't repost or copy my work, don't spam like or reblog please!

[deepspacegrace]

so apparently the entirety of bladerunner2049 happens Jun 30 - Jul 6. happy k's terrible week day1!!!!!!

[longnuts]

Does anyone know what to do

[princecarlton]

[linolinoing]

guys pls don't die from the heat i love playing tumblr with you

[sn00pism]

I NEED TO BE HELD AND KISSED AND LOVED AND I ACTUALLY DON'T REALLY NEED IT, I NEED A JOB AND TO FIGURE MY LIFE OUT BUT IT WOULD BE SO FUCKING NICE TO ACTUALLY CUDDLE SOMEONE THAT WAS WORTH IT WHILE I FIGURE IT OUT- *gunshots*

[moonageromantic]

Full time job at the yearning factory

[attackjester]

how it genuinely feels to have someone who agrees with your somewhat niche stances on a character

[gosverse]

babydoll ˚ʚ♡ɞ₊˚⊹| “break down these walls, don’t leave me alone.”

holland march x fem!reader

—established relationship, drunk!holland.

{creds to @larsandthewritergirl for the babydoll headcanon}

HOLLAND is late. which, admittedly, is not unusual. holland march exists in a perpetual state of being somewhere between ten minutes and two hours late. you’ve learned to factor it into your expectations. if he says he’ll be back by eight, you assume nine. if he says he’ll only be gone for an hour, you start wondering where he is after three.

still, tonight feels different.

he’d called earlier that afternoon to tell you he and jackson had finally wrapped up a case. well. “wrapped up” in the holland sense.

which usually means several things caught fire, somebody probably got arrested, holland almost died at least once, and through a combination of luck and sheer stubbornness, everything somehow worked out.

you’d expected him home hours ago, instead, the clock keeps ticking. and ticking, and ticking.

until eventually your concern starts outweighing your patience. you’ve just finished making yourself nervous with approximately twelve different worst-case scenarios when the lock finally rattles.

you shoot upright on the sofa and the front door swings open. holland stumbles inside. immediately, every prepared lecture evaporates. because he looks happy, not normal happy, not “i solved the case” happy. he looks utterly, hopelessly, ridiculously smitten.

his cheeks are pink, his tie is hanging half undone, his hair looks like he’s been running his hands through it all evening. and the second his eyes land on you, his entire face lights up. like somebody turned the sun on inside him.

“babydoll!”

the word echoes through the house. you blink then ask “what?” holland beams. actually beams. then immediately starts making his way towards you. except “making his way” is a generous description. he trips over absolutely nothing halfway across the room, catches himself on a chair, points accusingly at the chair, “that was intentional.”

“the chair attacked you?”

“yes.” he nods seriously, “very hostile furniture.”

you stare at him, and he breaks into helpless laughter, and suddenly you’re laughing too, because god help you, he’s impossible, and somehow that only makes you love him more.

“holland,” you stand, “how much have you had to drink?” he considers this, takes a surprisingly long time to consider it. then says, “enough.” which is not remotely helpful. you sigh and he smiles.

his gaze drifting over your face in a way that immediately makes your chest warm, because underneath all the alcohol and all the nonsense is something achingly genuine. he looks happy to see you. the kind of happy that reaches all the way into his eyes, the kind that makes him look younger somehow. like he’s been carrying something heavy all day and finally got permission to put it down.

“where’s holly?” you ask, it’s the first practical question that enters your mind, because usually if holland is drunk, holly is nearby acting as the responsible adult. “hmm?”

“holly,” you fold your arms. “where is she?”

“with her friends.”

“with her friends?”

“yeah,” he shrugs, “having fun.” you narrow your eyes. “holland.”

“babydoll.”

“don’t babydoll me.” his smile grows, “my babydoll.” your traitorous heart immediately melts, which is unfortunate, because apparently drunk holland has discovered this. somehow. you’ve never actually told him you like it, not once.

but the first time he’d jokingly called you babydoll months ago, you’d smiled, just a little, and apparently holland’s subconscious took detailed notes, because now he keeps saying it every chance he gets.

like he’s rolling the word around in his mouth because he enjoys the way your expression changes when he does. “babydoll.” you roll your eyes and he laughs.“see?”

“what?”

“that.”

“what?!”

“that little face.” he points at you, delighted, “i like that face.”

“you’re drunk.”

“correct.”

“very drunk.”

“also correct.”

he takes another step closer, then another, and suddenly he’s standing right in front of you. just looking, and something shifts. because for all his ridiculousness, holland has always looked at you differently. like you’re the most interesting person in any room. and drunk holland doesn’t even try to hide it.

his gaze moves slowly across your features, so openly affectionate it almost hurts. “i missed you.” your heart immediately does something embarrassing. “holland.”

“i really did,” his voice softens, becoming more vulnerable. “i really missed you.” holland can spend an hour talking nonsense, but eventually honesty sneaks through the cracks. always. you reach up and smooth a hand through his hair, his eyes close instantly, and the sound he makes is so absurdly sweet it nearly kills you.

his whole body relaxes like he didn’t realise how tired he was until you touched him. like he’d been holding himself together all evening and finally found somewhere safe enough to let go.

he opens his eyes slowly, “my girl. my pretty babydoll.”your entire brain stops functioning. holland says it so casually, like the fact that you’re his favourite person in the world is common knowledge. you can actually feel your cheeks getting redder, which immediately makes him smile, that soft, sleepy smile. the one that only appears when he’s genuinely happy. “dolly.”

“stop.”

“can’t.”

“you absolutely can.”

“don’t want to.”

and before you can respond, he gently hooks his arm around your waist and pulls you closer. just enough that he can rest his forehead against yours. holland sighs happily. “there.”

“there?”

“better.”

you laugh and he smiles. neither of you move. for a long moment, he just stands there holding you. he forgot there was anything else he was supposed to be doing. everything else fades into the background. “you know,” he murmurs, then trails off.

“well, that’s usually how conversations start.”

“you’re very pretty,” you laugh and he looks pleased with himself. “thank you.”

“especially when you laugh.”

“thank you.”

“and when you’re reading.”

“okay..”

“and when you’re sleepy.”

you just stare for a little bit, “holland.”

“and when you’re angry.”

“i’m sensing a pattern.”

he nods, “you’re always pretty.” the sincerity of it steals the breath right out of your lungs. because he means it. he gently cups your cheek, “i got real lucky, y’know.” your throat tightens as you try to speak, “baby..”

“i did.” his thumb brushes lightly across your skin, and suddenly he looks almost emotional. “best thing that ever happened to me.” your eyes immediately sting. because holland says things like that sometimes completely out of nowhere, with such devastating honesty that they go straight through your ribs.

he notices. of course he notices, his expression immediately softening. “hey.” his forehead nudges yours again. “no crying.”

“i’m not crying.”

“you’re thinking about crying.”

“that’s not the same thing.”

“it’s the prequel.”

you chuckle, and holland looks so delighted by the sound that it’s almost ridiculous. “there it is.”

“there what is?”

“my favourite sound.”

your chest actually hurts just a little bit, because nobody has ever looked happier than holland looks when you’re smiling, like your happiness is somehow his favourite thing, like every laugh is a reward, like every moment you’re happy is proof the world isn’t entirely terrible.

eventually you guide him towards the sofa, and he immediately collapses beside you. then gradually leans closer until half of him is practically draped across your side. he’s clearly decided this is where he belongs.

his head settles onto your shoulder, with one arm wrapping around your middle holding you close.

he’s making absolutely certain you’re still there. his fingers find yours automatically, intertwining. and then he lets out the deepest, most content sigh you’ve ever heard. the sound of a man who has finally made it home.

“comfortable?” you ask softly. he hums, eyes already half-closed. “very.” you press a kiss into his hair, and immediately his smile widens, and for a second he looks almost impossibly happy.

“babydoll.”

“yeah?”

his eyes flutter open, just enough to look at you. and the tenderness in them nearly breaks your heart, because there’s so much love there. every bit of it visible.

“i love you.”

it’s simple like breathing. you smooth your fingers through his hair again, watching him practically melt, watching every remaining bit of tension disappear. watching him relax completely into your side.

“i love you too.”

his smile becomes sleepy, “good.” then, after a pause, “still gonna call you babydoll tomorrow.”

you quietly laugh continuing to play with his hair, and holland, already drifting towards sleep against your shoulder, smiles like he’s won something.

which, perhaps, he has.

[binchidavinci]

Bar Fight

(Protective! Ryland Grace x reader) 'One night at the local bar, a man gets too close to your personal space. Ryland, your usually the quiet boyfriend, decides to intervene'.

The bar nearest to the lab— something of a regular watering hole for the Petrova Taskforce, these days— was packed. You and Ryland had only stopped in for a quick drink after a long day, but had found a group of your colleagues inside and had stayed a little longer (and drunk a little more) than you'd intended to. He was in his usual good mood, an arm slung casually around the back of your chair; trading sarcastic jabs with a couple of colleagues; his slouched lanky frame moulding perfectly into you. He looked every bit the laid back man he was, glasses slightly askew and nerdy slogan-shirt revealing the surprisingly toned forearms he’d earned simply moving enormous lab supplies around for the last month. For Ryland, physical strength was purely practical: he'd never been the vain type, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't like that he could make you swoon with a simple flex of his arm.

Your group were mid-conversation as you drained the last of your glass and excused yourself to grab another. You turned to Ryland and pointed at your empty glass. "Refill?" "Oh, I'm good, baby, thank you," he replied, pushing his glasses up his nose and smiling at you adorably. You nodded, blushing (he was always a sweet drunk), and slid off the cracked vinyl stool to grab yourself another.

As you leaned against the sticky bar, impatient to get back to your friends, you felt a presence slide into the space next to you. Glancing sideways, you saw a man who was clearly already a few drinks deep and feeling unjustifiably confident. “Hi there,” he said, leaning in way too close: you could smell the stale cologne, and fought to point out the wedding band on his finger. You nodded your head in polite acknowledgement, offering a tight-lipped smile in the hopes he'd take the hint that you weren't here to mingle. He seemed taken aback by your silence. "What," he scoffed, “can't a man buy a pretty girl a drink, anymore?" You paused then turned to face him. "I'm good, thanks." You turned away again, shaking your head a little. "Got my own money and everything, since it's no longer 1965," you mumbled. “Aw, c’mon," he drawled, leaning down further into you to force eye contact. "Could show you a good time," he murmured. Despite your desire to smack him in the face, you turned the other cheek, hoping he'd get lost when he realised you wouldn't be enticed by his stale breath and poor awareness skills. Sadly, he just kept talking your ear off, telling you about his 'six-figure salary' and 'ultra-rare car'; you kept your eyes trained elsewhere, fighting the urge to shove him and tell him to take a hint.

On the other side of the room, Ryland caught sight of what was going on: an obnoxious drunkard encroaching on your space as you fought desperately to catch the bartender, hoping to get back to the group as fast as possible. He knew you could handle yourself fine (your feistiness was something he loved about you, in fact), but something in Ryland snapped as the man moved his hand to your lower back. That was enough.

Ryland stood up slowly, unfolding all 6’3” of himself. The easy-going scientist everyone knew was gone, replaced by a man on a mission, something of a predator, now. He moved toward you quickly, weaving through the crowd easily despite his bubbling panic. He was close enough, now, to hear the tail-end of the man's narcissistic rambling. "Seriously, you've not seen anything like it—" "Need a hand carrying anything?" Ryland nodded casually, interrupting the man's tirade. The man, irritated by the interruption, dropped his hand from your lower back and stood up straight. "We're kinda in the middle of something, man," he said, gesturing for Grace to get lost. You sighed and turned to Ryland, rolling your eyes. Ryland met your gaze for a moment, trying to read your face, then returned his eyes to the man. His jaw ticked. “Really? 'Cause I'm pretty sure she's not interested... man,” Ryland shot back, voice low and calm. He pushed his glasses up his nose, a mindless habit that he was suddenly self-conscious of as ruining his threatening stance. The man eyed Grace for a moment, then scoffed. He was stocky and muscular, but Grace was tall and really quite pissed off, now: it was no competition. “Or what?" The man stepped closer. "You gonna calculate me to death?” The next moment, he leaned up to push Grace's glasses further up his face to provoke him. Big mistake. Before he could even make contact, Ryland moved faster than you’d ever seen him: he grabbed the man's arm and slammed him backward into the bar top in one fluid motion, pinning him there with one arm whilst the other supported his weight against the bar, caging the man in. Glasses rattled; people nearby stepped back, murmuring about a 'bar fight'. In this part of town, that wasn't uncommon, but it was bizarre to see Grace at the centre of it.

Ryland stepped forward, still pinning the man's arm to his own chest to keep him bent backward over the bar. Grace leaned down to speak into his face. “You don’t touch people like that,” he growled, voice suddenly shaking and furious. "Fuckin' animal." The muscles in his arms and shoulders flexed hard under his shirt, much stronger than he would ever let on. It's always the quiet ones, you thought as you fought to stop ogling Ryland and to actually intervene. "For fuck sake, cool it," you pleaded, half willing Grace to concave the guy's head. Still, you knew he would regret this come tomorrow morning. Ryland paused momentarily, considering your words; this gave the man an unfortunate window to swing at Grace with his free hand. Your hands flew to your mouth in horror: Ryland failed to dodge the punch, landing with a crack on his angular chin, but he quickly recovered and delivered a hard swing to the man’s stomach. As Ryland stepped back, the man slid slowly down the bar to the floor. Grace fought the urge to kick him right in the ribs as he stood over him, breathing hard with fists still clenched. His glasses were broken somewhere on the floor, but his eyes were burning with an intensity like you’d never seen.

With a final huff, Ryland stepped back, immediately turning to you. The anger melted from his face the second he looked at you; he looked mildly embarrassed. "Jesus, Ryland, are you ok?" You stepped forward and tried to pry Grace's hand from his lip, now profusely bleeding, but he seized your hand in his own before you could try. “Can we just—” he loosened his grip on your hand, "—get out of here?" You didn't reply, frozen as you registered his request. Then, you interlaced your fingers with his and led him through the crowd, not bothering to say goodbye to your friends: that wasn't important right now.

As you stepped out into the cool night air, you released Ryland's hand and turned to face him quizzically. "What was that?" you asked, voice quiet and earnest with concern. His eyes darted around your face as though you were the one who'd been in the fight. “He touched you,” Ryland whispered simply, like that explained everything. You threw your hands up, exasperated. "I realise that, Grace, but you can't just—" “He put his hands on you, Y/N! What was I supposed to do? Watch?” he shouted. You stepped back, chewing on your bottom lip: you'd never seen Grace angry and you weren't sure how to handle it. Realising this, he sighed, running a calloused hand over his bloodied face. “Sorry,” he whispered. “I don’t usually… I’m not the— the punchy type. But when he touched you—” His jaw clenched again at the memory. He shook his head as if to dispel the thought.

You stepped closer, placing your hands on his hard abdomen to calm him. You could feel his heart still racing; you let your head drop against his hard chest and your arms snake around his waist, sighing in defeat. “I didn’t know you could fight like that,” you said, smiling softly. He let out a breathless laugh. “Yeah, well,” he peered down at you, “I’m full of surprises." He bent over to kiss the top of your head, wrapping his arms around you. "Nobody gets to talk to you like that. And nobody gets to touch you. No way.” He went to push his glasses up his nose, but realised quickly they had fallen off in the fight. You reached up and gently pulled him down into a kiss. He melted instantly. “My big, angry, secretly ripped scientist,” you teased against his lips. Ryland chuckled, cheeks faintly pink as he smiled coyly against your mouth. “Only when it comes to you.” He pressed his forehead to yours, voice dropping. “I’ve got a lot of brains… but I’ll throw punches for my girl.” He wiggled his eyebrows and you laughed, pulling away only to link your arm with his. "Come on. It's a long walk back to base."

[uncertainlys]

i hope everything works out in the end because i am so so scared

[samwspn]

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆holland march moodboard | the nice guys [requested]

[kcsplace]

Top Gun Silliness

[creativepromptsforwriting]

good traits gone bad

perfectionism - never being satisfied

honesty - coming off as rude and insensitive

devotion - can turn into obsession

generosity - being taken advantage of

loyalty - can make them blind for character faults in others

being dependable - always depending on them

ambitiousness - coming off as ruthless

optimism - not being realistic

diligence - not able to bend strict rules

protectiveness - being overprotective

cautiousness - never risking anything

being determined - too focussed on one thing

persuasiveness - coming off as manipulative

tidiness - can become an obsession

being realistic - being seen as pessimistic

assertiveness - coming off as bossy

pride - not accepting help from others

innocence - being seen as naive

selflessness - not thinking about themself enough

being forgiving - not holding others accountable

curiosity - asking too many questions

persistence - being seen as annoying

being charming - can seem manipulative

modesty - not reaching for more

confidence - coming off as arrogant

wit/humor - not taking things serious

patience - being left hanging

strategic - coming off as calculated

being caring - being overbearing

tolerance - being expected to tolerate a lot

eagerness - coming off as impatient

being observant - being seen as nosy

independence - not accepting help

being considerate - forgetting about themself

fearlessness - ignoring real danger

politeness - not telling what they really think

reliability - being taken advantage of

empathy - getting overwhelmed with feeling too much for other people

[chesue00]

Someone's feeling a little hot tonight... 🫢

[eyelessfaces]

[aceofheartsssss]

@mo-mode you. 👏 are. 👏 a. 👏 GENIUS. 👏 NO WONDER WE WERE ALL GETTING THOSE OG WATTPAD/TUMBLR VIBES UGH I LOVE IT~

[rana030]

can we please stop romanticizing cheating in fiction like it’s sexy