#Tweed TV

[salembehindbars]

Teenagers bedrooms in shows are my greatest source of envy.

Aria Montgomery’s Room | Pretty Little Liars (2010)

Spencer Hastings’ Bedroom | Pretty Little Liars (2010)

Claire Brown’s Room | Aquamarine (2006)

Rory Gilmore's Bedroom | Gilmore Girls (2000)

[deebeeus]

To us, it's a TV yellow mahogany rock n' roll machine.

To him, it's lunch. 🥪

2018 Gibson Custom 1957 Les Paul Junior VOS (being eyed hungrily by Douglas 🦫).

[hottiesbooted]

Sweeden Model (Poland Born) located in Italy: Filippa Lagerbäck (@

filippalagerback)

Boots: Carmens 40121 Marostica Cristal-Bordo.

[lucy-moderatz]

You're right. You're right, I suppose I have kept you at arms length. And maybe it's because I have a genuine fear of intimacy. I don't know. I just do know that I...I don't want you to go.

[phrynefishersfrocks]

The fifth ensemble of "Dead Air" (Season 2, Episode 11) features one of Miss Fisher's statement coats, a grey tweed with white panels, a black blouse, her black wide-legged pants, and her classic cat burglar hat.

Phryne's entire look is a wonderful example of reusing previous pieces in a new way. Her heathered tweed coat, created by loosely weaving black and white elements together, was previously seen in "Raisins and Almonds" (1x05). It has white panels set into the fabric along the back seam, the outer edge of the sleeves, and lines that start at her underarm and zig-zag down to the hem. The side closure is a black embroidered hook and eye set to help it cross over her chest.

While worn over a white outfit in 1x05, we see it here over her all black casual home outfit (minus the cardigan) seen earlier in this episode. Her black blouse has matching loose ties that follow her v-neckline, and is a staple in her season two wardrobe, showing up six times so far (2x04, 2x05, 2x06, twice in 2x08, and earlier in 2x11). Its paired with her classic black silk faille pants and accented with black leather gloves.

She accessorizes with her silver capped onyx teardrop earrings, and a brooch featuring a white carved flower set into a black oval frame, worn earlier in 2x08, and black heels. As per usual, Phryne adds a fabulous hat to her silhouette. Appropriately known as her 'cat-burglar beret', this black circular beret has been worn twelve times so far - (twice in 1x05, 1x06, 1x09, twice in 1x10, 2x01, 2x03, 2x04, 2x05, 2x06, 2x07, and here in 2x11).

Season 2, Episode 11 - "Dead Air"

Screencaps from here, hat photo from the official Pinterest, production photos from various sources (x, x, x), Costume Exhibition photo of brooch from Dayna’s Blog.

[daggerbisexual]

ok so in rewatching the librarians (on amazon, now that it’s no longer on hulu) i’ve discovered that this version is slightly longer than the og and it includes some fabulous little things like cassandra saying “she can and will kick your ass” (about eve, to jenkins) anyway ur welcome go watch it

[thehitchhikerguide]

Season 2, Episode 6: Videodate

Let me start out by saying this is one of the best episodes I've seen so far. The sleeze, the revenge plot, crazy 80's visuals...all perfect for a Hitchhiker episode.

The famous guest star this week is Shannon Tweed, known for being in some not-so-recognizable movies and also for being Gene Simmon's wife. I know her from Hot Dog...The Movie, which I guess is a must see for anyone who has ever been a skier or just likes a lot of full-frontal in their movies. The main male character is played by Gregg Henry, who looks to have a decent acting career, but I didn't recognize him. I thought he maybe looked like a low rent James Woods.

We start out with a woman who has very 80's hair watching a video dating service tape of a guy who is making it out to be his first time doing something like this. She is charmed by his vulnerability.

You can see by her joker-like smile, he has sealed the deal. He takes her out to an art exhibit and I have to say this is something I would love to go to even now. There is an area where you can smash a TV:

I mean, that is a really fun date!

Then we see the exhibit of a hot new artist named Monique. Wait, what? It's always weird when I hear other characters on TV with my name, since I don't hear it too often. I guess with a Canadian show, it was just a matter of time.

This is an art exhibit I would love to go to. People with TV heads that play some sort of strange video. It's creepy and disturbing and I'm all in for it.

This one represents the woman TV head's fantasy of running off with another man (shown on the TV). Of course our male character decides to man-splain to his date and also mention that he knows the artist. She seems to be watching this conversation behind him, unamused.

At least I think that is the artist...right? I guess they don't say but it seemed obvious at this point.

By now, the date is going really well.

Well that was a cool art exhibit so I kind of get it, even though he looks like a creep whose hair is just hanging on for dear life. She seems pretty vulnerable and mentions to him that she doesn't want this to be a one night stand. He tells her what she wants to hear...

...then immediately rushes her into a cab. After she is gone, we find out that wasn't even his apartment! He has been paying his friend who is a doorman to use people's apartments for these sleezy videodates.

As he drive away, we see something we haven't seen in awhile.

Oh yeah I almost forgot, there was also this weird image and some video game noise. Not sure what this is, his car is in a video game now?

Haha, as usual, perfect butt is on display. Man, he looks like he could double for George Michael in this shot. Anyways, we see the main character interacting with the Hitchhiker. He refuses to give him a ride.

Also, we are over 8 minutes into the episode before he shows up! We learn that this main dude is named Jack Rhodes. He has a lot of disguises and thinks he is the master of the illusion. But Jack is not the only one with tricks up his sleeve. Yes! Comeuppance! Comeuppance!

So this guy Jack is actually a salesman at an electronics store. He likes to brag to his coworkers about these conquests.

Co-workers Joey McIntyre and Wallace Shawn are not impressed.

We see the female video artist at the store as he is making a sale using his dynamic personality. She is still observing his behavior with disgust. When he gets home he notices a package at his door.

Wait a minute, am I watching Lost Highway now?

We get a good look at his apartment and his "last known photo" board and notice something a little weird.

Nice, huh? But what I'm not showing is that he has a section on this board labeled "foxes" and there are no photos under there.

He settles in to watch the mysterious tape.

Oh no, why does it look like Videodrome now? How many movies are in this?

Honestly I would be crapping my pants right now.

I mean I know it's a hot babe, but this video is still very disturbing.

Anyways, it's Monique, the artist in her underwear. She is saying her name is Barbara and that she wants to go on a date with Jack. Does he think this is from the video dating service, because I wouldn't think they just plop unmarked tapes in front of his door. I thought you had to go to a place to watch the tapes. Well despite this, she's a fox and we've established he's never been with a fox so he is up for anything.

Hmm, now it looks like Blue Velvet. I should probably stop obsessing over these movie references.

Their first date is playing video games. He plays a round and then she sets out to beat his score. She is the original gamer girl! Maybe she WAS creating a videogame from videotaping his car.

I immediately recognize the video game sounds to be from the game Centipede, however the game they show is shooting the letter E for some reason.

Maybe it's also an eye test, who knows. Defeat Enron!

She cuts the date off with the promise that they will see each other again. She invites him to her place for dinner. The building looks run down and this elevator...

I know, but now it looks like we are in an Adrian Lyne movie! Okay I'll stop.

She's cooking him dinner and he is being a total gentleman.

It's not a Hitchhiker episode without someone leering.

Monique changes in a dominatrix-type outfit under her clothes. They have dinner and retire to the bedroom. Jack immediately lets Monique tie him to the bed.

She reveals her sexy outfit and asks if he wants to play a game called Blastoff. I mean, it sounds pretty sexy right? Sounds like code for something else?

She puts on this neon metronome and says he has 1 minute to free himself or he will blastoff. Pretty cryptic.

This thing keeps booping faster and faster as Monique explains that she knows how he treats other women. Jack is upset and sounds like he wants to kill her, demanding she free him. The metronome goes even faster and then...

...his genitals explode? It looks like he dies in ball of flames. Wow what an ending!

Oh wait there's more.

I guess she had been filming this whole thing for her newest art installation. The people watching the exhibit seem confused, maybe they've never seen an episode of The Hitchhiker before.

There is an announcement showing the artist Monique is there and we get this big reveal.

It's Barbara! I mean, I knew she was the artist all along, were we only supposed to get that now?

Anyways, The Hitchhiker is leaving the art museum telling us that Jack Rhodes used the state of the art in video to get what he wanted (really, VCRs state of the art?) but when he had to do it for the sake of art , he went to pieces. Haha! Good one Page! An actual joke! I think he's enjoying Jack's suffering a little more than he should.

Let that be a lesson to everyone...pick up hitchhikers.

As I said before, this was a great episode that had it all, even the confusing ending. I mean, what actually happened to Jack and how did he explode like that? It's episodes like this that keeps me coming back for more, so until next time, be nice to people named Monique!

[gallusrostromegalus]

My housemate reminded me of a flashbulb memory I have that I really wish I had a photograph of because it would be a magnificent image to inflict on the internet at large with Zero Context, but I'll try to describe it here, and then draw it after dinner.

Image Description:

As seen from about three feet off the ground: Interior, the den of an american suburban house built at the height of the atomic age and still decorated like it years later. There's dark wood paneling about halfway up the walls that offsets the almost neon pink-orange light of late sunset visible through the large window. Every object in the room is highlighted by the last of the sunlight. The only other light in the room is a TV set that was manufactured the same year Howdy Doody debuted on air, now broadcasting PBS Newshour in black and white.

Closest to the viewer, there is a small end table with a Nearly Full Martini glass, and a Half-empty glass Martini Pitcher, indicating that two of the five martinis it holds have been poured out.

Just behind it, an old man sits in a chair that was bright green and yellow when it was new but is now more Grellow. The man is in his mid-sixites, somewhat heavyset, with a full head of snow-white hair and thick glasses. He's wearing a dark brown tweed suit with leather elbow patches, and a white cotton button-up. He's watching the news with a calm and dispassionate demeanor. Tired, but still engrossed with the world's events. He's wearing dark brown penny loafers and garish argyle socks.

Behind him is a couch that is a matched set with the armchair, with the same Grellow chevron pattern, but there is a very large crochet afghan that has been spread out over the back to be decorative and maybe protect the couch from it's current occupant: a 120lb Wolf Hybrid.

She's seated lengthwise on the couch, like she had also been watching PBS Newshour, posed like a sphynx. She's close in wieght to the man, and definitely taller than him if she stands up, with a dark gray agouti coat and a bit of white countershading from the trace of domestic dog in her. She's turned her head to the viewer, bright yellow eyes focused on them, and the fur of her head and neck haloed with the sunset. She is pleased to see the veiwer, which means most of the teeth in her lower jaw are visible in her canine grin. The effect is very menacing if you don't know her.

Clutched rather neatly between her front paws is a second, identical martini glass, only not nearly quite so full as the old man's.

Title: "Oh, I didn't think you'd be back for another hour/GODDAMIT EDWIN"

[surskip]

frasier does something to your brain. one day youre watching tv and he says something like "pintucks while wearing a giorgio armani tweed jacket???! my god, man, have you lost your mind?!" and youre just like Yeah man you should kill that guy

[theunholyvirginemilyprentiss]

The BAU as children:

EMILY ‘LITTLE MENACE’ PRENTISS

Emily was always outside, climbing trees or catching frogs, and the parade of nannies and Au Pairs she had as they moved from place to place found her to be hilarious, but utterly uncontrollable. She was wild-spirited, full of life, and laughed at everything—especially when she wasn’t supposed to—and was a devious prankster who knew how to curse in at least 4 different languages. Her favourite shows were ‘Flash Gordon’ and ‘Where in the World is Carmen Santiago?’, but she’d sneak out of bed late at night to watch ‘Cagney & Lacey’ from the staircase whilst her parents sat in the living room, thinking she was asleep. She had always had an advanced reading age, but the extent of her intelligence became abundantly clear as she was devouring books like ‘Moby Dick’ and ‘The Lord of the Flies’ as young as 11. Her mother would dip her fingertips in vinegar, but she never did shake the habit of biting her nails. She had many a nickname. Sparky. Spitfire. Beasty. It was ‘Little Menace’ which stuck.

JENNIFER ‘JJ’ JAREAU

JJ was an angelic child. She always sat up straight in church, never got her dresses dirty, and didn’t have to be told to wash her hands before meals. She made daisy chains and paper fortune tellers, and burned through crayons like matches. She wore flowery pinafores and loved having her hair brushed, even more so when her older sister Roslyn braided it for her, although JJ had always been much more interested in Roslyn than Roslyn had been in her. She loved ‘Sesame Street’ and the ‘Peter Rabbit’ books. JJ was a dream, but even she had a naughty side. She was a very light sleeper, and often crept downstairs to sneak snacks, leaving the evidence in her bedsheets in the form of crumbs.

SPENCER ‘DOC’ REID

Spencer seemed to have been born in a tweed vest and reading glasses. He had the demeanour of a tiny businessman, and had bow ties to boot. He was his mother’s little gentleman. She would read to him, and he to her: Dickens, Kant, Dostoevsky. He was prodigious on the piano, and at the maths chalkboard. He had such a beautiful mind crammed into that tiny head of his. That said, it took him eight years to learn to tie his shoelaces. He drew the conclusion at one point that there was a correlation: as his mind expanded, his mother’s faded. But at least there was love.

PENELOPE ‘PENNY’ GARCIA

Penelope was a little performer. She was sassy and confident, and she didn’t walk—she strutted. She had always been hopelessly glued to screens. She would ‘borrow’ her brother’s Gameboy, do ‘important work’ on her father’s boxy office computer, and sit glued to the TV every morning before school, eating Lucky Charms and watching ‘My Little Pony’. She was always sure to do her chores, because if she did, her father would give her a handful of nickels and send her off to the arcade—but he was never best pleased when she came home with a stray cat in her arms begging, “can we keep him!”. When she wasn’t on screens, she was helping her mother bake in the kitchen. She loved the smell of rising cupcakes, and licking the bowl.

Check out my Masterlist for more BAU scenarios

[doomhands-jr]

The Devil's Advocate - Chapter 12

Pairing: Delinquent!Noah Sebastian X Pastor's Daughter!Reader

Summary: Noah is a delinquent with a lot of anger at the church. You're a pastor's daughter plagued by moral perfectionism, charged with overseeing the community service he's been sentenced to complete. You've never encountered true temptation before. How will you fare up against Noah, who not only isn't bound by the same rules of purity as you, but actively scoffs at them?

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Nothing but fluff, baby.

Masterlist

Thanks to @flowerynerds for the banner!

Thanks to @throughwoodsanddirt for the beta!

___________

The New England winters tended to hone its inhabitants like an axe against a grindstone, sloughing off the weaker bits until you were left with only the hardest, sharpest edges of the soul. 

The anticipated nor’easter was due to hit sometime in the next few days. Local newscasters said it was likely to be severe. Currently, it was the calm before the storm. The weather was still, like all the substance had been sucked out of the air so the storm could dump it out again once it hit. 

On the ground, gray-stained slush clung to sidewalks and frozen lawns, still leftover from last week’s snowfall. The bitter December air stung at your nostrils and turned the tip of your nose red, and Noah Davis’s hot breath drifted out of his open mouth in billowing clouds as he looked down at you from where he stood in his door frame. 

It was early morning—three days after you’d spoken with Nick. The western edge of town had all but cleared out, having been comprised mostly of students, who had all gone home for the month-long winter break. 

Noah sniffed, blinking down at you and you cleared your throat. 

“I, um…I have your stuff.” 

You held out the clothes he’d let you borrow, freshly washed and folded, stacked neatly in a pile on top of your mittens. 

Noah stepped to the side and gestured for you to enter, which you did, apprehensively. Something about being in his space felt off-limits to you, yet he welcomed you in without hesitation. 

Briefly, you surveyed the space before you. A worn sofa and two overstuffed armchairs surrounded a stained coffee table littered with empty beer cans, paper plates, and ashtrays with the spent butts of cigarettes and, you suspected, joints. 

The mess was contained to the coffee table, however. The rest of the living room was fairly clean. A large-screen TV sat atop a dark glass stand. An array of gaming consoles and controllers decorated the shelves below it. It was off, and you could see a shadow of your reflection in the black glass of the screen. 

Noah cleared his throat and you spun around to look at him. He regarded you with intention, surveying you up and down, but his face didn’t betray whatever information he gathered from the act.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asked. 

“I’m good,” you said, and immediately regretted it because it wasn’t until after you spoke that you realized how dry your throat had become. “Water, actually.” 

He let out a breath somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle, moving to the open-concept kitchen space to fetch a glass out of the cupboard. “Have a seat,” he called over to you without looking. 

You took a seat on the brown tweed couch, shrugging off your coat and removing your mittens, and bundled them into a neat pile on your lap. 

The acrid smell of stale cigarettes stung the inside of your nose and you discreetly nudged the ash tray across the coffee table. 

Noah appeared at the other side of the table, a glass of water clasped in his outstretched arm and you took it gratefully, working hard not to look at him too much. 

Though this wasn’t the first time you’d seen him since your one and only sexual experience, it was still a shock to your system. Noah stood in front of you, looking regrettably Jesus-like with his long hair cascading down his shoulders. His clothes were unassuming—gray hoodie and black jeans, but they fit him effortlessly well. 

He took his seat on the armchair to your left, legs about six inches too long to fit comfortably between the chair and the end of the coffee table. He rubbed his shins, friction offering more warmth than the sputtering vents and the furnace that whined in protest. Even your ancient dorm with its concrete brick walls could stay warmer than the drafty rental Noah and the band called home. 

You noticed a distinct absence of sound or movement in the house. 

“Just you today?” you asked. 

“Folio and Ruffilo went home for the holidays,” he said, settling back into his chair and sipping from a mug of black coffee. 

You didn’t need to ask why he wasn’t doing the same—with all the baggage he carried from his family, you’d be surprised if they even exchanged Christmas cards. 

You bounced your knee, knowing there was a conversation to be had, but not wanting to approach it. 

“I’m surprised you’re still in town,” he remarked. 

This time you chanced a look at him. The coffee mug obscured part of his face, but his eyes still held the same intensity they always had. 

“My parents are on a missions trip in Africa,” you said. 

He quirked his head to the side, forehead wrinkling in confusion, and something about the crease between his eyebrows had you looking away again, too overstimulated by your own attraction to him. This was going to be harder than you thought. 

“What’s a mission trip?” he asked. 

“Missions trip,” you corrected. “It’s where groups of people go and build schools and stuff in small towns that don’t have enough resources.” You said this into your glass of water, thankful for something you could anchor your focus on. 

“That’s pretty sick, actually.” 

“Yeah,” you said, taking a sip to quell the tightness in your throat. “Yeah, I mean, it’s all sort of religiously-motivated though. The real reason is to spread Christianity.” 

You almost felt his face twist with displeasure. Glancing over at him confirmed it. He didn’t say anything though. He didn’t need to. You understood what that look was about and you felt the same. 

A few awkward moments passed while you tried to think of anything you could say that wasn’t the one thing you came here to say. 

“How were your finals?” Noah asked, coming to your rescue. 

“Good,” you answered too quickly in a rush of air. You cleared your throat and forced your next words to come out at a more conversational pace. “They were good. I think I passed all of them.” 

If Noah noticed anything off about your energy, he didn’t let on. Instead, he smiled. “I’m not surprised.” 

You gave him a questioning look. 

“You’re really smart,” he explained, setting his coffee on the table in front of him, sans coaster, “and you seem like the type of person to study hard.” He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair while he said it, resting his chin on the palm of his other hand. 

You smiled back because he’d clocked you. “Does that make me boring?” you asked, finally relaxing into the usual back-and-forth of your conversations with Noah. 

His smile grew wider, and you were stuck by just how sharp the corners of his mouth were. “I don’t think it does. I mean, if that was all there was to you, it might, but you have more layers than that.” 

“Like an ogre,” you said. 

His face fell and he blinked, waiting for you to explain. 

“From Shrek.” 

“Get out.” 

Your composure cracked, and through the fissure erupted a fit of giggles, surface tension finally breaking into something warm and homey. Noah snickered and at last, the shields were down—both of you disarmed and ready for what lay ahead. 

It took several moments for the energy in the room to settle where it needed to be. When it finally did, you regarded Noah with your full attention for the first time since arriving. 

He looked tired. The light bags that usually hung around just under his eyes had deepened into something sadder. Patchy stubble dotted his chin and upper lip, and his hair looked stringy and unwashed. 

“So,” he began, drumming his fingers on the armrest of his chair. 

“So,” you parroted. 

In the span of a few seconds, the air around you folded in on itself and grew twice as thick—dense with unspoken sentiments and the possibilities for what could come out of this conversation. 

He fixed you with a serious look, assessing your demeanor before speaking again. You’d been on the other end of that look before, but every time it happened, it struck you just how large and intimidating Noah’s presence was. 

“Should we talk about it?” he asked. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, leaning back in your seat. When you opened them again, you were staring at the ceiling. “No….” 

You heard Noah huff a laugh through his nostrils. That was good. At least he was amused by your discomfort. Without lowering your head, you shifted your eyes over in his direction. He smiled at you, and it took the edge off. 

“I promise I won’t make this any harder than it has to be.” You appreciated the gentle tone he took—a nurse soothing his patient before administering a shot. 

You said nothing, but no longer protested. He took it as his cue to go on. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. 

You exhaled deep. “I know,” you replied, unable to look anywhere but your hands. His apology didn’t make you feel any better about what happened. It was more for him. 

“I know you know,” he said. “But I want to explain why.” 

It was already too much. You squeezed your eyes shut and blinked them back open. You hated everything about this situation. “Why you ghosted?” 

“Why I’m sorry,” he said. 

You looked at him with trepidation. He had your attention, but you were still wary and unsure if you wanted to hear what he was about to say. You almost hated yourself for being stupid enough to give him the chance to apologize. 

If he got it wrong it would feel like reopening a wound. 

He took a deep breath. Somewhere behind his eyes, an unnamed heaviness settled in and you had to look away. The last thing you wanted to do was empathize with the man who hurt you.  

“I’m not the best communicator,” he began slowly. 

“Ya’ think?” You couldn’t stop the sarcasm from slipping out. His face went from soft and patient to something more frustrated.  

“Sorry,” you muttered. 

He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat before he resumed. “Things like honesty and vulnerability? They were weaknesses in my book for a long time. I could go into detail about why, but that’s not really important.

“What’s important now is that you know that I’m trying. I understand that I fucked up. I hate that I did it. I wish I wasn’t that person, but it’s a shortcoming that I’m learning to deal with.” 

“I also hate that you fucked up,” you said, matter-of-factly. You didn’t say it to hurt him, but it was true, and it was important to you that you no longer filtered your thoughts to protect his feelings. 

Noah, being Noah, saw the humor in your statement and huffed. “Your honesty is refreshing. If not a little cold,” he said. A half-smile painted his face and God, if you didn’t want to slap it off him so that you’d no longer have to look at it. 

Letting his face fall neutral again, he continued. “You’re not the first important person that I’ve hurt because of this,” he said. “But hurting you did force me to pay attention to how that feels, and I don’t like it. I’m tired of being an asshole, and I think, moving forward, I want to be more honest. Not just with you, but with myself. I think I’ve been fooling myself for a long time about what’s important to me, and I’m starting to realize those things don’t make me happy.” 

You resisted the urge to ask him what things he was talking about. You wanted to break out of the habit of giving him more attention than he’d earned. That had always been a problem for you with men, and you suspected it was what got you into this mess in the first place. 

You could see on his face that he almost expected you to ask him more, and when you didn’t, he faltered for a moment. “Good,” you said with a nod. 

He deflated, but ultimately melted into a smile. “Thanks,” he said. You could tell he meant it, and holy bricks, did that have you softening more for him against your will. 

A warmth blossomed between the two of you, slowly at first, but it grew with each passing moment. You could feel it in your bones, and despite your best intentions, you caught yourself smiling. 

You didn’t want Noah to have this pull over you. You couldn’t tell if you were relieved that he’d done a good job with his apology, or resentful because it would have been so much easier to write him off had he failed. 

“Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?” you asked, ready to be done with the conversation for the time being and beyond grateful it hadn’t stemmed into more intimate territory—you didn’t think you could handle that. 

“How are you?” he asked. “I feel like so much has happened since we last talked.” 

“Ha!” you said. “You could say that again.” 

Noah leaned back in his chair, shifting his weight to make himself more comfortable. “Tell me about it. Do you want to get some food? I’d love to catch up.” 

“Maybe another time,” you said, with only the slightest twinge of regret. It was for the best. “I’ve got laundry to do.” 

It was a lie. You had nothing to do, but as much as you wanted to spend more time with him, your intuition was telling you to go, and you’d promised yourself you’d start listening more. Something inside of you wasn’t ready to be alone with him for much longer. 

“I understand,” he said, voice dipping in enthusiasm, but clearly respectful of your boundaries. “What about tomorrow?” 

You didn’t have an excuse ready—the knee-jerk denial didn’t kick in at the idea. Perhaps that was a sign? 

“I…I can’t commit for sure, but I’ll think about it.” 

He seemed satisfied with your answer, offering a smile that was a little too sincere for you to handle and you had to get out of the room before you lost all sense of self. 

“Okay. See you around,” you said quickly, shuffling to grab your backpack and swing it around onto your shoulder while nearly tripping over the coffee table on your way to the door. 

Noah didn’t chase you—you knew he was going to give you whatever space you needed in order to be ready for him. 

And that might have been what scared you most. 

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

The tip of Noah’s nose almost touched the mirror with how close he was leaning over the bathroom sink. He’d been dealing with a very stubborn ingrown hair in a painful spot right under his nostrils. It was angry and red, but it hadn’t quite come to a head yet. 

Perfect. Just what he needed. 

He leaned back to get a better macro view of himself. The spot was definitely visible, but he was more than likely fixating on the small flaw. He couldn’t help it though—he was nervous. 

Letting his gaze drift over the rest of his face, he noticed he’d missed a spot while shaving. Fetching his razor from the shelf in his bathroom cabinet, he ran it under water and brought it to his face, moving it slowly around his jaw. 

Fuck! 

He nicked the skin. 

At first there was nothing, but then red began to seep out from the tiny cut and Noah had to grab a tissue and dab at the small drop of blood that had gathered around the wound. 

Steadying himself with a deep breath, he grasped at the porcelain sink with both hands before facing the mirror once again. 

This was stupid. He was stupid. You were just someone he liked. There was no reason for him to be so on edge. This wasn’t even a real date, you were just meeting up for coffee. 

Exhaling slowly through his nostrils, he brought the razor to his face once again, this time successfully removing the hair he missed. He finished up with moisturizer, giving one last menacing look at the angry red zit above his upper lip and recognized that it was a lost cause. There was nothing he could do about it now. 

He reached for the bottle of spiced oil he usually wore and then thought better of it. This was a special occasion. He had a small sample bottle of designer cologne tucked away in the back of his sock drawer. Normally he wasn’t the type to reach for expensive brand names, but he was nineteen at the time and he liked the way it smelled, so he shoplifted it from an outlet mall that wasn’t smart enough to keep their shit in locked displays.  

Noah smiled bitterly at the memory. He’d done a lot of stupid shit in his youth. He supposed he was still in his youth, because hardly four months had passed since his last petty crime—the one that had led him to meet you. 

He understood why he did it all. But lately the desire to act out wasn’t there, and he didn’t know why. 

Perhaps these days, there was a greater incentive to earn his joy. He no longer needed to steal it. 

Dabbing a small amount of the cologne on his pulse points, he stuffed it back in the drawer and shut it away. He could reflect on his shifting morality later. Right now, he needed to figure out what he was going to wear. 

________

Noah exhaled into his palms, warm breath serving to heat up the red, frozen extremities. It was a short walk to your dorm, but the air was bitingly cold and the snow was already ankle-deep. The storm was due to hit sometime within the next 24 hours, but he still had some time before the sidewalks grew too treacherous to walk. He wore the nicest outerwear he owned—a black pea coat and pair of black leather boots, but they were no match for the harsh December cold. 

He raised his hand and rapped three times on your dorm. 

He heard momentary shuffling on the other side before you opened the door in a flurry. The first thing he noticed was the light dusting of pink across your cheeks and the way your chest heaved with labored breathing. Try as he did to keep his eyes focused on your face, he let them drop for only a moment to take in the sight of you in your plain white top and faded denim jeans. 

You looked clean, comfortable, and unassuming, and for some unknown reason, it did things to Noah. 

“Hi,” you breathed and all at once, the moisture in Noah’s mouth evaporated, leaving a dry, scaly desert in its place. One hundred percent of his brain power was devoted to taking in the sight of you until it was satisfied that it had catalogued every inch of your presence. 

“Hi,” he said once his speech returned. His voice came out softer than intended. 

“You ready?” you asked, grabbing your coat from the back of the door. He tried to peek inside your dorm room—wanted badly to glean any additional knowledge of who you were when you weren’t with him, but you didn’t afford him the chance, stepping out and shutting the door behind you in one swift motion. 

“Yeah,” he replied, and then he didn’t say anything else because he’d apparently never had a single conversation in his life and had no idea how to begin one. 

You and Noah walked in silence, boots leaving two pairs of footprints in the snow. You wrapped your arms around you as you walked, and Noah noticed you wore mittens instead of gloves. He liked it. He liked that you wore mittens instead of gloves and it stuck out to him because he couldn’t remember ever liking any article of clothing worn by a woman that wasn’t about what wasn’t covered.

You observed the surroundings while Noah observed you, every once in a while commenting on a specific tree or building you liked, pointing to it with a mittened hand and Noah briefly wondered if there was a limit to how much time he could observe you being yourself before he got bored. He hoped he’d never reach it.  

“What’s up with you today?” you asked as the two of you rounded the corner that led to the coffee shop. “You’re quiet.” 

“Sorry,” he said casually. “Would you like me to talk more?” 

It wasn’t sarcastic, but a genuine question, asked in the way a server would if they found out their customer didn’t enjoy the meal. Did you want him to bring something more appetizing to the table? 

“No,” you said, looking down at your boots. “I just…want to know what’s on your mind.” 

The only thing on his mind was how physically aware of you he was. To ease the tension that had been pulling on his bones, he took a step closer to you. He wanted so badly to reach out and touch you in some way—grab your hand or throw his arm around you or something—but he refrained.  “Nothing,” he said with a shrug. “Just vibing.” 

You rolled your eyes, sighing as the two of you reached the entrance to the coffee shop and you pulled on the large brass door handle, gesturing for him to enter first. “Well, I take back what I said earlier then,” you said. “I do want you to talk more. I’m doing all the heavy lifting.” 

Noah smiled, tickled by how unapologetically honest you were. He liked this version of you. Not that he didn’t like every version of you he’s had the privilege of knowing, but something was different. You were less eager to please him. Almost like you wielded the sharper parts of your personality as a weapon, testing to see if its sting would scare him away. 

It wouldn’t. 

“What do you want to do after you graduate?” he asked as the two of you made your way to the counter. 

“Just jumping right in, then? No warmup?” you asked. Noah shrugged. “Grande cinnamon vanilla latte, please.” you said to the barista. 

“Medium black coffee,” said Noah. 

Noah was reminded of the first time the two of you went to this café together. You were wearing the same rubber boots and Noah was doing his best to flirt with you. He smiled to himself and pulled out his card to pay. You let him without protesting. Good. You knew you deserved it. 

“I’m not sure anymore, to be honest,” you said as the two of you slid over to the pickup window. “I used to think I would work at the church my dad owned. Be office personnel or something.” 

“That doesn’t seem like you,” Noah observed. 

You shrugged. “It was the obvious choice at the time. My parents both believe I belong in the ministry in some regard.” 

“Would you be a pastor one day?” Noah asked.

You let out a loud, bitter laugh. “I don’t think our church would ever be ready for female leadership. It’s so old-school.”

Noah frowned. He didn’t like hearing that. In his opinion, you’d make a much better pastor than any other religious person he’s met. You actually practiced what you preached. 

“So what do you think you’ll do instead?” he asked, trying to shift the subject away from religion. He got the feeling that those wounds were still fresh for you. 

You shrugged. “To be honest, I haven’t put much thought into it. I know I should, but so much has changed in the last few weeks—I’m still kind of wrapping my head around it.” 

“I get it,” he said, reaching to pick up the drink orders that had arrived. You led the way over to a small two-person table in corner of the otherwise empty café. Noah followed dutifully, trying his best to express with every single movement how completely present he was here with you. He was sure you didn’t notice, but that wasn’t the point. For him, it was about the intention. 

“You do?” you asked, sitting down. Noah sat across from you and indulged in a moment of unapologetic eye contact. 

“Mhmm,” he nodded. “I mean, not that I’m experiencing it or anything, but I know that when it comes to big decisions like that, I need a clear head. If there’s too much stuff going on in my life at one time, I don’t have the headspace to think about it.” 

Some of the tension in your shoulders slackened—not by much, but he was so hyper-aware of you by that point that he couldn’t miss it. He wanted to think it was because of him. 

Rather than responding, you sipped at your latte, closing your eyes and savoring it. He took another indulgent moment—this time, to observe how your face responded to the small moment of pleasure. It was almost sexual, he noticed, the way you tucked your lips between your teeth and smiled. He appreciated that this moment was clearly for you, but that you allowed him to witness it. 

His mind drifted, picturing himself drawing that same response from you with his touch. A hot coil tugged just behind his navel. Saliva pooled on his tongue and his thumb twitched with the urge to reach out and tug your bottom lip away from where it sat tucked under your teeth—until he caught himself. Lusting after you felt forbidden in a way he hadn’t allowed lust to feel since middle school. 

Noah sipped at his coffee, eyes trained on you until you were finished squeezing all the serotonin out of the taste. It was bitter, but in a good way—like he needed a palate cleanser to shock his system after the sickening sweetness of the last few moments. 

“What about you?” you asked eventually. “Are you planning to stay at your job?” 

“No,” he said. “The job is there to pay the bills while I try to find something else.” 

It had become apparent that he’d have to find something else sooner rather than later. As much as the piece work gave him time to think, all of the repetitive motion was taking its toll on his body. He came home at the end of every shift with back pain on his left side and he’d been having to spend more and more time in the gym evening it out. 

“What would something else be?” you asked, eyes trained on him and his neck grew warm under the intense observation. 

“I want my music to take off, if possible,” he said. “I’ve been working on a lot of new stuff. Actually, I’d love to show you sometime if you want.” 

“What kind of stuff?” you asked before taking another slow sip. 

“Different from what I usually write. More experimental. I like it, but I haven’t shown the band, so I’m not sure what they’ll think.” 

You nodded slowly, mulling something over in your head and Noah waited patiently while you found your words. 

“I think…,” you began. “I think I’d be okay with hearing it. If you wanted to share, that is.” 

Noah blinked a few times. “I mean, yeah. I’d love to share it with you, but why the hesitation?” 

You smiled bashfully, full lips still wrapped around the edge of your cup. “It’s hard to explain. And it sounds mean.” 

“Please humor me,” said Noah in earnest. He liked when you were mean. You deserved to be mean. He had a sneaking suspicion that you’d only ever been overly nice in the past and the more you dropped the façade and stopped worrying about being polite, the more he enjoyed your company. 

You licked your lips, staring down into your mug and smiled to yourself again. “I’m trying to be careful with how much attention I’m giving to men these days.” 

“Oh.” The word escaped in a breath from Noah’s parted lips. His eyebrows lifted up towards his hairline and he had to take a minute to digest this bit of information. 

Something that felt a lot like jealousy flared up in his stomach and he had to examine it. He didn’t like it, whatever it was. It felt hot, slimy, and thick, and it sat just below his ribs. 

“Other men too?” He couldn’t help but ask for clarification. Perhaps he was showing his cards by bringing it up, but he didn’t care. 

The way the corner of your mouth lifted in response to his question let him know that you caught on to the implications of his question. “If there were other men, yes.” 

“So there are no other men,” he stated, feeling a flicker of hope rise up in his chest. 

“They’ve all gone home for Christmas break.” The teasing smile never left your lips as you said it. 

Fine. You could play your cards close to the chest if you wanted. He was fine with that. Whatever. 

He liked it though. Underneath the frustration, he liked this version of you: empowered, a little bitchy, tongue like a whip, lashing him in penance for his sins. The sick, masochistic side of him wanted more. Needed more. [4] 

He took a deep breath to help him refocus. “So why the newfound caution? Not that I’m against it, it’s probably a good idea. But why?” 

You raised an eyebrow, wordlessly asking if he really wanted to get into it, and he did, so he held your gaze until you decided to grace him with the truth. 

“I think I’ve given men a lot of unearned attention. It’s come back to bite me many times over. I’m trying to learn my lesson this time.” 

Noah nodded. He knew he was one of the reasons. He was prepared to hear that. But then… 

“What other times have you done that?” 

You tilted your chin down, narrowing your eyes in skepticism. “You mean aside from you?” you asked. 

He couldn’t help but smile, appreciating how resistant he was growing to the sting of your candor. You weren’t afraid to let him know just how much he’d messed up. 

He nodded. 

Your eyes flicked up to the ceiling while you thought. You sucked on your teeth while your gaze drifted across the room, picturing invisible figures from your past and the moments they’ve wronged you. 

“My dad, for one.” 

He was hoping you’d say that one. 

“How?” Noah scooted forward in his chair, elbows resting on the table between the two of you. Part of him was eager to know how his fuckup had fared in comparison to other men in your life.

“Even just listening to him preach every single Sunday. Sometimes the sermons would be worthwhile, but a lot of them were just him spouting his opinions on how people should behave. I don’t like that he has the platform he has. He doesn’t deserve it.” 

Your face had morphed into a scowl as you talked. Noah could see the resentment you held for your father and he wished there was something he could do—some word of comfort he could offer, but he knew it wasn’t his place, considering. 

“Isaac, too,” you said, and Noah rejoiced internally. He’d been hoping you’d say that even more.

“What did he do?” Noah asked, training his face and voice to appear calm and unbiased. 

“Oh my god,” you said, setting your cup down in front of you and clasping your hands together with a newfound focus. “I forgot you don’t even know!” 

“Know what?” 

“Isaac donated the proceeds of the showcase to a pro-life organization.” 

Noah had to force himself to swallow the sip of coffee he’d just taken. “What?!” 

You launched into the story, telling him all about how you’d been lured into participating because he’d said he wanted to donate the proceeds to charity, and how he’d been respectful the entire time, despite knowing how you felt about the subject. How he didn’t tell you about it beforehand because he knew you’d protest, so he went and did it behind your back, and how you didn’t find out until right before you were supposed to go on stage and sing. 

“Which I rocked, by the way, and you totally should have been there to see it,” you said, crossing your arm and fixing him with a scowl. 

“Something came up. I’ll have to make it up to you somehow,” he said. He didn’t have the heart to tell you he’d gone, but was too much of a coward to go inside the sanctuary. 

“Yeah, I know. That Something apparently lives in my dorm and had a lot to say.” 

Noah’s eyebrows pulled together. “What?” 

Apparently he’d struck a nerve. Within the span of a second, you were back to being closed off from him, arms folded across your chest and chin jutting out while you stared out the window. He probably deserved that. 

“I forget her name. Madison or whatever,” you said. 

Internally, his body hissed at him. He forgot he’d been trying to use Madison as a distraction. He hated that he’d done it, but at the time it felt necessary. He wasn’t sure how he could explain that to you, though. 

“So yeah,” you said. “I’m done with men for a while,” you said, still staring out the window and bouncing the leg that was crossed over the other. 

“For what it’s worth, I’m really sorry,” he said. “I should have been there. It was…not my best hour.” 

He could tell you wanted more of an explanation, but weren’t about to beg for one. He’d tell you what really happened eventually…just not yet. 

 “What can I do to earn your favor?” he asked. 

“Be worth my time.” You said it without missing a beat and Noah had to hold back a snort. He was not expecting such a no-holds-barred answer from you and it hit him like a bucket of…not exactly ice water, but something warmer. Kinder. You were giving him the information he needed, unafraid of whether or not it would hurt his feelings. God, there was something about that he couldn’t get enough of. 

“Noted,” he said. “Still, I can’t believe Isaac did that.” 

“Yeah, well…,” you trailed off, mouth still pulled down into a frown. A few beats passed where neither of you said anything, and in the silence, Noah realized what he had to do.

He drained the rest of his coffee, then stood up and collected his things. 

“I should get you home then,” he said. 

Your face morphed into one of surprise. “What?” Noah wished he could take a photo of how you looked right then. Lips parted in bewilderment. Eyebrows pulled together in confusion. It was cute. 

“Your time is precious,” he said. “I don’t want to take up more than I’m worth.” 

“That’s not…are you serious?” you asked, turning to face him. He was already setting his empty mug in the dirty dish bin at the end of the counter. He turned back to face you and nodded to the door, gesturing for you to follow. 

You dumped the remainder of your latte into your mouth and stood, shoving your arms into your coat and hurrying to catch up. “What’s the rush?” you asked. 

“Trying to respect your time,” he said, smiling to himself as you struggled to match his pace. 

“Noah,” you said firmly, grabbing his arm and turning him around to face you. You didn’t say anything else but studied him with your jaw set firm. 

He stared back, face calm, but unyielding. The wind picked up, blowing a few strands of hair across your face. The skin at the back of his neck stood on end in the cold. His nose began to run, and he sniffed it back. 

“Why are you doing this?” you asked. In the back of his mind, he registered your hand still wrapped around his arm. 

“I just got back into your good graces,” he admitted. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”  “Overstay? Noah, we’ve only been hanging out for an hour.” 

“I know,” he said, resisting the urge to pull you in closer. “It was an hour I wasn’t sure I’d get.  I’m grateful for that.” 

“Okay,” you said, looking off to the side when the eye contact grew too intense. “So, what’s the problem?” 

Noah searched for the right words, trying to describe what until now had only been a vague emotion that hadn’t quite surfaced. 

“The problem is that I will always want more than I’ve earned,” he said, softly, like he was only just now admitting this to himself. “An hour is already more than I deserve. Any more, and I’d get spoiled. But I would love the opportunity to earn your company again soon.” 

You processed what he said for a few beats and then rolled your eyes, lips stretching into a begrudging smile and if Noah had the ability to freeze time, he’d use it right then and there to study every inch of your face. 

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” you said, sighing and hooking your arm through his. You allowed him to walk you back to your dorm. 

“Maybe,” he said, enjoying the pressure of your elbow against his. “Hopefully a harmless one.” 

“Is this love bombing?” you asked, short legs still struggling to keep up with his long ones. “Are you love bombing me?” 

“I hope not,” he said. “That would be really fucked up if that were the case.” 

“It would make you a terrible person,” you agreed. “You better not be love bombing me.” 

“I’ll watch out for that,” he said, smiling to himself. “What counts as love bombing in your book?” 

You grinned, as if this was a special interest of yours and you’d been waiting for someone to ask you that exact question. 

“Showering me with compliments, for one,” you began. 

“Noted. You look terrible today.” 

“Ha!” you said, nearly skipping with energy and warmth bloomed in Noah’s body at the thought he’d made you happy. 

“To be honest, I don’t exactly know,” you said. “I think people who love bomb have this skill about them–where they can pay close attention to a person, pick up on what they want or need, and then give it to them. But it doesn’t come from a good place, and they can’t sustain that energy. They do it until they get what they want, and then they leave.” 

Noah’s stomach twisted, the warmth that had previously inhabited it sucked away in a vacuum, leaving only tightness. 

He’d done that before. Many times. Fuck. 

As the two of you walked back to your dorm, Noah’s conscious weighed heavy on him. You continued talking about red flags, but Noah’s ability to actively listen was compromised with the weight of his guilt. 

He had a habit of justifying his past actions to himself–if women were naive enough to fall for simple flattery, they deserved it, he told himself. 

His stomach rocked again and he felt like he was going to be sick. 

He couldn’t change his past. He was well-aware he’d done things he wasn’t proud of, but he could change how he was going to act moving forward. 

This time, he was determined to get it right. 

“I guess this is where I leave you,” he said, unhooking his arm from yours. 

You stared at the door longingly, and Noah hoped that meant that you weren’t ready to leave. 

“You want to do this again sometime?” you asked, turning to him. 

Noah nodded, swallowing the sinking feeling in his chest for now. He could process everything when he got back to his apartment. “This or whatever else. Whatever works best for you.” 

“It can’t all be about me, you know,” you said. Your hand rested on the door knob, keys dangling uselessly from your fingers. 

“I know,” he said.  

Your face grew serious as you studied Noah, looking like you were still trying to figure out if he was for real. 

“Why are you doing all this?” you asked. 

Noah didn’t have an answer at the ready for you, so he simply shrugged. “Feel like it.” 

You continued to regard him. He couldn’t help when his eyes dropped to your lips—full and flushed with pink from the cold. He had a feeling he was letting his cards show, but he didn’t have much incentive to keep them hidden from you anyway. 

He brought his eyes back up to meet yours and caught the second your eyes flicked back up from his own lips. When you realized you were caught, you averted your gaze to your shoes. Noah did the same. 

“I, uh. I should get going,” he said, reaching to rub at a spot on the back of his neck. 

“Yeah,” you said, side-stepping away to break some of the tension that had been building for the last thirty seconds. You fiddled with your keys, finding the right one and using it to unlock your door, but made no move to enter. 

This was the hardest part. He didn’t want to leave. From what he could pick up, you didn’t want him to. But it was important that he did. He knew it. He wasn’t going to fuck this up by being impatient again. 

Just when he was about to say his final goodbye, you beat him to it. 

“See ya,” you said. And then in one swift motion, you grabbed the lapel of his coat, pulled him down, stood up on your toes and gave him a peck on the cheek. 

Before he even registered what had happened, you’d unlocked your door and disappeared behind it. 

It took all of Noah’s willpower not to follow you.  _______ All rights reserved to @doomhands-jr, 2024. Do not copy, repost or translate.

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[b0w-ties-are-cool]

Baby Fever (Eleventh Doctor x Fem!Reader) [SMUT]

Summary: You are doom-scrolling on the internet and there are baby images and videos everywhere. You might just convince your boyfriend... (; SFW FOUND HERE

Warning(s): Baby fever obvi, suggestive language another obvi, cunnilingus (sorta ig), piv sex, breeding kink, soft!dom!doctor, unprotected sex, is "alien sex" something I need to include in the warnings?

Word count: 1,142

You had convinced your boyfriend, the Doctor, to get an actual phone so that you could send him TikToks. After about a week of trying to convince him he finally gave in. It was soon after that your for you page got delightfully plagued with videos of babies. These videos poured fuel on your baby fever ember.

You started saving them to your favorites and sending them to your boyfriend. Your baby fever started to get so bad that you had dreams about you and the Doctor having a baby. At that point, you didn't know if you were daydreaming or nightdreaming.

Babies took over your TikTok, Pinterest, and Instagram. You made mental notes of baby names that you liked. You knew that their name would have to be unique. You particularly liked Sailor, Zamora, Atlas, and Kya.

You are currently lying on the couch in your three bedroom apartment in Chicago. It has a grey-brown aesthetic with a grey couch and brown wooden coffee. You had a Roku TV, you turned on The Big Bang Theory just to have background noise as you scrolled on Pinterest.

You and the Doctor are babysitting your sister's kids. Technically her and her kids lived with you, you just take care of them because she has a night job.

You had gotten the 2 year old twins, Logan and Landon, to bed. You had bunk beds with rails for them. And there was a crib in there as well for your sister's 9 month old, Bella. You had tasked the Doctor with putting Bella to bed.

You hear footsteps approach you, and you look up to see the Doctor standing behind you.

"Are you trying to tell me something?" He asks as he shows you his phone that is open to his TikTok messages with all the baby videos that you sent him.

"...No..." You say awkwardly, "They were on my FYP."

"Apparently on your Pinterest too," He states, looking at your phone screen and raising his eyebrows.

"And Instagram..." You mutter, your face is burning.

The Doctor chuckles, "Got a bad case of the baby fever?"

"Yeeessss!" You whine and drag out the pronunciation of the e and the s. You sit up and turn around to face the Doctor. "Impregnate me goddamnit!" You shout playfully.

The Doctor laughs while mouthing 'no' and shakes his head at your shenanigans.

"That could be my Christmas gift!" You grin up at him, biting your lip mischievously.

"Your Christmas gift?" The Doctor questions, tilting his head and raising his eyebrows at you. There is a hint of a smile that he is trying to hold back.

"Yes!" You exclaim, "Or right now." You stand up from your spot on the loveseat and walk up to him, knowing exactly what to say to convince him. "Breed me, Doctor," You whisper in his ear.

Before you knew it, you were in your bedroom. The Doctor kisses and leaves marks on your neck. Your hand rests on the back of his head, your fingers tangled in his hair.

The Doctor discards his tweed jacket to the floor and you push his suspenders down his arms. You pull at each other's clothes until all that is left is your undergarments.

The Doctor picks you up and lays you down on your bed. He pulls your underwear off and eyes your cunt. You whine in pleasure as he licks a stripe up your folds. He kisses your clit and leaves open-mouthed kisses up your body until he gets to the band of your bra. The Doctor removes your bra and leaves kisses and hickeys on your beasts.

He massages your breast with one hand while the other rubs circles around your clit. You gasp when he slips two fingers inside of you.

He moves his hand from your breast to your cheek, he leans down and passionately kisses you on the lips. Your hands find his hair again, tangling your fingers in it, just about his ears.

You gasp slightly when the Doctor pulls his fingers out. He licks them clean then goes back to kissing you. He kisses a trail from the corner of your mouth down to your collarbone.

He moves his hands down your body until he gets to your thighs. "Lift your hips, my love." He tells you, when you do, he places your extra pillow under them.

The Doctor pulls his underwear off, you eye his hard cock. He leans closer, you moan slightly when rubs himself against your folds. He leans his face to yours and presses his lips to yours. "You want me to fill you up?" He asks against your lips. "Stuff you full of my seed?"

"Yes, Doctor, please," You whine and moan desperately.

He adjusts your thighs so that your legs wrap around his waist. He thrusts into you, bottoming out. You throw your head back, moaning. The Doctor kisses your neck then moves your head back up to kiss your lips.

He thrusts in and out, fucking you slowly, while you make out. You wrap your arms around his neck then move them down his shoulders. A small knot starts to form in your core.

"Doctor," You moan against his lips. He moves his lips to your neck, sucking the skin.

You move your hand down between you and the Doctor. Desperate for the knot to grow faster, you rub quick circles on your clit.

The Doctor grabs your wrist and moves your hand away. "No need to do that, darling. Just say you wanted to go faster." He whispers against your ear. "Is that what you want?"

You nod in response.

"Use your words my dear." He tells you.

"Yes. Please, Doctor." You mutter.

He picks up his pace, thrusting into you quickly. As he continues, the knot becomes tighter and bigger. You moan his name repetitively like a prayer.

"I'm close," You moan. You tangle your fingers in his hair, lightly pulling it. The Doctor's breathing faulters and he lets out a moan.

The knot in your core snaps. You throw your head back. Your cunt tightens around his cock as your orgasm hits.

The Doctor moans, he thrusts a couple more times before he stops, fully inside of you. His own orgasm hits, cumming inside of you.

He stays fully sheathed inside of you for a few minutes. He breathes heavily against the crook of your neck.

When he catches his breath his pulls out of you. He looks at your cum-filled pussy and scoops up an overflow and stuffs it inside. He places a kiss on your cunt then lays down next to you.

You turn your head to look at him. "We were supposed to be babysitting..." You mutter with a laugh.

"Babysitting, baby making. They go hand in hand." The Doctor jokes with a smile.

[deebeeus]

1962 #Gibson#SG#TVSpecial, with a 1959 #Fender Super amp.

"Gibson Electrics - The Classic Years", by A.R. Duchossoir, page 218, says 457 of these were shipped in 1962 (vs. 1336 regular SG Specials, and 2395 SG Juniors), so they are rarer that a '59 Burst (of which 643 were shipped, per the same book)!

You know it's an early #SGSpecial right off the bat because of the angled, non-compensated, wraparound bridge (the flush-mounted lightning bolt came along about 1963). Then your eye drifts up the fretboard to the headstock and...whoa! Is that a crown headstock inlay?? SG Specials had plain headstocks, and a cursory Google Image search of SG TV specials yielded not one single other example with a crown inlay...so this one is even rarer!

Photographed (along with several other cool and rare guitars) on the weekend at the big @dlott65 / @chriswstringer8 Annual 2023 Union Sound Guitar Gathering and Noodle-Fest, attended by some of Canada's top players, recording studio owners, and collectors.

[blogdeepbelieverbouquetworld]

The one and only David Tennant has joined our star-studded charity auction! 🤩 Watch this exclusive clip to hear about the incredible items he's donated. Join us on September 19th for a day of fun and fundraising. All in aid of Marie Curie 💛

@EwbankAuctions

Men's bespoke-made three piece tweed suit made to measure by JOHN PEARCE (Esteemed Soho tailor) (38" Chest * 30" waist.) Worn by David in the Patrick Marber 2017 production of Moliere's Don Juan at the Wyndham Theatre, Soho.

Red suede PAUL SMITH men's lace up shoes Size UK9 worn on Comic Relief TV presentation with Davina McColl in March 2009. I presented Comic Relief and I thought as its Comic Relief, I should wear red shoes. I only wore them for that one night. Theyre beautiful.

[pedge-stuff]

emerald velvet (pedro pascal x gn/m!reader)

a/n: same vague universe as “marked.” drop a line if you have a sug. (do people not comment on tumblr posts anymore??? rip)

summary: Pedro is ready to tell the world about you.

——————————————————————————————————

There is a world where he comes out, ironically, to Jimmy Fallon. Casually, over a sip of black coffee from a Tonight Show-branded mug. Swallows down the lump in his throat, chokes, in the half second it takes for the audience to react. You can see, in the TV monitor, the shiny glint in his eye as the thundering applause rolls in.

You still can't help but feel like this is your fault. Like maybe you just forced a 47-year-old man onto a blue tweed couch to reveal the secret he'd perfected hiding for decades. It hadn't been an argument, not really. No one was mad. But looking at him now, you couldn't unsee the flash of hurt that had struck him upon your prodding— "would it be so bad?"

So stuck in the tension of the previous night, in his unwillingness to see you in the stupid dressing room before the show, you almost miss what comes next. Definitely missed what came after, couldn't hear over the dull roar in your ears: "He works in the building, actually—"

Pedro is recomposed, smiling on TV like a good actor does, and you're here, crying in your office, several floors above. A few shaky breaths, heels of your hands swiping over your eyes, and then you're down the hallway before you can even register standing up. No one in the SNL offices look twice as you pass; they don't watch Tonight Show tapings, though their host for the week is promoting the show. Amongst other, life-altering things.

You slip through the stage door in Studio 6B easily, standing in the dim cover of the backstage area. The crowd roars again, and it sounds so much louder here. You can feel the force of the applause. Hear the headset call for an act reset, see the blue curtains part, and then— 

You're in the air. Cheeks wet, chest pressed against Pedro's as you both gasp for air. One of the crew guys needs to take Pedro's mic pack, and maybe this can wait til you're back in his dressing room, but you can't bear to peel yourself off of him. He, who came out on national television and then, in the same conversation, claimed you as his own. He who slept turned away last night, embittered by the threat of change. But who loves you enough to suffer the consequences, anyways.

You slip quickly back to his dressing room, where you both are swept into separate congratulatory hugs. Claps on the back. A vague, fleeting embarrassment that you're very under-dressed, contrasted against Pedro's velvet emerald suit.

Nothing has ever mattered less.

— — — 

You would never tell him this, never admit to it for fear of stoking the hurt and guilt that had gripped him for years. But, you'd been curating an album on your phone: "Pictures I Will Share, When Sharing Is Possible."

They are easy enough to narrow down for Instagram's limit of 10. Harder to post. The first image, you favorite— a picture of him you'd taken on a hike last fall, which also serves as your phone background— taunts you from its little thumbnail.

The caption, at least, is easy enough: "What, did something happen?"

It is 11:29pm EST. In about 20 minutes, give or take a long monologue, your life will change forever.

You hit send, roll over, and fall asleep with your arm slung low on Pedro's waist.

As it should be.

[lucigoo]

Weekly roundup: 1st August - 31st August

(I know its technically a month, but like the last one, its just until I catch up lol)

I wrote 13 fics in August, totalling 88,453 words so im pretty proud of that.

As always, recs first and then my fics under the cuts <3

Ringbearers - CQueen - The Hobbit (2012) (Bilbo/Thorin, aftelrife shennigans!!!!)

Summary: Having crossed over to the afterlife together Frodo decides to play matchmaker and insists that he and his uncle must go on an adventure together. What do they seek? Why his uncle's long dead friends, particularly Thorin Oakenshield.

Washing Day - StupidFatPenguin - The Hobbit - All Media Types (Bilbo/Thorin, Viking au!)

Summary: “What do you mean you bathe more than once per season?”

After only a short while of travelling with his heathen captors, Bilbo discovers that the tales of the fearsome, filthy and savage Northmen from his childhood might be much closer to great inaccuracy than the actual truth.

Dwalin Guards Thorin's Heart - SunnyRose - The Hobbit - All Media Types (Bilbo/Thorin, Dwalin & Bilbo, as always, @sunnyrosewritesstuff's fics are amaing!)

Summary: After the Carrock, Thorin pulls Dwalin aside asking him to protect his One from harm. Dwalin had no idea how difficult a task this was going to be, but the Burglar is an accident magnet!

The Tweed Fairy - lisellelascelles - The Hobbit (Jackson Movies) (Bilbo/Thorin, I rarely read smut, but when i do, its usually @lisellelascelles as it i smut with feelings, the only kind I like, and I adore this one!)

Summary: After working in the States for more than a decade, Thorin goes back to England to help his recently widowed older sister, and reconnect with his extended family. It’s early summer, the UEFA championship is firing up, and everyone meets in the local pub to watch the historic England vs. Scotland match. There he sees a small fellow all dolled up with tweed trousers and braces and a ridiculous retro football T-shirt underneath. He mocks him, coming across as a massive twat and a bigot to boot, without knowing the man is his cousin’s boyfriend’s best friend. When he later has an opportunity to redeem himself, what can he do but grab it and squeeze it…?

Take me as I am - phiaura - The Witcher (TV) (Geralt/Jaksier, please mind the tags, but it is SO good!)

Summary: Thus, a deal was struck, a treaty agreed upon. Rivia would not take military action against any allied kingdom and in turn, the kingdoms would provide the king of Rivia with a consort. So far, that last bit was the part of the treaty that had gone to shit. As far as Jaskier had understood, up to now the White Wolf had turned down all the proffered brides. If a consort was not approved, the treaty would be null and void.

Where Jaskier is the last chance of fulfilling the requirements of a treaty between the warlord of Rivia, and the allied kingdoms. Will it prove to be his rescue or his doom?

Pieces Tossed Aside - Anagrrl - Firefly (Malcom/Simon, aplocalypse au,)

Summary: Paquin goes silent. Everything else follows. AU set after the TV series.

I hope theres at least on foc for you all to enjoy, have a good week <3

Now for my fics, bare with me, when we get back to actual weekly roundups these lists will be much smaller lol.

The gold of your eyes is worth more then all of my medals (Sirius/Remus, olympics Au)

Summary: After a disastorous drunk driving crash caused by Siirus he ran from Remus, the love of his life.

10 years later and Remus is watching as the only man he has ever loved gains his fourth Olympic gold medal, now if only he owuld smile at Remus the way he is at the camera.

The Babes of War (Gen fic, pleae mind the tags, it tooks of child soldiers, im still not over the fact that 16 year old Gloin was at war!!!, also thank you so much to @mrkida-art for all the Tolkein canon information they provided which helped me write this fic)

Summary: Thror has taken to many dwarves to fight at Azanulbizar. This includes a 16 year old Gloin and his cousins, none of whom are of age.

A story of child soldiers whose whole world changes after one disatorous battle caused by a gold mad king.

Not Dorcas the Orca, two of three Marauders and a jail cell (Sirius/Remus, James Potter. Another self indulgant fic for my Wolfstar fandom family, they know who they are <3)

Summary: Sirius and James once again find themselfs in a jail cell with Dorcas (who was once an orce in this very same cell) only this isn't really Dorcas, even though they look exactly like them, huh?

Gollum's song (Bilbo & Gollum, mind the tags, MCDs)

Summary: Bilbo's heart is broken as he tries to recover as much as possible at Beorn's after BOFTA. He needs all the strenght he can regain because he has a new Quest to go on.

One where he may save another lost to the darkness the Ring causes.

That house was not a home:I never meant to leave you there alone (Sirius/Remus, Sirius & Regulus, Minor character death, grief)

Summary: Sirius wakes up in morning, reads the Daily Prophet and his whole life was suddenly changed.

The world is cruel and dark and he needs his brother who is forever gone.

There's no way out: the door is barred by the demon in my lovers skin (Bilbo/Thorin, please mind the tags, MCD, DD:DE!)

Summary: Thorin has never recovered from the Dragon sickness and ow it is Bilbo who is suffering because of it.

He is trapped and alone under Thorin's thumb and fists.

Bilbo just wants his dwarf back, instead he has a monster wearing Thorin's face hurting him.

It Was Never What It Seemed (Bilbo/Thorin, please mind the tags, it has some upsetting themes, but this, THIS is a fic i sent moe than a year on. If i never wrote anythig again, it would be ok because I managed to write and finish this particular fic A huge thank you to @sunnyrosewritesstuff for all their help writing it and for the title itself, and to @brandileigh2003 for all the emotional support i needed when writing the heavier hitting chaps. Thank you both, i appreciate it so much <3)

Summary: It has been 8 years since Bilbo has lest stepped foot in Erebor. He needs to talk to his husband, especially as he is now about to marry another. Another who is not Bilbo.

Bilbo left and when he did he left Thorin broken hearted. Now he is to marry a Blacklock Princess, consequences be damned.

Follow along with our favourite dwarf and hobbit as they find their way back to one another, No matter how painful the journey is.

Violets for the one I adore (Percy/Viktor, written for @flashfictionfridayofficial's prompt - Gifted violets)

Summary: Viktor has been a retired house husband and stay-at-home dad for 4 months now. Percy has never been happier.

There's a monster under my bed (Gen fic, Percy & Fred & George Weasley, written for the @change-is-perceivable fest)

Summary: There's a monster in Percy's room and no one will help him deal with it. Instead he is facing his bedroom door, wondering if anyone will care if the monster eats him.

It's hard being the good boy in such a large, chaotic family sometimes.

Don't try and drink your grief away (Gen fic, Percy & Geroge & Harry, grief, alcoholism, also written for the @change-is-perceivable fest)

Summary: Percy is blaming himself for Fred's death, after all he is the one who spoke to him, joked with him last.

He isn't coping well and has resorted to drinking.

Drunk Percy does something unthinkingly. Something he can't remember doing.

Destined Embrace: The Love That Healed the Noldor (Fingon/Maedhros (Tolkien), written for the @tolkienrsb, wih amaing art form the talented @wisteria53)

Summary: Fingon is going to rescue his best friend, his possibly something more, Maedhros, no matter what it takes.

Fingon is going to rescue his best friend, his possibly something more, Maedhros, no matter what it takes.

He is going to take him home to Gondolin and keep him safe. Maybe their friendship will grow along with their feelings of safety.

In the Darkness, You are My Shining Star (Gimli/Legolas, also written for @tolkienrsb, but this one has amazing art from @babybat98. I was paired with another amazing artist <3)

Summary: The Trope of Thorin Oakeshield are excavation miners in the depths of space working hard to feed and support their fledgling colony.

The neweest recruits have been allowed into space. Gimli Gloinson is one of those recruits. he is oging to learn how scary space can be, but also how very rewarding it can be too.

Back to where we belong (Ron/Hermione, as part of the Love of Fest Discord server, for the flash comp - Back to roots fest)

Summary: It's time to pick this years family holiday.

Ron knows where he wants to go. He wants to go back, he wants to go home.